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Dystopia Blues – Who Will Write a Song about Ice Caps Melting When All Music Dies?

Paul Haeder: I will continue the fight, all the laurels thrown back at the undeserving, so many of the punishment and superficial class seated in their fourth grade educations (like Mr. Trump) or limelighted in the heat of the reckless "higher halls of academia" highlighted by the media monsters that are in the back-pockets of the millionaire and billionaire class.

This Narrative Poem—Dystopia Blues—Who Will Write a Song about Ice Caps Melting When All Music Dies?—IS the next part of Terminal Velocity. Here, too, photos that might depict some of those feelings and attributive themes in the piece. Note that the Last Part, IX—Sky Women Falling to Earth, is now a single poem just published in the classy and new volume of, Cirque --A Literary Journal for the North Pacific Rim.

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My photographer: Makenna Haeder is 20 years old, lives in Spokane, born in El Paso, raised by me and her mother. She is in a group show in Spokane, Five Women Photographers.

Her spirit is eco-socialist, Zen and a troubadour for goodness and deep reflection in her art. She is of this generation, in the depths of a 7.5 billion humanity killing planet. She is in the center of a small town and tree-filled county going through growth spasms—white flight from California, the investor class dumping investments into a place they will never call home, and a people thinking they want the moose, cougar, bears, trees, but who learn the way of bulldozing and planting invasive species to make home look like some Martha Stewart country dream.

For now, the little town of Spokane is her sheltering sky, but her vision is that of artist and wanderer, and she is ready to blossom—explode—into the next new woman hidden in her spiritual chrysalis.

Makenna haeder 451

Many of my cohorts—59 to 65—Baby-boomers know we were sold a bill of goods, and some of us never fought hard enough to keep the controllers' straight jacket from drumming us with anoxia of the soul. Some of us fought and fought, and tried and tried that consensus nonsense, and we railed and railed against baby-steps mentality, but many of us are now aging Baby-boomers in the sights of the controllers, precarious workers, no safety nets, working our asses off and fingers to the bone.

I am writer, ecologist, teacher, photographer, poet, father, giver, and Man Lost of Tribe, first, but then I put on the overalls that take me into the belly of many beasts in flagging downtown Portland, Oregon—rape, PTSD, full-throttle addiction, mental breakdowns, failing bodies, victims of the felony industry, fallen children once, some the products of life in hell at two years of age, some prostituting at 13 years of age.

I will continue the fight, all the laurels thrown back at the undeserving, so many of the punishment and superficial class seated in their fourth grade educations (like Mr. Trump) or limelighted in the heat of the reckless "higher halls of academia" highlighted by the media monsters that are in the back-pockets of the millionaire and billionaire class. The world has to be reinvented, reclaimed, retrenched, and maybe enough of the sensitive ones like my 20 year old daughter will break through the gossamer of narcolepsy that is the defining disease of a consumer-warring-superficial-pursuit-of-any-happiness society that has been built with the blood of native peoples squeezed into the mortar of our facades, our buildings, as we have constructed roads paved with crushed bones of the good earth people . . . and we will find reckoning, in ourselves and with new generations who will throw out all the pigs of finance and lords of war.

Enjoy these photos by her, and they will continue to pepper my Terminal Velocity—Man Lost of Tribe. Experimental, poetic, journalistic, disconnected from any boiler plate literary shit that is what seems to be a country in waning's MO.

PKH, July 21, 2016

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I – She Aspires to be Renewed as Neo-Caucasian

Anglo woman looks at the sign on TV– “Bodies for Sale”
in a time when Shell is paying a million a minute for
Superbowl time, each Tagaeri and Waorani in Ecuador
eating the crude for instantaneous death
Capitalism drawn by these signs to sell organs
in the slums where a dollar a day is average
where the ghosts of the Ache in Paraguay
feel the belly ache of landowners spraying bullets at night
hogtying children and women for slavery
pushed off land so sugar and coffee and soy
rule, kings of the new seeds

