“American-led troops were accused yesterday of dragging innocent children from their beds and shooting them during a night raid that left ten people dead. Afghan government investigators said that eight schoolchildren were killed, all but one of them from the same family. Locals said that some victims were handcuffed before being killed. Western military sources said that the dead were all part of an Afghan terrorist cell responsible for manufacturing improvised explosive devices, which have claimed the lives of countless soldiers and civilians.” (Western troops accused of executing 10 Afghan civilians including children, by Jerome Starkey, TimesOnline, December 31, 2009)
WHAT CAN BE DONE
by Damien Adia Marassa
What? Can be done. What can be done.
The elysian Empire with its golden hair of corn silk blowing in the winds of genetically altered human conscience: this just in.
Strange and bitter crop harvested to fertilize the tree of liberty. Warning: do not become furious at the war ning, nine, nig, nig, niggers are furious. With no reason! Neck out the noose, head off the hook. LYNCHMOBS TURNED LOOSE IN Afghanistan. Breathe easy, queasy.
Notice: no one notices. The soy bean stalking. Soylent green peace keeping. As UnAmerican as rotten apple EmPie or umpire – EVIL EMPORIUM? we sank in (our own teeth) Like Titanic in icebergs.
Sacred as the oroboros backward: devoured by the tail that wags the dog, I walk myself around the town on leashes made of forgiveness and patience, “wait and see,” shock and offal – spilling out of every region’s unclassified transparency:
All we see is the opaque: the lense of eyelids tattooed with a sight that shutters itself over every possible eventuality: our victimization made synonymous with reflection, with remorse, repentence, reparation.
I may not live to see the day – but this, is this called living? – but if not, the night will come, to bring rest to Eyes pitchforked open on the scene of a world’s subjection, toothpicked perky to the rape rape rape and pillage of the old by the new, of the many by the few, of the do do do what you do do do do: best, if not only, and thus worse, and therefore ever after more quickly and more perverse.
I am older every day, and each day I am younger than before as innocence swells swollen jaws and lips, bulging eyes and asphyxia membranes with every tick of the clock, the tock of the time bombs of shock and horror. I am becoming the offspring of orphans, I am become the child of night.