Dance and laugh and play. Ignore
the message we convey.
It seems we're only here
to entertain.
A rebellion cut-to-fit. I
refuse to be the soundtrack to it.
While we entertain we're
still knee-deep in shit.
There's something wrong inside.
We've played it safe, enjoyed
the ride.
You won't like this but I've
something to confide.
We stand for something more
than a faded sticker on a skateboard.
Now we've rained on your
parade and we're out the door.
And I don't even care any
fucking more.
Witness this pair in accomplice.
Witness this pair; lethargic,
unconscious.
No brows furrowed in question,
complacent, completing their tasks
(no questions asked)
Consider this critic a cretin,
Just resting on laurels completely
invented.
Word acrobatics performed
with both harness and net.
I am so full of shit.
But I will remain until this
self-awareness fades
Until I defeat the purpose
of this soapbox that you made.
That you made.
Hope, perseverance, a vision
(some doubt).
Green ink, a 26 oz., a bad
case of big-mouth.
A sum of our parts and I've
never laughed harder.
A song in our hearts and
I've never laughed harder.
It don't really matter cuz
nothing's ever felt as right as this.
(by the way, I stole this
riff)
Head? Chest? or Foot?
Three choices. One bullet. One
trigger. Guess who gets to pull it.
One leader. A thousand slaves.
For every throne there's
a thousand graves.
You're all the same. Just
part of their machine.
Perpetuate their dream.
They subsidize your nightclubs
and they subsidize your malls.
They herd and brand the masses
within painted prison walls.
'Til your freedom of assembly
becomes the missiles they create.
Or just mass delusion dancing
to this music that you fucking hate.
But I'm not the same. I'm
not part of your fucking machine.
I'll jeopardize their dream.
I'd rather be imprisoned
in a George Orwell-ian world
Than your pacified society
of happy boys and girls.
I'd rather know my enemies
and let you know the same.
Whose windows to smash and
whose tires to slash
And where to point the fucking
blame.
One future. Two choices.
Oppose them or let them destroy us.
Hate, Myth, Muscle, Etiquette
Mark your point of failing. It
begins where you concede.
Hesitate. Procrastinate.
Sedating.
All configured to impede
your path.
You need a good kick in the
ass.
Now take a step back and
have a long hard look.
Hold it to the light and
read it like a book.
Analyze the past and present
to see what is to come.
Now wrap your lips around
the barrel of the gun.
Mark my point of failing.
It began where I gave in.
Comfort. Convenience. Placating.
Construed to suck me in,
to their trap.
I need a good kick
in the ass.
As time passed I realized
we don't need rules to survive.
Just common sense and means
to subsist.
So from here on in I will
resist.
I've finally realized. I've
found my way at last.
It's finally evident.
We all need a kick
in the ass.
The basis of change: educate!
Derived from discussion,
not hate, not myth, not muscle,
not etiquette.
Intellect, not "re-elect!".
Status symbols yield to respect
between sex, species, environment.
Showdown
We spoke our minds too clearly.
We assumed fundamental rights
were inherent
not as pawns but humyns.
I do not require a gauge
for freedom of speech
cuz I never asked to be a
citizen.
I never have and never will
pledge allegiance.
Waking up each morning with
confusion in my eyes.
The wind is biting through
to wave "hello".
Seeing my reflection, an
exterior of lies.
I hope this shaky feeling
doesn't show.
As if I had to tell you there
was little left to say.
Stilted conversations colored
blue.
You were sitting down and
you got up to walk away.
I tried to stay but I was
right behind you.
Tension in the stair, I cannot
bear so close to helpless
as this song I sing. Inside
me ring.
Final words are boring, never
touch,
I know you whispered something
in my ear.
I couldn't hear you.
Girls with the greenest eyes.
The first time you have kissed.
Our quiet softest sighs.
A song for all of those who
shot and missed.
Welcomed to this world, imputed
identity.
Born, tagged, tattooed, pacified.
Generously bestowed my rights
and privileges replete.
Arbitrary values ascribed.
There's nothing I can tell
you. There's nothing I can say.
Stunted conversation, censored
thought.
I'm completely free, at liberty,
guaranteed
Unless of course you decide
I'm not.
But I'll not be resigned
to, fall in line behind you.
Tension in the air I cannot
bear
So what the fuck am I accomplishing?
Absolutely nothing.
All these words are boring,
it's time for action.
But you've taught me to be
a pawn.
It won't last for long.
Those who see through the
lies are quickly gagged and bound.
Ambition realized, tear
the whole fucking thing down.
Ska Sucks
Ska sucks. Ska revival isn't
cool you stupid fuck.
The bands are only in it
for the bucks.
And if you don't believe
me you're a schmuck.
But the trend will die out
with any luck.
Yo Ho. Yo Ho.
Rudy, a message to you Rudy,
a message to you Rudy.
Fuck you Rudy!
Middle finger response
Bowl of cherries in Waskasoo
Creek.
A sylvan way of life for
those who seek none beyond a parkland mall.
This land scape oasis now
feigns city hall.
And they call this peace.
Not how it seems to me. Sugar-coated
disease.
Buckle at the knees.
Your members of parliament
lining their garments
With hides of the masses
(their heads stuck up their asses).
Bald little soldiers, flags
sewn to their shoulders.
This insight spawns despair.
Why am I not part of this?
Pine cone wealth and cedar
fence bliss?
All your novel themes that
keep you amused on your way to
The Canadian, flag-waving-aryan,
mother fucking, cock sucking dream.
Oh yeah!
Nobody cares about the state
of affairs.
You can turn blue in the
face, but you cannot erase.
Oblivious to the obvious.
I'm making perfect sense
but I'm not getting through.
Progress overdue.
But don't expect to find
me with a note left to be read.
Pistol in my hand and a bullet
in my head.
Because this census indicates
and this atlas has related
3 billion humyns I haven't
irritated.
I've got a lot of work to
do. 3 billion people.
That's 3 billion snotty Fuck
you's Fuck you, fuck all
of you.
