A Literary Journal of Critical Thinking
In the Samizdat Tradition of Writing against the Machine
A Forum for Examining the Dark Side of the Academic/Literary Industrial Complex

Mary Gribble (San Marino, CA)
Being of age, I have watched many of our so-called public institutions operate in the same manner as an Us-Only-Tree-House-Club I carefully scrutinized as a five-year-old. Although nothing worthwhile can result without a filing cabinet in good order, the concept of "order" has been the patchwork quilt cover-up for too many faceless corporations, schools, churches, prisons, institutions and governments. Each of these beg to be pulled apart and inspected by those who (voluntarily or involuntarily) support them, NOT by those whom they support. Injustice and suffering silently grow and dominate, like weeds and snails in one's garden. We can respond by jump-starting ourselves to keep tabs on those entitled who stonewall with expensive bond stationery and evasive language.

Huge Oil Well (Saro-Wiwa's Name for Oganiland)
Tearing at the blood-red meat of mission,
he coaxed human rights, a Lazarus, to rise
and yawn.
Ken Saro-Wiwa knew that truth was fire;
his flame-thrower singed questions to all each
evil day.
Pleading for the earth and for Ogonis,
his final work thrust satire at the
mindless ways
of tormentors, pretenders, false accusers,
who rejoiced, awarded titles to themselves,
yet were to God
more vulnerable than he. These dead men killed
the poet and his brothers; black gold had made
all the cowards bold.
Found in folds of diapers of a newborn, who
visited his uncle's prison cell, the poem seared,
as in
they would construct a too-small box for him
"protesting injustice, his corpse squeaked and
screamed."
Internationals who built the pumps and towers
grew Jack's beanstalk from the dung of failure
to protest.
Its resident giant* roared softly, "It was complicated."
"They all with one consent, began to make excuse."**
Ken wrote,
"Champagne bottles popped endlessly… boots shone.
And Ken Saro-Wiwa laughed in his grave." Tears
of the just
came to a boil.
……………………………………………
* Shell Oil
** from the Bible

Goliath's Kids:  The "Defense" Contractor
Armed with a coat of mail,
around my moat, bland lawyers bathe,
blameless as piranhas,
their needled choppers threaten you
away from earnest questions.

I build unneeded planes and subs
and missiles that don't work.
Warm, squashy things
who come and go
through my palace gates,
in their sleep, recite our chant,
"Who me? I only work here."

A side of the Iron Triangle,
I am immovable as God.
Although my tastes are Philistine,
I hold the food chain rank
of ancient intellects,
the creators of old masters.
For I have noble sponsors:

Starving Congress must have pork
while branches of the Mil
compete like junior-high school boys
and ask, like the Disciples,
"Which one is the greatest?"
These matters do not bother me,
armed with a coat of mail.
Choose you a man and let him

come down to me.*

........................................................
*"come down to me" is a Biblical term for "prepare for battle"

Goliath's Kids:  School Of The Americas
Helmet of brass upon my head,
as your neighborhood Secret School,
I'd hoped folks would think me well-covered
with traditional armed forces chic,
before my resume slithered through.

My questioner called on her sister
and World War Two paratroop spouse,
fresh home from floating dead-scared over Rome.
The Officers Club wowed her fifteen years;
her only fear: that troopers might forget their lines
and christen her dress with their Bourbon.
That was yesterday. Save us all: Today,

Congress changed my name
to the incongruous
Defense Institute for Hemispheric
Security Cooperation
and my curriculum
to What To Do If You're Caught.
A toast to you, Stupidity! You sanctify my bloody
deeds!

I teach right-wing barbarians
techniques they could teach me.
Fresh out of class, freshly insane,
my students stormed six priests and maids;
twenty-one alumni did the murders and the cover.
Pesos and dollars for savages and for being me.
Helmet of brass upon my head.

Choose you a man and let him
come down to me.
We have, old man, and we will.