Wednesday, November 18, 2015

We'll always have Paris

Paris.

Syrian refugees and home-grown killers from …
from Brussels?
They now threaten my wife who fears when I metro
downtown with a bunch of 5th graders on a field trip
one block from the White House.

“Fuck that,” I say, “we can’t let them win that way.”
Fuckers. I’m going to do what I want anyway.
And then I think of Timothy McVeigh
and wonder when will they
close the border with Michigan after all.

Enough days have passed so finally my FaceBook feed lights up
with my rightie and leftie and uncertaintie friends condemning and supporting Muslims.

They aren’t all the same, you know!
They are just crazy, fanatical boys
looking to take out their hatred.
Wake-up sheeple! You naïve liberals will reap what you sow
when Sharia law is thrown at you
like five score rocks at a raped virgin.

But killing Parisians? Why is that?
Okay fine!
My Christian forebears need to “own” the Crusades.
A silly idea, if you ask me. And hundreds of years ago too, by the way.
Can’t you pricks come up with anything fresh? Maybe kill Parisians because of our decadent cable TV?
It costs too much anyway and it would better fit our narrative.

And thank you Double-You for pulling the lid off. Thought democracy was a good idea didn’t you? Yeah, not everywhere it turns out. Here,
we need not Democracy over there,
for us in our comfortable suburbs.
A good propped up tyrant would have kept us much safer,
like our good friends in the Saudi Kingdom.
Oh, Mr. O., please keep them in power for my safety (May Allah bless them with many virgins after they die a slow ironic death).

And what IS up with all the virgins you “men” want over there?
Have you actually been with a virgin?
Look, I’m not the world’s most experienced guy over here.
Not by a long shot.
But I’m telling you:
Maybe before the next time you blow yourself up with a belt bomb,
just maybe consider blowing yourself up for a woman with a bit of, let’s just say, experience.
And one experienced woman truly oughtta suffice.

You boys can thank me later.

But back to the Double-You:
You broke it and bought it and we are paying for it, so thanks for that. Ten more years? One hundred? How long is the plan on this layaway?
And there is no unwinding this one. We are in it.

Yes, yes, I KNOW!
I’m a man and I’m white and heterosexual.
I live in a comfortable house with my comfortable wife and kids and things.
I have privilege. I do. I’m okay with that.
What I mean is, it is who I am. And,
AND I am also NOT okay with cops killing black kids and assassin drones and how our hands are stained with the tarry oil of our sins.

AND now it’s the fucking 2010’s, for Christ sake, and there are STILL people burning women and beheading gays and this is, I have to say, intolerable.
I am NOT okay with that either!

Sure, not all Muslims are doing this. Many Muslims are, in fact, NOT doing this.
But some are.
Just like not all Christians protest soldier’s funerals and think God Hates Fags or shoot up black churches.
But some do.
And not all Buddhists are terrorizing minorities in south-eastern Asia.
But some are.
So I have to wonder, does it really matter that they are Muslims, Christians, or Buddhists (or Jews or Hindus)?

Do you want me to tell you the answer?  Do you want me to tell you what they all have in common? Do you?

How about starting with this: We must answer for ourselves. And we must answer for our humanity. Our collective humanity. And remember we reap what we sow, and what our forebears planted. It's our legacy and heritage, so just suck it up and own that too. The sins of the father? Well, sometimes, yes.

And then continue with this: With our collective weaknesses and fears.
Our fears? Hah! That’s a good one! It is the only thing we have to fear, after all.
Along with Syrian refugees, of course.
They are a scary lot, aren’t they? At least that is what some of my FaceBook friends are saying.

Look, I grew up Catholic (and was not molested or raped, by the way) and now,
if you had to ask, I guess I would say I’m
Pantheist.
I recently would have said agnostic, or a lapsed-atheist, ha ha.
But I see it now, and have always seen it, I think, as it is all god, nature’s God, to sort of quote Jefferson.
All this? Really?
Yes. All this.
All the beauty of the first green leaf buds on the spring trees and the
fading indigo to orange and pink of a sunset sky and when
my boys entered the world from their mother and we held their warm little pink bodies and knew life was perfect, right then, at least for a little while before she died.
Yes, all that and a glass-smooth perfectly still Seneca Lake and the
sand-pipers skittering from gentle waves along the Jersey Shore
and the paintings at the National Gallery and the Foo Fighters and Miles Davis.
A steady rain in the summer an autumn morning fog and a campfire with my brothers.
I make love to my wife and I know that all of it is God.

And then I turn on my internet and what is all this other shit that I see?
What, what is this?
And I see it for the truth that it is. It is part of it too.
This is how we finally kill my God. One cut at a time. A thousand cuts.

Human trafficking and war, famine and disease.
A man strangled to death for a lousy cigarette.
Suicide bombers and mass murderers.
Corporate fascists and angry communists.
Fat cat donors and corrupt politicians.
Rabid lapdog media spinning in their zones a perfect propaganda machine
to infect my mind with news of terror that stokes my fear.

Fear.
Yes, be so afraid. So much to be afraid of, we are told.
Don’t look behind the bushes!
Run. Run! Run now inside your home to save your family!
Pulse racing with shallow respiration and barricade yourself in.
Keep the gun loaded and pointed at the door. And don’t ever, EVER, take your eye from it.

Because they are out there and they are coming for you so keep your eagle eye on that front door. Study the door knob for the first suspicious turn.
Or the shadow of feet through the crack between the bottom of the door and the threshold.
Stay vigilant, and with God on your side, you might have a chance.
But you aren’t looking at the side window are you?
That is where they come in.
From the side and the back while you are looking at the front and one sneaks upstairs and anal rapes your son and cuts off his genitals and shoves them down his throat, then to your daughter and slits her throat.
Silently, silently while you impotently stare at the front door.

Then you hear a noise from behind and you spin, gun cocked, but another, waiting, bursts through the front and pins you to the floor with a knife to your throat and a hand pressed against your mouth so you can’t scream. A knee is shoved into your gut up against your sternum and you can’t breath.
Then comes a thump, thump, thump, and you strain your neck and out of the corner of your bulging eyes you catch the silhouette of another one of them dragging your wife down the stairs by her ankles.

And this is how it ends for you as they defile her in front of you and in the back of your mind you can’t help but wonder if she likes it better from them than you.

Then as quickly as the thought rises in you, you shake it away, and the fantasy dissolves back into the back of your brain where it waits for another day. You get up and check the side window and the back door and satisfied they are secure, you return to guarding the front.

Fear then
anger then
hate.

And this is now YOUR freedom and on it goes until we have run out of genitals to mutilate
so we turn the knife to our wrists and we slowly
cut cut cut cut cut.

It’s the second act of the first book, you know; right from the start:
Brother kills brother. You can look it up.
The first was when we flipped off God.
“Fuck you, God,” says I, “I’m eating your fucking fruit! It looks gooood!”
Meanwhile keep diggin’ what’s left
from the ground and set it on fire, you know,
so I can type this on my MacBook Pro
which turns the sky into the darkest sackcloth.

And then?

Well, who knows? If anyone’s left, I guess he, or she, can take a selfie and post it online somewhere.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, they say, but neither did it fall overnight.

It took a while.

No comments:

Post a Comment