SECTION ELEVEN
POETRY PAGE SEVEN

The Blacklisted Journalist Picture  The Blacklisted Journalistsm

COLUMN FORTY-FIVE, MAY 1, 1999
(Copyright 1999 Al Aronowitz)

PAULMCBY.jpg (190195 bytes)
(Copyright 1997 Paul McDonald)

BOO!

I know whats going on
I know what its all about
The closed doors
The darting looks
The whispers

Microwaves
Cellular waves
Radio waves
Beamed at me
The President
And relevant talk show hosts
Alerted to my every movement

My phone tapped
My garbage scrutinized
My tax forms public
My credit rating shot to hell
My social security number
Plastered on billboards
Throughout Idaho

Jesus God, am I that dangerous?
Just because I know they know?

I've tried meditation
I've tried affirmation
I've tried incantation
And still
I know whats going on

All the hierarchies and secret societies
Bilderbergs
Freemasons
Illuminati
The Trilateral Commission
The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms
Meeting once a year
In submarines under the North Pole
Mapping out the New World Order
The Thousand Points of Light

I can hear 'em now
"Cut off his health insurance!
Confiscate his automatic teller card!
Set him up for consensual sodomy
With a bi-sexual kangaroo!"

They're out to get me!
Little ol' wimp-ass me!
Because I know too much!

(We've been on Mars with the Russians since 1962!
You can breathe without a spacesuit on the moon!
Bill and Hillary drink the blood of newborns and
pour whats left over the Whitewater Billing Records!)

Hanger 18! Area 51!
This explains the homing device in my sinuses!
The transistors in my teeth!

So what if this is a narcissistic awareness
Many are called
Few are chosen
And, by God, I'm it!

You need me!
You need me to tell you these things!

Who else is going to tell you about
Children bar-coded with invisible tattoos
Who else is going to tell you that Prozac
Spelled backwards says "Lucifer"
Who else is going to tell you
That it really was Adam and Steve

Just remember,
I told you so
I'm too important
Everything you know is wrong! ##

* * *

HEART OF DARKNESS

Something unusual is happening in my apartment
My bathroom has taken on an extraordinary dimension
No longer is it just a filthy Alabama slime pit
Gone are the days when it was merely
A wildlife sanctuary/rainforest

Somehow through a great deal of prayerful angst
It has become a battleground of mythic proportions
A lavatorial extension of my shadow
A journey into the Dark Cambodian Night of my Soul

Guilt prevents me from bleaching the porcelain
Free of algae and other sentient beings
Fear keeps me running from
The mildewed towels and long forgotten underwear
That creep across the floor

Yet I possess a need for wholeness
A need to confront the demons
In the decade-old cans of Drain-O
A need to do battle
With the dragons howling
>From the depths of the toilet

Screwing up my courage
I take a face from the ancient gallery
And walk on down the hall
Brandishing a bayonet and flame-thrower
Trashing every wrathful deity in my path
Until I reach the shower curtain
Once a lovely indigo
Now puke green
And cut it away

And then I see him
The Wild Beast hidden inside  ##

* * *

Rush Limbaugh

Naked and tattooed
Spitting out the remains
Of cockroaches and centipedes
Staring at me as he slowly draws his face
Into a lizard-like grin

Ignoring Jung's directive
I slowly back away
Careful not to make him frightened
Until I reach the door
And bid a hasty retreat

Grappling for the phone
To call in a napalm strike
I hear him mutter
A demented mantra:

"The way things ought to be...
The way things ought to be..." ##

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