“I knew too that through them I knew too that he was though, I knew too that he threw them. I knew too that they were through, I knew too I knew too, I knew I knew them.”
“If you can see why she feel that she kneels if you can see why he knows that he shows what he bestows, if you can see why they share what they share, need we question that there is no doubt that by this time if they had intended to come they would have sent some note of such intention.”
Many others did go and there was a sacrifice, of what shall we, a sheep, a hen, a cock, a village, a ruin, and all that and then that having been blessed let us bless it.” - Stein
The Queen’s Henchmen
request the pleasure of your company
at a Lynching – to be held
at 23rd and C Streets NW
on Tuesday, December 18, 2012 -
just past sunset.
Dress: Formal, Masks and Hoods -
the four being lynched
must never know the identities
of their executioners, or what/
whose sin required their sacrifice.
A blood sacrifice –
to divert the hounds -
to appease the gods -
to cleanse our filth and
satisfy our guilty consciences.
Arrive promptly at sunset –
injustice will be swift.
There will be no trial,
no review of evidence,
no due process, and
no accountability.
Dress warmly -
a chilling effect will instantly
envelop Foggy Bottom.
Extrajudicial.
Total impunity at the top.
A kangaroo court in
a banana republic.
B.Y.O.B.
Refreshments will not be served
because of the continuing resolution.
And the ones being lynched?
Who cares? They are pawns in a game.
Our game. All suckers, all fools,
all knaves who volunteered to serve.
Us. And the truth? The truth?
What difference at this point does it make?
In case of inclement weather,
or the Queen’s incapacitation,
the Queen's Henchmen will carry out
this lynching - as ordered, as planned.
Part 2. The Aftermath (inspired in part by Basara’s “The Cyclist Conspiracy”)
“The top of the pyramid – the organization is composed of Technologists who only pretend to have power, although they are only actors in the theater of mirrors. When the mirror is broken they die, because the internal drive of their actions vanishes.” --Svetislav Basara
Trapped in a purgatory
of their own conceit…
The web of lies they weave
gets tighter and tighter
in its deceit
until it bottoms out -
at a very low frequency -
and implodes.
It may be just a matter of perception –
they can’t undo their wrongs
for fear it’d undermine their
perceived authority –
an authority they think they require
to stay in charge.
Yet all the while,
the more they talk,
the more they lie,
and the deeper down the hole they go.
There’s nothing I need to go back to -
nothing to re-litigate -
nothing to defend -
and certainly nothing to prove
to the unworthy.
Just wait…
just wait and
feed them rope.
Part 3. The Wizard
The wicked witch of the East?
The old, decrepit, ancient East?
She dead. House fell on her ass
During the storm. Feet all shriveled up.
That witch ain’t going nowhere!
Ain’t gon bother nobody!
But the wicked witch of the West?
The new, modern, amoral West?
She’s alive and kicking.
Causing all kinds of trouble.
Done signed a deal with the Wizard.
The lying Wizard.
Dorothy has her hands full with those two.
And the lion ain’t got no courage.
Part 4. The Heat of Battle
I am feeling the heat of battle and tasting
its harsh bittersweetness. Still on track,
other things fall through the cracks of space
and time. But Poetry remains, a jealous mistress,
after all, a possessive lover without gender who
demands every gram of attention and devotion.
“Forget any other dedication, any outside legal
or moral obligation,” Poetry warns,
“and ignore that silly wench you call your Muse!”
Poetry screams, “Be with me alone!”
And you accommodate, first haltingly,
reluctantly, then eagerly, anxiously
as you become narcotized by, then addicted
to the sweetness of stolen waters.
Part 5. Letter to Walt
Dear Walt:
I seem to recall we met,
in the future, in the past, or in a dream -
maybe deep down in engineroom lower level,
repairing a valve or calibrating a gauge
on an obscure hydraulic line;
or maybe on the bridge,
transiting the Strait of Gibraltar,
the Strait of Bonifacio, or the Strait of Messina;
or maybe having a smoke on the fantail
while the ship rounds the Cape of Good Hope,
Cape Horn, or Ras Kasar.
The physical place is less important
than the metaphysical space we share:
lonely, tired, perplexed, distressed,
missing loved ones;
lonely, tired, perplexed, distressed,
surrounded by loved ones
