Desperately mal-adjusting to X-mas

We're a week out from that day of sanctified profits when we pretend to honor a preachy manger-born prophet who railed against rich folk ... have you done your shopping yet?

There may be heated arguments in some circles about the "true meaning" of Christmas, but if you tally the popular references to Christ's anti-materialistic message versus mass media's bully-pulpit pushes to purchase your way into paradise, you'll understand the holiday's real significance to this country.

In a Capitalist society, the need to feed the engines of commerce is always urgent, but with year-end profits hanging in the balance and a house-of-credit-cards economy in need of a holly-jolly jolt, this year's bell ringing is more desperate than ever for a booming X-mas season.

Hence big-ticket consumables are especially shown to be the true proving grounds of love. You can't demonstrate your rock-solid commitment to a partner better than with a big shiny diamond neatly ensconced in velvet box. A relationship can only happily be driven forward when predicated on the acquisition of a luxury automobile.

All you slackers out there reluctant to over-stuff already debt-ridden accounts will just have to settle for dysfunction and counseling, because your happiness is already compromised. It's your patriotic duty to bury yourself neck deep. Don't pay attention to the rising, roiling financial waters starting to tickle your ears.

The Santa siren call to consume is at its most conspicuous these waning days, and if you're like me, you're counting down the minutes until the barrage of advert-chiming messages finally reaches its end. It's become pretty apparent that I'm particularly maladjusted to this year's fetishistic festivities as punk-rock lyrics fill my heathen head rather than the Christmas carols traditionally piped-in.

People often ask me what poets I read for inspiration. Truth be told, I find most of my influences in the lyricism of modern music. This particularly shining example from LA's X perfectly captures the state of my desperate mind as the holiday clock keeps ticking.

It's not the most comforting Christmas message, but you'll get used to it just like those treacly little jingles.

We're Desperate
by X

I play too hard when I ought to go to sleep
They pick on me because I really got the beat
Some people give me the creeps

Every other week I need a new address
Landlord, landlord, landlord cleaning up the mess
Our whole fucking life is a wreck

We're desperate
Get used to it
We're desperate
Get used to it
We're desperate
Get used to it
We're desperate
Get used to it
It's kiss or kill

Coca-cola and a Motorola kitchen
Naugahyde and a tie-dye t-shirt
Last night everything broke

We're desperate
Get used to it
We're desperate
Get used to it
We're desperate
Get used to it
We're desperate
Get used to it
It's kiss or kill ...