Saturday, March 7, 2020

Paging George Orwell, George Orwell, White Courtesy Telephone Please

It was, like, our usual scene:
Just doing our normal routine;
It was April—and cold,
We were all well controlled, 
And the clocks were striking thirteen.

Although we might often have druthers,
We should act like good sisters and brothers:
All animals are equal,
But then comes the sequel: 
Some are more equal than others.   

Two legs are bad, four legs good,
That’s how to think like you should;
Surprise! Two legs bad
Was only a fad—
Two legs good! You misunderstood.

Freedom is slavery—true,
And ignorance, strength (which you knew);
Of course, war is peace,
And as rations decrease, 
Big Brother is watching you.

The creatures looked from their niche,
Between man and pig they would switch;
They were dead meat because 
Already it was 
Impossible to say which was which.

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Chemical Reactions

In my brain, where thoughts all begin,
Electrical impulses spin;
They jump to and fro
But mostly, I know, 
The end of the world’s seeping in. 

This Is It

This is our final descent,
The outcome is baked in cement;  
The ending’s projected:
Faster than expected—
Our time here done got up and went.

Sunday, January 26, 2020

Wallowing in Doomer Limbo

This transition, which makes us perplexed,
Uncertain, adrift, lost, and vexed,
Is surreal and mad,  
But not all that bad
Compared to what’s coming up next. 

Thursday, January 16, 2020

Dealing with Doom

As more and more shit hits the fan,
We each form our own unique plan:
I just give up hope, 
Smoke plenty of dope, 
And get as fucked up as I can. 

Monday, December 16, 2019

How I Became a Drug Addict

I used to smoke reefers for fun, 
But since big time doom has begun,
I just want to escape
From what’s taking shape,
While watching myself come undone. 

O.K., I suppose that it’s true: 
Escape’s what I’d always pursue;
Doom, we might say,
Has a strange way 
Of showing yourself to you. 

Saturday, November 23, 2019

Hotel Doom

So I called up the Captain to whine:
“I feel strange, in ways hard to define—
Mental changes so bad,
Like I haven’t had
Since nineteen sixty-nine.”