[The EZLN and zapatista translations are still securely tucked into the Library. And just to demonstrate that I am not currently doing Bank Holidays, there is another new one this evening. For your pleasure. Always.]
I know I should be writing about New Orleans, but since I’ve already let slip where I’m currently located, it might be obvious that I’m inundated with the images and words for 18 hours of my day. And the other six they find their way, some way, into my dreams.
And since I so despise the stating of the obvious, and everything about this horror is so eminently obvious, what does it leave?
That it’s the stuff of levée en masse, perhaps? Not just in New Orleans, not hardly in New Orleans, not with that level of horror and destruction. No, it’s the images and sudden outbursts of truth and outrage in the media that could shock the masses into paying attention, if even for a moment.
Just to see Anderson Cooper, for god’s sake, berating and pounding the idiot blonde simpering senator into the ground – yes, I know, just a momentary lapse of good sense. She was picked up the next hour by CNN’s own simpering blonde sycophant for a little kiss and make up/out session.
The mayor is brilliant, in every possible way, and that’s all.
The death toll will probably be several times higher than at the WTC, but the dead don’t speak and this nation’s deep underclass will never matter the tiniest whit to any single one of those persons whose business it is to rape or to those in the media whose business it is to bend over and take it with a rueful, or perky, grin.
I was correct, I should not have addressed the subject, not here.
Tomorrow back to the business at hand, perchance a little chat about the conjunction of love letters with well-crafted agitprop.