I have the trinity on my computer in my office watching over me. I have superman, mafioso-man, and disco-man. But they really the big cheese, the FATHER, the SON, and the HOLEE GHOST. You see them, you’d know. Right away you’d know that’s who they are, exactly who they are. Superman lost his arm at the elbow, but that’s just show. Makes you realize how he suffer for his creation. You say superman no FATHER. I say, bullshit! Everyone say FATHER make man in his image. So I say, that make him uberman right, uberman/superman, whatever. Now you have some trouble with a mafioso type strongman, tough guy, but hey, you know where the pope live?—Italy. See. And who stronger than the SON? Ain’t no one! And the HOLY GHOST, who going to argue with disco-man, fist up in black panther salute, dancing circles around the sun, the SON, the SUPER FATHER MAN. The HOLY GHOST in the wind man, he in the wind.
Here we are in this disintegrating world. Something vital has gone from the center. Already the world is not viable. Soon it will vanish. Can we re manifest the world, or a different one? What would we make, if we could make it over? Would we take care of the sick, of the dying, of the insane? Would we leave our desire for things in the last world, let desire be atomized? Would compassion be our center force and greed the great evil?
Let us design a new world. Let us place and keep compassion in the center, let us regard the benefit of society as our highest aim. Let us build our institutions as if people mattered more than money.
Come dream this dream and tell me what the world would look like and what our societal institutions would look like, what we would keep, what we would discard.
What border, what contrivance of culture is it that prevents us from standing in the middle of the street, all of us, and saying stop? Stop! We have to change this world. If we don’t change this world, there will be no world. And if we don’t believe that, can’t we see what is happening to the people of the world? Can’t we see that it is wrong that we sit behing our tables in restaurants and homes and eat all the cheap food raised by people dying in the rows from the slavery we impose? Can’t we see how we take the food from them and their children lift their too large hands to a too large face to shoo away a fly from the corners of their eyes, protuberant orbs in faces that hover over distended bellies? And their mothers and fathers dying of AIDS and them dying of AIDS and we can’t allow them to buy the drugs, or we can’t give them the drugs that will ease them or save them. And the School of the Americas graduates that have killed and raped in Central America and Columbia in the name of democracy and, oh yes, let us not forget Henry Kissinger who told the Argentinian death machine, “we want you to succeed.” Have I crossed any borders yet?