Michael Sperduto: 2009

Where’s My Remote

Shit I’m not even done writing this – this is only a test – a beginning – a testament – that must be confessed – addressed - this is only a vanishing point - a starting spot - soap box – preacher teacher I am not – just cosign integers – nor a remainder of blind faith – only integers – variants – remainders – co signs – and these numbers - they keep calling me – they’re numbing me – they keep climbing – never peaking just stating their facts – in double triple – quadruple stacks – of black and white – no grey in sight – and like a switch – it all turns into red tape – just a push of a button – watch as day turns to night

-- So now I’m just sittin’ here – a visionary – envisioning - crawling towards the door – as the thoughts of a draft awakes the hairs – they stand at attention - on edge – much like my eyes – roving like fingers over brail – scratching in between crevices – between cracks and the folds in the blanket – the blank stare reflection – off the TV screen – with it’s ticker – just tinkering away – instant news

-- The display is bouncing in my head – all those dot com’s - bleeps and blips – and oh I must remain calm – and grab hold of myself – mustin’ lose my grip - but the mirror is swaying – it’s bending blending – it’s lying – it’s hiding – it’s a lie – and the sky above is not blue - it’s just a drop ceiling – these four walls are breathing – coming after me – no I’m not paranoid – it’s just that I understand

-- but I’m just sitting here – looking for this fucking remote – so I can turn - the channel - make all this bullshit go away – but the ghost of it all - just won’t fade – it hovers like a stench over every laugh – it’s the memory - that just won’t go away – it’s got these fingers moving – words around into spiro-graphic - fragments of venting sessions - named saved and stored away – but for now I’m still sittin’ here

-- Analyzing dissecting their sales pitch – advertising that two story itch – the black and white of it all – with no grey in sight – but what of all these if-s – the cloudy the murky – the unclear and not all that certain – where the truth hides - behind a gossamer curtain – with it’s tiny silk threads – and highlights of dazzling colors – glistening a spider web matrix of layered theories – hypotheses and all those if’s – overlapping intersecting – running parallel in all directions – the star spangled sky - blanket wave – atmosphere ozone – I’m lost in the corkscrew milky way – of a zig zag paper burn

-- so if there is - only two sides to the story – well then – this would all seem such a waste - waste of time - Of time – I mean why – why even – massage this rhyme – why even try – why ask why – but still I try – I stretch out thoughts to carry on – questions – a quest – a labyrinth of facts – and soft untruths – all the while crunchin’ down on this baby Ruth – corporate candy bar - car advert – rock n roller – just another blink 182 bling bling Nelly ring tone – on this new cell phone – with it’s hello kitty plastic painted caddy – and wait is that the fucking weight – is money all that supply and demand – I tear the skin from my face – and scream – integrity where are you – what are - you but some shit cake infested dingle – dangling from society’s pimple invested ass

-- And I’m just sittin’ here - fuckin’ with this remote – flippin’ channels – doing the web spread search engine dance – surfin’ – always lookin’ for something – an answer – a reason – a meditation mantra trance – for the change of season – and to everything turn turn turn – always trying – picking through this – checkin’ on that – peekin’ in – screening – weaving – just clickin’ away – and I don’t find anything but misleading leads – some fake plastic trees – some porn - something about killer bees – some more porn – a ghost – a story about how a ghost was born – a whole lotta fear – and a celebrity super blog - it’s all got me pullin’ out my hair – yeah but I’m still just sittin’ here

-- cross reference - file checkin’ serial numbers – dates times – names and places – long lingering over finger print mazes – clearing out the fog – and comin’ up with just empty pages – you see - There’s many sides to the story – you see everything has been over and over - And over done – this is nothing new – this is just a redo - redundant

– these articulating pithy tricks – are only a way to soothe my mind – to shadow this pain – my skin is screaming – from a vulture-ness sun – screaming with a vengeance – a thousand years young – my soul is freezing under a silhouetted moon – and the day has just reached high noon

-- While back at the shopping malls – written on the subway walls and bathroom stalls – the prophets - seek in tongues and prose – for a dream catcher – a thread spinster – a spiral whistler – the frosted window reverberates the musac playing – on some plastic jukebox swilling – bad brain farts - spoiling the air of executive lounges – of virgin mega mobile super stores – where clear channel’s pissin’ out black blood through the air waves – and we sit back like little watered lawn gnomes – grabbing a good seat to witness the next wave of mutilation

-- Oh mutations – cloning zones – down loading – up loading – with unloading docks – a whole section on how to suck a presidential cock – while sealing a Cuban blunt – it’s a ken star caper – a white water – raffle wafer – always cookin’ up some pleads some scheme – like a baker’s crying dream – smoothing out the scene – they treat him like Elvis – a rock star – fat on his own cock bar – where the fuck is my remote

