Reflections in a Petri Dish – January 17, 2008
Lewis Carroll wrote a wonderful poem called, “The Walrus and the Carpenter”
which has come to be the definitive expression of what we call, ‘crocodile tears’. It’s a compelling mix of cynicism, hypocrisy and psychopathic indifference. You could find many a parallel in the Gaza situation reflected in things like this
It’s the sort of circumstance that is repeated every day of every year across the span of redundant history in the clinical operation of politicians and diplomats. It expresses itself through the Mount Blanc fountain pens of bankers and corporation heads when they consider the collateral damage attendant with all of the necessities of doing business. One way or another it’s some kind of a Bhopal moment
It is clearly so… that Israel wanted to take advantage of the time window
in the new year, between Bushligula going and Obama coming. The idea that this punishing act of genocide would have something to do with toy rockets being fired into mostly empty landscape is pathetic. It is as if some Scarsdale matron broke a nail while trying to shoplift a box of truffles and decided to take the sales lady who caught her to court; seeking damages for her injury because the cellophane wasn’t sealed correctly. It could have been that whoever did the manicure was culpable too or… maybe it was a calcium deficiency. It’s all good though because the more complicated it can be made to appear, the more money goes into play and the more lawyers get employed.
Here we have a nice box of evidence truffles
that you can enjoy at your leisure as you commiserate with the injured matron. Some of you might want to take a moment to whip the illegal immigrant that cleans your house and lives in the basement. I heard on Ophrah that it does wonders for the sinuses. We’re not talking about the immigrants sinuses.
“Will no one free me of this turbulent priest?” Yes… it’s one of those inconvenient situations. There’s this piece of land that you want which has people living on it. People have been living on it for many generations. You’ve made massive investments toward getting into this land. You labored to help engineer a global conflict that would set the stage for a public relations demonstration of your relations getting hammered on wide screen TV. You put tremendous effort into seeing that conditions would be as hard as possible by blocking all efforts at aid. Then you did that Hollywood thing which involves non-existent soap and lampshades made out of your relatives.
Sure… you made a lot of money in the meantime but you really want this piece of land and there are these people. There are these no class people who have the temerity to be living on this piece of land like they had some kind of right to do so. Have they no shame?
So you drive them off for the most part. You’ve got all kinds of good will going and the murder and sacrifice of your own people in order to get this cachet is the very definition of blood money and blood money spends as good as a hard dick that has no conscience.
Yeah… you poison their wells and you murder whole families as a lesson to those who want to remain. You jackhammer them baby but… some of them still won’t leave. They go right on living in abject fear and misery in their homeland and reproducing like rabbits at a turkey shoot; which is what you have planned for them. You’ve got a more serious mole problem than Bill Murray had in Caddyshack. But you got respect, as you pull on your tie… as you eat your oysters… as you ponder what to do about your turbulent priest.
On and on it goes
. You get more and more of this piece of land that you want for office space from which to have a manufactured perspective of higher ground in which to continue the extermination… the cleansing and so on and so forth.
One oyster follows another as you ponder your broken nail. As the story continues and the land shrinks the oysters continue to proliferate. They are proliferating all over the place. They are proliferating in Afghanistan and Iraq and Iran and where was I? Let them eat cake while you consider the oysters.
Here we are in recent times and you’ve come up with a dandy
. Now everyone is going to be eating oysters.
Today the beach is crowded with walruses and carpenters bemoaning the circumstance. Whatever shall we do about it? The impudence of the oysters that won’t go away is a real problem.
I guess if there is a crime here then the crime is how the unacceptable is acceptable. Or maybe the crime is the terrible inconvenience of these people who won’t go away… die… disappear… something… something. “You there, could I have another glass of sherry?”
It’s just so damned inconvenient. Everything would be okay if we could just get rid of these people who are in the way of this piece of land that we want which has no real borders. This piece of land is a work in progress. It wants to stretch and expand which I think is the basic tenant of that thing called Zionism. Give me a little Tigris and Euphrates while I have a chat with the ladies.
As the greater portion of the world involves itself in the pursuit of appetites it is not hard to imagine beautiful oysters appearing in supermarkets across the land. I don’t know if we are talking about oysters or barnacles or anything that attaches itself to anything. I don’t know what I’m talking about.
I see people burning and bleeding and screaming and dying on disappearing land and I really wish there was something we could do about that fingernail. Oysters and fingernails and “Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting in the captain’s tower while Calypso singers laugh at them and fishermen hold flowers.”…
Well… it’s just too bad. It’s just inconvenient. I hope it works out before any more dogs eat any more children. I don’t want to compare children and oysters. I don’t want to consider the varying palates of people as opposed to dogs. I don’t want to think too deeply because I might start worrying my nail again.
If this is how it is and… across a wide space and in so many places where it counts it does seem to be the prevailing perception then I don’t quite know what to say now. If I were to say that I feel your pain I might be lying. I don’t know if I will ever get over this condition of caring about what happens to other living things.
I can’t help myself because there but for fortune... goes you and I, for now.
Original source: http://zippittydodah.blogspot.com/2009/01/walrus-and-carpenter-do-lunch.html
Last updated 21/01/2009