Operation Scare

Here we go again.  My conspiracy theory tendencies had taken a back seat for quite some time.  By that I mean that I haven’t been seen on any street corners, perched upon a soapbox and warning the people of what awaits us at the next turn.  OK – not lately, anyway.  Make no mistake – I may be quiet, but the wheels are always turning.  No matter how I try to supress the urge to educate the people, it always seems to creep up on me and attack at the least expected moment.

I was listening-but-not-listening to the news just a few moments ago and I heard a story about AMTRAK and Homeland Security launching OPERATION RAILSAFE. It is touted as a plan to secure the rail corridors . . . complete with random security checks of customers and their baggage.  It started a few days ago with the announcement that it is not entirely safe for Americans to travel abroad at the moment.  The powers that be claim that terrorists have targeted certain high profile tourist attractions (particularly those that attract Americans) and said that although this is not a call for a halt to travel abroad, it is advised that extreme care be taken.

This is typical of a right winged, hawkish entity pushing their never-ending agenda to have the government take control of our lives.  I’m not outraged – it’s what they do.  What bothers me is that they pass laws such as The Patriot Act and initiate agencies such as Homeland Security with the public saying “Bring it on.  We need more security”.  The public becomes a willing pawn by being scared to death.  To further kick up my dander, the reporters stopped passersby at the train stations and asked how they felt.  Of those they showed, their answers all had the same pathetic feel:  “It makes me feel so much safer”. Wake up, people.

There is always a cry for increased security and it is always proceeded by some catastrophic event (or threat of the same): suspected terrorists arrested or explosives found in a foreigner’s home  (yes – by “foreigner”, I mean of Arab decent).   There’s even a new one in Washington. D.C. And I am saddened to say that these “tricks” works every time.  Citizens blindly give up their basic civil rights for what is perceived to be better protection from evil, when in reality, they are simply relinquishing their freedoms.

In an election year when right-wing politicians are desperately trying to unseat  their foes or fill seats that have been vacated, it is important that we look a bit closer at the things that candidates are saying rather than cower in fear that we will be destroyed if we do not relinquish our rights.  Our rights are much more important than some “perceived” threats that are thrown our way.  While it is important to maintain some level of safety and security in our nation, it is also important to remember what the forefathers of this nation fought for to begin with.

Wake up, people.  Please.

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copyright  2010  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

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the face of certain death (part 3 of 8 from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”

Starkly recognizable,

the face of certain death appeared.

It was toxic, poison,

and, there loomed a hint of evil.

But, she was the quintessential Aphrodite,

in possession of an intrinsic eroticism.

She was the one.

At long last, she had shown herself.

Her eyes were piercing, and, as black as coal,

and, i was prepared to relinquish my very soul.

Her eminence was immeasurable.

Before me, stood the eidolon,

that dream of perfection found.

Her legs seemed to tower to an unimaginable height.

Her breasts were impeccably voluptuous,

and, the splendor that radiated from her face

was heretofore unequaled.

The great Nefertiti would have conceded

her throne of sublime elegance

in the company of such rare beauty.

 

Yet, at the same time, I peered into the face of certain death.

I gazed upon that toxic beauty,

and, was immediately aware of the evil that lived within.

But, to taste of that poison, to be consumed by that evil,

I would have wallowed in that death as if it were but sweet repose.

Though possessed with that new-found mission,

I would live to see the blossom of a new day.

The cup from which I would gladly have sipped,

even in the knowledge of its fatal eventuality,

had escaped my grasp.

As if by some magic,

as if by some mystical power,

in an instant  .  .  .  she vanished.

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copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

until she reveals her face (part 2 of 8, from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”)

I live a sequestered life, for I fathom no reason

to give my precious love to one who is not the one.

She who is the one

has inscribed her being upon the walls of my soul.

Her eminence is forbearing:

imitation

would be an absurdity;

her authenticity

will be unmistakable;

when she appears, I will know.

She will have so rare a beauty that it will astound me.

She will come to me, emanating a trace of evil.

She will administer my fatal injection of ecstasy.

So, I wait, enduring my life in solitude

until she reveals her face to me.

When the night comes,

I close my eyes,

and, I feel her presence.

She is liquid persuasion.

In times of silence,

I perk my ears,

and, she speaks to me,

having the resonant voice of romance.

When i envision my future,

the intricacies of her beauty are fully displayed,

and, my zeal increases, as my ecstasy will not be long delayed.

I live my life sequestered, as if saving it

for some anointed one.

Is no one worthy but she?

Would not love . . . even mere interaction with others

be but dissipation, knowing what the future holds?

