They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.
The phone rings
and someone who knows my first name
calls and says in perfect Arabic
“This is David.”
And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies
still smashing around in my head
I think “Do I know any Davids in Gaza?”
They call us now to say
You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
Your house is next.
They think of it as some kind of war time courtesy.
It doesn’t matter that
there is nowhere to run to.
It means nothing that the borders are closed
and your papers are worthless
and mark you only for a life sentence
in this prison by the sea
and the alleyways are narrow
and there are more human lives
packed one against the other
more than any other place on earth
We aren’t trying to kill you.
It doesn’t matter that
you can’t call us back to tell us
the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
that there’s no one here
except you and your children
who were cheering for Argentina
sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
counting candles left in case the power goes out.
It doesn’t matter that you have children.
You live in the wrong place
and now is your chance to run
It doesn’t matter
that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
to find your wedding album
or your son’s favorite blanket
or your daughter’s almost completed college application
or your shoes
or to gather everyone in the house.
It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
It doesn’t matter who you are
Prove you’re human.
Prove you stand on two legs.
Running Orders by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha
A multitude of butterflies and their beautiful wings under the microscope.
In the shape of a cartoon heart i left something cold and dark;
there was real warmth before my metaphor.
Erasure marks remain after a year’s abstaining and
Paralysis set in as the city circled ‘round me.
I spent time traveling back and forth; once I arrived I was heading out.
Never settled on the proper order so nothing ever came about.
Stop what you are doing.
If you don’t want to read, I’ll explain the key bullet points, but please read them afterwords:
This is not “we didn’t protect him enough.”
This is not “the government screwed up some random detail or accidentally let his killer loose.”
The 111th Military Intelligence had a team taking pictures of his balcony during the assassination.
They brought in a Special Forces 8-Man Sniper Team from the 20th.
Memphis Police withdrew their regular protection detail from him.
A jury of 12 people, six black and six white, found the United States Government guilty of conspiracy to commit murder.
YOUR GOVERNMENT. MY GOVERNMENT. THE GOVERNMENT OF, BY, AND FOR THE PEOPLE, SHOT AND KILLED DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING. And the media never reported the case.
MLK was ASSASSINATED. By a government YOU PAY FOR.
I hate those posts where someone tries to pressure you into reblogging. I almost never ask you to reblog.
This shit is important.
Reblog this. I don’t care what kind of blog you have. I don’t care what you normally talk about.
I made a personal pledge to reblog this every time it appeared on my dash.
The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (2013)
I love how his glasses appear as though he’s saying “Deal with it”
7-13-14 Visions of Cleveland, Open Carry Protesters, Guitar and Gun.
From a protest of a protest I was at. Frank Lanza rules.