America Must Be Destroyed

Today marks mein triple-triple as well as 231 years of independence, American style. Having tired of the repetitive swimming-BBQ-fireworks routine that has hovered above like an angel’s halo, I have pledged to be naked as the day, covered in unspeakable birth fluids and ichors, crying and vulnerable. But lest this truly turn ugly, perish the image (or pay $9.95 for a full month’s subscription) and let us revel in the day.

Like so many holidays, the meaning and the message are second to the joy of leaving work early the day before, to getting shithouse drunk one extra day of the week, and to watching whatever commemorative sporting event is being run. I read the Declaration Of Independence this morning and jellyspined at the amazing depth and importance within. For that purpose, we can watch the new piece of shit Robin Williams film, listen to Linkin Park album, and drive our oversized cars to the beach or park or lake and hoof a cooler of tall boys to the best spot to light off fireworks. And believe me, that’s a far better alternative to lamenting the endless desert war, catching up with the latest high profile child murder, or jamming a spoon in your esophagus with rage over the Libby pardon – you’ll lose your goddamn mind.

But I come not to bury America, but to praise her…although I’m still going to get my licks in. But once we put aside the sickening fact that the country cares more about some night-vision blowjob giving skank getting sent to Oz than a career political leach avoiding the taste of toilet wine, what are we left with? Beyond the unbridled hatred and scorn towards the Motherland is the requisite cynicism, but beyond that (still) is a muted irritation which slowly gives way to the gentle panic of being a spectator. And that’s basically what we’ve been reduced to, although that’s not altogether a horrible fate. Whether your bag is the house or the 2.5 kids or even the little missus who will diligently pop zits on your back and wear boyshorts for your amusement after a long day of work, pretty much everybody wants to get a crack at the showcase showdown. But no matter what facet appeals to you, going about your business having a happy, closed life, while somewhat intoxicating, is nothing more than your season ticket share.

I listened to NPR the other morning to avoid the usual hair restoration and erection pill promos in-between the morning zoo interviews with comedians and d-cup bimbos, and felt that spectator’s unease rather than that slight bourgeois edge that comes from such patrician pursuits. The story was about the further disarray the Haight district in The City has fallen into, and how most of the Summer Of Love survivors and inhabitants who (legitimately) call the area home were fed up with the growing number of squatters, gutterpunks, and teen beggars. One young missed abortion sought only to “get drunk…fight…and destroy the capitalist system”, which I dismissed instantly within moments of hearing his laconic, drugged up dudespeak and attitude. The next urchin was a 19 girl with the retarded moniker Cry, who was upset that the man in a 3-piece suit who passed her by wouldn’t give a hungry person like herself a dollar and called him greedy for not doing so. No, you stupid fucking waste of air, your greed is the problem – you have too much freedom.

So much of what happens by the day (or hour or minute) is just the perversion and rape of what is good and often unacknowledged, be they liberties or other term of like rhetoric. It is the simultaneous swell of pride and aftertaste of bile that make reflecting on who and what we are as a nation honestly bittersweet. The notion of “think globally, act locally”, while philosophically sound, has been too co-opted by the greener and leftist elements, so to spare the putrid recollection of patchouli, dreadlocks, and women with unshaved legs and pits, I suggest something more along the lines of ideological melee through the dedication of one’s self to representing their principles. Not everybody should or can drive the herd, but someone amongst the mob frenzy incited them, yes? Those of you who understand what I allude to clearly see and feel the difference between spectator, and for lack of better term, spectacle. Wherever Ayn Rand’s corpse is, I figure it’s getting slightly aroused.

America is pretty well fucked up, but it still kicks ass over everything else – that is a fact, Jack. I’m still rendering a verdict on the fine people of the lower 48 and the satellite territories, because you disappoint me time and again. Issues of diplomacy may keep me out of Europa major, but those are some slick cats out there....same with our upper and lower neighbors. While I don’t implore anyone to undertake that attitude or outlook, I only hope that a little reflection and introspection will spark some life into the dead husk of your daily activities. If it feels like you’re becoming increasingly distant from the youth of today with their stupid, misguided folly it is the sad fact that you are becoming just like your parents and everything you fought against. And as you fail to identify with the old folks who are trying to ride gently into the twilight, recognize the limbo in which you fall. If you are not leading, then by all means shut up and follow, but realize at least who you follow and why.

America must be destroyed. Daily. With every action you have. With every thought you share with others. With purpose. Without hesitation. With reverence for the genius that came before you and inspires you to attain. God bless America.