I dare not gamble.

surely she is toxic, absorbed in evil,

but, I will patiently endure my life in solitude

until she reveals her face to me.

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copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

wordle 10.01.10

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copyright  2010  blackstarr

Poison (part 1 of 8, from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”)

Tellurium . . . she was its human portrayal.

born in the year of fifty two,

passivity consummately overdue.

When she revealed herself to me, this sensuous Aphrodite

was a delightful one-hundred-twenty-eight pounds,

sister to the four winds, free-spirited, untamable.

Tell them that she is as exotic as neon, but, is, in no way, as innocuous.

Her beauty will be astonishing, a rare sight, to be sure.

But, let them be warned that she is

at the same time . . . toxiferous . . . noxious,

a tincture of tellurium.

Her voice was euphonic, yet, like a Grecian siren,

it was full-scale seduction,

and, imminent destruction.

She came to me as the eidolon,

that dream of perfection found, which never comes to be.

And, in the end, she became

. . . my injection,

. . . my addiction,

my reason for self-annihilation.

She was liquid xenon, flowing and unresponsive,

and, nearly as unattainable, her free heart unrestrainable.

My actions brought no reactions.

My words of affection were

. . . weightless molecules,

. . . soundless thoughts,

lost to the wind.

She was a secret code, an indecipherable mystery.

Here was the essence of the arcane,

perched upon a cryptographic plane.

Her eyes pulled me in, and,

her touch replenished.

Her kiss drained me of life itself.

She remained . . . ensconced, . . . unsolved,

even cloaked in a veil of non-divulgence.

Tellurium . . . but a faint trace is certain obliteration.

for to grasp the exotic, to taste of the erotic,

obliteration would have been a welcome relief.

So I grasped, I tasted, and, hastened my own undoing.

She was . . . astonishing . . . a rarity, she was a tincture of tellurium.

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copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

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photos from across the web

emergency (re-posted for those who lost their lives)

on 911 to the one,

we looked down the barrel

of a loaded gun.

i thought this might be

w w three,

no more me.

on 911 to the one,

aloofness became undone.

it finally hit home,

four shots straight to the dome:

two fatal shots, in nyc,

in pa, a flesh wound meant for dc,

in dc, one lay critical . . .

nothin’ personal . . .

strictly political.

on 911 to the one

we thought the lasers were locked on stun.

we got sucker-punched, erbody out to lunch.

we dropped to our knees and began to choke,

and our opponent disappeared

in a cloud of fire and smoke.

on 911 to the one there came a loaded gun,

with hollow tips, that brought us to our knees.

we screamed “oh my!!”,

released a sigh, wondered why,

and then we all began to cry.

on 911 to the one,

not a cloud, yet no sun.

we wallowed in the shadow of the enemies’ gun.

first came sorrow,

then our thoughts about tomorrow.

in less than twenty-four,

they had a name, so they claim,

and yet, they hesitated just the same.

on 911 to the two

will there be a me and you?

will they be caught with their knickers down,

to never even hear the sound?

will they continue to assume

that no real danger looms,

that we’re all simply sayers of doom?

perhaps it’s not too wise

to criticize those with watchful eyes,

whose jets no longer leave the skies,

while battleships dot our oceansides.

perhaps they’re locked and loaded,

mimicking C4: waiting to be exploded.

but on 911 to the one

we faced a loaded gun.

terror paid a visit to our home

with four shots straight to the dome.

we fell victim to a loaded gun

on 911 to the one.

copyright   2001  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Bulletproof by Raheem Devaughn

photos from across the web

got malt? (excerpt from “the village”)

at twelve clocks,

off to the mailbox.

no one saw him fall.

at work.

on company time.

but, the company’s dime

is making him ghetto rich

for a couple or three days

out of every month.

**********

off to the store with the red and yellow sign.

five chicken wings – that’s what’s up.

salt, pepper, ketchup?

two loosies, and a fifty cent hug.

he hollers at shorty,

who doesn’t even shrug,

pays him no mind

(why she so unkind?).

never needed you.

it’s all good.

there’s more fish in the sea,

(to himself) said he.

malt liquor chaser

for a two o’clock blunt.

**********

no hustle and bustle,

just the hustle.

getting by, getting high,

getting paid off a slip-and-fall case.

living that fast pace,

always up in your face.

ever poor,

never rich, an’

always bitchin’,

wouldn’t dare be caught snitchin’.

and he never lets it all inside his head.

man-child: ghetto born and bred.

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copyright  2008  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

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Images used in this post are from various sites across the web.  If any photos belong to you and you have an objection, e-mail me ad I will have them removed