23. Let’s Bury Our Mother in Mother-Land

I am a crazy, angry bitch who is mourning the loss of her mother. I am a crazy anarchist bitch who is mourning the loss of her mother. I am a crazy stupid, “intellectual”, fucking psycho bitch, who is mourning the loss of her mother. I am a fucking psycho Anarcho-Nihilist, iconoclastic resister, feral carnivore rebel, ooooh crazy mother wolf, who is still mourning the loss of her mother. I am a cynical, judgmental bitch, a pessimistic asshole, a nihilist, a narcissistic whore, who is mourning the loss of her mother.

Call “me” anything “you” like. Categorize, compartmentalize, oh please judge me, call me this and that. By all means, take away my “identity”, and “rights”, and so called freedoms.

Invade my privacy, crawl through the four walls of my controlled existence, under the pretense of protection. Please drag me on all fours and have me work my ass off to please you. Oh please please, here at the concentration camp, “I” won’t have it any other way. I am used to the facade, to the masterful art of deceit, of faking to get by, to get through, another day, another routine, another fake “happy” moment, all for a shred of “civilization”, of a bite of a bone, at the hands of the masters, zoo keepers, and “saviors”, “protectors”.

Exploit me, brainwash me, bend my will to your desires, “encourage” me to seek satisfaction, erection, elation, and euphoria, in the culture of maximum harm, of nonstop seeking, exploitation, and sell me to the highest bidder. “Grant” me individual “freedom”, and hold the noose over my head, in case I decide I don’t need “your freedom”. Make me beLIEve, and go numb to your abuse, and be “thankful” for breadcrumbs of exploited desires.

Poke me, punch me, give me the “road map to success”, of wanting more, of wanting to achieve more, more success, more money, more power, more love, more satisfaction and more “happiness”, better future and improved circumstances.

Please, by all means, undermine, slash, compromise personal autonomy and reinforce authority. Make me civilized, submissive, subdued, subjugated, happy, free, loved, sane, normal. Oh please “let me” belong, blinded by your beLIEf systems, and organizational controls. Let me feel loved, and accepted and blended in.

Give me a family unit, a land, a land I can call my own, my birthplace, my, my, me, mine, all of it. All mine. My heritage, my land, my roots, my history, my background, my time, past, present, future.

Educate me, intellectualize me, and take away my insurrectional practices. Turn me into a submissive, specialized, degraded, educated, intellectual. Allow me please to do your bidding, and become a tool in your propaganda machine of the ruling order, of the logic of profit and power.

Give me boundaries, passports, lands to not cross, and teach me to color within the lines of the status quo, of societal expectations and of invisible lines of silent rule of power, exploitation, money and profit.

And then, take it all away. Strip me of my things, all that you have taught me to seek, and to want to achieve and make sure I never do. Please do it all. I am all yours. But let us bury our mother in Mother-Land.

Let her “Rest In” YOUR “Peace”. By all means, take my heart out, cut my tongue off, gouge my eyes out, but let us bury our mother in “mother-land”. Let us be “happy”, thinking she is “happy”. Isn’t that all you wanted? For us to agonize over the loss of our mother? And crawl back to you on hands and knees, begging for comfort, strength and healing?

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California to the New York Island
From the RedWood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway
I saw above me that endless skyway
I saw below me that golden valley
This land was made for you and me.
I roamed and I rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
While all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
A voice was chanting, As the fog was lifting,
This land was made for you and me.
This land is your land, this land is my land
From California to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me.

By: Woody Guthrie, 1944 NY

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: