SUBHEAD: A poem about the end of America as we know it.
By Jonathan Jay on 12 February 2009 for Island Breath -
(http://islandbreath.blogspot.com/2009/02/we-walk-by.html)
Image above: "The Magic Show", oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 1998. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=magic+show).
We Walk by... USA Falls to Pieces (with a tip of the hat to Patsy Cline)
Wake up from deep dreaming. Unfix this firmly from your mind. That far-mangled banner no longer saves. Yes, it is the end of the world as you’ve known it Yet, We still feel fine! Curious? Groggy? It ain’t rocket surgery. We walk by... USA falls to pieces. Did you miss it? Did you blink as it passed you by? Did you not happen to notice when it all went down? Perhaps it passed while you were sleeping A Reagan-induced narcaleptic departure A strip-mauling of Mourning in Wuzmerica A three decade slumber, a real barn-burner Metastasized till Texas-sized. A highly leveraged American Dream Imploding in a froth of confectionary bad debt. Awake and Arise, Ye Wripped-off VanWinckles! Here it is - are you sure you’re ready? Wipe your eyes. You can now officially forget waiting for it to happen Because it already did, remember? Already all over and done with, finis. The American Empire is dead.
Say it ain’t so, Joe! (or toast a salute w/your comrades) React in whichever- so-way- you-choose, but...Start now! If you stubbornly insist, right-wing might may deny reality Just a bit more Continue to ruminate! Chew your cud, so to speak, jalike Flush Dumbo: “The Liberal Democrat Party did all this! Socialism!" Yeah. Nancy Polosi. Uh-huh. Funny stuff. See if you can get a rain check on How you might you one day ‘feel’ How may you one day ‘come to terms’ How you might one day get past reaction, that wee speedbump, thought-impediment to action, To start to do things differently. Actually. One day. Maybe.
Many will continue to slumber diaphanous Tightly cocooned in Imperial Dreamings - Screaming: “Don’t distract me, you’ll tip me over! I am carefully balancing on my head! It has taken nearly all my concentration A triumph of the will!
Image above: "Learning to Fly", oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 2000. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=learning+to+fly).
Only upside down with bloodpressure skyhigh Can one conjure this miraculous vision:
Global in proportion, forever soaring Eagle Loving and just, Supreme... With full spectrum dominance, Command and control, Nuclear deterrence, UN veto Economic hegemony, and a military budget Scaled to fight the rest of the world. The icing on the cake being We make money while doing it! Well, the military contractors did. Truth, Justice and the American way fed to hungry souls at the point of a gun for profit, but When I wake, I will be a butterfly! Fantastic blood-clot thinking, but Superman is dead - Committed suicide back in the 50’s Yearning to break free from his tight typecasting. Was it this way too with our now defunct Empire? I may not be the brightest star In the firmament, or on the flag But, one thing at least is clear to me, And several other billions too World Wide Writ large On the Great Wall in Capitalist China And the back allies of the Paris Communes:
“The American Empire is Elsewhere” Those witty surrealist graffiteros. Looking back at this epoch, this era of error, It will become clear to many more, Not just chain-smoking berets. And you? what say you to this modest proposal? Was it this date, or that event, This war, or that failed president? The be-speckled dung-beetle Academicians Sift and gather the bits glean the detritus Dead skin cells on our still-warm sheets Endeavoring to delicately pinpoint the genesis of the rupture. The break
The discontinuity, The smoking camel that broke the strawman’s back. And then? Archive it. No one cares about history anyway. History is for losers. Can you see Francis Fukuyama’s next NeoCon tome? “The Second American Century! - Why God still loves US Best!” A staggeringly vapid follow-up, somehow - impossibly – “even more wronger!“ than even his brilliantly dead-wrong Post-Soviet “The End of History” (much acclaimed back then) This time (again) he’ll chew-it-up and spit-it-out Carefully crafted soundbite-sized pieces Completely bass-ackwards, just-like-before Like carving a letter into your own face Via reflection in the mirror of an ATM. The spinning brain free-zone, the usual list Officially-sedated and re-iterated! The chattering naybobs, the idiocracy, The infinite-growth bozos, Corporate yellkings Botox buffoonettes, Bow-tied pundits, All Bright-teethed and white-skinned Dressed-up-Sunday-Sober For the afternoon Potemkin show.
