I wish I had a good excuse for not writing much this past Summer. I did notice a slight spike in trips to my blog for September 11, which I appreciate, but I am having trouble writing about much of anything anymore. I find nausea to be my friend and constant companion.
When David Crosby, formerly of The Buffalo Springfield, burst onto the stage at Monterey Pop and announced that JFK had been assassinated as the result of a criminal conspiracy, the year was 1967, nearly four years and a million dreams after that dreadfully fateful day in November, 1963.
It was Spring, 2007 before I was able to personally shake the hand of, and offer my heartfelt gratitude to, Professor Steven Jones in the Salt Lake City Airport for his service to our country, the former United States of America – roughly six and a half years after 9/11/2001. It has been nine years and a million nightmares since 9/11/2001 and the only accountable parties presented for public consumption have been nineteen Arab Muslims with box cutters.
The bastards have beaten us down once again.
Frankly I have grown tired of writing and chit-chatting about social injustice and the wars that defile the very unsung heroes who have fought and died in them for all these years. War is a racket, true, but the game is played on a court that is owned and operated by a global elite who dislike being held accountable or having a lot of attention paid to their activities. The existence of these individuals has been a finger in the eye of social democracy from the beginning and until there is an appetite for what must be done to rid ourselves of this scourge I feel I am shouting down a bottomless pit. A strange and peculiar combination of psychopathy and heart must exist in an individual with the stones to walk up to a Dick Cheney or a Karl Rove and simply dispense justice quickly and cleanly. Not that these individuals are anything but stand-ins for the real culprits, the real monsters, behind this fascist takeover of planet Earth; my point is simply to suggest that peculiarity serves to tag any individual who might be thinking of acting along lines outside the recommended public agenda or proscribed discourse.
Jon Stewart’s timely, and unwelcome, interjection of 9/11 Truth into a mix of Tea Partiers and other racist misanthropes reminds me of the hold corporations have over our media and the power inherent in the agenda setting function that media always serves.
As I pen this weighty tome, “My Trip to al Qaeda,” blasts my sensibilities in high definition along with Lawrence Wright’s passionate, if unilateral, acceptance of the storyline that Osama bin Laden and Khalid Sheikh Mohammed were behind the felling of the twin towers of the WTC on 9/11/2001. With all due respect to Mr. Stewart, Mr. Wright and the respect I have for their showmanship, no Arab fundamentalist could have planted the explosive demolition charges necessary and evidently used to drop those towers at near free-fall speed. Gentle reader, such a feat as felling those towers in less than 15 seconds is not physically possible without months of unfettered access to the superstructure of those towers, nor without the foreknowledge of a sizable cabal with a large economic stake in the outcome of such a catastrophe. The problem with so much of the truth – the roundness of our very planet being an example of one such truth – is that it is so beyond our ability to believe or conceive of its possibility. It can take centuries for human beings to swallow such truths as, “the world is not flat, but round,” and, in the meantime, a great deal of money can be made by those of us who are less delusional than our fellows.
None of this is to suggest that all is well in the realm of fundamentalist religions of any stripe. To the contrary, the piety of Islam and the forgetfulness of the New Testament Christians of the importance of justice combine to form a combustible mixture that well-moneyed powers have been using for centuries to keep us at each other’s throats while selling armaments to both sides. Power can never be trusted to act justly on anyone’s behalf, and absolute power cannot be permitted to represent any consortium anywhere on this planet. The price of an apathetic response to absolute, or near-absolute, power is death. The price of confrontation may also be death, but such a death could inspire further resistance to what every man, woman and child knows in their heart to be true: freedom rings, everything else feels like the resonance outside of a tin horn.
What we must do next is decide whether we will live or if we will die. Death is easy and comes to pass regardless of what we demand our life be made of. Life, on the other hand, is a choice to join with all the vitality of the universe and take all the steps necessary to preserve, protect and defend what we know represents the best of our humanity. We must extinguish the Death Cult that has ruled this planet for far too long and we must replace it with a consortium of leaders who choose life and believe in the equality of our fellows under an umbrella of social justice once and for all time.