Sorrow's Journey With Winter's Soldier

(Poetic Justice Photomontage)

Grief doesn’t travel very far away,
Scratch the surface and it’s all back again.
(Triple car bomb strikes Baghdad)
You see, love is like that.
(Darfur Genocide and Ellison's Protest)
If you love someone they’re either
Gone a long distance for a short while
Or a long while… But grief,
Grief doesn’t travel very far away.
(Holocaust Timeline)

Winter's Soldier

Immense shining chariots thundered across the heavens.
Ghostly hooves burst and collapsed the living homes
And the shock filled gasps of children could be heard...
Bosnia-Herzegovina (1992-1995) 200,000
...Years later a dole of doves is all that holds the world
And beneath the sand the shards of bone shift down
Making room for the next barren scratch of living’s cage.
Rwanda (1994) 800,000
Giant, fortified wheels of chain roll upon the streets now.
Death weary boots slog behind, eyes winked with caution,
Heavy loads of mourning strapped upon the back.
Pol Pot Cambodia (1975-1979) 2,000,000
Such little gladness advances along this guarded pace
As something sinister skulks their heavy shadows
Moving in unison; each glance, each gun, each breath.
Nazi Holocaust (1938-1945) 6,000,000
It stays upon them like a salutation from a viper’s kiss;
Throttling the lungs into a desperate breathing thing
That bribes the senses and kidnaps affection.
Rape of Nanking (1937-1938) 300,000
They cannot stay there knowing it surrounds them
And brings forth nothing worth killing for at their hands
Or dying for in their hearts.
Liberated mouths have turned downward with lips
That smell of death’s foul oppression.
Stalin's Forced Famine (1932-1933) 7,000,000
Before the lurking beast might taste their dread
Or the fanged tempest descend with blinding dust
The winter soldier needs turn homeward;
Ahead of the treachery that smells of grief,
Ahead the echoes of a child’s gasp and mother’s plea.
Armenians in Turkey (1915-1918) 1,500,000
Wounds may throb and ache and even heal,
...Death is not made that way.
Native American Genocide (1492-...) 12 million
Filipino-American War (1899-1902) 1.4 million
Ongoing Genocide of Palestinians (1948-?) the.uncounted
Ongoing Genocide in Iraq (2003- ?) 650,000 to 1,000,000
Grief doesn’t travel very far away...


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman


Greek word 'genos' (race) with the Latin word 'cide' (killing).

Two Actions To Take

1. Sign this petition today to tell Secretary Salazar and Secretary Locke to overturn every last Bush regulation that erodes protections for endangered species.

2. Federal scientists must feel free to speak out about research findings that impact our lives. Please urge federal agency leaders to improve their agencies' media policies.

LIGHTNING

-Right Wing Extremists Blaming Latinos for Spreading Swine Flu Across Border
-Another Violent Right-Wing Extremist
-Think About it (Support the Mathew Shepard Act)
-Touché
-Team Sarah on the Attack
-The US and its ”Great” Leadership in Iraq
-It's an Insult to Suggest Veterans are Bias Crime Victims


I’m appalled by all this shrill lightning,
The stench of something reckless
Like an oven broiling millions
Whose only sin was
Their name.

And then the torture and this war
With its odor of deceit
Standing tall like a knife
Stuck in the back of God.

Do we not understand ourselves enough
To see it? We know the bat finds its prey
Sensing its victims' echo as it flutters
In the shadow of self.
And, you and I, what do we feel?

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

SHRILL LIGHTNING

-Right Wing Extremists Blaming Latinos for Spreading Swine Flu Across Border
-Another Violent Right-Wing Extremist
-Think About it (Support the Mathew Shepard Act)
-Touché
-Team Sarah on the Attack
-The US and its ”Great” Leadership in Iraq
-It's an Insult to Suggest Veterans are Bias Crime Victims

I’m appalled by all this shrill lightning,
The stench of something reckless
Like an oven broiling millions
Whose only sin was
Their name.

And then the torture and this war
With its odor of deceit
Standing tall like a knife
Stuck in the back of God.

Do we not understand ourselves enough
To see it? We know the bat finds its prey
Sensing its victims echo as it flutters
In the shadow of self.
And, you and I, what do we feel?

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

Invest in Women

Increase Funding for International Family Planning

what do we stand for anymore? do we even know?

there have been innumerable assaults on the constitution- pretty much from its inception. the john adams contingent has not been pleased that 'the great unwashed' was given any say whatsoever in their own governance. those descendants we see today splashed all over fox noise, hate radio, state and local governments, tea parties, and now..... million militia marches. guess that's why they are stock piling all that ammo.

but i just don't know what to say about the torture issue. i have been a strident voice for years- pushing and pushing for people to realize that free societies take the risk of being 'less secure' in order to remain free. pushing for people to realize that we, the people, were losing the document that gave us our freedoms- legally- in america. and people were afraid. they were afraid of muslim extremists who may bomb our cities or unleash biological terror in 'the homeland.'

but the people were wrong. the terrorists lived amongst us- called themselves americans. and willfully and gleefully stripped civil liberties away at a rate unprecedented in our history. and always my question was- why? why are they doing this? when is enough money and power enough? and i didn't have a good, tangible answer. i still don't. the closest i get is simply- because they could.

because they knew going in what they wanted to do- they created 9/11 to shock america into swallowing their lines of bullshit about the country being vulnerable. they created the crisis in order to go into war mode- special presidential war powers indefinitely. they manufactured reasons to go to war with iraq and decimated and tortured people and ruined the lives of millions of people.

because they could.

torture is arguably the worst thing you can do to a person. it effects them physically- and mentally- and if they survive- it effects them for the rest of their lives. and their families and neighbors and fellow countrymen- and it does not work for information. and americans authorized this- and carried it out. now, i realize that we have been doing this for years- at the very least training operatives on how to carry it out. but these folks planned to torture other folks to send a message loud and clear- that they were in charge and that's it.

over the last 8 years or so, folks like me have been called traitors, conspiracy theorists, crazy, etc.- and while it generally came from the right, much came from the left too. folks simply didn't want to believe that fellow americans could carry out what bushco and the rubber stamp legislative and judicial branches did. this couldn't happen in america- we are the land of the free. but it did.

and i guess what my purpose in writing this post is- to say simply this- the people on the right are wrong. period. they are the traitors and the unpatriotic people. i don't consider them americans at all. the people on the left who have been complicit and who have gone along with the right- in the name of power or blackmail or whatever- and didn't stand up- same thing. there is nothing patriotic about stripping civil liberties away from a democratic republic in the name of security. there is nothing noble or patriotic or brave in advocating torturing another human being. these people are cowards.

for all of the grandstanding and pretending to give a damn about the founding fathers and the constitution- and apparently, the boston tea party- these folks have not actually read the documents. they didn't listen to saint ronnie about america being an example to the world- 'a shining city' and blah, blah, blah- we were set up as the beacon of hope to the world- and we have no right to the title. so, it is time to let the people who claim to be americans know- you aren't. the rest of us are going to have to grow a set- because if we want any semblance of the country we believed in- we are going to have to fight for it. the right is arming itself- and if you pooh pooh that off- well, you may end up in a detention facility right here in the us of a.

sorry shep- we do torture- did torture- probably still do torture. the next question is- will be hold onto our principles and hold folks accountable? or perhaps the better question is- do we have any principles left?

Seven Jewish Children

This is ROOMS Productions' official video documentation of Caryl Churchill's SEVEN JEWISH CHILDREN a play for Gaza presented at ROOMS Gallery in Chicago, Illinois (Recorded March 14, 2009). SEVEN JEWISH CHILDREN's script contains only 7 blocks of text - leaving the staging up to the those groups producing the work. ROOMS Productions presented the Chicago premiere of Ms. Churchill's script as a three hour looped performance installation (shown on March 12, 14 and 15 of 2009. At the request of Ms. Chruchill, donations for the charity Medical Aid for Palestinians were taken at the door. http://www.map-uk.org/ Go to ROOMSGallery.com for more info about ROOMS Productions. 

Make it stop!

Toon-Link

Um: Torture Memo Author Regrets Writing Memo
More Truths on Torture
What Do We Stand For Anymore?
Bush Officials Signed Off on Torture
We're All Serbians Now

That 100 Days Leadership Thing

The topic below was originally published on my blog, the Intrepid Liberal Journal. Also, I hope readers here will consider voting for my blog for the 2009 Chapeau Blog Awards. My appreciation as always for being allowed to X-Post here. I love the new format!

A charismatic president assumes power in a time of unprecedented turmoil after his hapless predecessor becomes a hated symbol of inertia. Financial institutions previously trusted for their forbearance are exposed as reckless stewards while the global economy implodes and regular folks who did nothing wrong are ruined. As job losses mount, unscrupulous demagogues at home and abroad exploit the chaos for nefarious objectives.

Discredited conservatives accuse the new president of socialism while anarchists under the guise of populism are determined to expropriate and redistribute private capital’s wealth no matter what the consequences. Yet the nation rallies to the new president even as progress is slow, uneven and plagued with setbacks. Critics on the left, including his wife, believe the new president is overly cautious while conservatives view him as akin to the anti-Christ.

The public discourse is volatile as the new president confounds his critics and towers over the body politic. Sound familiar? Generation-Y liberals may assume I’m referring to President Barack Obama’s first 100 days that we’ll be reading about next week. I am of course referring to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who first established the 100 days benchmark in 1933. FDR’s first 100 days were the foundation of twenty-years of Democratic Roosevelt/Truman administrations that forever changed American society and its place in the world.

FDR himself was brilliant and flawed as he navigated the country through perilous waters domestically and internationally. His leadership enabled America and its allies to prevail in World War Two and establish an enduring middle class. Yet there was also a dark side to the FDR years as the “imperial presidency” was launched and Japanese civilians were “relocated.” The imperial presidency later metastasized during the cold war following the 1947 National Security Act under Harry Truman.

Ultimately, the FDR years, like any presidency was a product of its time. Skirmishes between labor and business were violent. The gap between rich and poor was grotesque. Much of rural America didn’t have electricity and whites routinely murdered their black neighbors. Anti-Semitic demagogues such as Father Charles Coughlin polluted the airwaves. Industrial leaders like Henry Ford as well as national hero, aviator Charles Limburg, openly expressed their admiration for Adolph Hitler.

Capitalism as well as the concept of democracy itself seemed to be retreating as Hitler in Germany, Josef Stalin in Soviet Russia and Italy’s Benito Mussolini maneuvered for global domination. The Japanese Empire brutally worked to establish their “Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere and carved up the Chinese mainland in the 1930s. Americans hoped to avoid foreign wars and FDR promised to keep us out as he plotted behind the scenes to save civilization.

In any era, leadership is not for the meek or faint of heart. FDR projected jaunty confidence and empathy for the downtrodden as he defined America’s center of political gravity on his terms. His leadership style was one of calculated confrontation and FDR skillfully utilized his political capital to take on conservative agents of the status quo at home while inspiring an international alliance against implacable enemies abroad. Seventy-five years after his first inauguration many historians regard him as America’s greatest president.



President Obama’s current challenges and leadership style is understandably compared to FDR – especially has we approach his 100 day benchmark. His support remains notably impressive in spite of the plutocratic dynamic duo of Larry Summers and Timothy Geithner or his waffling with respect to prosecuting crimes committed by the Bush Administration.

Every week we set new records for unemployment claims and the Wall Street bailouts continue. Yet the public continues to believe in his leadership. I do too even as I fret over Obama’s handling of the banking crisis and worry his presidency will be consumed by efforts to stabilize Afghanistan and Pakistan.

My interpretation of President Obama’s political standing is that his support is partly attributed to a conservative minority that is bereft of ideas and maturity. There is the faux populist outrage of “tea parties” to the sniveling temper tantrums of conservatives when Obama shakes hands with Hugo Chavez. Newt Gingrich and Rush Limbaugh look like fools as they critique Obama’s handling of the Somali Pirates hostage crisis while the administration initiates a successful rescue operation. Republicans in Texas and Georgia speak openly of secession while a more sophisticated majority wants to come together and solve problems.

The public face of conservatism is angry, xenophobic, homophobic, shrill and insipid and no longer taken seriously. It's not just that conservative ideology is thorougly discredited as it was in 1933. Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, John Boehner and Newt Gingrich are almost cartoonish in their political opposition. Hence, the real debate with respect to public policy about issues ranging from the potential fall of Pakistan, engaging Iran, addressing global warming, strengthening public education, rebuilding infrastucture, renewable energy and health care is between the center and the left. The center of political gravity is being redefined by Barack Obama because Republicans don't belong at the grownups table.

On the left, people like me critique the administration so he will seize the moment and push the envelope further. We want accountability for the Bush Administration’s crimes, a swift reversal of the Wall Street centric economy that has placed millions of Americans on the abyss of destitution and a public option for health care. The end result of impatient liberal/left critics and America’s puerile conservatives is that President Obama owns the political center just as FDR did.

Whether Obama takes full advantage of his unique stature will take far longer than 100 days to know. This is only the end of the beginning.

Emma Goldman on Patriotism

Actress Sandra Oh reads the speech given by anarchist Emma Goldman in San Francisco before the United States entered WWI. Part of a reading from Voices of a People's History of the United States given October 5, 2005 in Los Angeles California (featuring Howard Zinn and Anthony Arnove.)

Oh, how prophetic! This all has come to pass.

Some excerpts from the reading: What is Patriotism? (1908),
Speech given in San Francisco, California

* What is patriotism? Is it love of one's birthplace, the place of childhood's recollections and hopes, dreams and aspirations? Is it the place where, in childlike naïveté, we would watch the passing clouds, and wonder why we, too, could not float so swiftly? The place where we would count the milliard glittering stars, terror-stricken lest each one "an eye should be," piercing the very depths of our little souls?

* "Patriotism, sir, is the last resort of scoundrels," said Dr. Samuel Johnson. Leo Tolstoy, the greatest anti-patriot of our time, defines patriotism as the principle that will justify the training of wholesale murderers; a trade that requires better equipment in the exercise of man-killing than the making of such necessities as shoes, clothing, and houses; a trade that guarantees better returns and greater glory than that of the honest workingman.

* Conceit, arrogance and egotism are the essentials of patriotism. Let me illustrate. Patriotism assumes that our globe is divided into little spots, each one surrounded by an iron gate. Those who have had the fortune of being born on some particular spot consider themselves nobler, better, grander, more intelligent than those living beings inhabiting any other spot. It is, therefore, the duty of everyone living on that chosen spot to fight, kill and die in the attempt to impose his superiority upon all the others.

The inhabitants of the other spots reason in like manner, of course, with the result that from early infancy the mind of the child is provided with blood-curdling stories about the Germans, the French, the Italians, Russians, etc. When the child has reached manhood he is thoroughly saturated with the belief that he is chosen by the Lord himself to defend his country against the attack or invasion of any foreigner. It is for that purpose that we are clamoring for a greater army and navy, more battleships and ammunition.

An army and navy represent the people's toys.

* We Americans claim to be a peace-loving people. We hate bloodshed; we are opposed to violence. Yet we go into spasms of joy over the possibility of projecting dynamite bombs from flying machines upon helpless citizens. We are ready to hang, electrocute, or lynch anyone, who, from economic necessity, will risk his own life in the attempt upon that of some industrial magnate. Yet our hearts swell with pride at the thought that America is becoming the most powerful nation on earth, and that she will eventually plant her iron foot on the necks of all other nations.

Such is the logic of patriotism.

* Thinking men and women the world over are beginning to realize that patriotism is too narrow and limited a conception to meet the necessities of our time.

* The spirit of militarism has already permeated all walks of life. Indeed, I am convinced that militarism is a greater danger here than anywhere else, because of the many bribes capitalism holds out to those whom it wishes to destroy.

* When we have undermined the patriotic lie, we shall have cleared the path for the great structure where all shall be united into a universal brotherhood — a truly free society.

cross-posted on Border Explorer

SUNDAY SONNET

Before the year folds
and mothers lower the cold
breath of loveliness,
before the sun sets
and stars hoist their heads
for the world to see,
and the waters cower away,
the mountains sheath,
and a majestic tree
kneels upon the soil
in search of one final glance,
one last forlorn look
at the boy who climbed,
the girl who skipped `round,
the woodsmen who passed
with axes sheathed in awe
of his mighty trunk,
a glance of mothers,
beauteous and loving,
hopeful and gentle
laughter spilling from
children’s mouths;
might we discover,
remember for the next,
and climb the tree
and offer it friendship?

After the year folds
and the breath of splendor
has eased into the earth
may tomorrow’s trees
stand tall against war.


Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

An Enduring Torture (412)

A memo...

An Enduring Torture

AN ENDURING TORTURE

“…Because they are soft. They are weak people compared to our military service people and they would crack under torture. But al Qaeda, people who have devoted their lives to destroying their enemy, the people are willing to die in their exercises, they were all willing to die on 9-11. Sean Hannity thinks torture is going to work on them because he has never, never known the kind of commitment that those people have and nothing he's done in his life measures that kind of commitment that the American military has or that our enemies have. Our enemies are more committed than Sean Hannity will ever be.” (Read More...)
…The golden-haired children seemed in their own peace filled world as
hungry giants walked heavily and with great anger over the wilderness…

In this tale of time, this poem, there’s not enough room for everyone to sit,
some will have to stand and merrily wait their turn at the gates of anguish.
Soon you will be able to taste what your sons and daughters have swilled-
your aunts and uncles, mothers and fathers, nieces and nephews; the sufferers.

Above our heads, even in anguish, rises a cry so profound that it must be a dream
of man’s making, a face filled with the delight of our trust, our love, our freedom.
Upon this blue throne we call earth, our collective heart moves freely among us,
yet our hands and feet trace drops of blood over this painting. We turn our
backs on the trees and the rivers and we beat down upon the soil with metal
drums of war. We long to conquer our immense fear of things outside of this air,
so demons claw at our bellies and slash at our throats to get a single breath of air
and a chance to speak with us, to tell us why we are a cheerless lot and to clarify,
explain to us our immeasurable and never-ending sorrow.

There are the screams of the oppressed, the cries of the starving offspring,
the tears of the childless mothers and fathers, and the beating of truth in each
of us. It’s never been outside of our reach. It has always been and will remain
within each of us, gestations of the human stain.

Open your mouth wide and bestow this birth to one another, our lone salvation,
our reckoning with truth and beast and the earth’s nectar. Celebrate kindness,
not its converse aberration, torture.
It is waiting upon our approval, nothing more and nothing less…

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

Faith No More

FNM - War Pigs (7:25)

Act or Idle...

Thursday Afternoon Actionables

GATHER NOW

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

Clinton concern for Pakistan fate

Let us lower all the flags to half-mast.

Let us begin now the somber trumpet.

Let us gather around with bowed heads

And recall this day as the butchered age.

Rice OK'd Waterboarding

Watch it trace across the gnarled lands,

Ascend the gate of our most everlasting

With the clatter of a filched kingdom

Bearing the ashen and eyeless face of war.

Taliban Seize Vital Pakistan Area Closer to the Capital

Let us erect a wall of rubbish and bones

Skyward surrounding all the arid breath,

Honoring our pursuit and its conclusion;

Empire and anguish; kingdom come.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

(Mc)Art...

"Special Forces" by Van Thanh Rudd

Ceaselessly giving.
Art opens inward
The generous spirit of the heart.

Art widens the eyes,
The soul,
Then seeks you within it.

Rigid and hot,
It needs freedom, faith
To consider where it’s taken you,

Like dipping your mind’s brush
Into the cleansing water,
Thoughts swim, breathing like fish.

Now given to, submerged,
Bathed in the shape of it,
What wrangles your soul?

If you find your breath full...
Think not of the artist’s truth,
Think but of your own;

(Spirit and the heart of hope weep and question why.)

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

take a deep breath- what's that i smell?

is it spring? no, wait, it's diplomacy. who knew? who knew that sitting down and actually talking to folks can lead to the start of disarming volatile situations? there are many things i don't know- and haven't learned yet- but i do know human nature. folks tend to get defensive and belligerent when confronted with bullies, blackmailers, etc. and folks will only take being mistreated for so long. hence, president obama's worldwide 'apology tour.'

most americans don't know about the decades of american government sponsored coups in other parts of the world- latin and south america, southeast asia, africa. most americans don't know that the right wing of america and it's 'trickle down' milton friedman inspired disaster capitalism is responsible for the deaths of millions of fellow human beings. there is much to apologize for. folks around the world aren't terrorists- and they don't hate us because of the way we live. they don't care for us much- because of the way we have forced them to live. and the fact that america and american corporations profited by the misery and torture that millions of mainly brown and black folks lived.

hence, the book president chavez gifted to president obama.

and the embargo on cuba is slowly being lifted.

the russians are agreeing to disarmament.

and america is looking to reach out to iran by dropping the stupid pre-bushco inspired conditions. wow. the cold war is over part 2. inevitably, we have to reach out- as we did to germany, japan, south africa, vietnam, italy, china,...

the bottom line is that human beings are going to need each other more than ever as we face not just our chicago school, friedman style, disaster capitalism economic meltdown- but as the planet becomes more and more inhospitable. the world is less of an issue than the right wing ideologues here in this country who are armed and mentally unstable. i don't want to predict another civil war but it is looking grim.

on a brighter note- i had no idea that russia gifted us a 9/11 memorial but apparently, they did. it's in new jersey.

so, Спасибо.

It is easy enough to kill a mouse...

...Even to wound or maim or squish;
Crush with a shoe. I have seen it done. I have seen this,

The outcome; petite legs broadened,
Turned awkwardly outward

Like some unsuspecting possum on the road,
Like a newly wet canvas of an enraged serial killer,

And how afterward the sole of the shoe seems different,
As if invincible, carrying now the influence of death.

Yes. It is easy enough to kill a mouse,
Even to wound or maim or squish,
Crush with a shoe. I have seen it done. I have seen this.

It is not, I suppose, like crushing a child.
It is not, I suppose, like flattening the human frame,

Unless you’re a monster marching through the village
Stomping the least of the insignificant clutching at giants.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

Truth & No Consquences

The topic below was originally posted on my blog, the Intrepid Liberal Journal.

Unless hermetically sealed in a dungeon, I assume readers are aware of the “torture memos” authored by Bush administration lawyers in 2002-2003 and released to the public this past week by the Justice Department. Their release followed intense debate between Attorney General Eric Holder who advocated transparency and CIA Director Leon Pannetta who argued on behalf of secrecy.

Each time I started to read one I stopped out of disgust. I finally read them all yesterday after initially avoiding it. Ultimately, as citizens we all have a duty to familiarize ourselves with this dark chapter in our history yet it took me a couple days to overcome my reluctance and read these documents. Having done so I urge everyone to do the same and not simply rely upon the punditocracy and blogosphere for interpretation.

President Obama courageously and in my view rightly, authorized their release because we must not shield shameful truths under the false pre-text of national security. The criticism of former Bush officials notwithstanding, releasing these memos is an important step in the Obama administration’s efforts to rehabilitate America’s image.

The cost to our national security in releasing memos with respect to banned torture techniques is outweighed by the higher consideration of restoring America’s respectability with the civilized world. We can’t ignore our immoral transgressions because the world hasn’t and the national security argument is a false construct. Indeed, these now banned policies were ineffective at best and harmed our national security by further radicalizing the world against us.

Read More +/-

Many on the left are understandably outraged at the administration’s decision not to prosecute intelligence operatives who implemented these policies and have invoked the “Nuremberg defense” in venting their criticism. I sympathize with their argument even as I feel conflicted about it. Yes, I acknowledge feeling conflicted about what to do with CIA employees who were promised legal cover. Not all “truths” are absolute.

