It’s all falling apart as America begins to measure ‘support the dupes’ against the consonant loss of freedom and fantasy played out against the backdrop of a dead Muslim terrorist with a dyed beard that we now know was ‘played’ himself and... his greatest roles being performed while he was no longer even around. It’s not the thing that happens; it’s the fear that follows and the profits made in the following sea.
I almost feel like getting down on my knees and kissing the sacred ground of a foreign land just so I don’t have to be counted among those who thought that a blowjob in the future was worth performing one today. They’re a suspicious lot; these foreigners that I live among. I have to explain all the time why I’m here and not there. Oh, I could be, ‘there’... but I’d be in jail and I couldn’t write these words. I would surely be in jail because I would not be able to restrain myself there anymore than I can here. But they don’t put me in jail here... they agree with me.
You who read these words and smirk in your self-satisfied and well paid positions; spread-eagled and face down on the hood of a car screaming for gas as you take it in the ass; it’s not an unpleasant thing once the preliminary penetrations have occurred. You who enjoy being what you are not, as a reward for the things that you got... as a result of biting your tongue while you are being serviced by proxy through the armed minions of a drunken coward who can’t even spell his own name... much less remember yours; please see Ken Lay in the non-existent footnotes. Please... see...
How can I feel sorry for you when you not only let it happen; you invited it. You invited it when you decided that religion was a safe harbor for the day you got fat. You invited it when you said, “I don’t care if they steal if they let me steal too.” You invited it when it became obvious that all those camel-toe jokes about Cindy Sheehan ultimately resulted in her having more balls than you. It’s a sad commentary on the times when a plain and uneducated woman without a single commercial attribute can stand taller than you will ever do. It’s not just sad... it’s pathetic. Did you catch the provocation in what I have said here? I hope so.
I stand in awe of the blindness and denial that allows what passes for your day to day. I want to storm the Bastille. I want to become V. I want to force my way into the White House and stick Dick Cheney’s head up Bush’s ass and suffocate Jim Gannon and Karl Rove in a single bound while I crazy glue Rice and Coulter together and then bend them into some thing West of Picasso and East of Escher while “Ebony and Ivory” plays on the collective ipods of those not reading these words. I guess what I am saying is that I want to get freaky. I’ve pretty much had it with all this bullshit. I now think if I could just go down in flames for the right thing then my life may have been worth living. It is my most passionate and penetrating hope that you will feel the same way before it becomes too late to feel anything but despair.
I want to walk right into the film of “The Man Who Would be King” and deliver the head of every neo-con as a soccer ball for all of the tribes who insist that the people upstream are pissing into the river that flows by their door and... I want to do this for you because you are either too fat... too stupid... too frightened... too compromised or too fast asleep to do it for yourself.
The worst thing about saving people from themselves is recognizing that they don’t deserve to be saved. It is an agony to listen to convoluted intellectual arguments from people hiding basketballs under their shirt... and who would drop dead of a heart attack if they had to run for the space of a city block; it is a torture for which the proper definitive medium has not been invented... to save the people who would mob up to tear you apart for taking the trouble to warn them that the bridge is out. I think I now know what unbearable compassion means.
That kid that got tazered was a hero. Now... he might have been a bad actor but so is Brad Pitt and a whole lot of people who get paid to do it... but at least he knew the meaning of Carpe Diem; at least he had the balls to make a fool of himself on your behalf. That took courage. I’ve seen a lot of videos of that event and I applaud his overacting to bring your elusive attention to the fact that he was bringing your attention to a fact that you are not paying attention to. I watched him milk it for all that it was worth for YOU. It was street theater at it’s best and it points up what happens when corporations run the police and I guess I don’t have to mention that Blackwater only got caught because they had been so outrageous before the fact that even Custer Battles would be looking to blow them right after Larry Craig just so they could edge up closer into the mix of ticks on a hog.
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight:
a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? "
This I especially like “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.” God bless that over-acting and poorly talented gem of humanity who had the courage not displayed by the on-looking crowd and while the mealy mouthed stalking horse John Kerry continued in his ponderous and sonorous overtones as if it wasn’t happening right in front of him. Had he been the John Kerry that he paints himself as he would have jumped off of the stage and brought that kid up to the stage and answered every single question and told the truth but... he could not do that and...
that says all we need to know about John Kerry. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe the Swiftboaters were right. What kind of a man anyway, would take second place to a fascist to the tune of the immortal Bruce Springsteen just so he could be numbered among the boring rich for the short length of his miserable days?
The thing about not waking up when you should is that you get woken up and it is decidedly just as unpleasant as it needs to be.
'I'm a New Age Twinkie' is track no. 10 of 12 on Visible's 2007 album 'Almost A Capella'