All of them beltway puppet show-and-tells, All of them, dead hens squawking in narrow time cages, All of them serpent egglayers for the of the networks Dun Cows of delivering opinion. Pyramids of slopiganda, blue pills and gas hogs "See if your hard-on last 400 miles!” Ask your doctor if this sounds right for you. Shockingly, miraculously, implausibly, This will somehow continue At least for a while. Self-aggrandizing drivel – a ‘double-speak feed’ of the thinnest gruel It’s amazing what ‘inertia’ + ‘entropy’ + ‘internal logic’ Will do at large scale (especially if no one tells the billing department) but make no mistake about it; The American Empire will NOT. It already isn’t. When did it start, this ending? Big things happen slowly, like continental drift - Does now-lonely Africa still miss the embrace of once tender South America? Looping orbits of stars about galactic centers of snarling black holes One lap every few hundred million years or so A mighty slow-paced procession.
“The Fabled and Glorious (Former) American Empire” Never was so vast and sprawling As even our own humble spiral Milky Way. The statue of Liberty, all green patina, Marooned in the mouth of the Empire state More candy bar in scale, forgotten in back pocket Flabby, flattened, no stars. Left on western windowsill too long afternoon The Golden 20th American Century Pours like GMO high fructose corn syrup solids Leaking molten, torn wrapper… No golden ticket. This passing had been a long time coming, My fellow former-Americans. When was the last time ‘we’ defeated A ‘worthy’ strategic opponent? Not in Korea, Not in Cuba, Not in Vietnam Not in Lebanon, Does Greneda really count? I don’t think so. Does Panama? Highly doubtful. Sudan? Iraq? Afghanistan? Pakistan? When was the mission of Forever War accomplished?
Image above: "Puppet Show", detail of oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 2004. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=puppet+show).
Five recent decades brings us to this day, Has anyone noticed The USofA Hasn’t won a ‘decent’ war in over 60 years? IT has been coasting, the engine off Something that clearly no longer no longer impels. And just exactly what is a ‘decent’ war? A greatest generation? And what good is all that superpower That can’t stop fifteen Sauds with boxcutters? The day the sun set on the English Empire – Or the French, or the Austrian, or the Ottoman – no better still, the American Template - That Republic cum Empire. The day the Roman Empire died, Did all the bathing citizens gather their legion Of towels, sandals and togas Leap up from the calorium, Quick dunk in the fridigium Mad dash to the vomitorium To empty their sorrows? Did they somehow just ‘know’ Instantum momentum To wail and moan in unison “Ars longa, Impericum Brevis” Did they gnash their teeth?
Blow their Roman noses Did the aqueducts and lead pipes overflow With salty Imperial Tears? Not bloody likely. They may have wondered why all their Emperors Had German names, Rome became a ‘see’ The Capitol moved to Ravenna Then Constantinople, then then ‘Not Constantinople’ Where did all the old Gods of their Pantheon depart to? Big things happen slowly, A drunken stumbling infant A cart-wheeling Colossus, Soaring through the stratosphere A concrete wingless Uber-Putti, A Gary with no Powers. Make no mistake about it, that baby is going down. A long tumble, dropping - like a stone - to Earth. Some complain and whimper but the Earth is a nice place – enjoy the view. When did you first begin to suspect something was askew Inside the American Imperium? That ‘It’ had lost ‘It’s’ tempo, ‘It’s’ equilibrium That ‘It’ too was creaky and wheezing, An Antiquated musty contraption All rusty baling wire, varnish and hokum. When do you recall the Imperial music began to die? When was it the Chevys ran dry? Was it good-old-boys with their scheming And lies was that the day for you the Empire died?
Things happen minutely, in incremental degree until – until suddenly no one cares anymore – because it’s already over. Twirling rainbow colors on evaporating liquid walls - if you are patient and look closely enough - on fresh floating soap bubbles – thinner and faster in the air It’s only surface tension that keeps'm around, bouncing until the surface The colors craze, Newtonian diffraction, and then ‘pop’ the air goes thin Almost in an instant, but actually not- High speed film can slow and show the way the bubble crumbles. Empires are bigger than soap bubbles, but strangely samely fragile Their brittle walls thin too over time, until pop goes the Empire. The liquid soap, the wand, the breath of life, the swelling, the sailing away. In many ways, Empires (and stock markets) are a lot like soap bubbles, But the ‘sound wave’ of fatigue endures over decades. Soundtrack of the Long-Now, what do you imagine? A pop that lasts perhaps for half a century Base note blast of Imperial popping?