It doesn’t seem right to prosecute these people after the Justice Department promised they would not be prosecuted in the first place. To do sends a message that we expect these people to do our dirty work with the understanding they will be abandoned once the going gets tough.

I’d like to think I would have the moral courage to say no after receiving orders to engage in torture and resist the criminal rationalizations of White House Counsel Alberto Gonzales and Justice Department lawyer John Yoo. It’s easy for any of us on the outside to say these people should be prosecuted. We might feel differently if we had to walk in their shoes.

It also doesn’t seem right to simply ignore what they did. The CIA required cover from the Justice Department because they knew the Bush administration torture guidelines were illegal as well as immoral. Suppose this administration or succeeding presidents order their operatives to conduct immoral and illegal activities with respect to future detainees?

Is it not better to establish a precedent that punishes “following orders” that are illegal and reward those who stand up for the rule of law? Even if these employees are not criminally prosecuted they should pay a professional price and be fired. The culture needs to be changed and won’t be without some kind of accountability.

Without hesitation I firmly believe those who helped design these policies such as White House counsel Alberto Gonzales and John Yoo merit prosecution to the fullest extent of the law. Prosecution should also include Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, Vice President Dick Cheney and President George W. Bush and anyone else identified either through a truth and reconciliation commission or congressional investigation as designing and ordering criminal policies in our country’s name. It is to our everlasting shame that foreign courts are willing to prosecute Americans for war crimes, while we allow our own to go on as if nothing ever happened.

President Obama apparently believes absolving the prior administration for war crimes is analogous to President Ford’s pardon of Richard Nixon: the only way to allow the country to move ahead. At least President Ford though “pardoned” Richard Nixon. The act of pardoning Nixon, although condemned at the time, at least acknowledged the man committed acts subject to prosecution. And Nixon had already paid a price.

There has been no reckoning for the figures that shamed our country or any sort of official acknowledgment that they engaged in criminal behavior. Congressional Democrats should have insisted upon accountability while the Bush administration was in power. It is to the everlasting shame of the Democratic Party that they did not impeach Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld and Gonzales after he later became Attorney General, when they had the chance.

I believe a mature democracy should be able to conduct the people's business and simultaneously pursue the truth no matter where or how high up it leads. If President Obama however truly believes prosecuting former members of the Bush administration, including Bush and Cheney to be a distraction the nation can’t afford, then he should pardon them. Let's assume for the sake of argument that President Obama is correct. That criminal prosecution of Bush, Cheney and their minions would paralyze the body politic at a time when action is needed on multiple fronts.

At least the act of pardoning sends a message that the United States of America acknowledges their wrongdoing for posterity. It would also forever mark those pardoned long after bloggers like me are dead. Pardoning them would further stain those who enabled their heinous policies. Those enablers not only include the Republican Party but Democratic leaders such as Nancy Pelosi and Jay Rockefeller of the Senate Intelligence Committee who were briefed on these policies. Even if the entire Bush cabal never serves a second in prison, pardoning them is far preferable than simply “not prosecuting” the most feculent administration in American history.

Otherwise, releasing these memos amounts to truth without any consequences. And that's not acceptable.

HEAD-LINE PHOTOMONTAGE (404-410)

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

SUNDAY (4/19/09)

Obama awaits Cuba’s next steps

The land draws nearer and nearer now, it is upon us.

We can see moving forms, limbs along its edges

Waving to us as the seagulls spiral the welcome sky.

U.S. to boycott racism conference over Israel

Right after the stars were replaced with sequins

And the moon had fallen from its perch,

Readily replaced with a wad of Swiss cheese,

We were confident that we knew all there was to know.

U.S. says watching China's naval expansion closely

This will not be the same war, said the Iraqi youth.

It will not fall so easily, death and destruction, said the old man.

Yes. It will be none of those things, yet all of those things, sighed the cleric.

F.B.I. and States Vastly Expand DNA Databases

As I wandered through the afternoon vineyard

And its musty odor hovered just beneath my nose,

I looked down to see that my shirt was stained. Grapes.

It’s never washed out; a permanent and traceable stain.

Police: Man Kills Family, Self in Maryland Home
It is as it will be, our understanding of these things,
These mind numbing and all too frequent occurrences.
We’ll act as if we’re trying to comprehend them, piece
them together as one might stitch bullet holes, but
We’ll do more to misunderstand them than learn anything.

Iran Convicts U.S. Journalist Of Spying

When one shatters a neighbor’s land with bombs and tanks,

There arises blowback, either equal or greater,

Then frail excuses will soar well above the truth.

Bush Torture Memos Released
Caution: this remedy may cause certain people debilitating ulcers
And it may, if taken orally, release the loons from their asylum.
Please get medical attention immediately if you feel irritated,
Nauseated, hear voices, feel restless, unusually disturbed or
If you, or someone you love, is, in fact, guilty of torture.

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

That's fine, Gov. Rick Perry, Texas can go ahead and secede from the Union

Gov. Rick Perry of Texas grabbed national attention again this week during the anti-tax teabag ruckus by suggesting that Texas might just at some point get so fed up with federal taxation that they'd want to secede from the United States. He bragged that the Texas economy is in good shape compared with other states, let alone compared to the "federal budget mess," said Fox News.

I say we call that bluff. I live in Texas; I know that Texas is, according to State Representative Eliot Shapleigh, "On the Brink." Here's a small sample of Texas's rankings compared to the 50 U.S. states (1=high, 50=low):

State Government Taxes & Spending

• Tax Revenue Raised Per Capita--------------49th
• Tax Expenditures Per Capita------------------50th
• Per Capita Spending on Mental Health-----46th
• Parks & Rec--------------------------------------49th
• Police Protection--------------------------------48th

Education

Percentage of Population over 25 with a High School Diploma---50th

State of the Child

Percentage of Uninsured Children---------1st

Health Care Issues and Environment

• Percentage of Population without
• Health Insurance----------------------------1st
• Air Pollution Emissions----------------------1st
• Green House Gases Released----------------1st
• Toxic Chemicals Released into Water-----1st
• Hazardous Waste Generated----------------1st
• Carbon dioxide emissions-------------------1st

Workforce Issues

• Income Inequality between the Rich and the Poor--2nd
• Job Discrimination Lawsuits-----------------------------1st

Public Safety

• Number of Executions-----------------------1st
• Number of Gun Shows-----------------------1st
• Number of Registered Machine Guns------1st
• Deaths by Floods/Tornadoes----------------1st

Sorry, Gov. Perry. There's not a lot here to brag about. And there's even less if you look at the entire listing in Shapleigh's document. So, should Texas decide to secede, it might actually be doing the rest of the states a favor. Because, quite honestly, it looks to me like Texas might be pulling the average down.

Thursday Afternoon Action(s)

1. Call on Investors to Stand up for Human Rights in Darfur

2. 

Contact Your Representative Today!
We have a huge opportunity to finally jump start our economy with clean energy. The American Clean Energy and Security Act of 2009 (ACES) will help create millions of clean energy jobs, boost efficiency, save consumers money, and protect the planet.
But with a Congress so closely divided on the environment, it will be decided by just a handful of votes. Send an email to your Representative today insisting that they vote yes on this critical legislation. 

LOCV

Take Action Today...

1. Fox News Crosses the Line

For news coverage to be "fair and balanced," there has to be a line separating news from political activism – a clear boundary between legitimate commentary and demagoguery.

Fox News Sunday host Chris Wallace repeatedly characterizes his network as "fair and balanced" – a source of news that should be taken seriously. However, several recent actions on Fox News illustrate that the network is contributing to a culture of conservative paranoia and anti-Obama political activism.

For example, since launching his Fox News show, Glenn Beck has engaged in increasingly outrageous rhetoric that promotes a culture of conservative paranoia – from imitating President Obama pouring gasoline onto the "average American" to mocking Obama's aunt's "limp."

If Wallace wants to continue to portray his network and influential Sunday show as a credible source of news, he owes it to his viewers to speak out publicly against Fox News' recent behavior. So please ask Chris Wallace to publicly denounce Fox News' recent actions and repair the damage done to his network's credibility.

2. Bob Marshall, staff writer for the New Orleans Times Picayune covered the story of Dr. van Heerden's leadership investigating the levee failures. In a recent opinion piece, Marshall said, "... I always thought the state should be rewarding van Heerden, not chasing him away, because metro area residents -- indeed, citizens of any U.S. community currently relying on federal levees to keep them safe -- owe Van Heerden a huge debt."

If you agree, please sign the petiton below urging the Chancellor of LSU to reconsider his action.

3. Obama: Lift the Cuban Embargo

On Monday, President Obama announced a shift in US policy on Cuba, but Latin American leaders and US members of Congress are urging him to take further steps -- to talk to the Cuban government and end the almost 50 year failed embargo.

This weekend Obama is participating in his first Americas Summit in Trinidad and Tobago. We have a unique chance to influence him with a strong international call to initiate a new constructive era of engagement with Cuba.

Add your name to the petition -- and Avaaz members will sail a boat with the number of signatures painted on its sail in the harbour where the summit is being held this weekend.

We urge the United States government to move from isolation to constructive engagement with Cuba--initiating dialogue and lifting the embargo.

Abuse Of Power And Police/Security Agencies: There They Go Again

Here's one more example of what can, will and do happens when we turn a blind eye to granting indiscriminate powers to police and security agencies:

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Phoenix police raid a blogger

In what should send a frightening chill down the spine of every blogger, writer, journalist and First Amendment advocate in the United States, Phoenix police raided the home of a blogger who has been highly critical of the department.

Jeff Pataky, who runs Bad Phoenix Cops, said the officers confiscated three computers, routers, modems, hard drives, memory cards and everything necessary to continue blogging.

The 41-year-old software engineer said they also confiscated numerous personal files and documents relating to a pending lawsuit he has against the department alleging harassment - which he says makes it obvious the raid was an act of retaliation.

I've told you so, didn't I?

Any questions?

Then try this one for size:

No more freedom of the Internet.

That's right - and it is coming sooner than later indeed:

Cybersecurity Act would give president power to 'shut down' Internet

A recently proposed but little-noticed Senate bill would allow the federal government to shut down the Internet in times of declared emergency, and enables unprecedented federal oversight of private network administration.

The bill's draft states that "the president may order a cybersecurity emergency and order the limitation or shutdown of Internet traffic" and would give the government ongoing access to "all relevant data concerning (critical infrastructure) networks without regard to any provision of law, regulation, rule, or policy restricting such access."

Authored by Democratic Sen. Jay Rockefeller of West Virginia and Republican Olympia Snowe of Maine, the Cybersecurity Act of 2009 seeks to create a Cybersecurity Czar to centralize power now held by the Pentagon, National Security Agency, Department of Commerce and the Department of Homeland Security.

While the White House has not officially endorsed the draft, it did have a hand in its language, according to The Washington Post.

Paging China, paging China ...

Ah, the things people are willing to do/accept in the name of Holy Security.

Q.E.D. - once again.

And so it goes ...

(Addendum: although China pledged to improve human rights, allow me to remain skeptical - just as I have become quite skeptical of anything President Obama says concerning civil rights. As but one example among many, take the time to contrast this (or this) with that (or that) - you'll then better understand my point.)

Thus I repeat: any questions?

Ben Heine has stirred up a bit of controversy...

Too dirty! Too ungodly!

Too iconic, like some unthinkable

Beast leaping out a child’s throat

Wielding its claws as switchblades,

(Or bullets or bombs)

Planting red lips upon the sleeping

Bringing innocence to its knees.

Too much, God damn it!

Too rich! Too immeasurable,

Like a pedophile’s rancid erection

Penetrating a child’s flaccid faith

Etched within youth’s center;

They’ll choose not to speak of it;

A secret... censored between fleshes.

A voice hollowed out,

Suppressed like a fearless work of art;

Too dirty! Too ungodly! Too iconic!

Who needs such art, such temptation?

(Flesh without cover)

Can’t have the commoners thinking such

Rigid ideas; might cause a mutiny…

Let us have cockle shells

And other silent dreamings;

Not essentials like art and reflection.

No! Too difficult! Too insurmountable;

A child’s dream or a mother’s breast;

Best keep such things under wraps,

Hidden where they belong.

Too filthy! Too profane!

Too iconic like some naughty child

Jumping out the belly of a beast

Wielding his mind as a paintbrush

(Or a pen or a dance),

Moving his thoughts over the nobility

Bringing them to their knees.

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

(To see the work that inspired this poem please visit Ben Heine's wonderful blog...)

DEVIANT DREAMING

(Via Ben Heine Art)

Too dirty! Too ungodly!
Too iconic, like some unthinkable
Beast leaping out a child’s throat,
Wielding its claws as switchblades
(Or bullets or bombs),
Planting red lips upon the sleeping,
Bringing innocence to its knees.

Too much, God damn it!
Too rich! Too immeasurable
Like a pedophile’s rancid erection
Penetrating a child’s flaccid faith
Etched within youth’s center;
They’ll choose not to speak of it-
A secret... censored between fleshes.

A voice hollowed out,
Suppressed like a fearless work of art.
Too dirty! Too ungodly! Too iconic!
Who needs such art, such temptation?
(Flesh without cover)
Can’t have the commoners thinking such
Rigid ideas, might cause a mutiny…

Let us have cockle shells
And other silent dreamings;
Not essentials like art and reflection.
No! Too difficult! Too insurmountable;
A child’s dream or a mother’s breast.
Best keep such things under wraps,
Hidden where they belong.

Too filthy! Too profane!
Too iconic like some naughty child
Jumping out the belly of a beast,
Wielding his mind as a paintbrush
(Or a pen or a dance),
Moving his thoughts over the nobility
Bringing them to their knees.

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

Please visit Ben and show him your support.

DEPRAVITY

Fas•cism (noun) [fa’ shizzem]
Authoritarian political ideology where all individual and societal interests are inferior to the needs of the state.

Come!
O ghosts of misery!
Louder than the whole of God,
more wordless than humiliation
breathing hard upon our backs!

Bring forth your most depraved army
over the present carnage of man;
red tongued and in the making!

Come quick under the roaring sky
and lock away hope
in your manifest gulag
of scraggly goddamned vultures!

Thrash all pleasure and goodness
over attentive hearts of dust!

Split the flesh and soul with your shadows!

Program our youth
to cleave all life of what’s left
as hordes of black-shirted assassins!

Keep watch over them
like steely eyed wolves
and stay their dissent with mild anecdote!
In time they’ll be content
to simply live another day
with wet tongue
and fearful consumption...

I detest
with all my being
that this pillaging horde of scoundrels
(which includes Glenn Beck)
has twisted the world into a sightless giant of shrieking hell!

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

the war within

america has been at war with herself for a very long time. many americans refused to see it- and indeed still do. but there is hope sometimes that we will come to see each other as simply fellow human beings. no color, gender, religious affiliation, sexual orientation (for lack of a better term), etc. i am proud to say that president obama and his family are leading the way on that front.

i am disappointed that amazon is not. i buy quite frequently from amazon and link to it often. i will not be doing so until and unless amazon changes its current book rating system and policy to end the recent discrimination. in the meantime, i fully expect many crazies to cheer amazon's decision and deride the president. and that should give all of us pause.

if you would like to sign the petition demanding amazon to state why they have decided to pull lgbt literature and not heterosexual literature of similar genres- please go here

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/in-protest-at-amazons-new-adult-policy#signatures

FREEDOM...

U.S. captain held by pirates rescued

Pakistan militants attack NATO supply trailers

U.S. general says Iraq attacks no reason to panic

Protesters Swarm Thai Capital

Saudi judge upholds marriage of 8-year-old

The freedom that he wanted couldn’t bring itself through the gates
So he imagined it pressing its paws to the soil beyond the walls,
That he heard it weeping plaintively just outside his tiny room.
Said he could smell it in the breath of every passing spring,
Spoke of its splendid dance waiting with shoes for his feet.
He said he'd heard its velvet voice flecking upon his ears
And that he tasted it in the warm water gracing his lips,
Yet the long shadows that stirred beneath his door
Startled him with their quick and brutal motions
And consoled him with torturous laughter.
They never once had spoken of freedom,
Made no mention of its demise.

copyright 2008 tpm

The Democracy Index: An Interview With Law Professor Heather Gerken

The topic below was originally posted on my blog, the Intrepid Liberal Journal.

On January 1, 2007, Yale Law School professor Heather Gerken published a widely read article in the LegalTimes entitled, “How Does Your State Rank on The Democracy Index.” Gerken argued that just as the Environmental Performance Index (“EPI”) shamed countries such as Belgium to upgrade their environmental practices, a “Democracy Index” would embarrass state and localities into reforming their electoral administration through competition.

Since Bush vs. Gore in 2000, the debate about electoral reform has been dominated by anecdotes and overheated abstractions. Liberals like me have long suspected that states such as Ohio and Florida were deliberately disenfranchising minority voters sympathetic to Democratic candidates. Conservatives complained that voter fraud and urban political machines were allowing ineligible voters to cast ballots at the expense of Republican candidates. With her article, Gerken contended that a Democracy Index would replace a debate dominated by shouting with data driven arguments instead:

“This index should take what Ohio State University law professor Daniel Tokaji calls a ‘moneyball approach.’ The word ‘moneyball,’ of course, refers to Michael Lewis’ book of the same name about the success of the Oakland A’s after management substituted hard numbers and empirical research for the gut-level judgments of baseball scouts in making hiring decisions.

Similarly, the Democracy Index could change the terms of the debate by giving voters something new: moneyball politics. It would offer cold, hard numbers and comparative data in place of atmospherics and anecdotes. It would provide bottom-line results in place of subjective judgments. It would let reformers talk like corporate executives, not starry-eyed idealists. And, most important, it would enable the voters to hold election officials accountable for their missteps.

In the end, a ranking system would work for a simple reason: No one wants to be at the bottom of the list.”

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Gerken further described her Democracy Index proposal and identified the major obstacles to good election practices with her new book, The Democracy Index: Why Our Election System Is Failing and How To Fix It (Princeton University Press). Her book is an accessible 181 pages and postulates that we need more facts about our election practices and that a ranking metric is our best hope to facilitate accountability and reform. Gerken also contends that our broken electoral system has less to do with intended malice than “deferred maintenance,” a term typically applied to failed infrastructure such as broken bridges.

Shortly after Gerken’s LegalTimes article was published, Both Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, put her concept into proposed legislation and within a year, Congress set aside $10 million to fund model data collection programs in five states and the Pew Center. Other foundations also sponsored conferences and initial research. On March 1, 2007, Obama referred to these initiatives on the Senate floor as,

“an important first step toward improving the health of our democracy. We are all familiar with the problems that have recently plagued our elections: Long lines, lost ballots, voters improperly turned away from the polls. These are basic failures of process. Until we fix them, we run the risk in every election that we will once again experience the kind of chaos and uncertainty that paralyzed the nation in 2000. We can do better. We must do better. But to do better, we need more than anecdotal information. We need better, nonpartisan, objective information.”

Hence, Gerken's efforts illustrated at least the potential for action from the body politic to facilitate electoral reform but obviously, more needs to be done.

With respect to electoral law, Gerken is among the most authoritative voices in the country. In 2006, Gerken joined the Yale Law School faculty where she teaches election and constitutional law. Previously, Gerken clerked for Supreme Court Justice David Souter and was an assistant professor at Harvard Law School, where she was granted tenure and won the Sachs-Freund teaching award. She has also written for the New Republic, Roll Call, and Legal Affairs and has been a frequent media commentator.

Gerken was among several commentators who appeared on Charlie Rose’s program the very evening the Supreme Court rendered its fateful decision in Bush vs. Gore. During the 2008 presidential election, Gerken served on Barack Obama’s election protection team.

Gerken agreed to a podcast interview with me over the telephone about her book and proposal for a Democracy index. Our conversation was just over seventeen minutes and can be accessed via the flash media player below.



This interview can also be accessed at no cost via the Itunes Store by searching for either “Intrepid Liberal Journal” or “Robert Ellman.”

14 Protesters of Drone Use in Afghanistan, Pakistan Arrested at USAF Base

Friday afternoon fourteen peace activists were arrested at Creech Air Force Base in Nevada. These arrests occurred in the context of the activists' ten day vigil at the base to raise public awareness about the increasing use of unmanned drones in the Afghanistan and Pakistan war zones. Air Force personnel based at Creech control the Predator and Reaper drones that are used to launch offensives in Central Asia.

The activists provoked their arrest by walking through the base's open main gate shortly after 3:00 p.m. in an attempt to dialogue with the Air Force service members controlling the drones. In a gesture of good will, they offered share pizza with Air Force personnel. Air Force security personnel blocked them.


The Nevada State Highway Patrol and Las Vegas Metro Police Department responded to the intrusion. Activists were arrested on the charge of trespass and transported to the Clark County Detention Facility where they were booked and processed.


Those arrested include Kathy Kelly (twice nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize; Illinois), John Dear, S.J. (author, speaker; New Mexico) and activists from AZ, IA, NY, CA, IL, and Washington DC.

The group, calling themselves Ground the Drones, provide information on the drones and on their opposition to the use of that drone technology at the website http://NevadaDesertExperience.org.

An interactive map of US airstrikes in Pakistan is found: http://www.americanprogress.org/issues/2009/03/pakistan_map.html

image credit: CREECH AFB, Nev. -- As seen from an MQ-1B Predator, Close Air Support Subject Matter Experts for the 11th Reconnaissance Squadron coordinate via radio with a Predator student for a simulated Hellfire strike on a building while smoke is used to simulate missile impact on a building. One important aspect of Predator Initial Qualification Training is students receiving live Joint Terminal Attack Controller training. In order to enhance their training capabilities, Air Combat Command recently hired contracted Close Air Support Subject Matter Experts. (Courtesy photo)

"It is not necessary to hope in order to persevere."

originally, i thought that i would do a piece on monsanto and genetically modified seeds. they are, imo, simply evil and lacking any sense of morals or ethics- they force farmers worldwide to use their seeds and buy only their seeds- and the seeds don't work. if you don't go along with them, they basically destroy you. but then i thought better of it.

because the problem is so very much bigger. i have been giving some thought as to what american culture is; what the american way of life is; what the 'american dream' is- and i really don't know that we have one that is real. isn't that what we all are grappling with- the fact and reality that 'our way of life' was one big credit card induced fantasy? probably so. but it's easy to throw out the bad stuff and not as easy to really examine what being american really means. we are proud- or we were proud- to be americans and i have a feeling that's really all we know. americans tend to be an incurious lot as a whole.

but i put a bit of time into my thoughts and opinions and came up with- we are a culture of ideas. whether they be right ones or wrong ones- we have them. it has always been our idea that we live in a free democracy and were able to work hard and do better than the previous generation. our idea was that we were always the land of opportunity and betterment and that we were a safe haven for the world's beleagured and mistreated. we were the world's champion of the underdogs. of course, then we got fairly prosperous as a whole and stopped having ideas. we decided to feel rather than think- be hedonistic rather than introspective- and we got lost.

