Member of the Internet Link Exchange
Some of my otherwise brilliant and productive friends (like scoundrels and their flags) take final refuge in character assainations; they ignore the issue and deny the relation between our consumption and brutality. So you can go ahead and roll your eyes and marginalize me/socially penalize me: play on my insecurities. And you can feign ignorance, but you're not stupid, you're just selfish. And you're a slave to your impulse. And I kinda thought we all shared common threads in that we gravitated here to challenge the conventions we've been fed by a culture that treats (living, breathing, feeling) creatures like (biological) machines. And if you buy that shit then how long 'till it's me who serves as your commodity? Through (for example), institutionalized violence and opression of workers and women raped by sexism (and how about native americans?). Do you still insist on feigning indignance (aka: indignation) to reason? To collective self-interest? Tell you what- I'll call you on your shit, PLEASE CALL ME ON MINE. Then we can grow together and make this shit-hole planet better in time. So why not consider someone else: STOP CONSUMING ANIMALS.
I speak outside what is recognized as the border between "reason" and "insanity". But I consider it a measure of my humanity to be written off by the living graves of a billion murdered lives. And I'm not ashamed of my recurring dreams about me and a gun and a different species (hint: starts with "h" and rhymes with "Neuman's") of carnage strewn about the stockyards, the factories and farms. Still I know as well as anyone that it does less good than harm to be this honest with a conscience eased by lies. But you cannot deny that meat is still murder. Dairy is still rape. And I'm still as stupid as anyone, but I know my mistakes. I have recognized one form of oppression, now I recognize the rest. And life's too short to make another's shorter-(animal liberation now!).
I'd like to actively encourage the toughest man to dance as hard as he can to this, my song. And bring your stupidest friends along. We wrote this song because it's fucking boring to keep spelling out the words that you keep ignoring. And your mscho shit won't phase me now. It just makes us laugh, we got your cash, court-jester take a bow. Because did you know that when I was nine, I tried to fuck a friend of mine? HE was 8, then I turned 10. 14 years later it happened again (with another friend). This time me on the receiving end. And all the fists in the world can't save you now. Cuz if you dance to this, then you drink to me and my sexuality. With your hands down my pants by transitive property.
They called here to tell me that you're finally dying, through a veil of childish cries. Southern Manitoba prarire's pulling at the pant-leg of your bad disguise. So why were you so anchorless? A boat abandoned in some backyard. Anchorless in the small town that you lived and died in. I've got an armchair from your family home. Got your P.G. Wodehouse novels and your telephone. I've got your plates and stainless steel. Got that way of never saying what you really feel. I don't want to live and die here where we're anchorless.
Our cities seem to function quite the same: sweeping ghettos undeer one big rug makes them easier to contain, so the upper-middle class can sleep (or shop in peace) and convince themselves that "trickle-down" will solve this poverty. Yes, murderers walk our streets and their weapons are their pens, desks, policies and P.R. campaigns (fed by the spoils of war) against the "lazy, shiftless" populations of the poor. This system cannot be reformed...(so how about we try something different?)
"People have the right to the truth. Unvarnished. Even uncomfortable. But never subjugated to a cause, however noble or well-meaning. They have the right to clear thinking. Slogans, boycotts and protests don't offer answers... (I)t has been suggested that Shell should pull out of developing nations altogether. The oil would certainly continue flowing. The business would continue operating. The vast majority of the employees would remain in place. But the sound and ethical business practices synonymous with Shell, the environmental investment, and the tens of millions of dollars spent on community programs would all be lost. Again, it's the people of developing nations that you would hurt. It's easy enough to sit in your comfortable homes in the West, calling for sanctions and boycotts against a developing country. But you have to be sure that knee-jerk reactions won't do more harm than good. Some campaigning groups say that we should intervene in the political process in developing nations. But even if we could, we must never do so. Politics is the business of governments and politicians. The world where companies use their economic influence to prop up or bring down governments would be a frightening and bleak one indeed."
("Clear Thinking in Troubled Times": Winnipeg Free Press, Nov 21st, 1995
"Publicly subsidized! Privately profitable!" That's the anthem of the upper-tier (the puppeteer untouchable). We focus a moment, nod in approval and bury our head back in the bar-codes of these neo-colonials while our former nemesis (ah, the romance!): the nation-state, now plays fund-raiser for a new brand of power-concentrate. Try again, but now we're confused- what is "class-war"? Is this class war? Yes, this is class war. And I'm just a kid- I can't believe that I gotta worry about this kind of shit! What a stupid world! Yeah, this is just beautiful... absolutely no regard for principle. What a stupid world. (We're): 1) born 2) hired 3) disposed! Where that job lands, everybody knows and you can tell by the smile on the CEO's that the environmental restraints are about to go. You can bet that laws will be set to ensure the benefit of unrestricted labor-laws (all kept in place by displaced government death squads). They own us. They produce us. They consume us. Can you fucking believe this? What a stupid world. Fuck this bullshit display of class-loyalties. The media and "our" leaders wrap it all up in a flag- their fucking shit-rag. hooray!
