Now compare that with the pictures of Paul McCartney which are currently posing as John Lennon in the article. Me thinks there's a wee bit of difference. Oh, by the way, if you don't believe me that my picture is John Lennon, go here. Silly people. :-)

Unfortunately, the proper authorities are not available for comment.

and yet I'm looking for an answer from the pundits
and I can't seem to get past the rhetorical red-eyed repulsion
gaining only the tiniest spark of intellectual curiosity from looking at the angel-eyed charge
electrical daydreaming never seemed so damn beautiful as when I looked into the gaping maw
of tomorrow's inebriated obnoxious comments
the letter k is a cheeky bastard
bursting with fruit flavors
stoner philosophy says that's a profound comment
I can't keep on top of the topical tapioca war machine
that sinks into the quicksand of marijuana mudslides
and legal wranglings over electrical elections and hypocritical hypotheticals
and hypodermics wash up on shore
and I'm hyperactive
seeking the death of the unholy ones of the future's Gomorrah
those who refuse to give in to the demands of the multitudinous tumultitudes
tumbling crumbling through the endless wash cycle of money-laundered machinations
over the radio I hear the static cackle of the crackling debacle
debating the debaters and deflating the defeated
under the gun, butter the nun, sputter the one true God's only son sonically denied and categorically cauterized
this is an odd sort of age we live in full of explosions, death, cherry sundaes and Lucky Charms
and cherry-red Volkswagen Beetles full of verve
so smoke that happy weed, man, it's all good for the soul
and I'll light one up and pass it around and we'll all be happy in the morning sun
and watch the dawn on the hood of a car
feeling that psychic bond that only connects at that moment when the breath of fire touches the blue horizon
and looking over at each other we'll scan the sky for the last lone star
and claim it for ourselves
if only I could see it through the zirconium haze
but clutching your hand I'll look anyway 
and look at you and smile and we'll all laugh it off as a silly reminder of how ultimately silly this world really can be if it wants to
truly the proper authorities can't possibly know what I'm feeling right now
truly the pundits of radio truth can't possibly grasp the subtlety of the sublime
truly the masters of spin technology can't possibly tell what's on the other side of their gauze-covered eyes
it's only the loneliest monkey that never evolves into a poet
and only the loneliest poet that never evolves into light
and only the loneliest light that gets lost under the bedsheets on a cold Sunday morning and 
doesn't wake the neighbors
but I've still got this feeling that the world will be all right
despite the oily residue covering its darker spots
and despite the unending truth of speedometers and watches and digital reminders
we're all just somewhere else all the time
but that's ok because we're poets
and poets evolve into light 
and light evolves into beauty and truth
and truth and beauty and light are the real trinity
get the beauty of that moment
get the beauty of the horizon caressed by the solar breeze
the end of laughter can't be found here
the end of laughter is at the other end of time
in a different moment
in a darker room
at twelve forty seven in the morning
listening to Radiohead
and trying to find the stunning visual to end a poem that has no meaning.

Hope you enjoyed that. I'll have my webpage recreated sometime soon and another article up soon after that probably. Oh, the protest went fabulously; I met Martin Sheen, which was nifty, but that's not the important thing...the important thing is that we kicked some military ass in a metaphorical way. Power to the people!