Greg Palast, the journalist, shares a brain with Greg Palast the poet and story writer. This is the first time Palast the poet has bothered you with verse–and the last time. I will never send you another poem nor story unless you specifically sign up for my rhymes and fictions.
I was living in Hollywood, this was years ago, working as a sandwich-sign man, jazz drummer and a sperm donor. God knows why, but my girlfriend decided to try out for a film. This is about her encounter with Harvey Weinstein – or, more correctly, one of the 120,000 Weinsteins trolling the arts.
“STICK WITH ME ON THIS:
“IF YOU WERE ON A DESERT
“ISLAND AFTER A PLANE CRASH YOU WOULD DO
“ALL THESE HORRIBLE THINGS.
“YOU WOULD EAT DEAD BODIES. YOU WOULD FUCK
Why are we listening to this freak?
Because he is an EMPLOYER
and we are under-employed.
“YES YOU WOULD! WE WILL REVEAL IT ALL!
“THE WHOLE DARK HELL OF THE HUMAN SOUL!
“WE HAVE THE GUTS TO FILM IT AND I WANT TO
“KNOW IF YOU HAVE THE GUTS TO PLAY IT!”
What he wants to know is, are we willing
to play girl corpses
with our vaginas sticking up out of the sand.
The three other girls are from Iowa. They played “Sandy”
in the Lansing High School production of Grease.
They have glossies
and they are listening to this brain-damaged tarantula.
and I am listening to this brain-damaged tarantula.
But I am 8000 years old. Yes I am.
So when we step out into the California storm,
and hear him screaming back in his production office,
my little sisters don’t know that
I have psychokinetically twisted his eyes back into his head
and as his sockets drip blood and mascara, he is looking
straight into his own brain and he can’t stop screaming.
That’s the kind of thing you can do when you’re 8000 years old.
And you know what else I can do?
I can read flags.
And this flag says, “My tongue is in New York and my anus is in
I eat dollars made of Mexicans and it comes out of LA as
When you’re 8000 years old you can do these things
But you can’t get a job, can you?
Unless you put your lips around the tarantula.
I’ll tell you what.
I’ll trade you your resume for this information:
Kill Mrs. Schneider because she lied to you in the third grade.
Kill Santa Claus because he lies to children day after day.
Kill everyone but Richard Nixon, because
he told you the truth
when he said,
Evil is a full-time job.
That’s what he told me when I was much younger than you.
For Mom (Rolling Stone should pay up)
Thank you for your kind and consoling notes after my mother’s death last month. Here’s some more Mom.
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