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ABOUT zwarg.blog CATEGORIES MAIN ARCHIVES 1999(14) [+] 2000(3) [+] 2001(4) [+] 2002(18) [+] 2003(159) [+] 2004(108) [+] 2005(126) [+]United States vs. Iraq
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Monday, March 31 2003
Day of Fools The should rename the day April American's day. On the radio today I heard someone speaking, and I couldn't believe that they allowed themselves to be broadcast across a country saying the things that they were saying. Trying to introduce the service economy into the global marketplace, politicians are all angling for their dollar. "The United States economy will increase the average income of a family of four to X, and will bring people worldwide out of poverty." So, there is no such thing as a family of four outside of the United States? We get to pat outselves on the back when we bring a person outside of our nation up above poverty? Should we have a party? Increase our dividends and offer stock options? The largest congregation of fools are the ones who have the audacity to proclaim that their selfish interests are those of the greater good. I declare that it would do this Nation a great service if every beautiful woman from theage of 18 to 30 gave me head for thirty minutes. Hell, I should be a Senator! Sunday, March 30 2003A Ribbon of Fear Runs Through Me. On the bus, in the middle of a protest against the war. Surrounded by motorcycles on all sides, roaring through town and rendering streetlights useless. Peace signs flashed as riders revved their engines, the young ladies at the bus stop holding out their hands to get them slapped by riders gliding past. Never ending, flowing over the hill, down the street, then on again for as far as I could see. Then the fear started to rise in me, as I saw out of the corner of my eye, something ominous, and gray. A cloud, rising from the middle of the crowd, and wafting over the riders and the bus itself. The pulse in my neck rose, and the grip on my girlfriend's hand tightened. The smell of burning rubber reached my nostrils, and although it was difficult to breath deeply, I did, and sighed for relief. A motorcyclist burns his tire, and I get all freaked out. I can NOT imagine the hell the normal person would be going through right now around the world, living in a cage of fear, not knowing where the next dreadful package will arrive. Saturday, March 29 2003Collective Atrocity Berserker: Fay: The psychology of an individual in a war environment cannot be analyzed by assuming that their basis or starting point is anything that can be described during peacetime. A huge rift in the reality of warfare versus the reality of peaceful living. No wonder. War = hell. Friday, March 28 2003Dichotomy or Contradiction? Amazing how I can read in the news about paramilitary action against refugess one second, and laugh about obscene violence in a film the next. I realize that this quiet evening in my house is an un-heard of thing in other parts of my city and my world. For these things, and for the wonderful people in my life that make it so, I have great love for them. I figured it out! That's why! Saddam just needs a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, hey, I'm not picky! Thursday, March 27 2003The Museum Visit. This evening the museum opened it's doors to members (plus guest) to view award winning art from local artists. As I disembarked from the train and shuffled my way down the alleys of downtown, I pondered the size of a new building (shouldn't they be called builts?) rising in the skyline. Upon rendevous with a friend and associates, we ventured forth for some viewing. What a wonderful evening. We went, and viewed the art through thick environmentally barricaded glass. The long, sweeping lines. The arcs suspended in space. The thick swaths of shadow and light. Colors, electrified and muted. Texture dancing across a canvas larger than any artist could ever fill. We were viewing a piece of art much larger than a single artist could dream of completing. The skyline and bridge of San Francisco, glowing and pulsing with the deep evening traffic. The profiles of buildings across a shadowed night sky. The blushes and diffused explosions of electric lights along the facades of buildings. A truly beautiful composition, elaborately orchestrated and constructed. And that was my art for the evening. Wednesday, March 26 2003My Life During Wartime. If you could divide my life into the parts when there was this war going on, and the parts when there was no war going on, you would see a startling difference. Instead of asking about the weather, and wondering if our politicians realize the true impact of harvesting our virgin forests, I now ask about the war, and wonder if our politicians realize the true impact of protestation and the budgetary crisis that results. And not much else is different. Except the fact that I know that something must be done to prevent any innocent suffering. Something also must be done to keep a homocidal maniac from controlling a country in dire need of help. These somethings are the things that I've been wrestling with for months now, if only I could think of a solution, it would make it better. Think, dammit! Tuesday, March 25 2003Restless Natives. A violent exchange of words outside the grocery store this evening. Aged veterans screaming at each other over the true nature of violence. Colorful and vibrant curses emanating from the lips of an elderly gentleman. Odd, if you askme, but what do they hope to accomplish by raising their voices? So that the rest of the clientele of the grocery can hear their malformed opinions? Now that