"You're obliged to pretend respect for people & institutions you think absurd. You live attached in a cowardly fashion to moral & social conventions you despise, condemn, and know lack all foundation. It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas & desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretenses of your civilization which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced. In that tolerable conflict you lose all joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppress and restrain and check the free play of your powers. That's the poisoned and mortal wound of the civilized world." The Torture Garden--Octave Mirbeau
All Things Considered, November 1, 2006 · The term "war on terror" is ubiquitous, but the meaning of the word "war" has evolved. For most of the last 2,000 years, war has meant something very conventional and traditional. The current war on terror, however, is a completely unconventional, non-traditional type of conflict. Georgetown University historian Bruce Hoffman says unlike traditional wars, the war on terror does not have a clear beginning and an end. "[War] ends with the vanquishing of an opponent, with some form or armistice or truce -- some kind of surrender instrument or document," Hoffman says. But in the war on terror, there's no specific battlefield and the enemy isn't an army. "It's a war without boundaries," Hoffman says. "It's a war directed against multiple enemies, not just one adversary."
Too ashen! Too hidden! Like some plodding prayer Mouthed under sultry breath, Lobbed skyward beneath The demoralizing weight of gravity Reluctant of its dulled and hollowed plea.
The shoddy wilt, the red droop Of oppressions scope, maudlin loyalty. Who the hell needs an optimism Carrying a loaded M21 Horizon, Or a prayer with the weight of a tank? “It’s too massive!”, cried the saint.
The gates of life swing wide For caskets draped in flags! Who the hell needs this hope So weighted down with loss? Prayers with the dead weight of children? “It’s too distressing!”, cried the angels...
The tortured garden! Insatiable craving Of the hideous instruments of ruin Planting young seeds too early In the loud, bone-dry ground Cultivating, not life, but odium. “It’s too thunderous!” cried God.
Too ashen! Too hidden! Like some plodding prayer Mouthed under sultry breath, Lobbed skyward beneath The demoralizing weight of gravity, Reluctant of its dulled and hollowed caress.
of the civilized world."
The Torture Garden--Octave Mirbeau
All Things Considered, November 1, 2006 · The term "war on terror" is ubiquitous, but the meaning of the word "war" has evolved.
For most of the last 2,000 years, war has meant something very conventional and traditional. The current war on terror, however, is a completely unconventional, non-traditional type of conflict.
Georgetown University historian Bruce Hoffman says unlike traditional wars, the war on terror does not have a clear beginning and an end.
"[War] ends with the vanquishing of an opponent, with some form or armistice or truce -- some kind of surrender instrument or document," Hoffman says.
But in the war on terror, there's no specific battlefield and the enemy isn't an army.
"It's a war without boundaries," Hoffman says. "It's a war directed against multiple enemies, not just one adversary."
(metaflower by Ben Heine - Cartoons)
OUR TORTURED GARDEN
Too ashen! Too hidden!
Like some plodding prayer
Mouthed under sultry breath,
Lobbed skyward beneath
The demoralizing weight of gravity
Reluctant of its dulled and hollowed plea.
The shoddy wilt, the red droop
Of oppressions scope, maudlin loyalty.
Who the hell needs an optimism
Carrying a loaded M21 Horizon,
Or a prayer with the weight of a tank?
“It’s too massive!”, cried the saint.
The gates of life swing wide
For caskets draped in flags!
Who the hell needs this hope
So weighted down with loss?
Prayers with the dead weight of children?
“It’s too distressing!”, cried the angels...
The tortured garden! Insatiable craving
Of the hideous instruments of ruin
Planting young seeds too early
In the loud, bone-dry ground
Cultivating, not life, but odium.
“It’s too thunderous!” cried God.
Too ashen! Too hidden!
Like some plodding prayer
Mouthed under sultry breath,
Lobbed skyward beneath
The demoralizing weight of gravity,
Reluctant of its dulled and hollowed caress.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
Inspired via Frederick MCCS1977