Stick the fucking flag up your
goddam ass, you sonofabitch
My father told me "son, it's
futile to resist,
You can topple ideology but
not the armies they enlist."
I questioned the intentions
of the boy scouts chanting war.
"Well that's the sound of
freedom, son" he said.
(Free to say no more.)
But wait a minute dad, did
you actually say freedom?
Well, if you're dumb enough
to vote,
You're fuckin dumb enough
to believe him.
Cuz if this country is so
goddam free,
Then I can burn your fucking
flag wherever I damn well please.
I carried their anthem, convinces
it was mine.
Rhymeless, unreasoned conjecture
kept me in line.
But then I stood back and
wondered what the fuck had they done to me.
Made accomplice to all that
I'd promised I would never fucking be.
Never be.
You carry their anthem convinces
that it's yours.
Invitation to honor. Invitation
to war.
Bette Midler now assumes
sainthood.
Romanticize murder for moral.
Tie a yellow ribbon round
the oak tree my friend,
And "Gee Wally, that's swell!"
Fuck the troops to hell!
Haillie Sellasse, up your ass
You speak of Rastafari, but how
can you justify belief
In a god that's left you
behind?
You've simply filled the
gap between the upper and lower class
And your faith merely keeps
you in line.
An amalgamation of jewish
scripture and christian thought.
What will that get you? Not
a fuck of a lot.
Take a look at your promised
land.
Your deed is that gun in
your hand.
Mt. Zion's a minefield. The
West Bank. The Gaza Strip.
Soon to be parking lots for
American tourists and fascist cops.
Fuck zionism. Fuck militarism.
Fuck americanism.
Fuck nationalism. Fuck religion.
Fuck Machine
It's something physical, conditioned
reaction.
It's something physical,
conditioned attraction.
But have I finally escaped?
Will my eyes no longer rape
the innocent womyn, children, humyn beings?
Seeing the pain that it brings.
Shallow, superficial decision.
Real beauty obscured by my
television.
But this just in! Bikini
film at ten.
The female anchor smiles
and shrugs it off,
"Boys will be boys!"
Do you really wanna be our
fucking toys?
And in again, condone it
with a grin.
Sit back, idly chat, smile,
prove you're just a fuck machine.
Is that what you really wanna
fucking be??
Conditioned reaction. Conditioned
attraction.
Conditioned suggestion. Conditioned
rejection.
And yet again, subjecting
womyn.
The female anchor's fists
finally clinched,
"I'm not your fucking
toy!"
And though I long to embrace,
I will not misplace my priorities:
Humor, opinion, a sense of
compassion, creativity,
And a distaste for fashion.
This might be satire
I wanna chew my bubble gum with
you.
And I wanna walk you home
from school.
And I wanna carry your books
to every class.
And I wanna fuck you up the
ass.
Girl, don't you know it's
true, how much I love you.
I wanna sing it 'cross the
land, oh won't you hold my hand?
She tells me that she loves
me,
Now I'm gonna tell her that
I love her.
She tells me that she loves
me,
Now I'm gonna try and fuck
her.
But where the hell are my
priorities?
Left in the hands of the
authorities.
Who will help me bake this bread?
I speak my mind. I question theirs.
It seems to me like no one
really cares.
Peripherally blind. Intellectually
numb.
Ignorance by choice? Or just
plain fucking dumb?
You're threatened by my mind.
You want everything the same.
But my questions still remain.
You boycott your brain. You
answer with fists.
But my questions still persist.
You can rearrange my face
but you can't rearrange my mind.
You can beat this shell about
me, but you can't touch what's inside.
So now who will help me bake
this bread?
Who will be the first to
speak and leave complacency for dead?
I've done all that I can
on my own.
But stagnant minds persist
to squeeze blood from this stone.
But I won't bleed for you.
I have no need for you.
Death will be the day I concede
to you.
I want you to want me
I want you to want me.
I need you to need me.
I'm begging you to beg me.
And I want you now.
Yeah, I want you to want
me.
I need you to need me.
I'm begging you to beg me.
I'd love you to love me.
I'd buy brand new shed
And put on brand new shoes
I would do anything if you
say that you love me.
Didn't I didn't I didn't
I see ya crying?
Didn't I didn't I didn't
I see ya crying?
Sittin all alone I know you
felt like dying.
And I want you now!
Megan.
She don't eat bacon.
She'd never kill a sweet
little innocent piggy to get bacon.
She's one of them vegans.
She's so sweet loving sweet
talking loverboy vegan.
And that's alright.
Thought, word & deed once
sloganeered: a reaction undefined.
The battle-hymn, the mantra
of a once unfocused mind.
But as logic tempered anger,
(still inspired, but now informed),
the "pigs" we'd turned to
caricature became far worse that we'd warned.
Morality enforcement based
on the interest of a state.
Coerced into concordance
and threatened into place.
It's not just isolated incidents
of cop-jocks kicking ass.
It's a fucking war machine
protecting the wealth of the employing class.
The Cryptically-Entitled Mutual
Friend... Deep? No.
There was nothing remotely romantic
about it.
No hand-me-down sob-stories,
either nurtured or genetic.
So what exactly did I consider
so god-damned important
that I had to shelve each
and every one of my convictions?
Secured. Mutually reassured...
of our consistency.
But your defense rejects
what (you claim) you believe.
Because what the fuck is
so "sociable"
about animal confinement,
torture, union-busting, sexism and...
isn't it strange how you
don't call anymore?
The About-as-close-to-emo-as-we'll-ever-get
Song
I hid inside my room like a fucking
coward
and the past 18 months flashed
before me in the last eight long hours.
A little less than amazing:
you finally got a rise out of me.
So I laughed, I cried (well,
I tried, but i laughed again).
See? Who the fuck needs a
caricature to be their friend?
It's so fucking stupid.
I'm just as scared and insecure
as you (maybe even X2)
and i wonder what you really
thought of me.
An intimate friend? A loud-mouthed
jerk? Or just a novelty?
(and, hey, do you think i
could sing this a little more out of key?)
This is not an apology. It's
just therapy.