She's now looking at the Macy's depiction of beauty
negative size 1, airbrushed and a whiteness like hers
like alkaline of receding rivers flaking on stones
wonders where the darker ones hide, or how chubby
is real but never revealed, or where the clothes
flowing like Cinderella's pumpkin ball gown
are sewn, manufactured, Bangladesh, Ceylon, Viet Nam
or was it Honduras and Haiti and Mexico
how that child of farmers ended up squeezed in with
a thousand others stitching the signs of success – Fendi, Valentino, Armani, Versace
Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci
words that roll off tongue like melted butter, as beautiful as butterflies aloft
she wonders how it is a purse crafted of amphibian goes for $99,999
Hermes Satchel of Australian Porosus crocodile
Catherine Zeta Jones and Victoria Beckham proud owners

Alkaline sister was asked to listen to You Tube by Latina prof
hear the words of Vandana Shiva, witness the cracks in her country's
theater of the absurd of Free Markets Growing Families, each digital image capturing
another ten thousand Indian farmers, laced with death through agra-devils
poisons and fumigants, and assassin seeds like the red foam
of their own suicides, by the thousands in Shiva's country alone
torn from subsistence, broken by dwindling rain and desiccating
wells, while water barons suck dry for Everything Goes Better with
CocaCola, so these Michael Jordans and Donald Trumps
make $40,000.00 a minute for their lugubrious smiles
she wonders how she fits in, white grad's aspirations to own her own boutique
sustainable, organic, slave free, never-tested-on-animals, ethically-
sourced fabrics, wonders where the value will be added, if this is
what peers laugh at, or how it can be she flies the Skies of United
shops Target, eats fish and chips at Red Lobster, but demands cloth
free of pesticides, made for/by/in a cooperative somewhere in the Andes

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Our guera complains when the reading assignment is fire, memory of fire
Galeano, the Americas she will never know, conquest, rebellion, rape
slash and burn . . . she will tell her Chicana professor Starbucks pays and college
charges and the likes of a sustainable life is nothing but dream
like a Molotov thrown into the sky, and she wonders where it will burn
how many more useless things must a white woman do to be labor ready
sold for her syncopation with machine, something “meaningful”
in coding, maybe medical work, charging and recharging, capturing
and recapturing algorithms of insurance companies' formulas

II – All-American White High School Halfback Aspires to be His Own Boss

something in the diagnosis, HFA, hyperactive, cognitively delayed, anything
in the DSM-V to make sense of why he hates school, can't stand teachers, despises
rules and reading and ruminations, when he is all action, or activity
looking for some way to leave early, forget a diploma, move into GED, and get
to cracking on agency and independence, some money earned here and there 80 hours a week
for only a few years, gray hair, never, but something to work toward, some
business like selling stereos, specialty equipment for Harleys, maybe even UAV's
drones for the next generation, anything but history and American Lit. and that group work
he knows white boys have autism spectrum disorder five times thee . . . . more than white
girl, more than black boys, more than any of all the others, white boys get Asperger's more

he knows there must be fire where there is smoke, guys that look like him, Hannity, O'Reilly, local
all-American College Fox weather man deny the warming, see the conspiracy
so nothing doing, climate change, warming planet, more blame on things he loves – cars, motorcycles, trips to the mountains, Spring Break in Tampa, something about it all strikes him as unAmerican, unRefined, unPatriotic, unChristian,unCapitalist claiming heat
blamed on Friday night cruises, throttling the job creators for runaway planetary heat
when all life is cyclical, when not one soul with PhD has the common sense to see sun and moon
understand cycles of warm and cold, sunspots, but they are too smart for their own britches, or
maybe it is a conspiracy, all tethered to One World Domination, a plot to pull us into one global
system of control, the United Nations, all one giant communistic plot to stop the American Way of Life
because it is so damned fine and juicy and what the rest of the complainers want

then there is war, sanctuaries of boys-to-men, girls who want to be better than boys-to-men
all simple, rules, orders, regular paycheck, rules, order, sir, yes, sir, something tangible, family
where familia vanished, a place to learn, grow, symbiotically understand we are the best
no matter the mistakes, number one, no questions asked, hands down, exceptional
blessed, flagrantly creative and inventive – what the rest of the world aspires toward

