Poetry from Caitlin Johnstone.
From now on when they talk about “setting the dogs on you”, it will have a whole new meaning.
They do not make good pets either
[Tony Broomfield Senior Editor Dangerous Globe]
Headless hounds from Boston Dynamics.
Headless hounds from Raytheon.
Headless hounds in our nightmares huddled shivering under US flags
beneath a night sky whose stars were replaced by satellites and drones.
Headless hounds dashing voicelessly past buzzsigns flashing BUY BUY BUY
and buzzscreens shouting FEAR FEAR FEAR,
past the harmless homeless and overdosing angels,
past the skyscraper soul siphons and sane street schizophrenics,
past roadkill dreamguides and the freeway beasts who feed on them,
past suburban window watchers with opiate eyes,
past the cheering liberals who proudly support their hunt
(they make empire automatons of all sorts you know).
In this land we worship headless gods,
gods with logos instead of faces,
gods with quarterly statements instead of minds,
gods with profit margins instead of conscience,
gods who are legally required to act without morality,
gods who devour unthinkingly and destroy unfeelingly,
gods who eat ecosystems and shit suffering,
our gods have no heads and now neither do their soldiers.
We lurch headlessly, mindlessly, heartlessly, unconsciously
toward wherever it is we are going
like robots running a program written by a long-dead man
for reasons nobody can remember.
Headless hounds where our rights should be.
Headless hounds where our heads should be.
On an old wooden fencepost there sits a large crow.
It looks you in the eye
and stares without moving,
and just as you find yourself growing restless and uncomfortable,
you remember something ancient.
Something that has more relevance to you
than any thought you’ve ever had.
You sit here, you and the crow,
and you remember where you came from.
A word from Caitlin, and please support her directly if you can D.G.
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