But we wake up and all we hear in the birds’ songs is war.
When the birds sing outside our window they sing of the end of negotiations with the UN, of the Dow soaring on confidence of a short war, of how rebel forces in the Central African Republic have dissolved parliament and suspended the constitution, of the resumption of the trading in oil futures in London after protestors broke into the building and fights broke out on the trading pit.
They sing of how someone makes Natalie Maines apologize for her shame that the president of the United States is from Texas, of seven people, killed in Palestine, of drug-resistant pneumonia that continues to spread, and of the worldwide mourning for Rachel Corrie.
The birds also sing of how celebrities in Los Angeles are getting their manicures and their hair done as they always do.
March 27 and 30, 2003
During the bombing, beloveds, our life goes on as usual.
Oh the gentle pressing of our bodies together upon waking.
Oh the parrots and their squawking.
Oh the soft breeze at five to ten miles per hour.
Oh the harsh sun and the cool shade.
Oh the papaya and yogurt with just a little salt for breakfast.
Oh the cool shower that we take together.
This makes us feel guiltier and more unsure of what to do than ever.
We watch it all happen on television.
We go to protests as they happen.
We write up reports of our protests and send them out to friends who then send them on to friends and we read the reports of others with pleasure and hope.
We count numbers attending and numbers arrested.
This weekend …
one hundred in Sanaa
five hundred in New Delhi
fifty thousand in Athens
ten thousand in Cape Town
twenty-five thousand in Boston
one thousand and five hundred in Chicopee
three thousand in Los Angeles
three thousand in Santiago
one hundred and twenty thousand across Australia
one hundred in Beijing
ten thousand in Edinburgh
ten thousand in Paris
fifty thousand in Berlin
thirty thousand between the cities of Osnabrück and Münster
and then others in Cairo, Amman, Jakarta
in Brussels, in Athens
in San Francisco, New York, and Chicago.
Still a huge sadness overtakes us daily because of our inability to control what goes on in the world in our name.
And we comment on the pleasures of our own lives sardonically to try to take back this sadness, these nightmares that happen in the world while we are sleeping and show up in our dreams, pinning us down to the bed, on our backs squawking.
We say ironic things to each other.
Oh go get your war on we say when one is being too boastful.
Oh sure, we say, oh yeah, we say over and over while watching some general talk about something, as if mocking inarticulate expressions of dissatisfaction from our childhood will save us.
Today, as this war begins, every word we say is caught—every word, whether it is ironic or not, whether it is articulate or not—and we feel it all in the room all day long.
When we speak of Lisa Marie Presley having sex with Michael Jackson we speak of JDAM and JSOW air-to-surface precision bombs.
We speak of the stinger antiaircraft missiles and the massive ordnance air-blast bombs when we speak of SAP AG and the Microsoft RPC hole and the Denial of Service attacks.
When we mumble about whether the mystery disease is a statutory communicable disease or not we can’t keep the words M1A1 Abrams battle tanks, M2A3 Bradley fighting vehicles, M6 Bradley linebackers, and Humvees from stumbling out of our mouths.
When we speak of Robert Blake back in court we speak of GBU laser-guided bombs, of GBU-28 bunker buster bombs.
We speak of Daisy Cutter fifteen-thousand-pound bombs as we speak of both the MK82 five-hundred- and two-thousand-pound bombs and we also speak of thermobaric weapons, Tomahawk/AGM-86 cruise missiles, and Have Nap missiles when we speak of Snoop Dogg’s decision to include in his latest song a message left on his answering machine by Big Jim Bob that taunts Suge Knight.
When we talk about how the Florida nurse died of the smallpox vaccination and how sperm may sniff their way to eggs we talk also of M109A6 Paladin Howitzers and the M270 multiple-launch rocket system.
We get up in the morning and the words “Patriot missile systems,” “the Avengers,” and “the US infantry weapons” tumble out of our mouths before breakfast.
When we marvel at the new one-hundred-billion-dollar theater for Celine’s new show at Caesar’s Palace we marvel also at the maverick air-to-surface missiles, the HARM antiradar missiles, the AIM-120 air-to-air missiles, and the Hellfire air-to-surface missiles.
And it goes on and on all day long and then we go to bed.
In bed, when I stroke the down on yours cheeks, I stroke also the carrier battle group ships, the guided missile cruisers, and the guided missile destroyers.
When I reach for yours waists, I reach for bombers, cargo, helicopters, and special operations.
When I wrap around yours bodies, I wrap around the USS Abraham Lincoln, unmanned aerial vehicles, and surveillance.
When I rest my head upon yours breasts, I rest upon the USS Kitty Hawk and the USS Harry S.Truman and the USS Theodore Roosevelt.
Guided missile frigates, attack submarines, oilers, and amphibious transport/dock ships follow us into bed.
Fast combat support ships, landing crafts, air cushioned, all of us with all of that.
DESIGNER:
SANDY DROOKER
TEXT:
ADOBE GARAMOND
DISPLAY:
AKZIDENZ GROTESK
PRINTER AND BINDER:
FRIESENS CORPORATION
This Connection of Everyone with Lungs Page 4