Dream of Arabian Hillbillies
Salutations from the all-encompassing
arms of a hammered millionaire!
I send a blessing of watches over your body
and a messenger to your folks
sanctifying them in a long crude eruption.
May you journey in the security
of a huge American truck. May your enemies come
to wither in front of this truck
allowing you and your kinfolk to occupy
the avenue of personal interests
privately and in full style for 60,000 years.
Talk about divine measures!
All enemy forces threatening your basic
philosophy of life demand a helpin’
of grievous medicine: it is no longer possible
to press letters of forgiveness
loaded with soft words and in diplomatic
style into their hands when clearly
in their hearts they would strip you of such
incredible resources: money out
back in important places, a wicked grip
on the situation, pools of lost time
and no little grace…but who can push the enemy
underground with hospitality?
No one. Gain control of circumstances by
taking some. Repel with mischief
raised to the utmost power, one forbidden
behavior after another, from pure
dissociation from the feelings and prides
of your forefathers to aggression
against the infrastructures of the sea and sky.
Spell serious danger to their being,
y’all—only half your hoard is remaining.
I address you now with a big torch
of guidance handed over to me by the stars
above Texas. It is unacceptable
to assist the enemy in your dispossession.
Be not bitten by the same snake
twice. The first explosion inspired
the devil, and the second a gathering
of military leaders who talk to you through such
fast moving light, one day today
is tomorrow’s fear commercial, thank you
very much. The money you pay
out for loving this world will all come back
for the money you have left, saying
“To express hate and anger is a moral gesture
to the future.” I did not just say that.
Time to be enshrined in the sanctities
of pleasure, not dragged through the streets
of the bubblin’ in your head that is
the persistence of news agencies.
Time to liberate that head from the whole
world’s behind and listen for a pen
to spell the words of your foes’ humiliation.
Why not paradise before as well as
after death, kept at a beautiful 72 degrees
and with nothing between you
and all the privileges heapin’ so high
a neck is pinched just signing up for them?
Terrorizing the snake for twisting filthy
text to your house is a human duty.
Let your good black shoes witness you push
hard into the red dust of the battle
burning your intestines like a pagan tea.
Cleanse the road to your destiny
of all idolaters and claim what they be droppin’
for your booty. Take no captives—
or maybe one or two, should they surrender
wealth, drink, hearts and selves
to your supremacy without hesitation.
Paradise’s nearness isn’t getting any
better. May you not cave in and weep deep. May wolves
not eat your wings. May your life
not be a lifelong movie of your life
but a steadfast becoming other than that
which you are: a slave to the power
fiddling among hills of fed clouds and shaken
into wonderment like a shot horse barely
gathering will to lay down with it, y’hear?
Dream of Arabian Hillbillies is composed of words selected from successive pages of Osama bin Laden’s “Declaration of War Against the Americans Occupying the Land of the Two Holy Places” (1996) and randomly from the theme song from The Beverly Hillbillies, Paul Henning’s “The Ballad of Jed Clampitt” (1962).