Some of you know that Saddam Hussein and I communicate by mail and have done so even before his friends in the U.S. Defense Department turned on him because of his intended Petro-Euro conversion. Until that time American was happy to supply him with all of the technology needed to perform whatever atrocities he was supposed to have performed but which, I assure you, were totally in line with the standard activities expected of- make that required of- a Mid-East dictator.
Saddam never had the manufacturing infrastructure of the Israelis when is came to pounding their termite Palestinian population. By default Saddy (as he has asked me to call him) had to rely on external providers like us. Well, friends do fall out and never more so than when money is involved.
But I digress. Anyway, Saddam had sent me a copy of "Zabiba and the King" (his first novel). He liked the review I wrote and so, naturally, "The Fortified Castle", "Men and the City" and finally, "Be Gone Demons!" followed. This led to a sort of friendly intimacy that one might not expect between two men of different political outlooks, but our common literary aspirations eventually formed a bond.
Over the course of our communications we began to exchange poetry and I was quite struck by Saddy's sensitivity and blunt honesty in verse. Sometimes the full measure of the man is most clearly seen in his verse where, in combination with his muse he can most finely articulate the deeper portion of his essential nature.
Last year I posted some of Saddy's prison verse and I am of a mind to repost it now. Many new readers have come to the tiny little internet pond known as Smoking Mirrors. It is only fair that they should gain some insight into this man as he faces his long ordeal before the American Oil Tribunal.
As Saddy is led up four flights of stairs in four sets of shackles each day due to a busted elevator, let us peer into the mind of this complex soul whose true yearnings were always toward a greater expression of his more sensitive side. Unfortunately for him, as is the case with many of us, the duties of his material obligations have overshadowed his contributions to the world of art and academe.
Here are some selections from the poetry of Saddam Hussein. It is my hope that it will provide some insight into a part of Saddy that few of us have had the opportunity to view. As you can see, his mind is often occupied with that original cigar store Indian George W. Bush. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.
First, some Haiku-
i met george w bush
at a satanic mixer
he blows me in Hell
Carlyle was my friend
until like Noriega
my world was downsized
I had the bush twins
not an entertaining ride
camels are much better
"I am waiting"
My country is gone
now it is a construction site
for the apocalypse
I should have taken the money but
I was proud
the Baghdad bootie bandits
ass rape my nation
pornography and liquor
pour into her streets
that's democracy for you
you can have it even if
you don't want it
I am now waiting for the first signs
to go up on billboards across the land
Allah's Fast Falafels-
a division of Burger King
I knew my people were stupid
And I knew they were better off
I did not know that the American people were
even stupider than mine
they believe everything they are told
it does not matter how outrageous the lie
my people did not believe everything I told them
but they knew better than to say anything.
I had to routinely kill
so many every day
Love is good but fear is better
In America it is not necessary to kill anyone
What a nation of cowards
I have never before seen slaves who were
unaware of their station
and arrogant about it.
They will leave Iraq without the oil
they will leave bloody and ashamed
they will proclaim another victory
and give Palestine the blame.
"Pussy Boy George"
little georgie bush is my pussy boy
yes, we knew they would win the battle
just as we will win the war.
you cannot win a war waged by a pussy boy;
a pussy boy who was afraid to go to war
a pussy boy who hid and did drugs while others died
a pussy boy who was a cheerleader in college
he has no respect
he is a wooden Indian
he cannot hold Bill Clintons cigars
he is a tin horn dictator
I am a real dictator
I will see little georgie bush again
I will see him without his armies
without his money
I will see him in Hell and then
I will fuck him and I will pass him around
Hell will not be pretty for georgie bush
Hell is for hard men like me.
and he even wrote a Limerick...
There once was a psycho from Crawford
a really low rent Peter Lawford
he killed and he lied
and boy he was wide
he took every dime that was offered
Good luck Saddy. I know it isn't any comfort but even now, personalized scaffolds are being constructed on the Briatic plane for your former comrades in arms. You will be reunited in the hotlands where a new and more fiery passion will someday ignite you all into a more precise expression of what you should have been had you known better. I look forward to seeing you in good service and suplice on the grand day of your long return.
'The Bush Family Manson' is track no. 7 of 10 on Visible's 2002 album
'911 was an Inside Job'
About this song (pops up)