Because as we all know (and
apparently), I don't need anybody.
I Would Very Much Like To See
What Happened In Oka In 1990 Happen Everywhere
The best thing i ever saw on
tv
was that S.Q. (Securite Quebec)
cop catching a bullet with his teeth.
Condolence, Mme. Canadiana,
but your husband was a fucking (stuck) pig.
But this song's not about
some romantic account of history.
It's not about martyrs or
mythos or heroes or burnings-in-effigy.
It's about a native kid flipping
her lid
just trying to keep some
self-respect intact.
It's about an Oka the size
of a fist in resistance
and a will to fight back...
and the girls at work, they
still deny their racism.
They claim tolerance for
all.
But it seems the degree of
(only) racial slurs
is their gauge (and it defines
tolerance as hate).
And there's 27 million "girls-at-work"
here.
Imagine fighting that for
500 years.
And golly-gee! How valient!
How the white oppressor makes
allowance
for calculated gestures
of insurgence
(all tightly tethered to
their purses/purpose).
Oka had this orchestra(tion)
aborted.
Oka fucked their rules
to choose a future self-determined
and I, for one, support it...
...and the smartest thing
i think i ever said:
"if a Kevin Kostner Kavalry
is your means to their end,
then the struggle is dead".
Why do we pretend that our
approval is upon what they depend?
Remain
I can't believe the things that
have been said
Remain for the purpose of
remaining.
I can't believe all the things
we've done
and still we've learned nothing.
I can't believe all the things
we've done
and I can't believe all the
tears we've spent
just to remain full of sadness.
Those same old emotions remain.
I Never did the things I
wanted to
or said the things I should
have done,
but there's a part of me
wouldn't let them go,
keeps them down, won't let
it slide.
Maybe next time I'll
say the things I should have said.
Just Between Friends
"I've got my hands up her dress
and it means nothing.
It's not about love, its
not even about sex.
This time it feels like I've
got control.
At this time tomorrow I'll
be able to look back and call her a slut.
We were wondering who would
fuck her first, another point for me.
I know my friends will be
so proud of me. Just between friends.
How come they want to separate?
They've got all the rights
that me and my buddys do.
You fucking talk about degradation.
You stupid bitches haven't
got a clue.
We were wondering who would
fuck her first, another point for me.
I know my friends will be
so proud of me. Just Between Friends."
...When someone thinks
like this and the attitude is spread, our dream is dead
No Exchange
I never promised you nothing,
never said I'd be your perfect
shackled slave.
If success to you is measured
in dollars and cents then I decline.
That's nothing. That's not
my dream.
It comes between everything.
Someday we'll divide because
for so much effort some people starve.
They've got everybody working
for something they could care less about.
That's nothing. That's not
my dream.
It comes between everything.
Someday we'll divide. Would
somebody here fill my soul with purpose?
There's something here, my
friend.
Don't step on me on your
quest for millions.
T.I.Y (Title It Yourself)
Self-doubt, and people saying
we're not worth shit.
Talking behind our backs.
They say we're a walking
contradiction of ourselves.
Our message isn't getting
through.
Fucker, even you got the
message...
our shitty band created a
discussion.
*No Title*
Disregard their suffering. Spoon-fed
fuck taught not to care.
It's easy for you to think
everything is okay. This is OK?
I've never seen worse. They
want what you have.
Flaunt your privilege. You
will fall.
Do you really think your
life is worth more?
You have no idea what it's
like to live like that.
They'd love a minute to give
you back that suffering.
This life, I don't need it.
They want what you have.
Flaunt your privilege. You
will fall.
Sixty Billion Served
Don't tell me that you say you
care
while you're fucking sacrificing
nothing.
Don't even mention the word
oppression
while you're driving Daddy's
Jaguar.
Our prosperity is their death.
Pat us on the back, third
world wallets gone.
There's blood on our hands,
it's your choice if you want
to see it or not.
It could change. It comes
down to you. Oppression is in your pocket.
It's all personal, it's not
enough to cry.
This time you can start by
cooking your flag.
You can stop doing what you're
told.
Don't believe what you see
on TV.
CNN reporters, they're all
ex-generals.
Democracy, big fucking joke.
It's just one big capitalist enterprise.
Smaller countries, they have
no hope.
USA crushes self-government.
It's your choice, you could
help to limit your contribution by restraint.
It could change. It comes
down to you. Oppression is in your pocket.
It's all personal, its not
enough to cry.
This time... you can start
by leaving the line.
You can stop doing what you're
told,
because today freedom is
bought and sold. Bought & Sold.
Appliances And Cars
This isn't business, its our
hope and its our voice.
You're not a product, so
tell them you can't be bought.
I don't want corporate backing,
five hundred thousand bucks a year,
that's not what it's about.
it's something so much more. More than money.
Dissent rolled into words,
they don't belong here.
Do you really think they
care?
This music belongs to us,
it's finally something we control.
I won't let it get torn away.
It won't be torn away.
What's the message sent when
your actions contradict your words?
I don't want to play, you
can keep your quarter.
I'll have no part. I won't
stay in line or keep in order.
Yeah, you know what it means.
Hey, Mr. Superstar do you
really believe we think you care?
You think you're saying something?
You're saying fucking nothing.
Your message is killed by
the paycheck in your hand.
It's already hard at work
as your capitalist machine destroys.
What's the message sent when
your actions contradict your words?
I don't want to play, you
can keep your Quarter.
I'll have no part. I won't
stay in line or keep in order.
You don't know what it means.
To me the message is the
most important thing.
Communication is more important
than entertainment.
This music saved my life,
so I'll be dead and fucking
gone before it's bought and sold
just like appliances and
cars.
Apparently, I'm a "P.C. Fascist"
(Because I care about both human and non-human animals)
Some of my otherwise brilliant
and productive friends (like scoundrels and their flags) take final refuge
in character assasinations; hey ignore the issue and deny the relation
between our consumption and brutality. So you can go ahead and roll your
eyes and marginalize me/socially penalize me: play on my insecurities.
