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March 17, 2003 - 10:53 p.m.

Bush burns Home.

My body is shedding its colours�

Taking on more of its irish self� perhaps this is a tribute to the shamrock sham of shameless intoxication in times of world strife� world tributes to international improvisation, where Bushisms take center stage, stakes foreign aid for oil trade�

And I�m watching, thinking someone has got to think this is wrong�

I can�t be the only one losing my mind over this�

Remember when�?

When I was in some grade whose significance has past and all I can recall is being read The Hobbit and having it announced that there was a war on in the gulf� golf what? I�d asked.

No THE gulf, as in, not the country club, but the big boyz club across the ocean, no sand traps here, just desert storm�.not the kind you talk about at dinner in Burlington homes�

So I wrote to myself, in my diary, ballet shoes on the cover� �I am worried about the war in Iraq�� I knew, even then, that I was worried bout something�

So now, I speak in tongues� speak with my tongue, write manifestos

On lover�s skin, telling myself, telling my story, making it stick�

Commit this to memory, the impressions left on those who happen to stumble through the hall outside your door, in these empowered, passioned, pained moments, when we�re screaming ourselves into being�

When we are voicing our decent�.

Make love not war, they cry, at least, when we�re doing �that� someone listens

... and as Alix says,

�I believe in cross national desire, not cross fire,

Fuck national pride, I�d go to their side,�

I�d give the US a bad rep�

I�d kiss every fine Iraqi dyke on the front line� I�d rather die in the heat of a fuck I call mine, than any fucking line of duty you make mine..�

So I wonder in this small way, if my making waves, sways any mind but mine,

Kills a butterfly somewhere in Spain, or can explain the tears in someone�s eyes, when we fire on our own kind, for oil wells we warn them� not to burn�

We are extinguishing the hope of reconciliation in the fates of our nations as we march in silence, to our SUVs, to our Mabelline�s, to our E. N. G.s �

To our quickness to blame all these things for the shame of turning and walking away�

I don�t know.. how I�ll sleep tonight, except that someone else�s arms will shake me awake when I�m screaming and can�t remember why�

 

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