Think back, look inside, open up your mind’s ear, concentrate , remember, and realize – Hear that screaming white noise of concocted desires? ‘Bugfights’ on TV screen, Tabloid Ink smudge stains From cheaply bleached pulp of former Arboreal forest Fresh Bogeymen conjured, casualties, and strange maps Far away lands with unpronounceable names The fabrication of the phantasm of the consumer - the new lesser half you! We have been ‘listening’ to this for most of our lives – soaking in it! But it wasn’t always this way – this was not our Grandfather’s Empire. We have been living in something else entirely – ‘Post-’ And ‘It’ has been circling the drain for quite some time – Haven’t you noticed how tepid and low the bath water has become? It’s funny to realize you’ve known this for some time. A harder question to answer: When did (pop) that plug get pulled? There is nothing new or shocking about Collapse Empires come, and Empires go. Read the book. Steadfast strategic global and domestic blunderings; How has this fruit stayed so long on the vine? Seems amazing it's took so long to endure An orange hollowed out by birds, but still stemmed Bobs gaily on branch in breeze – empty. Smooth sailing, no? Our tightly clenched fist locks us in – and it is still empty. Let go.
A long time collapsing - when you live through realtime - So it seems to this mind marinated in instant expectation. Not understanding how puny we are The scale of vast things My monkeyshine mind gropes Volcanoes Tsunamis and earthquakes Instructive lessons in smallness. All fall and no crash makes collapse a dull joy The American Edifice first constructed, then unhinged. While gyring down through clouds, the center can not hold Two hundred and twenty-five laps on the sun Twisting in the breeze, Empire undone. There is nothing ‘free’ about free-fall. Nor does it last.
Image above: "Pie in the Sky", oil on canvas by Mark Bryan, 2007. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=pie+in+sky).
During the strange weightlessness of long-falling Past initial disorientation, hyperventilation, oxygen depletion Irrational exuberance sometimes set in - Convinceed the ‘guidelines’ of gravity have shifted, Updated by ‘Sophisticated Macroeconomic Tools’, Amended by Pentacular policies of redundant power projection, Circumvented by a standing capacity to fight to multiple full-scale wars Simultaneously. Anywhere in the world. Everywhere. Always. What was the Rate of Return on investments like these? All guns. No butter. Ever. I have heard - I think it was a Soviet pilot flying somewhere over Siberia Not the Tundra, but some vast and frozen forest in his Cold War Fighter Plane, that developed a problem and he had to parachute out – at high elevation, like 20 or 30 thousand feet, and of course, his chute failed to open, like in a dream. And so he fell and fell, picking up speed passing through, no doubt, a rainbow of emotions until he blacked-out or reached terminal velocity (i don’t know which happened first), and still he fell. And fell, until eventually he perfectly hit the side of some densely snow-clad spruces, which impossibly slowed him as he passed down through the branches snapping breaking many bones in his body. Until he landed improbably on ‘haystack’ of snow on the side of a hill at just the right angle to cushion his fall and shatter his legs and bring him to rest where he was found the next day. The point of this story is this: None of his astronomically fantastic luck could stop his Empire from collapsing. “One down, One to go” snickered wry bumper-stickers Of the Seattle hipsters When the Soviets sank. One day In America - no more bumpers for stickers. Two down. Who was our Brezhnev, our Gorbachov? our Yeltsin? When was our Peristroika? Our Petro-crats and KGB thug-politicos abound
Image above: "Saving Chrysler", oil on canvas by Mark Bryan, 2006. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=saving+chrysler).
Shall we too look back and marvel at the ‘sudden’ Decline and Fall of the American Empire™? One day It seemed to be on top of the world, all white and lofty. Then the glaciers melted and surged, the oceans rose, the winds lost track. What good were all those tanks and missiles then? Will we wonder at the funeral, a Grand Imperial Wake Look confusedly into open federal casket and ask ourselves How is it that ‘It’ can be dead – while ‘We’ get on with our lives? The ‘Nation State’ is a funny thing (funny, like a trip to the Mexico City morgue after a power-failure). How many Wars launched, Peoples killed, Cities flattened In the name of Empire, in the interest of ‘It’s’ ‘National Security’
And who gets to decide what security means? Nepotist, Kleptocrat. Retarded ‘Decider’ A cartoonishly low-IQ Knucklehead Villain - With mask, stretchtard jump suit, and chuckle, Dry-drunk Gorshin in 1600. No US for ‘Them’ to be either for or against Only All of ‘Us’ (and a massive cohort of other living things) On one small blue ball (with puffy white clouds) Spinning silent in vast black vacuum.
