Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Dogs disguised as men
Five times today you have prayed towards
, worshipping the
botox masks of unconcerned idols as they watch your cheeks sink with
hunger. You are beyond physical
starvation; you are deprived in every way having sold your youth and your soul
for tiny wages and a television set that sometimes you call a window, but more
often, a mirror. And you pray to the
west while they rob you blind from the east.
Who? You wonder, looking around
you at other nations and other races of men when, in fact, your enemy is all
nations and all races of man. If you
could see beyond the mirror you would see that you too are the enemy of man,
thumbing through a catalogue, picking the specific Jesus that you’ll encounter
and crucify. Of course Jesus will not be
called Jesus, but have some name like Boxcar Willy or Hobo Joe, and you will
throw an empty bag of potato chips at him like a stone tossed at a
criminal. That night you’ll kiss your
crucifix and the cruelty it represents.
For it is that even when you are half-dead, through lips cracked and dry
by the deprivation of water you will expend the last of your energy to utter
coarse words and vulgarities towards your scattered siblings while invisible
despots of every valuable resource forge even sturdier shackles, and you will
wear these shackles willingly, decoratively.
They will be neckties and they will choke you like dog-collars. Those who have no necktie will have
filth-matted hair and the psychotic look of one who has suffered the burdensome
and unsanitary life of a stray. Some
will live their lives in a pit gnashing their teeth at the wounded and pathetic
thing in front of them that could easily be their reflection. Meanwhile the shouting, jeering, drunken
faces of you or your masters that surround their little circle of Hell go on
unnoticed, laughing at their degradation.
You will call this living. This
will be life.