The Doom of Dick
this is in response to a Mark Morford column about the Doom of Dick.
Dear Mark of the Quarks,
The 07.27.07 Pr[yyyyyy]nt Ch[yyy]y piece said it so much but not so all. You tell of “ . . . the great low moan of deep chthonic pain” which hunts, haunts, and taunts our beloved distance-defying molasses-slow deep lyric of whale song. Sicker Dick evokes an anti-whale song of the Malevolent, of the severely paranoid Bleak Hole where all hope is sucked in to die, after torture just short of organ failure.
The best ult-irony (ultra, cult, exult) in the DickDoomeozoic Era came in the new L’il Bush show on Comedy Central where it’s established that SickerDick will randomly and frequently grab any passing bird, wring its head off, and, throwing his head back making the guttural signature cheney grunts, through the remaining long neck, gulpingly suck its blood and innards out as its forlorn body deflates.
The apotheosis of grim grins in this gag came when the “Gang” (of L’il Bush, L’il Condi, L’il Cheney, L’il Rove) ends up in the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Emerald City in 'Raq. From the ugly, pulverizing, filthy chaos of outer Baghdad, the Gang is suddenly in the Burger King bliss-out of the Green Zone. Birds alight on Cheney’s shoulders, Bambi and Bamba and puppies cavort at his feet. Cheney reaches up and seizes the Blue Bird of Happiness off his own shoulder, rips its head off, sucks out its juices in a few gulps and throws its husk angrily aside, as if the very existence of any remnants of happiness in the World are a personal affront.
The following is not figurative. Suspend disbelief for a few paragraphs and then decide. As a life-long psyentist studying all layers of the reality onion, I was trained to see with h-ray (holo-ray) vision and in this case was just able to survive it. I had been musing on the underground theory that SickerDick et Ilk are a brutal branch off the once-human tree, a kind of reptile-human hybrid from the infamous ‘Atlantean’ tinkering for better and much worse with the human DNA structures. Where you and I pre & post words reach down and find mammal, warm-blooded, SickerDick et Ilk reach down and aren’t mammal, are reptile, cold-blooded, slither. And lidless eyes.
This was difficult speculative material to study, a deep revulsion, a molecular disgust. But none of my decades of druid training and psychic stabilization, gyroscopic wizard ways, wyrd and wonderfull, remotely prepared me for the ghastly holovision my peeled eyes were to encounter. I undertook this assignment on behalf of the sane, the poetry-keepers, the kind of folk unwilling to call killed kids collateral damage.
In any spectrum of ‘normal,’ (even including criminal), human auras have a northern-lights quality. They can range from radiant to disturbed. You can be tested by what you see, even detest what you see, or be made molten in smitten delight.
SickerDick’s ‘aura’ has never known dawn. The best I can factually describe it is to say that it looks like a 15″ layer of thickly, sickly coagulated cottage-cheese clots of densely whirling styrofoam white soulless material embedded with furiously spinning remorseless flak of tiny spikes like the barbs off barbed wire.
It took all of my training and the focused succor of my lineage from the deep past through the deep future for me not to be struck blind and struck dead by the hideous unhumanness of this unveiled vision. Nothing remotely human remains in the essence of Mr. Cheney.
His ‘aura’ is so opaque, so perfectly violently and rabidly vigilant against allowing light or information in. Or out. It is a system of such distilled and eternal suspicion and contempt that our mammalian human comprehension of motive, reason, thought, feeling shatters against its implacable malign disregard and rejection of human longings, insight, wist, mobius interaction. We have not begun yet to be frightened enough.
(Part of the reason our darling language keeps collapsing as the best word-slingers try to describe the baleful effects of SickerDick et his zombie-obedient Ilk is that language is an human ornament and implement and is not prepared to describe the airless, unhuman, strangely odorless hole-where-stench-would-be sensation these reptiloids in human suits evoke.)
As a valiant human outcry, your 07.27.07 piece re-ignited my congealing courage. I would amend your last sentence to “Dick Cheney, busy cackling ominously [and omnivorously] deep in his bunker, was unavailable for comment.”
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ps. I meant this to be shorter but my disbelief & dismay are so great.
//All images Hieronymus. Only Bosch seems to get close to the feel.
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