The Questions America is Afraid to Ask, Let Alone Answer

The Questions You Are Afraid to Ask, Let Alone Answer


Let’s look at things from a real point of view for just a second.  Sit up, shut up, and turn down that brand spanking new episode of 24 that you have set yourself to memorizing to impress all of those folks who sit closest to your cubicle.  Listen to your stomach for once, because there is where you will find your soul, I am afraid, screaming and screaming with hunger for sustenance you have always been afraid to provide.


I can hear its cries of anguish.  They ring so loudly in my ears that I do not believe that the cacophony will ever cease long enough for me to hear a useless church bell again.  I can hear it, and I start memorizing something important:  your salvation.


Because while you sit at home in your chair with your Fox Network and News (thank god for the fair and balked people who are giving you all of your fair and balanced news that keeps your fair and balanced life happy in a fair and balanced way, right?  Bullshit.) Praying to God that you never face any kind of hardship, you are causing that hardship to buy a planet ticket and fly right into your door.


Look at yourself.  I would not attack you like this were it not absolutely necessary, America.  I have left you alone to attempt to deal with your stomach’s cries on your own, but you have chosen not to listen.  You have chosen to eat the same damnable poison you have always managed to find regardless of how high we attempt to put it out of your reach, and now you have decided to wash it down with environmentally unsound antifreeze rife with so many chemicals it should be considered a physical aberration in side of this universe.


One day, and soon, that stomach of yours is going to scream so loudly that you will be ripped apart from the inside, America, and then what shall you do as all of that green and gold and copper blood flows freely forth from the stomach that you fattened with the skins and wherewithal of minorities all across the globe that is now mistaken for Mars because of all of the blood you have strewn across it.  What ever shall you do?


The answers are simple that they might as well be taught alongside multiplication tables to third graders.  Maybe they could even be absorbed between bites at mealtime in kindergarten.  As your stomach grew ever fatter and fatter, America, the rest of the world got lean.  Hungry.  Desperate.


It looked from across seeming uncrossable chasms of military spending and economic tyranny and genetic engineering and it realized that all it had to do to never be hungry again was split that loud stomach of yours open and lap up what comes out.  After all, it was the world’s to begin with, and I shall never let you rest until you admit it, America.  I shall never cease in my constant saber rattling and every smile that I muster up is a smile of defiance that cannot be wiped off of my face;  all of your napkins are being dedicated to that mess inside and now outside of you.


It’s too late now, America.  As this so-called wave of “invaders from the global south” comes north to escape that mess that you spent making since the crypto-fascist document that is the Monroe Doctrine was published, you now have decided that you can wash your hands of this mess.  You have determined that the facts are something that have no bearing on reality, and when an entity such as yourself beings thinking such a thing America, how can you continue to exist?


The simple answer is that you cannot.  But you stand off by yourself slapping band-aid after band-aid over the now spurting fountains of viscera that are littering the ground and sky and psyche of your people.  You slap a free trade agreement here, an attempted coup here, and a nice smiley face Wal-Mart sweatshop anyplace you possibly can, but you know it cannot matter.


If one were to look carefully, one would notice that truth; that most of the wetness emanating forth from your bloated and dying body is not blood.  Rather, it is the accumulation of the liters and liters of sweat that can only be produced by a giant who knows his relevance is at an end, and his life cannot last much longer.


The nerves shall lead us to victory in this case, and in 1000 years time when our progeny’s progeny are seated in participatory school, they will each be waiting their turn to relate the hilariously dichotomous dictates that were supposedly somehow going to lead the populace of America to freedom.   It’s only too bad that those kids are going to take 1000 years to learn what the majority of the world’s citizens know as these words are being typed.


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