Just an act

We have seen the carnage played out. Almost to its final act.

We came, and have yet conquered. Yes, the land perhaps. But not hearts and minds.

I am not referring to Vietnam. I am talking about America. Its young history, fickle ambition and shifting shadow of past glory.

We should have paused and enjoyed our bounty right after WWII. Instead we have to dip in all the pots in the name of this and that. The world barely recuperate from Covid and have yet caught a breath. Then bang! two hot wars, and a bunch of court cases (91?) that surely distracting like Hell.

It were as if we had outsourced our shooting to Prague and elsewhere. “Send them ammunition”.

The manufacturers of gun powder would care less who the target was. As long as the chuck chink sound is heard at the cash register. So are the ad men/women, search-technology assisted. America is going back to school in legalese and euphemism. A long saga and winding charade.

The Wild West exported and outsourced overseas.

Kids (in foreign land and in state) lost their lives, limbs and outlook for the future. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart”… This year, save me some tears, I ordered it from Amazon and have it delivered at the front door.

We don’t grow old. We grow more cynical as we can hardly believe anything said, unless it’s done. And even then, action got to bear consequences.

Recent examples I have in mind include Santos and Guilianni.

Both are out of a job and perhaps a place of dwelling.

A desperate attempt to stay relevant, in the news and sensational Fox. Then a steep fall from grace.

Riding the wave of drama. As if life and career is just an act, a trans beauty contest.

(Both by the way, put on either make up or hair dye).

And so it goes. Life in the 21st century. Everyone is dress-rehearsed, like the night before the wedding. Except we talk to ourselves, seeing ourselves reflected in the mirror (the screen, made in China).

It’s just an act. Solo act. Like the King of Cool Steve McQueen after another failed escape attempt in Papillon, throws and catches his old baseball against his familiar solitary confinement.

Just an act. But it needs to be performed. The audience is waiting, egging on as the laugh soundtrack is Ever ready when you are “Frito lay”.