Last year there was some sort of change that occurred within me…the events of 16 years ago, horrendous as they are, began to appear to me as a boil, a corpuscle, a pimple deeply infected…a symptom.
I decided that I was not gunna write anymore tribute poems, because been there done that.
Nothing else really can be said about the ones faced with horror thrust upon them in the land of ease and plenty.
But what of those, millions rather than thousands, who have had empire shoved down their throats and up their ____ …? I started thinking about things differently.
Becoming the fuck toy of Empire never ends well. Supporters of ttaf are soon gunna discover this.
One year ago…I think I began to nail it a bit.
“…and what of empire…
or is it Empire
and how
it sanctifies itself
in the blood
of many martyrs
in the tears
of all the saints
and quenches
every thirst
in the wailings
of the haints…”
Charissa's Grace Notes 