Who knows what it is...America. We thirst for its ringing syllables. The proud rolling dream of a country based on ideals, on principle, on fantasy. A city on a hill, covered in gun violence. A breadbasket smeared in the blood of slavery. A valley so influential and productive filled with the bones of men whose salty tears have long evaporated from the national conscience. America. I don't know thee.
I see pastors arguing against evolution. Three teachers walk dramatically out of the church sermon in protest of the blatant antagonism against scientific education. The three returned, tail between legs, to apologize to the creationist propagandist. The social is so much stronger than the intellectual; at least for the sane. At least for those who want friends more than they want the hardened steel of experimental evidence. Shall I complain? Isn;t it all a big game of who knows who?
I see guns on the hip. Threats to kill bounce off of red stones in a lonely desert. Pit bulls bark until they see the oiled carbon-steel of a S&W .40. Who are we to withhold the power to destroy. The government stockpiles hollow point bullets. The IRS is trained in small arms combat. 'Taxes and death' just became 'taxes or death'.
But don't worry; 'Just Jesus' can save us. But he won't save Them. It's just that simple. Believe. Tithe. Apologize. Pay homage to the white collared bandits who dig into your guilt ridden hearts with a mattock. Give over your sweat and loosen your grip on the green, green gras that feed these American families. Feed these American Gods.
Gods of War. Gods of Harvest. Gods of Luxury. May we slay those who oppose us as we bask in plenty. May our nails never go unpolished by the very immigrants we loathe.
Its a sick system. The cells are sick. The veins are sick. The blood is sick. The illness is comfort. From this central germ comes the apathy that leads to political corruption. From the apathy comes the withdrawl into a personal politic. "He's got his; I've got mine. Meet the Decline."
But I don't hate it. I don't want to see it burning from the tower tops. I don't want to hear the alarms ringing as blue blood floods the gutters and red necks hoist on white collar shirts. I want it to chill out. I want it to tune in.
I want it to grow a beard. I want it to plant a garden. I want it to eat healthier food and less of it. I want it to walk a dog. To smile at the sky. To stretch in the wind. To say, "yeah, I guess I'm wrong." To not be afraid. To give from the eyes. To search endlessley for a soul. To never give in to the petty mistakes of a drunken three-decade-long binge. To realize that a fraction of the Earth's most nourishing and pure resources are ours to bathe, tender and heal.
To be many tribes rather than a bland One. To be Many Nations under Many Gods. To be a human experiment in wild nature. To stop the robitic climb of fear and security. To work without a facade, without a digital screen.
To be Americans, we must forget the word. Blow shit up. Build it again. Death, my friends, is only half of the equation.
Happy July.
Independence needs more than a day.
-t
