To paraphrase Roy Zimmerman’s metaphor, abstinence-only politics is like duck-and-cover atomic readiness. Gotta wax political every once in a while since it seems, like it or not, we’re all on this space ship together … or not.
Our corrupt leadership seems to be carpet bombing us with distractions in yet another maneuver to remain world saviors in their tiny neocon minds while pushing buttons, pulling strings and erasing emails in the imperial war bunker like three year olds full of sugar. When glimpses behind the curtain begin adding up to blown cover they throw out a scapegoat. They’ve been doing it on such a regular basis for so long that a good barometer for proximity to totally outing their mendacious duplicity is how rare the meat on the scapegoat is. Is it already slathered in bar-dis-closure sauce while smokin’ fer days in a preparation chamber —mere minions, collateral damage, — or is it still alive enough to lead to the farmer? Let’s see, Rummy, Scooter and Gonzo … Department of Defense lying to play war, a Dick shield and Attorney General lying to play toady … well, Dribblya, do you really think Dick would cast himself on his sword before shooting off your facade? Anyone remember Spiro Agnew. Hint, hint, nudge, nudge.
Once Saint George
Rescues fair maiden
From the Dragon,
Who
Rescues fair maiden
From Saint George?
Where are the watchdogs
We picked to keep the rapists away?
They're offering up to him a chance for
Twenty-five thousand more murders
As an acceptable price for their schedule.
Another year and a half of George’s vorpal sword
Bargined for his limp withdrawal.
O frabjous day! Callooh, callay.
He won't be galumphing back.
Forty-seven lives will end
Every day of their modest proposal.
Saint George shrugs it off like a fly,
John Wayne with bigger fish to fry,
A newly hatched dragon from his incubator,
Or just another lie.
Rescues fair maiden
From the Dragon,
Who
Rescues fair maiden
From Saint George?
Where are the watchdogs
We picked to keep the rapists away?
They're offering up to him a chance for
Twenty-five thousand more murders
As an acceptable price for their schedule.
Another year and a half of George’s vorpal sword
Bargined for his limp withdrawal.
O frabjous day! Callooh, callay.
He won't be galumphing back.
Forty-seven lives will end
Every day of their modest proposal.
Saint George shrugs it off like a fly,
John Wayne with bigger fish to fry,
A newly hatched dragon from his incubator,
Or just another lie.
2 comments:
Modest proposals indeed!Vonnegut himself couldnt express the irony of this current regimes blundering but you produce a worthy effort.
The last post opens a million more questions.Such as : Can the idea of "blundering" really then exist? It seems contradictory to the project of exposing the facade of an observer/observed duality.Perhaps you disturbing the web was as much a perfect expression of being as thae spiders making it? In which case how do we judge right action or right speech?
The only blunder I intended to express was the willful ignorance of the threshold altogether through the blinders of purpose. The propriety of personal choices made within this threshold of the golden rule is not my business — I just don't want it to be treated like a metal detector … to be got around. That consideration of the effect of our actions in a broader scope than our own purpose is my concern and reason for that post.
Ultimately, I think more visits to the personal "Customs Office" before acting would be the worst thing that could happen to the industrialization of the planet. Low Impact Living! Thanks again for your thoughtstream, it always helps.
As to the web, it was back up, bigger and better the next day. The only blunder was to my purpose because of the expediency of my purpose.
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