godspeed, ya' fuckin' moron

Once, I was quoted in an article by The Human Chihuahua. I was quoted without my knowledge, and indeed, even though I was being savagely parodied, I was the only one privy to the knowledge that it was me, doing the silly rant about being the first one in my high school to have a proper ponytail, "...I mean, this was like 1987, same summer Bono grew his..." etc. Funny thing was, this was a monthly article written from Olympia, Washington to readers of a li'l mag in Portland, Oregon, purporting to have the lowdown on the world-famous Oly scene. Thing was, the Chihuahua spoke almost exclusively about fictional bands playing equally fictional venues. "I saw Bitch Filter last night at the Chunder Blow. It rocked..." This made me feel even stranger, seeing my own (badly chosen) words being spoken by Mr. Freakishly Short Arms there, in a forum almost entirely concerned with non-existent things. It gave me the headache you get from a long night of sweaty sleep in a small closet.
I was kind of thinking of doing something like that here, once I get out of this meta-meta phase I'm in here (blogging about blogging). I don't know, though. I do intend to refer to people I've known by weird little code titles, but I haven't determined whether or not that means that I can't talk about the album I was listening to, earlier.
It was ...godspeed, you black emperor's "f#a#@" album, and it dovetailed nicely with what I read later on; a thing in the new Popular Mechanics seeking to scientifically debunk several conspiracy theories about the events of September Eleventh, four years ago. It made pretty good hash of most of them, but I must say that there was still a sharp smell of someone with a political agenda trying, yet again, to make other people simply stop asking questions.
Okay, so it was planes, not missles, that hit the WTC, without the aid of explosives in the buildings. A plane, not a missle, that hit the Pentagon, and the reason that the hole is so small is that when planes do that, their wings tend to shear off. It wasn't an air force jet that shot down that plane over Pennsylvania. It just crashed. Well, I still think that I'm being lied to, but all that to one side...
Though this is beyond the topic material normally covered by Popular Mechanics, how about the other, far more troubling aspects, like the fact that we're all very used to being lied to around here, and if you ever happen to ask any questions, you'll spend all your time responding to crybabies who call you a "conspiracy theorist", and assume that that means you clearly are wrong. For most people, it does. Truthfully, if you accept the official version of events, you have to have some sort of functional schizophrenia going on...Even the administration is happy enough to admit when they misstated things, in the interest of acheiving some of their goals. They lie; they joke about it. Any worthwhile study of history includes the debunking and dissection of the accepted truths of the day, later found to be untrue. So that sort of thing happened in the past...Not this time, though. That would be too monstrous to countenance, or, as our ambassador to the United Nations at the time put it, "I won't even dignify that disgusting assertion with an answer."
Of course you won't, chief. Anyway, I'd still like this mostly to be a metaphorical account of my life on the high seas, sprinkled happily with names-changed-to-protect like Bobby Massage and The Loose Cannon. Still though, I'm a politics junkie, and it's been an interesting four years to be one. And one more thing:
'Twas Saudis on those planes, not Iraqis, and the only person who actually profited from the deaths of circa three-thousand people on that day is currently jokingly referred to as The President.
"The Car is on fire, and there is no one at the wheel...
The Government is corrupt, and we're all so many drunks with the radio on and the curtains closed. We're trapped inside the belly of this horrible machine, and the machine is bleeding to death...
The Sun has fallen down, and the Billboards are all leering, and the Flags are all dead, at the top of their poles
The Skyline was beautiful on fire; all twisted metal stretching upwards, everything washed in a thin orange haze...
We woke up one morning, and fell a little further down. For sure as the valley of death, I open up my wallet, and it's full of blood."
-...godspeed, you black emperor!, circa late nineties
The Human Chihuahua? I believe he stopped liking me when he discovered that we were calling him The Human Chihuahua behind his back.