tideshift

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Common Dreams and the Fire Just Waiting for Fuel

I've spent the last half-hour skimming the articles at Common Dreams, and there are some really excellent ones there, in addition to the two I posted previously.

Robert Reich on the wonders of private philanthropy replacing public decisions about human needs and plans to meet them.

Molly Ivins on RIP Habeus Corpus (1215-2006).

Gordon Clark on the anti-war takeover of the Hart Senate Office Building.

Niramjan Ramakrishnan on the parallels between America in 2006 and India in 1919 (and how much we political dissidents truly have to fear, now that the rule of law is dead.)

Ari Berman on the f---ed up internal debate among progressive funders, who can't seem to select a "vision" of the future outside of the Clinton version of "moderation" (moving the left to the right, to the right, further to the right, as though the right isn't managing that responsibility quite well all by itself.) And Ruth Conniff on the same thing - the sputtering, enraged DC insiders who cannot STAND left-wing bloggers and our populist (or pacifist) passion, and are terrified that our combined movements - 10, 15, 20 readers at a time - spell loss of control for the hereditary kingmakers of the two-party system.

Michiko Kakitani on Bob Woodward's new book, State of Denial, so oddly unlike the laudatory 2002 Bush at War. (What is up with Woodward's reading of the book-buying public's mood, and why should he have any credibility left? How could he not have seen then what so many have seen for years, and years, and years?

Robert Fisk on the Marwahin massacre in Lebanon.

Ed Kinane, rounding up again the reasons why torture is a completely BAD thing, not worthy of even a tiny little debate about how much is enough.

And JoAnn Wypijewski on the numbing, the deadly, deadly numbing, of an American population so tired and confused and hungry and tired and bored and tired and alienated that it cannot, cannot, cannot rouse itself to action.

Michael Socolow on how the activism forms being forged by us young-uns in the fires of our own era is not wrong, just different from those infernal, narcissistic Boomers, who can keep their sit-ins, God Bless Em, and stop criticizing our opt out-create alternatives-Jon Stewart-Stephen Colbert-build strength in the shadows until you've generated enough light to come out in a blinding blaze of indignant revolution strategies. Sarah Browning on poetry, and Garrison Keillor on photography, and on, and on and on.

Lyrics to Fuel, by Ani DiFranco:

they were digging a new foudation in Manhattan
and they discovered a slave cemetary there
may their souls rest easynow that lynching is frowned upon
and we've moved on to the electric chair
and i wonder who's gonna be president,
tweedle dum or tweedle dummer?
and who's gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer?
howabout we put up a wall between houses and the highway
and you can go your way,
and i can go my way

except all the radios agree with all the tvs
and all the magazines agree with all the radios
and i keep hearing that same damn song everywhere i go
maybe i should put a bucket over my head
and a marshmallow in each ear
and stumble around for another dumb-dumb
waiting for another hit song to appear

people used to make records
as in a record of an event
the event of people playing music in a room
now everything is cross-marketing
its about sunglasses and shoes or guns and drugs
you choose
we got it rehashed
we got it half-assed
we're digging up all the graves
and we're spitting on the past
and you can choose between the colors
of the lipstick on the whores
cause we know the difference betweenthe font of 20% more
and the font of teriakiyi
you tell me how does it make you feel?
you tell me what's real?

and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they're as dry as my lips for years
even when they're stranded on a small desert island
with no place within 2,000 miles to buy beer
and i wonder is he different? is he different? has he changed?
what's he about?
or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?
Am i headed for the same brick wall
is there anything i can do aboutanything at all?
except go back to that corner in Manhattan
and dig deeper, dig deeper this time

down beneath the impossible pain of our history
beneath unknown bones
beneath the bedrock of the mystery
beneath the sewage systems and the path trains
beneath the cobblestones and the water mains
beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
beneath everything i can think of to think about
beneath it all, beneath all get out
beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
there's a fire just waiting for fuel
there's a fire just waiting for fuel

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