At Harold Edward's Elementary you pay respect to Our God, Our Flag, Our Military. In grade 3 I had a written composition about the global threat of communism. And I was the luckiest 8-year old McCarthyist of 1979: I spent spring break on the flight line of a base in the Carolinas- the U.S. version of my dad had signed us in. And 12 years later, the Gatling I'd touched that was strapped to the nose of a U.S. A-10, separated flesh from bone and honed its' skills on "lesser humans". And thus confirmed the suspicions earned in the 7 years preceding about the lies I was told and if the truth be known, I'm probably better off believing (well, they said I'm better off believing... somehowbetter off believing). But how could they do this to me? Born head first and brought up ankle deep. And maybe you're a lot like me- identified for 14 years without a choice. Terrified the morning you woke up and realized that if and when you jump ship, you either swim for shore or drown. Don't let the fuckers drag you down.
Why don't we all strap bombs to our chests and ride our bikes to the next G-7 picnic? It seems easier with every clock tick. But whose will would that represent? Mine? Yours? The rank-and-file's? Or better yet: the Government's? But I don't want to catalyze or synthesize the second Final Solution. I don't want to be the Steve Smith of the Revolution. Do you see the analogy? We're the Oilers. The World Bank- the Flames! And just 2 minutes remain in the 7th game of the best of 7 series! Yeah, Jesus saves! Gretzky scores! The workers slave. The rich get more. One wrong move and we risk the cup. So play The Man, not the puck. Why don't we plant a mechanic virus and erase the memory of the machines that maintain this capitalist dynasty? And yes, I recognize the irony that the very system I oppose affords me the luxury of biting the hand that feeds. But that's exactly why priviledged fucks like me should feel obliged to whine and kick and scream- until everyone has everything they need.
Wake up, coughing, tired, with my face in my hands, staring at the window as the sunlight demands action. All the energy it takes to close these bedroom blinds. Wrote this selfish sadness on a bathroom wall, spent half the span of some lost culture's rise and fall, but I'm as clueless as a drooling four year old. Still hoping I might find the capacity to let you know I know you're lonely. So here's the last call for regrets, a final slow dance through the days that we all hold on to. Here's the promises I've made, tied too tight to undo. An unwrapped gift from me to you. All the slightly insane on the 18 North Main, reaching for a small-town downtown, night rain, nothing I could say could be worth saying anyway today. Like "Hey, whatever happened to what's that guys' name?", we get a little older and it looks the same: askance. Excuse my failing sense of humour. Here's the promises I've made; a razor blade and this broken piece of chain. A history left to rust out in the rain.
Swastikas and Klan-robes. Sexist, racist, homophobes. Aryan-Nations and Hammerskins: you can wear my nuts on your nazi chins! God, I love a man in uniform! (But, uh, before we get too intimate here, big fella): what exactly are the great historical accomplishments of "your" race that make you proud to be white? Capitalism? Slavery? Genocide? Sitcoms? Guns? War? Pollution? Addiction? NAFTA? Thigh-Master? This is your fucking white-history, my "friend". So why don't we start making a history worth being proud of and stat fighting the real fucking enemy: the white male capitalist supemacist. Swastikas and Klan-robes. Sexist, racist, homophobes. This one's for the "Master Race": my brown-power ass in your white-power face! Kill them all and let a Norse God sort 'em out!
At some turning point in history, some fuckface recognized that knowledge tends to democratize cultures and societies so the only thing to do was monopolize and confine it to priests, clerics and elites (the rest resigned to serve), cuz if the rabble heard the truth they'd organize against the power, privilege and wealth hoarded by the few- for no one else. And did it occur to you that it's almost exactly the same today? And so if our schools won't teach us, we'll have to teach ourselves to analyze and understand the systems of thought-control. And share it with each other, never sayed by brass rings or the threat of penalty. I'll promise you- you promise me- not to sell each other out to murderers, to thieves... who've manufactured our delusion that you and me participate meaningfully in the process of running our own lives. Yeah, you can vote however the fuck you want, but power still calls all the shots. And believe it or not, even if (real) democracy broke loose, power could/would just "make the economy scream" until we vote responsibly.
Does it seem strange to you? The confetti. The balloons. The mile-wide grins and the victory dance to welcome in the heir to a state of (utter and complete) disrepair? Because it sure seems strange to me: they're acting like they won the fucking lottery! I mean, shouldn't they feel terror at the task that lies ahead: to feed and house the people that this system's left for dead. And could I have hit the nail much harder on the head? It's profits before lives. They are motivated by greed. First they taught us to depend on their nation-states to mend our tired minds, our broken bones, our bleeding limbs. But now they've sold off all the splints and contracted out the tourniquets and if we jump through hoops then we might just survive. Is this what we deserve? To scrub the palace floors? To fight amongst ourselves? As we scramble for the crumbs they spit out, frothing at the mouth about the scapegoats that they've chosen for us. With every racist pointed finger I can hear the goose-steps getting closer. They no longer represent us so is it not our obligation to confront this tyranny?
I'm not going to try to tell you that I'm different from all the rest. I've been subject to the same de-structure of desire and I've felt the same effects; I'm a hetero-sexist tragedy. And potential rapists all are we. But don't tell me this is natural. This is nurturing. And there's a difference between sexism and sexuality. I had different desires prior to my role-remodelling. And at six years of age you don't challenge their claims. You become the same. (Or withdraw from the game and hang your head in shame). I think that's exactly what I did. I tried to sever the connections between me and them. I fought against their further attempts to convince a kid that birthright can bestow the power to yield the subordination of women and do you know what patricentricity means? I found out just a couple of days/months/years/minutes ago. It means male values uber alles and hey! Whaddaya know... sex has been distorted and vilified. I'm scared of my attraction to body types. If everything desired is objectified then maybe eroticism needs to be redefined. And I refuse to be a "man".