o c t o b e r  2000 — o c t o b e r  2004




... we are still under attack ... the bombing has not ceased ... there is a constant surveillance ... our movement is being monitored ...

At the Great Mall of America, I buy myself a sweatshirt that bears the image of a crying eagle and a waving flag. Sewn on the inside, near the fabrication history and instructions for washing, is a small, desperate note handwritten in a newly extinct language.

When I return home, I know I have been visited by the authorities. Things are too perfectly in place. The television is still on--same channel, same volume. The remote control is too cool to the touch.

In the driveway, I stick a flag decal on my truck and fill the gas tank with blood. I am feeling patriotic today.

Meanwhile, the president chokes himself to death on violence and lies. The crowd cheers, goes wild.

Rushes the field with sickles and knives.

The children of the poor are conscripted, sent off to die; the fortunate sons wipe tears from their eyes.



... we are still under attack ... enemy forces have moved in swiftly and occupied the streets with billboards and mini-mallist architecture ... invisible rays emanate from television screens, embed themselves in the pores of our skin, in our brightest pupils, in our lungs, until we are forced to look, and breathe, and die ...

The oxygen is laced with deadly microscopic shards of dollar bill. The poison works slowly; there is no known antidote; we are at an infinite loss.



Official 1: Hold still while I continue to beat the shit out of you.

Official 2: Don't struggle, you'll only make it harder on yourself.

O1: Can't you see this is the will of the people. Hand over all your credit cards and interest rates or the bunny gets it.

O2: Here, take these naked wires. One for each; it's a clear example of fair and balanced
electrocution coverage.

O1: This is what democracy looks like, pendejo.

O2: Your kind make my stomach revolt.

O1: Yes. The rich are nauseous from your stench.

O2: Next time learn to keep your emaciated internal organs to yourself.

O1: I don't think he's gonna talk again.

O2: Perfecto mundo.

O1: A huevo.

O2: Here's a gift certificate. Go buy yourself a vowel. And something nice for the wife.

O1: Yeah. Just shut the fuck up and let the fittest survive.



... we are still under attack ... ten thousand workers are laid off ... stock values rise ... shareholders make a killing ... schoolchildren pledge alliegance ...

... one thing bleeds to another ...

... factory doors shut ... prison cells open wide ... quantitative arrest scores on the rise ... helicopters circling our kids on their way to school ... corporate executives vying for attention span, peddling Ritalin on suburban streetcorners in broad daylight ... television winks, and laughs, and smiles ...

The ghosts of Magonistas prowl the border at night, waiting patiently for a second chance.



... we are still under attack ... the assault is relentless ... we are forced at gunpoint to buy ... I am blindfolded and led to a secret laboratory in the desert ... my genetic sequence is cloned, licensed, patented; I must now pay royalty fees to fuck, and bleed ...

"... this mode of existence cannot be sustained ..."

--what are you teaching these kids today, anyway?

"... we'd like you to just come with us and answer a few questions if you don't mind ..."

"... blood and hatred in the air ... machine gun giggling somewhere through the night ... media cluster balms for the elite ... the poor under bridges in campfire light ... a hungry newborn baby cries ... cops beating a guy ... green nightvision sky ... look for me in their eyes ... "

This is what your freedom looks like.



... game over ... tilt ... no body's fooling no body ... hypocrisy ...





o c t o b e r  2000 — o c t o b e r  2004


contact: kualyque • p.o. box 861843 • los angeles, ca 90086 • k u a l y q u e @ s i c k l y s e a s o n . c o m