I play a tambourine here at MyFDL. I sing hallelujah when I see people beaten down by oppression get up off their knees and defend their rights. I don’t recc diarists who throw a bucket of cold water on flickering candles that took 30 years to light. I won’t applaud the bucket man. I’ll light more candles instead. Light some where you are, hand them out and keep them glowing, for the people of Egypt, for the people in those ancient empty streets that were too dead for dreaming, but that aren‘t dead for dreaming anymore.
Welcome to 2011, Hosni. Don’t look now, but your evening’s empire has returned into sand, it’s vanished from your hand, left you blindly there to stand but still not sleeping. Not to worry, you’ll be sleeping soon enough. Permanently. You’ll be gone, the seven doors of Jahannam will slam shut behind you, the people of Egypt will say good riddance, and world will say amen.
The streets of Egypt are filled with people breaking free of the past, the foggy ruins of time have no power over them anymore, they’ve torn every page out of the rigged rule book written by the regime, the people of Egypt are writing the rules now, they tossed conventional political wisdom into the Nile and threw the Overton Window in after it. The whole world was watching, the whole world saw them do that, the regime is collapsing, Egypt is not dead, Egypt is alive, Egypt is dancing beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free.
Can you hear the bells of Karma tolling, Bashar al-Assad? Can you hear them, Abdullah bin Abdul-Aziz? Can you hear them, Sayyed Ali Khamenei? They’re tolling across the Middle East, they’ll be tolling across Europe before this year is over, they’ll be tolling across America sooner than you think, Barack Hussein Obama.
You took us for a trip upon your magic swirling ship, but the ship’s going down. Ships tend to do that when you drill the hull full of holes and call it repairs. You’re not the captain, you never have been, you’re a puppet with a drill in your hand. But it won’t be in your hand much longer, your senses have been stripped, your hands can’t feel to grip, your toes too numb to step, wait only for your boot heels to be wandering, towards the plank, onto the plank, and off the end of the plank.
Do sharks eat puppets? I think we’re going to find out.
As some of you may have noticed, I don’t write for the front page of Firedoglake. They don’t allow tambourines there. They’re all very serious analyzing analyzers of this surreal shit hole that used to be the United States of America. They can’t be seen with a tambourine player, they have their reputations to consider.
So be it.
I’ll write here, in this free speech zone at MyFDL, I’ll write about corporate capitalism dying with frozen leaves falling all around it, I’ll write about the winds of revolution blowing through the haunted, frightened trees of corrupt capital cities, I’ll write about a windy beach lying beyond the horizon of time, where children of tomorrow will play, far from the shadows of the past, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow, I’ll write about all of humanity living in peace someday, dancing beneath the diamond sky with both hands waving free, silhouetted by the sea, with all tyranny and hate, driven deep beneath the waves, I’ll write about that in this free speech zone, I’ll play my battered tambourine here, today and tomorrow and the next day, I’ll play it this year, next year, and the year after that, until the world tells the very serious analyzing analyzers to take a hike, until it tells the lying politicians to shut the fuck up, until it realizes the solution has been here all along, right in front of us, until it finally understands that idealism is the answer, that it always has been the answer and always will be.