Stormwrack: To the Fish

Welcome! Please, wipe your feet.

You have just entered my mind. You may well find yourself addled, amused, or even appalled. Some may be offended, a few may even be afraid. My mind is much like my desk, a jumbled mess with a Magic Box on top, and a vaguely glimpsed structure beneath. I shall try to tidy up a bit, as I'm expecting company. You are a guest. You shall be expected to behave as such. Guests in my mind, just as guests in my home, are free to laugh or cry, should the mood take them. They may rage against most anything outside, BUT if they rage at me too often, they will be asked to leave. If you've been stepped on, by all means let it out, BUT if you've just stepped in something, please, do not track it in here.

My Native Tongue

Anyone who has ever traveled to a foreign country where theirs is not the prevalent language, has probably noticed that they can hear their mother tongue spoken even across a crowded and noisy room. My ears are keener still, for I can hear my native tongue spoken from 4 blocks away! My native tongue is Bullshit. When, in the same foreign country, a native of that land tries to converse with you in your own language, you appreciate the effort, regardless of how clumsy their attempt may be. After a while, however, even the most polite traveler, may note that prolonged exposure to the butchering of their mother tongue tends to grate on one's ear. In this, I am no different. While I appreciate those of you who try to speak proper Bullshit to me, after successive clumsy attempts, it does offend my ear. For this reason, I shall try to confine my musings to English, but, should I occasionally lapse into my Native Tongue, please, bear with me and do not feel obliged to join me on a similar linguistic tangent. If this note offends you, you should probably leave now, before my thoughts on Religion and Politics cause you serious distress.

Tears and Rage

When I was a child I was taught of America. It was a Fabled Land where the milk and honey of Freedom ran in the streets, conceived by an idealistic people who, having felt themselves oppressed for so long, rose up and threw out their oppressors. It was born of a miracle of courage and determination that led landed gentry and peasant farmers, merchants and tradesmen, Protestants and Catholics to see beyond their personal differences, band together, and rise up as one, declaring to the world, "We will bear the yoke of tyranny no more!" And I believed. From the spacious skies to the amber waves of grain, I believed. I was fortunate enough to be able to travel this land from sea to shining sea, and I believed. Then I saw poverty and hunger. I saw ignorance and bigotry. I saw hatred. I asked how these could exist in such a glorious and just land, and, much like the boy who could not see the Emperor's New Clothes, I was shushed. So I did as I was told, and I was quiet. I did as I has been taught, and I believed. I still do. The words that will follow in this place do not evince any change in that belief. Rather, it is as a result of that belief that I feel compelled to write them now. If you have known something precious when it was bright and new, and then you see it tarnished and worn, even cast down in the mud and trampled upon, do you not weep to see its abuse and do everything in your power to lift it up and repair it as best you can? If you know that abuse to be deliberate, do you not feel rage? I see this Fabled Land, once a shining beacon in the night to the oppressed throughout the world, now tarnished and soiled. Her noble flag, woven of hope in the face of despair, and defended with the blood of her Heroes, that blessed Star Spangled Banner, I see now tattered and worn. I weep to see these abuses, and I would repair them. I see the sacred parchments of "We the People" and the precious ideals they espouse cast down in the mud and wantonly trampled. I see the very precepts upon which this nation was founded twisted and betrayed for personal gain, and I rage! This does not mean that my belief has been lessened. My Faith in this nation and that for which it once stood is stronger than ever. It is those things for which it has been made to stand that give me pause. It is the flagrant usurpation of individual freedoms, once held so dear, that move me to tears. It is the brazen betrayal of the public trust for political and financial gain which leads me to rage! I am not moved to such strong emotions by any weakening of my belief, but rather by its strength. I still believe. But I also still see, and, unlike that child who questioned so long ago, I will no longer be shushed. The Emperor has NO new clothes! In fact, he's stealing yours! These are my tears. This is my rage. Where, in the name of all that is right, and just, and decent, are yours?

Friday, January 18, 2008

To the Fish

We flash lights across the sea,

we shine lights into the sky.

We string lights along the ground;

oh, so pleasing to the eye.

What a picture it must make

to anyone looking down.

Do they wonder what it's like

living trapped here on the ground?

Or do they simply shake their heads,

and, laughing, pass us by

Leaving a note to say they called

etched across the sky?

I wonder what we will find

when we read the message there.

Will it say “Hello to those below,”

or will it say, “BEWARE!”

You can think what you will think

and believe in what you will,

But the universe has looked at us

and they are laughing still.

As we stand upon our mountaintops

proclaiming all the things we know,

How silly we don't realize

we're just fish trapped in a bowl.

We're so proud of our technology

and our atomic bombs.

They're just a treasure chest with bubbles

and a plastic castle made in Guam.

But now the filter's failing

and the water's getting stale.

Most the plants have long since died,

and we've killed off all the snails.

Some of us know of the bowl

for we have seen the glass.

Those who won't believe me

can Graumi kiss my ass.

We'll keep pounding on that glass

until we can make it it crack.

And once we're free, believe you me,

There will be no looking back.