I once read that "occupation is a matter of fact--not of intention or declaration." I underlined it in black...or maybe blue. Not that it matters to you, you're only here for the beer and I'd hate to waste your time with these diatribes of mine, so please forgive me if I'm being too cynical, I'll try again...
I KNOW that we're sincere singing in solidarity when we scream "fuck Armageddon," "fuck the border," "fuck the police" et. al. I'm not trying to say that our "fucks" have been misplaced. What I'm TRYING to say is that every goddamned day, liquor-liberals like you and me condemn western-sanctioned "democracies" from sofas in Seattle, flats in London and from rallies in D.C. while occupations still go on in Iraq, Palestine and Afghanistan (Syria, Wall St., Moscow, etc.) But if they didn't hear Fugazi on the White House lawn (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-FYPNGeel4), WHY THE FUCK AM I SINGING THIS SONG?
Is this the best that I can do? Get up on my soapbox and sing out of tune? We're gonna need so much more than this melody and riff. Why do we clap our hands and shake our fists? Will we save a child from being blown into bits? Pink mist? I guess it's come to this; six years after the triumph of Manichean rhetoric, a slanting misfire against their war machines, smart bombs and concertina wire for new geographies. Shit.
i'm on the field at sunrise coming up
everything is as it was and that's what throws me off
there's a rhythm, i don't have to think it through
like muscles stuck in atrophy, like cuts patched up with glue
it's friends, you know, that come and go
but enemies accumulate
returning to the outskirts
where king county still will not incorporate
it's strangers living under the same roof
it's a textbook i consult for further proof
it's withholding to the point of forced release
it's a language i know fluently but i'm too anxious to speak
it's been so long since i've heard that song
i've been so down i've forgotten how it sounds
i'm back where people eat in front of television news
i'm back where people know how to sit still in the pews
a daisy chain of double-paned townhouses on the slough
it's a neighborhood watched over by the wealthy
for the few
about
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