Wednesday, September 29, 2004

The Ugsome Ultracrepidarian Macquereau.

What kind of a street fighter, what kind of a man with a winners instinct, lays down before a lesser skilled; a lesser informed, a less competent opponent and says "kick me."? This is patently what the Kerry campaign did in agreeing to the debate format pressed on them by the junta from Disney World. Why not just wear a sign that says "fuck me"?

What kind of a skilled campaigner goes to Gore's old makeup man and says "get me ready for the debates like you did Al"?

What is this ‘pushme-pullyou’, back and forth to the castle wall declaiming and then again into the courtyard vacillating between the comfort of the dark cellar and the call of battle?

Is this a stalking horse with ADD?

I don't know what to make of it, but so much for a prelude.

Given the sad uninformed state of the American Public; the apathetic, soft-bellied, downward spiral into senile acquiescence; the murderous ruin of the collective mind- no longer capable of the connection between representation and result; what hope is there?

In Florida the partisan elections office is already at work to suppress the vote. We can imagine what else is in boxes beneath the kitchen sink. In Ohio the SS elections head demands 80 pound paper on a premise based on the procedure of former times, while any paper trail at all is being disavowed in other locations.

National polls are sampling majorities of republicans in order to give the impression that bushligula has a lead. CNN grants the head of Gallup 3 full minutes to present his lying sack of shit response to the question of the sampling imbalance. Whores to the left of me, whores to the right of me, into the valley of whores marched the nation of brain-dead sailors.

What was once distressing and then became ironic, moved steadily into the absurd until it is now in a place where there is no word to describe it. Cartoon is close but fast receding like the shore behind a doomed freighter. Comic won't play, the clowns are going down for the third time in a sea of lachrymary. Even the children sit stunned and refuse to play. They know something’s up and somehow they know it's worse for them than anyone else.

What conclusion is one to draw from this multi-pronged, multi-dimensional, multi-mega national fuckover of Truth, Justice and The American Whey? What curds remain are only the sad overflow of them leaking in the drool from the mouths of over-sated pigs.

If half the country suddenly dropped to all four and went rooting and rutting like Circe's swine I wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

There are many among us who celebrate every advantage gained from the rigged card game in progress. People who call themselves conservative, slather in a hydrophobic glee at the prospect of an ill made man returned to an unwon office. These are they who fancy themselves financially acute. These are they who now celebrate the one who will bankrupt them. Those who profess support for fiscal accountability, laugh like drunken soccer yobs as billions of dollars are set aflame. They dance around the bonfire, the red-highlights of madness flashing in their unseeing eyes.

They paw each other and hoot in celebration as their house majority leader wheelbarrows Indian casino swag into his garage. How can these people explain to themselves the contradiction between what they say they believe in and what they see? Is it just the blood? Is it the pornographic layouts of dead and dismembered women and children? Is it just the ripe stink of death from abroad that makes them hard for the deathboy? They laugh at the collateral dead. "Hey man, who gives a fuck about a backward nation full of sand niggers?"

"Kill them all and let God sort it out."

I guess it's to be expected. You've turned your country into an exploding hog lagoon of useless shit designed to take your attention off of everything but your stomach, your dick and the minds entertainment center.

While 'the few, the proud and the brave" battle in Afghanistan- hounded with "find bin laden" and ambushed right and left, you say, "fuck'em that's the old war”. Daddy bush's poppy fields are blooming red, …more red and rich than Flanders ever did. Noriega would still be in business if he hadn't nationalized the drug money in the banks.

We have run out of words, we have run out of words to adequately describe the spectacle of glut and indifference. We have run out of feelings for anything but ourselves. We have run out of thoughts for anything but what we want and one day, we're gonna run out of time as well.

I look at the hurricanes in Florida and the earthquakes in California. I look at Mt. St Helen's and all of the brewing disagreement above and below the Earth that mirrors the collective mental force of a people at war with each other and themselves. This epidemic of collective willful blindness and obtuse disregard will have its day. It will have a day in the life. And it will be your life in which it has its day.

You won't listen, you won't learn, you won't budge, you won't give and you goddamned well won't understand. Go ahead, reap the whirlwind. You damn well sowed it.




Visit the recommended reading page for many more.


'I Need More Light' from the Les Visible Album
God in Country

Visit the Blog Music Page
to stream all of Visible's music for free
(purchase is always appreciated but entirely optional)


A classic Visible post:

With gratitude to Patrick Willis.

Click here to watch and comment on Vimeo and here to read the original text.

Visit the Blog Videos Page for many more.