Dog Poet Transmitting.......
'May your noses always be cold and wet'.
Dick Cheney, I believe some might classify you as not being a very nice person. I wonder, however, if being psychopathic and possessing an obesity of self importance, whether it made you too nice to be considered not very nice. I refer to this trenchant article from contemporary mass media, which I will paraphrase for a short while, including actual commentary from the text and then link it at the end of my efforts; “I was a rather, poultry plump, child whose parents controlled their weight problems by smoking and drinking. As I reached an age, I attempted to control mine through masturbation but I couldn’t actually reach my genitals. The best I could accomplish was to roll just enough to the side to be able to stick my fingers into my ass, which gave me a momentary sense of greater unity but then my hand fell asleep from the pressure of the weight upon it and I subsequently lost the leverage to be able to turn myself in my bed and free my hand.
“I reached, in all the directions I could reach (with my free hand), for my cellphone (seeking to call for help) but I could not find it. I could hear it ringing and though it seemed far away, it seemed close too. After what seemed like hours, my parents returned and, with the help of several neighbors, they were able to extract my hand from my ass and my cellphone followed of its own accord. Unfortunately my cellphone was no longer operative, due to its residence in a particular nether region. I have struggled with my weight all my life and have come to the conclusion that I am horizontally challenged due to my being too nice.” This is a riveting read.
Well Dick, what I am wondering is, having read the article, do you see parallels between this woman’s story and your own unfortunate state of being, as an accessory to the murder of millions of people? Were the hands with which you might have accomplished so much good, also occupied in a similar manner, for similar reasons? Was it while engaged in the same personal activities that you discovered your hand puppet, Lil’ Georgie? These are questions that need to be asked Dick.
It is my fervent hope that neither you, nor the reader, will feel offended by the content and direction of this posting. I find it impossible to write about you, without engaging in the profane and scatological. We live in coprophagial times, Dick. I’m wondering if there is a connection between the times in which we live, for which you and your associates are largely responsible, and this unfortunate woman’s dilemma of being too nice. Is she an example of society’s reaction to your not being very nice at all?
Dick (can I call you Dick?), you worked for Richard Nixon back in the early days and since then you have been a malignant boil on the ass of humanity. Whether this is the result of a deep and abiding hostility for the human race, or simply the result of humanity searching for its cellphone, to call for help, is for the historians to decide. The good news is that it is people like you, who decide what the historians will write and certainly people like yourself who determine which of these efforts will see the light of day.
We’re not surprised that your heart attacked you or that your daughter (PC alert!!!) won’t go near men, due to your outstanding work on her emotional body, though her mental body remained programmed and intact, to assist you in your work. As I look over the sum of your industry in this world, I can think of only one positive act that you have committed in your entire life; you shot a lawyer in the face, albeit, a half hearted, bird shot effort. They say the heart is a lonely hunter and yours has run so hard and so far in fear, shame and self loathing that it too is now lodged in some nether region.
Like some denatured woodland creature, you now seek to foul your nest before you have even left it, by saying bad things about your partners in crime. I’ll bet if you were in the dock you would sing like a bird.
I’m fairly competent in the use of words but I am rendered speechless in my attempts to reach a definition or describe you. All I can come up with are things like, “you vicious, evil sonofabitch” and “you monstrous low to the ground, blood sucking, shit-weasel” These don’t get the job done, Dick. These could certainly be applied to lesser men, whose works resemble your own, on a smaller scale, but they just can’t approach the dimension of your vile escapades on this tormented planet.
Your intellectual progeny now seek to destroy fresh nations, whose leaders are like Jesus Christ in comparison to you. I won’t attempt to list the extent of your accomplishments, there are too many of them and there are, no doubt, many more that we are unfamiliar with. I can list some of the highlights; Your direct involvement in the commission of the 9/11 attacks, your concerted efforts to bring about the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, under false pretenses, based on acts committed by you and your Zio-Nazi, super swine in arms, who, like yourself, were conceived in some dark recess of Hell; some laboratory of the damned that bears a striking similarity to The Island of Dr. Moreau on steroids. You and your partners in crime are Klingons in the Devil’s anus; animate shit golems, with hands and hearts of fire and ice.
When you watch the news from Libya and other parts of the world; when you see events that you are directly or indirectly complicit in, Dick, do you play with yourself? Does your family watch or do they sit by your side with similarly busy hands? Is this why your heart has fled? Has it run into darkness, due to the frenzy of your celebrations, rather than in horror at your acts? It wouldn’t have been a normal heart by any definition at any time, Dick. Do you dream of dark things still unaccomplished? Is there will and time enough to seek new opportunity to complete your unfinished business?
You and Rumsfeld and Rice, Wolfowitz, Pearle and Feith (sounds like a law firm doesn’t it), certainly did a job on the world and despite everything, all of you are still defiant, defensive and still on the job, in one way or another. You’re beyond my ken, all of you. I engage in my own version of remote viewing and all I can fathom is the remoteness. It’s a thick brimming darkness, where Leviathan dwells, unless you and your crew have already had him for dinner, instead of the other way around. All of you should be eternally bound victims in an endlessly looping, slasher flick but that is not enough. This is why vengeance and judgment cannot be mine. I do not possess the imagination necessary to make the punishment fit the crimes, only the cosmos has the depth and ingenuity to determine what that should be.
The mind numbing mystery and incongruity of it all is that you have not a care of what waits around the corner. There seems to be no awareness at all of what is surely to come for you and your fellows and minions. You are like those brave bomber and fighter pilots of the modern era, who deal flaming death from the skies upon those without weapons and consider yourselves brave warriors. You gather in the watering holes and canteens and regale one another with your acts of courage. With your Freddy Mercury moustaches you imagine that “We are the Champions” is playing for you, when it’s more like the soundtrack to “Cruising”. Perhaps it is to be understood in that immense detachment, of distance and observation, of the generic Chickenhawk. You don’t know what it’s like down there, even though you are the cause of it.
You must believe your own press. You and your fellows who torture, confine and murder must be wearing special glasses, in which your heroism is clearly to be seen. I once offered to meet you and Lil’ George in combat for the fate of humanity but I never heard from you, even thought you were to be armed with knives to offset your handicaps. No doubt your busy schedule precluded this.
Dick, that burning eternal darkness approaches closer by the hour. One day will be the day and there will be dancing in the street, even if it is only me. I’ll take a large dose of ketamine and go into my hyper-viewing mode. I wouldn’t want to miss the action on the other side of the Mobius strip. For the moment, I’m going to root for Colonel Khadaffi, a man of more honor and courage than you will ever know.
'The Bush Family Manson' is track no. 7 of 10 on Visible's 2002 album
'911 was an Inside Job'
About this song (pops up)