In a world full of perceptions and point of view, there are no clear delineations of good and evil, right and wrong. Lines may be drawn for taking sides but in war, there is no winning side or losing side. We all lose. We all suffer. We all believe in what we're fighting for and we all have reasons for believing the way we do. These are just people. We're all just people. People just trying to make it day by day, the only way we know how. It's too bad the effects of war aren't more tangible in our own waking lives. Maybe we'd think more about the ultimate costs of heavy artillery in countries far, far away in which the majority of our own tax paying (and war funding) populace can't find on a map. Or maybe we'd realize the fragility of life and appreciate the simple details within.
With that said, from my own standpoint, it doesn't mean I support the Taliban or accept their ultra-conservative and often violent traditions. Anything but. Their 12th century approach to religion and culture is mindblowing. Burqas and stoning, music is forbidden, girls cannot go to school, and yet they can assimilate technology enough to fly planes into buildings... Yes, it is backwards, hypocritical, and morally wrong. But how many things in our own culture can that be said about? Disagree? Argue with me. However, regardless of how you view anyone's culture, bombing it to smithereens doesn't teach them anyone about democracy or human rights. Instead, it reinforces their hatred and their misconceptions about the 'good' side of American culture. Without education and a little bit of compassion, there is no breaching the barrier of miscommunication, distrust, and a lot of bad history. There must be a new line drawn. We either continue to play these war games of avenging the cycle of atrocities, (to which our 21st century approach is no different than our own 12th century, now just revamped with titanium and computer chips), or we stop playing these ridiculous games (anyone ever realize the irony of the card game 'War'?) and take to a new level of existence.
Everyone knows the quote about 'An eye for an eye makes the whole world go blind' but how many of us actually believe in it? Pretty soon, we'll all just be stumbling around in the dark together, punching and screaming at each other, not realizing we just added yet another stark similarity between us. I don't know what the answer is. I know we've made promises, and we're breaking them. Seems like it's a losin' either way. We got ourselves in this mess and now we can't get out. Anyone notice the recent mile marker that this is the longest American war yet? I mean, I know the majority of us on Facebook weren't alive during Vietnam, but shit, we're going for the long haul in the Middle East and we aint even protesting anymore. No one cares so long as it doesn't interfere with our own precious pointless lives. Even with this massive federal deficit...
The DOD requires $708 billion dollars to operate in 2011. And I guess a job is a job, even when you're getting shot down and blown up. Does OSHA know about this? The Peace Corps got $400 million in 2010. The federal budget for our failing education system is $ 78 billion. The states are on their own. So how does our world work where America, the land of the free and the brave, spends more money on blowing up the world than it does fixing its own problems? Check out this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_military_expenditures Make your own conclusions. I find it odd that we can't find more constructive ways of spending tax dollars. You know, like... convincing people we're really not that bad.
I know we have schools and hospitals to rebuild in both Afghanistan and Iraq since we're the ones who tore em down. We have a new government to build (is that odd or is that just me?). We're training the new non-Taliban military. The women and children are taking back their lives. Villages of people enjoying music and dance again. But I also know we're not winning the 'war'. What does war mean anyway? There aint no front-lines anymore. There's drones and ambushes. Faceless no-name bodies, and its just another casualty of what? What are we fighting for again? Opium is at its highest level of production and usage in Afghanistan. New recruits and supplies are steadily flowing over the border from so-called allies. Bodybags with our sons and daughters are still being shipped back to our hometowns. We let the parents mourn while we send freshies back over. We throw tax money at GM to reward them for fucking up and yet we can't get decent armor shields to protect the Hummers from IEDs. We're compromising on the very things we told them we wouldn't, because it's exactly why we went to Afghanistan in the first place.
Time Magazine put out an article in mid August about what happens if we leave Afghanistan, putting the emphasis mostly on what happens to the women if we leave. Interesting article if you get a chance to read. It's one of the reasons I half-heartedly supported our efforts there when we began in 2001. I mean, you know you're going in, you try to make the best of a really bad situation. That was one of the few things. There's plenty of debate about the role of democracy and women's rights. Women and girls have made major strides in gaining freedoms otherwise never granted like girls going to school or women being seen in public. Or is that true? Does it work and how long will it last? Unfortunately, as we get distracted by other wars (Iraq? Iran? Pakistan? North Korea? Libya? Sudan? Who's next?) and (as expected) lose interest in things we started and don't want to finish, details are becoming obscured. The reasons not so clear. Read!! http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michelle-chen/emtimeem-pictures-afghan_b_669862.html Even if we stuck around to help the women out, I have to ask, are we actually doing more good than bad by being there? Can we force democracy on a people who are not ready for it yet? Certainly, can we force rather than teach? Can we make them see women as equals? Can we subject a culture to our ideals when we can't uphold them ourselves? Equality? Freedom? Democracy? I'm not sure we can say we truly value those yet either.
