Midnight Jolt Run

Caffeine tastes better when the city's asleep

Lay down a Copper

Posted by Fiss on August 14, 2006

Strike Fiss’ Manifesto

March 2002

 

Ho ho ho and a hee hee hee!

If I am the Jester, who might you be?

I am the soul who pokes fun at the world

Who pokes fun at our troubles, to make them unfurled !

The silent and meek and downtrodden unite!

We will all laugh together when we cannot fight

And when we cannot fight, we cannot win!

Yet in one jolly soul, Victory can begin!

So fear not,

fray not,

fade not,

want not!

I’ll tell you a story, a city, far under the cloud

A copper, a silver, and I’ll make you laugh out loud

A fee fee fee and a rhyme in time!

Can you recall who you were in Nineteen-Ninety Nine?

I know not who you were, but I was myself

Look at the boys in the sandlot, beating themselves!

A Fireman afraid of fires, a robot afraid of tin

But strangest yet are those world leaders with their beards on their chin.

Or that one over there, with the wavy gray hair

Slant eyes and bad breath and their bombs in the air

Who has the bombs?

He has the bombs!

She has the bombs!

I have the bomb.

But bombs and guns are so out of style

Why not use hate to wage war for a while?

A fum fum diddly fum, on the street, kick a bum!

No bombs in the air, no war in your hair, kick them all to kingdom come!

Look across the railroad tracks! That side, Skins, and the other all blacks!

They’ll all try to burn, they’ll all try to rape, they’ll raise all the tax!

Disappear inside the home, and watch the children play!

Under the crucifix!  Under the cross!  Watch the parents pray!

My God is better than your God.  My Home is Holier than Thou.

So long as the kids aren’t queer or swear, their souls won’t burn for now.

Queer kicked down?

Gay she found!

Faggot he found!!

Penis envy all around!

Oh, but all that is such, wonderful old news!

So what will be the next joke that we choose?

Terror is a wonderful path, for just souls on the way to glory!

Believe in it!  Die for it!  Want for it!  Bathe in all the gory!!

If one can kill ten, and in a fashionable way

You can even watch on TV as the cadavers decay!

Heart in it’s place!  I walk around town with a frown on my face!

Blow up the mall!  Blow up your soul!  Two megatons in your suitcase!

Wash your face, tie your shoes!  Don’t be late for the 6 o’Clock News!

If you don’t, twill be the history books and truth that will choose.

Magazinable!

Flammable!

Damnable!

Withstandable!

And once the visions of fires all fade into the movies in your mind

We have so much more joy in a war of another kind!

Look over there!  See that man walking into the office?

He is the richest man on earth!  Money pours from each orifice!

He once had an idea, one wonderful dream!

And crushed other ideas by putting his on your screen.

Look over here!  In this very town!  In this exact pub!

You’ve been hunted to extinction as you hunted with club!

Your hard-working farms, your down to earth fears

Just did not quite fit in with the budget these years

Money begets

Never forgets

Power corrupts

I can’t forget

And while fat cats choke on the mice they consume

Their fat little children will prosper on your boom

Hay day! Hip-Hip-Horray!  Jump in the acid rain!

Peel off all your wisdom, for it can bring only pain!

Join this Jester for whiskey, display a gold and down it goes!

We’ll joke, we’ll sing, to heal our hearts and drown the woes!

Love thyself!  Love thy friend!  Love thy soul!

For no matter how many rainbows you see, the sky is black as coal.

And maybe, in the depths of our drunken hazy

We’ll see why the whole world has gone quite crazy.

Joke about it!

Sing about it!

Wish about it!

Get out of it!

And we can all wish for the bombs to kill the foolish men

And we can all wish for the dicks to compare and get over it then

And we can all wish for the terror to be with only those who desire it

And we can all wish for the money to go back in it’s place

And we can all wish for the races to join hands and embrace

And we can all wish for heaven on earth, instead of living in hell.

But, oh well.

And my opinion means nothing, I am but a fool.

But I know who I am.  Who the fuck are you.

 

 

 

Strike Fiss, Studio Shinnyo 2002.  Khattam-Shud, EOF.

Posted under Manifestoes, Poetry

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