Wolves of Worry, Hounds of Hell

 

The image of our blue planet passing before the sun

An editorial

Whether I choose to or not, I am in touch with this blue planet in every possible direction, every culture, every catastrophe, every political fallout, every new government uprising and takeover, all the while knowing the tapeworm of Wall Street will devour someone’s lifesavings if they trust in the bubble-hype again.

I lament

Having to live in the thicket of global awareness, walking the tightrope of decency through the dizzy media-maze, watching the ice sheets melt, the glaciers shrink, the poisoning of habitats, the loss of wilderness, the ocean breeding an island of plastic refuse we have made and refuse to see.

I lament

Having to view the extravaganza of bloody violence, of hearts breaking in disbelief and helplessness, of flags flagrantly raised in hatred and disregard for human dignity, of ancient towns pummeled into dust, of countries raped to death, of refugee camps growing exponentially to shelter the survivors.

I lament

Seeing the old stoned by mockery and deceit, the young sold as idols before they are cast into junk piles, older minds disintegrating under the weight of a senseless disease, younger minds bending under the torment of senseless tweets and shameless texts.

I lament

The rule of law being uncircumcised among us, and replaced by sound bytes, viral videos, and smart phones, of hands relegated to pushing buttons instead of pressing into another’s, of eyes glued down to nowhere and seeing no one, of ears plugged into another world, of gathering friends you don’t have to face, liking and un-liking them, liking pages, books, bands and movies instead, liking what should not be liked, and love dissolving into a hook-up, an intransigent noun, not an action verb.

I lament

The time when radios once told me the “rest of the story” and sold me the latest gadget or gizmo, before I let the Television camel into the tent, another kind of animal warning me “viewer discretion is advised”.

A long time ago Allen Ginsberg HOWLED for his generation. I LAMENT for mine.

Will somebody answer the phone?