Blondie Eat To The Beat

 

 

Not a time within time,

which ends with an image of an eye-lid closing in

upon a vision of an inner landscape.

 

Time is (the dream of) money.

The awakened few spend hours

outside the reality of a dream . .

 

 

The Hardest Part

 

What is the American dream? Is it

to wake up rich? The hardest part

is waking up. Easier to go on dreaming

 

of easy money and a chocolate ice-cream.

In America, ice-cream is an easy-rider

on the surf of serfdom.

 

To wake up the rich is not easy.

Too much ice-dream

freezes the American brain.


 

Union City Blue

 

Do you have a job? In other words,

are you a person? Most dolphins seem to be unemployed

and yet they are nonetheless persons.

 

Perhaps they are secretly working undercover -

checking up on tourists

when they leap out of the water behind boats.

 

This would explain their apparent personhood

but not why tourists are leaping out of the water

behind boats. Dolphins are not doing their jobs, it seems.


 

 Shayla

 

Behind every job there is a façade that fades

with every honest break-down and tuna-sandwich

eaten during each half-hour lunch-break.

 

Shayla the supervisor insists on tuna-sandwiches.

“Don’t click back!” Taking kick-backs from the tuna industry,

her dorsal fins are well-greased in olive oil.

 

You wish you hadn’t majored in food-science

or even gone to dolphin university in the first place.

You could have been having a whale of a time.


 

Eat To The Beat

 

Denis Denis, there is no time for the salad niçoise –

balads of salad days are much of a muchness,

a lunch of a munchlessed lettuce.

 

Work is an emptiness of the lunch-box of the soul

once filled with child-like play-grounds

and an innocent atheism.

 

Young dolphins go to schools without a lunch-box.

Supposing dolphin schools exist or do not exist,

killer-whales do not believe in any god, either way.


 

Accidents Never Happen

 

Work-related dilapidations are romanticized

in an emptiness of comprehension; an office or an

orifice. The official view is of a spread-sheet, power-pointed

 

not a view through a window of time, seen semi-detached

by the neighbors of bottle-nosed dolphins. Seemingly,

cheese and pickle isn’t an antidote for bottled-up emptiness.

 

In the lunch-box of mundane drudgery, an accidental

chuckle is not to be found; only tuna-sandwiches.

Let there be no more talk of sandwiches or lunch-boxes.


 

Die Young Stay Pretty

 

The lake of reflections reveals an obscure object –

beyond the sea of oceans, opaque and opened

beautifully calm in its resonance

 

dolphins would reside there, if residence was such

motion to the eye of the eyes of the shimmering object,

emerald, opal and topaz.

 

A crystallized chrysalis resonates clandestine contours.

Bejewelled butterflies are the metamorphosis

of motion, to the eye of eyes of a shimmering.


 

Slow Motion

 

Open your contoured eye - fly over stone-skimmed oceans,

not flattened car-pools on a one-dimensional one-way road

resonating red-lights and stop-signs.

 

No map for the depths of dolphin’s despair,

the sludge of politician’s fudge is everywhere, sous mer

submarines go slow, through Neptune’s sea of rage.

 

Silk moths are still cocooned, motionless in their cage.

Pisces, the nightmare for Neptunatum -

killer-whales washed up on a distant shore.


 

Atomic

 

Suppose there is a distant beach, where every grain of sand

is sun-drenched, and every sun-kissed grain itself a sun,

born of a fusion of star-dust and smooth rippling pebbles

 

and around every star, there is a world within a world

and beach within that world, and without that beach

a wave and a galaxy within.

 

Without gravity, a beached-whale dies on a local beach

where every grain of sand is black as night and every star

is light-years away relative to a rippling pebbles’ under-toe.


 

Sound Asleep

 

Close your contoured eye of eyes; within

the dream of the dolphin, the suivant song of the whale

echoes through the sleeping sound.

 

Shimmering in a direction of customary communication

belieing behemoths’ bellies below,

the whale is larger in song than in the dolphin’s sad dream

 

in which skipping stones float above the distant beach,

contour touching contour of all pure being without location.

Each grain of star-dust is a summer radiation.


 

11. Victor

 

A winner in the American dream drifts off to a

dream vacation – more work and early morning radio,

the dream of the alarm-clock and coffee at five-thirty a.m.

 

 The dolphin’s dream reverberates on the echo-beaches

of distant shores with no local temporal location.

One is only at rest relative to those bodies in motion;

 

mass resentment is equal to the speed at which they are

forced, constantly caffeinated to devote their energy to being

squared, ensnared in a work-event’s dark horizon.


 

12. Living In The Real World

 

Dolphins were the real inventors of the internet

With a single click, one could order a tuna-sandwich

or a sub for a sick-day.

 

The reality of the inner dream consists in its immediacy,

vivid honesty and luminescence. Outer dreams are,

yet are secondary and of inferior valleys, like silver stars.

 

Inner dreams resemble gold stars in the dark night of

the unemployed. Darkness is the hollow of the jaded

lunch-box. The stakes are high – good job, well done.


 

track listing for Eat To The Beat

 

 

1. Dreaming

2. The Hardest Part

3. Union City Blue

4. Shayla

5. Eat To The Beat

6. Accidents Never Happen

7. Die Young Stay Pretty

8. Slow Motion

9. Atomic

10. Sound Asleep

11. Victor

12. Living In The Real World