How has 9-11 affected me? I’m thinking we’d better stop fighting and start working on surviving, or we’re all about to take private lessons on what it really means to hate life.
Polar water is lapping up around our ankles as our children look up at us for guidance. But we have no answers. Only desperate dreams that somehow it’ll all work out. But it won’t… that’s what we’re really thinking. That’s what we secretly tell ourselves in quiet moments in the dark. We long for tender love from the light hand, a touch that gives confidence and hope. But these days… these fast hard days in hell’s twilight… even that’s not enough. Can we live vicariously in our past? Can we hide in the mystery of our fantasies, pull the covers over our head and hope the boogie man will go away?
We have seen the end… the little girl in the pink overcoat… wandering around the chaos and the angry city, all on her own. She goes back to where she last saw her mother and lays under the bed to pray. The next morning they haul out her little bullet riddled body, still clutching her blood soaked pink taffeta doll, and toss her on the cart to the dump.
Every parent’s nightmare. Every child’s final realization. The Earth has become a harsh mistress and human is no longer kind.
Global warming, Arabs arming, fanatics swarming, Nuclear morning; its a brand new day
get your marijuana, beat your mama, fuck whores in the sauna, don’t do nothing you don’t wanna; but you will anyhow.
Take stock, suck cock, blow your brains out with a Glock; oh, you’re shocked?
teens on dope, the anti-Christ is a pope, you have no hope, we’re all at the end of our rope;
9-11 is a farce, the facts are sparse, too many things to parse, fuck I’m lost;
God is crying, the baby is frying, no more flying, no use lying; we’re all dying in the hand basket to hell.
Hope they let the sinners in.