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Recent
Stories
June
20, 2003
Gary
Leupp
Bush on "Revisionist Historians"
June
19, 2003
Elaine
Cassel
Bush Plays the Racial Profiling Card:
It's a Smokescreen
Brian
Cloughley
Punch-and-Judy in the West Wing:
The Powell-Rice Show
David Lindorff
What's Next?
Mark
Jacobs
A Serious Conversation: a Former Foreign Service Officer on Diplomacy
in the Age of Bush
Alfredo
Castro
Bloodbath in Colombia: The Army and the Death Squads
Saul
Landau
Lying, Flag Waving and Redefining
Conservative Values
Steve
Perry
Bush's Wars
Web Log, 6/19
June
18, 2003
Wendell
Berry
Small Destructions Add Up
Elaine
Cassel
Dark Star Chambers: Secret Trials,
Nameless Defendents, Veiled Threats to Defense Lawyers
Col.
Daniel Smith
Iraq's WMDs: Integrity, Ethics and
Intelligence
Chris
Fagen
Ignoring the World's Bloodiest War
Rick
Fantasia and Kim Voss
Bush's Low Intensity War on Labor
Sam
Hamod
Theater of Deception: Bush, Sharon,
Abbas
M.
Shahid Alam
Illuminating Tom Friedman
Jon
Brown
Greens & Dems: a Reply to Publius
Steve
Perry
Bush's Wars
Web Log, 6/18
June
17, 2003
Dr.
Susan Block
Sex, Lies and WMDs
Elaine
Cassel
Scalia, the Rumsfeld of the Supremes
Roger Burbach
Brazil Under Lula
Dan
Bacher
The WTO's War on Salmon
Peter
Phillips and Jason Spencer
Entertainment Media 2003
Nuclear
Age Peace Foundation
The Challenge of Nuclear Weapons in the 21st Century
Wayne Madsen
Outting Ashcroft's Latest Hypocrisy
Larry
Kearney
Starlight
Steve
Perry
The Bush Administration
Lies Marathon, Day 3
June
16, 2003
Frida
Berrigan
Death in Aceh: US Weapon Aid the
Repression
Publius
Candidate Dem and Citizen Green
Tarif
Abboushi
Roadmap or Roadkill?
Rep. John
Conyers
Bush's Deceptions about Iraq Threaten Democracy at Home
Julian
Samuel
A Review of Pilger's The New Rulers of the World
Uri
Avnery
The Children of Death
Steve
Perry
Bush's Lies,
Part 2
June
14 / 15, 2003
Edward
Said
A Roadmap to What and Where?
Jeffrey
St. Clair
Pryor Unrestraint: Killer Bill Pryor's
Mad Quest for the Federal Bench
David Lindorff
Rumsfeld v. Belgium
Jennifer
Loewenstein
Suicide's Most Willing Accomplice
Lee Sustar
US Tax System: Rigged for the Rich
Ben
Tripp
Of Dissidents and Dissonance
William
S. Lind
Lies, Damned Lies and Military Intelligence
Joanne
Mariner
Rebellious Judges
Gila Svirsky
A Macabre Alliance
Mickey
Z.
Where We Are
Chris Floyd
Metaphysics as a Guide to Murder
Noah
Leavitt
Peru as Our Crystal Ball?
Yves Engler
and Bianca Mugyenyi
The G8 and Africa
Dr.
Gerry Lower
Dear Rudy, Let's Get Those Damned Liberals
Ted Dace
A Review of Kovel's The Enemy of Nature
Adam
Engel
Midnight at the Apocalyptic Pancake
Poets'
Basement
Smith, Greeder, Albert, and O'Hayer
Website
of the Weekend
AEI: Starts Wars; Creates
Poverty
June
13, 2003
David
Vest
Bush
Roadmap to What?
Ron Jacobs
The Iranian Revolution, Reloaded?
John
Chuckman
The Man Who Wasn't There
Jason Leopold
Six Months Before War White House Silenced Critics of WMD Intelligence
Michael
Leon
Missing Weapons, Shrinking Bush and the Media
Negar Azimi
Ashcroft's Cruel Version of America
Saul
Landau
Shiite Happens
Hammond
Guthrie
Then and Now
Steve
Perry
Bush's Wars
Web Log 6/13
June
12, 2003
Gary
Leupp
The Intel-gate Row in Britain: a Chronology
Ahmad Faruqui
The Tragic Legacy of the Six Day
War
Wayne
Madsen
Unfit for Office: Time for Rumsfeld to Resign
Laura Carlsen
Hunger and Security
Tarif
Abboushi
Warm and Fuzzy in Aqaba
Ray
McGovern
Deceived into War: Reflections of
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Steve
Perry
Counting Bush's
Lies, part 2
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Civil Liberties
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Michel
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Uzma
Aslam Khan
The Unbearably Grim Aftermath of War:
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Paul de Rooij
Arrogant
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Gore Vidal
The
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Francis Boyle
Impeach
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June
21, 2003
Waiting, Waiting to
Bloom
The
Fat Man in Little Boy
By ADAM ENGEL
Let's talk about the night The Fat MAN raped you.
How old were you, seven, eight, nine? I was eight, I think.
"KABOOM!" the Fat MAN screamed.
"What? What?"
"Only kidding," laughed The
Fat MAN, stroking HIS Bomb. "Go back to sleep."
"Jesus Christ. How the Hell'm I
suppose to sleep NOW?"
"Relax. If I had really let this
sucker go you'd be part of the rug by now. A little Rorschach
blot of goo."
"A what?"
"Anyway, I promise to wake you when
I come for real."