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chris rock puts it pretty much in perspective:

"The number one reason people hate America: the number one reason is because of our religion. Americans worship money, we worship money. Separate God from school, separate God from work, separate God from government, but on your money it says in God we trust. All my life I've been looking for God, and He's right in my pocket. Americans worship money, and we all go to the same church, the church of ATM. Everywhere you look there's a new branch popping up … remind you about how much money you got and how much money you don't got. And if you got less than twenty dollars, the machine won't even talk to you. The machine is like, "You better go see a teller." You ever go to a teller and try to take out eight dollars and fifty cents? Oh, it's disgusting … oh man, you gotta wait on that long ass line, people doing real transactions in front of you, you get on to the fucking front, you fill out your form, eight fifty. The fucking teller looks at it, she look at you, she looks at the check, she don't even take the money out of the drawer, she take it out of her pocket, "Here you go, get outta here." And here's something, man. Drugs are illegal, but ATM machines are open twenty-four hours a day. Twenty-four hours a day. For who? Who the fuck is it open for? Have you ever taken out three hundred dollars at four o'clock in the morning for something positive? Shit, when you press that machine at four o'clock in the morning, I think a psychiatrist should pop up on the screen and go, "Come on, man, save your money, man. Don't buy drugs, buy some rims. They spinning, nigga, they spinning, they spinning, nigga, they spinning." Americans worship money. Shit, you know why banks are closed on Sunday? 'Cause if they wasn't, church would be empty."

i watched bill black on bill moyers and what he said struck me- he said that this whole issue we are having with the economy is- well:

BILL MOYERS: "Yeah, and this week in New York, at this conference, you described this as more than a financial crisis. You called it a moral crisis.

WILLIAM K. BLACK: Yes.

BILL MOYERS: Why?

WILLIAM K. BLACK: Because it is a fundamental lack of integrity. But also because, if you look back at crises, an economist who is also a presidential appointee, as a regulator in the Savings and Loan industry, right here in New York, Larry White, wrote a book about the Savings and Loan crisis. And he said, you know, one of the most interesting questions is why so few people engaged in fraud? Because objectively, you could have gotten away with it. But only about ten percent of the CEOs, engaged in fraud. So, 90 percent of them were restrained by ethics and integrity. So, far more than law or by F.B.I. agents, it's our integrity that often prevents the greatest abuses. And what we had in this crisis, instead of the Savings and Loan, is the most elite institutions in America engaging or facilitating fraud. "

and the enormity of that hit me. our entire system is broken. every day i read the news and i see corruption oozing out of every facet of our system- drug and food recalls; people dying from shoddy healthcare or no healthcare; bloated education system based solely on testing, etc., and people firmly plugged into that system- with little choice not to be.

i also watched amy goodman and glenn greenwald on bill moyers- the last great journalist, imo- and listening to them i felt the enormity of broken system. the establishment exists to protect and perpetuate itself:

GLENN GREENWALD: Well, what I think is interesting is to look at what journalists, establishment journalists, who work in the largest corporations in the country, in the media division, say about what their role is. In order to understand how the reporting on Iraq was done. How it's done on the financial crisis. Last month Howard Fineman, the "Newsweek" reporter, and MSNBC contributor, wrote an article in which a column, in which he said that the establishment is now worried that Barack Obama is not up to the job. And he made clear that he was speaking on behalf of the establishment, as a member of it. And he said that the establishment, to the extent it exists in America, is now comprised of three stools. The financiers on Wall Street, political elites in Washington, and media stars in the New York/Washington corridor. And there's a "Newsweek" cover story by Evan Thomas, who's a long time Washington insider reporter. And it's concerning Paul Krugman's status as a critic of Obama from the Left. And in this article Evan Thomas, I thought quite revealingly declared himself, as well, like Howard Fineman did, to be a member of the establishment persuasion, as he called it. And what he said was that, by definition, members of the establishment are devoted to preserving the existing order. The prevailing status quo. Keeping things the way they are.

the fact that the politicians and the bankers and the corporates and the media are all working together to perpetuate an unethical, immoral, greed and wealth driven system on the backs of decent people around the globe angers me like nothing else. and i know that i am not the only one:

chris hedges- resist or become serfs

joe bageant- we have let corporations and the media rob our souls- let's do something about it

washington post reporters call george will out for lying on climate crisis

this economic disaster did not happen overnight- it was a well planned, system wide looting of our monies into the pockets of the very people who are now pocketing our money again in the form of bailouts. we got double dipped and that's for sure. probably triple and quadruple dipped.

make no mistake, there are many everyday americans who don't believe as i do- that every human being deserves basic necessities of life- water, food, clothing, shelter, and imo, healthcare. many folks right now are going about their lives with nary a thought of the suffering going on around the globe- and here in this country- brought on by 'our way of life.' but if and when the shit hits the fan for them- they will be the first ones in line for a handout- from neighbor, family, or government. because we have lived the life of plenty for so long and lost skill sets to help us get through the bad times.

president obama ran on 'hope and change'- those were the two themes throughout his campaign and i really believe he meant it. i don't know that that is what we need. oh, the change definitely- but the hope is that we will stabilize and folks can go back to their old lives. our way of life is gone forever. the houses with the white picket fences and the dog and the 2 kids- well, it was a bit of 1950's tv schtick. the thoughts in my head are far too many for me to keep writing in the post- but it is food for thought.

Yes, Once Again: Meet The New Boss ...

... same as the old boss (indeed):

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Obama Administration quietly expands Bush's legal defense of wiretapping program

In a stunning defense of President George W. Bush's warrantless wiretapping program, President Barack Obama has broadened the government's legal argument for immunizing his Administration and government agencies from lawsuits surrounding the National Security Agency's eavesdropping efforts.

In fact, a close read of a government filing last Friday reveals that the Obama Administration has gone beyond any previous legal claims put forth by former President Bush.

Responding to a lawsuit filed by a civil liberties group, the Justice Department argued that the government was protected by "sovereign immunity" from lawsuits because of a little-noticed clause in the Patriot Act. The government's legal filing can be read here (PDF).

For the first time, the Obama Administration's brief contends that government agencies cannot be sued for wiretapping American citizens even if there was intentional violation of US law. They maintain that the government can only be sued if the wiretaps involve "willful disclosure" -- a higher legal bar.

"A 'willful violation' in Section 223(c(1) refers to the 'willful disclosure' of intelligence information by government agents, as described in Section 223(a)(3) and (b)(3), and such disclosures by the Government are the only actions that create liability against the United States," Obama Assistant Attorney General Michael Hertz wrote (page 5).

Senior Staff Attorney Kevin Bankston at the Electronic Frontier Foundation, which is suing the government over the warrantless wiretapping program, notes that the government has previously argued that changes to the Patriot Act protected the government from lawsuits surrounding eavesdropping. But he says that this is the first time that they've made the case that the Patriot Act protects the government from all surveillance statutes.

"They are arguing this based on changes to the law made by the USA PATRIOT Act, Section 223," Bankston said in an email to Raw Story. "We've never been fans of 223--it made it much harder to sue the U.S. for illegal spying, see an old write-up of mine at: http://w2.eff.org/patriot/sunset/223.php --but no one's ever suggested before that it wholly immunized the U.S. government against suits under all the surveillance statutes."

Salon columnist and constitutional scholar Glenn Greenwald -- who is generally supportive of progressive interpretations of the law -- says the Obama Administration has "invented a brand new claim" of immunity from spying litigation.

"In other words, beyond even the outrageously broad 'state secrets' privilege invented by the Bush administration and now embraced fully by the Obama administration, the Obama DOJ has now invented a brand new claim of government immunity, one which literally asserts that the U.S. Government is free to intercept all of your communications (calls, emails and the like) and -- even if what they're doing is blatantly illegal and they know it's illegal -- you are barred from suing them unless they 'willfully disclose' to the public what they have learned," Greenwald wrote Monday.

He also argues that the Justice Department's response is exclusively a product of the new Administration, noting that three months have elapsed since President Bush left office.

"This brief and this case are exclusively the Obama DOJ's, and the ample time that elapsed -- almost three full months -- makes clear that it was fully considered by Obama officials," Greenwald wrote. "Yet they responded exactly as the Bush DOJ would have. This demonstrates that the Obama DOJ plans to invoke the exact radical doctrines of executive secrecy which Bush used -- not only when the Obama DOJ is taking over a case from the Bush DOJ, but even when they are deciding what response should be made in the first instance."

"Everything for which Bush critics excoriated the Bush DOJ -- using an absurdly broad rendition of 'state secrets' to block entire lawsuits from proceeding even where they allege radical lawbreaking by the President and inventing new claims of absolute legal immunity -- are now things the Obama DOJ has left no doubt it intends to embrace itself," he adds.

Both the Electronic Frontier Foundation and the American Civil Liberties Union say the "sovereign immunity" claim in the context of the case goes farther than any previous Bush Administration claims of wiretap immunity.

Writing about the changes to the Patriot Act last year, the EFF asserted that revisions to the Act involved troubling new developments for US law.

"Unlike with any other defendant, if you want to sue the federal government for illegal wiretapping you have to first go through an administrative procedure with the agency that did the wiretapping," the Foundation wrote. "That means, essentially, that you have to politely complain to the illegal wiretappers and tip them off to your legal strategy, and then wait for a while as they decide whether to do anything about it before you can sue them in court."

Moreover, they said, "Before PATRIOT, in addition to being able to sue for money damages, you could sue for declaratory relief from a judge. For example, an Internet service provider could ask the court to declare that a particular type of wiretapping that the government wants to do on its network is illegal. One could also sue for an injunction from the court, ordering that any illegal wiretapping stop. PATRIOT section 223 significantly reduced a judge's ability to remedy unlawful surveillance, making it so you can only sue the government for money damages. This means, for example, that no one could sue the government to stop an ongoing illegal wiretap. At best, one could sue for the government to pay damages while the illegal tap continued!"

In short: I told you so, didn't I?

Meanwhile, in other news ...

Then go read Glenn Greenwald.

Any questions?

(sigh)


(Cross-posted from APOV)

(a one-act play) DEBRA'S ASHES

A play about loss, family, dysfunction (and war)...

As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One.

CHARACTERS:
John McCutcheon- Fifty-four.

Stephanie McCutcheon- Thirty-two.

Debra Jameson- Forty.

Matt Jameson- Twenty-two.

TIME:
From September 2005 to the present, between two next-door living rooms in the U.S., one in the present, the other memory. Each scene spills into the next seamlessly.

PLACE:
Stage left is the living room (in the present) of JOHN MCCUTCHEON’S home. A fireplace center with a whiskey bottle on the mantle, a television facing away from the audience, a couch sits right, next to a window that hovers beside the fireplace.

Stage right is the living room (and bathroom) of DEBRA JAMESON’S home. A freestanding front door sits left. The bathroom, upstage right of the couch. In the bathroom is a sink with a mirror above it, a tub, and a stool. A hairdryer dangles from its electrical outlet next to the sink.

AT CURTAIN:
As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One.



SCENE ONE:
(The music ends as the lights come up on JOHN watching television. )

TV: Authorities familiar with the incident tell us that the mother was beaten and raped repeatedly.

(Lights out.)

SCENE TWO:
(Lights up on DEBRA lying on the couch, singing, I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight, and holding a bottle of whiskey. Her voice is actually quite stunning. After a good moment of this, lights out on her and up on the bathroom as we still here her singing.. We see MATT’S motionless arm sticking up out of the bathtub. His arm, the only part of him that can be seen, is leaned against the tub’s rim. After a moment of this visual, lights out on the bathroom and up on DEBRA singing. She takes a long swig of whiskey, sings some more and suddenly begins to cry. Lights out. Up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out.)

SCENE THREE:
(Lights up on JOHN watching television.)

TV: …the sheer brutality of the attack. An official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said that the woman’s heart was literally ripped out of her chest while she was still alive.

(Lights out.)

SCENE FOUR:
(Lights up on DEBRA now sitting on the couch wiping her tears.)

DEBRA: Is it my fault you’re like your father? Huh? Why is that my damned fault?

(Lights out. Lights up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out. Lights up.)

DEBRA: I asked you a question, young man. Is it my fault you’re like your father?

(Lights out, up on the bathroom.)

MATT: Yes…

(He angrily climbs out of the tub. He stumbles and nearly falls over. He is very animated but trying not to be heard by his mother as he works through his anger, smashing his hands into the air and flailing about in near silence. Soon he regains his composure. He contemplates climbing back into the tub, but thinks better of it. He reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. Seeing that there is only one cigarette left in the pack, he grimaces and begins to flail again.)

MATT: No. No. No!

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: That's right. It’s not my fault. I can’t be to blame for how you turned out. It’s the genetic coding or something. You win some you lose some. You’re nothing like me…

(Lights out.)

SCENE FIVE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Still searching for clues as to the reason he went on the rampage, authorities say that they've never seen anything quite like it.

(Lights out.)

SCENE SIX:
(Lights up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: He’d stay in there for hours if I wanted to talk, if I had something to say. He’d rather plop down on the shitter than look at me. Hear me. Touch me. Probably stayed in there so I wouldn’t see all the ugly faces he was making.

(Lights out, up on MATT making ugly faces at his mother. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I can only imagine. His stupid smirking face. The ugliness. The empty gestures. So I like to talk, something wrong with that? I like to sing, too, but he’d be on the damn pot… I sang to myself a lot.

(Lights out, up on MATT as she continues, MATT is attempting to light a cigarette while making faces.)

DEBRA: …Don’t know what the hell I had to sing about. Nothing worth singing about in this world with all the godforsaken abuse I took from that no good, sorry-

(The cigarette drops out of MATT’S mouth into the stool water.)

MATT: Son of a bitch!

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: -son of a bitch. He never wanted to just talk with me. All he ever wanted to do was fornicate. We were either in different worlds or fornicating like rabbits. (From the darkness of the bathroom we hear a blow-dryer.) Only time he ever tried talking to me was when he was all hard and sweaty. Wasn’t anything tender with your father, either. Fast and furious is how he liked it. Always did. Pervert. He’d say things like, “You’re doing it all wrong!” and “Harder!”, “Faster!”, “Not there!”... He’d tell me exactly what it was that I was doing wrong, but never what I did right. Usually just direct me like I was some fornicating marionette! ...Are you blow-drying your hair? Jesus. I better call Vicky and tell her my boy took a damn bath! He did, Debra? Sure did, Vicky! Wow, Debra, good for you! Thanks, Vicky! You sure got lucky and raised him up right, Debra! Thanks, you stupid bitch!

(Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA. She sings, drinks, sings, and suddenly cries. Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA drinking and sobbing. Lights out, up on MATT. He turns off the blow-dryer and inspects his work with great care. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I shouldn’t have called poor Vicky a bitch... it’s just that she and I used to be best friends, ya know? We were practically inseparable. Like Siamese sisters. Then she started getting all snooty because her boy, Shane, joined up and went off to fight in Iraq. (A flash of light comes from the bathroom as MATT lights his cigarette.) She’d prance around talking about how proud she was that her boy was fighting for freedom and that he was gonna come home a decorated war hero. She wouldn't stop talking about it. She did, however, stop calling and stop coming around. (Pause.) Now everything's stopped for poor Vicky. So sad. When and if I see her now she looks like a tragic character out of some god-awful war movie. All twisted. Bent over in excruciating pain. Blaming herself for being too damned proud. ...I miss her. ...Shane was such a good boy. Should have- Should never have gone over there. Should have stayed home with his mama. (Pause.) Bet he’d at least have taken regular baths… (She drinks.) He was such a good boy. Such a good boy.

(Lights out, up on MATT enjoying his cigarette. Eyes closed, taking a very long and deep drag. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: What the hell was I talking about? Can’t think with all the racket around here… What the? Oh right. How could I have forgotten I was talking about a pile of dog shit? ...The no good bastard would tell me where to lick, where to grip, where to squeeze, where to put my freshly wetted finger. Mostly he’d just grunt. Conversing like an ape, verbalizing in animal tones, ughh this and ughh that. Who the hell knows what was being said?

(Lights out, up on MATT smoking and grunting like an ape.)

MATT: Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh?

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I’m glad he left…more whiskey for me that way. More space to breathe on my own. Don’t need him to tell me when, where, or how to inhale and exhale. I’m done with that shit.

(Lights out, up on MATT, his nose nearly touching the mirror.)

MATT: Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I’m free to fornicate when I want, how I want, where I want and who I want. After twenty two years I’m finally free. ...Here’s to fornicating freedom!

(Lights out on her as she drinks and up on MATT. Same. He stares into the mirror and, with a sudden fury, says "Freedom!" and slams his forehead into the mirror. It cracks loudly. Lights out.)

SCENE SEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Neighbors of the slain woman said they could hear her screaming for help for nearly half an hour, but every time they tried to enter the house shots were fired through the door.

(Lights out.)

SCENE EIGHT:
(Lights up on DEBRA stumbling out the front door into the yard.)

DEBRA: No! No! You leave me the hell alone! I’m through with the beatings! I’m done with them! I’d rather kill myself than-

MATT: (Standing in the doorway, blood on his forehead.) What the hell are you talking about? I said I need a Band-Aid for Christ’s sake!

DEBRA: That useless bastard broke things too, you know?

MATT: You think I don't know that?

DEBRA: Broke things all the time. Cracked `em open like the sky he did. You, me, tables, chairs, dishes, golf clubs, wind shields, beach towels, televisions, radios, coffee pots-

MATT: Did you say beach towels?

DEBRA: Yes! Beach towels! Cups, lamps, beds, blenders, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, garden tools. He was the damned energizer bunny of breakables.

(She stumbles and falls hard to the ground.)

MATT: Mama, are you okay?

DEBRA: I’m fine! Nothing can hurt me anymore than I’ve already been hurt. I may be damaged goods- broken up a bit, scars all over my face, eyesight shot to shit and wrinkles invading like weeds, but I'm resolute!

MATT: Here? Let me-

DEBRA: No! I said no! You might bleed on me! (Staggering to her feet.) See? I’ve stood on my own my whole life. I don’t need any help now.

MATT: I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I broke your mirror.

DEBRA: You think I give two miniature shits about that mirror?

MATT: I thought-

DEBRA: I hate mirrors. Hate `em with all my being. They’re ugly. Ugly ugly ugly ugly. Mirrors are like a person’s heart, they're too easily broken and then, if you're not careful, they'll slice you open like Rack the Jipper. (She staggers and falls again, then rolls onto her back.) Didn’t feel a thing that time. ...Think I might be dead. ...What’s that music? Sounds like a harp?

MATT: Mama, let’s go inside before the neighbors call the cops.

DEBRA: Not cops! I said harp! A harp! ...You don’t hear it? That beautiful music? ...Angels playing in heaven. A song for the dead and dying. Preparing a place for all the good sinners. Angels gonna wrap their gynormousful wings around them to keep them from jumping off the clouds. (She conducts the symphony for a moment.) They sure can play some beautiful music. God's one hell of a composer. Mozart in the sky. Rachmaninoff in heaven. Christ it's beautiful. You can’t hear that?

MATT: All I hear is you, Mama.

DEBRA: Damn.

MATT: Let’s go back inside. The neighbors probably already called the cops.

DEBRA: Cops? Ha! You think I give a microscopic quarter of an ant shit if they did? I know more cops than I do neighbors! Matter of fact I don't know any of the neighbors! Not one of the dumbass bunch of freakish snobs! All of you pretentious no good do-gooders!

MATT: I’m serious, Mama. Get up.

DEBRA: Cops'll probably taser me for being a bad mom. Zap! Bad mama. Zap zap! Bad, bad mama jama. Zap!

MATT: You’re not a bad mom. Now come on.

DEBRA: Scale of one to ten, smartass, rate me? One to ten, shithead. ...Come on. ...Rate me?

MATT: No.

DEBRA: Rate me! Rate me!

MATT: No! Let’s go inside and watch... The Price is Right or something.

DEBRA: The Price is Right? Shit. Bob Barker’s a no-good prick. Every time I hear him open his idiot flap I want to kill him. I do. Makes me want to puke. He thinks the women on his show are no more than fornicating meat. And I do mean fornicating meat. They're nothing but window dressing for a bunch of old and young perverts who’ve nothing better to do than drool over bare skin while they wrack their eensy weensy pea-brains trying to figure out how much a goddamn bottle of Hemorrhoid cream costs! ...Bob Barker’s a waste of those women’s talent.

MATT: Okay, mama.

DEBRA: Well he is. You got any damned idea how much it takes to stand there in high heels, ass showing, smiling like you’re happy to be there when all you really want to do is run across the fucking stage and dropkick Bob's scrawny old ass? No? Well it takes a hell of a lot of talent that’s for damn sure…

MATT: Okay. Let’s go inside now.

DEBRA: ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN! RATE ME!

MATT: No!

DEBRA: ONE TO TEN MY MOTHERHOOD! RATE ME YOU GODDAMN COWARD!

MATT: A TWO! A MISERABLE, NO-GOOD, GODDAMNED TWO!

DEBRA: (Staggering to her feet.) Why you little bastard! I protected you from him all those years and you give me a measly two? He’d come in all red-faced and pissed and head straight for your room and I’d jump on his back screaming, “Don’t you touch my boy! Don’t touch him!” He’d back-slam into a wall or two while my fingernails camped out in his forehead! I’d scream, “Run, Matt! Run!” And hell, you’d go all Forest Gump out the damn door hauling your gimp ass down main street while your daddy used my head as a battering ram to rearrange the furniture and put doorways where they wasn’t! So I deserve more than a measly son-of-a-bitching two, Forest! I deserve more than that you ungrateful little-

MATT: Okay! A five! Happy now?

DEBRA: A five?

MATT: Jesus Christ. A seven?

DEBRA: No. No. No. A five is good, baby. Five beats the hell out of a two any day of the week. Five's like halfway to perfect, right?

MATT: That’s one way to look at it.

DEBRA: Halfway to perfect. Must be why the angels are playing such beautiful music. Your mama's halfway to perfect, baby. Halfway to-

(She falls over passed out.)

MATT: Shit.

(Lights out.)

SCENE NINE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Neighbors could only listen to her screams as they were unable to come to her aid without becoming victims themselves.

(Lights out.)

SCENE TEN:
(Lights come up on the couch as MATT enters carrying his mother. He lays her down and covers her with a blanket and puts a pillow under her head. He now stands just looking down on her. Lights out.)

SCENE ELEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Authorities are still trying to piece together the grim picture of what happened and why. Investigators at the scene say it was a complete bloodbath. The worst they’d seen in a lifetime of investigating.

(Lights out.)

SCENE TWELVE:
(Lights up on MATT holding his mom’s whiskey bottle.)

MATT: Why do you drink? Huh? Why drink when your life is already so terribly numb? ...I’m sorry Daddy was such an abusive prick, Mama. If he were here right now I’d slice him from stem to sternum. I’d spread him wide open and find the tumor that was wrapped around his heart and rip it out of him. And when it was throbbing in my hands I’d take the knife and slowly cut away the skin of it, the cocoon, and reach inside and pull the demon out while it was kicking and screaming and when it tried to bite me I’d put my hand around it’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until it turned purple and then I’d stick the knife between its beady little eyes and twist like a can opener. Its eyes would roll back in its tiny skull and its tongue would flop to its chin. Then I’d put the carcass in a mason jar and seal the lid real tight to make sure the stench didn’t seep out and take it door to door across America and ask if they’d seen anything like it before and if they said “yes” I’d tell them how to kill it and instruct them on putting it in a mason jar and sealing it tight, and tell them to carry it across the world. Then I’d go to the next house and the next until some unlucky son-of-a-bitch said “no” and when they said “no”, I’d hand them the jar and tell them how to kill it and then walk across the country, around the world, and ask strangers if they had ever seen anything like it. In twenty years or so there’d be no more demons, Mama. Then we could all go about killing one another like before only then we’d know we were killing human beings who were themselves evil and not innocents with a no good, godforsaken demon living in their hearts! (Long pause.) That’s what I would do if Daddy were here.

(Lights out.)

SCENE THIRTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: One neighbor that lived next door says that the woman literally had her heart ripped from her chest while she was still alive. The man said that her screams and the fact that he could do nothing to save her will haunt him for the rest of his life.