And you can feign ignorance, but you're not stupid, you're just selfish.
And you're a slave to your impulse. And I kinda thought we all shared common
threads in that we gravitated here to challenge the conventions we've been
fed
by a culture that treats (living, breathing, feeling) creatures
like (biological) machines. And if you buy that shit then how long 'till
it's me who serves as your commodity? Through (for example), institutionalized
violence and oppression of workers and women raped by sexism (and how
about native americans?). Do you still insist on feigning indignance
(aka: indignation) to reason? To collective self-interest? Tell you what-
I'll call you on your shit, PLEASE CALL ME ON MINE. Then we can grow together
and make this shit-hole planet better in time. So why not consider someone
else: STOP CONSUMING ANIMALS.
Nailing Descartes to the Wall/
(Liquid)Meat is Still Murder
I speak outside what is recognized
as the border between "reason" and "insanity". But I consider it a measure
of my humanity to be written off by the living graves of a
billion murdered lives. And I'm not ashamed of my recurring dreams
about me and a gun and a different species (hint: starts with "h" and
rhymes with "Neuman's") of carnage strewn about the stockyards, the
factories and farms. Still I know as well as anyone that it does less good
than harm to be this honest with a conscience eased by lies. But
you cannot deny that meat is still murder. Dairy is still
rape. And I'm still as stupid as anyone, but I know my mistakes. I
have recognized one form of oppression, now I recognize the rest. And life's
too short to make another's shorter-
(animal liberation now!).
Less Talk, More Rock
I'd like to actively encourage
the toughest man to dance as hard as he can to this, my song. And bring
your stupidest friends along. We wrote this song because it's fucking boring
to keep spelling out the words that you keep ignoring. And your macho shit
won't phase me now. It just makes us laugh, we got your cash, court-jester
take a bow. Because did you know that when I was nine, I tried to fuck
a friend of mine?
HE was 8, then I turned 10. 14 years later
it happened again (with another friend). This time me on the receiving
end. And all the fists in the world can't save you now. Cuz if you dance
to this, then you drink to me and my sexuality. With your hands down my
pants by transitive property.
Anchorless
They called here to tell me that
you're finally dying, through a veil of childish cries. Southern Manitoba
prarire's pulling at the pant-leg of your bad disguise. So why were you
so anchorless? A boat abandoned in some backyard. Anchorless in the small
town that you lived and died in. I've got an armchair from your family
home. Got your P.G. Wodehouse novels and your telephone. I've got your
plates and stainless steel. Got that way of never saying what you really
feel. I don't want to live and die here where we're anchorless.
Rio de San Atlanta, Manitoba
Our cities seem to function quite
the same: sweeping ghettos under one big rug makes them easier to contain,
so the upper-middle class can sleep (or shop in peace) and convince themselves
that "trickle-down" will solve this poverty. Yes, murderers walk our streets
and their weapons are their pens, desks, policies and P.R. campaigns (fed
by the spoils of war) against the "lazy, shiftless" populations of the
poor.
This system cannot be reformed... (so how about we
try something different?)
A Public Dis-service Announcement
From Shell
("Clear Thinking in Troubled
Times": Winnipeg Free Press, Nov 21st, 1995)
"People have the right
to the truth. Unvarnished. Even uncomfortable. But never subjugated to
a cause, however noble or well-meaning. They have the right to clear thinking.
Slogans, boycotts and protests don't offer answers... (I)t has been suggested
that Shell should pull out of developing nations altogether. The oil would
certainly continue flowing. The business would continue operating. The
vast majority of the employees would remain in place.
But the sound
and ethical business practices synonymous with Shell,
the environmental
investment, and the tens of millions of dollars spent on community programs
would all be lost. Again, it's the people of developing nations that you
would hurt. It's easy enough to sit in your comfortable homes in the West,
calling for sanctions and boycotts against a developing country. But you
have to be sure that knee-jerk reactions won't do more harm than good.
Some campaigning groups say that we should intervene in the political process
in developing nations. But even if we could, we must never do so.
Politics
is the business of governments and politicians. The world where companies
use their economic influence to prop up or bring down governments would
be a frightening and bleak one indeed."(ha. ha.)
...And We Thought That Nation-States
Were a Bad Idea
"Publicly subsidized! Privately
profitable!" That's the anthem of the upper-tier (the puppeteer untouchable).
We focus a moment, nod in approval and bury our head back in the bar-codes
of these neo-colonials while our former nemesis (ah, the romance!): the
nation-state, now plays fund-raiser for a new brand of power-concentrate.
Try again, but now we're confused- what is "class-war"? Is this class war?
Yes, this is class war. And I'm just a kid- I can't believe that I gotta
worry about this kind of shit! What a stupid world! Yeah, this is just
beautiful... absolutely no regard for principle. What a stupid world. (We're):
1) born 2) hired 3) disposed! Where that job lands, everybody knows and
you can tell by the smile on the CEO's that the environmental restraints
are about to go. You can bet that laws will be set to ensure the benefit
of unrestricted labor-laws (all kept in place by displaced government death
squads). They own us. They produce us. They consume us. Can you fucking
believe this? What a stupid world. Fuck this bullshit display of
class-loyalties. The media and "our" leaders wrap it all up in
a flag- their fucking shit-rag. hooray!
I Was a Pre-teen McCarthyist
At Harold Edward's Elementary
you pay respect to Our God, Our Flag, Our Military. In grade 3 I had a
written composition about the global threat of communism. And I was the
luckiest 8-year old McCarthyist of 1979: I spent spring break on the flight
line of a base in the Carolinas- the U.S. version of my dad had signed
us in. And 12 years later, the Gatling I'd touched that was strapped to
the nose of a U.S.A.-10, separated flesh from bone and honed its skills
on "lesser humans". And thus confirmed the suspicions earned in
the 7 years preceding about the lies I was told and if the truth be known,
I'm probably better off believing (well, they said I'm better off
believing...
somehowbetter off believing). But how could they do
this to me? Born head first and brought up ankle deep. And maybe you're
a lot like me- identified for 14 years without a choice. Terrified the
morning you woke up and realized that if and when you jump ship, you either
swim for shore or drown.