you mention it, what's the point of continual demands and political accusations? So that the rest of the world can marvel at your hideously grotesque ego and poor judgement? Remarkable. Monday, March 24 2003The Revolution Will Be Televised. Watching from tens of thousands of miles away, today we can watch war happen. We can tune in to CNN to watch a tank ambush, or MSNBC to see some firefights. The Blomberg channel is broadcasting patriot missile launches and scud interceptions. There is now a very small division between reality and television. The amount of violence in both is now staggering. Desensitization of our people has begun. Next, there will be a riot outside someone's house, and they'll tune to CNN to watch the coverage from their back room. "Look honey, someone just threw a brick through our window!" How much is enough in the sake of freedom of speech? Television, the one-way medium, blasts at you images (worth a thousand words, mind you) and words like a fire hose. Whatever you agree with, or disagree with doesn't matter now, because you're watching what someone else wants you to watch. So like it, bitch, and take it this way as well. Sunday, March 23 2003Natural War. I have to remind myself that right now, in another country, snowflakes are not falling from the sky. The payloads of the projectiles falling from the sky are not to nourish life. As the snowflakes spatter on my face, I have to remember that there are people who are encountering bullets and shrapnel simultaneously. This silence that rings my ears is nothing compared to the deafening explosions that send shock waves through everything. The security I feel now, in the middle of the woods listening to snow falling is completely negated by the unimaginable fear of the innocents imprisoned in their house, or else face the land falling anti-aircraft fire and spurious bomb. The rift between natural conflict and war is too great to cross. War has become a mechanized machine with moving parts and lubrication. All that the mightier sword does is supplement the fragile ego of a megalomaniac. Saturday, March 22 2003Silent Rhythms. Fortuitous new of the advancing front sounds like garbage cans thrown against the wall. I'm not talking about a wastebasket from the office, with a small, soundless 'Bump!' I'm speaking of a thirty five gallon tin garbage can, hurled against a cinderblock wall, which shatters and sounds around with an incoherent clash of reverbirating decibles. "Now our continuing coverage..." Where have all our concerns gone? Weren't there other things in this world that we cared about? If the Kenyans (all of them) started square dancing, nobody in this country would notice. A biased profile from a biased country, with opinions already fixed. Each person seems to think this is over something else. "No blood for oil." "Peace in the Middle East." The scary thing is, the people who really know what's going on can't school these people as to what reality is. Trying to flee the melee of war/anti-war, I displaced myself into the woods, far from these voices. A fire and a creek keep me company tonight. All the babbling that they want to do is quite all right by me. First day of spring, and the world is already fucked. I just wonder how long it's going to take to unfuck this whole mess at the end. Friday, March 21 2003The Youths Speak Another beautiful day in the city, unknowning of the war around the world. An evening of fiery tongues, in the form of words. The heat of competition from young hearts learning the most beautiful and most terrible of all emotions. The words that link themselves together to try to pull down these feelings, anchor them to a solid work, and haul them off into the audience's ear. But sometimes the chain is too heavy, or the feelings to airy, and the only thing delivered is a bucket of links and C.O.D.. But when the connection is made, and the right words were strewn across your eardrums, then the magic, the electicity of whoops and cheers erupts over each other, fighting for the last decible. The most magic seems to come from those with the freshest perspective. This old rotten system of ours could stand to be infused with this wild new blood. Everything new, everything fresh, everything so justly right or so grossly wrong. Today started "Shock and Awe," a strategy for destroying a nation. Can't the government get a fucking public relations firm? Some of this material is pathetic. Thursday, March 20 2003Helicopters, Human Chains and Harbingers. The early morning doze broken by crashing cans and bottles, the revving of a huge deisel engine. The recycling truck, working it's way laboriously down the block, one agonizing house by agonizing house. The yelling must've come earlier in the night, intermingled with my dreams. The blaring horns from the traffic was definitely not. This, the first day of the war, and protests abounding. As sunshine graced the city, the snakes of traffic wound around the blocks, through the intersections, and around the corners. No end in sight. The coarse grating of engines and tires on eardrums, relentlessly pounding and vibrating the sidewalks and walls. A short walk down the sunny side of the street, and wondering why it is such a beautiful day. Of all the terrible things gone wrong, why does that godforsaken sun still shine so brightly? Hasn't it heard the news today? We are a nation at war. If that means that all citizens, all people, all dogs, cats and parakeets are at war with all your people, dogs, cats and parakeets, then please don't count me. I must not be counted, for this truth is too hard to handle. It's been said once, and I will say it again: not in my name. |