(On the word “life” comes three loud knocks. Lights out.)

SCENE FOURTEEN:
(Lights come up on MATT who sobs loudly.)

MATT: Is there a demon inside you, Mama? In your heart? Is there? I hope there is. I do. I want to believe there’s more to you than this. I want to know that my mother’s not just sorry and loathsome for nothing. I want to know that you’ve been infested with little devils that make you destroy everyone and everything around you. It’s better than the alternative. It’s a hell of a lot easier to understand. ...Is it growing inside of you? Did Daddy give it to you or did you give one to Daddy? See... that would help explain the both of you. ...Is there one growing inside me, too, Mama? Has it been inside me since birth, growing in me, in my heart all these years? ...Then why the hell haven’t you sliced me open by now? I’d rather you had done that than let me go on thinking that all these awful thoughts are my own! If they’re mine then I'm evil! If they’re a demon living and breeding inside of me, then you're the evil one! Wicked for not having ripped it out of me when I was a baby! I’d rather you’d have done that than let me go on thinking that I’m no good! A goddamned little demon dwells in my fucking heart, Mama! See what you’ve done? You let it grow into this! I can’t very well cut my own demon from out of my own goddamned heart and kill it now can I? How the hell would I get it into the jar?

(With a sudden fury he smashes the whiskey bottle into the floor. It shatters loudly. Lights out.)

SCENE FIFTEEN:
(Lights rise on JOHN and his daughter STEPHANIE.)

JOHN: (Holding the whiskey bottle.) Debra Jameson, Matt’s mother.

STEPHANIE: Her ashes? You mean her ashes ashes?

JOHN: Dust to dust.

STEPHANIE: Jesus, Dad, that’s sick. Why would you keep some strangers ashes?

JOHN: For tomorrow.

STEPHANIE: Tomorrow?

JOHN: Matt might come back for his mother. Some life changing event could make him see her differently tomorrow.

STEPHANIE: He put her ashes in a whiskey bottle, Dad. I doubt tomorrow's coming. ...How does one even put ashes in a whiskey bottle?

JOHN: It was her favorite drink.

STEPHANIE: I suppose by that logic I could put your ashes in a bottle of Bordeaux.

JOHN: Good idea, but I'm not going to be cremated.

STEPHANIE: Party pooper.

JOHN: He could come around, Steph.

STEPHANIE: Why didn't you ever tell me about the neighbors?

JOHN: Because I didn't want you to have an excuse to not come see me.

STEPHANIE: That's comforting.

JOHN: Sorry. I probably should have told you.

STEPHANIE: No. I would have come over a lot less if you had.

JOHN: Precisely why I didn't tell you.

STEPHANIE: You saw him throw the bottle in the trash?

JOHN: He put it next to the curb like he wanted me to find it, take care of it until he came back.

STEPHANIE: It's all a bit creepy to me.

JOHN: He had been packing up the house all through the night. I could hear him grunting and cursing his dead mother as he stacked furniture and boxes on top of the station wagon.

STEPHANIE: He drove a station wagon?

JOHN: His mom’s car.

STEPHANIE: Serial killer for sure. Probably out there right now serialing. Lucky for you he moved.

JOHN: He’s not a serial killer. His father abandoned him and his mother when Matt was only fourteen. Just packed a bag and disappeared.

STEPHANIE: How do you know all of this, Dad. Debra? Matt? Abusive father? Ashes to ashes?

JOHN: Ten years you pick up on things. Hear bits of drunken arguments, shattered glass. It was like an elaborate puzzle I pieced together out of all the broken whiskey bottles over the years.

STEPHANIE: Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?

JOHN: I prefer Nancy Drew.

STEPHANIE: Okay, Nancy. Did it ever occur to you that Matt may have started his career with his dad?

JOHN: Stop it.

STEPHANIE: Seriously. All that repressed anger, alcohol, the yelling and of course the shattered glass- metaphor for Matt’s miserable life. No wonder he’s a serial killer.

JOHN: Don’t say stuff like that, Steph.

STEPHANIE: It was a joke, Dad.

JOHN: Not very funny.

STEPHANIE: Jesus. You’re really serious about this, huh?

JOHN: Sometimes we don’t know what pulls at us. We get a feeling. An idea gets set loose in our heads and we do things out of the ordinary, you know? Break the cursed apathy that grips us and react without thinking.

STEPHANIE: I’m sure the Nobel Prize committee has you on their short list, pops.

JOHN: You always were a smartass, you know?

STEPHANIE: My one and only vice.

JOHN: Only one? Ha!

STEPHANIE: What’s that supposed to mean?

JOHN: I seem to recall a young lady who could really pick her boyfriends.

STEPHANIE: I could pick `em that’s for sure.

JOHN: Whatever happened to that musician?

STEPHANIE: Which one?

JOHN: There was more than one?

STEPHANIE: Not at the same time.

JOHN: Faithful to a fault.

STEPHANIE: That’s me.

JOHN: I told you you had more than one vice. (Lights out.)

SCENE SIXTEEN:
(Lights come up on DEBRA on the couch drinking whiskey. She moves her hands and arms as if she is conducting a symphony. After sometime of this her movements begin to look more like she's fending off a brutal attack. This for a good moment then lights out.)

SCENE SEVENTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)

STEPHANIE: I can’t believe it's been two years since I've seen you, Dad. Europe was wonderful, except you weren’t there.

JOHN: You have been sorely missed, too, my dear. Your letters were great. When you get settled back in you’ll have to show me all the pictures and tell me all the wonderful stories.

STEPHANIE: I was so excited to see you that I didn’t even think to bring them with me. I even forgot your gifts back at the apartment.

JOHN: You were excited?

STEPHANIE: Of course I was! You?

JOHN: Couldn’t you tell?

STEPHANIE: I might have a couple of broken ribs from your bear hug.

JOHN: Sorry about that.

STEPHANIE: You look good, Dad.

JOHN: I feel good.

STEPHANIE: I see you’re still watching the news twenty-four seven.

JOHN: Here, let me turn that off.

STEPHANIE: No. I do the same thing. I got it from you. Leave it on.

JOHN: There are worse things I suppose.

STEPHANIE: It’s depressing, even when it’s muted, but I keep waiting for some good news to come from all of this godforsaken warring. It never seems to come. What the hell are we doing over there, Dad?

JOHN: Mucking it up.

STEPHANIE: The whole time I was in Europe there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t hear someone say something terrible about America.

JOHN: Same thing here in the states, only they say Bush or Cheney.

STEPHANIE: We’re falling aren’t we?

JOHN: Like Rome, I’m afraid.

STEPHANIE: ...Anyway… Sorry.

JOHN: It’s not your fault. It’s all of us.

STEPHANIE: I meant sorry I brought it up.

JOHN: I know. (Pause.) You look wonderful; your face is all lit up.

STEPHANIE: I’m seeing someone steady.

JOHN: Already? You only got back a few hours ago.

STEPHANIE: No. We were seeing one another before I left for Europe.

JOHN: Musician?

STEPHANIE: A professor.

JOHN: Professor?

STEPHANIE: Surprised?

JOHN: How old?

STEPHANIE: Old enough.

JOHN: Older than me?

STEPHANIE: God no.

JOHN: Good.

STEPHANIE: A psychology professor. Remember I told you about the very young and attractive professor that I started seeing my last year of school?

JOHN: Dr. Coats?

STEPHANIE: No! Dr. Coats is seventy-two!

JOHN: Then who? What’s his name?

STEPHANIE: Dr. Elizabeth Gray.

JOHN: Seriously?

STEPHANIE: Very. She’s amazing, Dad. So fucking smart!

JOHN: She’s dating my daughter of course she’s fucking smart. Why didn’t you tell me about her before?

STEPHANIE: Are you kidding me? Same reason you didn't tell me about Matt.

JOHN: Oh sure.

STEPHANIE: No. I was having trouble telling myself and being away from her for a year and a half I wasn’t really sure we'd make it.

JOHN: A year and a half?

STEPHANIE: Yes. Beth took a sabbatical and joined me in Europe the last six months.

JOHN: She was the Beth you mentioned in your last few letters? So Beth is your Dr. Delirious.

STEPHANIE: One in the same.

JOHN: So are you?

STEPHANIE: Am I what?

JOHN: Sure about her.

STEPHANIE: Very.

JOHN: Then I have to meet her.

STEPHANIE: You’re going to love her, Dad. (Lights out.)

SCENE EIGHTEEN:
(Lights up on MATT as he enters the front door carrying a mirror.)

MATT: It’s exactly like the one I broke, Mama. It was only twenty bucks

(MATT has crossed to the couch. DEBRA has choked to death on her own vomit. Her head is tilted out toward the audience and her eyes are open. MATT, upon seeing her, drops the mirror, it shatters loudly. Lights out.)

SCENE NINETEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)

JOHN: Happy?

STEPHANIE: Deliriously.

JOHN: Delirious is good.

STEPHANIE: I’ll ask her if she wants to come to dinner if that’s alright.

JOHN: Absolutely. You, me and Dr. Delirious. We’ll debate Freud, drink wine, and dance and sing all night.

STEPHANIE: Maybe we could just eat, drink and talk. She says things that’ll even blow your mind, Dad.

JOHN: Then it’s a date, Saturday good for you?

STEPHANIE: Perfect. Think you could stash Debra’s ashes somewhere for the evening?

JOHN: Maybe.

STEPHANIE: I’d rather you did.

JOHN: Not much faith in your old man, eh?

(Lights come up on MATT standing, looking down at his mother.)

STEPHANIE: No. I’ve plenty in you. It’s me. I’d rather not have the whole evening consumed with talk of death-

MATT: Why?

STEPHANIE: -and forgiveness-

MATT: I told you not to drink.

SEPHANIE: -and the noble actions of my father.

MATT: I’m sorry I broke your mirror.

STEHANIE: I’d rather dance and sing.

MATT: It was only twenty dollars, Mama.

JOHN: Since you put it that way I’ll put Debra in a drawer for the night.

MATT: Twenty fucking dollars.

STEPHANIE: And you’ll not take her out after a couple of bottles of wine?

MATT: Now what am I supposed to do?

JOHN: I’ll try to control myself.

MATT: Huh? What now, Mama?

STEPHANIE: So how are you really doing, Dad?

MATT: What am I supposed to do now? (He picks up a large piece of glass and moves closer to his mother and kneels down. Pause.) What am I supposed- What am I- (He begins to cry and drops the glass to the floor.) How am I supposed to feel, Mama? (Lights out on MATT.)

STEPHANIE: Dad?

JOHN: What, baby?

STEPHANIE: Are you sure you’re feeling okay?

JOHN: Yes. Really, Steph, there’s no need to worry about your old man. I'm fit as a fiddle.

STEPHANIE: Dad?

JOHN: What?

STEPHANIE: Nothing.

JOHN: Come on. Out with it.

STEPHANIE: (Beat.) Mom?

JOHN: Oh.

STEPHANIE: I miss her, Dad.

JOHN: Me too, baby. Me too.

STEPHANIE: Fucking cancer.

JOHN: Fucking cancer. (Pause.) Want to go see her this week?

STEPHANIE: Yes. Tomorrow?

JOHN: Tomorrow’s perfect. Forecast says clear skys all day.

STEPHANIE: I’ll get some flowers on my way, okay?

JOHN: Okay. Come here.

(They embrace and cry together for a good moment. As they cry we begin to hear Debra singing “I Wish I Was the Moon tonight”.)

STEPHANIE: Whew… I wish I’d have brought some pictures with me.

JOHN: Bring them tomorrow. We can look at pictures with your mother. She loved Europe, too you know?

STEPHANIE: You two spent every summer in Europe... for how many years?

JOHN: Seven. No. It was eight.

STEPHANIE: Now I’ve spent as much time there as you two.

JOHN: You have, haven’t you?

(Long pause between the two as we listen to DEBRA sing. A good moment of this and then STEPHANIE picks up the whiskey bottle of ashes. DEBRA’S singing fades out.)

STEPAHNIE: Do you really think Matt will come back for her?

JOHN: I hope so.

STEPHANIE: Whatever happened to him?

JOHN: Matt? I don’t know, haven’t seen him since he left his mother on the curb. House has been for sale for about two years now.

STEPHANIE: I’d never buy that house.

JOHN: What? Don’t want to live next door to your old man?

STEPHANIE: No. That would be great. ...How did she die?

JOHN: Who?

SEPHANIE: Debra, Dad.

JOHN: Oh. The bottle.

STEPHANIE: She drank herself to death?

JOHN: Something like that.

STEPHANIE: Poor woman.

JOHN: Poor kid.

STEPHANIE: Him too.

JOHN: He came home and found her dead on the couch. Choked on her own vomit.

STEPHANIE: Christ...

JOHN: Two weeks later he was gone.

STEPHANIE: Did you ever talk to him? Matt?

JOHN: Once about four of five years ago.

STEPHANIE: What was he like?

JOHN: Brooding. Angry. Charming. Lost.

STEPHANIE: Sounds like half the men I ever dated.

JOHN: All the men you ever dated.

STEPHANIE: You’re real funny, Dad.

JOHN: My one and only vice.

STEPHANIE: That’s true.

JOHN: I know.

STEPHANIE: Was he cute?

JOHN: Deliriously.

STEPHANIE: No seriously.

JOHN: I suppose he was nice looking in a Sean Penn and John Malkovitch kind of way.

STEPHANIE: Penn and Malkovitch?

JOHN: If they ever had a child together.

STEPHANIE: I think you’re the serial killer.

JOHN: No. I don’t have the patience for it.

STEPHANIE: You’re not a serial killer but you’ll keep the ashes of some woman you never even met.

(Again we hear DEBRA softly singing “I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight”.)

JOHN: She wasn’t the type of person you just meet. I tried talking with her several times but she was always in such a hurry to get inside and drink the groceries she'd just bought.

STEPHANIE: Speaking of not funny.

JOHN: I know, but it’s true.

STEPHANIE: Another one of your vices.

JOHN: Not being funny or being honest?

STEPHANIE: Honest to a fault.

JOHN: I used to hear her singing late at night. She had a beautiful voice. She used to sing sad country ballads. I’d sit on the front porch with a bottle of wine and listen to her sing all night. I imagined her life was the saddest ballad of all.

STEPHANIE: I’d say so.

JOHN: Beautiful voice, ugly existence.

STEPHANIE: Lucky for me I can’t sing worth spit.

JOHN: I always wondered why musicians found you so attractive.

STEPHANIE: There’s more than one way to sing, Dad.

JOHN: Okay. I’d rather not get into the details of that particular metaphor.

STEPHANIE: I missed you.

JOHN: And I you. ...Glass of wine?

STEPHANIE: No. I have to run.

JOHN: Already?

STEPHANIE: I’m meeting Elizabeth for a drink in fifteen. Want to come?

JOHN: No. I better let you two rest up for Saturday.

STEPHANIE: I’ll be here in the morning with the flowers.

JOHN: Good. (He gives her a big bear hug.)

STEPHANIE: Okay! Okay! My insurance doesn’t cover bear attacks!

JOHN: How about Daddy kisses?

STEPHANIE: Well of course. Don’t all insurance plans?

JOHN: Yes, but some are copay.

STEPHANIE: I love you, Dad. See you tomorrow.

JOHN: Bye, Steph. Love you too. Drive careful!

(STEPHANIE is gone. JOHN comes back inside. After a moment he picks up the whiskey bottle of Debra’s ashes and begins to waltz with her. He circles the room several times and then something on the television catches his attention. He stops dancing and turns up the volume.)

TV: This just coming in from Baghdad. Sources tell us that a member of the National Guard who is on his first tour of duty is responsible for the apparent torture, vicious rape, and murder of the Iraqi woman. The military have also confirmed that the same soldier is responsible for up to twelve similar slayings of Iraqi men, women, and children in the capital city in the past month. The Army National Guard spokesman stationed in Baghdad has just released the soldiers name as one Matt Jameson-

(DEBRA abruptly stops singing. JOHN drops the whiskey bottle. It shatters loudly. Blackout. After a good moment houselights rise and the song ‘In The News’ by Kris Kristofferson begins to play as the audience files out. )

The End


© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

(Preshow music…Neko Case)

(Post show music...Kris Kristopherson) postshow music +/-

Rolling along "D"... Dandelion Salad - Dave Dubya - DC Poets Against War - Declarations of Pride - Depresident.Blog - Dissident Voice - Distributorcap NY - Docudharma - Doubly Gifted

IRAN'S LABYRINTH (A one-act fantasy)

A young girl in a magical land as her father foments war...

On stage are a large group of massive, ancient trees, center. They appear angry; their limbs extended in a gruesome dance. As the audience waits for the houselights to fade and the fantasy to begin, a haunting didgeradoo solo begins to play. As the houselights fade, the didgeradoo will peak and then fade down, but not out.
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

(Nighttime. MASOUMEH (Sinless, Innocent) stands among the many colossal trees. She is waiting on someone…or something. In her hand she holds a small wooden doll with orange hair. The hair brushes against the leaves on the ground as she waits. The wind begins to pick up now as the didgeridoo gets stronger. Soon the ground around MASOUMEH begins to quake and the wind becomes fierce. The wind is furious, yet she is not lifted by it. Soon MASOUMEH looks up directly at the audience. She holds her doll in the air as if to offer it to them. After a long moment MASOUMEH brings the doll down again, its hair dangling to the ground. After a moment of looking very disappointed at the audience she suddenly darts behind a tree, it is as if she has vanished before our eyes. The didgeridoo intensifies and all lights fade out with the wind and the quaking. After a moment we hear someone approaching through the woods. Lights rise as JAHANGIR (JahAngir- Conquerer of the World) enters carrying a very large box. JAHANGIR is a large man with the strength of many. His face is the face of a man worn from sorrow. His eyes, full of an unreachable sadness. The didgeridoo fades down and he looks into the audiences faces.)

JAHANGIR: Ah! You’ve come! Good! Yes! Very good! (Beat.) How many are you? (Beat.) Around one hundred! (Number of seats filled in the audience.) I expected more, but looking at your faces just now I see many of you look very eager and that counts for something. Tonight- Tonight we will conquer the enemy of Islam. Together- Together we will bring the beast to its knees! Eagerness is something, yes, but you might also work on looking ferocious! Ferocious! (Beat.) No! That, I’m afraid, is “fear” and that is not something we can have! There is no place for fear tonight! No dread! No terror! No horror! None! Tonight and the next and the next you must be ferocious! You must wear fierce faces! Faces of a lion on the prowl!

(Pause as he stares at the audience, gauging them for ferocious looks. Once he is satisfied that he has found enough fierce faces…)

JAHANGIR: Yes! Yes! That is what I mean! Ferocious! Ferocious! This will be the battle of all battles! You mustn’t waiver! You must not waiver, flinch… or faint.

(He laughs with an empty echo. The wind suddenly begins to blow.)

JAHANGIR: No. No. No. Fainting is not an option! Defeat is unthinkable!

(On “unthinkable” he slams the box to the floor. The ground quakes and the wind is again furious. A bright light comes from inside the box. The light escapes through the lid like tiny lasers. The box begins to quiver.)

JAHANGIR: Shall I open the box? (Beat.) Well? I ask you, you with the eager and ferocious faces…Shall I open the box?

(Black out. Save for the beams coming from the box. The box begins to shake more and more. Suddenly it bursts open with a bright flash of light and then as suddenly as it burst open it slams shut. The theatre is in complete darkness. Silence. Soon we hear something very large breathing upon the stage. After a good moment of this a spot light comes up again on the trees and we see MASOUMEH come from behind them holding her doll. We can see the outline of the "thing" that breathes before us; it is tall and quite large.)

MASOUMEH: Father? Father? What are you doing?

(The "thing" stops its heavy breathing and turns toward her voice.)

JAHANGIR: Masoumeh? Masoumeh, what are you doing so deep in the woods?

(We now see that the very large thing was JAHANGIR standing on top of the box.)

MASOUMEH: To pray, father. To pray for peace.

JAHANGIR: Peace?

MASOUMEH: Yes. Peace, father. I pray that the people will not allow empire to rule over their souls.

JAHANGIR: O my child. My dear sweet, Masoumeh, whose name means innocence, war is not something you should try to understand. It is not for the innocent to comprehend.

MASOUMEH: Only to suffer, right father?

JAHANGIR: Do not speak to me with that tone, young lady.

MASOUMEH: Father, I am not being disrespectful. You are the one that taught me to speak my mind. To always be strong in the face of adversity.

JAHANGIR: You are not my adversary, Masoumeh.

MASOUMEH: Why do you stand on a box and breathe like a monster? Is it to frighten them… so they might believe in the cause? Frightened and therefore fooled into believing that the war you ask of them is just? That revenge is a noble reason to slaughter other frightened fools with the same revenge in their hearts?

JAHANGIR: O, Masoumeh, how can you be my adversary? How could this be? How have you learned of such things? You are but ten years old?

MASOUMEH: I am twelve, father. I am twelve and I learned all of this from you.

JAHANGIR: Me?

MASOUMEH: Yes. Do you not remember what it was you were?

JAHANGIR: You must go now! Go home, Masoumeh!

MASOUMEH: Don't you remember what it was that you said? You told me that war, all war was immoral. You said that those that cheer for war are fools and that if I were to meet a person such as this that I should speak to them of peace, that I was not to bend in the wind of their hatred. You said that to defend ones country was honorable, but to conjure the flames of revenge was a sin.

JAHANGIR: GO HOME I SAY! OBEY YOUR FATHER AND LEAVE THESE WOODS AT ONCE!

MASOUMEH: Dwell not upon thy weariness, thy strength shall be according to the measure of thy desire.

JAHANGIR: Why do you not listen to me child?

MASOUMEH: He who sows the wind harvests the storm.

JAHANGIR: Masoumeh, you do not know what you are saying! You speak in parables!

MASOUMEH: Father, it is you that said these same things to me. They are your own words.

JAHANGIR: No.

MASOUMEH: Yes. It was you that told me to not shrink from my convictions, to not waiver from them lest I be deemed a hypocrite. I speak your words, father.

JAHANGIR: No. No. No.

MAOUMEH: The Americans will stop this war, you said. The people of that proud nation will not allow empire to rule their spirit.

JAHANGIR: AMERICA KILLED YOUR MOTHER! THEY SLAUGHTERED HER WITH THEIR BOMBS! She went to help her family flee before the war began! I told her not to go there! I said the war was going to touch her if she did! I said that America would not spare lives! I said they would rather spare a drum of oil than a thousand innocents! I told her not to go! I said they could make it to Iran on their own! I told her to stay! I begged her to stay! They killed her, Masoumeh! America killed them all! They killed your mother! They slaughtered her beautiful face! They slaughtered her beautiful face! They slaughtered her beautiful face!

(JAHANGIR now drops to his knees exhausted. He weeps loudly. MASOUMEH drops her doll and crosses to her father and pulls him to her. She comforts him as he weeps uncontrollably.)

MASOUMEH: I know, father. I know. I miss her, too. I miss mommy, too.

JAHANGIR: I was a coward! Your mother needed me! She needed me! I should not have let her go alone!

MASOUMEH: I need you now, father. I need you. Our nation needs you to speak calmly. They need you to comfort them. They need you to speak of peace, not fan the flames of war. The neocons depend upon that. The warmongers rely upon our fury. You told me as much before mama left. Remember? Mama would want you to struggle toward peace, father. She would want it for you and for me. She would want it for Iran.

JAHANGIR: Yes. Yes. She would, my child. I feel so ashamed. I am so ashamed.

MASOUMEH: You should not feel shame at being human, father. You should not feel shame for that. Your name is Jahangir, it means “conqueror of the world”, but it does not say how you shall conquer it...

