Badger bag - messy, surly, full of books

"She has been called, and rightly so, the Boswell of the Octopus."
Dastardly Dan needs help, he is back from the "big house" and if you can spare a little cash for him give it to me and I will pass it on.

Monday, March 01, 2004


I kind of like this long fucked up poem... I think I just channelled some unholy mixture of allen ginsberg and Nicanor Parra...

because I had to leave my country

i had to leave my country
to find the other countries in my country

if you would like to speak to a customer service representative
dig here
between my legs

for a good time call
and listen to fire engines answer someone else's emergency
because here
it is predicted to be sunny and clear

I had to check to make sure it was still thursday
and what time was low tide
so that i could hop into my individual rocket powered jet pack helicopter
unimpeded by garbage picking seagulls and teenagers in bondage pants
and fly to work
where all day I feed red legged newts out of eyedroppers and wash oil slicked otters
and practice my spanish on winged serpents

those guys, they've got scales under their eyes
nictating membranes
that flick down to keep out racism
I heard on the radio they can even sleep that way
just like I'm asleep right now

so when I tried to TUNE IN
the radio kept flicking around on perpetual "seek" mode
since I was driving with one hand while with the other hand I sucked down a quadruple blood 70/30 latte made with motor oil and decaffeinated union grapes
I couldn't fix the radio because with my other, I mean my third, hand, I was adjusting the mirror
to see that my nose had developed a bloom of carbuncles like angry flowers or like the la brea tarpits full of bones bubbling in slow motion
and I kept hearing the individual bubbles of radio sound staticking past, whop, whop, zzzt, beep, then seeking again past voices and howly guitars announcing things importantly,

and when I tried to TURN ON
the rearview mirror just laughed and shot me the finger and said that yeah, I was the fairest, blanca, whitey, the queen, the princess of all the realms, and the fucking red legged newts and otters and oily ducks wanted to suck me off, blanca nieva, wishing and wishing in the streetlight forest with my princess dress, sucking my latte and singing I'm wishing with my 2 hands clasped and the third hand on the wheel,

and when I tried to DROP OUT
i kept remembering that the ERA amendment had never passed
and that because of my questionable sexual history
it's easy to get a chokehold on the moon,
throw that loony chick on the ground and stick a dirty finger in there
she's famous
flaunting her ass in that shiny miniskirt up there where everyone can see
and then she wants us all to use the same bathrooms in airports and join the draft doing one armed pushups and cleaning out her fucking rifle with tampax
so that as i drove down el camino and the moon kept following me in the rearview mirror no matter how far I kept driving because I was looking for the good target, not the ghetto-ass target where they never have anything, I kept driving but the moon kept looking at me through her piratical eyepatch and because of this I could NOT become an astronaut, not the first astronaut, not the first girl astronaut, not the first visibly menstruating asronaut smearing blood all over red mars to get revenge for the moon's existence,

and then I remembered it was 1984 and I wasn't in hippielandia
but in somekinda reaganomic planet of the apes AND IT WAS REALLY EARTH ALL ALONG
that's why I was not in my personal jetback rocketboot spacesuit tootling through the air waving at reconstituted archeopteryxes
but just in a beatup pickup truck sporting some faded bumper stickers blasting my air conditioning that smells like mold
I was just doing some errands and going to work like always and wondering if the bridges would blow up today
driving down El CarMeano on an important mission to save the world with my high caliber revolutionary credit card at the Safe Way

I took a swig of my double triple blood latte,
at a light I stopped and the guy next to me had a thumping thumpa bass thing going on and he revved and I revved

I didn't look at him but i knew it was a guy and what he would look like from the music he was pumping
but I was just going to TARget and then to WASH some fucking diSEASED tranked up ANimals
i didn't want to look at the dude
who was making fun of my crap ass rusty old pickup truck
so I ran the light, and a van, the ghost of a WebVan delivery van, plowed into this guy.
I could not believe it!
because of the real estate boom and dot com crash
that guy was running a whole server farm out of that car
and the computer guts spilled out in the road
and stock options laser printed on fancy letterhead flew up like doves, like shards of candy plate glass, and the IRS sent an emergency jetpack helicopter to clean up the mess
meanwhile the guy laying there in the street while the IRS leafblowers got busy with the confederate money blowing around and obscuring the intersection like thick fog
that guy had his whole family in there too
I heard them screaming zhou-laaaaaaaaaaa!
and it was terrible because his HB-1 Visa was smeared all over the road with blood and its feathers
I could see it all in my rearview mirror
so I got off El Camino and tried to circle around to help him out
I never should have run that red light to win the race with him
but i got lost
I think my mapquest was running off the server farm in his car because it went down and I somehow took that left turn and ended up in albuquerque in the middle of a bullfighting ring with bugs bunny
I didn't have on the right kind of pants
I didn't want to disappoint anyone
So I went home

As I left the arena
the crowd pelted me with roses and diamond necklaces to give to the guy in the street if I ever found him again
some other guy played me seis por derecho
he played so good I cried with joy at that golden moment
and wished I could always be leaving places regretfully

But I couldn't find that guy
the radio kept seeking
my mom was worried about me getting drafted into the Maoist army and missing dinner
so I figured it was about time to blast off into inner space
I got out of my car and opened up a manhole
and went down there into the steaming rectum of El CaMano
(figuring that anal health was at least as important as washing ducks for money)
I got my rotorooter out
and made my hand look like a duck and stuck it in there ready to fist the whole fucking world

because I wasn't sure what was going to happen,
whether the sewers and steam tunnels and imaginary railroads and pneumatic tube systems under my everyday life
would suck in my fist, my arm, my whole body, and the rest of me right up to my zillionth kundalini chakra
with all those roses and diamonds I got at the bullfight getting covered in shit,

I was scared
that my head might fall off my body
as it rolled away I'd still be talking with the head part, blah blah blah, bababa, looking, looking, looking,
and writing with the hand part, down below
but the head would have nothing to do with the hand anymore
the hand that wasn't scribbling would be waving "hey!" and "help!" to the head
and the other hand, like a witch tit, would be saying in sign language,

"I had to leave my country
so that I could see that my country was invisible"

posted by badgerbag 3/01/2004 08:51:00 PM comment

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Ranting, complaining, speculating, confessing from Badgerbag in an extended Crossing the Line ceremony.