Congratulations everyone! The Wicked Witch of the West is dead. Guess what! There was no witch, just US. There is no spoon! We all have ruby slippers! Every place is someone’s home! Their are no ‘Americans’, There are no enemies of the state. There is no state! Rejoice. We are all just human – some times sadly too much so, but that's OK. Mostly. Well actually a bit too much. Perhaps ‘We the People’ can now become just that. Finally join all the other Peoples Of the Rest of the World (and a large cohort of other living things, both great and small). Will these people, welcome us with open arms or nuclear? Did we show extraordinary grace or extraordinary rendition? What of the whales and polar bears? Were we kind to them when riding high? And our tiny blue sphere, shall we gut it, to mount on the wall? Or learn to live within it because there is no where else to live. Delusional ‘Masters’ or good neighbors living in solidarity With all the other living things both in the air and under the ground.
Image above: "Thunder Theater", oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 2007. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=thunder+theater).
Don’t cry for us, Argentina – We are in the middle of joining you! Yes, it’s the end of the world as we’ve known it, Perhaps a bit shell-shocked in the sunshine, But if not already, we’ll soon feel fine! Wrip out the chemlawn - tear up asphalt - today we plant seeds for tomorrow. Learn to new songs of Matriatism to sing outside under mother blue: “Our garden tis of thee, Sweet food of liberty, on thee we feed” And maybe share some too - like Squanto. Remember? That angel-devil food cake left too long in the oven Over-baked furnace to flat blackness. The American Empire once did rise, And has now fallen into the compost heap. Long live the compost heap! The star spangled banner doth no longer wave – the land is now free, it is time to be brave. Fix this firmly in your mind - the Hummer is dead But we are Alive. We can not act like we've never kissed We can not forget, pretend we never saluted, because too many did. But the fact still remains that It will not be missed. From every mountain side, let gardens spring. We walk by, USA falls to pieces
By Jonathan Jay on 12 February 2009 for Island Breath -
(http://islandbreath.blogspot.com/2009/02/we-walk-by.html)
Image above: "The Magic Show", oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 1998. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=magic+show).
We Walk by... USA Falls to Pieces (with a tip of the hat to Patsy Cline)
Wake up from deep dreaming. Unfix this firmly from your mind. That far-mangled banner no longer saves. Yes, it is the end of the world as you’ve known it Yet, We still feel fine! Curious? Groggy? It ain’t rocket surgery. We walk by... USA falls to pieces. Did you miss it? Did you blink as it passed you by? Did you not happen to notice when it all went down? Perhaps it passed while you were sleeping A Reagan-induced narcaleptic departure A strip-mauling of Mourning in Wuzmerica A three decade slumber, a real barn-burner Metastasized till Texas-sized. A highly leveraged American Dream Imploding in a froth of confectionary bad debt. Awake and Arise, Ye Wripped-off VanWinckles! Here it is - are you sure you’re ready? Wipe your eyes. You can now officially forget waiting for it to happen Because it already did, remember? Already all over and done with, finis. The American Empire is dead.
Say it ain’t so, Joe! (or toast a salute w/your comrades) React in whichever- so-way- you-choose, but...Start now! If you stubbornly insist, right-wing might may deny reality Just a bit more Continue to ruminate! Chew your cud, so to speak, jalike Flush Dumbo: “The Liberal Democrat Party did all this! Socialism!" Yeah. Nancy Polosi. Uh-huh. Funny stuff. See if you can get a rain check on How you might you one day ‘feel’ How may you one day ‘come to terms’ How you might one day get past reaction, that wee speedbump, thought-impediment to action, To start to do things differently. Actually. One day. Maybe.
Many will continue to slumber diaphanous Tightly cocooned in Imperial Dreamings - Screaming: “Don’t distract me, you’ll tip me over! I am carefully balancing on my head! It has taken nearly all my concentration A triumph of the will!
Image above: "Learning to Fly", oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 2000. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=learning+to+fly).
