I surrender. We have lost. Moreover, I sense that there is no chance for the recovery of America in the remainder of my generation's life span. And I will no longer write of the treachery, the obtuse electorate, and the pathetic activist "opposition."
.
Actually, "lost" is not the right assessment. "Defaulted" is closer.
.
The Power Elite -- they beyond the conscience of any nationality or of humanity -- have won, won through the agency of our government, which is now indentured to them.
.
And actually, "won" is not the right assessment. "Won" implies there was a struggle over which one party or the other prevailed. But there was nothing that ever qualified as a genuine struggle, simply a ten-year exercise in fecklessness: slogans, signs, weekend larks on the Mall, peace celebs, a redundancy of "activist" organizations, each -- with rare exception -- committed above all else to its own survival, each with its finely nuanced message, and never a substantial collective effort at the massive unity of numbers and commonality of message required to stop the wars and to earn back our Bill of Rights. In the final analysis, our meager efforts at protest served only to gild the propaganda of a posturing beneficent government's toleration of dissent.
.
And that's what it's all about, all the treachery flowing out from the two perverted cornucopias: slaughterous war for invented justification, and the castration of our rights as citizens and our dignity as human beings.
.
We sat and watched, whether permitting or in denial, we allowed it to happen, the Frankensteinian transmutation of America into the "Homeland," shades of the Nazi "das Heimatland." Such is the stuff of real tragedy, allowing the treachery that defeats oneself. The Bard's ghost now agonizes over being unable to pen this tragedy, grander than any of his life's works.
.
I now remove to my Jungle Home, up a dirt road running east from the Gulf coast that no school bus nor the U.S. Mail dares assay. I will volunteer for scullery work in the soup kitchens of the nearest urbanized communities, which we can expect will increase in number and need for volunteer manpower as the security state morphs ever grander, security of the treacherous that is, at the cost of the citizens' welfare and human dignity.
.
I'll read the books that have been piling up unread on my shelves for the past ten years. Perhaps I can re-capture my poetry. I'll indulge my dear pooches. I'll gaze at the sky.
.
There will be sadness, perhaps somewhat alleviated by the hope, however faint, that some future generation may finally muster the intelligence, integrity, energy and courage to mount a genuine struggle to earn decent governance.
.
.....Goodbye, Rafe Pilgrim.............................May 1, 2010
.
Actually, "lost" is not the right assessment. "Defaulted" is closer.
.
The Power Elite -- they beyond the conscience of any nationality or of humanity -- have won, won through the agency of our government, which is now indentured to them.
.
And actually, "won" is not the right assessment. "Won" implies there was a struggle over which one party or the other prevailed. But there was nothing that ever qualified as a genuine struggle, simply a ten-year exercise in fecklessness: slogans, signs, weekend larks on the Mall, peace celebs, a redundancy of "activist" organizations, each -- with rare exception -- committed above all else to its own survival, each with its finely nuanced message, and never a substantial collective effort at the massive unity of numbers and commonality of message required to stop the wars and to earn back our Bill of Rights. In the final analysis, our meager efforts at protest served only to gild the propaganda of a posturing beneficent government's toleration of dissent.
.
And that's what it's all about, all the treachery flowing out from the two perverted cornucopias: slaughterous war for invented justification, and the castration of our rights as citizens and our dignity as human beings.
.
We sat and watched, whether permitting or in denial, we allowed it to happen, the Frankensteinian transmutation of America into the "Homeland," shades of the Nazi "das Heimatland." Such is the stuff of real tragedy, allowing the treachery that defeats oneself. The Bard's ghost now agonizes over being unable to pen this tragedy, grander than any of his life's works.
.
I now remove to my Jungle Home, up a dirt road running east from the Gulf coast that no school bus nor the U.S. Mail dares assay. I will volunteer for scullery work in the soup kitchens of the nearest urbanized communities, which we can expect will increase in number and need for volunteer manpower as the security state morphs ever grander, security of the treacherous that is, at the cost of the citizens' welfare and human dignity.
.
I'll read the books that have been piling up unread on my shelves for the past ten years. Perhaps I can re-capture my poetry. I'll indulge my dear pooches. I'll gaze at the sky.
.
There will be sadness, perhaps somewhat alleviated by the hope, however faint, that some future generation may finally muster the intelligence, integrity, energy and courage to mount a genuine struggle to earn decent governance.
.
.....Goodbye, Rafe Pilgrim.............................May 1, 2010
