intro speckshun

i type in a small room at the y in a large american city.

i type badly in lower case to match my lower caste status. after a glorious may afternoon and a charming dinner with a friend i slump into depression in thought of my country. is this truly our land whose leaders rip another country apart like a chicken? our land whose leaders kidnap, confine, torture men of different language and skin tone? what mad zealotry has turned them into yeats' rough beasts?

the ferocious despair of the era the vietnam war returns. then as now we suffered a deluded chief executive pursuing a war of personal bile, a war to uphold his own ego, a war that savaged a far land, a war of slaughter, a war without goals, a war that rode month after month on its own blood trail, a war stripped of sense or human goals.

help me now, you friends out there - what are we to do?

i invite your words, your agitations, your sane responses.