Only upside down with bloodpressure skyhigh Can one conjure this miraculous vision:
Global in proportion, forever soaring Eagle Loving and just, Supreme... With full spectrum dominance, Command and control, Nuclear deterrence, UN veto Economic hegemony, and a military budget Scaled to fight the rest of the world. The icing on the cake being We make money while doing it! Well, the military contractors did. Truth, Justice and the American way fed to hungry souls at the point of a gun for profit, but When I wake, I will be a butterfly! Fantastic blood-clot thinking, but Superman is dead - Committed suicide back in the 50’s Yearning to break free from his tight typecasting. Was it this way too with our now defunct Empire? I may not be the brightest star In the firmament, or on the flag But, one thing at least is clear to me, And several other billions too World Wide Writ large On the Great Wall in Capitalist China And the back allies of the Paris Communes:
“The American Empire is Elsewhere” Those witty surrealist graffiteros. Looking back at this epoch, this era of error, It will become clear to many more, Not just chain-smoking berets. And you? what say you to this modest proposal? Was it this date, or that event, This war, or that failed president? The be-speckled dung-beetle Academicians Sift and gather the bits glean the detritus Dead skin cells on our still-warm sheets Endeavoring to delicately pinpoint the genesis of the rupture. The break
The discontinuity, The smoking camel that broke the strawman’s back. And then? Archive it. No one cares about history anyway. History is for losers. Can you see Francis Fukuyama’s next NeoCon tome? “The Second American Century! - Why God still loves US Best!” A staggeringly vapid follow-up, somehow - impossibly – “even more wronger!“ than even his brilliantly dead-wrong Post-Soviet “The End of History” (much acclaimed back then) This time (again) he’ll chew-it-up and spit-it-out Carefully crafted soundbite-sized pieces Completely bass-ackwards, just-like-before Like carving a letter into your own face Via reflection in the mirror of an ATM. The spinning brain free-zone, the usual list Officially-sedated and re-iterated! The chattering naybobs, the idiocracy, The infinite-growth bozos, Corporate yellkings Botox buffoonettes, Bow-tied pundits, All Bright-teethed and white-skinned Dressed-up-Sunday-Sober For the afternoon Potemkin show.
All of them beltway puppet show-and-tells, All of them, dead hens squawking in narrow time cages, All of them serpent egglayers for the of the networks Dun Cows of delivering opinion. Pyramids of slopiganda, blue pills and gas hogs "See if your hard-on last 400 miles!” Ask your doctor if this sounds right for you. Shockingly, miraculously, implausibly, This will somehow continue At least for a while. Self-aggrandizing drivel – a ‘double-speak feed’ of the thinnest gruel It’s amazing what ‘inertia’ + ‘entropy’ + ‘internal logic’ Will do at large scale (especially if no one tells the billing department) but make no mistake about it; The American Empire will NOT. It already isn’t. When did it start, this ending? Big things happen slowly, like continental drift - Does now-lonely Africa still miss the embrace of once tender South America? Looping orbits of stars about galactic centers of snarling black holes One lap every few hundred million years or so A mighty slow-paced procession.
“The Fabled and Glorious (Former) American Empire” Never was so vast and sprawling As even our own humble spiral Milky Way. The statue of Liberty, all green patina, Marooned in the mouth of the Empire state More candy bar in scale, forgotten in back pocket Flabby, flattened, no stars. Left on western windowsill too long afternoon The Golden 20th American Century Pours like GMO high fructose corn syrup solids Leaking molten, torn wrapper… No golden ticket. This passing had been a long time coming, My fellow former-Americans. When was the last time ‘we’ defeated A ‘worthy’ strategic opponent? Not in Korea, Not in Cuba, Not in Vietnam Not in Lebanon, Does Greneda really count? I don’t think so. Does Panama? Highly doubtful. Sudan? Iraq? Afghanistan? Pakistan? When was the mission of Forever War accomplished?
Image above: "Puppet Show", detail of oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 2004. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=puppet+show).
Five recent decades brings us to this day, Has anyone noticed The USofA Hasn’t won a ‘decent’ war in over 60 years? IT has been coasting, the engine off Something that clearly no longer no longer impels. And just exactly what is a ‘decent’ war? A greatest generation? And what good is all that superpower That can’t stop fifteen Sauds with boxcutters? The day the sun set on the English Empire – Or the French, or the Austrian, or the Ottoman – no better still, the American Template - That Republic cum Empire. The day the Roman Empire died, Did all the bathing citizens gather their legion Of towels, sandals and togas Leap up from the calorium, Quick dunk in the fridigium Mad dash to the vomitorium To empty their sorrows? Did they somehow just ‘know’ Instantum momentum To wail and moan in unison “Ars longa, Impericum Brevis” Did they gnash their teeth?
