Most of the ground is still covered in thick white, even though Mr. Sun and Mr. Blue Sky are out in force again.
The pretty day begins to shape. Am I shaping it?
I am doing what I can.
To contribute my will to the shaping and to conduct myself with … pride? Maybe I mean dignity. Maybe I mean purpose, intention.
This is my struggle, or as a German might say, mein kampf.
I don’t believe in aryan purity, or ‘race’ at all. I don’t want a methane cloud pouring out into the Baltic on purpose, or burning vinyl chloride pouring out over Pennsylvania ‘accidentally’. (Whatcha gonna do … it’s the profit motive … you wanna make an Empire, you gotta break some eggs. But only in poor neighborhoods.)
Gas the flyover peasants, gas the jews, it’s all the same shit dressed up in different clothes. We call him President instead of Chancellor. The bad guys are authoritarians, but we the chosen have ‘the rule of law’. They have propaganda, we have the smart savvy spin of perfectly dressed lesbians. They have censorship, and we just fight the good fight against ‘disinformation’. Seymour Hersh is a brilliant journalist when he uncovers the crimes of a Republican administration, and a ‘discredited blogger’ when he exposes the cabal that runs the show beneath a puppet ‘Democrat’.
But wait, what’s that? Look, peasants! Alien squirrels! Haha!
This is mein struggle. It’s very personal and quotidian. It’s anarchically political. It is Hunterian screed and it is belletrism–it is precious, and I use that word in both senses; I cut myself while shaving with it. I don’t shave.
Poetry is useless. Poetry may be the only thing capable of saving us, even temporarily.
A random wiring harness sags but is saved. The greatest superpower in civilized history rots from within and damns itself to hell.
The Lord She moves, in mysterious ways. Bono, he’s an avowed matriarchist, but his lips are glued to the ass of the patriarchy.
We bathe in a soup of diseased lies with a bar of Ivory soap in our hands and consider ourselves more than clean–blessed manifestly and tapped on the shoulder by Liberty’s torch.
Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
Arthur: Be quiet!
Dennis the Peasant: You can’t expect to wield supreme power just ’cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!”
Nor because god told you to wipe out the natives, use slave labor to establish a vast capitalist empire, and proceed to put the Empire that bore you to absolute shame in matters of global colonial imperialism.
750 military bases planet-wide. A trillion every year on ‘defense’ when you count the black budget.
You still can’t give the water in Flint to your babies unless you want their brains damaged permanently.
You still don’t have health care. You’re lucky if you’re able to afford health ‘insurance’ from the Mafia.
The least of these your brothers still sleep beneath crumbling overpasses.
And they lie, and they lie, and they lie.
US Confirmed to Be Behind Nordstream Pipeline Attacks
Richard Medhurst is a Syrian refugee living in London. They say he’s a YouTuber, a blogger. Maybe so. He has more insight and integrity than seven busloads of Anderson Coopers. It’s not a fair world, ennit.
Live with some pride regardless. I’m not telling you what to do. I’m talking to myself.