Kings No More...
You know, I once knew a woman who looked like you, | She wanted a whole man, not just a half, | She used to call me sweet daddy when I was only a child, | You kind of remind me of her when you laugh. | In order to deal in this game, got to make the queen disappear, | It's done with a flick of the wrist. | What's a sweetheart like you doin' in a dump like this?
Militarily, the nuclear option is probably the only viable solution. We'll probably see it used against Iran now that country's been deemed in contravention of non-proliferation treaties the U.S. ignores. A tip of the cap to the mushroom cloud of which Bush or Rice or Cheney spoke will be seen. Never mind who lights the fuse. It's the fact of the matter that's important, and Bush, Rumsfeld and their fellow travelers know this all too well.
One just needs get the ball rolling and el-Bareidi rolled over like an old whore. They've set the timer on an explosion far larger and more dangerous than they envisaged or can contain. And we'll all get to pay for it. I'm not speaking of The Bomb here, by the way. A few dozen nukes scattered about the deserts of Iran won't be noticed. It's the geopolitical fallout that concerns me.
The United States, like its Iraqi victims and the millions of others it has left to rot around the globe, is toast. And for those who doubt me, tomorrow may be a long time, but it's a day that's a'dawning.
The future of our military is at risk. ... Many say that the Army is broken. Some of our troops are on their third deployment. Recruitment is down, even as our military has lowered its standards. Defense budgets are being cut. ... The war in Iraq has caused huge shortfalls at our bases in the U.S. ... Much of our ground equipment is worn out and in need of either serious overhaul or replacement. ... We must rebuild our Army. Our deficit is growing out of control. The Director of the Congressional Budget Office recently admitted to being "terrified" about the budget deficit in the coming decades. ... The burden of this war has not been shared equally ... Our military's done everything that has been asked of them. It's time to bring the troops home.
Rep. John Murtha (D-PA) | War in Iraq
The unease, the misgivings, and downright opposition can be contained no longer. From Senate Republicans, to one of the most influential Democratic lawmakers on Capitol Hill yesterday, the message has been the same. The Iraq war has been a disaster, and the sooner American troops leave the better. The alarm was sounded on Capitol Hill on Tuesday when Senate Republicans and Democrats joined forces to demand the White House explain every three months how it intends to "complete the mission" in Iraq.
Indpendent | Clinton: The big mistake of the Iraq war
It's tragic I have to use the above wonderful cartoon to highlight the ignominy and shame of a once proud country. Especially as it was pointed out to me by our ever-loving mad-sad-laughing Polack poet of the darkling winelit night, Brother Marek J BadaBing-dot-Kombinat! (c/o Father Christopher, Inc., The Jesus Bunker Love Clinic, Boulder, Colorado).
Brother Marek returns to the scene of the crime...
You know, news of you has come down the line | Even before ya came in the door. | They say in your father's house, there's many mansions | Each one of them got a fireproof floor. | Snap out of it, baby, people are jealous of you, | They smile to your face, but behind your back they hiss. | What's a sweetheart like you doin' in a dump like this?
Indeed... after much hard traveling, I have found everybody's perennial fool... our forever court jester... he who epitomizes soul and all the other good and bad shit that goes with being human. Marek (may Allah bless him and grant him peace) has taken up residence at... er... Kombinat! (may Allah have mercy on it) and will soon be conducting Love Clinics (girls!girls!girls!) on a regular basis.
It's a pity about the U.S. army. If it weren't on to a hiding to nothing (having had their asses kicked, they'll be hounded out of Iraq by jeering mobs pelting them with old shoes), everything would be sunny in the Rose Garden. It's not and, as Brother J Maybe Elvis tells us, that's just what the Happy Tutor (may Allah bless him and grant him peace and many fine young virgins), with characteristic tact, taste and diplomacy, tells us. He was hanging out at Kombinat!, checking talent.
"All hope abandon, all ye who enter here," wailed the HT, tearing his hair and rending his garments outside the Jesus Bunker's main gate.
"Oh, fuck off, Tutor," I greeted him, giving his well-rounded backside a robust and hearty kick. "You seen Marek about?"
The old bastard turned into a miserable, cringing, obsequious deadbeat, wringing the front of his dirty vest as though cleaning his grimy hands of the blood of babies and young children.
"Oh, Master Mike, if I tell you, will you permit me to become a gatekeeper?"
I studied the pitiful sight before me. Reduced to scrounging at the gate, The Tutor had become—since our decision to embrace unfettered capitalism in a bid to raise much-needed funds, of course—a pathetic object of derisive scorn. "Hah! You must be out of your mind, you scabrous little man," I sneered. "Your putrescent condition signals my unbounded success. As long as I serve on the Board, you'll continue to beg. Besides, somebody has to, and you'll do. Now, before I kick your last rotten tooth down your throat, where is Marek?"
"Thank you, Master Mike, thank you." It seemed he was about to burst into tears. "As for Brother Marek, I have seen him. Yes, indeed, I have seen him. Brother Marek is in audience with Father Christopher." His countenance changed, and he gave me one of his awful, yellow, leering, gap-toothed grins as if expecting some loose change.
He was lying. Father Christopher was on Jesus Bunker One, tracking George and Condi. But I wasn't phased. I'd noticed the place seemed awfully quiet. The gun turrets were empty and the characteristic hum of the electric fence was replaced by the sound of girlish giggles borne on a soft, summery breeze. It came from the shaded copse backing the Jesus Bunker's main arena.
"Jesus H. Bloody Christ, you old perv!" I swore, setting about the Tutor with my Namibian walking stick. "Where are Sweet Melinda, Sister Annie, Mother Mary, Camile, Angel and all the other girls?"
Having fallen to the dust, the Tutor (not looking all that Happy) wheedled, "Perhaps Brother Marek is granting them as much love and devotion as you are me, Master Mike? They say Angel is just back from the coast."
I gave him an almighty whack on the ear for that tidbit, revved up the Hummer, ducked beneath the dash, and crashed--in a shower of sparks and with all the relevant buzzing, crackling and sizzling sounds, through the Jesus Bunker's main gate.
"Marek!" I roared, careening down the hill towards the amphitheater and peals of lyrical laughter tolling the bells of Heaven...
[to be continued... (of course)]
They say that patriotism is the last refuge | To which a scoundrel clings. | Steal a little and they throw you in jail, | Steal a lot and they make you king. | There's only one step down from here, baby, | It's called the land of permanent bliss. | What's a sweetheart like you doin' in a dump like this?
Bob Dylan | Sweetheart Like You
I've Known Rivers
Madame Butterfly, she lulls me to sleep | Like an ancient river | So wide and deep | She said, "Be easy, baby, ain't nothin' worth stealin' here..."Bob Dylan | Someone's Got a Hold of My Heart
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
Langston Hughes | The Negro Speaks of Rivers
Madame? She is like... how you say? Like Mark Woods on acid? Yes...
Still probably best known as Wayne Shorter's replacement in Miles Davis' early 70's band, Bartz's fruity tone and generous, emotional approach provided a perfect foil to the leaders oblique trumpet stylings. Though initially inspired by Charlie Parker, Bartz eventually proved himself to be one of the few alto saxophonists to successfully draw on John Coltrane's legacy.
Gary Bartz | I've Known Rivers and Other Bodies [Reviews]
