I started this about four years ago and never finished it. Maybe I’ll revisit it, but until then have a happy Fourth of July.
Fifty stars and thirteen bars
And never a one shall run
‘Cause on this night
We stand and fight
The evil form afar.
Father, brother, son
With voice and pen and gun
Little Johnny Perkins loved to play and play.
He played inside, outside, morning, night and day
He ran through the kitchen, and out through the door
He rolled in the mud, and tracked it on the floor
He chirped at the robins, and ran from the jays
But those bubbles in the bathwater, they haunted all his days
When bath time came Johnny’s mother called
But little Johnny yelled, little Johnny stalled
He crawled on the table, and crept around the chair
Maybe he could get away, if he climbed up the stair
But it wasn’t long before his mother tired of this dance
And then Johnny saw it, he saw his only chance
He ran and ran and ran, and then he ran some more
He almost got away, but she caught him at the door
He pushed and pulled, he kicked, he bit, he screamed like he was wet
He had to get away. He’d escape those bubbles yet
But alas for little Johnny, his mother won the day
And naked in the floor, was Johnny forced to stay
Over the side of the tub did little Johnny peek
Then all through the house did Little Johnny streak
But his mother picked him up and his mother sat him down
And little Johnny laughed, he laughed like a clown
He laughed from fear and fright
But no bubbles were in sight
So Johnny he did splash, and Johnny he did play
But nervous he did stay
‘Til the bubbles reached the light
Then Johnny jumped and cried
His poor mother, how she sighed
And she told him one time more
“Johnny those are yours”
Then Johnny stopped and thought
He sat instead of fought
And he made bubbles by the score
Now little Johnny runs and little Johnny plays
But the bubbles in the water do not haunt his days
And now Little Johnny laughs
When Johnny takes his baths
He laughs not from fear or fright
But from his new found control over this wondrous delight
The Washington post reports that Justice Ginsburg wrote in her dissent.
“Congress endeavored to promote equal opportunity in fact, and not simply in form,” she said. “The damage today’s decision does to that objective is untold.”
I have nothing wrong with dissent or with opposing viewpoints, but a supreme court Justice of the United States of America should know the difference between equality of opportunity and equality of outcome. I read most of her dissent, work got in the way of my finishing it.
Jun 27
Posted by JayByrd in College, Prose, Some Old Bullshit | No Comments
I wrote this for my fresman english class at Georgia State before I transferred to SCAD. That would put the creation date around January of 1993. As always this is my shit, don’t steal it or I will sue your ass, unless you give me credit and a big fat percentage of anything you make.
I walkout of the blinding sunlight and into the dark, the smell of exhaust fills the air. It always seems damp down here as if there were an underground stream running directly under my feet. There is a stream, actually its more of a trickle of bleary eyed human forms stumbling forward to get a quick fix to satisfy their new found addiction, caffeine. The light, that escapes the surface and forces it’s way down this far, is dim and scattered, but it’s presence is one of the few ties to the world above and the reality I have come to know. The sounds that permeate the air are muffled and deep, in a word cavernous. There is the constant sound of heavy machinery on the street above that is occasionally broken by the sound of distorted voices filtering down from the surface to the grime where I stand. I like this place it hides nothing. It always tells the truth. The beams of the street above are not hidden behind colored metal. The voices that can be heard are only vaguely human as the beings that are creating them above are only vaguely human. This is the kind of place where I can watch the world, be myself , and enjoy my existence without the outside world shoving a lie down my throat.
No not me. However some of the stuff that I’ m going to post makes me feel that way.
I have, over the years, collected an assortment of poetry, vignettes, and other assorted shit writings. I have probably lost or thrown away twice as much, but what I have left I am going to dig out, dust off, and post it here. Some of it is good, some is bad, and I’m afraid quite a lot is down right embarrassing. I will post an approximate date with each work, and tag it with “Some Old Bullshit” as a nod to the Beasties.
This an effort to back up my work as well as an introduction to me as a writer and a lead up to the release of my first novel, The Light of Day. I have given up on finding an agent for now, though if you know an agent, are friends with an agent, know someone who knows an agent… Any way I am going to self publish for now, and the book should be available by the end of the year. Hopefully this motley collection of writings will give you a taste for what is to come and not completely drive you away. Just keep in mind that for the most part these will be raw, unedited, and in many cases dated works.
Welcome. I’m Jay. I am webmaster, technical adviser, and Frances’ lifelong nuisance. I am also a writer and have carved out this little corner of the Machine Politick factory for myself. You see there is a lot of work that goes on in the factory. Frances is constantly creating art, painting, drawing, researching, writing, blogging, sending emails…. I try not to go out there. I’m lazy and every time I leave the Break Room she puts me to work. You’re not going to find alot of politics here. Oh there will be the occassional rant, but this more of a place for off color humor, bawdy jokes, poetry, and prose. So if you are an admirer of Ayn Rand and want to witness the majesty of the mind of man and what his ability can accomplish then go into the factory and immerse yourself in the glory that is Machine Politick. If, however, you believe as Robert Heinlein wrote that, “Progress isn’t made by early risers. It’s made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something.” then gather around the water cooler, grab a cup of joe, and shoot the shit.
Tags: Lazy
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