Sodomites or prostitutes, pimps or politicians, citizens or repeat offenders? Who are we in the prison-house of state? To state or not to state, that has become the question of every soap box in America. Every state is a kind of prison, one more overt than another. We believe silence is golden, the only way to get something back from the powers that be, from the powers that ream, as if it were a literal sodomy the state performs on us . . . we are all willing to be prison punks for the State, getting a little something as long as we take it all the way deep.
Judge not and you will be judged anyway. I know I have a beam in my eye, and I will say I have a beam in my eye; but I can’t help but tell my neighbor he has a speck in his as well as me having a beam in my own. Sometimes it seems pretty petty, other times ringing true. I’m not talking about neighbors with specks in their eyes, plenty of them as may be, but all about the ones with the main mast of a Yankee clipper ship in their eye. I’ve known plenty with beams big beams of their own so why my silence stay silent muzzled as we are we cannot expect to stay free; it’s the sane man who yells when locked up in the nut house . . .
This little man, this John Doe of another name still shouts loudly and boldly, believing he must, if need there is, to be the last man shouting into the void in defense of human dignity integrity the individual human life is macrocosm to all institutions moneyed social political. So why have we become mute? Silence is the peace bought with the price of our bondage. Sodomy by sadists; sodomy in the prison house is sodomy among gorillas.
J’acuse Wall Street, J’acuse Hollywood, J’acuse major league sports. All of them I accuse; but mostly, j’acuse American Politics and Politicians. Why, some may ask, do I shout so? I shout as I do about the state of the state because we who support it passively . . . the sins I commit by omission.
We abdicate responsibility to the people, everyone one of us becoming good publicans in the Republic for which we stand in opposition to ourselves; the American Empire has its orisons as well as its perceivable horizons all prayers descend in the parallax. We do pray before icons of media and state as devoutly as medieval christians before statues of the Holy Family, genuflecting I still perform at the top of the knave of a church at the opposite end of the altar above which usually hangs a crucifix. Americans no less before their secular altars I see; praying that the sadists will be a little gentler the next time they rape them in the ass, or praying for the strength to accept a dick in the ass they do not want.
The Falling Leaf Review 