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The Long Sayonara From the Burning Bridge

I’ve taken some time and given a lot of thought to this, after all, it’s my last commentary here and it should reflect my real intent and it should explain... is explanation possible?

I think Christ was asked a question by Pilate near the end. It had something to do with truth. All I can remember is; “What is truth?” Maybe I got that wrong too. You see, when you are trying to express the inexpressible within the limitation of words you will invariably wind up chewing on your own tail.

I’m not a political person. It takes a world in extremity to provoke me into this arena. But the world is always on the verge isn’t it? We’ve had plenty of bad leaders and stupid followers. It just goes on and on. If I had the power you would see a replica of the French Revolution in America with Madame Guillotine. I would have justice and I know who and why. But this isn’t my world and I’m not God; lucky for some, very lucky- because I would have you gone and with awesome ignominy and public display.

I don’t have to work anymore and I don’t have to live in the United States. I was poor all my life except for the wealth of what I believed in. That wealth supports me now and no one can take it away. I don’t have a country. I don’t have a creed, unless it is to do no harm. I don’t own a cellphone and I don’t have an address. I live where people have lived in sameness for generations. You would find it very boring. I have my imagination and so I am not here very much, regardless of appearances to the contrary.

I’ve got a beautiful companion- far more beautiful than I deserve, who loves me and makes me look good, should anyone be looking- some small dogs and an inviolability that not even the gangster George Bush and his crime family can't challenge. More than anything I weep for you; the clueless, the foolish, the greedy, the ambitious, the worldly, the self-satisfied. I know where your path leads and I am not going with you.

It doesn’t serve my purposes to be on about the injustices of this world. I have no plans for staying here. I don’t even know how I got here. All I can think about is how I wish to be somewhere else, far away from the dreams of mortal appetite. I never wanted any of this shit. I never liked it here. I never understood it and it never understood me. I left America because I would be in Guantanamo now if I had not left. Unlike you, I wouldn’t permit this. I would have been my own insurrection. But I can’t get them all. Sometimes it is just a generation of vipers- that’s all it is- nothing you can do.

I don’t get a world that thinks Angelina Jolie and Paris Hilton represent intelligence. I don’t get their talent. Is it just that thing between their legs? I’ve never found that to be a hard place to get to, you just have to be hard to get there; all this self-serving bullshit, all these talking heads, all these whores. Madonna is pissed at Brittany because she isn’t wallowing in the shake and bake production of a timeless wisdom that she has neither the intelligence nor the virtue to understand. So now this aging vampire wants to hang with Lindsey Lohan who I wouldn’t even fuck with your dick? It’s all shill and hype and desperate masquerade. It’s all lies and it’s all the same. Madonna and the rest are the hands behind the deaths in Iraq and everywhere else.

It isn’t soldiers and insurgents doing the killing. They are just hands. It’s men in suits. It’s bankers and entertainment figures and news-shaping snakes who go to dungeon clubs and have their asses whipped bloody because they can no longer feel anything. It’s the sort of people who need children for unwilling sex partners; a specialty of George Bush Senior.

Why do your leaders all walk the line? Blackmail... baby. There is so much you don’t know and even more I hope you never do. I am an honest man. I don’t say something unless I am already more than convinced. I say “I don’t know”. Being who I am- which we won’t get into here- people tell me things and they show me things. I should add that I find out a great many things simply because I am relentless about the truth. I don’t care if the truth inconveniences me. I don’t care if it exposes me. I just want it.

There was a time I enjoyed writing here. I can assure you I meant every word. I’ve written a lot of places. In some places I was hounded off the stage by people who do own cellphones and who spray their private places with cheap cosmetics with the understanding that it tastes good- or possibly covers up what does not. I know what it’s like to be lied about with the impossibility of defense because the truth is not important- only the agenda. Still, I don’t regret a bit of it. When the whole deal comes down I am not on shaky ground. But you see, it just goes on and on and on. It’s more tawdry and superficial and mindless and stupid right now, true- but it’s always some bullshit variant. It’s always some costume over the naked body of the truth. As I have said before, when the truth takes off her clothes, the world disappears.

I’m not going to do this any more because it isn’t my job. I’m a poet and a dreamer. I live in another world. This is not my world. If I hadn’t cared too much for my own good I would never have let YOUR problems be MY problems because.... They aren’t. I can’t help you. I cannot divorce myself from the plight of the Palestinians and the smear campaigns against them. That is my conundrum. I can’t watch something like “Shooting Dogs” and not break down and cry. I can’t watch punks like George Bush and Karl Rove and Ann Coulter and not wish I had five minutes with them. Unlike them I can fight and I’m not afraid to. I despise cowards and rats. I despise liars for personal gain. Maybe prison did it to me. Maybe my father did it to me. After you have had the shit beat out of you every day of your life until you left home, by a 6’ 4” 240 pound Master Sergeant you either learn to fight or you never leave home.

I’m lean and I’m healthy and I don’t fear the dark. I know what lives inside me and it has been tested against the worst that this world and even darker places can throw at it. I have faced my demons and I can now call them friends. Nothing can touch me any more. I live by grace. Surely there is something to that. I don’t want to be another angry voice. I did that a few centuries ago in France. I don’t have to do it again. I want to make beautiful music. I want angels in the chorus. I want what I have and no more beyond the certainty of my eventual release from this drama of sold out soap artistes, vain poseurs; materialists all. Headlines don’t make you a star. Performance is all that counts and it never gets addressed until you are gone.

I really did appreciate all the great comments and support I got. It was a surprise, given what I have received in other places. But it’s not enough to keep doing it. Eventually you have said it all enough times to have said it all. If you miss it then read the archives. I don’t want to comment on your world anymore. I don’t live there.

I can tell you this. Strive hard. If you want the truth- enlightenment- serenity- peace; anything you can imagine, including a Starbucks ass-widener with no nutritional value- you can have it. You just have to want it bad enough. I’ve found mine. You go find yours.

I'd like to thank What Really Happened for having linked me so many times. If you want to know about your world then go there.


Les Visible
If you're new to this blog you may be unaware that Visible (aka 'The Dog Poet') is also a musician and author (plus a few other things besides those).

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If you're going to troll or get ad hominem, even if you are going to whine because I stepped on one of your frogs, it is better that you are not anonymous. Anonymous does not have the same right of being heard as someone who stands behind what they say.

Les Visible

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