Happy Meals

Immediately after 9/11 world children scrambling through dust pawed soil looking for energy cells. Emergency air raid sirens exploded. Everyone scrambled into bombed out buildings.

"Hey, check this out," said a hungry refugee, "I found a case of Democracy. The Republican label says it spreads easily."

"Is it crunchy or plain?"

"How do I know? It’s just plain old Democracy."

"I hope it’s better than that old rancid Freedom Sauce. Let’s give it a go. Democracy is a good idea, in theory."

They opened the box, took out a jar, unscrewed the top, grabbed sharp knives, broke bread and slathered on Democracy.

"Wow! This is yummy."

"Yeah, well I got some stuck in my throat. It tastes like sand."

"It’s protein."

World tribes collected their Democracy.

"We need more energy," someone said. "We need music, news, a weather forecast. We need to know what’s happened."

"Need a clue? Take a look around you," said an illiterate person. Twin Towers, Iraqi and Syrian villages, and Afghan mountains smoldered on the immediate horizon.

"It looks desperate," said one.

"Eye, it does," said another. "It’s always darker before the dawn."

Sirens stopped and they emerged from darkness.

"We need shelter," said a family gathering leftovers from the World Bank. 65 million internally displaced people struggled toward hopeful futures. They sang, “Give me shelter. Shelter from the storm.”

"Beware those who live on dreams," said a rationalist.

"We need a committee," said a company man. "We need order."

"May I take your order?" requested a disembodied voice from a black box in a drive-thru combat zone.

"One happy meal to go," cried a distraught family trapped in a massive traffic jam. It was bumper to bumper on the highway of death between the airport and Baghdad.

Where the rubber met the road.

Their digestive systems were backed up for miles with sugar, fat, grease and carbohydrates.

"Consider the essentials will you," pleaded a small voice from the back seat trying to get a dial tone, trying to get through, trying to find a rhythm inside swirling chaos.

It threatened to swallow everyone into a black hole sucking everything into a parallel universe.

Weaving A Life (V2)

Democracy & Happy Meals

Immediately after 9/11 Spanish children scrambled through dust pawing soil looking for energy cells. Emergency air raid sirens exploded. Everyone scrambled into bombed out buildings.

"Hey, check this out," said a hungry refugee, "I found a case of Democracy. The Republican label says it spreads easily."

"Is it crunchy or plain?"

"How do I know? It’s just plain old Democracy."

"I hope it’s better than that old rancid Freedom Sauce. Let’s give it a go. Democracy is a good idea, in theory."

They opened the box, took out a jar, unscrewed the top, grabbed sharp knives, broke bread and slathered on Democracy.

"Wow! This is yummy."

"Yeah, well I got some stuck in my throat. It tastes like sand."

"It’s protein."

World tribes collected their Democracy.

"We need more energy," someone said. "We need music, news, a weather forecast. We need to know what’s happened."

"Need a clue? Take a look around you," said an illiterate person. Twin Towers, Iraqi and Syrian villages, and Afghan mountains smoldered on the immediate horizon.

"It looks desperate," said one.

"Eye, it does," said another. "It’s always darker before the dawn."

Sirens stopped and they emerged from darkness.

"We need shelter," said a family gathering rushes from the World Bank. Third world immigrants and internally displaced people pounded rocks and carried them on their backs toward unknown futures. They sang, “Give me shelter. Shelter from the storm.”

"Beware those who live on dreams," said a rationalist.

"We need a committee," said a company man. "We need order."

"May I take your order?" requested a disembodied voice from a black box in a drive-thru combat zone.

"One happy meal to go," cried a distraught family trapped in a massive traffic jam. It was bumper to bumper on the highway of death between the airport and Baghdad. Where the rubber met the road. Their digestive systems were backed up for miles with sugar, fat, grease and carbohydrates.

"Consider the essentials will you," pleaded a small voice from the back seat trying to get a dial tone, trying to get through, trying to find a rhythm inside swirling chaos. It threatened to swallow everyone and spit humans into a black hole sucking everything into a parallel universe. 

