a.m. terrestrial

6 Mar

photo: James Reeves via Kinosport

in ’82 i’d stay up and listen to Alan Berg on an old clock radio
i logged two years of comment on his program
before The Order–a Nazi group–assassinated him in his driveway in Denver
and then the geniuses that ran the radio station
replaced him with Dr. Ruth
she was an odd bird for my taste
and i couldn’t quite take her seriously
but she didn’t come on late and the vibe to my nights was gone
the blank that Berg left after he was killed
i attempted to fill with Washington Bullets broadcasts
i’d sit at my desk in my apartment
while my parents wailed and raged in the next room
and keep basketball stats
it killed two hours of an evening
and it kept me out of my father’s apoplectic way
while i diligently wrote down personal fouls
rebounds shots made versus shots attempted
even obsessive compulsive numbers such as true duration of a time out
and number of lead changes for each team
into the twenty-first century now
the a.m. screams at me late at night about transgressions of humanity
sins against a weird twisted god
the new world order socialism totalitarianism
it tells us it’s our duty as citizens
to voraciously purchase consume defecate repeat
repeat repeat repeat repeat
it throws out fear and bigotry and mis-information
ruminated digested and regurgitated mostly by white fat men
living comfortably in large penthouse apartments
self-medicating with over prescribed pills
i’m thirty years removed from an America
that was marketed and sold to me as créme brulée
i bought it then as a wide-eyed kid in Buster Brown shoes
stepping off an airbus on the cold JFK tarmac
but in the three decades tooling around this continent
and after having broken through the caramelized layer
and finding a base of rotten custard
i’m through


2 Responses to “a.m. terrestrial”

  1. valerie 08/03/2010 at 10:29 AM #

    i hate créme brulée
    i like this piece

  2. (S)wine 08/03/2010 at 11:36 AM #

    for some reason Alan Berg and Talk Radio keep coming into my head

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