How the Bush Administration made me an Alcoholic

I was a freshman in college in 2001...

Didn't know what the World Trade Center was...
Because I was a child in a foreign country...
Without Upper-Lower-White-Middle-Class American news
or Upper-Lower-Middle-Class American people around.

I didn't care that I didn't know.
Blissful ignorance was the only thing Upper-Lower-Middle-Class American
about me.

What started as a radio
rushed in and mounted like an antenna'd idol
in chemistry lab,
Turned into multiple mutually-worshipped
televisions.
Each plugged in and improvised
all along my campus walk.
They sprouted tiny crowds...
obediently bowing their heads.
One woman was crying.

At first I thought the plane was a glider or a tiny two personed doctor-wing.
Why else would a plane accidentally fly into a large building?

I had no idea that passenger jet liners were actually
stealable usable fuel-loaded, winged bombs.
I had no idea that the WTO was a symbol
of American economic neo-colonialism abroad.
I had no idea that the attack was not only predictable
but warrented.

I found all that out later.

It was not an attack on America.
It was an attack on America's greedy self-appointed owners.
Once again...
Poor men are fighting off an attack on the Rich.
An attack on years of shitty CIA
sneaky-assed selfish
cock-sucking shortsighted
foreign policy.

Think about it,
everything I just wrote is more offensive than
language ever will be.
Yes, even the fuck word.

Bush didn't see it coming because he didn't think
America was capable of wrong.
Just like he thinks about himself.

That's what happens when the History Of Golden Unicorns is taught
Instead of the history of American History.

I saw the building fall, people died live
for me on a big screen
The news anchors were cuming their pants live
for me in Hi-Def.
I was sitting alone
back row of an auditorium.
There hadn't been anything else to do...
my classes were canceled.
And so I saw it
all come down,
Watched my fantasy world go pop,
and thank _insert-dead-guy-of-your-choice-here_ for it
cause I deplored it.

As a believer in the History of Golden Unicorns,
I had voted for Bush in '00.

* I will never forgive myself for that *

I had voted with my parents because Bush was a Christian...
and so was I.

My world view was a tree
with pretty leaves that changed color
in season.
I became very large suddenly and
pulled up my tree
by the roots.

Grew another tree.
Taller, stronger, brighter, more beautiful...
But much Sadder.
A Weeping Strong Tree.

I learned how to self-medicate.

It was easy to distance myself from this land.
America was as foreign to me as Africa.

I was the UN the ANTI
Amerikkka.

But now I see
America needs a voice like me.

Like the rando who accidentally insinuated
that Americans were blue-haired, blonde-eyed
un-tye-dyed.
Arianated...
Made me realize I hated
it when people told fibs...
without knowin it.

I AM American... and I am taking it back...
out of uncapable hands.

Back from Bush
who made it patriotic to invade
Like a band-aid
out of pain.
Cool to use bomb-smoke to screen...
Who tortured...
TORTURED... a brown farmer from Afghanistan
brought in by ex-Taliban.
but somehow forgot
to waterboard Madoff.

American Foreign Policy = Rape the Unrepresented, Undefended.

This Prince is so detached
He can't hide his nepotistical ass.
He said FEMA did a solid.
He said Mission Accomplished.

He wanted to help people in this "part of the world"
standing in New Orleans, with sleeves rolled up.

You can take the businessman out of the government,
but you can't take the business out of anything.

A guy once screamed at me...
"America is the best country!"
He believed it Fair,
Had never gone anywhere.
Expert.
Like our President.

Bush, I didn't know how to deal with you.
I drank a lot, cussed a lot.

But I'm finding my voice.
So watch out.

Upcoming: Why Bush Should Be Arrested and Put on Trial.

Night Life

Back to quiet mornings
Three a.m. sweeping binges
Sore feet.

The life of a closing barkeep
once again belongs to me.

Some new things to try:
--Waking up early and taking naps...
to keep a little sun in my life
--Making a few new drinks.
--Job searching on the side.
--Writing every day... expect some posts on beer and food.

First Kill

Last night, I watched a documentary on Hunter S. Thompson.
In addition to writing, hallucinating, and starting gonzo journalism,
he enjoyed guns... hated the NRA (of which he was a member)... but loved guns.

It reminded me of my first gun experience:
Dusk in Montana...
bouncing up a mountain road after work.
The sun plummeted below tree-spiked ridge lines.

Pam propped the 270 rifle on pillows atop her car hood.
I remember bracing for the recoil, listening to instructions,
through stuffed ear-holes.

The trigger obeyed smoothly
And my scope encircled target briefly flamed...
Like a match...
becoming the sun in my eye.
BOOM - Boom -- boom the canyon announced.

I knew I hadn't flinched and ran to find the two holes I had punched
through cardboard
from 50 yards away.

"Getting one as soon as possible"
I noted to myself and grinned.

The twilight was all but gone,
Shadows spilled out onto the open ground...
pooling like rising water...
and all were shades of gray and black.

The last shot was mine,
and the cross-haired target was barely there.
I exhaled waves of an echoing Crack
laced with the odor of spent gunpowder
and then came the tiny white flakes.
From above
they floated all around us.

"Is it snowing??"

Couldn't be that cold.
Nope, it wasn't snow.

A tiny corner of the support pillow had reached up to block my barrel,
leaving the scope sight free.

Of course,
the hungry bullet ate through CAMO fabric with one jagged bite,
launching a sack of Styrofoam pellets skyward
and freeing them to cascade down in stillness.
Like so many snowflakes
or falling stars.

I bagged my first kill.
Proudly I strutted my prize
through the kitchen.

"Hey hey!" said chef Brian,
"Got a Grouse?"

"Nope"
I raised my trophy with flourish.

"I shot a pillow."

Consume

Curious,
she looked at me with half a smile
Somehow knowing my intentions were not the obvious.

"Can I help you find anything, sir?"

Just browsing.

Perhaps I had failed to hide my amusement
dodging jostled single-purposed bodies.
I watched and took notes.

The distant back corner of Target was busy.
Shelves were dismantled
And random merchandise
had consolidated themselves
in diminishing space.

The "Chili Cook-off Champion Set" neighbored disco ball ornaments.
An entire stand was nothing but Italian novelty chocolates.

What an odd cornucopia of Christmas commodities.
The Island of Misfit Toys may have survived this year's wrapping,
But were in danger, invaded by next year's deal-hunters.

Like nausea from eating too much candy,
The plastic poinsettias framed bad gifts
that had lost their luster...
replaced by 75% off signs.

The clash erupted
an air of panic and earnestness.
Bloodhounds craze bound to the scent.
Quick to get their fake snow-dust fix.

No harm meant to them who smartly shop.
They expose such holy materialism
By cutting corners,
shopping after others
are eggnog hangover hazed.
Supply and no demand:
The All-American Morning After Holidays.

I watched and smiled
seeing our culture's shroud
part to reveal the mating dance
of such relevancy:
Religion and Currency
Christ and Economy.

I happily waved adieu
to the Christmas Shopping season of '08.
Blood at the beginning,
Rich people still bitching
That we didn't buy enough.

This post is dedicated to the memory of Jdimytai Damour:
Trampled to death in a Wal-Mart by crazed shoppers on Black Friday '08.
“It was crazy,” said a worker in the electronics department who was in the store during the stampede. “The deals weren’t even that good.”
MSNBC article