(JAHANGIR holds his daughter close for a moment. He stands now and walks toward the trees.)

MASOUMEH: Where are you going, father?

(JAHANGIR picks up MASOUMEH’S doll and crosses back to her.)

JAHANGIR: Mustn’t forget your doll. Let’s go home, Masoumeh.

MASOUMEH: O, father! I love you!

JAHANGIR: I love you, too, my child. ...Give me one minute, Masoumeh.

MASOUMEH: Yes, father.

(JAHANGIR crosses down toward the audience.)

JAHANGIR: I am sorry if I scared you. There will be no battle tonight. No war. I am going home to be with my family. I suggest that you do the same. Go home and listen to your children's prayers. They speak of peace. (Beat.) By the way, earlier, when I said I saw ferocious faces on you… I lied. I only said that to rouse the enemy of peace. Please forgive me. Allahu Akbar… (He begins to walk off, but then turns back.) Do not stand in a place of danger trusting in miracles. (Again he begins to turn, but adds his own end to the parable.) And... if you find yourself standing in a place of peace... the miracle is already upon you.

(JAHANGIR crosses back to his daughter.)

MASOUMEH: Father?

JAHANGIR: Yes.

MASOUMEH: I’m twelve. I’m getting too old for dolls.

(MASOUMEH lays the doll down upon the top of the box.)

JAHANGIR: Come my beautiful innocence.

(They walk off arm in arm, disappearing into the darkness beyond the trees. All lights fade, save for a spot on the box and the doll. The didgeridoo grows ever louder and the wind begins to blow and the ground to shake. The box appears to again be trying to burst open. Dim light escapes it as it vibrates. This for some time until it is evident that the box will not come open because it is being restrained by the doll. Blackout as the didgeridoo echoes its last somber note.)



The End

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

Cut and Run (A one-act play)

A film director makes his final film based on lies...

"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."
Henry David Thoreau

PROLOGUE

DECIDER'S VOICE: Okay! Okay! Cut! Goddamnit! Where are all the extras? This scene requires bodies! Loads of them! Bring on the fucking children! Quite on the set! Cue the bombs! Mothers start screaming! Fathers get that look of anger and hate in your eyes! Children you just lie there! And roll camera and ACTION!"
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

CUT AND RUN (the play)

Lights rise and we see what appears to be a war movie set. There are lights and cameras and debris and bombed out shells of homes and buildings; all the bells and whistles! There are many dead bodies of Iraqi children, women and men (extras) lying all over the stage in various positions. It is, quite literally, a bloodbath. Down center stage, near the edge, is a huge oversized director’s chair. It looks almost throne-like. On the back it reads “DECIDER”… Soon we hear a walkie-talkie ring out.

VOICE OF ASSISTANT:
Sir? There are no more extras. The few that were left marched off the set ten minutes ago. It’s over.

DECIDER:
(Unseen but from the chair.) Over? Over! I’m the damn decider! I’ll tell you when it’s over you sniveling twit of an assistant! I’m the decider! And as decider I say this movie is not over! It has merely hit a lull! A bump in the road! All movies have delays and whining shitass extras! It ain’t over till the goddamned fat lady sings!

ASST:
The fat lady left yesterday, sir.

DECIDER:
Was she singing?

ASST:
No. She was screaming.

DECIDER:
Screaming?

ASST:
And crying and cursing and throwing things! She trampled over the sound man, the greensman, the gaffer, the grip, and the two remaining extras. They’re all dead, sir.

DECIDER:
Were the cameras rolling?

ASST: …Yes.

DECIDER:
Excellent!

ASST:
Excellent?

(DECIDER now hops down from his chair and surveys the set. He is dressed in full cowboy regalia all the way down to the boots!)

DECIDER:
Yes! Yes! I wasn’t selected bloody decider twice for nothing ya know!

ASST:
Of course not, sir.

DECIDER:
We can use it for the Cut and Run finale! It’ll also be good for the outtakes on the DVD! The people love that shit!

VOICE:
They do?

DECIDER:
Hell yes! They’ll rent it just for the outtakes alone! That, and the funny accents.

ASST:
It’s lunchtime, sir.

DECIDER:
Great! Pick me up my usual and be back here in half an hour. We’ve got a lot of filming and cutting and splicing and cadavers to position for the finale! Cut and Run's final scene! "The Fat Lady Screams"! I’m a genius!

ASST:
Soy milk, sir?

DECIDER:
Is there any other kind, shit for brains?

ASST:
No, sir. Not since the global Mad Cow epidemic.

DECIDER:
Just go!

ASST:
Yes, sir.

DECIDER:
Idiot… Always answering rhetorical questions.

(He walks about nudging bodies with his boot. After he discerns there are none living he calls out.)

DECIDER:
Hello?! Hello?!

(DECIDER’S voice echoes for several moments as he stands in his own cavern of emptiness. Soon he comes downstage and scans the faces of the audience for quite a long while.)

DECIDER:
This is not my fault! (Beat.) If you’ve been in the business as long as I have, my father before me and his father and his father’s father, you get to see this happen from time to time. It’s part of the territory. Come to think of it…I’m five for five. All five of my movies have had massive resistance! …It all began with my debut film of “One Flew over the Whitehouse”, then came “Neo-Con Air Part Two”. I tried the Cinema Verité style with this particular movie. What a load of crap that one turned out to be! I’m not very good at sequels… or the truth… But you go where the money is. At least I do. …But this one! This albatross is not my damned problem!

(Long pause.)

DECIDER:
Where was I? Oh. Yes. After “Neo-Con Air” I directed “The Last of the Neocons”. Raised quite a stink with that one. Sure did. The premise was stupid anyway and it had the additional benefit of being quite implausible. I should have known better, but you go where the money is right? Let’s see, after that behemoth flop I directed a film called “Kill Bill - The Aftermath”. Another damned flop. Not because it was far-fetched, or had a weak plot, or even the fact that it was a sequel. No. It was real enough, but it was my first go at Dark Comedy. My audience wasn’t quite ready for such full bore irony. Neither was I. …Then came the film that was supposed to be my masterpiece. The one that should have sent my marketability through the damned roof! “Mid-Term”. Oh! “Mid-Term”! It was Oscar time, baby! I was going to be king of the world! King of the world I tell ya! King of the goddamned world! Oh! Mid-Term! The glory! The suspense! The spectacular drama of a group of people who won the most decisive election battle in U.S. history! God! What unmitigated drama! Utter suspence and elation! …But, again, my audience, many of them captured, weren’t ready for such high concept realism. A dramatization of the battle that turned out to be the turning point for the entire world isn’t exactly going to keep them in their seats, unless you’re Mel fucking Gibson…

(He roams about the stage again nudging bodies.) This film. This one is my last go, folks. My decider finale. Seriously. I’m done after this one. Hollywood can make a person forget what’s important in life, ya know? Forget who we are. Ruthless bastards! So, I’m going fishing with daddy… or duck hunting with Dick. (Beat.) On second thought…

(Suddenly the walkie-talkie blares.)

ASST:
Sir?

DECIDER:
(Startled.) Holy mother of God!

ASST:
Sir?

DECIDER:
What!? What for Christ sake you goddamned sniveling toad!

ASST:
I quit! Get a different assistant you washed up no-good abusive prick! I called the authorities, too! I told them all about all the dead bodies and that you don’t care! You don’t care as long as you’re making money! Well I’m not that kind of person! I have a conscience! I’ve taken the cashbox, too! You not only don’t have any actors or crew, but now there’s no money! It’s all gone and so is every living soul! They’re all gone! They all blame you for ruining this film! You did it! You barked orders and treated people like dirt! You’re the worst decider of all time! And that’s an extremely long list of asshats!

DECIDER:
You’ll never work in this town again! You walk off this set and you’re history! You hear me? History! H.I.S.T.E.R.Y! Got that?

ASST:
Jesus! You're a stupid bastard!

(A loud feedback is heard as the ASSISTANT has obviously thrown the walkie-talkie. It comes skidding to a stop at DECIDER’S feet. He stands motionless for a good while not moving. Soon he turns and faces the audience. Smiling weakly, he comes downstage.)

DECIDER:
Fishing with daddy.

(DECIDER looks front watching the audience intently. The extras begin to move. They slowly begin to rise like zombies.)

DECIDER:
I am the decider. I’ve decided to go fishing. I’ve already been paid! And they call me the idiot! Ha! I’m rich beyond my audiences imagination so what the hell do I care! Right? You are all going to regret my absence, but you know what? Screw you! Yeah! You heard me! Screw you! My genius is lost on the world! My talents are out of your reach! I know how to get things done in this town! I’m a genius and I’m rich rich rich! I’m the decider and as the decider I get to decide and I’ve decided to go fishing! So screw you! (Turning.) And screw this movie! Agggghhhhhh! What the-

(The zombies are upon him. The women, men and children zombies now begin to devour him.)

DECIDER:
Cut! Cut! No! Bad choice of words! ...Help! Help!

(His emptiness echoes for a good moment as lights fade.)

The End.



Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman



(Cinéma vérité is a style of filmmaking, combining naturalistic techniques that originated in documentary filmmaking, with the storytelling elements typical of a scripted film. It is also known for taking a provocative stance toward its topics. The name is French and means, roughly, "cinema of truth".)

Second Language (A short play)

An Iraqi exploding conversation...

(A group of Iraqi men and women, old and young sit outside a café smoking and drinking coffee. They are all relaxed and there are no bombs or guns or any sound but the sound, save for that of their voices.)
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

ONE: I was born on the day the tanks first...

TWO: ...rolled?

ONE: Yes. Into Kuwait.

TWO: All those years ago-

THREE: Seems like yesterday.

TWO: -upon the blistering desert sands my father raised his hands in surrender.

THREE: I too raised my hands. They-

TWO: Yes.

THREE: -only thought I was surrendering…

TWO: Yes.

THREE: I was praying.

TWO: Praying.

FIVE: Praying. Yes.

FOUR: Americans and their tanks and jeeps and humvees and guns and bombs-

SIX: -were everywhere then.

FOUR: Yes. Like locust.

ONE: For a short time English was the regions second language.

SIX: Today.

ONE: Today it is.

SIX: English speaking infidel.

FIVE: We, my father and our friends, were nothing more than puppets for Saddam-

SIX: Yes.

FIVE: -and Saddam was the American puppet.

SIX: Yes.

TWO: We were so afraid they would invade our land and take our pride and lives and oil... but they just left.

ONE: Yes. They left us to the wrath of sanctions.

FOUR: They can have the goddamned oil!

FIVE: Yes.

TWO: So many died.

THREE: So many-

FOUR: -children.

(A sound now begins to cut through the peace. It is a droning noise with an eerie, nightmarish quality to its tone. From here forward the noise increases until, by the end of the play, it fills the stage.)

THREE: The children. Yes.

FOUR: -died… so many.

FIVE: This time around America has been much more efficient.

SIX: Quicker.

FIVE: Deadlier.

ONE: Sanctions were a…

TWO: …a creeping death?

ONE: Yes. …Occupation is…

TWO: …a swooping death?

ONE: Yes.

FOUR: Civil…

THREE: Civil war.

FOUR. Yes.

SIX: The US war machine is like no other in history.

FIVE: They brag about it.

SIX: Yes.

THREE: Crow and crow and crow about it.

ONE: It's a- a-

TWO: -a nasty bird?

ONE: ...No.

TWO: Terrible?

THREE: It's an awful sounding bird?

TWO: Caw! Caw!

ONE: Yes. But-

FOUR: Loud. It's a loud bird.

ONE: No. No. It's-

FIVE: Shrill as a war machine.

ONE: Yes, but- No. It's-

FIVE: Shrill as…

TWO: …empire.

ONE: No. It's...

SIX: Yes?

THREE: Awful as occupation?

SIX: Yes.

THREE: Loud as civil war?

FIVE: Yes.

(Blackout! The noise is deafening. After a moment it suddenly stops and from the darkness we hear ONE's voice ring out.)

ONE: Ugly.



The end.


Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

Allahu Akbar (A one-act play)

A play on torture...


As the audience files in they see on the stage a dungeon-like cell in the shadows center stage, seemingly underground. There is a stone wall center and one wooden chair to the left. A human shackle device is mounted upon the wall; two hand shackles with chains and two foot shackles with chains.
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

House lights fade followed by the dim light on the stage. Sounds of bombs and gunfire are heard in the distance. Soon the lights rise on the dungeon and we see a AZHAR, age fourteen, hanging limply from the wall. Blood and torture marks cover his near naked body. His underwear is all that covers him. This sight for a long moment as the bombs and gunfire continue echoing from afar. After a good moment of this the gunfire and bombs fade down nearly undetectable and AZHAR suddenly jerks and raises his head. He pulls on the chains and winces from the pain.

AZHAR: I am not a terrorist. I am not a suicide bomber. "He who commits suicide by throttling shall keep on throttling himself in the Hell Fire (forever) and he who commits suicide by stabbing himself shall keep on stabbing himself in the Hell-Fire." (Pause.) I am not a terrorist! I am a fourteen year old boy. I was on my way to school. I am a peaceful person. Islam is a peaceful religion. (Pause.) “Our Lord, avert from us the wrath of Hell, for its wrath is indeed an affliction grievous. Evil indeed is it as an abode and as a place to rest in. …Those who invoke not with Allah any other god, nor slay such life as Allah has made sacred, except for just cause, nor commit fornication …Those who witness no falsehood and if pass by futility they pass by it with honorable avoidance.

(From the shadows stage left blasts the voice of his captor.)

CAPTOR: Shut the hell up you blasphemer! Shut the hell up! Shut the hell up or I will beat you till you’re dead!

AZHAR: (Quietly.) Okay. Okay.

(The light stage left rises and we see a young American soldier. He is not big, but he carries the air of a much larger man. He holds a bull whip in one hand and a sling shot in the other. He snaps the bullwhip across AZHAR’s legs several times.)


CAPTOR: Is that what you want? Is it? `Cause I could do this all day long! I like doing it! You are a killer! You make me sick! You killed my people!

AZHAR: I have killed no one! I am not a killer!

CAPTOR: Who gave you this sling-shot? Who?

AZHAR: I bought it from a store. It is inexpensive.

CAPTOR: It’s a deadly weapon!

(CAPTOR slings a small pebble he got from the ground and it smacks AZHAR in the stomach.)

CAPTOR: Hurts huh? Put a bigger rock in it and you could kill someone, ergo, it’s a deadly weapon! Who gave you this sling-shot?

AZHAR: I bought it from a store! I only used it once!

CAPTOR: So you did try to kill someone?

AZHAR: No! No. I shot an empty can. I am fourteen years old. I was on my way to school.

CAPTOR: With a sling-shot?

AZHAR: Yes.

CAPTOR: They let you bring this shit to school?

AZHAR: What?

CAPTOR: A slingshot!

AZHAR: Yes.

CAPTOR: No wonder your country is so damned violent! No wonder you’re killing your own! Probably why Sadaam’s such a vicious bastard!

AZHAR: Because of a sling-shot?

(Pause.)

CAPTOR: WHERE’D YOU GET THE BOMB, HABIB?

AZHAR: What?

(Cracking the whip on his legs.)

CAPTOR: DON’T PLAY STUPID, BOY!

AZHAR: A bomb?

CAPTOR: Yes! Who gave you the bomb in your backpack?

AZHAR: There is no bomb in my back pack. You are lying.

(Cracks the whip several times upon AZHAR’s legs and chest.)

AZHAR: I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! (Pause.) Why are you doing this to me? I am not a terrorist. I don’t know any terrorists.

CAPTOR: You live in Iraq don’t you?

AZHAR: Yes. Baghdad.

CAPTOR: Then you’re a terrorist with a sling-shot and a bomb, Mamhoon!

AZHAR: Azhar!

CAPTOR: What?

AZHAR: Azhar.

CAPTOR: What the hell does that mean?

AZHAR: It’s my name. It means most-

CAPTOR: Where’d you get the bomb, Mamhoon?

AZHAR: There is no bomb!

CAPTOR: ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?

AZHAR: I am not a murderer! "You shall not kill any person - for God has made life sacred - except in the course of justice. If one is killed unjustly, then we give his heir authority to enforce justice. Thus, he shall not exceed the limits in avenging the murder, he will be helped." (17:33, The Koran.)

CAPTOR: (Striking AZHAR with the whip.) I’m your damned Justice, boy! You killed 3,000 innocents and now you’re getting your just dessert, Mamhoon Azhar!

AZHAR: I am not a homosexual! You! You are a sheep! A liar! An infidel! Go ahead and beat me! Go ahead! I am not a murderer! I did not fly a plane into your building! I do not have a bomb! I am fourteen years old! I have a sling-shot! I bought it at a store! It was inexpensive! I am not a terrorist! I do not believe in murder! I believe in Allah! God! You are the murderer! You! American murderer!

CAPTOR: You little son of a bitch!

(CAPTOR pulls a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his pocket.)

CAPTOR: Let’s see how you like rubbing alcohol, Azhar Mamhoon! What’s the Koran say about that, huh?! Bet you’ll talk now!

(CAPTOR pours the whole bottle over AZHAR’s head and body. AZHAR screams and pulls at his chains, but it is more of a defiant scream and a lunge toward CAPTOR. He screams directly in CAPTOR’S face.)

AZHAR: ....ANYONE WHO MURDERS ANY PERSON WHO HAD NOT COMMITTED MURDER OR HORRENDOUS CRIMES, IT SHALL BE AS IF HE MURDERED ALL THE PEOPLE! ALLAH! GOD! HE IS THE ONE GOD; THERE IS NO OTHER GOD BESIDE HIM! WE HAVE THE SAME GOD! THE SAME! YOU ARE A MURDERER! GOD SHALL PUNISH YOU, NOT ME! YOU! YOU! INFIDEL TORTURER!

(CAPTOR during AZHAR’s speech has crossed to the chair and retrieved his sidearm. He crosses to him at the last “you” and places the barrel of the gun hard against his temple.)

CAPTOR: YOU ARE A TERRORIST AND IN THE NAME OF GOD I-

AZHAR: I AM NOT A TERRORIST! I AM A BOY! MY NAME MEANS THE MOST SHINING!

CAPTOR: I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH! “I SHALL NOT KILL ANY PERSON - FOR GOD HAS MADE LIFE SACRED - EXCEPT IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE!” ME, BOY! I AM GOD AVENGING THREE THOUSAND!

AZHAR: Allahu Akbar min kulli shay! (God is greater than everything.) Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar min kulli shay! Allahu Akbar!

(A man suddenly runs in from stage left and knocks CAPTOR to the ground. His gun falls to the floor and the man picks it up.)

MAN: What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your Goddamned mind, soldier? Get up! Get up and get the hell out of here! Go! GO!

CAPTOR: Yes sir. Sorry, sir.

MAN: Don’t apologize to me, soldier! Apologize to this boy!

CAPTOR: Yes, sir.

MAN: NOW!

CAPTOR: Yes, sir. Sorry.

MAN: Sorry, what?

CAPTOR: Sorry, Azhar.

MAN: Now get the hell out of here before I beat you with this damned whip! GO!

CAPTOR: (Exiting left while he salutes.) (He is gone.)

(MAN crosses to the chair and pulls it up next to AZHAR and sits down. Silence.)


AZHAR: Thank you.

MAN: I am so sorry, Azhar. I’m so very sorry.

AZHAR: You did nothing wrong, sir.

MAN: I should never have left. (Pause.) All the men are under a great deal of stress. (Pause.) If you knew them before this damned war you’d probably be friends with them. (Pause.) I don’t know? (Pause.) I don’t know.

(Long silence.)

AZHAR: I am not a terrorist.

MAN: I know, Azhar. I know.

AZHAR: Then… may I go home now?

MAN: I wish it were that easy, son.

AZHAR: I want to go home.

MAN: You will... in due time, Azhar. I have to follow protocol. (Beat.) It means I have to follow the rules.

AZHAR: I know what it means…

MAN:
Yes. You are a smart young man. I didn’t mean to insult you.

AZHAR:
I was not insulted, sir. You are very kind. Peace be with you.

MAN:
(Standing.) Let me get a wet cloth and take that alcohol out of your wounds. (MAN exits.)

AZHAR:
Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar min kulli shay.

(Silence.)

MAN:
(Entering.) Here we go. Let me clean you off. Look what he did to you. My God. I am so sorry.

(MAN begins to gently dab the wet rag upon AZHAR’s wounds. AZHAR winces a bit each time.)

MAN:
I’m sorry. But this will make you feel better.

AZHAR:
It is okay. It doesn’t hurt as bad as the alcohol.

MAN:
I am very sorry you have been put through this, Azhar. I truly am.

AZHAR:
The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.

MAN:
Mahatma Gandhi?

AZHAR:
Yes. A beautiful man.

MAN:
Yes.

(For a few moments MAN dabs the cloth on AZHAR’s wounds.)

MAN:
You are a beautiful boy, Azhar.

AZHAR:
No.

MAN:
Yes. You are.

AZHAR:
…Thank you, sir.

MAN:
Your eyes are deep and affecting. Your soul is pure. I can tell, Azhar. Yes. (Silence.) And your skin is so… so soft and delicate. You are a beautiful young man. (Silence.) You should not be afraid of me, Azhar. I am your friend. I will not harm you. I want to make your pain go away. I want to make you forget about your pain. (Silence.) Your skin…Your skin is so beautiful… so… soft.

(MAN is now standing in front of AZHAR who begins to cry at having realized what is about to happen. AZHAR cries as MAN puts his fingers inside the band of his underwear and begins to very slowly pull them down.)

AZHAR:
I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.

(Lights fade as he repeats this line with the same cadence as “Allahu Akbar”. After the first “I want to die” the sounds of war have returned in the distance and as the lights fade the sounds grow louder and by the time the lights are out it sounds as bombs are falling directly on top of the audience!)

The End

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

The Empire Has No Heart (A one-act play)

Two men running away from empire into truth...

(Lights rise on a bare stage. Lightening flashes are seen slashing across the sky. Soon a distant rumble like that of an advancing line of military tanks can be heard far off in the distance behind the audience. Two men enter running from the back of the house to the stage. They stop center. As the action takes place the rumbling grows ever so louder.)
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

MAN 1:
It hasn’t a heart!

MAN 2:
It’s too monstrous!

MAN 1:
It hasn’t a heart!

MAN 2:
Its fire raining down upon us!

MAN 1:
Upon the Maroun al-Ras and-

MAN 2:
-Bint Jubayl-

MAN 1/MAN 2:
-And Ayta al-Sha’b!

MAN 1:
It hasn’t a heart!

MAN 2:
The great steel birds far, far away, soaring high above-

MAN 1:
-far from the fires of resistance fighters in resolute Lebanon!

MAN 2:
The great vengeance pours forth onto the bodies of our tender, sleeping children…

MAN 1:
The blameless children…

MAN 2:
They were merely seeking safety in the House of the Disabled.

MAN 1:
In Qana. Yes.

MAN 2:
They were fugatives from the hall of guns.

MAN 1:
Only to be lifted skyward by the hell of the steel bird.

MAN 2:
Globalization…Damn globalization’s strife…

MAN 1:
It strives to make us all alike.

MAN 2:
Alike through consumption.

MAN 1:
It has no heart. The world watches as they murder and murder and murder.

(Man 2 suddenly is motionless.)

MAN 2:
We are all heartless. All of us are heartless as we watch them pulverize children. Snatch every vein that pulses in Lebanon. Bloodbath after bloodbath and we…we… I… I- I watch as the whole world watches!

MAN 1:
My friend, we are not responsible for this.

