What's wrong with me? I'm sick of these idiots. I should just chill and enjoy being an apathetic, slacker hipster -- make art, listen to music, watch suitably ironic shows on my flat screen, stop and smell the artificial roses. In the greater scheme of things, after all, we're just a speck in the cosmos.
What does it matter if these monkeys in suits drop bombs, trash the woods, shred the constitution, destroy the planet? Look at them. They drive me insane with their arrogance and greed, their stupidity, their sense of superiority, their imaginary inside track with God. I guess enlightenment will have to wait. I can't seem to transcend the bullshit.
I've always rooted for the underdog. It started on the playground, back in first grade. I can't help it (lowly evolved creature that I am) when some little David gives a hulking Goliath a good crack in the mouth. I'm a monkey, too, I guess. I may never get that placid, glazed third eye look of those smug seventh level vegans smoking cigarettes out on the Ave. The know-it-alls, world weary at twenty two. Maybe someday a good mortician will fix me up with a smile like that. In the meantime, all the joy and rage will be real -- including my rage against this ugly war machine. To help get through it, here are some soulful troubadours on the dark edge of the empire.
A Veterans' Day Jukebox:
First, a cry of love from a psychedelic ex-paratrooper from Seattle named Hendrix called "Machine Gun."
Next up, old man Dylan plays a song about a soldier named "John Brown."
Finally, the Roots perform "Masters of War," setting the lyrics to a familar tune. Check it out:
First, a cry of love from a psychedelic ex-paratrooper from Seattle named Hendrix called "Machine Gun."
Next up, old man Dylan plays a song about a soldier named "John Brown."
Finally, the Roots perform "Masters of War," setting the lyrics to a familar tune. Check it out:
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