The world was ending, but we were dancing
Our merry little jig, two fisting beers,
Smoking “don’t worry about it,” asking
Questions about LD50s and fear.
The day I traded my brain for a chip,
Nothing changed. I was born of Rage and Love
To begin with, was sick of the world’s shit
By seventeen, but not in the sense of
Eating a bullet. No, I was aggrieved.
I wanted only to dance and sing, suck down
Cherry vitriol and spit fire (believe
Me, I have enough hate to go around.)
I will not be silenced, will not be shamed.
With pen and ink, blood and bone, I proclaim.
Tag Archives: donald trump
The world was ending, but we were dancing
“No gods. No masters. Every man a king.”
How’s that for a nice creed, a glory be,
An invitation to keep your fucking
Hands off other people’s shit and just leave
Well enough alone? Do you really think
Your god has called you to not let bodies
Be bawdy, to forge the chains that will link
Us together in oppression? Bitch, please.
Christ would never consent to this charade,
To rule by Keebler elves and slovenly
Con men, money changers who would parade
Their wealth and demand more. You’ll never see
What it really means to be of the book.
(We preached our creed with every breath we took.)
Tiny hands and a tremendous gut
Sat atop the shitter where they would die
We’re going to show them
How great Moab is
Let them see it
Let them feel it
Let our greatness spread
Like oil on water
Let it burn like a fire
Fit to engulf the earth”
They know, Sir, they know
Then, give us another slice of that cake
So delicious and moist
When the trumpet sounded, all the earth was
Prepared. The skies divided like water,
And from the wound dropped a fat orange fly
Sticky wet with marmalade afterbirth,
Stinking, bloated, putrescence in the flesh
It proclaimed itself a god, and none dared
Dispute it. The fly was given a crown,
But in the end, it lived a life that was
Short and disgusting, just like any other fly
Now that Obama’s poll numbers are in tailspin –
watch for him to launch a strike in Libya or Iran.
He is desperate.
– Donald J. Trump, October 9th, 2012
Obama’s approval rating, 10/8-14/2012
Trump’s approval rating, April 6th, 2017
AGAIN, TO OUR VERY FOOLISH LEADER,
DO NOT ATTACK SYRIA
– IF YOU DO
MANY VERY BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN
FROM THAT FIGHT THE U.S. GETS
– Donald J. Trump, September 5th, 2013
…when, with modest effort and risk, we can
stop children from being gassed to death,
and thereby makes our kids safer over the long run,
I believe we should act.
…that is what makes America
That is what makes us
– Barack Obama, September 10th, 2013
2014 cost of a Tomahawk missile:
Estimated cost to fire 70 missiles in 2017:
Estimated Syrian refugees based on UN estimate from March 2016:
6,130,000 – 6,320,000
Registered Syrian refugees as of March 2017:
How much bombing airfields
could have done four years ago,
how little it might do now
I have nothing more to say
(I am dissolving in quotes
and half-formed ideas about
Syria, Idlib Province
There are brutal, unabashed, self-proclaimed reports of deaths. Chemical weapons. Chemical attacks. Women, children: dead. Dozens. Many. Genuine innocent people.
Bashar al-Assad stands resolute. “Chemical weapons are anyone’s weakness. It’s fundamental. We established a red line. The United States does nothing. The civilized world does nothing. Those supporters of ceasefire condemning barbarism? Intentions defend nothing. Moral demands bear chemical weapon attacks, not decency.”
Tillerson: “Today’s intolerable attack will be ignored. The exercise is clear: condemn, monitor, disregard. To ensure is to have no guarantee.”
Trump: “Horrific. President Obama attacks children. Terrible. Our ally Russia shows support.”
The night the city burned, I sat on your floor listening like a child as you told me our god must be Janus. A face for authority, for the frightened middle, and another for casting stones, for cleansing the temple. I’ve tried to learn the tenets of this new faith, but I am no Martin Luther, no prophet of peace. When I march, I march in black, a mourning hawk dressed in the fatigues of protest: hood marking me an adherent of the old ways, mask to keep out miasma, gloves so as not to leave a trace of my touch. My creed has only two lines: Fight for those who won’t raise their fists, work towards a world that does not need you.