All that's missing is the music

Is this simply bad poetry, or the beginning of a schlocky Whirled Musings musical (Whirled Musical?), or just some dopey lyrics in search of a tune? You decide. But I finally sat down and turned my favorite phrase into...well...this. It pretty much wrote itself. Or maybe I channeled it. Yeah...that's it.


I’ve Gotta Find Me A Scam
lyrics by Cosmic Connie
Music by ??

I’ve gotta find me a scam
Make people think
That I’m more than I am
Give ’em a little and make ’em want more
And herd ’em in droves to my Internet store.

They’re gonna make me a star
If I make ’em believe
That they’re more than they are
Make ’em believe that the world can be theirs
And that they’re all destined to be zillionaires.

I’ll forge an online community
Make folks believe
They’ll get special immunity –
Shelter from plagues or a stock market crash –
If only they’ll give me their trust. And their cash.

I’m gonna buy me some phony degrees
A B.S., an M.A., two fake Ph.D.s
I’ll talk quantum physics and quote from the Buddha,
And no one will know (much less care) if I’ve screwed a
Few thousand folks on my way to success
Long as I bilk with a bit of finesse.

Maybe they’ll pay me to pray
Or simply to chant
All their problems away
With four magic phrases, or one magic word
That rational folk would find droll or absurd.

All I’ll be selling is hope
Worth more by far
Than the best Maui dope
Granted, the high doesn’t last quite as long
And costs a lot more. But is that so wrong?

It’s what people want, after all:
Bright shiny visions
To keep them in thrall
It’s all in the packaging, all in the hype
Oh, I can make millions by marketing tripe!

I’m gonna bundle some mixed esoterica,
Pilfer some symbols from Native America,
Quote Albert Einstein, channel some dead guys,
Make up some buzzwords to make me appear wise.
Claim I’m a healer, say I’m hypnotic,
And hook ’em on hope (it’s the greatest narcotic).

I’ll sell a miracle pill
And maybe concoct
A fantastical swill:
Blue solar water with pale yellow “tea”
Will magically morph into more “green” for me!

I’ll buy a grandiose house,
Ditch my old friends
And dump my old spouse,
Replace ’em with new ones befitting my lot
To prove to the world – and myself – that I’m hot.

Folks will pay four grand to suffer
Hoping one weekend
Will make them grow tougher
And happier, healthier, richer and smarter...
Then I'll convince 'em that that's just a starter.

And then for a few thousand more
I'll lead 'em, chanting,
To death's very door
If they pass through it and fail to come back
I'll turn tail and run to avoid the flak.

Yeah, I'm gonna find me a scam
Make folks believe
That I'm more than I am
Make 'em believe that I'm endlessly wise
Till I even believe my own ludicrous lies!

copyright © 2009 by Connie L. Schmidt
Note: the second-to-the-last two verses were added in November 2009, post-"Sweatgate"

* * * * *

Now more than ever, your donation is needed
to help keep this Whirled spinning.
Click here to donate via PayPal or debit/credit card.
If that link doesn't work, send PayPal payment directly to
scrivener66@hotmail.com
or to cosmic.connie@juno.com
If PayPal, be sure to specify that your contribution is a gift. Thank you!

And I say to myself, what a wonderful Whirled...

There has been a veritable firestorm (so to speak) of controversy in parts of the blogosphere over the past week or so, much of it centering around a couple of blog posts from the man who calls himself "Mr. Fire." Even some of his loyal fans began questioning his sincerity and motives, bringing to mind, of course, a certain song... For a while, the critics were storming Mr. Fire's blog, finally compelling him to "clean" the area of their comments.


Some accuse him of having no compassion for those who had suffered in the San Diego fires, or, indeed, for those who suffer any other tragedy. "Easy for him to wax philosophical about tragedy and suffering," these folks scoff. "He's living the high life in a limo with a bunch of other big Secret stars." Well, I say his detractors "misunderestimate" him, as Dubya might put it. For Mr. Fire himself has sustained a tragic loss recently: his above-ground pool succumbed to a hairline crack. He came home from Canada the other day to find the pool absolutely decimated.

And did he let that stop him? Did he cry and moan about how he had been victimized by bad luck or bad circumstances? Nope. He started making plans to replace the pool, or put a carport in its place.

Not since Paris Hilton's grueling 23-day prison ordeal, from which she emerged as a deeply spiritual being, has there been such an astounding example of someone displaying incredible courage against terrible odds. Way to go, Mr. Fire; lead the JoeBots onward and upward to further enlightenment and compassion!