-- And yup - those were the good old days – how we all sat by and slept – too sleep to sleep sleep – the chainsaw buzz of Z’s – echoing off the big screen TV – and what’s it matter now - anyhow – no payment’s - no interest for the next 12 months – just kickin’ it here - like a chrysalis – a moth butterfly – bidding time – I’m just watching the wheels - go around and round – watchin’ ‘em slow down – and get rusty – creak twist flake and break off – making me thirsty

-- But before I quench my throat – I’m felling compelled to check some stock quotes – and the CNN – tickers tellin’ me – all about some new I-pod prop up pop band – while the picture’s showing the war – and the toll it’s been taking – all these pie graphs - pictographs and line charts – the number of dead keeps rising – and how that’ll change the whole demographic – for the new hit singe brainwashed jingle – jangle – there’s always an angel – but this time - the information highway – is jammed packed – with tossed out cookies – and used up user files – the hard drive’s – rattlin’ and sputtering – from all the pop up’s - need to defrag – have that baptismal cleansing – and now time has caught to me - like jet lag – beatin’ me down – kickin’ me down – down on the ground – and oh shit is that my remote

-- And won’t someone please answer that motherfucking - goddam phone – and what of this – this god – a concept – aren’t we supposed to wonder and ponder – but just like loyal lemming subjects week – we remain meek - well I object recant and denounce – just let me pronounce – there is no god – no goddess – no deity – no penates – no Dali llama - ta boo ta boo – no mummy - in the tomb – no sailor no moon – no Keith no who

-- what where when why and how I cry over this – ponder rewind retract – slam into it – and attack – receive resolve – relieve and retrieve – pile all the facts – and slap my shitty wit about a bit – relearn and re-reason with – turn over and cook the other side for awhile – and sit back – to watch all this shit boil bubble – fester and stew

-- it’s all in my head – it’s all in my head – is the mantra I speak – as I walk to the window – and pull away the curtains – let the grey sky roll in on me – trace the electric lines down the block – running against and through – the dead trees – mirrored in the polluted river – the sun it’s hiding now – to scared or ashamed to show it’s face – or maybe this just isn’t the time - maybe the moon has taken it’s place

-- So I’m just sitting there – I’m lazy should’ve stayed in bed – should’ve never let all these thoughts shroud my head – maybe I should’ve - turned on some dead – maybe He’s Gone or Tenseness Jed – maybe some Epistrophy instead - get lost in that piano pattern bliss – or in that smile - lost on that August day – remember summer grass blades – and the sheen from her shoulder blade – the dogs run free – with the sweet smell of gage – but I’m just sittin’ here – fighting to remember where I left that stupid remote

-- When it hits me like a rock – the ability to think has started to mock – but it’s brief like a blink – so I grab up this pen to write – to draw up some new plans – to go after the man – so I say fuck the remote and just turn off the TV – run to the computer and shut off the internet – turn off the phone and hibernate – till I’m numb – till I forget the names – and places

– all about tsunami’s – hurricanes and mudslides – forget about the missing kids – and the war – the fear – and what the bush man did – I forget who won the super bowl – and what star had a baby – a rehab stint – got divorced and remarried – or got into a brawl – because they were lit – I just forget

-- Then somehow it all creeps back in – my nose will sniff it out like a stale fart – my need to know – it just fuels my art – keeps the blood flushin’ – keeps the juice goin’ in and out of my heart – I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care – hell I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fear – all the shit goin’ on out there – I can feel it right here – and I’m just sitting here

-- Rollin’ with this dealin’ with that – as the light creeps up - to stab me in the back – but I’m just bobbin’ to a rascal – to dizzy to understand – the virtue of monk – over sonny skies easy sideways down – two three one - Whatever happened to – the last one – that waltz – a commercial – sellin’ airwaves for useless phone communiqué – it is like I’m pounding nails into the floor with my forehead – Borgisian was right - but then the chaos breaks into silence again – the mantra of those notes – the reverb of memories – it’s so cold outside – but that one phrase brings in such warm summer days – and what was it that she’d say – spiraling sweet sweet – badassssss – on - oh sweet summer daze – and confusion – its just a state of mind – an illusion - a goal to peek in at – times to brief – but such is this – another drum roll please – remember seeing James fall to his knees – just then cannonball comes back in – rolling over miles – over the hills and far away – away – away – is where I’d like to stay – on a mound in the desert that is your ocean – a mellow soul to soul – aching for only everything - if only from each other – there’s vibrations of soft solid eyes – I’m just sittin’ here - beating down time – tappin’ my fingers to another rhyme – that hasn’t even been written yet -

