THE ADJUSTMENT

trials & tribulations of a waking American

Oct 12, 2025

THE ADJUSTMENT
trials & tribulations of a waking American

watch The Adjustment (clip/video) bottom/below …

Still dark out.
This morning after the event,
The reset was scheduled. Nothing happened.
The world refused. Fuck.

No thunder - no rupture, no capture, no rapture.
No frickin’ fireworks and no holiday.
Only the insult of continuity - my bedside clock ticking.
The stubborn weight of air. People that still care.

I mean wait what? WTF happened? Jesus.
Right - whatever. Another petulant politician’s promise.
Draining the swamp will have to wait another day.

It’s 5 o’clock in the morning; I’m lying in my bed ...
I’m wondering why it’s not morning in my head.
The day is open for business, but still my eyes are closed
I spread my dreams like butter on my toast.

Mumbling & grumbling to myself again.

Opening the windows and we’re rolling up the blinds
All across the world are people wiping sleep from tired eyes
The faces on the curtains, all the Jekylls and the Hydes
are gone. In this mercurial moment, there is nothing wrong.
In this myopic murmur, I am shuffling along.

Television. The numbing sounds of a broadcast breakfast.
The morning news sounds like this can of seafood medley smells.
I’m opening a can for Tippy, meowing mournfully. Scornfully. Slow.
Like he is annoyed that this didn’t happen ten minutes ago.

Just like yesterday ... and the day before ...
same sounds, same smells, same story.

Chipper chatter on issues that matter ... loud yawn. Cat bowl to the floor.
Hole in the big toe of my left slipper. Where’s my toenail clipper?
Later skater. Toasted. A new peace deal in the Holyland? Right. Snicker.
In what appears to be yet another trick of the tail in vain. Insane.
Short term gain, long term pain. Forecast calling for periods of rain.

For those who didn’t get the memo: Peace is a prize now.

Dipstick diplomacy on this sorrowful station. Cereal.
State of the nation in a vigilant stagnation - welcoming sedation. Can’t see.
Belief collapses without ceremony. Without pomp or even a prurient ‘praise be’.
Me thinks he stinks. What does making everything ‘great again’ really mean?

Disproved, never exposed. No glow or a glimpse of truth - deposed.
How thin the tether, that’s light as a feather and blows with the weather.
Hey buddy. It’s your word against mine only mine is better.

How quickly people flee the ordinary, the mundane, the dutiful drawl.
for the narcotic of a catastrophic fall, only to find casual comfort in it all.
TV in 4K, toilets that flush, refrigerators, a bowl of Shreddies and creamed coffee.
Meanwhile, the end is near (with messages clear). A rancid refresher framed in fear.
in a random reminder of our daily grinder. Sigh ... end of the world.
Maybe tomorrow.

Seeds planted, ideas ranted & raved. Words & music mindfully saved.

Our Messiah complex is shaking & baking, faking & flaking.
Hair trigger agendas in the making. Maybe, just maybe ... a weary waking.
That slow reinstatement after a long slumber, realizing they were just dreams.
Subsidizing scarcity from my sacred book of schemes. Alas. I’m still sedated.
The consciousness con careens. Being awake is highly overrated.

Epilogue

Shifting through the gears
It’s 8 o’clock in the morning
It’s been 8 o’clock for years
The factory gates are opening
To let the night shift out
And the day shift in

Wanting more, needing more - ridding regret. Collateral damage.
Incensed and in debt. I need a healer, who moonlights as a stealer.

Ok, I mean WTF is it going to take, to secure my stake, in this claim?
One third of Americans didn’t vote in the last election. Always the same.
I mean, why? Why bother? We’re doomed anyway right? ... or so I’m forever told.
Over & over & over - moreover … this narrative is scripture that’s centuries old.
The apocalyptic hover with no need for cover. I still wonder why & how.
Whatever. The relentless rhetoric is reprehensible. Kill me now.

Praise be, the complacency that was never prophecy. Never discussed. Fallout.
Part of God’s plan Stan the man. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
It be delirium in costume. Trick or treat. Eat your meat.
So the unbearable work of living can be declared complete.
Buried in a hole. No. Just the same ole game of whack-a-mole.

I’m disappointed.
Nothing ending.
Nothing beginning.
Only another day,
in the quiet disgrace
Of still being here. Look.

I can handle the worst ...
I just need to make
this one minor adjustment first.

dedicated to Lol Creme & Kevin Godley

visit my website - link below …