ashes, ashes, we all fall down

Somewhere, surfing the web, I've come across the Humpty Dumpty metaphor lately, more than a few times, maybe on Mirrors, but I can't look it up just now, besides, its always been that where one person leaves off, I continue, mostly unintentionally until no one knows where something starts and where it ends, we just keep moving along, a herd in progress across the barren plain. The herders with their whips and dogs like us to do that. But they slip up at quitting time, dusk settles in, the wagons circle around the campfire and they get drunk on Glenlivet while the herd is supposed to be grazing. Well, they certainly can do that because the invisible electronic razor wire logs keystrokes all night long. At sunrise, the angels are looking homeward. Where are we off to today Boss? Why we're headed to the G20, son. And who's going to be there Boss? Why the Bond Holders of course, be sure to shine your boots and shave.
Aahhhh, the Bond Holders. Here's Mike Whitney at his best:

... Bondholders own everything and they shouldn't be trifled with. They represent foreign banks, governments, sovereign wealth funds, and industry giants. They can afford the losses better than the taxpayer, but they won't be happy about it. There's bound to be retaliation and gnashing of teeth. It will require a carefully executed strategy to avoid a bloodbath; a surprise incision with a razor-sharp scalpel followed by an Obama-led public relations campaign to placate the enraged bondholders. It won't be easy, but it has to be done, and fast. Unfortunately, we are no where near the point where anyone at Treasury or the Fed will set aside the corporate agenda long enough to do the people's work...

The herd is antsy today. They've tired of the rodeo games, the roping's, the shiny flowered boots and bandannas and barking dogs and being loaded into one big trailer after another. They grew depressed at their lot in life being lassoed into slaughter stung repeatedly by the errand boys' whips punished for failing to read the blinking billboards while passing by because they are distracted too much, its all looking the same, 10 in Alabama, 15 in Germany, Ponzis, pimps and possessions, but some few are taking notes. A mere hoof-ful with ergonomic pads and pens and their cellphone cameras.

What were those towers anyway? And what was said about them when they collapsed? Do you remember some of the bull horned beatitudes? Let's put on our tinfoil horns and pick up on the transistors. In essence, it was said Bin Laden hoped to strike into the very heart and soul of the US. At what time in your life did you equate the wtc complex as the heart and soul of the US? The wtc was not the Taj Mahal or the Pyramids or the Eiffel Tower or even the canals of Venice. We were Hollywood, we were mouseketeers, we were supreme sensibility, progress and innovation! We were never just an economy, never just bullet pushers, at least not then. All the wtc was to most people was tall. And not the tallest. And now its gone. But the extended damage it was said could come about, especially if the US did not clamp down pronto and go shopping, you have noticed has taken place. Where's the billboard about that? Where are the billboards about how the hijackers put Bernie in jail and ended Missus Yeoman's shopping spree? About the newly homeless in motels, tent cities and FEMA trailers and foreclosures soaring into infinity while firemen hose down the scene with play money and everybody with a laptop googles mud cookie recipes...

Moo. Bellows. Huge yellow dust clouds rise over the plain. You think it happened like that? Like Seymour Hersh's alleged covert Dicksquad Command operating beyond any accountability whatsoever? Years in the planning, the herd plodding along in sync with boring billboards, oblivious, chewing our cud, blades of grass stuck between our teeth, swatting at flies with our tails. Do the herders know how vulnerable they are? Do they know they are weakened by cruelty and greed? Maybe the Bond Holders will tell them, we would hope in words, although keep it up long enough and words don't work anymore.

I have no idea how the perps live with themselves. I know so little about anything at all. I wish I did not think so much, or see things connect as they sometimes will. Its not who I am.

... Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time ...