Don't let the fuckers drag you down.
Resisting Tyrannical Government
Why don't we all strap bombs
to our chests and ride our bikes to the next G-7 picnic? It seems easier
with every clock tick. But whose will would that represent? Mine? Yours?
The rank-and-file's? Or better yet: the Government's? But I don't want
to catalyze or synthesize the second Final Solution. I don't want to be
the Steve Smith of the Revolution. Do you see the analogy? We're the Oilers.
The World Bank- the Flames! And just 2 minutes remain in the 7th game of
the best of 7 series! Yeah, Jesus saves! Gretzky scores! The workers
slave. The rich get more. One wrong move and we risk the cup. So play
The Man, not the puck. Why don't we plant a mechanic virus and erase the
memory of the machines that maintain this capitalist dynasty? And yes,
I recognize the irony that the very system I oppose affords me the luxury
of biting the hand that feeds. But that's exactly why priviledged fucks
like me should feel obliged to whine and kick and scream-
until everyone
has everything they need.
Gifts
Wake up, coughing, tired, with
my face in my hands, staring at the window as the sunlight demands action.
All the energy it takes to close these bedroom blinds. Wrote this selfish
sadness on a bathroom wall, spent half the span of some lost culture's
rise and fall, but I'm as clueless as a drooling four year old. Still hoping
I might find the capacity to let you know I know you're lonely. So here's
the last call for regrets, a final slow dance through the days that we
all hold on to. Here's the promises I've made, tied too tight to undo.
An unwrapped gift from me to you. All the slightly insane on the 18 North
Main, reaching for a small-town downtown, night rain, nothing I could say
could be worth saying anyway today. Like "Hey, whatever happened to what's
that guys' name?", we get a little older and it looks the same: askance.
Excuse my failing sense of humour. Here's the promises I've made; a razor
blade and this broken piece of chain. A history left to rust out in the
rain.
The Only Good Fascist is a Very
Dead Fascist
Swastikas and Klan-robes. Sexist,
racist, homophobes. Aryan-Nations and Hammerskins: you can wear my nuts
on your nazi chins! God, I love a man in uniform! (But, uh, before we get
too
intimate here, big fella): what exactly are the great historical accomplishments
of "your" race that make you proud to be white? Capitalism? Slavery? Genocide?
Sitcoms? Guns? War? Pollution? Addiction? NAFTA? Thigh-Master? This is
your fucking white-history, my "friend". So why don't we start making a
history worth being proud of and start fighting the real
fucking enemy:
the white male capitalist supremacist. Swastikas
and Klan-robes. Sexist, racist, homophobes.
This one's for the "Master
Race":
my brown-power ass in your white-power face! Kill them all and
let a Norse God sort 'em out!
A People's History of the World
At some turning point in history,
some fuckface recognized that knowledge tends to democratize cultures and
societies so the only thing to do was monopolize and confine it to priests,
clerics and elites (the rest resigned to serve), cuz if the rabble heard
the truth they'd organize against the power, privilege and wealth hoarded
by the few- for no one else. And did it occur to you that it's almost exactly
the same today? And so if our schools won't teach us, we'll have to teach
ourselves to analyze and understand the systems of thought-control. And
share it with each other, never sayed by brass rings or the threat of penalty.
I'll promise you- you promise me- not to sell each other out to murderers,
to thieves... who've manufactured our delusion that you and me participate
meaningfully
in the process of running our own lives. Yeah, you can vote however
the fuck you want, but power still calls all the shots. And believe
it or not, even if (real) democracy broke loose, power could/would just
"make the economy scream" until we vote responsibly.
The State-Lottery
Now the real prospects for authentic
democracy depend on something else. They depend on how the people in the
rich and priveliged societies learn some other lessons. For example the
lessons that are being taught right now like the Mayans in Chiapas, Mexico.
They are among the most impoverished and oppressed sectors in the continent.
But unlike us they retain a vibrant tradition of liberty and democracy.
A tradition that we've allowed to slip out of our hands or has been stolen
from us. And unless people here in the rich and privileged society, unless
they can recapture and revitalize that tradition, the prospects for democracy
are indeed dim.
Does it seem strange to you?
The confetti. The balloons. The mile-wide grins and the victory dance to
welcome in the heir to a state of (utter and complete) disrepair? Because
it sure seems strange to me: they're acting like they won the fucking lottery!
I mean, shouldn't they feel terror at the task that lies ahead: to feed
and house the people that this system's left for dead. And could I have
hit the nail much harder on the head? It's profits before lives. They are
motivated by greed. First they taught us to depend on their nation-states
to mend our tired minds, our broken bones, our bleeding limbs. But now
they've sold off all the splints and contracted out the tourniquets and
if we jump through hoops then we might just survive.
Is this what we
deserve? To scrub the palace floors? To fight amongst ourselves? As
we scramble for the crumbs they spit out, frothing at the mouth about the
scapegoats that they've chosen for us. With every racist pointed finger
I can hear the goose-steps getting closer. They no longer represent us
so is it not our obligation to confront this tyranny?
Refusing to Be a Man
I'm not going to try to tell
you that I'm different from all the rest. I've been subject to the same
de-structure of desire and I've felt the same effects; I'm a hetero-sexist
tragedy.
And potential rapists all are we. But don't tell me this
is natural. This is nurturing. And there's a difference between
sexism and sexuality. I had different desires prior to my role-remodelling.
And at six years of age you don't challenge their claims. You become the
same. (Or withdraw from the game and hang your head in shame). I think
that's exactly what I did. I tried to sever the connections between me
and them. I fought against their further attempts to convince a kid that
birthright can bestow the power to yield the subordination of women and
do you know what patricentricity means? I found out just a couple of days/months/years/minutes
ago.
It means male values uber alles and hey! Whaddaya know... sex
has been distorted and vilified. I'm scared of my attraction to body types.
If everything desired is objectified then maybe eroticism needs to be redefined.
