Land of Waste

A spoken word poem about my time in Iraq (and after) I wrote and performed in college. – Trentnificent

In the stupid little microcosm in which I exist I wield weapons of technology and balled up fist, and for what?
 
Because I’ve been ostracized and hated then willfully indoctrinated and re-calibrated to respond to stimuli with extremity of violence that leaves no one alive and now I’ve got
Power?
 
Power over the now silent people I’ve murdered to ensure that one cause desists and another is furthered? Maybe we could cut through the distortion, instead of callin’ it killin’ call it late term abortion. Standing over some 15 year old kid, brains all over the block, look what I did.
 
Just how far will I go in a wasteland of morals and desert tribespeople whose stories are orally passed down through centuries father to son, how many stories can I fuckin’ end with a gun (Hollywood told me it’s fun) before admitting that power reproduces in cycles, and my participation reinforces the power of idols?
 
Standing and listening to the binary rhetoric spouted to ranks of young people looking for a check, scanning the faces of impressionable recruits, I hear Obi-Wan say
“only a Sith deals in absolutes.”
 
So what has become of so many cast ballots which resulted in ammo stacked sky high on pallets and shipped to be fired at the poorest of people? Do you really believe that the enemy is evil?
You tell me motherfuckers.
 
Cause I was the one who went over to silence a surge of insurgence with bone splitting speed and commitment to violence based on an undefined need for revenge against
someone.
 
Doesn’t really matter who I guess, ship me out ship me home with new bling on my chest in a plane or a ship or a flag covered box, then have a fuckin’ parade and parade me on Fox and don’t worry about why or the justification just enjoy the sweet satisfaction of your cozy safe nation and know that the people embroiled in the battle are only as real as your burgers are cattle.
 
And the people being freed?
The lucky recipients of gun powder democracy? Yeah they said thanks, the hood is much prettier with soldiers and tanks. Endless ranks of Barneys and Franks, just doin’ a job no need to give thanks for laying your families bodies on planks.
 
Saddam was a piece of shit, no denyin’. But in all his time, never was shrapnel flyin through the cities and towns like it fuckin’ is now, Sunni and Shia strap bombs to their brothers and sisters like BLOW rather than be ruled by outsiders.
Ruled coldly and hollowly by invaders and airspace raiders who take aim at your town and reduce it to craters then hand you a flag all serious and solemnly, this here’s how you trade
Ramses for Ptolemy.
 
Then for me the war is over.
Now I come home and it don’t look the same. It’s America only in name. Balls deep in campaigns of sectarian non-violence, the rich sect complain at the poor sects non-silence. Half of the country is or will be in prison, and access to a doctor is now socialism?
 
What did I pledge allegiance to? Look at your beacon of freedom, work 40 hours and the kids? You can’t feed ‘em. CEO (who has bankers in Sweeden) says that he’ll have to cut hours you see ‘cause part-time gets no health care benefits say the powers that be. Of course, he can’t give up a house or a yacht, summers in Lyon when the Keys are too hot. And the poor folks don’t think that the rich folks still own us, no presents this year kids, the boss needs his bonus.
 
I see it for what it is now, a bunch of greedy bitches. Self-obsessed children with big degrees in business. And maybe that’s what’s gone so wrong with this nation, learning how to fuck people over constitutes an education.

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