MAN 2:
Not in horror, in monstrous apathy! Massacre after massacre-

MAN 1:
Those responsible are tucked neatly away wrapped in new money.

MAN 2:
We…I…I am the monstrous beast responsible for watching the horror!

MAN 1:
War is their paycheck, my friend. Not ours. You’re not making any sense…

MAN 2:
The Terror just grows and grows!

MAN 1:
The money tree just grows and grows.

MAN 2:
We all feed, one way or another upon the blood and meat of tender children.

MAN 1:
No we do not! What is wrong with you?

MAN 2:
Why must the world- why must I just watch?

MAN 1:
They haven’t a heart! You lost everybody you knew! You are innocent! They! They’ve no heart!

MAN 2:
You always say that, but they must! We must! I must!

MAN 1:
They will ignore our pleas in order to flatter the legend of iron and fire! Qana 1996 and now Qana 2006! What is wrong with you?

MAN 2:
Much water has flowed between our bridges.

MAN 1:
Apparently not enough to wash humankind of hatred.

MAN 2:
All that water and we’ve not drank of its hope.

MAN 1:
No! Ten years is a long time to you and I! It is but a moment to the beast with its steel planes and tanks and bombs!

MAN 2:
We are all guilty for the beast’s growth. I am guilty too!

MAN 1:
No! Shut up! Shut up! You’re not making any sense! You and I are not responsible for this! They! They are responsible! They demolish houses right on top of the living. They burn the small bodies of children in Lebanon and Palestine. Tens of thousands of tons of bombs brought from the remote, murderous lands of Columbus, snatching the souls of millions from this land! The beast shows no mercy! Do you hear me? You are innocent! You and I are innocent!

(The rumbling now seems to be upon them as the ground shakes and the sound pierces the air.)

MAN 1:
(Running away.) No! Oh, God! Run! Come on! They are upon us! Run! Run! Run! Run! It hasn't a heart! (He is gone.)

(The noise is almost unbearable and the quaking is intense. Man 2 turns to face the audience. He tears off his shirt and holds his arms out to his side as he drops to his knees.)

MAN 2:
HERE I AM! IT IS I! I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK! MY HANDS WERE NOT PARALYZED, MY MOUTH NOT MUTE AS I WATCHED THE BLOOD FILL THE STREETS! I AM NOT INNOCENT! I WATCHED ALL THOSE TINY BODIES WITH THEIR BEAUTIFUL FACES- BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN AND I WATCHED! I WATCHED THEM FLY APART! I WATCHED THEM FLY APART! I HAVEN'T A HEART! I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK! I WATCHED THEM! I HAVEN'T A HEART!

(Man 2 continues to yell and cry the last line over and over as the shaking and noise seems to overtake him and lights fade to black as he screams “I have no heart!” one last time.)



Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

Sorrowful Nuisance (A short play)

Four Arab men speak of the bombs nuisance...

As lights rise on the stage we see four old and judicious Arab men, Ahmad, (most praiseworthy), Anis, (love and friendship), As’ad, (happiness), and Almahdi, (guided to the right path), standing near a deli in downtown Baghdad, conversing …Periodically a distant explosion will cause them to hold their words or repeat them. The explosions do not alarm them; instead they are a part of their daily lives in Iraq; their routine. The men, numb to the bombs frequent occurrence, are only a quick and sorrowful nuisance.
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

ANIS:
Answer me, As’ad.

My brother of happiness whom I love;

(A bomb explodes from afar.)

ANIS:

Must there be a kindness, a compassion, if you will,

That permeates the human spirit?

AS'AD:

No, Anis, my friend,

Of course, there mustn’t...
But there should.

There should be if man wants to become

The son of enlightenment…

(There is a long pause now as the men regard his answer. Another bomb explodes, nearer now, yet still from afar. A slight pause following the noise.)

AS'AD:

Brother Almahdi?

ALMAHDI:

Yes, my glad and cherished friend.

AS'AD:

Must one first experience

The onslaught of war to fathom opposing it?

ALMAHDI:

That would depend upon one’s upbringing.

Upon their nurtured hope.

Were they brought up to love mankind...

Or to love a flag...

(Another explosion now much closer as the men shift slightly in the brazen sun considering his answer.)

ALMAHDI:

Most praiseworthy Ahmad, tell us…

When is a bomb most torturous?

As it descends-

(Another explosion even nearer now. The men unflinchingly continue.)

ALMAHDI:

As the bomb descends or upon its explosion?

AHMAD:

(Stretching his arms above his head yawning.)

My rightful brother, Almahdi,

And my dearest friends before me...

It is not upon its descent, nor its explosion.

(A bomb explodes very near.)

It is within the moment of seething clarity

At a mother and father's burying of their children…

(A long pause. Soon another very powerful explosion, seemingly upon them, detonates. The long pause soon turns to silence as the men stand casually and consider his answer with great purpose. This for a very long moment as the lights slowly go to black.)



The End


Copyright © 2006 mrp

HERA'S CHILDREN

Lights rise on ATHENA (The Virgin), her flesh covered in ivory, her drapery and armor in solid gold. Soon HERA, the Queen of the gods, wearing the polos crown enters. In her hand she holds a pomegranate; the emblem of fertile blood and death (and a substitute for the narcotic capsule of the opium poppy). As she ascends the steps of the Parthenon, ATHENA addresses her.


READ THE PLAY +/-

ATHENA:
Hera, good morn to you.

HERA:
And to you, Athena.

ATHENA:
By your countenance it would seem less so…

HERA:
This daybreak I’ve heard a disturbing query.

ATHENA:
Might I answer?

HERA:
You might, were you not a virgin.

ATHENA:
Ha! You know that’s a myth, dearest Hera. There are Romans and Greeks whose foreheads have sprung tales of-

HERA:
Yes! I know, but you should hush, your father might hear you.

ATHENA:
You think I care about what Zeus hears, your husband and brother? I’ve given him bigger headaches at my birth than may leap from this!

HERA:
Yes. That you have, dear Athena. That you have.

ATHENA:
I’m sorry, Hera.

HERA:
No, Athena. You should not be sorry. It’s ironic, but you’re his favorite, you know?

ATHENA:
Curse'd paradox!

HERA:
My tongue still hangs upon the stars …Your father’s a merciless husband! Vindictive, filled with pride, wrathful. The line that separates the mortal man from Zeus' traits is rather thin.

(Long pause.)

ATHENA:
Your question, dearest Hera?

HERA:
Yes.

ATHENA:
Ask it of me and I’ll thunder it back, perhaps lighting your way.

HERA:
Perhaps.

ATHENA:
I promise I shall not attempt an answer. I’ll merely be your pawn.

HERA:
A puppet you’ve never been, Athena, a thundering headache, but no one’s marionette. (Beat.) Very well… If you had to choose, Athena, which of your children would you leave unprotected?

(This stuns ATHENA.)

ATHENA:
Unprotected? What a question! Which of our divine asked you such a thing? Eros? Hades?

HERA:
A mortal.

ATHENA:
A mortal?

HERA:
Zeus’ counterfeit king.

ATHENA:
That scoundrel!

HERA:
In that he is, yet not counterfeit.

ATHENA:
Ha!

HERA:
It was not asked of me, but of the mothers below.

ATHENA:
Zeus put the fool up to this, didn’t he?

HERA:
I’m afraid so. Yes.

ATHENA:
Did you turn this mortal into road kill?

HERA:
No. That would have been an improvement.

ATHENA:
Ha! What became of him then?

HERA:
I left him as he is. There’s more suffering in it.

ATHENA:
Not much mythological appeal, but it is the mother of all punishments. O! What fools these mortals be!

HERA:
And their foolish gods.

ATHENA:
So, which one of your children would you choose to leave unprotected, Hera?

HERA:
(Spoken mockingly.) I'd choose the one that's gay. (Natural pause.) No. The retarded one. (Impeded pause.) The child with A.D.D. (Quick pause.) No. I'd choose the one with A.D.H.D. (Quickly.) The blind child. The fattest! The deaf. (Silence.) The one with the heart condition. (Beat.) No. The one with Leukemia. (Lifeless pause.) The child with the darkest skin. The one that was a mistake! Or the youngest. (Slow turn.) Or the oldest... They've lived a bit more? NO! NO! OF COURSE NONE OF THESE WILL DO! NONE! I would sacrifice the one that's most like me; my voice, my ears, my eyes, my hands, my nose, my mind, my blood, my love. I’d choose the one that is the devil's spawn! The one that cries out when I'm sleeping! The one that screams when I'm busy! The one that pesters me when I'm thinking! The one that raped me!

ATHENA:
O! The gods and their lovelessness!

HERA:
I shall sacrifice your father, my husband and brother! I may end up being hung from the stars again, but his bloody reign must end!

ATHENA:
Now that has some mythological appeal! For this I’ll hang right along with you!

(ATHENA summons a thunderbolt that crashes across the mortal sky. Black out.)

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

Unbind It (A short one man play)

The hanging of a dictator...

(As the audience files in the stage is bare and dark. Before the houselights fade the sound of wind begins to filter through. As houselights fade the wind grows stronger. Soon from the darkness we hear the repeated sound of a coarse rope being pulled taut. This for some time… followed by silence. From the dark we hear a mans voice.)
READ THE PLAY +/-

MAN:
Listen, children. Never kneel or bend when attacking
When in battle always treat our enemy with honor.
In your body runs the blood of the great land of Iraq.

(A small spotlight now rises on [only] the man’s face as he speaks out toward the audience.)

MAN:
She is crowned in all of your hearts
And on the tongue you are the poem of the poets.
Never let her misfortune shake your sword
Or sap your resolve.
Remain with her always, children.
Always and forever know that you can lean upon Iraq.
She is your mother…she is your father. Your family.
Never turn your back on her. Never!

(The sound of the rope being tightened breaks through the air after “never”. The man glances upward for a moment and then looks to the children.)

MAN:
Do not cry, children,
Instead find laughter…you will need it more
And you can use it to fill your hearts with strength.

(The tightening rope sound again cuts through.)

MAN:
You will need your strength my dears.
The enemies have forced strangers into her sea
And he who serves them will be made to weep.
Here we unveil our chests to the wolves
And will not tremble before the beast!
(Beat.) No house or government can shelter you as she can.
I will sacrifice my soul for her and for you.

(The tightening rope sound again cuts through.)

MAN:
Remember this children, above all else;
Never carry a grudge against your oppressors.
Unbind your soul my dears.
Unchain it.
Set it free to lay with you in the orchards.
Set it free that it might return to the sun.
(Beat.) Your soul needs to remain unfettered
So it might retain its endless spirit.
Your spirit is your soul mate
And you are the soul’s beloved.
Your spirit stands firm and will not fall.
Your beautiful spirits will never fail.
Maybe your blood. Yes.
Perhaps your blood for it is cheap in hard times,
But the spirit is priceless.
Never let them take that from you.
I know these things now.
Had I only learned them when I was your age.

(Pause.)

Now I must pray. Would you beautiful children like to pr-
javascript:void(0)
(The man’s face suddenly drops down out of the light and we hear the piercing snap of bone and the wrenching sound of the rope. Silence.)

The End


Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

...TUMBLE DOWN (A Short Absurd Play)...

As the audience files in they see a humble dining room table center. Three humble chairs. Three plates and three sets of silverware. The Dixie Chicks “I’m Not Ready to Make Nice” begins to play, timed to end as houselights and stage fade out. The stage is dark as the last of the song filters through the theatre. Silence. The phone rings. After the third ring it is answered by CHRISTINE. We hear her voice in the dark.
READ THE PLAY +/-

CHRISTINE: Hello? Hey, Carla! …Yes! Craig’s back! He arrived today! Yes! Oh! Yes! …What? …No. No. He does! Yes! Of course, when have you known my football star brother not to look good? Yes. I know. I know what you meant. It’s just hard to talk about, ya know? Yes. …No! You can’t talk to him! …Downstairs. I don’t know. No. Yes. Everyone is very excited to have him back! What? Yes. I talked to him. No! I’m not going to ask him to tell me what happened and I suggest you don’t either! I’m serious, Carla. I am! Don’t! …What? …Yes. Yes. Both. …Yes. Both of them. What? No. Both of them are gone. Yes. Gone. Missing. Gone. …What? No. I haven’t told them. I’m going to do it tonight at dinner. Yes. Another reason I’m glad Craig’s home. Yes. I’m telling them tonight. Seriously.

(Suddenly we hear BARBARA yelling.)

BARBARA: Time for dinner, Christine! Get off that phone and come to dinner, dear!
CHRISTINE: I gotta go, Carla. Yes! Mom’s calling me. Okay. I will! Bye!

(Silence. Lights slowly rise on the dinner table. TED sits at the left end of the table. BARBARA at the right end. CRAIG, in a wheelchair, sits center facing the audience. CHRISTINE comes bounding in and sits center with her back to the audience directly in front of CRAIG.)

TED: Let’s have a prayer before we start shall we?

(BARBARA and TED bow their heads. CRAIG and CHRISTINE just look at one another.)

TED: Dear heavenly father, thank you for this opportunity to sit with my son again…
BARBARA: Our son.
TED: Yes. Thank you for this opportunity to sit with our son again.
BARBARA: Thank you.
TED: You’re welcome. Lord, thank you for bringing him back to us.

(CHRISTINE moves her chair around the table to sit next to CRAIG as TED continues with the prayer.)

TED: We thought we had lost him there.
BARBARA: We thought he was dead.

(CHRISTINE and CRAIG now begin to mimic the two parents. It is almost as if they are doing sign language to interpret the dialogue, as if the two siblings have a game that they have played since childhood and dinner prayers. It should be funny. Exaggerated and mocking.)

TED: Yes. Thank you. We thought he was dead…and that’s not an easy thing to think of your own son.
BARBARA: Our own son.
TED: Yes. …and that’s not an easy thing to think of our own son.
BARBARA: Thank you.
TED: You are most welcome. I mean, Lord, we hadn’t heard anything but glowing reports from the marines-
BARBARA: Army.
TED: -the military complex. Even from your man in charge.
BARBARA: GW.
TED: GW was saying that everything was peachy over there when it wasn’t.
BARBARA: Isn’t.
TED: Isn’t. Yes. When everything isn’t peachy over there. According to them my son-

(CRAIG begins to tire of the game for obvious reasons and instead begins to slowly rock back and forth in his chair. It is a very subtle movement but continuous.)

BARBARA: Our.
TED: -our son was in no danger because he rode in a big hunk of moving metal-
BARBARA: A humvee.
TED: -surrounded by steel plates and real thick stuff-
BARBARA: Armor.
TED: -and they said he would be safe from things-
BARBARA: IEDs and RPGs.
TED: And angry Arabs.
BARBARA: Terrorists.
TED: Terrible people with no soul. Ragheads.
BARBARA: Shemagh scarveheads.
TED: Religious zealots.
BARBARA: Islamic fundamentalists.
TED: Amen.
BARBARA: Amen.

(CHRISTINE stops mocking. CRAIG continues to rock back and forth.)

TED: Wow. I’m hungry.
BARBARA: Famished.
CHRISTINE: Starving, ravenous, could eat a horse, huuuungrrrrrryyyyyy-
CRAIG: Empty.

(Silence.)

BARBARA: Okay. That’s enough words for one meal. We needn’t worry our beautiful minds with words. Let’s eat and be thankful we’ve the wherewithal.
TED: Good idea, Barbara.
BARBARA: Thank you, Ted.
TED: Now, Christine. Don’t crowd your brother. Give him some room to rock.
BARBARA: Yes. People need room to rock, dear. Craig’s had enough of crowded spaces.
TED: Deserts and heat and crammed full quarters.
BARBARA: Jam-packed barracks of strapping fine warriors…

(Suddenly CRAIG stops his rocking and begins to eat ravenously as everyone watches him. After a good while CRAIG drops his fork to the floor. Everyone then looks aghast as if the world had crashed. After a moment CHRISTINE bends down and picks it up. She licks it clean and puts it back on CRAIG’S plate. Silence. CRAIG picks it up and begins to eat again. Everyone now eats like him and devours their food. The loud smacking and grunting goes on for some time until CRAIG drops his fork again. A moment as all are aghast at the event. Soon CHRISTINE drops her fork followed by BARBARA and TED.)

TED: That was a delicious welcome home meal, Barbara!
BARBARA: Thank you, Ted.. I made it special for our star-athlete son. Isn’t he beautiful?
TED: Handsome. Yes. Very.
BARBARA: Takes after his father, ya know…
CHRISTINE: After daddy?
BARBARA: No. His father, dear.
CHRISTINE: That’s what I said.
BARBARA: No, honey. Your daddy is not your brother’s father.
CHRISTINE: What?
TED: Nope. Our son is not our child.
BARBARA: Do you remember Dr. Fredrickson?
CHRISTINE: Your gynecologist?
BARBARA: Yes. Your daddy was working so much that I had to do something.
TED: I don’t work that much anymore.
BARBARA: Nope. Twenty years ago my one and only love was a slave.
TED: A white slave.
BARBARA: To the system. The oligarchy.
TED: What your mother, my first and only love, except that one weekend in Barbatos, said is true.
BARBARA: That was a fun weekend. I had almost forgotten my dearest. Oh! The joys of being young and childless!
TED: It wasn’t “Oligarchy”, dear. I never worked for them. It was Sears and Roebuck I was a slave to, remember?
BARBARA: Whatever you say, dear.
CHRISTINE: I don’t believe this!
BARBARA: Oh, honey. Your daddy was always working and a woman has needs to be-
CHRISTINE: Stop! You’re saying that he’s not my real brother?
BARBARA: Half of him is
TED: Just half, Christine.
BARBARA: Your brother is your half brother.
TED: Half.
CHRISTINE: Half brother?
CRAIG: Ironic, isn’t it?
BARBARA: Oh! Stop that! Stop that this minute young man! You are a whole person! God gave you a beautiful soul! I know it was rough over there but get over it! You’re back safe with us now!
TED: Dirty towelheads took my sons legs!
BARBARA: Shemagh scarves.
TED: Raghead bastards took his legs but they didn’t take his State-Championship football trophy!
BARBARA: Shemagh son-of-a-bitches can never take that away from us!

(Suddenly CRAIG slams the table with his fist and the parents freeze in motion. CRAIG now stares front. CHRISTINE watches him.)

CRAIG: Are you there? (Silence.) Are you there?
VOICE: Yes.
CRAIG: I want some peace and quite.
VOICE: What do you call this?
CRAIG: Hell.
VOICE: Yes.

(Pause.)

CRAIG: What’s going to happen?
VOICE: What do you want to have happen?
CRAIG: I want to go back to the way it was.
VOICE: That’s not possible.
CRAIG: Then you tell me what I should want to happen.
VOICE: Rage.
CRAIG: Rage?
VOICE: Yes. Rage is all you’ve left.
BROTHER: I’ve had enough rage to last a lifetime.
VOICE: No. Your rage has just begun.
CRAIG: A throne made of water stands before me.
VOICE: Yes.
CRAIG: An abomination.
VOICE: Yes.
CRAIG: The war-tapped black sky dances upon the black moon.
VOICE: Yes. It has begun.
CRAIG: How much longer?
VOICE: Not long now. Soon.
CRAIG: Will you always be here when I need you?
VOICE: Throughout.
CRAIG: You and my sister are all I care about.
VOICE: Yes.
CRAIG: Can you save her?
VOICE: Who?
CRAIG: My sister.
VOICE: Yes. But she is the only one.
CRAIG: She’s too young to know any better.
VOICE: No. She knows. Christine knows all about your rage.
CRAIG: She does? How?
VOICE: Her dreams speak of colorless horrors.
CRAIG: I don’t want her to know everything I did.
VOICE: You can’t stop her dreams, Craig.
CRAIG: No.
VOICE: No. It is a breathless noise. Unreachable.

(CHRISTINE puts her hand on CRAIGS arm.)

CRAIG: Can I stop my own?
VOICE: No.
CRAIG: Can you stop yours?
VOICE: I don’t dream. I’m not real.
CRAIG: Streaming banners praying for blood dangle from my dreams.
VOICE: I know.
CRAIG: How much longer?
VOICE: Not long.
CRAIG: Am I evil?
VOICE: Evil is merely your good tormented by its famine.
CRAIG: What’s rage?
VOICE: A massive sea monster woven of fleece.

(Suddenly the parents unfreeze and begin where they left off.)

TED: See kids, that’s the beauty of life as an American! No good sonofabitches can’t just come in and take things without paying a price!
BARBARA: It’s called justice! Red hot white and blue pulsating justice!
CHRISTINE: I’m pregnant.

(Sudden silence.)

BARBARA: What?
TED: She said she’s pregnant, Barbara?
BARBARA: I know what she said, Ted!
CRAIG: Congratulations little sister.
BARBARA: Congratulations?
TED: Goddamnit! Our little girl’s a slut!
BARBARA: Harlot! Whose baby is it?
CHRISTINE: Mine.
BARBARA: Who is the father?
CHRISTINE: His name is Almahdi Rahman.
TED: An arab?!
BARBARA: What?
TED: Almahdi Rahman is an Arabic name, Barbara.
BARBARA: I know that, Ted!
CHRISTINE: He is a peaceful loving boy.
TED: When I see his towelhead ass-
BARBARA: -shemagh-head ass
TED: Whatever you call it, he’ll just be another dead Arab!
CRAIG: Now?
VOICE: No. Not just yet.
CRAIG: When?
VOICE: Soon. Very soon.
TED: Who are you talking to, Craig?
CHRISTINE: The voice.
BARBARA: It’s their little game, Ted.
CRAIG: You hear it, too?
BARBARA: These two half-siblings have always played their little games!
CHRISTINE: No, Craig, but I hear you.
TED: The voice? You’re hearing voices, son?
CRAIG: Half-son.
TED: Okay! Half-son, are you hearing voices?
CRAIG: Leave me alone.
TED: They told us that you might-
BARBARA: Posttraumatic stress disorder.
TED: They said that if you heard voices that we were to take action.
CRAIG: You touch me and I’ll-
CHRISTINE: No, Craig! They’re just slaves to the oligarchy, remember?
CRAIG: Staggering and once proud men took flight in jets made of crumbs-
TED: Call the authorities, Barbara?
CRAIG: And tumbled down a hailstorm of counterfeit promises and iniquity!
BARBARA: Pregnant! How could you be so stupid, Christine?
TED: Did this little Arab bastard rape you?
CRAIG: STOP! His name is Almahdi, it means “guided to the right path”! He’s a human being for Christ’s sake! I killed hundreds of them! Me! I did it! I murdered them!
TED: No! It’s war, Craig! Not you! It was war that killed the bastards!
BARBARA: You are not a murderer, Craig! We may be many things, this family, but murderers we ain’t!
CRAIG: Shut your filthy mouths, half-father and half-mother!
BARBARA: I’m your full mother, Craig.
TED: Call the number they gave us, Barbara!
BARBARA: Get me the phone!

(TED runs off stage and suddenly reappears carrying a remote phone and he hands it to BARBARA who begins to dial "the number".)

BARBARA: Oh! That's not it!
TED: Dial the number, Barbara!
BARBARA: I'm trying to remember it, Ted!
TED: Dial it! Dial it! Dial it!
BARBARA: Shut up! Let me think, Ted! 1-800-435-7787? Or is it 1-800-426-3323?
TED: Dial it! Dial it!
BARBARA: Let me think! Let me think!
TED: Dial it! He's hearing voices!
CRAIG: Take me out of here, Christine, before I kill again.
BARBARA: Our son is half-crazy and our daughter's a complete whore!
CRAIG: CHRISTINE!
CHRISTINE: Are you sure?
CRAIG: NOW, GODDAMNIT! NOW!
VOICE: Yes. Now, Craig. Do it now.
TED: (To Barbara.) Did you hear that voice?

