this debt ceiling, these markets, the financial ups and downs, taxes and politics, fear and demographics, a burning earth under clouds of methane, the promises of a democracy for the wealthy, and the sacrifices of everyone else; everything is collapsed, everything is not and it’s all, well, it’ll all end in just a little, coming quicker in the promise of a little bit of violence, a burning car on the corner, a brick in your face, a little bit of hurt, a man at your door holding a knife or a bat or a gun and telling you: you don’t get to decide, you don’t get to tell me anymore… a man black or brown or masked or dirty or just plain too tired, he’s coming: that’s what i think.
and i’m scared.
of it and him and… what i’ll have to do then and if i won’t be able to.
this mayor fuck in florida, he’s just an example, telling poor people they don’t get the help they need because he doesn’t think it’s right… they’re gonna figure it out, they’ll realize it and realize what’s happening, when they become suddenly tired of being told by some rich white man who thinks he’s their dad and herding them into corners and there’s a time when they walk into the offices of their government carrying guns, not paper, and all of a sudden everything everywhere explodes and all of a sudden no one’s buying ysl bags in china town and kanye west will’ve left the country, and netjets will be sold out, time shares on the wing, sold out and all of everyone who could having flown for some other borders besides ours.
you tell me, when the swat teams are on the street and m16′s and tear gas’re in the subways, you tell me what it’s gonna fucking matter who you voted for and who gives a fuck about what you think about marx and einstein and if you even know how to spell plutocracy.
we’ve seen it and it’s happening now and we want to think it’s somewhere different, somewhere like london, syria, egypt, libya, bahrain; somewhere like not here, like it’s going to happen on the block down your street, and what will you do? what will you do? when it is here. when you hear the sounds of unrest and when you smell the sulfur of dissatisfaction?
they will slaughter us, the poor. while we listen to katy perry and biggy smalls and run for our escalades, they will wrap our children’s necks in plastic and hang them from the trees of our park lined blocks. they will drag us behind their cars and burn us from their mountains. they will execute their anger against this wild injustice that is nothing but a temporary mirage of civilization.
my friends, i’m telling you, this tea party is over, this dream is called. this short is long and the markets won’t matter a damn when they fucking tell us they can’t eat any more…
i’m afraid. scared. i have water in my basement and rations in a bag; whistles waiting and bars of gold just in case. a friend of mine is waiting for his shotgun to be delivered and i’m waiting too, our mutual safety depending on access to the boat. i’ve got a zodiac in jamaica bay waiting to take me to connecticut; i’ve got a gas mask under my desk and a fiberglass tactical tomahawk in my hand: when it comes to getting me and mine out, i guess it just comes down to if i’m willing to put the metal in someone else’s temple.
which is what it’s seeming it all comes down to anyway.