What Will You Tell Them?

( – promoted by buhdydharma )

If there’s still enough time, if it’s not too late, if you haven’t given up, if you can find the words, if you haven’t run out of words, if you haven’t been silenced, banned, exiled because too many Obamabots profusely supportive admirers of Barack at GOS and other bizarre locations don’t want to hear the truth, don’t want to deal with it, can’t bear to look at it, won’t acknowledge it because he is their last refuge, their final sanctuary, the only source of hope they have left in this betrayed wreck of a country.            

How many times do they have to see Obama stumble down the side of that Misty Moderate Mountain before these people realize he’s not the Moses of the Democratic Party, before they finally understand he’s not leading us to the Promised Land, he’s just plunging us deeper into the Valley of Centrism Death, where lies and self-delusion reign and the truth is never heard.  It shouldn’t be so hard for them to figure out how this is all going to end if progressives back down again, if we take one for the team again, if we let K Street’s bought and paid for hacks pass this healthcare “reform” atrocity.  

You don’t have to walk and crawl on six crooked highways for the rest of your life to know where we’ve been and where we’re going next, an IQ of 50 and two functioning eyes are all that’s necessary to confirm that those crooked highways are just an endless corporate tollway to nowhere and that it’s our job to keep paying for the trip.  

You don’t have to step in the middle of seven sad forests to see the darkness closing in all around us, you don’t have to stand on the shores of a dozen dead oceans to know that time is running out.  If you haven’t seen enough yet, if you’re still fired up, if you’re still ready to go, bring a shovel along, you’ll need it.   But leave your conscience behind, you won’t be needing that.  

Why?  

Here’s why.  

America’s heading ten-thousand miles into the mouth of a graveyard, 30,000 dead men walking just saluted the latest Corporate Puppet of Pennsylvania Avenue and are leading the way.  So support the dead men walking troops.  They’re defending America, where the public option was a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it until they ripped it to shreds, where economic recovery’s a highway of fake diamonds with nobody on it, where torture’s a black branch with blood that keeps dripping, where the Pentagon’s full of men with their hammers a-bleeding, where Democrats are ten thousand talkers whose tongues are all broken.

Obama must be fucking deaf if he can’t hear the sound of that thunder as it roars out a warning, if he can’t hear the roar of that wave that’ll drown the whole world, if he can’t hear all those Drummers of Deceit whose hands are a-blazing.  We’ve heard it.  We’ve heard it all.  It’s raining, Obama.  It’s raining hard.  It’s going to keep raining hard, the thunder is deafening, the lightning will strike, Karma is coming and you will reap what you’ve sown.    

I’ve been on more progressive blogs than I can count.  I found no solutions, but I met a young child beside a dead pony.  His name was Kos.  He crashes gates and stuff.  Sort of.  I met a white man who walked a black dog, I met a young man who was wounded in love, I met another man who was wounded in hatred, I met a young woman whose body was burning, collateral damage in a flame war still raging.  

I don’t read the front pagers any more.  I read the words of people who’ve never made a recc list and never will.  That’s where I heard the song of a poet who’ll die in a gutter, where I met a young girl who gave me a rainbow.  That rainbow keeps me going.  It’s the only thing that keeps me going.  

Here’s one for you.

You’ll need a rainbow.  We’re all going to need a rainbow to guide us, a beacon of truth as we walk through the depths of this deepest dark forest, where the people are many and their hands are all empty, where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters, where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison, where the executioner’s face is always well hidden.

Same executioner, different hood.  Same sentence, different judge.  Same Beltway, different slogans. Same lies, different liars.  Same wars, different victims.  Meet the future, same as the past.  Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.  You won’t need a map, we’ve been here before, where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten, where black is the color, where none is the number, where Baucus is Cornyn and Cornyn is Baucus, where Geithner is Paulson and Paulson is Geithner, where betrayal reigns, where democracy is null and void, where the clusterfuck never ends, where change never begins, where hope goes to die and those bastards all bury it.