"Oh...well..."
"Sissy-pants," clucked The
Fat MAN. "You wouldn't want to sleep through our Big Night,
would you? Wanna be a little boy all your life?"
"To tell you the truth -"
"Good night, sweet-pea," whispered
The Fat MAN. "I love you. Now turn over. That's right. Show
your tender side to ME."
Such was my deflowering. I'm sure you
have stories of your own. Yeah, it sucks to be buggered by the
Fat MAN with his giant, steely Bomb. It hurts real bad. And once
you're fucked by the fat man you stay fucked--forever.
But don't be ashamed. It's not an act
of sex, but of benevolent violence. Cultural initiation, etc.
You won't come to terms with your inner Fat MAN until you admit
the truth. Nothing to be ashamed of. We've all been through it.
To deny it would be un-American. We might try something crazy,
like exorcize the Fat Man and his bomb from our psyches and make
ourselves selves instead of reproductions of HIM. Then we'd REALLY
know the meaning of "terror." Nope. HE'S jammed that
big old Bomb of His inside us all. The Fat MAN thinks with HIS
warhead. HE can't help himself. Deep, deep, way deep inside forever
and always, keeping us safe from, you know, The Other.
Of course, innocent that you were, you
went to teacher the next morning. How could you have known what
unspeakable things the Fat MAN did to HER? You listened, respectfully,
as she explained how The Bomb, that hard, cold thing that ruptured
what was clean in you the night before, saved millions of lives
simply by slaughtering a few hundred thousand.
Too young, too INNOCENT, weren't you,
to imagine the enormity of 20,000 some-odd humans vaporized instantly
and another hundred thousand or so to die horrible deaths, or
worse, live on as ghosts with the Fat MAN'S spunk like acid in
their cells? Too young to think about how many people were in
the process of being murdered brutally for a few yen that morning
of August 6, 1945 (Bomb to the rescue); how many raped; how many
making love; stealing; eating breakfast; going to work; or simply
taking a crap while reading an old newspaper like good old life-loving
Leopold Bloom, when they were abruptly delivered from sinful
mortality, the myriad deceptions of the flesh.
Of course, you were further instructed
in the ways of the Fat MAN by old photos of the A-Bomb fireball
and mushroom cloud in black and white--so passe. The H-Bomb was
always in color when you opened your sacred American History
text to Eisenhower or later. Its hellish orange sucked all light
and color from the room. You and your classmates stared in darkness,
the same darkness in which you were all, yes even cute little
Jack or Jill or whomever you had such a sweet, child crush on,
felt the Bomb between his tight, butt cheeks, her raw, bald vulva.
Even they were taken by the Fat MAN, who whispered, "Love
me, love me," to them too. Don't feel cheap, used. Nobody's
special in HIS eyes. We're all part of a team. One Nation under
HIM.
If you were lucky, Rod Serling helped
you through your temporary confusion, so confident in his black
suit and tie and holding his cigarette, leaving Burgess Meredith
alone with broken glasses, a smoldering world, and piles and
piles of obviated tomes...
Anyway they, the worthless Jap citizens
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki--they were the ENEMY, weren't they?
They DID, every single one of them, bomb Pearl Harbor, no?--by
accepting the cleansing fire of The Bomb, saved millions of lives,
or whatever Harry Truman and Friends said, so fuck' em. They're
martyrs and they or their surviving friends and family should
be proud, damn proud, of all that they sacrificed for peace on
earth.
Well, now you have children of your own
to offer to The Fat MAN. Don't bother locking their doors or
barring their windows--you can't save them from THIS Midnight
Rambler. They're HIS, or will be. Why do you think HE let you
reproduce?
It's perfectly natural. The way of things.
You're not a tax-evader, are you? You paid for HIS salary and
benefits, his golden parachute and steely Bomb, didn't you? Might
as well let the little tykes enjoy the experience of offering
themselves (actually, you offered them) to the Fat MAN.
If you're lucky they'll accept HIM willingly
and without unnecessary complications, won't reject him with
(yuck, yuck) free-radicals or anti-bodies or some such genetic
anomaly. They'll become like unto HIM and conform unto HIS needs,
which, of course, serve the greater good.
If all goes well, they'll embrace HIM,
eventually, just like you did. Maybe there'll even be schools
you can afford and jobs that they can get (not work, jobs; there
hasn't been much real work in this country for decades; think
about it: what do YOU do?).
If all else fails, there's always this
MAN's army...
Give them to the Fat MAN and his ...uh...missile...like
your parents gave you. Be at peace. Let go. It's inevitable.
Really. For all you know, HE'S already deflowered them. Plunged
HIS Bomb deep. Real deep. And for all you know, they liked it
(kids today aren't nearly as innocent as we were).
HIS seed is inside them now, waiting
to bloom.
When he's not re-reading passages from
"Deracination:
Historicity, Hiroshima, and the Tragic Imperative,"
by Walter A. Davis, Adam Engel can be reached in his shelter
at bartleby.samsa@verizon.net
Today's Features
Elaine
Cassel
Bush Plays the Racial Profiling Card:
It's a Smokescreen
Brian
Cloughley
Punch-and-Judy in the West Wing:
The Powell-Rice Show
David Lindorff
What's Next?
Mark
Jacobs
A Serious Conversation: a Former Foreign Service Officer on Diplomacy
in the Age of Bush
Alfredo
Castro
Bloodbath in Colombia: The Army and the Death Squads
Saul
Landau
Lying, Flag Waving and Redefining
Conservative Values
Steve
Perry
Bush's Wars
Web Log, 6/19
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