My mom chose not to see the doctor:
She swore she’d take a nap instead.
My mom was stubborn, there’s nobody could have talked her
Out of dying in bed.
Our next decision would’ve shocked her,
– Like either ought to
Have won –
But we’re calling it:
No need to chart the speed we’re falling at:
Decree or not their deed appalling that
Move on
Cthulhu Fhtagn
Our next decision who to war on –
And how much more it’s gonna take?
There’s only so much 911, and CPR, and
Pleading loved ones awake
Then days into life after Karin,
Instead of Russia Iran.
We’re calling it
There’s only so old that we’re all gonna get
What could have sold this as enthralling yet,
Her son?
Cthulhu Fhtagn
At last alone with her decision
Determined drowning into sleep
Long-contemplated lapse from our religion
of “beep beep beep beep” &c.
Four score and something years are plenty
Like any here will live that long
If I’m still singing this long past two thousand twenty
Then I’m possibly wrong
Try telling your average cognoscenti
They’re the deplorable one
But we’re calling it
What’s done is done and not for bawling at
With everyone convinced it’s all been said
And done
Cthulhu, Chtulhu Fhtagn
Author: Des
Junta
I’m in the Junta
I’ve been all along
Over three hundred
Million strong
who can, if we want to
Submit our referral
To pick the leader of the
Free World
There’s never been a dictator in history
Simply because of he wants to be
They all had to be the big date of some coterie
Wealthy and wonderfully Free
I’m in the Junta
I’ve been all along
Everyone to sing this song
Till all of the punters
Are shooting their pearl
To pick the leader of the
Free World
There’s never been a dictator never got sore
At some of the henchmen he hired before
It gets difficult to keep straight from
Off in a corner
Just who’s giving orders to whom
When you’re in a smoke filled room
And this is such a smoke filled room
But throw off your gloom
You’re all – I assume!!!
in the
Junta
I’m in the Junta
I’ve been all along
Dare anyone to
Say it’s wrong
The lightning, the thunder
A Heaven has hurled
We pick the leader of
The Free World
The Free World
The Free World, the
Free world
Is it any wonder
I’m happy in the
right Junta?
Planet of the Dead
Please little monkey,
put down the gray banana:
you found the gun key –
Heaven has dropped this manna –
you like your fun, keep
letting what’s curious in a
monkey have its head:
Planet of the Dead
Planet of the Dead
Alien races,
they all avoid our planet –
thinking it tasteless
to come and do more than scan it,
checking our faces,
re-check their case list when a-
rriving where it said
“Planet of the Dead”
“Planet of the Dead”
Were they mistaken?
When they could see our planet
surviving Reagan, somehow escaping Kenned
-y and each time shaken –
never again to do it:
Somehow the safe end
ending in our face each time we blew it –
Please little Monkey –
put down the gray banana,
a few more months please –
another Age of Man, a-
nother century, one precious year and then a-
nother till you’re fed –
another till you’re fed –
another till you’re fed –
please,
Planet of the Dead
The Troglodytes
Now the Troglodytes return to the foundation
And the gotta-be-rights concerned with nothing so much as miscegenation
Between that nation
And themselves
And perturbations
In the bedrock that noone delves
Like the Troglodytes
Some of the foreigners like that fundamentalism
And we have got an Enlightenment they can see is better yeah, but so far it isn’t
Between those prisoners
In their bays
And the decision
“Rob or bomb them right back to the days
Of the Troglodytes”
Cos “we’ve gotta be fightin’ ’em there or be fightin’ ’em here”
The very thought that we’re writing their recruitment flyers
For them – faster than they can disappear
And could be trading brawn for brains
Might just require associating with the indigenous strains
So the Troglodytes are following a vision
We maybe oughtta invite them into a light we’d share with them yeah but that’d mean religion
And individua
lism balks
It will be stygian
It will be stygian
It will be dark
In the place one finally talks
to the Troglodytes
Slide guitar (and sound board): the magnificent Chris Butler
Why Songs? blog
11/30/19: The Afterlife
jukebox
Why?
Why despicable? An hour’s radio listening in which one hears no political songs says something terrifying about our world, because our deepest passions shouldn’t be exclusively genital. I hate to be terrified, hence these songs. Meanwhile political songs that say nothing objectionable (nothing new) are just marketing. I’ve made no-one angry I’ve failed. Art is failure in its purest, crystalline form. As we say here at despicablemusic.org,“Love Des Pickard – hate yourself!!!”
Why “.org?” – I attended a songwriting workshop once with four hitmakers and an ad jingle writer. Over the course of the evening they all turned into the ad jingle writer. I swore a mighty (and redundant!) oath never to accept a penny for the songs , as talent is nothing to be proud of and as love for sale, isn’t. It’s a completely unviable business model. If these songs are worth anything pay me with a discrete uptick in your political involvement. Self-education counts.
Suggested donation: one human soul. It’s all we ask.
Music is about passions. Mine include Noam Chomsky, Christopher Lasch, Simone Weil and Karen Amrstrong with some Chris Hedges thrown in. Your passions are fine too! *You might check out theanalysis.news, counterpunch.org and democracynow.org, or try googling variations on “activists arrested [my town].”