Oh yes, President Mountain Bike, which is not such a far cry from President Mountebank, is going to hit the dirt harder than he ever did with his Clarabelle the Clown bike mishaps. He says that the Iraq War is going to make America safe while today on one of his crack whore media outlets, MSN.com, there is a big picture of masked men goose-stepping in cammies; lockstep marching to the new Pretoria, wherever the Hell that is. The following article explains how militias now run the country of Iraq. It’s sort of like if Idaho suddenly became America’s police force. The war is over. America lost.
Is that what they intended all along? Is this really a ‘wheels within wheels’ sort of thing where it looks like America loses but actually the bankers and merchants who run America won because somewhere, somehow they now have more power and more money than they did before? Arguably you have less money and freedom so someone won, but it wasn’t you. You lost. You lost big time. Since this ‘should be’, by default, some sort of pyrrhic solstice celebration; since you lost!!! I think it’s only fair that you should at least make their front men pay a terrible price. I think it’s time for the American Gothic heartland of this benighted coast to coast Wal-Mart to grab their pitch forks and shovels and go get the monster… but don’t forget Dr. Frankenstein this time. I think it’s time to storm the castle and take them out into the street and take off their clothes and paint their asses red and make them sing show tunes.
I’d also, tangentially, like to speak to the nut jobs and lone gunmen for a moment; the serial killers- I know you’re out there- the renegade members of Elohim City and anybody that got out of Waco, along with the generally frustrated- with a double-wide gun cabinet in their home. As nasty a piece of shit as George Bush is, it’s the men behind him that are your enemy. I want you to think of David Rockefeller and homeboy Mellon Sciafe; the man who squats behind the man who squats behind Rupert Murdoch, the faceless, pin-striped motherfuckers who pull the levers and gears that regulate your stress and make you stop taking your medication. In your waking day Manchurian Candidate dreams I want you to picture a face replacing the face of the men they told you to kill. I want the dark angel of your unpredictable- we didn’t program this shit- nature to turn upon these men.
I want you to imagine that it was Paul Wolfowitz and crew; that it was any and every one of the top oilmen and cattle ranchers and investment bankers; every one of the Slim Shady boys playing poker in the backroom where the chips are your family, your home, your country and your life. You know the guys; the guys that grab your elbow when they shake your hand. The guys who pat your back and fuck your wife; you know the guys. You don’t get to talk to them much and you can’t ask them for anything but you know the guys. These are the guys who made that great shit sandwich you ate that time you wound up with your pants down around your ankles and things happened that you don’t want to remember; except that you know you’re angry about it- whatever it was.
I want you to think about the smirking fucks that shouted you down and made fun of you that time you got caught torturing the neighbor’s cat, or when the fire inspector hauled you in for burning down the abandoned house next door. Hell, you’d have been living there if it wasn’t for the fact that the house you are in had an icebox that still worked; doesn’t anymore but… that was a long time ago.
I don’t want you to think about the guy who was mean to you at McDonalds or the postal clerk or even the municipal offices where the voices in your head (that got put there from the time you were at Tavistock and that Major Ramirez from MKUltra; some military cat who talked to you about Satan) tells you they are saying bad things about you. I want you to upgrade your capacity for retribution and actually stop the voices in your head from talking. I know you know that the people on TV are talking to you. I know you know that these are bad people but they are not ‘the’ bad people. You’ve been deceived for centuries and you keep having to come back and make the same mistakes. I’m offering you a sort of Nirvana. I’m offering you the annihilation of the memory of your worthless self that they convinced you of and the opportunity to actually gain a memorable end. I want you to thimk. I want you to really, really thimk.
I want you to somehow read what I’m saying without my ever having to say it and I want you to penetrate every insecurity system that protects your darkest dreams in human form and I want you to, I want you to… sneak into their rooms where they are sleeping and I want you to creep, creep, creep up so soft and bend down and kiss them on the cheek.
But hey… I know and you know that it’s really the collateral folk, the kids in the kindergarten and the people on the sidewalk that you’re programmed to… programmed to…something…something…I can’t… remember…tick, tick, tick…
Ah never mind. There’s that impotence that an entire jar of Viagra is never going to fix. And even though you and I are the lowest of the low; outsiders, crap on the bottom of societies shoes, walking jokes with buttons missing and holes in our socks; what are we ever really going to do except strike out at our peers or a few good, decent people with bad karma who worked hard but didn’t know enough to get out of the way?
