"Ring-Side Negotiation" in THE HOLY LAND
"HOLY SHIT!"
We need change, we need order, if not affordable cable television and credible news personalities to match, much less tough-talkin' coin-flippers around the darker sumps of geopolitical "hot-spots" that most decent folks are embarrassed to talk about. Most of the antics I've seen around the inflamed, fist-pounding or dare I say-- even "FIST-less" negotiation table, because some suicide bomber is waving around a bloody stump in gangrenous accusation is about that sorriest assortment of juvenile characters I've ever seen-- from Europe carrying on like simpering "sacks o' shit" trying to be high-minded, to barreling, bustling Christian fundamentalists who want to turn the Muslim's sacred ground "into a parking lot" to bring about the rise of the predestined, apocalyptic order that signals "the tribulation" of seven trumpets and seven seals, with the Islamic fundamentalists carrying around a glorious conception of hell no less punishing in an all-consuming TOTALITY, what we need is a broker of "commonsense".
The situation is not helped by screwball leftists "blowing bubbles" through hoops to express the ultimate transience in the universe, when the only thing the inflamed mob understands is A) A child's bloody shirt or B) A turd floating in the drinking supply. Folks out there have to understand that walls n' checkpoints exist for a reason, that there is "a method to that madness" rooted far more in "commonsense" than what your artists, poets, rock stars, and cafe street urchins skipping about to scratchy, duped, third-rate techno-funk can bring themselves "to understand". You must understand that power is a game. . . . . a costume of appearances, a stern face "that walks the line" and upholds "integrity". And those who feel as if their power is in a precarious position, along with what I call "the diseased victim's neurosis", then you have the worst problems of all. . . . . when you're unable to face some of the sterner truths of the world, other than a right-wing Mickey Mouse fable, and only hold your hand up to your head when the other side votes in a revolutionary organization at its first stumble at democracy and draws cartoons of Anne Frank being skull-fucked by Rudolf Hess on a concentration camp Hollywood lot.
South Africa wasn't a pretty place with the oppressive subcurrents of denial and aristocratic contempt, but it is certainly "a far sight better" than what we have today. . . . . a failed state of anarchy and lawlessness, whose course pretty much turned out to be "inevitable" once you gave the ignorant, chanting mob such an idea that "they could take MORE & MORE without limits" and there was no discipline or "will-to-integrity" to hold them back as the world pretended to think the high-minded thing and could not level with "the jungle of human affairs" down in the back alleys and kept off the news by Cokie Roberts and "the candy-ass" press.
Israel doesn't need to press the other side into admitting "its own right to exist"; it just is through "force of might" which is what decides things and writes the history books, asides from the sweet, rotted sump "of emotional projection". It needs to uphold its scrappy integrity, not as the overly-talkative, existentially-puzzled "school bully" all of 120 lbs wavering between evil, macho grins "of one-upmanship" and complete whimsical surrender of tulip-plucking elderlies. . . . . but a noble, lionly realist which moves with slowness, majesty, and grace. To be simple about it, "buy the other side off" with an offer too good to refuse.
Pointed humor, "pulling
the rug out" from beneath your opponent before they can elocute
endlessly on and on "with the sword of Saladin" up in the air like
the oily blow-hard most of these types really turn out to be.
Say, an Arab husband orders his wife around the house, dressed head-to-toe in her burka or whatever, and imposes all types of ridiculous commands.
"And now balance on one foot with this frozen steak resting on your forehead just so"
Once he orders her "to go crap in the corner" because it's some kind of stipulated tradition, and she stands in the doorway, about to leave. . . . . he threatens to stab himself with a dagger. If she does, it doesn't "go too deep" with a "OOOOHHH!!!" and he's carted off to the hospital, very embarrassed.
What makes men pinched is to feel "unbearably small". When "there aren't enough good jobs n' good women to go around". Opportunity kills off the worst of the poison, but saccharine and fuzzy Steven Spielberg-type thinking doesn't address those harder, shadowed truths when a young man has to make a decision in his life "not to be underweight anymore"-- whether emotionally, socially, physically, or psychologically. Because if it's anything I learned, and had to come with terms with "up here" in my head, it was that life was not like a Mickey Mouse 1980's "after-school" universe. Grow a mane, roar with pride, because everyone has to understand that this putrid, curdled adolescence is over. Thank you.
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"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
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(Rheeee of Crickets)
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("I heard that, Missy!")
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