The Five Stages

IV. Depression

I heard that Lennon read a book of Marx

While the rain fell, and people carried signs

While they hero worshipped the Tony Starks

And yet, I feel so far outside the times.

Marx himself said the epic was a man

That walked as an animal, old and clean,

But when I lay eyes on his special plan

I see the circus caged the lion mean.

His concern was our alienation

Like an Oedipal search for tragic truth

That did not heed its specialization.

Now heed the cries of the sweet wasted youth

              That carries the pictures of Chairman Mao.

              Won’t make it with anyone anyhow.

Our Fyodor called his work poetry

From the land that Marx said that time forgot.

The song reduced to product’s Odyssey,

While the poor peasants drown in slime and cough.

Yet where was Marx first shouted from the hills?

Was our Lennon reading the wrong old book?

The answer lies in the blood Red Square spills

From necks of sick peasants, the bastards took

Everything, and left nothing at all. Save

For our Fyodor’s God, His Absurd Call

For me and Lennon, we are gladly knaves

At this merry party for our Christ’s pall.

              Woe for the man with a life so wretched,

              Blind to how Karamazov is epic.

When the rain falls, they run and hide their heads,

But we brave few who dare to live and dream

To a marching beat that can wake the dead,

In this phantom neverland of moon beam.

So haunting and so beautiful, it is,

This land of slaves, and machines, and decay,

But also, ice-cream and soda pop fizz,

And that sweet music that make our hips sway.

When I see the youth organize and lead

All of the junkies, freaks, faggots, and geeks

And say Black Lives Matter with open greed

That covets the screen that will wet the cheeks,

              I think of the rain, in here, in my shade

              I fret not, as I sip my lemonade.

You can call me Joe McCartney, Hello!

I was assigned musician at my birth

Back in the USSR, that hell, O’

For the motherland of my childhood mirth.

It is Gone with the Wind, sad old story,

But now I play in this Rock and Roll band

To show the world my hot Kulak glory

And play that sweet noise as loud as I can.

The people love me as I smile and wave

With John by my side, he is my brother,

But even he could not know, to the grave

My secret goes, I will tell no other

              Save for this verse where I can hide my lies

              Along with my comrades, the Russian spies!

James Bond is dead, I shot him in the head,

The people laughed and jeered at the “rapist”

Without knowing what my handgun had said.

It said, “this motherfucker will stay pissed,

So, you better not miss, this is your shot,

Click-clack goes the gat, One in the chamber.

Blim-blam copy that, you sad little cop.

I destroy Blue Lives Matter with danger

That Newton would envy with gravity

As he free styled in free fall out in space.

I’m licensed to ill with depravity

Blastin’ on fools like some kinda head case.”

Listen to the crowds bigoted silence,

It worships Joe’s undercover violence.

I’m the kinda guy who likes to get ‘round

Never in one place, my cursed mortal life

Helps lonely strangers roam from town to town

While my soul carries on in bitter light.

And these passing faces who never knew

The man who spat in Christ’s face, my brother,

I long for his grace, the wandering Jew,

Across the universe, blue box mother,

So now I go on and on forever

Helping no one and saving only me,

A soul like a broken pulley lever,

Amidst the mob’s jeers, I part the red sea,

              In an older life they called me Melmoth,

              They look at me like some kind of mall goth.

Poets are but cum stains on the bed sheets

Of hys’try, all the good stuff is the meat

And bone, that wetly pushes out the skeet,

And buds the flower of passionate heat.

Marx just needed to get him some pussy,

That would fix him, no bitching, no fussy,

In London, like some stateless wussy,

With all respect to Jenny, the hussy,

My friend Lennon said I was much too harsh,

His deserted knowledge so dry and parched,

I explode in his mouth, white sticky marsh,

As Spartan soldiers Thermopylae marched,

              I don’t even feel the weight of such loss,

              I pleasure myself to Him, of the cross.

Please, allow me to introduce myself

Pleased to meet you, I hope you guessed my name,

No! I’m not Pan, that little faggot Elf,

Butt fucking Puck under Oberon’s reign.

Yeah that was me in the U. S. Senate

Rounding up the pinko commies, and queers.

That was also me in Russia, dig it?

I am the reason for normal folks’ fears,

My Lennon loves me all the same, serene,

My little brother thought he was elder,

We sit together for the doctored screen,

For the blue box machine, Time Lorded her

That beautiful mother I hunger for

Is who I became in my data core.

The pathetic puerile sniveling cry

Out for safety in their illusions,

And inside their cage they will rot and die

Clinging hopelessly to their delusions.

And your pretty face is going to hell,

While such a fact could never be so plain,

As I look, honey, honey I can’t tell,

Why you cry amidst this eternal pain?

It perplexes my mind why you can’t see

Rotting in your cage with such raw power,

You can’t empathize with my laughing glee,

The giggling quickly turns bitter and sour.

Don’t tell me what to do, Gimme Danger!

Don’t tell me what to do little stranger.

  I prefer to have people in large groups,

A peloton of rolling bicycles,

Going forever in my endless loops,

They watch Joe’s twenty-four-hour news cycle,

And they learn how to Live Strong and prosper.

While I rake in their sin and will again,

Hand over fist from the looter’s copper.

And such a good cop it was too my friend,

The sacred shining screen that wets the cheeks.

And their ramrod excuses will not bend.

I see you, while you stare at me for weeks

on end, saying the same over again

In Mortal Kombat, or Grand Theft-Auto,

Or gaily swimming in Zora’s grotto.

You know, I ain’t nothing but a hound dog,

You said I was high class, that was a lie,

You were more concerned with this throbbing log,

 But you, my love, are such a special guy.

Imagine all the people, put them down

With chemical spray, like the swarming gnats

Buzzing around the foulest street waste, frown,

Pitched out by eyes bigger than stomach fat.

Waste is much cleaner from inside our fridge.

You give me a kiss with your pouting lips,

We wine and dine on succulent garbage,

Flies pass between our throats like passing ships.

And yet, my John feels such desperation,

Self-conscious about his generation.

My children are forming in a straight line,

Goose stepping to Johnny’s power chord beat

With little German boys losing their minds,

Cos I’m a shock trooper in stupor, my sweet.

The useful idiots are so privileged,

They confess their sins to the online priest

That absolves all blame with such sacrilege

That bows down before me, the hungry beast.

They all chant, “Gabba, Gabba, we accept!”

Without consequence, or even action,

Leaving my John so wanton and bereft.

I lick his tears for my satisfaction,

              I get drunk on my sweet lover’s sorrow,

              He beats on the brat like no tomorrow.

A shock trooper in stupor, yes, I am,

Nazi Schatzi fights for the fatherland,

Sings silly songs, not caring for iambs

Linked to childish cruelty with ampersand.

The little fingered man and his cruel plan

Piss on the flag that makes this country great,

But my baby was taken by the Klan,

That stormed the steps in awesome raging hate.

So now: One, two, three, fo Hey Ho! Let’s Go!

There’s no stoppin the cretins from hoppin

One, two, three, fo Cretins gon hop some mo

And we dance to drums of Blitzkrieg boppin.

              So ascends cool Joe, pissy flag unfurled,

              And today your love tomorrow the world!

Only way to feel the noise, good and loud,

Don’t be scared, all I want is special care,

I can’t believe it’s screaming with the crowd,

But if you follow this piper, beware,

But don’t sweat it, we’ll give it back to you.

I can tell from your face, total disgrace,

Sky high on motors, we are the road crew,

But you have no time for a damage case,

I know she’s a bomber, she’s a bomber,

And our train kept a rollin all night long,

Taking us where the whiskey and speed are

Flowing like milk and honey out of song.

              Now our crimson blood bleeds a quart of red,

              We play rock and roll, we are motorhead!

Way down in Loozyanna, down in New

Orleans, there lived a country boy amidst

The evergreens, who heard, up on the roof,

The stomping cloven hooves doing the twist,

And left Joey B. Goode feeling amiss.

Go, Joey, go, go! Go, Joey, go, go!

Go out to them crossroads to make your wish,

And drive real fast because we don’t play slow.

I whispered in his ear, under the moon,

So pale and bright, “sell me your soul young crow,

And play this guitar til eternal doom!”

I drew up the contract right there. And hope

Died as he signed the dotted line for bliss

And runs for congress to purge communists.

Socialists are cowards that have tempers.

Liberals are cowards, scared to change diapers,

Socialism craps itself, stench simpers.

Cowards convinced of bravery as fighters.

Conservatives are cowards, scared to change,

Mistakes fighting for bravery just the same,

The same as dung heaped dogs dying of mange,

Cowering for long gone masters of fame.

Fear is as fear does, fear it just because.

Fear the past, cling to death driven future,

Fear the future, cling to the way it was,

Clinging so hard, my grip tears a suture

              Cross my paper soul of abstract nothing,

              Joe isn’t me, nor is he real. Coffin.