So with all that... I don't know what is left to be said. We're in a rut? I mean, as civilized as we'd like to call ourselves, conscious beings of religious basis (God's chosen species right?), we sure have a shit load of problems to deal with. Our egos, to say the least. With all our technological advances, our ability to communicate, all our cultures and moral doctrine, we've got the world falling in on our heads with nowhere to begin. What exactly is the root of our problems? Our very nature? America has been a world power for a couple centuries now, but it can't last unless we can change. We've simply lost focus. Maybe the change needs to come from within. Power in itself... why exactly do we need to dominate and crush? Neo-colonialism has gotten us nowhere but instability with a few wealthy folks in power. The rest of us weep and sow... It's time to stop putting things in little categories, to stop taking these ridiculous sides, to stop looking for enemies within ourselves. It's time to accept that we're all in this together on this tiny speck of nothing floating in space. This is all there is and this is all we have...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pale_Blue_Dot
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A Day In The Life Of A Dog
A Day in the Life of a Dog
Does the dog reexamine his life,
wonder if humans think the way he does,
about the meaning of how we perceive
external stimuli, colors, shapes, the light
and dark, the texture of the bone,
why and how he decides where to bury it,
why he gets a bone and why it’s when,
or should he chew on it now instead;
maybe he’ll get another one sooner than later.
Does he understand rhythm or patterns,
do consequences fit in the spacing
between habits and instinct
Does he regret actions and decisions,
and cry at night about all the ‘what if’s’,
wishing he could have done better
or different. Does his morale decline
with every blow or does he wag on,
happy to wake to the next full day with food
and warm sunshine in his grassy backyard.
Does he reason why the mind destroys underwear
before it even gets to the mouth, the sacred
meaning for sharp needles in the annual visit
to the vet, or of the thermometer inserted
where he shits. Does he ponder
the evolution of his food, and how it
got to become dry little pellets that come from a bag
and why he chases squirrels and cats
or how destiny
determines the cemented cage, the anonymous
hollow barks from down the florescent hall
that leads to euthanasia and land fills
versus the grassy fields of deer and sheep,
does he believe that all the scents
before him were meant to be,
or that there is some ultimate answer
in the universe
to explain the chain attached to his neck
or the beatings he receives, or the lonesome howling
done all day in the bare dirt. Does he sit in the wind
and ask of gods, higher beings beyond the clouds
Does he feel the sun’s radiance and ask
of his bizarre attraction
to the scent of a bitch in heat two blocks down,
or of the cultural studies of patriarchy in a kennel;
does he ever examine his rabid desire
to hop the fence so he can stick his nose in her ass.
Does he ever think she’s the one,
does he think of love, being in love, the one true love
or love at first scent
and does he bemoan his existence when she leaves
after a happy day of puppy fucking.
Does he feel the need for a collective community of canine
self identity, to self-identify, to share his experience,
his worldly wisdom,
does he pass down his stories to the pups,
telling them not to waste away
their youth, to not take their short lives for granted
Does he know of death at all, or of aging, the aching joints
from arthritis and dysplasia, the longing for the past
or how quickly it all comes about, do his minutes
move slowly at first, and then faster as age progresses
Does he judge a mutt based on prestige,
the AKC badge, the merits of breeding, the ribbons,
are little dogs inferior and fat dogs stupid
Does he examine the connections of each, the philosophy
of relations between humanity and his own kind,
the history of domestication, and who is civilized
and who is owned, does he question biting the hand that feeds
and chains and beats
or does he know it’s just a matter of waiting patiently
for hundreds of years more
before they’re free and on top of things again
Does he know that his fate is up to no one,
but that he’s all on his own and that time and coincidence
dictates everything, and nothing, between the moments
of sleeping and waking
And does he know the only thing that is truly his own
are the dreams behind his eyelids and in his twitching toes?
Does the dog reexamine his life,
wonder if humans think the way he does,
about the meaning of how we perceive
external stimuli, colors, shapes, the light
and dark, the texture of the bone,
why and how he decides where to bury it,
why he gets a bone and why it’s when,
or should he chew on it now instead;
maybe he’ll get another one sooner than later.
Does he understand rhythm or patterns,
do consequences fit in the spacing
between habits and instinct
Does he regret actions and decisions,
and cry at night about all the ‘what if’s’,
wishing he could have done better
or different. Does his morale decline
with every blow or does he wag on,
happy to wake to the next full day with food
and warm sunshine in his grassy backyard.