And
I refuse to be a "man".
Letter Of Resignation
Takes a dried up ballpoint, lemon
juice and water, keeps diary invisibly. In the kitchen corner of a basement
bachelor suite, there's a certain search for certainty, you know we'll
never see her hands touch her childhood home in photos that she took. It's
one more omission from a highschool history book; how whole lives are knifed
and pushed aside. To whom it may concern...this is to inform...yours, sincerly
yours... There's a bus that's leaving half an hour from now. It won't take
her where she really wants to go. So she sits there with her luggage at
her side. In the empty stations of our empty lives. Take a broken bottle,
take a rafter beam, or take a needle and a tarnished spoon. All just words
to kill off one more unheard statement in another dying afternoon; she
says she's leaving soon. So so long to ten hour shifts and faking sympathies.
Farewell to piles of bills, unpaid utilities. All rolled up and unfurled
like a flag. Wake up and pack your bag... "It's like being sick all the
time, I think, coming home from work, sick in that low-grade continuous
way that makes you forget what it's like to be well. We have never in our
lives known what it is to be well. what if I were coming home, I think,
from doing work that I loved and that was for us all, what if I looked
at the houses and the air and the streets, knowing they were in accord,
not set against us, what if we knew the powers of this country moved to
provide for us and for all people, how would that be, how would we feel
and think and what would we create?"
there was nothing remotely romantic
about it. no hand-me-down sob-stories, either nurtured or genetic. so what
was so goddamn important that i felt i had to shelve each and every one
of my convictions? secured and mutually reassured of our consistency. but
your defence rejects what (you claim) you believe. because what the fuck
is so "sociable" about animal-confinement and torture, union busting, sexism
and isn't strange how you don't call anymore?
...And We Thought Nation States
Were a Bad Idea
"publicly subsidized! privately
profitable!" that's the anthem of the upper-tier (the puppeteer untouchable).
we focus a moment, nod in approval and bury our head back in the bar-codes
of these neo-colonials while our former nemesis (ah, the romance!): the
nation-state, now plays fund-raiser for a new brand of power-concentrate.
try again, but now we're confused- what is "class-war"? is this class war?
yes, this is class war. and i'm just a kid- i can't believe that i gotta
worry about this kind of shit! what a stupid world! yeah, this is just
beautiful... absolutely no regard for principle. what a stupid world. (we're):
1) born 2) hired 3) disposed! where that job lands, everybody knows and
you can tell by the smile on the ceo's that the environmental restraints
are about to go. you can bet that laws will be set to ensure the benefit
of unrestricted labor-laws (all kept in place by displaced government death
squads). they own us. they produce us. they consume us. can you fucking
believe this? what a stupid world. fuck this bullshit display of class-loyalties.
the media and "our" leaders wrap it all up in a flag- their fucking shit-rag.
hooray!
Utter Crap Song
i hid inside my room like a fucking
coward (what? please kill me). the past eighteen months flashed before
me in the last eight long hours. it was amazing you finally got a rise
out of me. i laughed, i cried (well i tried, but i laughed again). who
the fuck needs a caricature to be their friend? it's so fucking stupid.
i'm just as scared and insecure as you (maybe even x2). and i wonder what
you really thought of me. an intimate friend? a loud-mouth jerk or just
a novelty? this is not an apology, just therapy, cuz as we all know (and
apparently), i don't need anybody.
Oka Everywhere
the best thing i ever saw on
tv was that s.q. (securite quebec) cop catching a bullet with his teeth.
condolence, madame canadiana, but your husband was a fucking (stuck) pig.
but this song's not about some romantic account of history. it's not about
martyrs or mythos or heroes or burnings-in-effigy. it's about a native
kid flipping her lid just trying to keep some self-respect intact. it's
about an oka the size of a fist in resistance and a will to fight back...
and the girls at work, they still deny their racism. they claim tolerance
for all. but it seems the degree of (only) racial slurs is their gauge
(and it defines tolerance as hate). and there's 27 million "girls-at-work"
here. imagine fighting that for 500 years. and golly-gee! how valient!
how the white oppressor makes allowance for calculated gestures of insurgence
(all tightly tethered to their purses/purpose). oka had this orchestra(tion)
aborted. oka fucked their rules to choose a future self-determined and
i, for one, support it... ...and the smartest thing i think i ever said:
"if a kevin kostner kavalry is your means to their end, then the struggle
is dead". why do we pretend that our approval is upon what they depend?
Talk On Violence
i think that, i'm of course opposed
to terror or any rational person is but I think that if we're serious about
the question of terror serious about the question of violence, we have
to recognize that it is a tactical and hence moral matter. incidentally,
tactical issues are basically moral issues. they have to do with human
consequences and if we're interested in let's say diminishing the amount
of violence in the world, it's at least arguable and perhaps even sometimes
true that a terroristic act does diminish the amount of violence in the
world. hence a person who is opposed to violence will not be opposed to
that terroristic act.
Haillie Does Hebron
you speak of rastafari, but how
can you justify belief in a dog that's left you behind? you've simply filled
the gap between the upper and lower class and your faith merely keeps you
in line. an amalgamation of jewish scripture and christian thought. what
will that get you? not a fuck of a lot. take a look at your promised land.
your deed is that gun in your hand. mt. zion's a minefield. the west bank.
the gaza strip. soon to be parking lots for american tourists and fascist
cops. fuck zionism. fuck militarism. fuck americanism. fuck nationalism.
fuck religion
Homophobes Are Just Mad Cuz They
Can't Get Laid
nothing i can say will change
your little mind. it's your clique and right or wrong you won't be left
behind, but you're weak. equality's your trip when all your friends agree,
but freedom's just not hip when it's of sexuality, so you hate. i hope
i live to see the day when you sexually repressed hatred is finally washed
away. it seems that you're trying to prove it to yourself--build up those
defences, you're just like everybody else. you wave your fist like you
wave your fucking flag and you'll prove it to me now: you're no 'fag'.
but that's fucking weak (or, as regal thought it said for 8 years: "so
we fight!")
