Doomsday

There is nothing good to be said for where we are. All is destruction. Death and disaster. From the petty opportunism of rip offs and cheats, to the tragic death of the innocents and naïve. Teens killed on the city streets, random bombing of those far off, with ‘civilian casualties’ every day. I am sure this perpetual disaster is not pre-ordained, not prescribed, not always already anticipated in Kali-Yug, or the annals of nations (this has happened before, it will happen again). But the pigeons come home to roost in friendly fire, in the farcical rerun of Vietnam in Iraq, in the endless unwinnable wars of Afghanistan; as the criminal class lords it above, as Rome itself burns again. The horror of death that recurs throughout every imperial, colonial, commercial crime turns itself now into the annual bonus, the stock market gain, the dow/nasdaq/city index. The register of despair ignored and excused renders optimism obscene. I’ve run hours in the morning through empty streets thinking there’s no point, there’s no good reason, there’s no chance the flab will be shed, the years melt away, the prospects clear, the weather look fine, the war be over, the peace break out. I can’t tell you be patient, be strong, the good will prevail. They won’t, they’re dead. Killed in a stupid sacrificial suicidal frenzy. Thank fuck they’ve gone, now we can get on with stuff.

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Comments

  • Maria Technosux  On 27/08/2007 at 07:45

    Well, half the woods (or what was left of them after the last forrest fires in) my home country are destroyed in flames at the moment, whether that’s arsonists or real estate developers (spot the difference!) sooo…

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  • John Hutnyk  On 27/08/2007 at 11:07

    Yes, terrible – Greece today seems like Ash Wednesday in in Australia where, on my brithday in 1983, large parts of Victoria were wipedout, including most of Cockatoo where I my girlfriends’ family was (they were among the very lucky few). There were arsonists then too – and it reminds me that all through my early years there were whispered stories of our local fireman lighting fires so his team had something to be heroes about. That changed I think after many of them died in 83. Being heroic as dialectic seems strange, but true. Gaston Bachelard’s psychoabalysis of fire to be deployed – so easy to light, so hard to put out = fascination.
    J

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  • Victor  On 27/08/2007 at 19:23

    where did your fire go to? if you don’t have it, who does? I remember Peter P. once saying something about “that guy never gives up”. so what’s this dark scenario you are painting. paint it black. no, c’mon baby light my (yours and everybody’s) fire, try to set the john on fire, try to re-torch johnny boy again…….

    don’t seem to remember the rest of the song……

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  • John Hutnyk  On 28/08/2007 at 07:37

    Gone to the Dark Side (break on through…)

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