A Century is Nothing

country of amnesia

We'd like to say hello to all our friends in China.

They cannot read this because 50,000+ internet gremlins block it from their bleeding eyes.

Words like June 4, democracy and freedom are scrubbed.

Today the Country of Amnesia says to the 1.7 billion sheep:

ATTENTION COMRADES!

June 4th, 1989 did not happen. Collective brains were wiped clean. Just blend in. 

Leo remembered hauling buckets of night soil shit to fertilize fields near his straw and mud hovel in the Gobi.

It was the price he’d paid for quest-ioning Authority at Beijing Normal U.

- Why do we have to read Mao’s little red book? It's mush for pigs, he’d asked Authority.

- Because you are a tool of the state, said Authority.

- This shit stinks.

- Here, said Authority. Carry some more.

After that melancholy loss Leo didn’t take shit from anybody. He escaped to Australia.

Living in exile with silence and cunning he burned through levels of existence.

Survivors heard a voice screaming from a classroom: Quest-ions are forbidden, said overworked, underpaid and undersexed Chinese teachers named Authority and Social Control.

Ask at your peril. Anyone in the 2% group raising their hand to ask a quest-ion with confidence is shamed or silently beaten into silence. We will murder your family.

You will be condemned to a Reform Through Re-education Labor Unit near the Gobi.

Fear and ignorance are great motivators, forever and a day.

Conformity breeds conformity. Get in line and shut up.

free egypt

Greetings,

I ruled for 30 years. The military said, It's time to go, Everyone from Cairo to Greenland has had enough of your senile stalling.

I said, Wait, I need another 30 years. No they said, You have 30 seconds, The Egyptian people have spoken with one voice, You have 30 seconds.

I cried, stamping my feet like a spoiled child. I don't want to go. I don't want to go.

Someone handed me a microphone and a scrap of parchment from the Dead See. They said, Take the paper. Look into the camera and read the script. I trembled with fear and anxiety. I took the parchment. I looked into a blinking red eye. I read the script.

My finally free fantastic fellow citizens. I would like to thank the Academy for this opportunity and all the rich memories. It's been a long strange trip. I wish you all the best realizing your freedom from tyranny, repression and idiots like me. My family and I will now take our immense wealth and retire to our resort villa. We will remember you when we eat caviar off gold plates. Farewell my love.

The red light went off. The paper fluttered from my arthritic fingers. Fireworks and ectoblastic jubilated pandemonium erupted throughout Egypt. Slaves loaded our camels. I led my family across the burning desert toward sand castles in the harsh light of reality.

What a glorious day papa, said my child, one of 80 million, I feel free. 

Metta.

Vice Puppet

Greetings,

Sullyman, the Magnificence, my acting heroic Vice Puppet in the never ending charade of manipulative lies told the people to GO HOME, leave the square, forget your dreams and aspirations, we have heard your voice, we listen with benign neglect, we respect your human rights. However, to prevent a messy democracy totalitarian draconian emergency laws will stay in effect for 3,000 years.

Bait and switch stalling blather. The people don't buy it. We are home, they said. 

What did you expect from a trembling CIA funded friend? Oh, my. He is closer to me than white on rice. Closer than spots on a dice. I am the dice man. I am the dealer and the house always wins, my friend. My house is crumbling down around my deaf ears. When 80 millions citizens begin yelling and marching and singing and dancing demanding freedom and democracy I change the channel. Denial is bliss.

I sit behind my ornate golden desk trembling with fear. I am worrying out my worry beads. I am a fractured remnant of my old stubborn self. I am an old man. I am 82. I have sacrificed my life for Egypt.

I have amassed $70 Billion dollars in a small tidy personal fortune over 30 years of graft, corruption, business manipulation, Pentagon contracts and plain theft.

I am really an honest man. Believe me. I have wives and rich children to support. I have outstanding mortgages in Geneva, Paris, London, New York, Shanghai, Jerusalem, and a million destitute Egyptian villages.

It ain't nothing but the blues.

Being a corrupt dictator is a pain in the oligarchy. 

Metta.