(Sentiments like this, not stories about Acoustic Kitties, ought to be at the top of the page tonight – promoted by Unitary Moonbat)
Too many New Year’s Eves will come and go before humanity drinks from that Cup of Kindness Robert Burns spoke of in his classic poem, “Auld Lang Syne”. Tragically, that moment may never come to pass, but if it does someday, it will be because people in this troubled world finally listened to poets, writers, singers and songwriters, and heeded the words of truth and wisdom they’ve been offering ever since the first warrior of the first king died for nothing on the first battlefield.
In Artists of Resistance, Howard Zinn emphasizes the social and political importance of modern poets and painters, singers, songwriters, novelists and playwrights, for they can speak to the world with an artistic eloquence that transcends standard political discourse. Their ability to communicate universal truths on a deeply personal level through compelling poetry, prose and music is not only inspiring, it insulates them against reactionary assault as they defend the oppressed and condemn their oppressors.
As our world descends into chaos, artists are struggling to reclaim the influence they once had on society, but their voices can rarely be heard above the din of distracting noise blaring day and night from several billion tv’s, radios, CD players, iPods, computer games, cell phones, and other electronic wonders purchased with such compulsion and “paid for” with plastic. Artists will always strive to be the conscience of the human race, but hundreds of millions of
human beings corporate propaganda targets have been psychologically conditioned with such pervasive intensity by Madison Avenue marketers that reactionary economic and political elites from Washington to Beijing no longer have to oppress them, they’re oppressing themselves.
Eddie Vedder has some thoughts to share with us regarding this dehumanizing self-oppression that’s been spreading like a viral infection through the bloodstream of humanity . . .
Every time our trustworthy media broadcasts the lies of the fascist fornicators responsible for this globalized clusterfuck, my thoughts begin to bleed. This presents me with two choices. I can either write an essay, or join the commuters riding in scenic splendor down I-666, where everyone ends up at the same destination no matter which exit they take . . .
Playwright Eugene O/Neill experienced similar cerebral discomfort in 1942 when the pre-fascist Allied powers were fighting the currently fascist Axis powers because the economic elites of these warring nations hadn’t conceived of globalization yet, and didn’t realize that exploiting billions of people until they’re dead would be much more cost-effective and profitable than killing millions of each other’s workers on battlefields. As the carnage of that global conflict intensified, O’Neill observed that neither the cannon makers nor the cannon fodder seemed to be even remotely aware of their mutually destructive stupidity:
It is like acid always burning in my brain that the stupid butchering of the last war taught men nothing at all, that they sank back listlessly on the warm manure pile of the dead and went to sleep, indifferently bestowing custody of their future, their fate, into the hands of state departments, whose members are trained to be conspirators, card sharks, double-crossers, and secret betrayers of their own people; into the hands of greedy capitalist ruling classes so stupid they could not even see when their own greed began devouring itself; into the hands of that most debased type of pimp, the politician, and that most craven of all lice and job-worshippers, the bureaucrats.
O’Neill not only possessed immense literary talent and perceptive powers of observation, he had the moral courage to tell the harsh truth about the degeneration of human society and its suicidal submission to debased pimps parading around as leaders. He didn’t sugarcoat the truth with polite euphemisms, he had no interest in indulging hypocrites or in currying favor with “realists” too busy admiring their imaginary sophistication to notice all the blood on their hands.
I’ve noticed the blood on their hands, and I’m going to keep on noticing it.
Unlike some blogs, where electing more and better types of debased pimp politicians has been ordained as the solution to this planetary clusterfuck caused by supporting debased pimp politicians who pretend they’re not debased pimp politicians, Docudharma encourages a different approach featuring actual thinking, which has been known to provide actual solutions.
Here’s a solution with some potential:
And here’s a New Year’s resolution with some potential:
No more turning away,
From the pale and downtrodden.
No more turning away,
From the weak and the weary.
No more turning away,
From the coldness inside.
Be artists, be writers, be poets,
Be the new wind of change
On the wings of the night.