Friday, April 11, 2008

Singing a Song of Banalized Evil

Dear George,

It is a droning voice, monotonous in its movement, a dulling cadence that moves neither too quickly nor too slowly as it casually drops labels and clich├ęs, trying to pass jargon off as depth, concealing its dehumanizing thrust behind a shield of faux-positive delivery, passing off uncertainty as certainty, hinting at salvation in words that conceal the linguistic nihilism that is the dynamic that moves it, pumping itself up on a word stream of its own self importance, a smokescreen spinning itself out of the stale cobwebs of fantasy.

There you have it, George: stage directions for your Pentagon spokesmen.

Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones

3 comments:

thepoetryman said...

Stage directions! If only more of Shakespeare's tragic characters had had more stage directions they would not have perished of their own hubris or what have you, and his plays would have never seen the light of day!

Not exactly sure what that means but I'm leaving it nonetheless.

Case Wagenvoord said...

All we seem to get these days is bad actors.

thepoetryman said...

We don't get bad actors...we produce them!