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Signs and Wonders

Dixie

Old Dixie

My uncle snapped this marker a few weeks back while visiting family in Mississippi. Blunt, positively artless and shadowed by a snarl of poison ivy: this may be the saddest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.

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3 comments for “Dixie”

  1. It depends on who is looking at it. While in Japan, in the Air Force, I was asked:

    “What do you see when you see the Confederate flag?”

    “Home, what do you see?” I replied.

    “Slavery.” They both agreed.

    When I look at this picture, I see the death of my culture. I had some gritty photos of a 4th of July parade. Gritty, they would seem to you, I guess. They felt like this, as they were happening:

    The horseman carry our banner, honor our dead, and a culture that is abhored by all. Our art, burned in Atlanta, our remnant robbed by carpet baggers, and the ridicule of a nation is our only inheritance. The crowd is silent as they pass by, as if they carry the casket of a loved one. The only sound is the clacking of hooves, reminding us of how we were trampled by the North. God damn them, we’ll never forgive it. Somewhere behind our eyes, generations ago, an Indian cries, and we hear the echo of who we once were. We’re bred out white now, soon to be bred out brown, and through out our metamorphisis we have merely been America’s raped clown. By the time it’s over, we’ll be fucked in with everyone, end up hating ourselves, and the world will hate us still. Evolution is a mighty bitter fucking pill, especially when everyone is handling snakes, talking in tounges, and jabbering that shit that begins to make sense. Yo estoy un hombre. Yo estoy leyenda.

    Posted by The Shit House Poet | December 7, 2007, 1:28 am
  2. Nobody, on the face of God’s earth, writes like that… even if you think it’s horrible, and really it is, but different kinds of horrorible depending on how you read it. That’s the beauty of it. Reading it is like listening to Roy Orbison’s “It’s Over” and Radiohead’s “There There” at the same time. “In pitch dark I…” I go writing on your electric wall. Yes, the shit house poet has stopped by again. Hi guys.

    Posted by The Shit House Poet | December 7, 2007, 1:39 am
  3. yeah, it is sad. i just got through listening to ted koppel talk about sex on conan o’brien. i think i’ll listen to some johnny cash, take some pain pills, and go crawl back into my fucking cave.

    Posted by The Shit House Poet | December 7, 2007, 2:01 am

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