Gnawed Journalism

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
In the town, on the skyline, through the trees, under over passes, on a stream, through the tunnel and on to the starbelt.

Submitted: February 01, 2011

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Submitted: February 01, 2011



Who really knows whats going on in the world anymore, an earth quake rolled across Petrolia California two days ago; a meager 3.5 but a good shake nonetheless. I didn’t feel any thing, but then again I was knee deep in whisky and Spanish olives, singing on the corner of 5th and G. I heard about it the next morning, in a mash mix between dream state and early morning R.E.M. (Dreaming; not the band you ass)

Speaking of donkeys, hopeless unrest in Egypt for the sake of democracy runs rampt; as cod-piece wearing drummer misfits from the rag-tag tea party crew were shipped over on a government jet airliner where they got front row picket lines for the fiasco that is Northern Africa.

And who can even keep up with that when Yahoo news is releasing stunning photos of savage red faced Amazonians staring in astonishment at a Brazilian helicopter? Threat of genocide for those poor fools who will never know the joy of extreme debt; no understanding of being buried in the red and upside down mortgages. 700 billion dollar bailouts, no way; smoked monkey wrapped in banana leaves and served with a bitter tonic that takes you far away from under that dark canopy.

But what about democracy? Keep soaring.

Mubarak, in power since 1981 says he’ll back down as President of Egypt, our Barak says this is just the beginning for new order in the mother land. But he was born in Hawaii right? And what then, promise of new change, borrow some money from the Egyptians, whats there market even like right now?

U2 at the pyramids, rock for democracy, shit reunite The Traveling Wilburies and let Dylan take the reins; he’d never want that. Who could blame him? Not that he’s the leader of the band, or that I know him personally.

Who knows?

At least there are no starving cats in America, plump and purring stuffed off bedbugs and that’s enough instillation to stay warm at least until spring when this cold front finally runs its course.

When will we stop and listen; that sound, familiar voices all around whispering soft with care, love, light, harmony, peace in the air.

Sadly, its angry voices, grumbled screaming into the desert, all wanting a piece, of the dirty share.

Let us send a positive charge to the first dominant civilization and thank the Sun for its giving of life and the Moon for its effect on the waves symbolizing the restlessness of mankind. And know that tomorrow will always bring change; it’s up to us to carpe diem.

Search overloaded,

Doc Gunnn

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