That song came out when I was in high school, a time when my passions were far different from those I have now. Passions, still. "Baby, wanna ball you-- all night long!" I have my passions, but now they run to blood and fire.
I don't have to say more than 9-11. People know. What they mostly make of it is so far from what I would expect that now, ten years after, I find myself often enough incapable of conversation. There's no need to talk any more. Shssss.
There is nothing to say because all that should be said is buried in the public sphere and studiously ignored as it seeps out and enshrouds us all, poisoning the atmosphere of our public life. We lie. We speak and we lie to all around us and to ourselves: that there is nothing to say. Lies, more lies, and continuous lies to come.
9Destroy, O Lord, and divide their tongues: for I have seen violence and strife in the city.
10Day and night they go about it upon the walls thereof: mischief also and sorrow are in the midst of it.
11Wickedness is in the midst thereof: deceit and guile depart not from her streets.
KJV, Psalms 55: 9-11
The moral infrastructure is all rotten. The West is rotten because it's moral infrastructure is build of moral vegetable matter. It didn't last. It's turned to slime and stink. Snakes love it because rats feast, mice don't care, and other small rodents take what is as is and slide through till death takes them, nervous and twitchy. The moral has collapsed in a rotten heap, and the snakes fatten. Shhhh.
That's not the whole story. For some of us there's more. This is the evening of the tenth anniversary of 9-11. For some of us, there's a kind of hush all over the world. There's a passion left that goes beyond ones wild youth and cold-hearted old age. There's that lingering love of the good that one knows was and might again be. Night has fallen. Hush.
Now, at the end of 9-11-11 I'm signing off for the night. I leave us all with this: