Vehicular Man's Laughter

from by Tan Tien

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about

featuring the vocal stylings of Harvey Eyeballs

lyrics

The Night Of The Pooping Bus Driver

It was a brisk eve on the way from 'ston to York. The hazy green lights oozed their vibe all the way down the rapidly traveling corridor. One beige, two green, dark beige, light beige, back to green and so on. There was not a spare seat on the bus. Not a kick back, more of a fully developed crowd on the brink of mob-like. The vibe was not exactly chill, although it resembled it. It was instead plagued with an air of morbid sedation. A rigorously conditioned ability to regard the high speeds and close proximity to strangers with disgusting indifference. Are these corpses already dead? The spectacle of so many busy schedules colliding now resembles the spectacle of cows to the slaughter.

But without hesitation, the bus moves forth, at high speeds in fact! It jostles and bumps along the decrepit infrastructure. This is all obsolete and everybody knows it. The passengers on the bus know it most of all, every last one of them. Oh, how they join together in silence with the common threat of decapitation! Rejoice all! But rejoice motionlessly and silently with your earbuds crammed in! Be your own tribe preparing for departure. Send your last text and tweet your last tweets before the blog's on you, before you enter your graves of digital archive. Are these corpses already dead?

The text is so fragile but we never cease to treat it like ass. We brutalize it just as it brutalizes us. We, the people of the bus! Together we can gather and sing a sad song, a funny song over the busty drone of the bus. We can all laugh about how "public" without an L is "pubic" and then we might cry about how "slaughter" without an S is really just "laughter." Rejoice all! What fun we have with words and what the words will eventually do to dismember us, digitally of course…

The head of the decapitated man still laughs as well as he discretely glances at the ass of the girl walking by in high heels. What's your problem man? Does the momentary site of that shapely booty make you feel alive? Her body is yours as much as your body is yours, you decapitated man! So you go to sing a song and to rejoice, but your lungs are as distant as the now fading image of the perfect booty. And you are silent. The only ability you have now is to listen and gaze, silently, as you have always done. To observe but not interfere. How does this thought make you feel, decapitated man? Does the image of your lifeless visage make the kind of impact that you wanted to make on this earth? You could have walked on your hands or swung from the luggage compartments on the bus. You could have cheered after the bus driver stopped the bus to feak. He may have saved everybody's life by doing so, after all!

credits

from Dark Party Art Rock, released February 3, 2016

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Tan Tien Brooklyn, New York

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