Brian Cullman
When it all comes down to dust, who would have thought that Donald Trump would be our most zen president? That what he’d leave behind wouldn’t be golden toilets and trails of grubby lawsuits, bimbos laughing behind his back, the lonely violence of a creepy boy who not only wanted more but wanted to be sure that everyone else had less, the zero sum of the cowardly lion, the scarecrow and the tin man if they’d never found Oz, the name, always the name, emblazoned on anything cheap and rotting, the slum of his soul and the soul of his slum; who knew that all he’d leave behind was a box of misspelled tweets and the pale afterglow of that tangerine tan, no longer shiny, just a memory, already fading, already faded, gone.
You Cheated, You Lied ::: The Shields
I’m A Loser ::: The Beatles
Go Away ::: The Raincoats
Curse Go Back ::: William Burroughs
Ratface ::: Michael Hurley
Loser ::: Beck
Beiba (Go Away) ::: Andy Palacio
Go Away From My Door ::: Monroe Jackson
International Thief Thief ::: Fela Kuti
Losin’ Hand ::: Ray Charles
Loser ::: Jerry Garcia
Beiba Nuwari (Go Away!) ::: The Garifuna Collective
I Want You To Hurt Like I Do ::: Randy Newman