-- Another four dead and the ghost’s of Nixon are calling’ – the watershed is tumblin’ the prez’s lips are fumblin’ – and the secretary of defense’s jaws a flappin’ mo’ shit in the wind – can’t even duck it’s flying so free – no armor for no hum-vee – you see the dj’s spinnin’ some Britney pukin’ punk ass bitch be spewin’ – instead of some protest song – but they seem all but gone from the radio

-- So I’m just sittin’ here – flippin’ channels in my head – surfin’ the net with dread – as the head lines read - another life – ten at that - and more to come – and can you give to the tsunami refund – donate to the red cross and watch your money get washed away – like the UN for food for gas for oil for back stabbin’ fools – it feels like someone just kneed me in the family jewels

-- So who will save your soul – some godforsaken hedonist – a rapist of trust – watching as the wheels begin to rust – shit they never sleep – the hills have eyes – and it feels like their watchin’ me – somebody’s after me – is it paranoia – is it john birch – kncokin’ – unlatchin’ – un snappin’

-- Yeah I’m just sittin’ here – twiddlin’ thumbs – with these drums along the Mohawk – these run on thoughts – spewing out like a shit storm – piss warm – horrible horrible thoughts – my yahoo is tellin’ me something’s happening – something’s cookin’ – side stage back stage – like oz – the wizard is just sittin’ there

-- in the Technicolor dream – it’s drippin’ streakin’ – fallin’ - like blood from a broken nose – Ali Frasier and Jack Johnson – the forgotten – till Miles startin’ tootin’ – and then the glory comes back in on me – like Tenseness sunshine – and my grandfathers homemade wine – spillin’ down my throat – sliding down just right – and as my grandmother says – nice – and I recall the roses – it must have been the roses – so splendor in the grass – chasing butterflies – through tomato plant paths – but right now I’m just sittin’ here

-- and my stomach is turning – ideas are learning – yearning to see the light of day – big brother won’t be able to stop this – won’t be able to say – I hear the drums a comin’ – those tin soldiers and the ghost of Nixon – and why - and how many more – this is a call to arms – we are over 50 million strong – with pens in hand we will write our own will – and with this ink – we will spill more blood then any sword – then any machine gun tank scud – we will rise and take back our hill

A template of complaints about the state of confusion
About the relation to this mass delusion
A common mistake
Filed and forgotten
Like my name – I like my name
But everything now is just rotten

Evening news a marathon of misfortune
The paper headlines
I don’t want to read no more
The headlines bleed
With Mother Nature’s contempt
Who could blame her
No god left for me
No more headlines please

And turn the corner
Just to watch the flag draped coffin
The mourners
A mother and widow
Two kids and car payments
A mortgage
Who’s gonna take up all this tape
Surely they’ll come after it
Surely I can hear the knockin’
Don’t answer the phone
Don’t answer the door
It’s the bank

A template of complaints about the state of confusion
About the relation to this mass delusion
A common mistake
Filed and forgotten
Like my name – I like my name
But everything now is just rotten

And you don’t bring me flowers
You don’t bring me good times
You don’t bring me drugs
Now when I need to get high
And you only got can goods
And moldy bread
There is no more cheddar
No more beds for the little one’s head
No more security
No more rules to bend
We’re livin’ in a society
And we’ve been misled
The old are dying of starvation
The kids are starving for knowledge
My governments filled with artful dodgers
Maybe I’ll just move to Berlin
Make a record like lodger
Get sidetracked and then start again

A template of complaints about the state of confusion
About the relation to this mass delusion
A common mistake
Filed and forgotten
Like my name – I like my name
But everything now is just rotten

Sunday, June 21, 2009

The Fireball Snowman

Bonnaroo 2009

Bonnaroo 2009 Fireshow Sat Night 2

Bonnaroo 2009 Fireshow Sat Night

Bonnaroo 2009 Ferris Wheel

Crowd's Anticipation for Phish Friday Night Bonnaroo

The Bonnaroo Sat. Night Skyline

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Jeff Bujak with Zack and Monty late night - early morning set Sat 8

Jeff Bujak late night - early morning set Sat 3

Jeff Bujak late night - early morning set Sat 2

Jeff Bujak late night - early morning set Sat 1

the tunnel

The Fountain in Centeroo 2009

Jeff Bujak live @ Bonnaroo 2009

The Kool Aid man says Oh Ya!

The Crowd in Purple

Girls with Glo-sticks

The Crowd in Blue Lights

The Crowd gets Sucked Out

The Crowd gets Sucked In

Kool Aid Man in the Crowd

Friday, February 6, 2009

Why am I Watching This 4-16-07

Got Trenchtown Looped in my Head

Luantic Transmitter

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Telephone Poles

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Where’s My Remote

A template of complaints about the state of confusion

Images - Words

Mad Man Rambling