Blow their Roman noses Did the aqueducts and lead pipes overflow With salty Imperial Tears? Not bloody likely. They may have wondered why all their Emperors Had German names, Rome became a ‘see’ The Capitol moved to Ravenna Then Constantinople, then then ‘Not Constantinople’ Where did all the old Gods of their Pantheon depart to? Big things happen slowly, A drunken stumbling infant A cart-wheeling Colossus, Soaring through the stratosphere A concrete wingless Uber-Putti, A Gary with no Powers. Make no mistake about it, that baby is going down. A long tumble, dropping - like a stone - to Earth. Some complain and whimper but the Earth is a nice place – enjoy the view. When did you first begin to suspect something was askew Inside the American Imperium? That ‘It’ had lost ‘It’s’ tempo, ‘It’s’ equilibrium That ‘It’ too was creaky and wheezing, An Antiquated musty contraption All rusty baling wire, varnish and hokum. When do you recall the Imperial music began to die? When was it the Chevys ran dry? Was it good-old-boys with their scheming And lies was that the day for you the Empire died?
Things happen minutely, in incremental degree until – until suddenly no one cares anymore – because it’s already over. Twirling rainbow colors on evaporating liquid walls - if you are patient and look closely enough - on fresh floating soap bubbles – thinner and faster in the air It’s only surface tension that keeps'm around, bouncing until the surface The colors craze, Newtonian diffraction, and then ‘pop’ the air goes thin Almost in an instant, but actually not- High speed film can slow and show the way the bubble crumbles. Empires are bigger than soap bubbles, but strangely samely fragile Their brittle walls thin too over time, until pop goes the Empire. The liquid soap, the wand, the breath of life, the swelling, the sailing away. In many ways, Empires (and stock markets) are a lot like soap bubbles, But the ‘sound wave’ of fatigue endures over decades. Soundtrack of the Long-Now, what do you imagine? A pop that lasts perhaps for half a century Base note blast of Imperial popping?
Think back, look inside, open up your mind’s ear, concentrate , remember, and realize – Hear that screaming white noise of concocted desires? ‘Bugfights’ on TV screen, Tabloid Ink smudge stains From cheaply bleached pulp of former Arboreal forest Fresh Bogeymen conjured, casualties, and strange maps Far away lands with unpronounceable names The fabrication of the phantasm of the consumer - the new lesser half you! We have been ‘listening’ to this for most of our lives – soaking in it! But it wasn’t always this way – this was not our Grandfather’s Empire. We have been living in something else entirely – ‘Post-’ And ‘It’ has been circling the drain for quite some time – Haven’t you noticed how tepid and low the bath water has become? It’s funny to realize you’ve known this for some time. A harder question to answer: When did (pop) that plug get pulled? There is nothing new or shocking about Collapse Empires come, and Empires go. Read the book. Steadfast strategic global and domestic blunderings; How has this fruit stayed so long on the vine? Seems amazing it's took so long to endure An orange hollowed out by birds, but still stemmed Bobs gaily on branch in breeze – empty. Smooth sailing, no? Our tightly clenched fist locks us in – and it is still empty. Let go.
A long time collapsing - when you live through realtime - So it seems to this mind marinated in instant expectation. Not understanding how puny we are The scale of vast things My monkeyshine mind gropes Volcanoes Tsunamis and earthquakes Instructive lessons in smallness. All fall and no crash makes collapse a dull joy The American Edifice first constructed, then unhinged. While gyring down through clouds, the center can not hold Two hundred and twenty-five laps on the sun Twisting in the breeze, Empire undone. There is nothing ‘free’ about free-fall. Nor does it last.
Image above: "Pie in the Sky", oil on canvas by Mark Bryan, 2007. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=pie+in+sky).