(Sudden blackout. …Silence. The end.)

Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman

OF KINGS AND MEN (a play)

OF KINGS AND MEN

(The lights rise on stage. We see KARL lying on one of two cots in a jail cell. He glares at GEORGE who stands next to the other cot holding a newspaper in his hands.)
READ THE PLAY +/-

GEORGE: Did ya see the paper, Karl? I made th' front page! Not quite sure what to make o' this picture of me, though? Looks kind o’ weird. Like my head’s bigger `n my body `n I’m wearin’ curlers in my hair? Why would they put curlers in my hair, Karl? They insinuatin’ somethin’? Hell! That’s defacamation- `r defamicatin’ `r somethin’ `r other… Ain’t it, Karl? (GEORGE saunters around the cell.) Looky here? They got my whole speech to my country on page two. Wow. Who’d a thunk it? My speech. The only one I wrote and it gets published. I knew I could do it, knew I had the talent `n all, but they always told me I should let the writers do it for me. You even told me that, Karl. A lot... I guess I never thought about it. Ya know? Not `til I seen it in print. Gives me gooseybumpers, Karl. See it?

(KARL continues to glare. GEORGE now begins to recite his speech facing out toward the audience.)

GEORGE: Good evenin' my fellow Americans. I come here today at great risk to myself and to those few standin' next to me tonight in my bleakness of hour. You are the guardian of your own sovereignessity, your own freedom land. We can no longer be the mechanics that gives you peace. You must ascertainment its beauty on your own. You- you the people must march in the streets and demand it! Your voices must not ring hollow. They must be the catalytic converter of change. You must break the dominatrix of tyranny. You must not be afraid or even scared, for there is nothin' to fear but fear and scaredyness. Let the bombs be your jamboree as you step forward and open a can of whoopee on the insurgent Democrats, Independents, and Greens and the many disloyal Republicans. Terrorists. Appeasers. Rat bastards!
(KARL puts his pillow over his head in disgust.)
My fellow Americans, I know ya blame me for what's happened to my country, for the uncivil chaosness, but let’s not forget 9-11 happened on my watch, and let’s not forget the lessons of 9-11. Lessons is important. Right? Lessons is important for our children. We were- We are suspectable to attack and we will attack again back! Oh! Make no doubt about it! (Beat.) I’m a straight shooter. A war president and I'm keepin’ ya safer whether ya think it or not. Ain't no nukular bomb gone off in a whole week! That's not bad. Hey... There are things worse than civil war. `Course there is! You betcha! Like for instance, it could be a national conflict! A battle that divides us and pits the Christian good guys against the liberal evil that has infilterated our schools and our women and children. Godless fags and lesbians and gyno-ecologists practicin’ their devil’s love all across this country. God told me they was godless and He should know Himself from the godless, right? Heh heh heh. (KARL screams under his pillow.) The time for finger pointin' was over when Pat Robertson lost both his arms when he went huntin' with the vice president. Yip. Finger pointin' is bad. There’s plenty blame to go `round without blamin' no one.

(KARL throws the pillow to the floor and crosses toward GEORGE with his hands out to choke him, thinks, then turns around and again he moves toward GEORGE to choke him, then thinks again. This several times as GEORGE continues to speak.)

GEORGE: It’s been a year, people; three-hundred and sixty some days and sleepless nights of bombin'. You are the key. You alone are the locksmiths of your own terror. My troops can no longer stand up. Heh heh heh... Can no longer sustain the onslaughting of terror upon you. We’re standin' down so you might stand up. We can work together for democracy. See? For the love of God! Grab hold of your destiny! Pull yourself up by the bootstraps! If you screw this up you’ll slip into unimaginative civil war. Let us not do that. We ain’t had civil war since Davy Crockett fought The Battle of Gettysburg! And if history teaches us anything it is to not repeat what I just said. Ever! ...This is a great country! A great one! She used to stand for things like country… and honorableness… and freedom `n stuff! The land of the free and the bravery, remember? Freedom `n stuff! Remember? So, America, I say stand up and be counted! Freedom’s waiting! Freedom’s patient and kind and great! ...God bless America... again!

(GEORGE bows to his imaginary audience.)

GEORGE: How was that, Karl? Ya like it?

KARL: Not bad for a man standing behind steel bars.

GEORGE: Ya think? Cuz I could’ve done it better. Want me to do it again, Karl.

KARL: No! No! For God’s sake! No!

GEORGE: Okay. Want me to do it for your sake?

KARL: Oh! Just shut the fuck up, George! Shut up! Blow it out your ass! We had the world at our fingertips, George! Right where we wanted them! If it wasn’t for your damned stupidity! Damn it! After the Democrats took control of the House and Senate did ya have to say, “Bring `em on”? Huh? Did you have to you stupid shit!

GEORGE: It sounded reasonable at the time. Heh heh heh

KARL: Reasonable? Reasonable? A complete Republican controlled government was the only reasonable thing standing between us and a noose you fucking jerkwad!

GEORGE: But the people, Karl. What about them? They still love me. Poll after poll shows a country divided, but a majority would still like to drink a beer with me. They like me, Karl! They like me!

KARL: That was last year! The latest poll of this year has you in the zeroes! Zero approval rating! Do you have any idea what you have to do to rate zero in a damn Zogby poll?

GEORGE: No.

KARL: Die, George! You have to be dead!

GEORGE: Well I’m not doing that just for a damn poll, Karl!

KARL: Did you happen to notice the crowd in the lobby of the West Wing when we did our frog march?

GEORGE: Hop. Frogs hop, Karl. I told ya that.

KARL: Did you notice the large crowd in the lobby!?

GEORGE: Supporters there to wish me luck. They love me, Karl.

KARL: No, George.

GEORGE: Then why was they there?

KARL: Let’s put it this way, they weren’t there to sing “Hail to the chief”.

GEORGE: Then why, Karl? Why?

KARL: For Christ’s sake! You’re dumber than a sock drawer full of dirt!

GEORGE: I ain’t dumber `n no sock drawer, Karl!

KARL: You’re right. Sorry, George. You are as dumb as a sock full of dirt.

GEORGE: Thank you.

KARL: Sure, George. Sure.

(GEORGE, exhausted, now sits facing the audience near the front of the cell where the door would be.)

GEORGE: Tell me how we’re gonna get out o' this mess, Karl? Tell me what we’re gonna do? Tell me how it’s gonna be.

(KARL stands looking at GEORGE with pity and disgust.)

KARL: Sure thing, George. Close your eyes now and imagine a beautiful world. A beautiful world with you as its king, George.

GEORGE: With a crown and stuff, Karl?

KARL: A crown and a queen and servants and a big ranch in Texas with a truck and a dog.

(KARL has taken his belt off and begins to approach GEORGE from behind.)

GEORGE: Go on, Karl? I like this story. How’s it gonna be? How’s it gonna be, Karl?

KARL: You’ll have servants and guards and cattle and horses and chickens and pigs and you’ll go to church in The Church of George of the Last Days of Saints and everyone will worship you and call you king and master.

GEORGE: Oh. I like this story, Karl. Go on! Go on! Won’t you be there?

KARL: Yes. I’m there and Laura and Daddy George and Barb and the kids and Condi and Rummy and Tony Blair and Frist and Hastert and Chertoff. Everybody, George. Oil will flow to your ranch and you set the price for the world, George. There will be no terror. Just peace on earth and King George.

(GEORGE begins to look back at KARL.)

KARL: No, George! Keep your eyes closed and dream of the great time and the beautiful world.

GEORGE: Okay, Karl. I like this story a lot! Heh heh heh... Go on, Karl! Go on! Let’s go to the ranch, Karl! Let’s go there now!

KARL: Okay, George. Okay. Right now.

(KARL brings the belt over the top of GEORGE’S head! Black out!)




-The end-





Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman


Of Mice and Men


Ben Heine - Cartoons

COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE (a play)

The stage is completely in shadow. We are in what is now the area surrounding The Green Zone. There is a slight sound like that of a giant ogre smacking its lips. It is subtle, yet disturbing. Soon the sounds of many whimpering and moaning people floods the theatre. A spot now begins to come up center stage and we see a very large pile of concrete and wood and pavement and general debris. An old woman (eighty) enters atop the rubble. She is elegant and graceful. The wind blows through her hair as she steps forward and addresses the audience. As she speaks lights rise on the stage.
READ THE PLAY +/-

OLD WOMAN:
Empire! Empire! Empire! (Her voice echoes.)
Empire tosses its colossal head on the rooftops of Iraq!
Look upon terror!

(We now see the bodies of Iraqi men, women and children and US and coalition troops lying upon the stage motionless. There is one home standing stage left. A huge and horrific ogre squats atop the edge of its roof. Large amounts of blood drip from its lips. The blood oozes down the side of the house and over its very large door.)

OLD WOMAN:
It has not the countenance of man!
It is monstrous!
A grotesque formation of man’s greed!
Is this what we want for our children?
This? An ogre of our own making?
It tosses its colossal head upon the rooftop of the world!
You are not free of it!

(Four weary Iraqi citizens enter. Two children, a boy age nine and a girl age twelve, a middle aged man and woman. The group appears to be almost zombie-like from their futile searching as they call out and scour the stage turning bodies over and looking about.)

BOY:
Terror! Terror, come out, come out wherever you are!

MAN:
Is it you?

WOMAN:
Are you the one we seek?

GIRL:
Is this he?

BOY:
Terror! Terror, come out, come out wherever you are!

GIRL:
Stop saying that!

MAN:
I can smell it… It is near.

WOMAN:
All I smell is flesh…

MAN:
Exactly.

GIRL:
I don’t smell anything… I think my nose is deceased!

BOY:
Terror! Terror, come out, come out wherever you are!

GIRL:
I said to stop saying that, you idiot!

BOY:
Terror! Terror, come out, come out wherever you are!

GIRL:
Somebody make him stop saying that!

OLD WOMAN:
Children and mothers and fathers are red-eyed of seeking
They wish to converse of loss, of a gut wrenching pain.
They wish to be free of it. To rend it impotent. Joyful.

WOMAN:
Are you terror? (Turning over a body.)

MAN:
No! That is not him! He is an Iraqi!

BOY:
Terror!

WOMAN:
How do you know he is not the one we seek?

MAN:
His skin is too brown.

WOMAN:
He has no skin!

BOY:
Terror!

MAN:
It is not him!

WOMAN:
How can you know if he has no skin?

BOY:
Terror! Terror, come out, come out wherever you are!

MAN:
Shut up! Stop saying that! Stop acting like this is some silly game! It is not a game!

GIRL:
I told you to stop. Serves you right, idiot boy!

BOY:
Shut up!

GIRL:
Make me!

(The boy and girl begin an innocent game of chase and seem oddly gleeful running around the dead bodies and debris.)

OLD WOMAN:
Near the center of life
Militant troops beat down doors
Calling out its name.

OLD WOMAN/CHILDREN:
Terror! Terror! Terror,
Come out, come out wherever you are!

(Suddenly the large door on the house is kicked down and it falls forward with a loud boom that echoes throughout the theatre. From within we see the shadow of a large man holding an even larger gun.)

GUNMAN:
Terror! Where the hell are you, you son of a bitch?
I can smell your rotting flesh! Show yourself!
Show yourself so we can leave this red hell!
We need pack it up and march ever onward!
Eastward where your brother lives!
Terror! Terror! Terror!
Show yourself, Goddamnit!

OLD WOMAN:
The mammoth head spits down upon them
And wags its bloody tongue toward the east.
It is hungry for more; ravenous for unholy kingdom,
Dried lips smacking its unquenchable thirst.
Kidnapped by its own gluttony it tosses back,
And still, red-eyed children and mothers and fathers seek it out.
They’ve not had their words yet. They need them.
They wish to be free of it. To rend it lifeless.

GIRL/BOY:
Terror! Terror, come out, come out wherever you are!

MAN/WOMAN:
Shut up! Stop saying that!

GUNMAN:
There you are!

(The GUNMAN unleashes the fury of his weapon and sprays it everywhere. The group now falls dead. Silence.)

GUNMAN:
Gotcha! I gotcha, terror! You are dead! Now we can leave this shit-hole of our making!

(Blood from the ogre’s mouth now drips down upon the GUNMAN’s shoulders and helmet making loud splattering sounds.)

GUNMAN:
What the-? Jesus Christ…Where the hell’s all this blood coming from? ...Oh shit.

(Sudden blackout, save for a spot on OLD WOMAN standing on the rubble. The ogre’s great shriek now fills the theatre, the GUNMAN fires at will and then silence. After a very long moment we again hear the smacking lips.)

OLD WOMAN:
A grotesque formation of man’s greed,
Empire tosses its colossal head on the rooftops of the world,
Its arms and legs and torso lay dead upon the ground.

(The lights slowly fade and from the darkness all we hear is the disturbing smacking of the ogre’s bloody lips.)



Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

Sunflower

An American military widow talks to her husband...
READ THE PLAY +/-

As the audience files in they see a single flower growing out of center stage underneath a soft spotlight. It is a magnificent yellow sunflower rising up to greet the afternoon sun. A soft violin solo fills the air. Houselights fade and all is dark save for the soft light. The violin swells and the light slowly fades. The music fades out as we hear a woman speaking from the dark. Lights rise on and around the flower now and we see a woman kneeling on a blanket.


WOMAN:
Are you warm enough? I brought a blanket to sit on. I will leave it with you. I’m sure nights here are dreadfully cold. Is that okay? Can I leave the blanket for you? (Beat.) Good. Then I will. (Beat.) Yes. (Beat.) When I leave.
(Long pause.)

The children are doing fine. (Beat.) Chelsea made the honor roll. (Beat.) Wait? No. I- I probably already told you that, huh? (Beat.) That was last year. (Beat.) My mind always travels backward now. Since you were- …Since you’ve been gone I can’t even remember what day of the week it is. Or was I always like that? (Beat.) Forgetful. Harebrained. (Beat.) Yes. Yes. I guess I was. (Beat.) Still, I forget too many things now.

(Long pause.)

William won the fifth grade city football championship this year. I remember that. (Beat.) Yes. It was this year. This month. This week even. I know because I lost my voice for three days. I just got it back today. (Beat.) How? Well you know me… I screamed at the refs 'til I blew out my chords I guess. (Beat.) “What are you blind, ref?” “Where’d you learn to call like that, zebra boy?” (Beat.) “You’re an idiot!” “Penalty?” “Penalty?” “What the f’in’ hell is wrong with you, ref? Are you a g.d. f’in’ moron!?” “Oh! F you, ref! He was not out of f’in’ bounds! It’s a damned touchdown you f’in’ brainless imp of an s.o.b.!” “F you, you stupid cocksucker! F you!”

(Sudden and long pause.)

They didn’t do anything to me. They didn’t even threaten to kick me out of the stadium. Bunch of cowards. (Beat.) They just stared at me… They thought I was nuts! That I was crazy… But they knew. Of course they knew. …All those dazzling and polished PTA Sunday School mothers and fathers with their sideways glances loading their damn kids into their Escalades! They- They know. They know! Everybody knows! “Oh. Poor Jenny. She lost her-“ …”Shut up! Shut up! You think I don’t know you’re talking about me? F you! F you you stupid pretentious bitch!”

(Pause.)

Of course they did, Michael. They knew why I was yelling. They damn well knew. (Beat.) They didn’t do a damn thing to me... Just stared at me in slack jawed sympathy like I was a mortally wounded puppy.

(Pause.)

William couldn’t look at me after the game. He said I was just hurting and that I shouldn’t have gone to his game in the first place. (Beat.) He couldn’t even look at me, honey… Not a word was said on the way home. (Beat.) Well, except Chelsea telling me I was the coolest mom ever. She’s sixteen, what does she know, right? She kept saying how cool I was for telling off the ref. "You rock, mom!" "You f'in rock!" I slapped her. I slapped her across the face. It was so sudden. I don’t know where it came from. I slapped her hard. I don’t know why I did that, Michael… I made her cry. Not the kind of cry from physical pain. More like a staggered and broken soul kind of cry. You know? Like when they came to tell me you were-. (Beat.) It was the same kind of cry. The most awful thing to witness, you know? Mouth open wide, no sound, no breath, no tears... Kind of a gaping, empty cry. (Beat.) It’s more painful to watch than it is to actually do. (Pause.) Needless to say, the ride home was the longest fall off a cliff I’ve ever experienced. The worst kind of silence in the world.

(Long pause.)

After we got home Chelsea went over to Pam’s house. More like she ran to Pam’s house. (Beat.) Yes. You know the girl down the street. (Beat.) Yes. Her dad’s the man that sold us our house. Anyway, William went straight to his room without saying a thing or even looking at me. (Pause.) I could hear him throwing things around in his room for a long time. (Beat.) He broke all of his things. He broke them all with his favorite bat. (Beat.) He broke all of your things, too... He was screaming the whole time. Crash. Scream. Scream. Crash. ...Yelling at me, too. I'm downstairs and he's upstairs in his room yelling and screaming as if I'm right there with him. (Beat.) Then he starts yelling at you. (Beat.) Terrible things, Michael. I had never heard him talk like that before. It scared me. I was shaking and crying and then... everything went silent. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Of course, I panicked. I thought “Oh God! Oh God!” I ran upstairs to his room and he was laying on the bed, what was left of it anyway. He was just laying there reading one of your comic books… (Beat.) Yes. A comic book, Michael. He had your entire collection in his room, and the one he was reading? Superman! He was reading Superman! Super-f'in'-man! It was the only one he hadn’t torn to shreds! Superman... Isn't that ironic? (Beat.) He won't even look at me. He won't. Nobody else seems to have a problem looking at me, just our son...

(Long pause.)

Why, Michael? (Beat.) Why did you have to go to that damnable war? You should have stayed home, Michael. You should have stayed home with your wife and kids. (Beat.) I could kill that son of a bitch! I could!

(She can contain her flood no longer.)

Oh! God! Goddamnit! They just stared at me with that disgusting pity! The kind of pity that can only be found in “Thank God it wasn’t my husband or wife or son or daughter that was slaughtered by those scary fucking Arabs!” The pity of stained ignorance! Fools! Bunch of goddamned fools! Think they know everything! They don’t know a goddamned thing, Michael! Nothing! (Beat.) No! What makes you think you can help me? Jesus! You’re not here, Michael! You’re not here! I need you, but you're not here are you? Your children need you! They need their father more than they need me! I’m here, so why the hell would they need me!? (Beat.) They’re going to grow up to hate, Michael. They’re going to grow up plotting revenge. Problem is they’ll be plotting against the wrong enemy. (Beat.) What am I supposed to do, Michael, huh? Tell them their father was killed by Iraqis? Arabs? By Islamic fascists? By the brown skinned? By people jealous of our freedoms? Huh? What am I supposed to tell them? What's the right thing to do? (Beat.) Does everyone in this fucking country expect me to lie to my children? That I should say that America's the greatest nation on earth? We're the defenders of freedom for freedom's sake? That it was because Iraq posed some threat, orchestrated 9/11, WMD? Well I will not do that! I will not lie to my children! (Beat.) I’ll curse at refs and take all the shitasses' sideways glances, but I will not lie about the reason their father died! (Beat.) I will tell them exactly why. I will tell them that you died for nothing, Michael! For greed! For rich motherfucking assholes so they can get richer! I don’t care how that sounds, Michael! I don’t! I don’t give a damn if the slack jawed PTA try to run me down with their Escalades, I will tell our children the truth! They deserve to know! They deserve to know that you loved them dearly and that you were murdered! Executed by fucking oil barons bent on goddamned empire!

(She is nearly spent now. Long pause.)

I will tell them the truth. I will not lie. I will tell them the whole ugly disgusting truth. I will not pretend. I will not wave the flag and act like the good little patriot’s wife. I won't do that.

(Lights begin to fade.)

There’s nothing left, Michael. (Beat.) Nothing but the truth. The truth and this beautiful sunflower. (Beat.) This sunflower is the truth. It is the only thing left. (Beat.) Isn’t it beautiful, Michael?

(Lights have faded now, save for a single spot on the sunflower.)

Isn’t it just beautiful?

(The spot on the flower intensifies with the sudden and ferocious start of the violin solo. After a moment the music shrieks to a halt. The sunflower stays lit until the audience is gone.)

The End.



Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

THE MASK OF WAR

Two mothers have a conversation with War personified...

I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother, what was war?"
~Eve Merriam
OPEN THE SCRIPT +/-

(Two mothers, one Israeli and one Palestinian, stand center as lights rise on the bare stage.)

M1:
Come now, Bara’ah! Time for school!

M2:
Hedasaa! Where are your books?

M1:
Bara’ah, hurry! You will be late for school!

M2:
Hedasaa, hurry! I have your lunch! Let’s go!

M1:
Bara’ah!

M2:
Hedasaa!

(The women now cross left and right and then cross downstage edge calling out over the audience.)

M2:
Did you hear your mother?

M1:
I said for you to come now!

(A slow and sad violin solo now begins to play. The women look toward one another but do not acknowledge the other as broken concrete and debris begins to slowly descend around them from above. The women again call out over the audience.)

M1:
I said come on, slow poke!

M2:
You better get a move on! I’m giving you ten seconds, young lady!

M1:
It is time for school, Bara’ah!

M2:
…Five! Four! Three! Two! One!

(The concrete and debris touches the floor and the violin peaks! The women’s cries now turn to desperation as they walk about their respective debris searching for their children.)

M1:
Bara’ah!

M2:
Hedassa!

M1:
Come my child! Where are you?

M2:
Hedassa!

M1:
Where are you? Bara’ah! Mama needs you to come to her!

M2:
Hedassa, please talk to me! Mama needs to hear your voice! Hedassa!

M1:
Bara’ah! My innocent child!

M2:
Hedassa! My shining star!

(The women, standing near different blocks of concrete, are now horrified.)

M1:
BARA’AH!

M2:
HEDASSA!

(As they speak the next lines they cross behind the concrete and pick up colorful blankets [their children]. They weep and hold them dear.)

M1:
My child!

M2:
Oh my baby!

M1:
My beautiful innocence! My Bara’ah!

M2:
Hedassa! My lovely baby! No!

M1:
Oh! My dearest baby!

M2:
Mommy is here! Mommy is here…

(They now weep for a good moment holding their children. Soon, WAR, A man dressed in all black and wearing a haunting all white theatrical mask, enters and crosses to them and takes the children [the colorful blankets] and then crosses to the downstage center edge.)

M1:
Oh! Freshly turning earth! What have you done to my child!

M2:
Finish this! End thy collection of death!

M1:
Why has Dawn collapsed around us? Around our children?

M2:
Our children did nothing to deserve this!

M1:
They were innocents! You should have taken me!

M2:
Why have you forsaken us? Their small wings clamoring for heaven!

WAR:
HEY! …I know nothing of clamoring wings or heaven. I am also not earth.

M1:
Who are you?

WAR:
Who I am matters not.

M2:
Then what are you?

WAR:
I am War.

M1/M2:
War?

WAR:
Yes. You may know me best as death or destruction or any number of trite terms for my reality, but I am war and I have taken your children.

M1:
They were innocent children! Why would you take them?

WAR:
Why matters not.

M2:
Yes! Yes! Why matters most!

M1:
Why children? Why a child?

WAR:
Ladies, I merely collect. I do not ask who or why. Good day. (Exiting.)

M2:
No! Answer our questions! Answer them!

M1:
Yes! You owe us that much!

WAR:
(Turning.) I owe you nothing! I am war! Your questions are for your God! Your questions are of no concern to me! I am mighty war! I am of vital importance to the State!

