What whisper the dead -
fallen paper angels
layered like autumn leaves
damp
with their own juices
Curves of smooth skull
Length of swift thigh
now stilled
And still
you speak to me
of laughter
and your mother’s
silence
as they led you
away
The story of your death
is carved
in splinters of bone.
…getting all hot and bothered about a book: Cartesian Linguistics: A Chapter in the History of Rationalist Thought by Noam Chomsky. Never read it the first time around - well, okay, so I wasn’t even a gleam in my daddy’s dead eye when the book was originally published - but the first time around the Linguistics pinwheel… feeling the need to geek out hard to avoid the emo part of my life.
Yeah, I’m all bumming and shit but I just gotta say…
Can someone please duct tape Chirac’s mouth shut? And don’t spare any over his nose, either. Hee - Keith from GI Party lets us know about France’s new tanks. He writes, “Apparently they now have six directions: five for moving backward and one for moving forward (in case they’re attacked from behind).”
Go Iraqi Shia! Nothing like a good insurrection to support the liberating army! Anybody who still thinks this isn’t a bright idea should take note of the fact that in Iraq, protesters don’t just get stared down by nervous police, they get shelled. Um, ow.
Our troops rock. Take note.
Oh, and about that whole “why aren’t they out in the streets cheering us” whinging I keep hearing about - rent a fucking clue, people. The Iraqis have lived under a brutal, repressive regime for umpteen years - that instills a deep-seated set of behaviors designed to maximize survival. Like staying quiet except when called upon to espouse the party line. They’re not unhappy to see Saddam getting his ass kicked (and make no mistake, we are heavily kicking ass) but they are terrified of being punished for showing how they really feel. The bad guys aren’t gone yet - they’re on their way out, but they’re not gone. And let’s not all assume that just because the Iraqi people look different and speak a different language and have been living in these conditions for this long that they’re stupid. Stupid people rarely keep breathing for very long in dangerous situations.
I won’t be posting much about the war for a while – there are plenty of other people out there who are keeping much closer tabs than I on developments - as I found out yesterday morning that my father died on December 18, 2002. Three months ago.
Nobody. Fucking. Told. Me.
My aunts, my father’s sisters, knew where to reach me had they chosen to. The last time I spoke with my father he informed me that I’d been named executrix of his will. Apparently that changed at some point. Obviously we weren’t in any kind of close contact, but still… as all three of you know, I consider irony to be a core component of any significant experience, and this is a rich one. Every so often I’d Google my father to see what he was up to, keeping tabs from a distance. I’d been wanting to get in closer touch with him recently, but was waiting until the dust settled somewhat from my divorce before tipping that moldy can of worms out into the sunlight. Ironically, every time I typed his name in, I’d be cringing in the back of my brain, hoping that since he was only in his early sixties, it wouldn’t be his obituary reporting on his recent activities. This time it was.
I’m just beginning to deal with and process the litany of old and new pain, anger and regret. So many things that I regret that can never be cleaned up. I had begun to blog about all of it, to clean it out of my brain, but Blogger ate my post and my heart is too tired at the moment to recreate everything I wrote. Suffice to say that I most regret maintaining distance between us out of the desire to protect myself from being hurt and to punish him for hurting me - he wasn’t there when I almost died, and I wasn’t there when he did. In many ways this has been the easier path. But it’s certainly not the more honorable.
I know that it’s proper protocol not to mount a flag when fighting a war of liberation and all, and they did the right thing, but in this case I gotta say fuck it. The Marines long ago earned the right to fly our flag wherever the hell they want.
Well, was it Uday or Qusay who went splat in that bunker? Either way, I’m hoping it’s one down… and I can’t be bothered to mind if it wasn’t a quick death.
Apparently we’re not hermetically sealed just yet. Bummer. Gotta watch out for those ‘robes, know what I’m sayin’? Word.
On another note, perhaps related, perhaps not, anything strawberry-kiwi flavored is evil.
Eee. Vee. Eye. Ell.
Airlift it all to Iraq special delivery care of S. Hussein & Sons immediamente. ‘Cuz I said so, that’s why. My tummy hurts. Ow.
Korea as a rational actor? Hah. You funny. Tell me another one.
On another note, I’ve signed up to Adopt-A-Platoon, and have been tentatively assigned 1/4 a platoon (an entire platoon being 40 soldiers) to send letters and care packages to - I’ll know the exact number as soon as they get a group of soldiers matched up with me. I hereby invite anybody who wants to do the same to either hie thee to their website and sign up or email me directly and I’ll include whatever you want to send in my care packages. The Adopt-A-Platoon moms are careful about vetting volunteers as they don’t want no crazy-eye types mailing our boys and girls the ‘thrax and take their time about screening you and assigning you a soldier or soldiers to support, so be patient if you want to sign up directly with them as it won’t be instant gratification. There are lots of kids who join the military as a way out of bad home situations, either just to escape or to give themselves a chance at job training, a college education and a stable environment that, until a few months back, probably seemed a lot safer than where a lot of them came from - and lots of those kids don’t have anybody back home to send them care packages or letters or even postcards, so whether you’re for or against the war, please support our soldiers in whatever way you can.
Ed at Ed’s Blog has a great suggestion that I think I’ll steal implement immediately (thanks to Skits for Aortling him):
“There’s all this talk about human shields floating around here. So I thought I’d throw it out that I’m interviewing for my own human shields, to shield me from the various crap I have to encounter every day. I’m interested in getting human shields against boredom, work, poverty, really really ugly people hitting on me, other people in general on the subway, people who step on my feet in bars, annoying people, bad weather, depression, doubt and others. Many opportunites are available.”
Y’all feel free to sign up with me now, y’hear? I’ll be gentle…
This last bit scares me - but it figures… they’re gonna ruin it for everyone. Bastards.
“Because blogs tend to focus on specific subjects and attract people in similar demographic groups, they could be huge for advertisers hoping to target their pitches. Dr. Pepper/7UP already is testing this theory by mining the Blogosphere to launch an unusual marketing campaign for a new flavored milk drink called Raging Cow. The beverage, currently available in five test markets, is aimed at teens and young adults, a demographic that has embraced blogging. To create a buzz about Raging Cow before its national launch, Richards Interactive culled through 300 blogs to find the ones that appeared most influential. The teens writing the blogs, including the likes of boymeets life.com, italianize.com and sparkley.net, are getting some merchandise and Amazon.com gift certificates in exchange for testing the milk and expressing their opinions online during the next few months. Richards Interactive also created a blog, ostensibly written by the raging cow herself, punctuated with the slogan, “The Revolution Will Be Homogenized.”"
Ack. Uh huh. Right.