Does he reason why the mind destroys underwear
before it even gets to the mouth, the sacred
meaning for sharp needles in the annual visit
to the vet, or of the thermometer inserted
where he shits. Does he ponder
the evolution of his food, and how it
got to become dry little pellets that come from a bag
and why he chases squirrels and cats
or how destiny
determines the cemented cage, the anonymous
hollow barks from down the florescent hall
that leads to euthanasia and land fills
versus the grassy fields of deer and sheep,
does he believe that all the scents
before him were meant to be,
or that there is some ultimate answer
in the universe
to explain the chain attached to his neck
or the beatings he receives, or the lonesome howling
done all day in the bare dirt. Does he sit in the wind
and ask of gods, higher beings beyond the clouds
Does he feel the sun’s radiance and ask
of his bizarre attraction
to the scent of a bitch in heat two blocks down,
or of the cultural studies of patriarchy in a kennel;
does he ever examine his rabid desire
to hop the fence so he can stick his nose in her ass.
Does he ever think she’s the one,
does he think of love, being in love, the one true love
or love at first scent
and does he bemoan his existence when she leaves
after a happy day of puppy fucking.
Does he feel the need for a collective community of canine
self identity, to self-identify, to share his experience,
his worldly wisdom,
does he pass down his stories to the pups,
telling them not to waste away
their youth, to not take their short lives for granted
Does he know of death at all, or of aging, the aching joints
from arthritis and dysplasia, the longing for the past
or how quickly it all comes about, do his minutes
move slowly at first, and then faster as age progresses
Does he judge a mutt based on prestige,
the AKC badge, the merits of breeding, the ribbons,
are little dogs inferior and fat dogs stupid
Does he examine the connections of each, the philosophy
of relations between humanity and his own kind,
the history of domestication, and who is civilized
and who is owned, does he question biting the hand that feeds
and chains and beats
or does he know it’s just a matter of waiting patiently
for hundreds of years more
before they’re free and on top of things again
Does he know that his fate is up to no one,
but that he’s all on his own and that time and coincidence
dictates everything, and nothing, between the moments
of sleeping and waking
And does he know the only thing that is truly his own
are the dreams behind his eyelids and in his twitching toes?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
You can only postpone the inevitable
I voted for you cuz I believed in you
or maybe I just wanted to...
Where's that change you were talkin about?
Or were those words just liquid letters
spilling from your eloquent elastic mouth?
It's time for that progressive thought and further radical action,
action that actually screams louder than the legislative hype
that has dulled down our slow demise
of generations over time.
Not the proverbial bipartisan tea party scones
cuz you don't wanna step on impressionable toes.
Wake up. Because this is it.
The status quo doesn't flow anymore
and the centuries of lies don't jive
I dream of swimming in oil
and guns that shoot us but we don't die
I squirm about dead things floating in the ocean
and of desecrated bodies that waste away
in the western Asian sand.
Our country is unengaged
and I'm tired of being enraged about things
everyone else ignores.
You're becoming another powder wig
hiding behind this championed realpolitik
and beautifully pitched quotes.
You still won't ask the begging questions
hidden in the age long riddles
knowing the revolt they might ignite.
Corporate, or otherwise.
I know you're not the hero
we were looking to try for in ourselves
to have the jones to make right on what's righteous
but instead you will be the embodiment
of everything we failed.
This shallow republic will look to blame you
for the rotting of its soft American core
So even though it began its decay
long before you were born
it will devour you as it devours itself
choosing martyrs regardless
of monumental decisions
or your simple insignificance.
This is where we begin again.
You will either let us believe in your promise of hope
or you can give us death
because we're getting to that final moment
where that's all that's left.
or maybe I just wanted to...
Where's that change you were talkin about?
Or were those words just liquid letters
spilling from your eloquent elastic mouth?
It's time for that progressive thought and further radical action,
action that actually screams louder than the legislative hype
that has dulled down our slow demise
of generations over time.
Not the proverbial bipartisan tea party scones
cuz you don't wanna step on impressionable toes.
Wake up. Because this is it.
The status quo doesn't flow anymore
and the centuries of lies don't jive
I dream of swimming in oil
and guns that shoot us but we don't die
I squirm about dead things floating in the ocean
and of desecrated bodies that waste away
in the western Asian sand.
Our country is unengaged
and I'm tired of being enraged about things
everyone else ignores.
You're becoming another powder wig
hiding behind this championed realpolitik
and beautifully pitched quotes.
You still won't ask the begging questions
hidden in the age long riddles
knowing the revolt they might ignite.
Corporate, or otherwise.
I know you're not the hero
we were looking to try for in ourselves
to have the jones to make right on what's righteous
but instead you will be the embodiment
of everything we failed.
This shallow republic will look to blame you
for the rotting of its soft American core
So even though it began its decay
long before you were born
it will devour you as it devours itself
choosing martyrs regardless
of monumental decisions
or your simple insignificance.
This is where we begin again.
You will either let us believe in your promise of hope
or you can give us death
because we're getting to that final moment
where that's all that's left.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)