Diatribe > Invective > Reason
Usually, I post here pieces of my own to polish and later perform on stage (in addition to some for personal processing, never meant to leave the page). But rarely a reference to any external pieces or authors that might move or inspire me... Break with that today. Excerpt follows from an article by Garrison Keillor, that i plan to perform either this weekend or next. It's just too perfectly rhythmic, waiting for it, and it needs to be heard:
"We're Not in Lake Wobegon, Anymore"
...The party of Lincoln and Liberty was transmogrified into the party
of hairy-backed swamp developers and corporate shills, faith-based
economists, fundamentalist bullies with Bibles, Christians of
convenience, freelance racists, misanthropic frat boys, shrieking
midgets of AM radio, tax cheats, nihilists in golf pants, brownshirts
in pinstripes, sweatshop tycoons, hacks, fakirs, aggressive dorks,
Lamborghini libertarians, people who believe Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk
was filmed in Roswell, New Mexico, little honkers out to diminish the
rest of us, Newt’s evil spawn and their Etch-A-Sketch president, a dull
and rigid man suspicious of the free flow of information and of secular
institutions, whose philosophy is a jumble of badly sutured body parts
trying to walk.
Republicans: The No.1 reason the rest of the world
thinks we’re deaf, dumb and dangerous.
Rich ironies abound! Lies pop up like toadstools in the forest! Wild
swine crowd round the public trough! Outrageous gerrymandering! Pocket
lining on a massive scale! Paid lobbyists sit in committee rooms and
write legislation to alleviate the suffering of billionaires!
Hypocrisies shine like cat turds in the moonlight! O Mark Twain, where
art thou at this hour? Arise and behold the Gilded Age reincarnated
gaudier than ever, upholding great wealth as the sure sign of Divine
Grace.
Here in 2004, George W. Bush is running for reelection on a platform
of tragedy—
the single greatest failure of national defense in our
history, the attacks of 9/11 in which 19 men with box cutters put this
nation into a tailspin, a failure the details of which the White House
fought to keep secret even as it ran the country into hock up to the
hubcaps, thanks to generous tax cuts for the well-fixed, hoping to lead
us into a box canyon of debt that will render government impotent, even
as we engage in a war against a small country that was undertaken for
the president’s personal satisfaction but sold to the American public
on the basis of brazen misinformation, a war whose purpose is to
distract us from an enormous transfer of wealth taking place in this
country, flowing upward,
and the deception is working beautifully.
The concentration of wealth and power in the hands of the few is the
death knell of democracy. No republic in the history of humanity has
survived this. The election of 2004 will say something about what
happens to ours.
The omens are not good.
Our beloved land has been fogged with fear—fear, the greatest political strategy ever. An ominous silence, distant sirens, a drumbeat of whispered warnings and alarms to keep the public uneasy and silence the opposition. And in a time of vague fear, you can appoint bullet-brained judges, strip the bark off the Constitution, eviscerate federal regulatory agencies, bring public education to a standstill, stupefy the press, lavish gorgeous tax breaks on the rich.
There is a stink drifting through this election year. It isn’t the
Florida recount or the Supreme Court decision. No, it’s 9/11 that we
keep coming back to. It wasn’t the “end of innocence,” or a turning
point in our history, or a cosmic occurrence, it was an event, a lapse
of security.
And patriotism shouldn’t prevent people from asking hard questions of the man who was purportedly in charge of national security at the time.
Whenever I think of those New Yorkers hurrying along Park Place or getting off the No.1 Broadway local, hustling toward their office on the 90th floor, the morning paper under their arms, I think of that non-reader George W. Bush and how he hopes to exploit those people with a little economic uptick, maybe the capture of Osama, cruise to victory in November and proceed to get some serious nation-changing done in his second term.
This year, as in the past, Republicans will portray us Democrats as embittered academics, desiccated Unitarians, whacked-out hippies and communards, people who talk to telephone poles, the party of the Deadheads. They will wave enormous flags and wow over and over the footage of firemen in the wreckage of the World Trade Center and bodies being carried out and they will lie about their economic policies with astonishing enthusiasm.
The Union is what needs defending this year. Government of Enron and by Halliburton and for the Southern Baptists is not the same as what Lincoln spoke of. This gang of Pithecanthropus Republicanii has humbugged us to death on terrorism and tax cuts for the comfy and school prayer and flag burning and claimed the right to know what books we read and to dump their sewage upstream from the town and clear-cut the forests and gut the IRS and mark up the constitution on behalf of intolerance and promote the corporate takeover of the public airwaves and to hell with anybody who opposes them.
This is a great country, and it wasn’t made so by angry people. We have a sacred duty to bequeath it to our grandchildren in better shape than however we found it. We have a long way to go and we’re not getting any younger.
Dante said that the hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who
in time of crisis remain neutral, so I have spoken my piece, and thank
you, dear [listener].
It’s a beautiful world, rain or shine, and there is more to life than winning.
One of Many
It wasn't skill or craft,
although he might like to think so -
and drop
innocuously in conversation with buddies,
casual details of trysts,
and
liaisons.
And it wasn't some innate charisma,
or secret specialness that women can't resist -
despite
certain cases in point,
still pining over unreturned calls
or
email.
No, it wasn't that smile,
his keen mind, or
the way his eyes can lock,
focus
on you,
touching something
inside.
(See, that -
he's not even aware
of that...)
But if you really want to know,
wonder how it happened,
or worry about me,
don't -
i get it, now,
if i didn't all along -
it seems, there was just some dangerous space in my life -
a gap between me
and myself...
but -
even then, i knew better than
to try to fill it
with
anyone else -
or anyone who might turn out someday -
turn out to be real to me,
and too important.
Situational Awareness
Moving on is difficult
when doors stay ajar
our conversations interrupted
half-finish
but, ok
we'll talk about it later
when time is better
and
we've both mostly
forgotten
urgent needs subverted by
obligation
Where I've Been
When the sun set
three hours behind me
and you raced to the edge of the continent
with all your equipment, gear
and film
and on top
of that,
the cell
phone
relative local commentary intersperses dialogue
and i was there
at least at certain moments
when the fog blanketed inlets
creating islands over islands
muted shutter speeds vary to compensate
when you looked for a parking spot
at the overlook on top of the fault
where more people die every year
the sign you say it says
while we both wonder
exactly why
or how
i was there
even though i couldn't see
no sight but imagination
and your voice
i was there
In Your Room
Afterwards,
even the air tastes different
in my mouth
thick, salty sweetness
damp sheets
twine around
legs
and arms
occasional caresses of
cool autumn
breezes
through the window
distant muted echoes
someone walks by below
passing on the street.