During the strange weightlessness of long-falling Past initial disorientation, hyperventilation, oxygen depletion Irrational exuberance sometimes set in - Convinceed the ‘guidelines’ of gravity have shifted, Updated by ‘Sophisticated Macroeconomic Tools’, Amended by Pentacular policies of redundant power projection, Circumvented by a standing capacity to fight to multiple full-scale wars Simultaneously. Anywhere in the world. Everywhere. Always. What was the Rate of Return on investments like these? All guns. No butter. Ever. I have heard - I think it was a Soviet pilot flying somewhere over Siberia Not the Tundra, but some vast and frozen forest in his Cold War Fighter Plane, that developed a problem and he had to parachute out – at high elevation, like 20 or 30 thousand feet, and of course, his chute failed to open, like in a dream. And so he fell and fell, picking up speed passing through, no doubt, a rainbow of emotions until he blacked-out or reached terminal velocity (i don’t know which happened first), and still he fell. And fell, until eventually he perfectly hit the side of some densely snow-clad spruces, which impossibly slowed him as he passed down through the branches snapping breaking many bones in his body. Until he landed improbably on ‘haystack’ of snow on the side of a hill at just the right angle to cushion his fall and shatter his legs and bring him to rest where he was found the next day. The point of this story is this: None of his astronomically fantastic luck could stop his Empire from collapsing. “One down, One to go” snickered wry bumper-stickers Of the Seattle hipsters When the Soviets sank. One day In America - no more bumpers for stickers. Two down. Who was our Brezhnev, our Gorbachov? our Yeltsin? When was our Peristroika? Our Petro-crats and KGB thug-politicos abound
Image above: "Saving Chrysler", oil on canvas by Mark Bryan, 2006. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=saving+chrysler).
Shall we too look back and marvel at the ‘sudden’ Decline and Fall of the American Empire™? One day It seemed to be on top of the world, all white and lofty. Then the glaciers melted and surged, the oceans rose, the winds lost track. What good were all those tanks and missiles then? Will we wonder at the funeral, a Grand Imperial Wake Look confusedly into open federal casket and ask ourselves How is it that ‘It’ can be dead – while ‘We’ get on with our lives? The ‘Nation State’ is a funny thing (funny, like a trip to the Mexico City morgue after a power-failure). How many Wars launched, Peoples killed, Cities flattened In the name of Empire, in the interest of ‘It’s’ ‘National Security’
And who gets to decide what security means? Nepotist, Kleptocrat. Retarded ‘Decider’ A cartoonishly low-IQ Knucklehead Villain - With mask, stretchtard jump suit, and chuckle, Dry-drunk Gorshin in 1600. No US for ‘Them’ to be either for or against Only All of ‘Us’ (and a massive cohort of other living things) On one small blue ball (with puffy white clouds) Spinning silent in vast black vacuum.
Congratulations everyone! The Wicked Witch of the West is dead. Guess what! There was no witch, just US. There is no spoon! We all have ruby slippers! Every place is someone’s home! Their are no ‘Americans’, There are no enemies of the state. There is no state! Rejoice. We are all just human – some times sadly too much so, but that's OK. Mostly. Well actually a bit too much. Perhaps ‘We the People’ can now become just that. Finally join all the other Peoples Of the Rest of the World (and a large cohort of other living things, both great and small). Will these people, welcome us with open arms or nuclear? Did we show extraordinary grace or extraordinary rendition? What of the whales and polar bears? Were we kind to them when riding high? And our tiny blue sphere, shall we gut it, to mount on the wall? Or learn to live within it because there is no where else to live. Delusional ‘Masters’ or good neighbors living in solidarity With all the other living things both in the air and under the ground.
Image above: "Thunder Theater", oil on panel by Mark Bryan, 2007. From (http://www.artofmarkbryan.com/?s=thunder+theater).
Don’t cry for us, Argentina – We are in the middle of joining you! Yes, it’s the end of the world as we’ve known it, Perhaps a bit shell-shocked in the sunshine, But if not already, we’ll soon feel fine! Wrip out the chemlawn - tear up asphalt - today we plant seeds for tomorrow. Learn to new songs of Matriatism to sing outside under mother blue: “Our garden tis of thee, Sweet food of liberty, on thee we feed” And maybe share some too - like Squanto. Remember? That angel-devil food cake left too long in the oven Over-baked furnace to flat blackness. The American Empire once did rise, And has now fallen into the compost heap. Long live the compost heap! The star spangled banner doth no longer wave – the land is now free, it is time to be brave. Fix this firmly in your mind - the Hummer is dead But we are Alive. We can not act like we've never kissed We can not forget, pretend we never saluted, because too many did. But the fact still remains that It will not be missed. From every mountain side, let gardens spring. We walk by, USA falls to pieces
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