Our fearless and faithful Australian Correspondent Olatundji Akpo-Sani intended to send us another letter to America this week. But because of ‘delicate’ American/Australian relations and the omnipresence of Russian Hackers at the moment we’ve decided it’s safest to send our more important transmissions via message-in-a-bottle across the Pacific Ocean. And the agreed upon empty 750 ml handle of Jack Daniels which arrived thru the BPT editorial office’s ‘back channels’ today was unfortunately missing the letter in question, and we must assume it to be lost at sea. However, its preface to our editors was left still in tact and has been determined to adequately represent the spirit of the lost document…
Is your heart still beating over there? They haven’t torn it out in some ritualistic rite of The New Order have they. Beware the new cults of revolution. They will do it to you just as quick as those bastards and their status quo. I mean how long till people realize revolution is just a revolving door? Ha. Here I am wondering these things from afar knowing full well that the poison that comes through the airwaves and lurks in the food has already done most of the work.
Speaking of poison, are those poor schmucks in Michigan still drinking lead? What about the schlubs who could light fires from their water taps? Mark my words the next proxy wars will be fought over clean water and unpoisoned food. This is all still the set up. Testing to see how much they can get away with. How short people’s memories will be. How many fires can they start thinking that people will keep trying to put out the fires ignoring the crazy jackass behind the curtain lobbing molotov cocktails at dry kindling. It’s time to start paying attention to the crazy jack ass.
I have attached another missive here. Print that print this. Print whatever you think will do some damage to the aparatus and wake people up. Of course when I say do some damage I don’t actually mean do any more damage than what was done when small communities I traveled through in my hobo days decided to create their own currency. They really did it, and I thought wow these guys were on to something. I think I was wrapped up in my own bullshit at the time and so didn’t recognize the reality of such gestures.
You wanna get em where it counts? The only place they will actually care about? Quit using money, I mean it’s a made up farce. Granted it’s a made up farce that everyone uses, but if enough people stop using it then they can make up their own farce. How come people don’t use time directly. I mean that is a much more precious resource. It’s like that movie with Justin Timberlake – In Time. Except that everyone gets the same amount. They get right now or some other utopian BS. Hey I know it is corny. It’s a Justin Timberlake flick and I am just a not so young anymore human with no more truth than the next bum. Maybe I just think about it more from time to time.
Oh well. Hope you are still kickin’ ass. Somehow I know you are. As for the poetry scene here in all honesty it is still very much a virgin. They have had no big gay Al, no psychotic junkies, no raving alcoholic geniuses, roaming the dark corners of the country’s conscience. In general the country is young and doesn’t have the angst of the US. Hell there’s not really enough people here for that. California has a larger population than all of Australia, but there is about the same amount of land as the entire USA. That’s alot of open space ya know?
There are the academics of the Universities in Sydney, Melbourne, etc…, some Slam work being done, but that’s about it and nothing superb. I think I have been spoiled having soaked in the warm milk bath you y’alls genius for so long. Maybe I am missing something though (but I kind doubt it). There is however a thriving and exciting story telling scene. They pay performers and people show up for it, turn out, and enjoy. So there is a silver lining. I think if you came over with your MeToo stories, and Rob told his GITCH tales there would be an enthusiastic audience.
K till next time…
Read more. Be more. Live more. Love More.
– Olatundji Akpo-Sani
Olatundji Akpo-Sani usta live and make poetry in Boulder for a long time. He was the co-host of the Burnt Toast-NoName weekly open mic series, co-editor of Baobob Tree Press, and a general is-there-whenever-you-need-him artistic ally. One day he had an epiphany to wander the globe seeking adventures and some kinduv elusive spiritual freedom. Now he’s in Australia, where we assume he lives with the crocodiles, carries a big knife, and has added perspective from living 14 hours into the future.