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just stand alone

He’d nearly forgotten how fine and world-class it felt like to bed down and sleep with a lass. His confidence buoyed by recent endeavors he saw himself once more as charming and clever at least to the point that he had enough stones to talk to the ladies or just stand alone. Compared to the fearfulness that used to plague him and cause him to feel like a shit-covered pagan his newfound ability held without fail as he talked and flirted with all sorts of tail. Such was the depth of his calm and transcendence that he didn’t bother to finish his sentences but stood there while all the other guys talked or when things got boring he’d just turn and walk. Sometimes the basics are all a man needs to conquer his sadness, depression, and greed, to feel that he’s once again truly worthwhile and not just some asshole who’s wearing a smile. Among the things that man needs today: good food and fresh water and some hot bed-play to keep him from getting all messed up inside, to keep him from feeling his soul might have died. So open those columns and let people in, to fail to keep boning is a massive sin, forget all the bullshit that churchmen might preach, our deepest love-buttons we can’t alone reach.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

on domestic living

Bare feet pound the pave-stones outside of my door; I sit on a thin, purple mat on the floor. The walls they are tiled, the floor and steps too, with a bit of sweeping the place looks brand new. There are two cockroaches that live in the bath, they know only kindness and not my true wrath, I think they eat soap-scum and paper and gunk, by now they are used to my stenches and funk. The kitchen is small but has everything, from toaster to stove-top to kettles that sing, from ice-box to cupboards and all in-between, when dishes get soiled I make sure they’re cleaned. There too is a house-cat who comes when she pleases who loves all my petting and passionate squeezes who purrs and meows when there’s no one nearby who flees through the side door without a goodbye. It is somewhat lonesome, this much I admit, but no one disturbs me while I write or sit for hours and hours watching DVD, or enduring static-filled Indo TV. I sleep on the second floor, under a temple, at night it’s so quiet it calms me much, mentally, unlike the traffic and roosters that used to disturb my slumber with ear-drums abused. From a rooftop platform I can see the sea, some rice fields, my village, and kites above me, with love in my bosoms I no longer plod, but rejoice to be on the Island of Gods.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

on calling foul

Caught up in some nastiness that just won’t pass, I stand here now hated, despised, like an ass. My pride got the best of me, I erred and slipped, I rocked at the gunwales and near swamped the ship, the error and fault of my most recent ways has haunted my dream-state and poisoned my days. With time things get better, at least that’s my hope, I dare not to venture back down the foul slope, that got me in trouble not too long ago, where this train is heading I can’t say I know. Oh well, more’s the pity, I’ll just watch and see, what new misadventures are waiting for me, an orphan and miscreant, scholar and fiend, solemn of countenance, hardy of spleen.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

just one thing

This mind is my own, no one else I can blame, for feelings of anger, elation, or shame, things never are constant or very stable, all I know is that I’m indomitable. Not hatred can rule me, not death and not vice, not pox and not sickness, not even head-lice, there’s little to do now but sit silently, my rump in the dirt and by back to a tree, and watch as the seasons around me do tilt, and skyscrapers crumble – all things man has built. For this is my purpose, the one I now choose, there’s little to gain and far less left to lose, but watching as shadows with each other blend, surrounded as needed by sibling and friend. So come now, ye hearties, once more to the breech, together our foes we’ve some manners to teach, for ours is the present, the future, and past, we’ve nothing to lose but a steady repast, we’ve so much to let go of, and to rescind, our time here is wasting so let us begin.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

Never mind that forty years ago, the CIA, under President John F. Kennedy, orchestrated a regime change in Baghdad. In 1963, after a successful coup, the Ba’ath party came to power in Iraq. Using lists provided by the CIA, the new Ba’ath regime systematically eliminated hundreds of doctors, teachers, lawyers, and political figures known to be leftists. An entire intellectual community was slaughtered…The young Saddam Hussein was said to have had a hand in supervising the bloodbath. In 1979, after factional infighting within the Ba’ath Party, Saddam Hussein became the president of Iraq. In April 1980, while Hussein was massacring Shias, U.S. National Security Adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski declared, “We see no fundamental incompatibility of interests between the United States and Iraq.” Washington and London overtly and covertly supported Saddam Hussein. They financed him, equipped him, and provided him with dual-use materials to manufacture weapons of mass destruction. They supported his worst excesses financially, materially, and morally. They supported the eight-year war against Iran and the 1988 gassing of Kurdish people in Halabja, crimes which fourteen years later were reheated and served up as reasons to justify invading Iraq. After the first Gulf War, the “Allies” fomented an uprising of Shias in Basra and then looked away while Saddam Hussein crushed the revolt and slaughtered thousands in an act of vengeful reprisal.

The point is, if Saddam Hussein was evil enough to merit the most elaborate, openly declared assassination attempt in history (the opening move of Operation Shock and Awe), then surely those who supported him ought at least to be tried for war crimes? Why aren’t the faces of U.S. and U.K. government officials on the infamous pack of cards of wanted men and women?

Because when it comes to Empire, facts don’t matter.

Arundhati Roy, “Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy” in An Ordinary Person’s Guide to Empire 


(via dialecticsof)

(Source: red-amour, via revolutionaryretribution)

(Source: soupmagazine, via fumehigh)

on stepping back

Next time before answering force with its like, I’ll try to remember my blow-hole to spike, to hold my forked tongue without making a sound, to contain such thoughts as my psyche might hound. For words writ or spoken that fly from the cuff, are full of false logic and even worse stuff, they’re useless and harmful, they cure not one thing, they bite and they injure, they hurt and they sting. Few are the benefits of open speaking, of letting the brain-stem commence with its leaking, of making a statement or speaking one’s mind – far better it were to make noise from behind. I’ll heed this sound warning and keep myself still, if not woe and loneliness my heart will fill, when I stop and realize it’s all been for naught, that love and compassion I’d briefly forgot. The proof’s in the pudding, that soils my nose, that gums up my laptop and sticks to my clothes, this paltry aggression I henceforth shall cease, reverting to lamb what had turned into beast.

© americanifesto /場黑麥