(50 Years after the dream ended in Dallas…)
Keep the starving poor away from us. Don’t let us see them. Don’t fund the schools for their children. Don’t give them our insurance—the kind that will actually care for their medical needs.
Put them on an island in the middle of the United States—an island of denial where TV and Internet eyes are forbidden to report. We don’t want to see them at all.
Fund the police more to drive them into submission, camps, corrals, silent stupor, where we can smugly label them: drug addicts, drunks, crazy, lazy—they brought it on themselves—and tune them out.
Give me the safety of, “The Hunger Games,” not the reality of their hunger. They get blankets, soup kitchens, and tooth brushes trickled down upon them by the overwhelming care of concerned citizens everywhere.
Now leave me alone. I’ve got a little squeak in my Maserati’s brakes. Are the Caymans where my friends are going this winter? Should I get my eyelift this year, or wait?
Why are we so afraid of and fascinated by zombies? Well, quite frankly, the dead outnumber the living by over 15 to 1. Hmm, pretty scary odds.
Similarly, why are the rich so afraid of yet fascinated with (controlling) the poor? Um, see above ratio . . . and then some.
How can so many be hidden away from view? . . . like millions of poor prisoners in the concentration camps of America, it’s easy to deny anything unpleasant. How else could Joseph Stalin have sent 20 million Russians to their deaths during World War Two. Hey, life is cheap . . . on sale at Wal-Mart, made in China, only $2.99.
So you see why our corporations, Hollywood, media, schools, insurance companies, medical providers, and even organized religions all blatantly or secretly worship the time honored concept that only the rich deserve to live. Ask the slaves who built the Pyramids, or the poor boys buried deep in the fields of Flanders. From Hiroshima to Fukushima, only the poor will pay for the sins of their emperors.
We want to see no, hear no, speak no evil. And we don’t want you to see it either.
There are no poets among the politicians or generals. At least, not anymore. So, go out and celebrate the golden anniversary of this national CIA Coup d’état Day. You’ve earned it. JFK died for your sins.