M2:
Whose?

WAR:
Like I said, lady. Who mat-

M1:
Why do you wear a mask if “who” matters not?

WAR:
For effect…

M2:
Then you needn’t wear it…your effect is great enough.

WAR:
Thank you. I suppose it is.

M1:
I always thought war would be-

WAR:
What? A bloody beast? A deformed monster?

M1:
No. Taller.

WAR:
(An aside to the audience.) I knew I should have gone to Iran or Syria today…

M2:
But the children…Why the children? They haven’t anything to do with you!

WAR:
They’re just collateral damage. If I allowed myself to get all boo-hoo about these sorts of things I’d go bonkers!

M1:
You feel nothing?

WAR:
I am pure courage, strictness, malevolence, sincerity and wisdom. End of story.

M2:
What?

M1:
Wisdom? Sincerity?

M2:
You are not wise or sincere! You are ugly!

WAR:
Like I said everyone has their opinion about what I am, yet it matters not.

M1:
You feel nothing?

WAR:
Nothing. Other than I should not have engaged in this idiotic dialogue.

M1:
You feel no remorse? No sorrow? No guilt?

WAR:
Nothing.

(W2 slams WAR in the back of the head with a large chunk of concrete and he falls to the ground hard and the children (blankets) fall to his side.)

M2:
Did you feel that?

(The ladies pick up their children and lay them to the side, then, armed with concrete, they proceed to savagely pummel him. They beat him with great anger and sorrow. They scream and lay into WAR as if they had lost all of their humanity, this for some time with their backs to the audience. The beating stopped, the women rise and pick up their children and cross downstage. Blood drips from their faces, hands and body. This sight for a good moment, then...)

M2:
What will you do now War?

M1:
Yes. What, now that you are dead?

M2:
You shall not return for my son.

M1:
Yes. You shall never slaughter again!

M2:
“Who” certainly matters not now!

(The women hug and smile. They soon begin exiting in opposite directions carrying their children. Each spit upon WAR’S body as they pass. The violin solo has peaked again. Soon WAR begins to show signs of life as lights begin to slowly fade to a spot upon him. WAR has made it to his knees. His mask is still intact. Thick blood oozes and drips from his limbs and out the holes of his mask. He raises his head and looks straight out at the audience for a long moment. The violin screeches! Sudden blackout!)


The End


Copyright © 2006 mrp thepoetryman

SLAM JAM-BOX (a player with 27 + videos)

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difference is only skin deep

i have been mulling over the state of affairs of the globe, our country america, and of course, my hometown over the last few days. the name of this blog is the peace tree and it is very difficult for me to channel any peace to write about here. but that doesn't mean that i am not currently peaceful. i have thought about how fragile life is and about how desperately human beings fight to stay alive in all sorts of circumstances- and how easily life is snuffed out at the hands of others.

and how little peace on earth there actually is.

and i don't have any glib, ready answers other than the most obvious- simply stop. stop killing each other and stop lying to each other and stop taking what isn't yours. i find it simply ironic that in binghamton folks are shaken to the core about the slayings and a week ago, many here in this somewhat conservative part of new york state were complaining about immigration and the influx of 'foreigners.' i am white in a largely blue collar area and i have seen my fair share of bigotry, racism, misogyny and just plain ignorance. not to sound holier than thou, but i cringe when some folks in alleged professional jobs open their mouths because what comes out is simple arrogance. i certainly don't condone the killing of innocent folks- and by all accounts the gunman, mr. wong, killed innocent folks. however, i have heard from people's mouths the slighting and the irritation and the annoyance at folks who have accented or broken english- as if spending a half a lifetime somewhere else should slip away once you reach american soil.

the funny thing is- here in binghamton and the rest of the triple cities- the area was built up on the backs of people who didn't speak a word of english. the only english many of these folks knew- "which way ej?" meaning- point the way to the endicott-johnson shoe factory. eastern europeans mainly but plenty of italians and irish settled here. in the 1980's an influx of vietnames refugees started settling here and the last wave in the 1990's have been ukrainians. so, it baffles me how people like the ones in my old neighborhood, some of whose parents came here from 'the old country,' have the nerve to pick on, complain about, be mean about folks whose english isn't fluent. and i chuckle too because many folks here who do speak english- don't use it correctly- as if perhaps they skipped the day in school when the teacher covered double negatives and the like. just sayin'...

so, i will never condone violence but i understand its roots. for mr. wong to feel so marginalized by americans-- as an american citizen-- that he took up arms and killed innocent folks who had done nothing to him- it is only surprising to me that it took him that long. when you have the police chief of binghamton calling him names like 'coward' and the like in a news briefing- well, to me that's ignorant. it took enormous courage to come here from his birthplace to start life over as an adult. it took enormous courage to endure humiliation and embarrassment on both coasts in his place of employment and in every day life. it took enormous courage to make the final decision to end his own life. where he fell short, was when he decided to take out the wrong people. in my opinion, it's the people like mr. zikuski who are part of the problem.

'Police chief: Suspect a 'coward' During a press conference, Zikuski dismissively labeled Wong "a coward" who wore body armor during his shooting spree but killed himself when he heard sirens wailing outside.'

the cowboy mentality- white versus black, right versus wrong- well, that hasn't served us very well. our way of dealing with differences is to fear them- well, as long as we live that way- columbine, virginia tech, binghamton, pittsburgh, etc., will continue to happen. what american fail to understand- people are people no matter their race, color or gender. the white is right mentality only serves to alienate people and make us targets. it's that simple. all human beings on this planet are the same on the inside- we laugh, love, hate, cry, become angry, get lonely- and not speaking the same language on the outside is the only thing that sets us apart. until folks realize that- there can be no peace.

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Green's good...

Ask your members of Congress to pass a Cap and Trade system to regulate greenhouse gases today!

Placebo Economics

The topic below was originally posted yesterday at the Intrepid Liberal Journal.

How many of you read the financial investor’s blog Seeking Alpha? Well, their March 30th post entitled “Exclusive: Big Banks' Recent Profitability Due to AIG Scam?,” is a must read that ought to embarrass the hell out Senate banking chairman Chris Dodd and his House counterpart, Barney Frank.

Here is how Seeking Alpha summarized what they learned from an anonymous inside trader they call "Lou" in laymen terms:

Read More +/-

“AIG, knowing it would need to ask for much more capital from the Treasury imminently, decided to throw in the towel, and gifted major bank counter-parties with trades which were egregiously profitable to the banks, and even more egregiously money losing to the U.S. taxpayers, who had to dump more and more cash into AIG, without having the U.S. Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner disclose the real extent of this - for lack of a better word - fraudulent scam.

In simple terms, think of it as an auto dealer which knows that U.S. taxpayers will provide an infinite amount of money to fund its ongoing sales of horrendous vehicles (think Pontiac Azteks): the company decides to sell all the cars currently in contract, to lessors at far below the amortized market value, thereby generating huge profits for these lessors, as these turn around and sell the cars at a major profit, funded exclusively by U.S. taxpayers (readers should feel free to provide more gripping allegories).

What this all means is that the statements by major banks, i.e. JP Morgan Chase (JPM), Citi (C), and BofA (BAC), regarding abnormal profitability in January and February were true, however these profits were a) one-time in nature due to wholesale unwinds of AIG portfolios, b) entirely at the expense of AIG, and thus taxpayers, c) executed with Tim Geithner's (and thus the administration's) full knowledge and intent, d) were basically a transfer of money from taxpayers to banks (in yet another form) using AIG as an intermediary.”

Is any of this true? If so, the implications are frightening and suggest economist and New York Times columnist Paul Krugman is correct in warning that banks are insolvent and the administration’s plan to stabilize financial institutions nothing but smoke and mirrors. For damn sure I find this report far more believable than the recent stock market bump reflecting the profit statements of these fraudulent institutions.

Congress has a duty to provide vigorous oversight on the public’s behalf. Specifically, Senator Chris Dodd and Representative Barney Frank need to utilize their subpoena power as well as demand that Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner come clean with what he knew and when he knew it. If their investigation proves that Geithner knowingly endorsed the scheme then at minimum he needs to be replaced immediately. If President Obama refuses to fire him than Eric Holder’s Justice Department should read Geithner his rights.

Click here to contact Senator Dodd’s office and here for Representative Barney Frank’s and demand that they do their jobs. Lax oversight of the executive branch was supposed to end in 2006.

Placebo economics will not rescue either America or the world from this depression. Accounting gimmicks will not sugarcoat the dislocation, pain and yes poverty people worldwide are experiencing because of the reckless conduct of financial institutions allowed to run amok. It is incumbent upon our leaders that today’s pain results in a better socio-economic paradigm tomorrow. Enabling banks to inflate their quarterly statements for a good day on the stock exchange is precisely how we got into this mess in the first place.

Yet again I insist that hyper-sized financial institutions be nationalized or as William Black suggests, put into a receivership as the law mandated following the 1980s Savings & Loans crisis. That should be followed by comprehensive anti-trust legislation that permanently ends the chokehold these large institutions have on our economy. And we as citizens need to think globally by banking locally.

I support the administration’s bold initiatives with respect to their budget and am more than willing to help them as an activist take on Blue Dog Democrats such as Senator Evan Bayh, who double cross their constituents for campaign contributions under the false guise of “fiscal responsibility.” Also, I believe, Obama has the makings of a magnificent international statesman.

But the administration’s approach to the banking crisis is inadequate at best and perhaps criminal at worst. Unless Obama takes charge and gets realistic about the banking crisis, none of the good intentions outlined in his budget proposal will come to fruition.

Secretary Geithner's approach is a metastasizing cancer on the administration. And certainly not change I can believe in.

"Ground the Drones" Raise Voices Against the USAF

Peace activists concerned about US military drone attacks against Pakistan gather twice a day at the gates to Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs, Nevada in a nonviolent protest. The group, calling itself "Ground the Drones," began a vigil earlier this week which will continue until April 10th.

"We recognize the urgency of the present moment," said Brian Terrell, of Maloy, Iowa.

"The drone attacks are exacerbating tensions right now, in Pakistan." Peter Ediger of Las Vegas added, "We are here to declare our belief that peace will come through human interaction using negotiation, dialogue and diplomacy, and not through reliance on robots armed with missiles."

Creech Air Force Base is home to the latest high tech weapons that use unmanned aerial systems (UASs) to carry out surveillance and increasingly lethal attacks in Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iraq. Once Unmanned Aerial Vehicles become airborne in places like Afghanistan and Pakistan, teams inside trailers at Creech Air Force base begin to control them. The MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper drones both function to collect information through surveillance and both can carry weapons. The MQ9 Reaper drone, which the US Air Force refers to as a "hunter-killer" vehicle, can carry two 500 pound bombs in addition to several Hellfire missiles, according to information provided by the group.

The group says that, since many civilians are killed along with any intended targets, these missions are succeeding in their intent to provoke a violent response, even as they fail to pacify or demoralize the target communities. Proponents of the use of UASs insist that there is a great advantage to fighting wars in "real-time" by "pilots" sitting at consoles in offices on air bases far from the dangerous front line of military activity. With less risk to the lives of our soldiers and hence to the popularity and careers of politicians, the deaths of "enemy" noncombatants by the thousands are counted acceptable. The illusion that war can be waged with no domestic cost dehumanizes both us and our enemies. It fosters a callous disregard for human life that can lead to even more recklessness on the part of politicians.

The group invites the public to join the vigil. More information about the vigil as well as about Predators and Reapers is available at the website http://NevadaDesertExperience.org

USAF controller "pilots" the Reaper at Creech Air Force Base. Ethan Miller/Getty Images; howstuffworks.com



Read More +/-

Tom Waits Road to Peace

Flood Leave Deregulate Equality...

1.

Tens of thousands of us have marched, hundreds of thousands have signed petitions -- now let's send a flood of messages, asking leaders to push the G20 to rise to this global challenge!

2.

Tell your Congressperson to support Family Leave Insurance!

3. 

Affordable Car & Home Insurance
Tell Geithner Not to Deregulate Insurance Companies!

4.

Close The Gap: Demand Indigenous health equality!

That Convenient Rationale Of Security Agencies - Here We Go Again

(Updated Below) (Updated Again)

In this older post, I brought attention to the NSA (under the Obama administration) seeking to expand its powers regarding matters of cybersecurity.

The point I reiterated then is that police and security agencies will always demand more and more spying powers in order to fullfill their self-ascribed "mission". And said mission is the following:

Because any activity may or may not - immediately or at some point in time or never at all - lead to acts which may or may not "threaten the safety and security of citizens or the integrity of the country's critical infrastructure", then monitoring, surveying and spying on the citizenry constitute the only means to keep the nation safe.

Which in turn defines the ever convenient rationale of security agencies to abuse power.

Well, looks like yours truly is being proven right yet again (emphasis added):

Read More +/-

Director of FBI Urges Renewal of Patriot Act
Portions of Law to Expire This Year

FBI Director Robert S. Mueller III urged lawmakers yesterday to renew intelligence-gathering measures in the USA Patriot Act that are set to expire in December, calling them "exceptional" tools to help protect national security.

The law, passed shortly after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, created divisions between proponents, who said it was necessary to deter terrorism, and privacy advocates warning that it tramples on Americans' civil liberties. Portions of the law are up for reauthorization this year.

Mueller told members of the Senate Judiciary Committee he hopes that the reauthorization of two provisions would be far less controversial than in previous years. One of those provisions, which helps authorities secure access to business records, "has been exceptionally helpful in our national security investigations," he said.

In response to a question from Sen. Benjamin L. Cardin (D-Md.), Mueller said that his agents had used the provision about 220 times between 2004 and 2007. Data for last year were not yet available, he said.

The measure allows investigators probing terrorism to seek a suspect's records from third parties such as financial services and travel and telephone companies without notifying the suspect. The American Civil Liberties Union has criticized the provision, saying it violates the First Amendment rights of U.S. citizens.

Another provision, permitting roving wiretaps of terrorism suspects, was used 147 times and has helped eliminate "an awful lot of paperwork," Mueller said. In the past, authorities had to seek court approval for each electronic device carried by a suspect, from a cellphone and a BlackBerry to a home computer. But under the provision, one warrant can cover all of those machines.

The ACLU issued a report this month describing "widespread abuse" of government authority under the Patriot Act.

News of the ACLU's report can be found here (and the report in pdf format can be downloaded by clicking this link). In short, the report demonstrates that while surveillance steadily increased between 2002 and 2008 (such as through FISA orders - 2370 total in 2007 alone -, national security letters - 49425 total in 2006 alone -, and suspicious activities reports - 1250439 total in 2007 alone -), such massive increment of data collection actually ran contrary to a steady drop of prosecutions of FBI international terrorism cases (only 34 in 2008), yet paralleled by an gradual increase in the percentage of FBI international terrorism referrals declined for prosecution by the DOJ (a staggering 87% in 2006 alone).

In other words (again): increased, indiscriminate domestic spying powers (or abuses of) and consequent trampling of constitutional civil rights do not increase security, nor do these result in catching and prosecuting more terrorists.

However, what these do result into is an increment of innocent people being snared by such wide surveillance nets, and consequently tagged as potential security threats by the always paranoid-driven security agencies, for nothing more than exercizing their most basic civil rights. As a reminder of this tragic fact of reality, here are previous APOV posts which describe numerous examples of such resulting abuses and injustices (including Canadian examples) - all in the sacro-saint name of Security:

The Security State And Omerta;

Security Agencies And Their Neverending Need For Increased Powers;

Can You Taste Teh Democracy And Freedom?

Tougher Anti-terror Laws In Canada ...;

Enabling Police Abuse;

Got Protest? Lose All That You Own - Including Your Rights;

Shhhhh ... Don't Speak, Don't Say A Word ...;

Loopholes In Domestic Spying For No Need Of Warrants?

The Problems With The FISA Capitulation Bill;

Domestic Spying: I *Did* Tell You So, Didn't I?

Domestic Spying In Canada: Ok. *Now* I'm Saying "I Told You So";

Domestic Spying Reloaded: I Told You So ...;

Domestic Spying Abuse: You Were Warned;

Your Privacy - Government Style;

Security, Hallowed Be Thy Name And Dominion;

Security - Hallowed By Thy Name;

Domestic Spying In Canada: It Happened And It Is Still Happening;

More Case Of Abusive, Paranoid-Driven Security State Domestic Spying;

The Authoritarian Security State At Work;

Domestic Spying In Canada: Here We Are;

While No One Was Paying Attention ...;

Brownshirts 'R US;

Reloaded: Gitmo U.S.A.;

Domestic Spying: The Ever Convenient Rationale Of The Security State;

Welcome To The Security State Of North America;

North American Security State: I Told You So ...

The Bush Legacy Equation: Authoritarianism + Corporatocracy = Fascism;

Losing Ourselves Beyond Redemption;

Whither Goest Thou, America?

There Can Be No Security Without Human Rights.

Proof again that no one is safe - because police and security agencies will always abuse any domestic spying powers granted to them, due to their pathological (non)reasoning that anything must be viewed through the narrow, paranoid prism of criminality, terrorism and threats to security.

And it is now all-too-evident that "anything" means anything.

From blogging to writing a dissenting letter to a newspaper editor to a journalist trying to do investigative work to gathering at a coffee shop to rant about politics to reading "suspicious" stuff (books, blogs) to organizing/participating in activist actions (letter/phone/email campaigns, peaceful protests), etc., etc., etc.

It is in the nature of police and security agencies to view such ordinary, mundane exercizes of civil rights as suspicious activities.

So why are we ever willing to grant them such powers?

The question brings me back to this:

So, my American friends and fellow Canadians ...

Maybe you remain unfazed by all of this, your smug reasoning reassuring you that nothing like that could ever happen to you, that it is inconceivable that some "tracker" has been listening (or may yet still) to your most private conversations on the phone, or parsing through your emails, or credit card/bank statements, and so on.

Or maybe you remain approving of indiscriminate domestic spying, confident that such setting aside of constitutional rights serves the ultimate purpose of catching them evul ter'rists (which, as it turns out, is a false premise), while also being of the mind that such "accidental" abuses happen to others - never to you. In other words, you are one who would gladly proclaim "Security - Hallowed Be Thy Name" with much gratitude, patriotic fervor and conviction.

But regardless, how would you know whether or not you have been caught in the "wide-net" approach to electronic surveillance already adopted by Police and Security Agencies?

How would you possibly become aware that some faceless "tracker" is sharing all that was caught of your most private, intimate conversations - all the while sharing laughs with colleagues in so doing? That complete strangers have become quite familiar with your private life?

That faceless, shadowy men and women have been endowed with the power to act as nothing more than peeping toms, all-too-eager to watch and listen into every and all facets of your privacy, of your intimacy?

And how would you know whether or not you will be branded a security threat just because you went on strike, or because someone "out there" has decided that some of the books/newspapers/magazines that you read may be suspicious, or simply because you were overheard complaining about the government?

That is the question, isn't it?

(...)

All of the above once again demonstrate the harsh, ugly reality in this post-9/11 world driven by fear and the willingness to accept the ludicrous fallacy that we need to surrender "some" of our basic constitutional rights in order to improve security against terrorist attacks.

Yet always forgetting that abuse of security measures is as inevitable as the sun rising and setting - especially without any significant oversight, or even refusal of such.

Better wake up fast on your own and now, instead of being awaken by the thundering sound of jackboots just outside your home ... mere moments before your door is crashed open and you get picked up in a "pre-emptive security sweep".

Do you get it now?

Hence, it still remains to be established indeed whether we, Americans and Canadians alike, will stand up for our constitutions, our democracy-based societies, or let fear and paranoia sweep them away in lieu of authoritarianism - as we keep allowing our elected representatives to grant vast powers to security agencies.

More than ever, we better wake up before it is too little, too late ...

If it isn't already.


Update 03/27/2009: As is yours truly did not need further evidence to prove the point herein - well, there you go, folks (emphasis added):

Missouri retracts police memo which labeled activists as 'militia'

The Missouri Department of Public Safety has retracted a controversial profiling memo which linked libertarian activists, Christians, constitutionalists, supporters of Congressman Ron Paul and other traditionally conservative groups to underground militias.

It also specifically cautioned police to be on the lookout for bumper stickers advertising third party candidates, or people with copies of the United States Constitution.

"[Lt. Gov. Peter] Kinder called on Nixon to place Department of Public Safety Director John Britt on administrative leave pending an investigation of how the report came about," reported the Springfield News-Leader. "[Gov. Jay] Nixon's office did not comment on Kinder's demand, but said it backed Keathley's plans to reform the process of releasing [Missouri Information Analysis Center] intelligence reports.

"In a lengthy statement, Keathley expressed remorse for the lack of oversight in the creation and distribution of the report, but he did not apologize for its contents. Keathley said his office 'would undertake a review of the origin of the report by MIAC.'"

The News-Leader published a copy of the memo (PDF link).

"Due to the current economical [sic] and political situation, a lush environment for militia activity has been created," the memo reads. It goes on to cite possible militia members as people who talk about the New World Order conspiracy, express anger with the Federal Reserve banking system, resist paying taxes, warn other citizens about the percieved dangers of radio frequency identification (RFID) or lobby for a return to strict constitutionalism as possible threats to law enforcement.

While the memo does offer something of a lopsided summary of many of the various groups which swelled enormously following the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, it also links individuals who are otherwise peaceful with the Ku Klux Klan and other violent organizations.

It also specifically highlighted former presidential candidates Ron Paul, Chuck Baldwin and Bob Barr as icons of the militia movement.

The apology and retraction only came after all three men signed a letter to Gov. Nixon (PDF link) demanding an about-face.

What else can one say, but "Q.E.D."?


Update 03/31/2009: Meanwhile, back in Canada ... CSIS has decided in its grandiose (and utterly ignorant) wisdom that intelligence gained from torture is swell and A-OK. Hey - it worked so well for the U.S.A., eh? And never mind Canadian laws.

Could someone tell me how I can get back to my world - you know, the one whereby laws against torture are not ignored and torture itself is viewed as something barbaric, savage and uncivilized? I seem to have wandered accidentally into the present, hypocritical one ...


(Cross-posted from APOV)

WEDN(ESDAY) RESISTANCE

I was thinking to myself, as I've a proclivity to do, and I said to myself, also a proclivity, "What can you write about that will get the needed attention and do the most good, or what subject can you write about that is most important?"...

I came up with eight.

Eight correlates to the Planet Venus, the color of blue, the sign of Taurus (the bull, the second house), and the letters H, Q & Z... But, honestly, who gives a flying care whether a, or which particular planet, corresponds with which number or whether a certain color or which letters gel with eight? I’m sure there are those out there that do care, but I don’t. (Astrology is certainly not a proclivity I inhabit or that inhabits me.)

The following 8, however, do(es) matter.

  1.

President Obama: Say "NO" to Abstinence-Only Programs

2.

Tell Secretary Salazar to Protect Endangered Wildlife

3.

Urge Senators to Support Kerry-Lugar Amendment

4.

Stand with the ACLU. Ask Attorney General Eric Holder to appoint an independent prosecutor to investigate the interrogation of detainees in the war on terror.

5.

America can protect New Orleans from another Katrina... Let the president know this is the reality on the ground.

6.

To recognize Women's History Month in March, test your knowledge of women in the military by taking a short quiz. Some of the answers might surprise you!

7.

Telephone and cable companies cannot discriminate against local community programming by burying public access, educational and governmental (PEG) channels. Tell the Federal Communications Commission that PEG content must be placed on an equal footing with basic commercial channels.

8.

Ask the EPA to Ban Mountaintop Removal Mining!