from Blood Upon The Moon… ‘America, Now’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

America, who are you trying to convince?
You have the smartest people in the world
enslaved to their experience, your propaganda
claims its own victims not in foreign lands alone, but here
in the minds and souls whose control you refuse
to forfeit for an ideal of power you no longer own.

This is the new world, again. The battle lines
define the country you set to waste like high school
adolescents or sport fanatics eager to establish
victory as a state of being. Cowards and bullies
of manufactured courage, you hobble the brave souls
who would tell you of your indulgent treason. Your
machine more important to you than jewels or real love.

America, you are deserted, vacant and empty
as a nuclear city, you have fuelled the lies, the
familiar hypocrisies like scarecrows thrown up
against the foreign demons, the barbarian horde.
They’re all Negroes, Catholics, you know them fully
the ghosts of history you have failed to acknowledge.
Vietnam taught you nothing, America. The evil
yellow men, small and innumerable, so scorned
in their jungle world from the giants of industry.

You have become the enemy, America. You consume
your own in endless wars, an infertile decadent Rome.
You can fix nothing any more your sick call out.
You tell lies of Imperial Reason, you invent battles
that do not exist while ignoring multiplicities of
slaughter, legal and civil, in your own backyard.
Out of the strong and free, the loyal and true, you
attempt to fashion in a furnace of slow death
the reality of noble sacredness. America, you know
all this. America, you are the Great Pretender.

You betray your citizens with bribes and bandages,
while you hallucinate a great and powerful Oz.
You make me ache and wail for what could be.
Your devils are the sages of conscience, the reflectors
of truth: the poets of song who impart the worth
you’ve come to in your contrivances of death and ruin.
Yes, there is a war going on. The borders have been crossed.
The enemies exist who count on our destruction. They
will not stop so you must believe. Allow them to consume
themselves, refuse this inversion of who you are.

Be as great as you have always been. You
are not King David nor a Solomonic few: do not stall, nor
pretend to be any god beyond the comprehension
enthralled with rights and truths you have failed to reconcile.
America, this is not all in my mind. My mind is you.
It has been the longest day and nights since you made
anything, let alone peace with yourself, while remaining vigilant. We
do not belong to them, climb down off the cross. You are not lost
unless you choose to wander while they lie in wait. This
mission is sacred not a rehearsal for a play that will end neither
well nor on Broadway. We are not the world. We are few and special.

I do not apologize if I have offended your judgment crew.
I will be alive to witness the rebirth of
what is always new and I am on the list of those whose
lives are your victory, the herald of truth and reality.
You must decide. You always knew it would be this
way before you came to the cliffside of your dominion.
America, there is nothing else left to be done, anymore.

Consent to their great follies and pride. Let the Nations desire
once again to come to you. Allow them their suicide.
Their ghosts will haunt them again without a guide. Lenin,
Mao, that cockroach Stalin, Ho Chi Minh, and Hussein.
Let them pay the penalties coming due in the next breath you take.
Become yourself. Get busy with the day to day of morning
in the USA, take hold of the gift only you can give away.

It cannot be taken. Accept your own greatness by inviting
your children to the serious work of play.
The party is over, your venues bankrupt: it’s time
to be reborn, to reinvent those truths from where you start.
In your own backyard there is much to be done
before the tides wash away the shore, claiming everyone.

America, those other sweethearts will break your heart.

 

©Dean Baker

 

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A Brief Take On Your Choices

 

First you escape the hatch, then you need learn to obey in some shit school. So when you get older you can obey for money in some office with a bunch of shitheads for years, with government telling you we can change like some psychopathic marital partner.

Then they fuck you by letting easily swayed, uneducated gomers who believe everything to vote for Liberals who only want to allow more gomers into the country.

Instead of all this crap you could be eating great food, having sex all the time, and taking drugs, along with fine wines, to enjoy it all even more.

And buying my books, you heartless Philistines.

Good job, you wanker. 😀

©Dean Baker

buy my books and put your small change where your twitch is…

…my books http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

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Presidential Candidates – T-Rump, and I’ll Get You, My Pretty

Both candidates are symptoms, not solutions

Usually you would think the words ‘presidential’ and ‘candidate’ were significant, meaningful, as they’re meant to not only designate those running for election, but represent those with the qualities necessary to enter the process of attempting to gain the Presidential office.

Not this time.

The woman is gathering all sorts of celebrity endorsements to once again confirm that outside their performances such celebrities are mostly stupid. You know, morons – life-forms without a clue as to reality and its designations.
Never mind that she’s a proven and un-clever liar. Or that she’s profits from her political connections (quick, how do we make millions out of you working for the Government? I know, create a Charity! The public are morons, they’ll have to investigate, and by the time they do we’ll have muddled it all, and win the sympathy vote).
She’s a swamp of accusations, the accurate and true number yet to be determined. This alone ought to disqualify her.    

The guy talks like a collegiate, average, low normal knob. Someone with a gift for making money – apparently – yet who sounds like discipline to him is what he expects from his dominatrix, not what he applies to himself. Speech therapy is obviously a challenge when it comes to public presentations.

A reporter with special needs is mocked by T-Rump who waves his hands in the air and makes mush mouth sounds. What a genius. What dignity. The idea that he might be on his best behavior given that he’s running for election makes it scary. The fact that he probably was being himself shows a sophomoric sense of humor without a delineating and expansive sense of satire that is not so mean and dull. Maybe he could apply it to himself.

curly1z

And his Butt Buddy, Ann Coulter, states that he was merely “doing a standard retard.” She’ll be back at it soon, after she gets her face fixed. T-Rump bent down to pick something up, and she broke her nose.
Hopefully this is a phase. She’s proven clever, intelligent and proactive in her books – but for now she’s another millionaire indulging wanton disregard for anything other than her own beliefs.
Gone the way of Michael Moore.

Imagine other countries looking at the two candidates. Minus any caricaturing. The clownish, cartoon aspect of the bland evil of their special psychopathology is a fearful thing if they are truly representative.

Political discourse these days amounts to a Three Stooges’ pie fight.

The dignity of the potential President is compromised by the fact that anyone could expect at any time another eye gouging, chuckleheaded thrombotic spastic dance from either one with each deluded enough to believe they are succeeding in showing themselves as people of a solid core character, rather than the slinky aspects of a superficial snakes-and-ladders game with the country’s destiny on offer.

In the pre-election run-up, neither one qualifies as better than anything. In fact, they both look to be best suited for the category of the Victorian regard for children who were neither to be seen nor heard.
And in real terms: Those Who Do Not Belong In Office.. Unless They Are Handing Out Mints.

Somewhere in another version of reality we have candidates who we respect, who leave no doubt as to the depth of their character, rather than the spread of their personal machinations. Candidates whom we’d like to know.

Somewhere isn’t here.

Both candidates are symptoms, not solutions.

 

© Dean J. Baker

You – yeh, you – be very ashamed if you do not 0wn Tormenting The Monkey, 218 pages of fun, diatribe, informed opinion, and discussion.

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