except for the joint pain, ruminations of sludge hot in the eye, bombs bursting in air, secretive sessions with hypodermics, prophylactics, steroids and uppers, things to make him go 72 hours straight no bruises after being thrown around by Fallujah blasts, an art to killing, music pushed into ear canals, Zero Dark Thirty, I Fought the Law and the Law Won . . . . Anything but old angry man on the dock, mother selling thimbles at JoAnn's, sister aspiring to be piano teacher, all the wasted days kicking cans down empty rail lines, anything to leave white Appalachia or Anglo Albany, anything
but Papa Murphy's and community college hell . . . except for nightmares, sweats, those big lapses in memory, fatigue at 24, tremors, rage, all those bottles of beer on the wall, empty, something to self-medicate, maybe pot and Oxy's, and, well, except ulcerated gums, those big heaves at night, lack of taste, shadows growing longer and darker at dawn, anything but ending up in an auto parts store all smiles at $9 an hour, they come in with BMWs and a Lexus as Gold as Sunset, shifts on Sunday, but those hills in Afghanistan look like Carlsbad, and jagged peaks of Kandahar, they might be the Tetons in another time, and those people who hate him, they are farmers without farms, there for him to burn, poison, incinerate, all the things Boy Scouts told him to never ever be

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somewhere in high school the textbook operators tucked away war and revolution and the right to manifest destiny folded memory, synapses long gone from TBI . . . war for resources, O.I.L. – Operation Iraqi Liberation . . . somewhere there was a time when a white boy did May Pole Dances, built whales for Earth Day, planted trees on Arbor Day, helped the fish at Silver Creek, and he wanted to be Smoky the Bear, out there alone, fire-watcher, towers of firs and sails of eagles, he wanted that, out there building fires for the children one day, something about the land after we cleared it of Indians, something about gaining that back, the words of the clans, the tribes, anything to remember how it was the same here as Fallujah – Crow, Cheyenne, Navajo, Tohono O'odham, Apache, Blackfeet, Flathead, Lakota Sioux, the young apsiring white kid knew them better than World War Two bombers and attack planes, knew that soil and sounds and crow and owl and bear were once their people, like salmon people, he remembered, from some Navajo guy in biology junior year, some lady teacher senior year working on the tribes stories, teachers, something about an all-school assembly and some poet Jimmy Santiago Baca talking cool and tough and why prison for him was an escape he wishes upon none of them, right before he signed up, hitched up, US Marines, just to show them he could, and, wow, how many the times kids tougher than our All-American High School kid, they cried, and two other white grunts jumped the fence, three guys who put nooses around necks, and that was before in-country service provided to people his country invaded so they could smell the sweet embers of democracy burning, he wondered how many white kids on the white Autism spectrum signed on and ended up AWOL, or worse, noosed, self-imposed with a new unPatriotism

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III- Graduating to Environmental Activist

you always said you were more than your white middle class upbringing, more compassionate
so you make just enough money to be presentable to your friends all white lawyers, to that one ex-boyfriend who is an attorney, something like one thousand dollars an hour, what you make in a week, but he is decent, knows all about solar and wind and alternative fuels, read well, up to date on National Geographic and even opens up the digital world of Grist so you become “they” – white youth arguing about Hillary for President or another Bush but somewhere inside, after you go home from your job as a non-profit fighting for raptors, they all seem the same driven by oil and money, military might, this punishment society where white Ziocon bankers rule, white CEOs determine futures and where your income is bought and paid for by some liberal white benefactor, billions stashed in oil-gold-lithium-coltan futures he capitalized – hedged – on, he subsidizes another film
on polar bears melting and the arctic turning into a shipping lane year round, while still finding
time to make millions and millions in off-shore banking, millions and millions on the innards of solar panels and three diodes and six capacitors, patents pending, necessary to the wind turbine industry worldwide, but it feels like a master's in art history and double major in business
and communications have paid off, though the loans are still ten years from being neutralized
at least the kestrel and osprey have people fighting for them – you – and then a film festival to boot
you organize outdoor events, older people with binoculars, bird watchers, donors, all white, liberal, it is shaped by that porcelain whiteness, accidental birth into ruling class USA, except . . . .

