[Mb-civic] Blood Of The Lambs - Silence Of The Damned

[Cheeseburger]

Blood Of The Lambs - Silence Of The Damned



Well, it looked like a good title when I thought of it...

I was working in my shop tonight again, couldn't listen to the state of the
union address (kind of had an inkling I'd heard it all before anyway), but
managed to catch a little bit of commentary on it by various people on NPR.

The title of this post comes from one of the commentators stating something
like during before or whenever the address, some of the Republican
Congresspeople were dipping their fingers in ink and holding them up, to
show a symbiotic relationship with an average Iraqi citizen (they'll never
have one over to dinner) who were dipping their fingers in ink during the
Iraqi election and holding them up for the cameras.

And I was just thinking, if I could have a nickel for everything I want, I
would be a millionaire.  I want those Republican Congresspeople to go over
to Iraq and dip their fingers in the blood of the 100,000 dead Iraqi men
women and children they have basically murdered in cold blood.

And then hold their fingers up for the cameras.  Smear the blood on their
faces.  Really get a feel for the sacrifice to their gods of oil, death,
greed and conquest.

The silence of those who helped to murder the 100,000 is staggering.

The dead are seldom if ever referred to or talked about.  They are never
referred to.  It's a brand new day.  Let the dead bury the dead.  Bring on
the taxpayer-bought champagne.  Let's celebrate the new Democracy in Iraq.

By now my disgust with businessmen alluding to themselves as statesmen amid
the mounting pile of dead bodies, eroding freedoms, and waves of propaganda
has become apparent.

The silence, of those who have instigated this pre-vacuum state of
imperialism, about dead bodies, oil, or permanent military bases in Iraq
continues to damn them by their own hands.

The lambs they have slaughtered in sacrifice to their gods of power appear
to be silent, except for the screaming I hear late at night in my ears as I
cover my head with my pillow in shame at the default of America into the
land of sewerlike armpit negotiations among traitors that never seem to
cease.

I look at the above posts, I look at last months posts here, I look at
various websites on the internet, I review various opinions, I weigh it
against the imperial propaganda, the imperialists apparently don't care how
many people print what, it doesn't seem to phase them in the slightest, for
after all as they have already spoken, they make their own reality.

And then it just turns out to be a bunch of crap I'm writing which doesn't
fix anything about anything.  My disgust continues.  My laments go unheard.
The powers of my prayers remain to be seen.  Indeed "did you ever dance with
the devil in the pale moonlight".  It appears I am fixing to find out all
about that.

I haven't figured out how to dig up an 8 year old Iraq girl who has had her
head blown off by an American missile and bring her back to life, though.

That thought does not go away.  I see the Congresspeople lifting their
fingers with ink on them and smiling.  I hear the champagne corks popping.
I hear the imperialists laughing, and chuckling, and laughing and laughing
and laughing.

I hear nothing from the Iraqi girl.  I cannot reattach her head back on for
some reason.  I can not breathe life back into her.  I ask her if she wants
some champagne, yet she does not reply.  I don't understand.  She should be
celebrating the great victory of her people who are as big as suckers as the
Americans who got suckered by the corporate, oil, military, etc people at
the top of our Government taking up permanent residence in her country with
14 military bases to protect her dead body, and prevent any coyotes from
digging her, or any oil, up without the proper authorization.  Perhaps they
will build a road over her corpse some day and great joyful oil tanker
trucks will roll over her every day and sing wonderful songs to her soul
about the great victories of freedom over commerce.

I pull her lips to either side to form a smile with my fingers, but her skin
has lost it's elasticity and her mouth is frozen in a mangled look of
death's horror.  I tell her funny jokes, but she will not laugh.  I don't
understand.  She is finally free.  Her country is finally free from Saddam
Hussein.  She should be happy and laughing and celebrating and holding her
fingers up stained with ink.  I push my fingers into the velvety part of her
open neck and dip my fingers in her blood.  I hold my fingers up to the sky.
But nobody sees.  Nobody hears.  Nobody cares.  Nobody can do anything about
her, just like I cannot.  I cradle her cold body in my arms until I stop
crying as I hear a sound from the dark wind in the distance calling to my
spine.  The Americans are coming to free more of us.




Cheeseburger

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