Do you imagine the sound of revolution, coming out of the mouths of those who cause revolution to occur, sounding much like battle cries. Or, are they the tendency of irritated men to see fit to change circumstances. For what is America, but the entitlement that this all belongs to us. That which we stole, and worked on with other hands, that it belongs to us out of sheer might and violence. So much violence.
It wouldn't surprise me to see the Declaration written in the blood of the poor, of indigenous, slaves. It would not be shocking to me to see the eyes roll of submissive housewives, and daughters as all-men shouted great hoorays. What a wonder it is then, that we pretend we were ever great, yet great at causing great violence.
That great exploitation of promising the working class the world and stripping it from them, or that's the illusion for how much of it actually was there's to begin with. How ingenious to turn the poor man against his African neighbor, to ensure that the lower class didn't form its own force to smite the elite with gods holy-fist. To make a middle class feel superior, while still holding back a majority of savory crumbs. What an ingenious exploitation.
But see it too, the way some of that promise came true. How rich the nation was, and how fortunate it that it had an ocean to shield it from the brunt of World Wars, and to come out super powered more than it could have imagined it would be, by the good fortune that the world burned. The promises though, came true for some, but only after much violence. After civil wars, after lynching's, after economic collapses and starvation, after pandemics.
How the carrot is dangled in the face of a poor boy, like me, to go out, get an education, become anything you want to be. How the higher classes look down on the poor boys, like me, and see only social climbers. I was told to climb that ladder, but what they don't tell you is they don't truly want you there, then they may have to admit, maybe the working-poor aren't all lazy, aren't all stupid, aren't all Neanderthals.
It's a wonder, in our pursuit of life and liberty we justify so much murder, shootings, stabbings. America loves violence, in our media, and on our lawns, but especially on our lawns. Our streets lined with sovereign citizens, and the rubber bullets bouncing off heads, and AR-15's shooting rounds from would be vigilante-wannabe-punks that penetrate faces. Silence lives, stop hearts.
What a twisted place this country is, has been, how much they spruced up the more unseemly branches of our history, to make us toe tap in time to the rhythms of that old state song, that old Star Spangled Banner song. How kneeling in prayer is virtuous and good, but kneeling in solidarity is an affront to a flag. To mourn the promise of what that flag is to represent, and test that freedom of speech bubble, and whoa, see how fast it bursts with a thousand pin pricks, of people who'd like to string 'em up, dead.
America is violence. Kids stuffed in cages. People stuffed on reservations. In interment camps. As they tell us we are good. And those planes, like missiles exploding up our towers, and we ignore the savagery we perpetrated on their grounds, and how if it was us, and has been us we retaliate on their ground just the same. No justification for murder, but it is a hypocritical people who vote for blatant sexist-liar prince who is responsible for hundreds of thousands dead. Base voting on economic turn around, at the expense of lives, of the poor.
What a bloodied soil we stand on. It is not fashionable to hold your country accountable, it is more fashionable to let it bend you over and rape you, and to be so abused by it, that you have to say that yes, you like being used, no matter how much it hurts you, and you hurt others by your lack of introspection. America is violence.
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