Y'see, as Mr. Fire so wisely notes in his post, it's not what happens to you that counts, it's how you perceive it and what you do with it. You don't have to suffer!

Matter of fact, suffering doesn't even exist, says guru-ette Byron Katie (according to a quotation Mr. Fire himself shared in his November 2 post):

“There’s no suffering in the world;
there’s only a story that would lead you to believe it.
There’s no suffering in the world that’s real.”

That should be a comfort to all of you who worry about fires and earthquakes and genocides and those other bothersome little things that the naysayers and news-whores blather on and on about.

Speaking of naysayers, read what Steve Salerno has to say about "Firegate."

Now that these matters are out of the way, I didn't want y'all to think I am just obsessed with this one issue. I have many other fish to fry (or skewer, as the case may be). It's a big Whirled out there, after all. And I am working on other investigative pieces, which I hope to have out over the next couple of weeks. I haven't forgotten, for example, that old nekkid hippie in the hot tub. Closer to home (well, for me, anyway), there are nekkid men running around in fields not too far from Houston, as well as numerous other places all over the planet. (And I bet you thought the Wild Man movement was dead!) I've also been recently informed by one of my sources that a gen-yoo-ine princess, who is hundreds of years old, has emerged from one of the sacred cities under Mount Shasta. Don't scoff; there are lots of cities inside the Earth!

And finally, I wish to remind you who may have been saddened by some of the recent acrimony in the blogosphere that there is still much to be joyful about. Our Whirled is full of so many creative souls, including our resident Bad Poet, who recently penned a work about one of my favorite subjects: me.

He and I seem to have a deep spiritual connection. As he recently wrote to me:

Obviously we are deeply quantumly entangled on the inner buddhic archetypal etheric frequency er ...thingy and er... it's a living demonstration of er...the acceleration of the synchronistic awakening occuring in the closing stages of our current yuga as we approach the influx of er... enlightening energy from the photon belt field harmonising and activating our DNA/RNA at the zero point superstring antimatter etheric template level resonating with the planetary energy matrix ray of the solar logos for the imminent vibrational and cultural convergence in 2012.

I couldn't have put it better myself.

And I don't even know who my poet is. So important is He that He is even keeping his identity secret from Himself. But I do know He is a member of the Hierarchy, on a mission to help us Earthlings in our Ascension. And I feel honored to be able to share some of His work with you.

May all of y'all have a blessed weekend.

Ode to me

I admit it: I'm a sucker for bad poetry, particularly intentionally bad poetry.* Such a fan am I of that lowly art form that I even devoted an entire page to it on my (poorly designed, badly-in-need-of-updating) Cosmic Relief web site. Originally this page appeared as an entry in my BLP (book-like-product), Cosmic Relief. That Bad Poetry page, as well as the web page, was inspired by the (unintentionally) awful offerings typically seen in New-Age/New-Wage free publications:

What's a true Community publication without the creative outpourings of local poets? Metaphysical and wholistic-type freebie rags are famous for their willingness to open their pages to those in the local subculture who have been touched, slapped or sucker-punched by the muse...

The web page is an expansion of the printed version, with a call for contributions from other awful poets. And indeed I have received a few contributions, and will publish them as soon as I get around to updating my CR web site. But yesterday I received this gem that I just had to publish here as well. Why? It should be obvious: it's about ME. How could I not share it with you, Dear Ones?

Enjoy.

And if you would like to share some bad poetry of your own, even if it's not about me, please do not hesitate to send your contribution to me at cosmic.connie@juno.com (subject line: Utterly Appalling Poetry).

Cosmic Connie

by A. Poet

Constant as the
Northern Star
I delight in your
Whirled
Twirled
Musings
From afar
With
Ya
Knobbly knees
Ya
Give me a
Seizure
As I
CELEBRATE
The
Now-ness
of
How Things
Are

A. Poet is a pseudonym for His Ascended Galactic Radiance, 9th level Lord of the Photon Belt, Leader of the Council of the Wise Lamas, Bringer of Justice, Bearer of the Sacred Flame of Sirius and the Sacred Sceptre of Arcturus, Emissary of Healing Light , Sustainer of All that is Just and Good, Emanator of the Golden Harmonic Vibration of Zuzz.

* And then there are the unintentionally bad poets, whom I have also found quite inspiring.