Sudden Blood

 Posted by at 8:32 pm  Atelier
Dec 172009
 

Departing from the platform, watching from the relative safety of the platform with its superior view, listening to the words as though they are harmless, but then something jars, something or other causes a change, an opening, a movement, a drop off the platform, finding I'm in the mud, gelatinous and grasping. Why is she using those words? Don't use those words, you're changing the world and I don't want you to do that and surely that's not right, you shouldn't do that. What about bony fists and muscles and blood. And then you'll be sorry and I don't know what I'm doing because the words have fled my throat, only a gasping for oxygen rich air to give more fuel more fuel to muscles. You'll be sorry. You're way out of order. Don't make me do this.

 

Too late, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, why did you . . .

 

The departure into violence . . . was Tony Blair sleep walking, locked into hastily made agreements with a gung-ho a US administration (Cheney?). We don't need to think about this. Locked into fantasies of assertion, of showing them (we'll show 'em) what's what, who's in charge, I'll give you a clip round the ear . . .

 

How many dead? Is it hundreds of thousands? Is anybody counting? Can anybody know? Who got shown what? What's the lesson to be learnt?

 

Sudden blood, long regrets.

 

We'll make the world a better, safer place?