Tu vois qu’est-ce-qu'arrive quand on ecrit d’une chambre dans l’asile.
The proscenium arch of the Political Passionspiel frames the time and place when Government functions merely by the willing suspension of discontent instead of through a vigorous informed consent. Such a deplorable State can never be the beacon that is visible round the world. It is so easy to deceive ourselves into thinking that we have a handle on the fundamentals, when in fact we’re not on the court, or even yet out of the locker room.
In an effort to make my writing more plangent, and to awaken that segment of the socially active, to create a more dynamic Agenda for Peace, one that is capable of confronting the Agenda of Violence in all its Political, Economic and Religious manifestations, I took my writing with me to the asylum.
I never figured that the Carnivore, my target audience would actually read my words and validate their plausibility to the extent that they would begin a war on a possible scenario of doom that was a figment of imagination run wild. All the while the people were watching sports teams in near sudden death experiences oblivious to the bombs dropping over Baghdad, or the fires raging on the coast. I can only hope they were oblivious for none of them stopped to declare that “Shock and Awe” constitutes terrorism. To them it must have seemed like just another entertainment option.
My face, just a sand painting in the top half of the hourglass, was slipping away in a grotesque transformation, in silent witness to the power of the gravitational force exerted in the timespace fabric of the universe. It was as a sailboat slipping into the fog of night on a voyage to the far reaches of the unknown, each moment becoming less visible, less fathomable, less familiar. Into the black and oily night. It felt good to slip the lines that bound me to the hard and enter the womb of nature for a wet and wild ride under the stars.
Bob