True
when i've had enough, i'll get
a pick-up truck and drive away. i'll take my last 10 bucks just as far
as it will go. yeah, sometimes i'm easily fooled, i take a painful step
and get knocked back two. i do all i can and it's all i can do. true. and
if i had the choice, i'd take the voice i got, cuz it was hard to find.
y'know, i've come to far to wind up right back where i started. they tell
me who i should be, but i'll never let you flickers make a mess of me.
i do all i can and it's all i can do. true. one more sunset, lay my head
down. true. one more sunrise, open my eyes. true. they'll talk you up,
they'll talk you down. begin to doubt. your reasons seem very far away.
yeah, and i'll stop breathing the day that i can't walk proud, rather walk
away. i do all i can and it's all i can do. i do all i can and i do it
for you. true.
Todd's Incredibly Professional
Station ID For 4ZZZ Brisbane
hello, this is jord from propagandhi
here. uh, besides the itching of my crabs, i'd like to say subscribe to
4zzz don't take this for granted, eh. fuck off.
Firestorm, My Ass
heard a song and i counted out
loud the two-steps, the goose-steps back. back from square one, from where
we'd just begun, and then it rang a bell-but is this kristallnacht or what
the fuck is your plan? would you care to expand? and i don't deny the choice,
but I defy you as the voice of anything i've stood for in these past 9
years, i've conquered the nurturing and found that anything worth conquering
is powered, built and backed by fear, not by fact. and having said that...
meat is still murder. dairy is still rape. and i'm still as stupid as anyone,
but i know my mistakes. i have recognized one form of oppression, now i
recognize the rest. and life's too short to make another's shorter.
Refusing To Be a Man
i'm not going to try to tell
you that i'm different from all the rest. i've been subject to the same
de-structure of desire and i've felt the same effects; i'm a hetero-sexist
tragedy. and potential rapists all are we. but don't tell me this is natural.
this is nurturing. and there's a difference between sexism and sexuality.
i had different desires prior to my role-remodelling. and at six years
of age you don't challenge their claims. you become the same. (or withdraw
from the game and hang your head in shame). i think that's exactly what
i did. i tried to sever the connections between me and them. i fought against
their further attempts to convince a kid that birthright can bestow the
power to yield the subordination of women and do you know what patricentricity
means? i found out just a couple of days ago. it means male values uber
alles and hey! whaddaya know... sex has been distorted and vilified. i'm
scared of my attraction to body types. if everything desired is objectified
then eroticism needs to be redefined. and i refuse to be a "man". dead
men don't rape. a gender war in your fucking face. a battle hymn to celebrate
the fact that we don't have to become or remain what we've come to hate...
Resisting Tyrannical Government
why don't we all strap bombs
to our chests and ride our bikes to the next g-7 picnic? it seems easier
with every clock tick. but whose will would that represent? mine? yours?
the rank-and-file's? or better yet: the government's? but i don't want
to catalyze or synthesize the second final solution. i don't want to be
the steve smith of the revolution. do you see the analogy? we're the oilers.
the world bank- the flames! and just 2 minutes remain in the 7th game of
the best of 7 series! yeah, jesus saves! gretzky scores! the workers slave.
the rich get more. one wrong move and we risk the cup. so play the man,
not the puck. why don't we plant a mechanic virus and erase the memory
of the machines that maintain this capitalist dynasty? and yes, i recognize
the irony that the very system i oppose affords me the luxury of biting
the hand that feeds. but that's exactly why priviledged fucks like me should
feel obliged to whine and kick and scream- until everyone has everything
they need.
Laplante Song
hey hannah, how's it going? can
i borrow some records you punk rock piece of shit? hey jord, join the chicken-fight,
is that a sub you've got in your face you piece of shit fat mother-fucker?
Leg-Hold Trap
all answers seem to come to easily,
to you the word rhetorical is wrong. these questions blur the things we
need to see and simplicity beneath a song i try to make her see there is
no way. attempts at comprehension always miss. she lays her body down and
tries to say. i guests there is no answer to a kiss so then you turn around,
tell me why we have to wait and see. turn around and you sigh good-bye,
we always disagree, you just cannot stand to see me free to fly away.
Laplante/Smith
hey hannah, how's it going? is
that you i see slappin' dicks with brad? fuck you got a hairy ass! a hairy
fuckin' ass! hairy ass! hey jord, how's it going? you fucking fat piece
of shit, i could trash your drum kit right now and maybe i will or maybe
i won't-no, i won't.
White, Proud and Stupid
he's a good boy, he loves his
mamma. he loves jesus and his country too. he's a good boy, working class
white male. loves violence and his dumb girlfriend too. and that's enough
to make me... that's enough to make me sick! i am white, proud and stupid,
i am much smarter than you kid (good rhyme), cuz you don't know what's
right, you're black instead of white and you gotta be like me if you wanna
be free in my world. in my world. i can't believe what you say, do you
really think that way? every time you talk you tear the human race limb
from limb. limb from limb. the first generation with the racial segregation
(dunno) turn in her grave. nazi skins and aryans pollute our land: screwdriver
(dead), white pride (broke up) and warzone (not nazis) and other nazi bands,
they're a bunch of 'fag'-bashing goons, nationalist buffoons, and, they
don't even know what the fuck they're singing about at all. i will never
be white, proud and stupid, i am no smarter than you kid (good rhyme),
and we both know what's right, it's never black or white you don't have
to be like me you're always free in my world, in my world. the first generation
with the racial segregation...
