colonialism, environment, exploitation, Global South, life, poem, poetry, truth
The people, true, they may have been in bliss,
Fishing, hunting, laughing all the while,
Greeting each the other with a smile.
But listen to my vision, listen to this:
I see customers! I see consumers! I see cash!
A way to keep our profit from a crash.
Let’s demonstrate our agribusiness joys,
Export industrial wastes and noise!
I see markets for cigarettes and cow’s milk!
You can hardly call it a rip-off, a bilk,
Because they will be so much better off
If they drink themselves to Korsakov.
And yet it sometimes happens in a craze,
These people — they don’t realize their days
Are so much better now than once they were.
They get to smell the smoke and hear the whirr;
Smoke camels; watch re-runs; drink Miller Lite;
And work in factories under cool florescent light!
Series of posts on stories and storytelling.
A sample story from Turing’s Nightmares.
A sample story from Tales from an American Childhood.
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