Astro Dump

from by Weekend Greg

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about

As Greg looked up at the night sky, he noticed the comet named Trump careening through the mystical universe. The comet trailed behind itself the words of a stubborn past in an icy tail, which clung to its harrowed host’s ass while slowly melting into oblivion.
Greg jokingly told God, “Looks like you’ve made a bad egg there.”
God tilted his head and peered over Greg’s shoulder, watching as the invisible force of gravity launched the egregious projectile around the sun, past Jupiter and out of view--all in the span of 2 years: a blink of an eye.
God turned to the young man and laughed. It was by far the best laugh that Greg had ever heard: it bellowed warmly, as if grateful for the chance to dance with the outside air. God did not seem afraid of the comet. He reminded his friend that the creation of man, and eggs, had been out of his hands for a while now, millions and billions of years.
“Greg, do you realize how many preliminary designs, structural and biological, I had to scrap before arriving at the form which you now call egg? A lot, Millions and Billions. And you know what? I wound up with a lot of rotten, broken, just-plain-shitty eggs back in my day. And as you can see, we still get them once in a while. But that’s not to whine about, I mean, what’s a good bunch of eggs without some bad ones once in a while? If anything a rotten egg makes you appreciate the good ones more, make’s them tastier for you I guess. Yet this whole Trump circus act has gotten me thinking. Ever since my retirement, I’ve seen humans do some pretty fucked up shit that I can’t wrap my mind around. But Greg, it’s in all of your hands now, don’t you see? That thing you’re worried about over there may be an anthropological anomaly, beyond our understanding. But no one in their right minds would ever aspire to be that of their own free will. At least from my point of view, he’s inhuman. And you’ve got to ask yourselves how it is that he got to be that way. I mean, a comet is still a celestial body, it emerged from a real physical realm over time.”
After more entrancing conversation about the origins of time and our universe continued, Greg could tell it had been a long eternity for God, so he thanked him for his wisdom and turned to say goodbye, extending his hand for a holy shake. But in that moment, he realized that his friend had turned back into a carrot
Greg laughed as he gracefully put the carrot in his mouth and swallowed it whole. He tingled with an electric delight all over.

lyrics

Why don't we send trump to space
From there, our land already seems great 
No troubles, no walls, no people at all
Just mountains, and mountains don't hate 

I think he'd make a wonderful comet 
A chance that money can't buy 
We'd shiver from magnetic white fear 
But only every thousand years 

From space the Arctic melting 
Blooms like baldness on an elderly head 
And every bombing we fund in Yemen for fun 
Is a sad scar forming instead 

Is it old age in this Earth 
Or cancer in her skin
Or are we the brain in this body 
Thinking of suicide again 

Is a comet capable of disbelief 
And a mountain of feeling fear 
Can my mind go and meet the horizon
And then find its way back here 

credits

from Find Your Mind EP, released January 5, 2017
Hank Zwaan

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Weekend Greg Boston, Massachusetts

Henry and Jon have this friend named Greg. They only get to see him on the weekend. So, our band is called Weekend Greg.

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