anna kiss
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anna kiss
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ode to kai ryssdal you talk like a game-show host, you beckon me to take you seriously, to forget that the whole of your show is merely a vaguely liberal appraisal and applausal of capitalism, as though America, its politicians, its celebrities, its puppets weren’t all jizzing all over themselves in celebration of money, of the products they parrot, in order to continue the moving of the machine the march forward, the growing of pocketbooks under the pressure of consumption by housewives with amnesia bratty teenagers with the cash they whined for, and the hoards of poor throwing away their lives at wal-mart you beg me to forgive, turn a blind eye, you do it with such swagger, your voice tilted in a smirked grin, you smarmy whore of a man, celebrating and selling, talking about the numbers, from the frank stanton studios in los angeles where the cars are always moving, eating the oil, the fuel of the machine, smogging the air and emboldening the chrome dream of all its immigrants, come to the city of angels for the hope of a prayer, searching for salvation in the supermarket, shopping as a good citizen should. you let me down, kai, your machinations are void of meaning your ken doll voice asks no substantial questions, seeks no fundamental truth. you leave me empty, feeling the hollowness of my bank account, forgetting the importance of my heart, filled, as it is, by family calling me to dinner, asking me to shut off the radio. posted by anna kiss @ 2/11/2007 01:35:00 AM |
2.11.2007  |
