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Who Would You Flush?

Is it possible to commit worse violence against Oceanus? We choke it with swirling plastic, spew oil and corexit stew, vomit irradiated slop into its lapping maw.

Water, first element, symbolizes purity and fertility. It’s supposed to clean and bring forth, but our water, befouled now, conveys sickness and kills.

George Monbiot has just opened a sushi takeout. House specialty: Radiated Cesium Roll. UN and International Atomic Energy Agency approved. Come meet radiant chef Naoto Kan. All you can’t eat lunch, dinner and wake. Free goggles, mask and industrial galoshes upon entry.

The Vietnamese word for country is water. Which water are you from? Though I was born in that water, I will die in this water. To be together is to be in the same water, in the same womb, comprende? Come closer, mare mere, let’s spend this longest night together. Do we have a choice?

Neruda thought the sea should be tamed and dominated. I translate a chunk from his “Oda al Mare”:

we’ll enter you,
we’ll chop the waves
with a knife made of fire,
on an electric horse
leaping over foam,
singing
we’ll sink
until we touch the bottom
of your guts,
an atomic thread
will guard your shank,
we’ll plant
in your deep garden
trees
of cement and steel,
we’ll tie
your hands and feet,
on your skin man will walk,
spitting,
yanking in bunches,
building armatures,
mounting and taming you
to dominate your spirit.

Wow, man, pretty kinky stuff! Way cool, the atomic thread…

As Japan dumps, South Korea squawks, China squints while the Philippines shrugs, “No biggie, we’ll eat it.” Obama, “What? Me worry? Scuse me while I bomb, literally and figuratively. It’s all good. I’ll get mine. Vote for me in 2012!”

To light up everything and go nowhere fast, all the time, we’ve been willing to mass murder and sometimes even die, oh shit. So what if you bleed from the ass, long as I get my unleaded, hip hop beats here, gas?

In Virgin Oceanic, billionaire will disappear from sight, earthlings, as he probes the deepest parts of your mama, regions she herself doesn’t even know exist, it being so dark down there.

Way, way down there, steel prick punctures exhausted womb to bring back slick tidings and a greasy snapshot of Fonzie, thumbs down since out of work for a while now. You can bet it will explode!

Another billionaire dreams of a better commode. He thinks we should flush less, maybe not at all. Gates wants a water closet without water.

I too have a dream. I see Goldman Sachs collapsing into its own footprint, just like World Trade Center 1, 2 and 7. Sticker, “OUR GOVERNMENT IS BEING RUN BY CRIMINALS. Sticker, “WAR IS TERRORISM WITH A BIGGER BUDGET.” Sticker, “WAR IS ALWAYS A PART OF THE SOLUTION.”

Top one percent control 40% of national wealth, so the flushest flush nearly half of our flush fund while the unwashed bottom are flushed.

Who would you flush?

LINH DINH is the author of two books of stories and five of poems, and the recently published novel, Love Like Hate. He’s tracking our deteriorating socialscape through his frequently updated photo blog, State of the Union.

 

 

 

 

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Linh Dinh is the author of two books of stories, five of poems, and a novel, Love Like Hate. He’s tracking our deteriorating socialscape through his frequently updated photo blog, State of the Union.

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