Here's Your Dessert, Dear
I met a lot of people while I rambled about. They’re all crowded together in my head now and flash by unexpectedly like fireflies in the evening of my mind. I think I met more people than most people manage, because I traveled so much and everybody was always new and interesting at least for awhile. I’ve forgotten some of their names and faces but remember them anyway for the time and the place and the circumstances I was in. Mostly I lived in poor conditions but I always managed to stay clean and most of the time employed. I was a bum only once and that was for a few days in
I always liked to study, and now I think I should have been a scholar or a teacher. God knows I’ve been trying to teach people what I thought I knew for long enough. Maybe it wasn’t much but it was all I had. If I could teach anybody in
Sometimes the world is so beautiful it is excruciating, and other times it is so ugly one just wants to commit suicide because of how hopeless it seems to live in it. There is nothing more deadly dreary and horrible to me than war, though I have never had to fight in or suffer one directly, thank God. But I can see how bad it is. I can feel the pain of the people who must suffer it, and even the pain of those who inflict it, whether they can or not. Sometimes it seems there is too much pain to bear. Sometimes there really is.
Imagine if you will that you and your family are sitting down to your evening meal in North Waziristan, Pakistan, and your grandfather and grandmother are present and your children are there too. Three generations of your family which have lived in the same place for nearly 100 years are seated on cushions, and after offering thanks to God you are passing around the bowls of hot food, and suddenly you and your relatives and your house are obliterated in a storm of fire and iron as swift and hot as lightning, sent from a CIA robot drone aptly-named Predator.
Gone. Dead. Burned until the bodies which have not been blown apart into a thousand pieces are shrunk to the size of a toddler and black as coal. The worker who was in the field bringing in the animals is deafened and the low-pressure area created by the suction of the bomb blast has sucked out his eyeballs.
When people are burned to death, a fire chief told me once, every bone in the body breaks from the violent contraction of muscles attached to those bones. Those who were not killed instantly in the blast suffer the torment of hell.
Imagine also that a controller back in
“Good going! Great shooting!”
Or that a low-flying Warthog weapons platform 20 miles away over a border existing only on paper crackles with the message, “Target gone.”
And nobody knows. The Press won’t be informed. It’s a secret because it is a matter of “national security.” Perhaps something will be written about it in an internet forum in
Get the picture? Am I connecting here? What do you think, reading this, after your evening meal? What do you feel? Or do you? Well anyway, here's your dessert, dear.