Sunday, May 31, 2020

We’re all in this together.

I’ve never felt more alone.
Anxiety drips off me like the bird flu.
Wuhan called, said we didn’t respect the virus and to send it back home.

My sweet patootie we’re all in this together.
It was next to impossible to get tested unless you had money or clout and it’ll be the same story when the vaccine graces our hollowed out shores.
Only the lonely have a true shot at redemption, the rest of us co-dependent fucks will have to settle for an imperfect peace.

I’ve never felt more alone as landlords bristle and employers fire at will because the middle class have become a punchline for the next refrigerated truck filled with Covid-19 bodies.
I wanted to lay low, but Spartacus had different plans so I joined the front ranks and before you know it was cut down like a firefighter in their prime or Bea Arthur on The Golden Girls.
Jerry DeCicca, I’m pretty certain will have a good chuckle at that last line.

We’re all in this together like we’re all black when another racist kills another black person in cold blood.
If you’re white you can go to the state capitol with your assault rifle for a protest while if you’re black you can’t even go to the store for Skittles without fear you’ll be executed.
This sick, depraved shit has to stop or at the very least let’s call it what it is because you won’t get away this time hiding behind sheets, holding torches and burning crosses into people’s lawns.

Charles Cicirella

Aimee’s “Simple Twist of Fate” (For Aimee Mann)

No excess baggage
Everything shimmers
Relics need not apply

Umbrella weather
Wears a blue raincoat like the tattoo of a blueberry
Even the blind man was impressed by her measurements

If you overstep I’ll be there to check and balance your open heart
You sing Bob like Nico sang Lou and if it wasn’t for social distancing maybe we could share a bowl of soup
I’m just being silly because in all honesty I was very uncomfortable with how much blood you bled on the tracks

Charles Cicirella

Friday, May 29, 2020

Steve Buscemi (he says it boo-sem-ee, not boo-shem-ee)

Lying next to an old Sean Penn
He farts and I couldn’t be happier
Until a young Johnny Depp brings us breakfast in bed.

Charles Cicirella

Wednesday, May 27, 2020

We're All Essential
You keep hearing this person or that person is essential when in fact we’re all essential and should never settle for anything less.
When an employer calls one of their employees non-essential that’s beyond reprehensible because all they’re doing is covering their own ass as they help cull the herd.
Make no mistake we’re only meat to them and after that Soylent Green if we’re fortunate enough to make the grade.

Believe it or not I’m a glass-half-full person, but the water is from Flint, Michigan.
We’re all essential as the frontlines are now in all of our living spaces and if you live on the streets you’re the most vulnerable of all. Except for maybe those in nursing homes who are being stacked like frail kindling.
It’s a shit show everywhere and no bidet is gonna save you now.

I’ve taken refuge in Mayfield Heights, Ohio and even before the pandemic wasn’t venturing out much. Sometimes on a Saturday we’ll go get subs at Ferrara's down the street.
I learned while living with my mother that I can do my chosen work anywhere as I burrow into the suburbs like that gopher in Caddyshack.
I don’t want the pandemic to turn into some feel good - corporate mind fuck because what’s happened and still very much happening isn’t something we can wish away or cast upon the waters like tumbling dice.

You’re essential, I’m essential, we’re all essential
Say it with me
You’re essential, I’m essential, we’re all essential

Charles Cicirella

Acceleration (For Robert Loss)

I’m listening and it’s breaking my heart.
My entire heart, every part of it.
You wear your ragged glory like a patriot who knows the jig has been up since the jug was uncorked.

No one’s shooting straight.
Gumption has been outlawed and so has chutzpah and any belief in yourself.
I watched as you cradled your guitar and it made me wonder where the baby and the bathwater had gone off to.

I know people talked while you played at Victorian’s.
I also know how much it pissed me off because I knew you’re a voice crying in the wilderness.
Here’s the problem with people who don’t listen, they oftentimes have to rinse and repeat because they failed to hear the flowers their first go around.

There’s an engineer and he’s blind, but he’s holding onto his crucifix all the same because God’s either gonna show up or at the very least deliver a bullet to put this sad son of a bitch out of his misery.
I’m listening and it’s driving the stake even deeper into my heart.
We broke bread together and then we broke heads and when we were through all that existed were these chords and your plaintive moan. Thank you.

Charles Cicirella