No, forget I ever said any of this because, as low and disenfranchised as we are, we’re not as low as the people who made us the way we are. Oh, it’s a little bit our fault, cause we’re stupid and we’re angry and we can’t do anything about the former so what could we possibly do about the latter? So maybe it isn’t our fault really. Our train is always going to be late for our trip to the end of the line where we live by the highway underpass with the plastic bag full of disposable diapers for a pillow. You remember how those guys paid us to star in Bumfights? It’s the guys that those guys work for that I’m talking about but, like I said, never mind now. It’s not important.
You see how it works people? Yeah you, not the guys I’ve been talking to over the last several hundred words, you… the other people who are reading and forming a variety of opinions about the things I was saying. Maybe you thought I was serious or something. Maybe you thought; “heh heh, what the Hell is he up to? I know he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying.” Hey, I’m not saying anything. It’s the voices in my head that are talking.
But seriously, Bush in his way… and the people behind Bush and the people that programmed Bush, are talking to you this way. They are talking to you through your TV and in your newspapers. They convinced you it was okay to go blow up a whole lot of people who didn’t have a fucking thing to do with anything. They were just standing there. Sure, they’ve got bad karma, that’s obvious. Maybe they did bad things to somebody once. But as true as that may be, I don’t like to think that way.
What’s the worst thing in this life? It isn’t that someone might kill you. Except for whatever period the pain may last, it’s over after that. The worst thing is when someone kills your hope; when they kill your faith in yourself and your fellows, when they tarnish the institutions you believe in, when they gang-rape the Statue of Liberty and then pimp her out to a bunch of paunchy smelly old men; when they wipe their ass with The Constitution and use the Bill of Rights for a hanky; when they make you hate your neighbor because they convinced him to believe that fascism was democracy and he calls you a liberal asshole because you think maybe we ought to be a little nicer to everybody else but he thinks, “Fuck them, I got mine and it’s gonna stay mine until they pry it from my cold dead fingers.”
The worst of it is to have to live your life in a world where Rush Limbaugh is allowed to pitch his demagogic hatred and get paid for and applauded for it; where color is set against color, religion against religion, where up is made to appear down, where powerful men actually argue that there is no reason their sons should have to go to war because they are too important on the home front; where convincing arguments are made that the rich ‘should’ get richer and the poor ‘should’ get poorer… where it’s every man for himself and depending on how much money and power he has he can do any goddamned thing he pleases, where Michael Jackson is a bigger criminal than Dick Cheney.
The worst thing is to have to live looking over your shoulder and to be intentionally confined at a pass-not-beyond this level by a system designed to favor the few, created by the few in defiance of every promise the system was designed to facilitate. It’s no wonder so many of you drink yourselves to death in empty living rooms in front of loud TV’s. It’s no wonder you fight with your family and friends or work yourself to death to provide colorful junk for the people closest to you that you find yourself unable to love. Fear… doubt… despair… and your daily bread.
Bush is going down. He is going to find Washington a different place next month. He is going to find the nation a different place. It is right that he should go down in dishonor for he is a dishonorable man. It is right for this bastard child of The Contract with America to live in ignominy and the enduring contempt of his nation. But when bush goes down that doesn’t fix your problem. He’ll go down because the shit-heels behind him need a face lift and a new manikin in order to do business as usual; the tables are turned and the same men are still sitting there.
As I reflect back I think to myself just what a terrific president Al Gore would have been. It would take me pages to list all the connections between his abilities, his dreams and the needs of the country. Al Gore is a decent and honorable man. I didn’t care much for Kerry cause I knew he was a stalking horse, but Al Gore? Al Gore would have been one of our greatest presidents.
I’m going on here. Usually my essays are within a few dozen words of each other in length. But today I just want to go on and on. I want to say everything I can’t say. I want to reach out and twist the dial. I want to say I love you, even though I don’t know you and I want to heal you but I can’t even fix myself.
I know that God has the answers and that it will all work out somehow because it always does; maybe after a whole lot of people are dead- but they’ll die sooner or later anyway, won’t they? Yes, even after this huge terrorist attack which is imminent and unavoidable unless they serendipitously get caught, it will work out. Even if America becomes the new Nazi-Germany it will work out somewhere down the line and there will be the usual heroics and books will be written and movies made. Hogan’s Heroes will come on again with a uniform switch. It will work out.
I don’t know what to tell you people. I wish I knew what to say. Cindy Sheehan has made me feel better about things than I have in a long time. I love the way that woman carries herself. I know there are a lot of Cindy Sheehan’s out there and I admire and respect the Hell out of you. You make me weep for the beauty that is inside you. I wish you would let it come out.
'God Bless You Cindy Sheehan' is track no. 1 of 10 on Visible's 2006 album 'Songwriter'
Lyrics (pops up)