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Son, you wouldn’t be hearing this song
Unless something happened that’s big and that’s bad
Perhaps you’ve been reading the Bible all wrong
And lost all the riches that we ever had
But don’t panic, stay calm and alert
Keep an eye out for some kind of sign
If you hadn’t lost your shirt
You wouldn’t pay this world too much mind
And I died before it made any sense
Is it all just as crazy to you as to me?
If there’s anything special to report
Leave it under the pillow of room 223
At The Wilburhampton Hotel
Nobody loved me when I was alive
There was nothing much good on TV
I couldn’t find any hobbies I liked
And then you were conceived
But I never made you my hobby
I never made you my son
Still, I named you Faithful Messenger
And I’m hoping that you are the one
I’ve eaten dates from the calendar
Drank water from bed springs
But I never could figure out the most important of all things
And even a half-dead man hates to be alive and not see any point to it
So Malachi,
Is it all just as crazy to you as to me?
If there’s anything special to report
Leave it under the pillow of room 223
At The Wilburhampton Hotel
Sincerely, your father, Noel Constant
PS- 'Don't touch your principal,' and 'Keep the liquor bottle out of the bedroom.'
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Lucky us
I scored a pass
on the company mothership,
where we can fight
without sacrifice;
Surrounded by
all the soda that you can sip
All my life I've been pretending that
everything is gonna be just fine
and that I know exactly what I'm doing
What are we doing here way out in space
and who's steering this damn thing?
How come we gotta shoot somebody
when we get to where we're going?
I don't know anymore
These pills I keep
popping in
Are a shitty excuse for oxygen
What a fierce
mess we're in
across the chronosynclastic infundibulum
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7. |
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Aqua-marine and a yellow so pristine
Are flooding the cavewalls
Like saintly phantoms
Encircling, descending on me
Drinking from my pulse
as if it were a teat
On this strange planet
One side's a tundra and the other is a furnace
But we're beneath the surface
Where we sing
"I am here." "So glad you are."
When I find it hip to press play
my fey children start to shrink
and shrivel like fruit
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8. |
Susan Hwang - Use Me
02:33
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Get my dress dirty; I’m not here to be clean.
I’m good to nobody if I’m kept all pristine.
Go ahead, break the eggs, get me out of this shell.
I don’t need protection as much as I need to stop avoiding myself.
There are messages I’m sending; half of them I don’t know.
Even when no one’s looking, I still put on a show.
My human nearsightedness can’t see what I say.
I don’t speak Trafalmadorian anyway.
No one’s here so nothing can happen.
No one’s here to be untouched and unmoved.
If I’m here, then I’m here; life’s not something I can refuse.
May as well use me to love you.
I’m here to be used.
Use me to say
money, position, health, handsomeness, and talent aren't everything.
Use me to say
you can be so concerned about being right that your whole life feels wrong.
Use me to say
I'm someone who knows how to get in her own way.
Use me to say
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and I probably never will.
Use me to say
replacement part is getting there soon.
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The Bushwick Book Club Brooklyn, New York
We started in January 2009 playing songs written in response to Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions. We haven't stopped since. We've written & performed songs inspired by everything from "On The Origin of Species" to Dr. Seuss to Raymond Carver. There are BBCs popping up nationwide now. Bushwick Book Club Seattle started in 2010 & is run by Geoff Larson. Our nerdy dare-devilry knows no bounds. ... more
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