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29 de Diciembre, 2007

New Waters, Ancient Dream

Categorized under Corazón , Derechos Humanos | Tags: Change, Hope, Power to the People

THIS WORLD. My country. What a crazy fucking place. A place where many people are more worried about electric boxes of bits getting dirtied up with "dirty words" than they are a huge immoral monster-nation raping weaker tribes on the regular. Where we have a deranged and sad figure in the white house because people imagined they'd want to have a beer with a man...who loves telling us how much he doesn't drink anymore. Where we let our own people starve and drown and go without medicine or teeth or a bed because we want to blow all our money on killing people in nations we don't bother to educate ourselves on. Where we get worried about Whitey dying out so we launch a psyops war on immigrants—those who work to power our economic engine—poisoning the very stew that we once claimed made the USA so great. Where we justify torture. Where we justify torture. Where we are so confused and wounded by this reality that people are, one by one, hurting themselves in weird, private ways and then writing about it online so we can once and for all understand that holding a person down and, against their will, forcing their body to work in ways never intended and extremely terrifying is "torture." Where we pay massive corporations to build prison camps where we can lock up large numbers of children and women and men and profit from their pain. (Because friend, its still about profit, and that constant must remain.) Where we invade a nation and help kill a million people because we are unable to handle world affairs and our intelligence agencies, but then argue self-righteously how important it is that we remain there to keep the peace.

And then talk of starting more wars.

Where this same Successful and Moral Culture will turn around and try to shame us for rejecting its rules and its values and its judgments. Which would really be the only sane thing to do at this point. Instead of listening for one moment to a voice that would shame us for marching in the street to show resistance to the mistreatment we are given, or for prioritizing the weak, or the heart, or for wearing a shirt wishing peace on the world.

We drift further apart every day, mi cultura. I don't know your name and I don't want to. I can't even hear you anymore. Behind your glossy symbols and under your grand anthems, I see shiny colors and smell rank smoke, hear shrieking metal. Sounds like 600,000 people screaming under a president casually guffawing.

I just want to remind people like me out there that we are the real culture, and we are the real future, and the rest is a dream, it is a bad bad bad dream, and those voices rising up out of that pit of cess were lost long ago, don't listen to them. And if you find yourself talking back to them, remember, they cannot hear you, and they do not want to. They just want to tie up your hands and mouth and time and energy so you are tugging on the same acid threads that will undo us all and vindicate, finally, all their loathing for life and their silent decisions to give up on human goodness and hope and change. Who smile on TV and on their book photos but really insist upon a cynicism that, rather than address their own shellacked and withered hearts, wishes to reduce this world to a place where only withered hearts can make sense of anything.

I just want to speak to all mis hermanas y hermanos, to all those tireless soladados, to those people out here who make it their business to throw a wrench or any rock they can find in the septic maw of this lurching and hateful mechanism that croaks lullabies in its flat, false key, and bleeds oil down hungry throats, and chews hands and homes and lives without regard; to those who lay down seeds of hope in the barren soil they find. I want to say thank you to those who make up esta lucha. I want to make it clear that I am here to lend mis manos y mis hombros y mis pecho y mi corazón y mi voz to that effort, to help prop you up because hopewise, you prop me up, to shout out to those who care so much for our future that they refuse to entertain the deathbed party games that the TV and the Papers offer us, greedy and tone-deaf to the point of lunacy, asking for handouts at the funeral of the well-loved person that they have murdered themselves.

There are so many of us working these oars. We could start rowing in a different direction. Altogether and all at once. Nothing could stop us.

Love to you. And more soon.

 The Unapologetic Mexican has been known to scribble a few things besides meandering, verbose, self-congratulatory blog posts. However, they are rarely as fun. Finally, let it be known that Nezua first dared bust out this Habanero of Truth at exactly 6:59 AM.  | Top | View blog reactions

Comentarios (8)

RC dijo:

OK, Nez, Presente!

Palabras por RC spat forth on el 29 de Diciembre, 2007 at 05:00 PM

James dijo:

We'll keep going one day at a time. The "New World Order" or whatever one may wish to call it is hardly invulnerable. Beneath the slick veneer of monoculture is an aging foundation that shows signs of crumbling. On that I pin my hopes.

Palabras por James spat forth on el 29 de Diciembre, 2007 at 09:25 PM