Skip to main content

History & its Biases

 All good brother,

swimming in the sea and Hunter S Thompson is always wise.

A good way to go

Inside this rollercoaster pipeline.

I'm enjoying my break from music.

Not sure I like writing much, sometimes it’s fun,

when I get in a Hunter like groove,

but serious writing is truly awful.

It is seriously unpleasant.

It messes up your insides.

While the World chatters as glibly and arrogantly as ever.

 

Have been meditating on suffering 

And how too often people focus on the perpetrators of crimes against humanity

And how rarely we focus on the victims/survivors.

Is it because my lot are victors of History?

And count victims/survivors as Other?

Is it the structural biases of English?

Is it mere habit of outlook? Of Practice?

I lay on the bed crying about it all Sunday afternoon,

It haunts me as I work in the Knowledge Industry,

Contributing a lot of volume,

But little that brings about anything approximating Justice

And thought I SHOULD write about it

If writing I do,

 

But frankly, 

I don't have the stomach for it.

 

Where to start, where to begin? --

Another war starts in Ethiopia

Where do they get the guns from?

Food is scarce

Are guns cheaper than potatoes?

But the victims already pile up,

Doomed to be but numbers in the World's Press.

 

Who will remember them?

Their spirit, their wisdom, their love, laughter and music?

Will the media speak their names!

Name them, 

Tell their stories

Their appetites for work

Their plans for the future

 

And demand help for them

To lessen the toll

And not chalk what's happening up as 'another' anything

Suffering is unique

Each victim is rich in variety, complexity

 

Speak up their humanity

Show us their beauty

Grant them their Rights as Humans

That is the truth of Tragedy.

 


©Malachi Doyle 2021.

 




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

“I didn’t know!”

  “I didn’t know!”   Don’t get me wrong In a Two Party preferred system  I have no choice but to give preferences to Labor The Coalition are scum But Jacinta Allen, Victorian Premier Claimed in a Truth Telling Commission that she never knew about massacres Of Indigenous people in the state She’d never looked up The history of her country The history of the state she leads She’s Premier! She leads a department that ‘manages Indigenous affairs’ We are currently in the process of negotiating a Treaty What did she think happened to all the Aboriginal people?! They went up to live up the Magic Faraway Tree? “No one told me!” No one ever told me either I fuckin researched It was really easy Took 10 minutes There’s this new thing called the Internet & you search stuff up Like History A subject no longer taught in many schools past year 7 I deduced a lot from observing the place & how allergic we are of looking at ourselves ...
2 comments
Read more

In a very unorthodox way

  In a very unorthodox way # (For Max Sometimes) In a very unorthodox way, I’m an Irish Catholic. Of course, in terms of Belfast politics that MEANS something. & while that maybe true – in Australia, for different reasons, as Fr Bob Maguire put it – when Mary first saw Jesus walking out of the tomb on day 3 of his death, she exclaimed “JESUS!!!” – the first time his name was used as a swear word. In that way of an irreverent joke, REVERENTIAL & ORTHODOX are not my way to the Sacred/Love*. For me – I’m not really into Theology – as Max Sometimes quoting me, quoting my mate Richard, quoting Bob Marley, quoting Rasta elders, said today “who feels it knows it.” & I believe that if I am to write my Mass/Symphony of Hope/Love, I must include at least one blasphemous hymn, else the vision depicted be simplistic, like George Handel’s Messiah. The Hope/Love represented or perhaps alluded to (if you prefer) must include genuine despair, dejection, transgression else it...
Post a Comment
Read more

Though it made me a poet

Though it made me a poet   This is a superior microwave to the last if  everything has to be a competition I guess it does! In the Kafkaesque vortex Where one is trying merely to ask a question Instead one is sold something I’m monastic or have acute anxiety Anxiety is pretty cute Like a decapitated bleeding brain Covered in snails turned carnivore By the wrack & ruin of a child’s innocence The fist in the sister’s face The knife in the wall Did I imagine the latter, dream it or see it? Who threw it? Must have been the bowie Still life goes on So I went to school the next morning & got my mouth taped up For being a chatterbox Such is the life of a privileged 5 year old It made me a poet     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  
Post a Comment
Read more