they couldn’t douse the flames the allied planes had showered on her tiny body. and
all the paper trails tha
D to all the roads that lead to all these basras make it seem like we’re all just
«collateral damage» waiting to be happened in some unforeseen pentagon
budget-drill. today’s ba’ath re
Is just the red scare of yesteryear. and i drink myself to sleep because i’m losing
faith that any of us will ever amount to anything more than reluctant human
subsidies, the moving parts in a d
Machine, protesting their complicity, but waiting for somebody else to throw their
body on the churning gears. i drink myself to sleep because i’m losing faith that
we, here in the cradle of aff
E can cease this sickening drive for individual strength through state-powers’
swinging fists or that we’ll ever look back and laugh at the irony that is: an
atomic murderer is enshrined in inde
Nce, usa while 8000 miles from here (ba
Ck in the cradle of democracy) it’s another banner year for a cottage industry Ёc a
ritual at the corner of george and constantine — as foundries scramble to recast his
decapitated monument.