Fine Day
fine day in river heights, fine
day for your skateboards and bikes, fine day in your cute little world,
fine day for tough boys and submissive girls, a fine day to see that the
government's got the drop on you. watching everything that you do. but
you tell yourself that i you're exempt from their stare and that rules
are rules and the system's fair and square, but with wired phones and two-way
mirrors, they've been watching you for 20-some years, they regulate your
idleness, (get a load of this next line) you agglutinate and acquiesce,
this whole goddamn world's a fucking mess, but it's a fine-day in river
heights (whammy bar mayhem)
Stand up and be Counted
We are the tyrants Messangers
of Satan We pledge you all Raise your hands This is the solstice Hail legions
arise We'll raise the roof Touch the skies. Were praying for The wings
of Mayhem to arrive The screaming fury burns Brings us alive Stand up and
be counted, Stand up and be counted. We are the demons Children of fire
Your turn has come Live your desire Burning ambition Were were staying
wild We stand as one never denied Defyant and proud We stand together Metlallic
and loud we will fight Devestation, pure Hell Legions of the night Come
on, raise your hands We are the black metal gods V. E. N. O. Fucking M.
Are you with us Right until the end? Come on right at the back You wanna
be counted as well? Stand up! And be counted..
Pigs Will Pay
thought, word and deed once sloganeered,
a reaction undefined, the battle-hymn, the mantra of a once unfocused mind.
but as logic tempered anger, still inspired but now informed, the 'pigs'
we'd turned to caricature became far worse than we'd warned, morality enforcement
based on the interests of a state, coerced into concordance and threatened
into place, it's not just isolated incidents of cop-jocks kicking ass.
it's a flicking war machine protecting the wealth of the employing class!
and you pigs will pay in a big way. what a stupid thing to say. you'll
pay for the guns that you've used. the minorities you've abused, you'll
pay for the blood that you've spilled and the innocent (or 'guilty', for
that matter) people you've killed.
Government Cartoons (Entertain
Your Thoughts)
when fred and barney rubble (please
kill me) indoctrinate me in my own home and try to tell me that mr. slate's
got it rough on his corporate throne, "yeah, mr. slate, boys, has bigger
problems than we've ever known, and a man like deserves respect and your
respect alone" indoctrination to keep you in your place, brainwashing to
enslave the human race. they'll get you when you're young and forever they
embrace (were you dropped as a baby? cuz brains you lack-anthrax) a gov't
self-portrait, an evil we must face (and replace), you've convinced me
that a working class stiff (but a proud one!) is what i am and that for
minimum wage in this state-run cage that should always do the best that
i can. just do what i'm told till i'm to old to move my broken, twisted
carcass out of bed. don't take a stand, just take commands until i'm dead.
Anti-Manifesto
dance and laugh and play. ignore
the message we convey. it seems we're only here to entertain. a rebellion
cut-to-fit. i refuse to be the soundtrack to it. while we entertain we're
still knee-deep in shit. there's something wrong inside. we've played it
safe, enjoyed the ride. you won't like this but i've something to confide.
we stand for something more than a faded sticker on a skateboard. now we've
rained on your parade and we're out the door. and i don't even care any
fucking more. witness this pair in accomplice. witness this pair; lethargic,
unconscious. no brows furrowed in question, complacent, completing their
tasks (no questions asked) consider this critic a cretin, just resting
on laurels completely invented. word acrobatics performed with both harness
and net. i am so full of shit. but i will remain until this self-awareness
fades until i defeat the purpose of this soapbox that you made. that you
made. hope, perseverance, a vision (some doubt). green ink, a 26 oz., a
bad case of big-mouth. a sum of our parts and i've never laughed harder.
a song in our hearts and i've never laughed harder. it don't really matter
cuz nothing's ever felt as right as this.
Less Talk, More Rock
i'd like to actively encourage
the toughest man to dance as hard as he can to this, my song. and bring
your stupidest friends along. we wrote this song because it's fucking boring
to keep spelling out the words that you keep ignoring. and your macho shit
won't phase me now. it just makes us laugh, we got your cash, court-jester
take a bow. because did you know that when i was nine, i tried to fuck
a friend of mine? he was 8, then i turned 10. 14 years later it happened
again (with another friend). this time me on the receiving end. and all
the fists in the world can't save you now. cuz if you dance to this, then
you drink to me and my sexuality. with your hands down my pants by transitive
property.
Gamble
your hips are swaying and your
eyes are saying that you need two gamblers for this game you're playing,
and i might want you, but i don't need you and you won't sleep in my bed
anymore. it seemed like a dead-end. seven years after seven to sing for
this country instead of raven or venom, cuz your god was dead then and
he's never been back again, and i don't think about it anymore, yeah, it's
a gamble when your fingers burn from the last time that you flew and bled
and the shadows that you walk around will still be there when the sun goes
down. venus fly trap, 20 years now. and the chance is just as fat as a
union bureaucrat that the life you wanna live ain't the one you're looking
at. there's more risk in a brain cell than any vegas hotel and you can't
find the pit-boss anywhere.
Ska Sucks
ska sucks. ska revival isn't
cool you stupid fuck. the bands are only in it for the bucks. and if you
don't believe me you're a schmuck. but the trend will die out with any
luck. yo ho. yo ho. rudy, a message to you rudy, a message to you rudy.
fuck you rudy!
Bent
weight on your shoulders is heavy,
you've been suppressing these urges far to long. you're sick of acting
the right way: it's wrong for you but it's right for them. these urges
inside you grow and grow till one day it happens, you explode, pretending
that you belong, why the fuck do you have that mask on? same thing all
over again, this time in a different way. your life's controlled by other's
rules, forget it man, be yourself, bent's ok. no way. fuck straight-edge,
get bent.
Degrassi Jr. High Dropouts
wake up in the morning feeling
fucking burnt out, shit i got to go to school, don't think i can make,
don't think i can take it. what the fuck am i going to do besides doing
hot-knives in home-ec and dropping acid in phys-ed? wait! nil that narc
is staring at me, time to my stash out back, where we'll playing games
with real guns, selling dope to grade ones. c'mon ga kid give it a try,
degrassi jr. high.
Hidden Curriculum
"knowledge dispels fear!" yeah,
i hear you loud and clear, just take note of where it's from. a reliable
source? or educated by force in this hidden curriculum? obey all day and
back from lunch by one. you can't reverse the damage done. Your knowledge
is a bullet in their gun. they've taught you well, destroyed every last
brain cell with their methods, 10 on 1. little man, here's your number,
here's your plan to serve the hidden curriculum, i'm dumb.