except for a sister, foster child, the skin of Dominica, runaway, wild, maybe,
your biological mother so liberal, European, democratic feminist giving her hand up to “the other” race, adopted, smart, but done with college three years in, on streets giving away blankets, clean needles, looking for nighttime homeless haunts she gives every inch of her soul, while you, white bird-lady sister want what she holds, dripping with revolutionary zeal, culture, and knows no red-tail or peregrine plastered on postcard appeals for more money will save humanity, biodiversity
everything backwards, upside down, you go to work with smart clothes, computer in hand
you rub elbows with Conservation NGOs, Greenpeace, fly to the other coast for climate change flash
mobs, while black sibling, your sister works the streets, occupies city hall, makes night meetings at NA/AA, fights Walmart for blue tarps and sleeping bags on fancy gentrified city sidewalks, each and every mainstream national chain, banks, even little locals, out to stop people sitting in and living
same folk at your bird conservation parties – fancy white food, Anglo artwork, Caucasians for sparrow hawks and Cooper's, anything that flies or swims, anything but those on the streets

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IV – Warrior Transformed into Sustainable Farmer

from battlefield to farmfield, All-American white High School Halfback throws all the Marine shit into a truck, burns it Vodka bottles shot through with the only pistol he'll keep, .45 Colt, the hangover
one more reason for police to toss the key away, then VA and parents, girlfriend, white All-American
talking about bags on the road like IED terrors in the night, he is hit with four shots
of Haldol for seven-two hour psych observations, old Army corpsman from Puerto Rica saves him, takes our All-American boy to country section, two mules, a bunch of pigs, goats, a cast of hen and turkey characters medic teaches boy curandero shit, medicates with “the herb,” cannibals, slowly the sun rises and warms him, circulation – old grandmother things from PR recovers him, he reads, folds ideas about farming and healing, tilling earth and stopping TBI and PTSD payments, then the radical idea of cleansing, forcing clean field food into weathered twenty-four year old veins, two decades splaying body cells and frying sangre with multi-syllabic calories manufactured in New Jersey, guns and mortars turned into plows, maybe there is something in la tierra, only the Chicano medic knows

too late at twenty-four, but salvation in small, macroscopic shots, and he learns green is
community, the failed flash mobs and city business tycoons cocooned in Armani
multimillion dollar smiles, architect designer of zero carbon high rises, solar panels
like Star Wars death star fantasy, cops there to keep vagrants out, half a mil
each green pod, gentrified, nothing doing, persons of color, and they buy the food
from Marine and Army soldiers, now farmers of fortune, seeding heirlooms, finding
exotic pigs to sell to five star grub joints, they “work the land” and sweat out as much military
industrial slag, learn the ropes of grazing grass, moving cattle quickly, composting
methane disgester, off-the-grid, black plastic wrapped old water heaters, bioagricultural
stuff, the antithesis of everything learned in K12, as white king, oppressor, this deep ecology
religion, he sings ecosophy, Wendell Berry, rails against Earl Butz, reads under the light
of moon, methane-charged lanterns . . . fumigants of war wafting out of each corpuscle
now he goes from decorated exceptional patriot, to Patriot Act watch list person of interest hydroponic weed, medicinal herb, giver of life, ancient herb-hemp of empires long covered in sand
All-American High School Halfback remade into revolutionary

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V- Teacher, Traitor, Terrorist

our white bird woman tweets people to protest, students deadened by smart phone, held down by apps, another white warrior flails at the podium, lobs epithets at Walmart, sends email blasts to Raytheon, she folds cotton prayer flags, students delivering the Buddhist rags to Bankers
he edits Anarchy Today, students muckraking and holding sit-ins at the President's office
she finds guerrilla seeds and paints over parking meters, students sow seeds of zucchini
in the mayor's front yard, he takes three steely students to banner drop Earth Day Stop
Corporate Rule over BoA, the One Percent's choice bank, she brings goats to river's
edge, gnawing goats, blackberries and other invasives, cut down without magic of Monsanto,
he finds bees, hives for city dwellers, urban chicks and pygmy pigs, leaves anarchist
pamphlets at the doors of the NGOs, the progressives, and his students white wash
the president's office “divestment in fossil fuels,” she covers her face with hijab, twenty
students follow for political protest, he brings dread-locked street kids and fancy pants
faculty onto the streets, Critical Mass, USA Cops video taping, chasing down stragglers

it's front-page news, the rumblings of the Admin Class, schools mingling with Corporate
benefactors, parents too, the Tea is the Party, and so Terrorist, Traitor, Teacher, too
we watch as they spiral down drain of life, two more causalities of “the green,” awash
in ameliorating Big Brother and Brave New World, she can only find work giving aid to
hospice death, he's back on railroad crew, slamming nails . . . white youth in a brave new America . . . Yet, the bird lady gets key to the city from Mayor, big business-men in black make cracks at the earth day clowns, jugglers, children running around with butterfly kites, old folk with mountains of plastic bottles, the TV mother bottled tanned reporter lighting up night with 45-second spots, All-American College Halfback white weatherman saying it's “climate disruption, why call it heat, global warming, why mix us up”

VI – Foster Child-Woman of a New Greenwashing Age

Trans-African American woman on the streets talking to brave news guy, alternative black weekly, real sustainability is poverty, she is quoted saying, survivors reclaiming streets, alleys, garbage heaps, dumpster diving, scrounging for waste of slow food fanatics, anything for survival, low impact, reuse-repurpose-recycle, as the Hippies on Hogs idle next to Land Rovers and politically-correct make-up gals, Black fostered ‘sister’ out with the “tattered ones,” sleeping bags at the ready, most houseless not there but away, old men lost to families, ladies widowed, 1983 Impala home-hearth-hospital, as symphony gatherers wait for Philip Glass and edgy minimalism slow food, tribute concert to humpback whales, Big Earth Day Gala – wine, noshes, Slow Food, Terra Madre, Know Your Farmer, Farm to Fork, something in the white gathering makes the street folk exotic
foster sister bullhorns into the masses, chandeliers clatter, why all the ruckus we brought in one
of yours, Si se puede Obama, it's more complicated than justice, solar panels
first, jobs on Don Quixote's wind turbines, walkable downtowns, fancy trolleys
your children's children will reap the payoff, climate change mitigation takes time
centuries of steam, oil, burning fossil goo to get to this point in history, you have nothing
we have the steam, dogs dog in the game, ponies in the stakes, white money, white lobbying prowess, white skills to influence incrementally, as whites are good at, just hang on street folk, no use pushing buttons on the vanguard and while our hired thugs make for bad press, on earth day, while
you people of color crash our vegan ethically sourced kumbaya-play nice-be nice world,
wait for us to legislate-litigate-lucidate people's school, parks, alleys, abandoned buildings, squatting, pissing blood on All-American
College White Halfback's fancy wrought iron, prowling coffee shops at Eight Bucks a Cup, nasty people puckered lips white lines, faces tanned, Northface trim, ski and bike racks, children off to Costa Rica zip-lining into rainforest, touching the things he/she/white/tanned want to do, pursuing environmental consciousness, we are in the wings, wait for our white ghostly selves to matriculate, end up on boards, chambers, committees, political office, think great white progressive hope-savior

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VII – Three Hundred Thousand Lost at Sea and A Dozen Beached Pilot Whales

tsunami, envirogees, plastic tarps a la Costco, a million without water, dysentery, parched,
cholera, but All-American Ivy League White NBC puts fancy Jantzen-clad swimmers and PhD experts from Sea World into the limelight, a good four minutes of pilot whales beaching, chirping, crackling, while Haiti burns, while Fallujah babies come out like pilot whales, deformed, a la Dow, depleted
uranium, atomized nuclear nanoparticles, the gift that keeps on giving, generation after generation
but it's the cetaceans, those bleating blow holes, adult white and pink skinned combers bawling like babies chatting it up on cell phones, selfies with dying whales, thanks to Democratic Republic of Congo, slave boys, gunpoint miners, thanks Apple-Samsung-Motorola, another commercial with Robert DiNero at a cool five million hawking blood phones, $49.99 a month, unlimited data, he smiles One Percent White grin . . . crocodile tears for the pilot whales wanting death inland, leaving ancient seas, heading far away from the clatter of noisy, polluted, proving grounds sea, magnificent tankers moving crud-crude-cargo from garbage patch sea to oil slick sea, shining seas of collapse
but All-American University White ABC sends helicopter crew in, captures blonde boys and girls spooning sea water on the black backs of pilot whales, one lone cry from shaggy haired biologist, blaming Low Frequency Sonar of the Big Bad Ass Navy, endless beacons of surveillance bobbing from sea to shining sea, so the TV crews go for the gut punch, one lone pilot whale calf out there, bleating, seeking mommy's teat, wondering why aunties and family headed inland, on death sandbars all those white gawkers, the desperate nanoseconds of digital flotsam sent into living rooms, more air time than any “double-tapped/triple-tapped” Iraqi kid at the wedding ever seen on MainLineWhiteTvNews


VIII – Triple PhDs and Mad Max

they seem sane, sound, holding sway over erudite radio audience, many liturgies for sagging
ice, cores presenting evidence of inconvenient truths, three hundred and fifty (dot) org
they write books, appear in panoramic documentaries, find Press of their professional
science journals, even Stephen Colbert gets them on, yet white egg-heads from Ivy League flow through white All-American Cum Laude White College echo chamber, hours yammering, while community college kid from Salvador tries to find mercy at $10 an hour, or fine white liberal arts graduate working five and dime, and the beat goes on, PhDs lecturing: global warming, tipping points, unintended consequences, lag time, tragedy of the commons, they continue that path for decades now, above the fray, so systematic, programmatic, the kind of science that kills, science that thrills, but science delivered by Matt Damon and Darryl Hannah is not truth for foster sister's
heaving into the Afro-Iberian night, another thousand homeless traveling in Cormac McCarthy
dystopia, while another panda bear sticker goes square onto Prius, while white A-list actor x, y or z
flaunts words from mansion . . . lectures us on how to save the turtle, while human turtles
wander turtle island, dive into shadows away from PD spot lights, hunt for warmth, something dry, some place away from rat-kings and bed bugs, foster sister huddles with them watches the buses zip by, but you, her white successful environmentally-cultured sister on the side of the bus advertising another estuary saved, another wetlands built for migration, your sister sips warm wine, makes this moment touchstone, more than some project, or some All-American White Liberal Arts Woman's thesis-dissertation, these people, now, forever refugees of white climate, white capital, white conspiracies, white punishment zones, zones of sacrifice, pushed like lemmings off the proverbial cliff, a few million democrats clucking tongues, lazily remembering that number killed by Clinton-Albright, price of White Ziocon Capitalism, worth it, collateral somehow you white All American Liberal Arts University white sister unable to comprehend double two-term Democrats, Clinton called the first black president by Toni Morrison, for-shame, for-shame, black sister says, Obama first trans-racial, the best of the best, Mighty in Their Flex, Mighty in their Slick-Sick all the right hand shakes, Bono, David Bowie, Cameron Diaz, anyone with a cool fifty million tucked away, lecturing our foster black sister and her foster climate-capital black-brown-Asian refuges on how to put away twenty a month to save Jane Goodall's chimpanzees, or pachyderms in Kenya, how about clouded leopards, another white rhino bites the dust, but just $29.99 a month gets you in on the All-American White Superior's green and wash and ecological pornography while Haiti burns and New Orleans off-gasses and San Francisco gentrifies and Seattle ghettoizes suburbs, but for $9.95 a month, one All-American White Liberal Arts University supported orangutang gets out of Borneo, your bird sister gets a place at the front of the white line, Greenpeace, Black foster sister still blasting away at the fat-cats, the green cats, the movers and shakers holding organic wine and slumming on their white All-American poverty vacations, Slum Dog Millionaire Into False Tear and Broken schemes, foster sister of the streets sees-feels-is coral reef, is-acts-believes to be the real pristine mountains, those homeless are the leatherback turtles, really, the reason why your white All-American people can cry for wild mustangs emaciated but cluck-cluck white All-American Liberal Arts tongues when Afghanistan-Yemen-Libya-Somalia brown people are vaporized by All-American Hellfires, something wrong, how could they let the Muslim children play, something wrong with those Muslim people, in the way, something must be wrong, but All-American Liberal Arts White Happy Earth Day, Recycle, All-Natural, Michael Pollan yourself into Mad Max now with “the feminist” (white) as the lead, but believe you me, $16.50 gets you soda, popcorn and Charlize Theron, in air conditioned splendor or anything you want to believe as your Black foster sister's World Burns, all sisters burn, brothers, burn, too, All-American or All-African or Chicano, too

