Maybe the Times are Not a'Changin

In light of the recent Osama Bin Laden murder, I have been reflecting on the reaction of the American people to the event and the collective feeling of celebration is disturbing to me. I suppose I am no more disturbed than I was at the false or long feigned sense of community that the actual WTC attack forged, but somehow now, ten years later, confused as to how to react, the American public respond the only way they know how- by again reverting to a blind patriotism that they don't even fully understand and applauding the murder of the man who's name and face have become unanimously associated by the media with the hot button words of 'terrorism' and 'al-Qaida', as if the extermination of this man effectively ends the issues he was associated with. (Which as we all know, it does not. Are out military forces not still occupying the Middle East?)

Of course, when he who has been deemed responsible for the attacked that shattered the internal attitude of untouchable/unbreakable confidence held in the American psyche has been 'taken down', any threat he posed (from a remote desert cave, on dialysis) would, to Americans, seem to be neutralized. The next step will be an aggregate consensus of shock when a person or group of people retaliates, proving to be far more destructive, angry, organized, manipulative, or any of the like towards the US of A.

The concept of retribution is problematic. As the Greek Oresteia and countless other texts remind us, when is retribution every really had? Furthermore, when does it stop? This one action on the part of the American nation will undoubtedly serve as a catalyst of  several aftershocks and acts of comeuppance on the side opposed to the US. This murder has activated various neutral nations across the globe and individuals as well, both facts that should be in the foreground of the American consciousness, but instead, we party like idiots in the street of Washington DC. Shouldn't there be a more somber feeling surrounding death? Any death? A reflection of the many military persons and civilians who have been effected by this man hunt? A recognition of how this action, and the actions supported and carried out by out nation have effected the global community over these past 10 years?

Alas, how often we forget that this social change does not always mean positive change, and that the 'passion of individuals' does not always represent the Utilitarian 'greatest good for the greatest number', especially when interpreted and evaluated by the entity of this nation, on its illusory self elevated pedestal. Those impassioned may not actually take this notion into consideration at all before choosing a course of action.*shock* How can this be? Doesn't the old adage of what's good for the goose is good for the gander- the US being the goose, the world being the gander- hold any more? (of course I hope the thick sarcasm here translates through blog)

Anthropologist Margaret Mead said, "Never ever depend on governments or institutions to solve any major problems. All social change comes from the passion of individuals." We have seen this around the globe in recent times, in Egypt, in Libya, in various nations where the people have had it with their governments, where they have finally taken to the streets in search of a better option, at any cost. This is a passion I feel is lacking in this nation. Patriotism suddenly translates into a serious form of complacency and conformity, an acceptance of the movements of the government without question of motive of ethics. If (or when) the need comes for an uprising similar to what is making change and headlines on the other side of the Atlantic, I seriously question how many would show up. But murder the man top on the nations most wanted lists and the streets fill to capacity.

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I know I post a lot from Ani Difranco, but that is how much I am impacted by her thoughtful words. After 9/11, she wrote a poem reflecting on the events (she is from New York) that I feel has relevance to this new series of events, still so connected in action and reaction to those of the WTC attack. Her vivid visual language presents the power of the spoken word, not only to move, but to question what is and what is supposed to be, or what at one time was. The video is just under 10 mins (and *warning* there may be some mildly offensive language) but she surely hits on some issues that still plague our society today. Even long after the literal dust of this attack has settled, we still fight through the residual aftermath.

SELF EVIDENT- (inspired by the WTC disaster)

yes,
us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hallway
despite what the p.a. announcement says
yes, rushing down the long stairs
with the whiskey of eternity
fermented and distilled
to eighteen minutes
burning down our throats
down the hall
down the stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there
yes, it's part of a pair
there on the bow of Noah's ark
the most prestigious couple
just kickin back parked
against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific
in its Indian summer breeze
on the day that America
fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century
without saying thank you
or please

and the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
cuz we were all on time for work that day
we all boarded that plane for it to fly
and then while the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky

and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war than anything I've seen so far
so far
so far
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on
and I'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the pentagon
keep the propaganda
keep each and every TV
that's been trying to convince me
to participate
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution
even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from hell's kitchen to Brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories
sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters
with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowin
like never before
as all over the country
folks just shake their heads
and pour

so here's a toast to all the folks who live in Palestine
Afghanistan
Iraq

El Salvador

here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation
under the stone cold gaze of mt. Rushmore

here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors
who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma City
just to listen to a young woman's voice

here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now
awaiting the executioner's guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream

cuz take away our playstations
and we are a third world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son
who stole the oval office and that phony election
I mean
it don't take a weatherman
to look around and see the weather
Jeb said he'd deliver Florida, folks
and boy did he ever

and we hold these truths to be self evident:
#1 George W. Bush is not president
#2 America is not a true democracy
#3 the media is not fooling me
cuz I am a poem heeding hyper-distillation
I've got no room for a lie so verbose
I'm looking out over my whole human family
and I'm raising my glass in a toast

here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
let us vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges
we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
I dream of touring like Duke Ellington
in my own railroad car
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face

give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally
and relearn how to rock-n-roll
yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there
so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets
and clear the air
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand
of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants
and quit the hypocritical chants of
freedom forever

cuz when one lone phone rang
in two thousand and one
at ten after nine
on nine one one
which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that the whole world turned
just to watch it fall

and while we're at it
remember the first time around?
the bomb?
the Ryder truck?
the parking garage?
the princess that didn't even feel the pea?
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?

can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design
following a fantastical reversal of the New York skyline?!

it was a joke, of course
it was a joke
at the time
and that was just a few years ago
so let the record show
that the FBI was all over that case
that the plot was obvious and in everybody's face
and scoping that scene
religiously
the CIA
or is it KGB?
committing countless crimes against humanity
with this kind of eventuality
as its excuse
for abuse after expensive abuse
and it didn't have a clue
look, another window to see through
way up here
on the 104th floor
look
another key
another door
10% literal
90% metaphor
3000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too perfect day
must be more than poems
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job
and it's my job
to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain
sshhhhhh....
baby listen
hear the train?