PANDEMIC VIEW
Seen through Grateful Dead lyrics & poetry
edited by Uncle John
Bizarro World Wide PANDEMIC VIRUS
"TEST ME
TEST ME
TEST ME TEST ME
TEST ME
TEST ME
WHY DONīT YOU ARREST ME?"
"Sorry that you feel that way
The only thing there is to say
Every silver liningīs got a
Touch of grey
We will get by
We will get by
We will get by
We will survive"
2021
Post Pandemic Phase One
Courtesy Louisiana Department of Health
"Got to get down to the Cumberland mine
Thatīs where I mainly spend my time
Lotta poor man got the cumberland blues
He canīt win for losin
Lotta poor man got to walk the line
Just to pay his union dues
I donīt know now, I just donīt know
If Iīm coming Back again
I donīt know now, I just donīt know
If Iīm coming Back again
I donīt know now, I just donīt know
If Iīm coming Back again"
Quest for Completion
& Return to Social Life
2022
Phase Two - Quest
Fox Theatre, Oakland, California, June 10, 2022
This audience, all 2800, are wearing masks.
"Sometimes at night I dream
Sometimes at night, I think i understand
Way late at night, more I feel I understand
Itīs brother to brother and itīs man to man
And itīs face to face and itīs hand to hand
We shadowdance the silent war within
Shadowboxing the apocalypse
Wandering the land
Shadowboxing the apocalypse yet again,
and again
Shadowboxing the apocalypse
and wandering the land"
from "My Brother EsaU" Bobby Weir & The Wolf Bros.
2023
Phase Three Vision
NO APOCALYPSE
1- Tidings,
without trumpets
Wind gathers
the drawstring
of the clouds,
confluence of tides
propels encounters
that seem more
than coincidence,
glances exchanged
over a backyard fence
summarize things unspoken,
promise among them.
a moving van
may be prophesied
in the driveway,
boxes of blue china
packed in dead leaves,
summer mittens and
a shooting star on a stick
but no Apocalypse.
2- A dog is launched by
the prohesied van,
with chance precision,
as though at
a chosen target.
The urge to applaud
arises perversely.
Times like these weīd
love to believe in
eschatological thunder
that rocks the stars
obliterating all we disdain
with emphatic accuracy
as promised by St. jack,
lips sweetened with
locust and wild honey
-- a vision that loses
in translation but
remains compelling,
leaving us with
a general sense of
something missing,
it would be better
not to have missed:
a well staged Apocalypse.
3- That particular gate
will not be opened in
the heliocentric outpost
of former high Heaven
no matter how significant
the view obstructed.
Horsemen convene
bearing documents,
details of which
must be reconciled
since there will be
no universal amnesty
of fiscal irregularities
courtesy of Revelation,
no screeching tires and
sirens of all tarnation
commanding us to pull over
and submit to strip search
of the soul at trumpet point.
4- Split skulls and bullets
bloom in the garden of amphortas
broken bones, hearts
and promissory notes
inscribed on stars
all sacrificed to necessity.
closing down the culture.
nothing left to imitate.
no more source material.
5- This is the perfect kingdom
when all is said and said again:
kingdom, come and gone,
of love so far surpassing
understanding
it amounts to madness.
what was once
recognizably human
issues from
amniotic midnight
to uninflected light
with no whisper
of armageddon.
6- Stars will not fall nor
seals be broken.
Light will burn in the kitchen
until past dawn
when completed forms
will be compared against
a routine checklist
and found wanting
but there will be
no apocalypse
with the moon
in heaven bleeding.
there will be no need.
Destruction is complete.
This generation
passed away on its feet.
The dead have been called,
you among them,
summoned by an ad
in the personal section
run one time only
in a paper you never read.
Resurrect yourself with
A strong cup of coffee,
shake off the dust
of the grave
and start sweeping.
Beneath the rubble
Of exhausted culture
you may catch a glimpse
of something gleaming.
Bring it to me
carefully wrapped
in wax paper.
It may be the heart
of new creation-
hold it in cupped hands,
breathe on it gently,
gently
hope against hope,
that given
time, tears and trust
it will learn how to beat."
Thanks to the pen of Robert Hunter &
the Literary Renaissance
Supporting a global literary community
Poetry by Robert Hunter
Lyrics by Robert Hunter & John Barlow
Music by Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir, Phil Lesh
Edited by Uncle John
All Rights Reserved.
"Theyīre a band beyond description
Like Jehovah's favorite choir.
People joinin' hand in hand
While the music plays the band.
Lord, they're setting us on fire.
Crazy rooster crowin' midnight.
Balls of lightning roll along.
Old men sing about their dreams.
Women laugh and children scream,
And the band keeps playin' ON!"
