Archive
04/07/09 - (1)
Scenes from New America
A pall of metastasizing doom has fallen, like a funereal glow, Over America's stultified psyche, Burning its eyes, choking its throat, melting its flesh.
People from all walks of life Have become the walking dead, zombies. They're everywhere they've always been, but they're not there.
Dread has set in, with a vengeance not seen in eighty years. Soon, bread and water will be luxuries difficult to come by, In this debt-glutted, foreclosed society.
Generations of families will be forced together, under one roof, Hunkering down, in basements, attics, even garages. Single-family homes will be cold-water flats, boardinghouses.
Mere self-preservation will guide the politics of New America, As federal agencies, state and local governments all implode And laws erode into unprecedented lawlessness,
Anarchy, anomie leveling urban ghettos, suburban sprawls, Stadiums, airports, and resorts into toxic-waste dumps, Megamalls into permanently unarable land.
No cars, just horses, donkeys, and mules, for the prosperous — Those lucky few who'll be able to avoid walking. No electricity, just hand- and foot-powered implements.
No currency, just trade-in-kind, labor for hire. No medicine, just home remedies, whiskey, and prayer. No hope, just day-to-day getting-through-the-day.
How, we'll ask, for centuries, Did that pall fall so fast, catch us so dead on our feet, That even death didn't recognize us?
04/07/09 - (1)
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