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IX – Sky Women Falling to Earth

she's looking for neotribal sweat lodge, people leaving cities where spigots locked by the might of comptrollers, Detroit closed for business, she takes people out of the Apocalyptic realm of the Rust Belt, the Chicagos, seeking benedictions from first people's, their Turtle Island's last runs of Coho
where sacred falls were covered by dams – dams for the razing of forests, dams for the neon of interlopers, dams for Fat Boy and Hiroshima clouds - she is there, holding the sage of Montana, smoke rising, new tribes daily created by the hedge fund impresarios , the un-people, the tribes of drone killers gone AWOL, seeking their victims' absolution, locked in Hellfire optics, she's there, soup kitchen and organizing skills, holding the power of community on the run, refugees as the world burns, singeing with typhoons of desiccating winds, the cloud servers short-circuited but she is remade, back to the nomads, Hah-nu-nah, she draws muskrat, his big heaps of earth thrown on the back of tortuga, poetry of this place fused by tribes, wisdom and colonizers, forgotten passages she sings into transmigration of souls, Monarch butterflies, lost in jet streams, trade winds the atomized Fukushimas, untold stories of monster fish, Monsanto salmonid mixed with brother eel and two ocean-separated species glued to new DNA, they are Frankenstein, Hah-nu-nah, turtle island, purifying, the industrialists and data-byte gods, dying now, but their armies still fed on the blood of ancients, the intelopers, cutting into the back of turtle, gashing into the root of why we are here, she sings songs to her people, too, the middle passage inheritance of the Manifest Destiny, she calls out their slave owners' ghosts, finds the strands of good DNA, from the people of the conquest, listens for the calls back from Chinook, carrying that seed from books, Parable of the Sower, women like her, seeking a new remembering of who we were as a species, 4 million years before the gash of totalitarian farming, before toxic fires and plowing religions pushed all brothers and sisters of air, water, earth, into heaps, before sister soil and brother bacteria were clawed for wheat, all other animals the thing of cultivators' destruction, she sings songs, Diaspora's victims follow, the new seed the sun shrivels, but she brings people to hope, new ways, pushing the seeds of the engineers back to the sea, and they grow only what should be gathered, carrying the flax of old strains, whittling roots, learning music, playing auntie and uncle for the young, watching stars realign into the pathway away or out of White Man-Woman-Child's destruction . . . . on the backs of a million turtles, swimming into a new world!

Epilogue

The total adherence of systems, following orders, those marching codas that get you into the climate change movement, the feminist brigades, the liberal camp, all the silly cultural skirmishes, those toadies running for office adhering to populism, to the stench of the times, exceptionalism, xenophobia, god's chosen people, god's other chosen economies, barefoot and pregnant in all our collective classless anti-intellectualism, those clubs and movements and limited and limiting dialogues, silo after silo, all those big pictures whittled down to maximizing costs, economies of scale, what the focus groups prevail, each grain of sand in the controller's bag of tricks, pathogens, the rot starting inside out, like two-bit actors they ruminate, hold sway over kingdoms, count pennies and hoard billions, the toxins propaganda or particulate, wave after wave of plastic Barbie, flotsam for each new generation, we wonder how they determine thumbs up for death and thumbs down for extended death . . . . the west with its Gazas, a thousand Gazas, strip mining of entire cultures, robbing the poor and recruiting the uneducated and drowning beauty with Portland Cement . . . coffee plantations and vast seas of crops holding synapse-dousing engineered pharmaceuticals, each tribe lobotomized, in the brains of the manipulators, stores and stores of red tipped body perpetrators, more and more arms and flying toxins, the world is atomized, our guts like ant farms for the nanoparticles, bacteria cloned from cancers, monkey serums hypodermic delivered, cages sent like platelets in the souls, experimenters putting water boards in junior high school, PTSD delivered like mealy pizzas to every door of the 80 percent, the poverty like all the toppings for 9.99, each gulp filled with payloads of the controllers dye #55, rainbow color #999, chicken parts fed to chickens, salmon gagged and tagged fed soy beans mixed with road kill, flesh seeded with Red Dye #43, those Buffets and Kochs and Bloombergs and Bezoses, snickering as they invest in belly transplants, corner the market on insulin, hunt for more methods to scab over workers, the drip-drip-drip of memory erosion, history pelted on cereal boxes, the only three dimensional learning is pixels, palm-sized cinemas, ice cream planted with hoary investors' smegma, each loan tracked and cataloged and pinpointed by drone, each scar recorded, each loose tongue vaulted away, each and every blink counted and taxed and charged, future children a billion blinks in the hole before exiting birth canal, placenta sold cheap for stem cells and magic potions for the billionaires, so their wrinkles vanish and spots turn to George Hamilton tan, but we know tar and feathers, way too good, though, at 195 degrees, the ooze and dunking could get interesting, these Ivy leaguers squealing like the pigs of their lipstick dreams, feathers harvested from the Chicken Nuggets farms, guys and gals, mostly wives, children like hens, puss and bubbled, skinned alive, hot La Brae mixed with plucked features, some amazing dream, no nightmare in this house, cages rattling now, the chimpanzees let loose with their PTSD, their bruised physiology, cyborgs, Disneyfication now just a word, all theme parks sandbagged, all emptiness filled with mist and air and sun and moss, entire planet sizes replanted, reseeded, renegotiated. . . . Take a number at the asylum, pecking orders filled at the counter, the diagnoses like craps, these chosen ones, calling the shots and culling the masses, each one of us a mark, made by a thousand little el capitans, each pip like a history of villages exterminated, these compliant academy graduates, as if accepting Oscars for Obliteration, high horse, you and high hosed off, into the gutter, their passion plays, money for nothing, each mouse move on screen, a billion made, a thousand jobs, in the drain, our sewer lines filled now with us, no knights in shining armor, albeit, Robin Hoods, nothing left in us except the pigsty nature of it all, resistance through ignorance and spiritual dishevelment, they have us tagged, numbered, scanned and monitored, we sleep awake and dream in our prisons, dreaming of pools and go-go dancers, dreaming of mansions and ribboned poodles, the drip-drip-drip of the marketing, each ad like Ebola sloughing into our souls, maybe there all along, ever since Buddha, Mohammed, Moses and Jesus, whatever flavor we get, robes and all, hands like brittle starfish, their indigestion signs from the dark side of the moon . . . . the synergistic thing of it all, played out like sick and sad dramas, children trapped on the spectrum, families in primal scream 24-7, all those hiccups a reflux into terror nights, children hooked on Red Bulls, adults swaddled in prescriptions, the cheap read wine poured and pulverized, bids on oversized papasans, children buckled in, close ones out there, highways to hell, malls to madness, theme parks on every corner, swarms of smarmy clowns, broken arrows, broken treaties, they still teach about Sitting Bull, but only at the Wild Bill Show, maybe-maybe something gets through on NationalPropagandaRadio, but holding breathes could be bad for your health, already calculated by supercomputers, already put down as destiny, each penny pulled from each dollar another gold palace built, chosen ones, chosen few, progeny running around like sultans . . . . a dark fruit pectin in the stomach, soldering and sewing, boys into geriatric all in five seasons scrubbing metal with acids, each suicidal thought at Apple Store China, a tribute to their control of madness, their own multimillionaire madness perverted into $300 an hour, lawyering up when entire towns need salvation, the real lord of democracy, anarchy, but the controllers eek out their comeuppance, yessiree, another war and space ship launched, a million microbes and a trillion dollars, yippee, bombast and buccaneers, the fourth grade educations of Trump & son, Palaces made of mad money and mafia love, millionaires punching clocks, selling the shit storm that is Mercedes-Med-Feminine Hygiene-Lies a Million seconds a minute, Cable TV, but there are rats jumping ship, looking for some corner, fornication, numbers tripled in a day, exponential magnificence, the hoards the ones hell-hole loving, billionaires with a tinge of spectrum smile, wives all gussied up like art history failures, a hundred charities better than the people, swept off the streets at 3 am, better than the encampments, seeking some slice of territority, away from the madness of the man, the levy artists, PayDay Loan virtuosos, all the hangers on sucking teeth for the big payout, thank your very much controllers, banks, financiers, the unholy mess that is capitalist!

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Paul K. Haeder