I’d Rather Be An Animal


Postcard from The End of America

“Across the country, I’ve seen many small flags stuck to tents, as if to declare that this, too, was America, and of course it was, and becoming more representative by the day. Though they flaunt no political signs, these tents on concrete or city grass are no less of a statement and indictment than the Occupy encampments. In fact, I’d say that they are more so, since you don’t have to read anything to understand exactly what they mean. No joking or contradictory messages distract from the fact that hundreds of thousands of Americans have been reduced to living like savages in this self-proclaimed greatest country on earth.”

“In Oakland, a man in his early 60’s said to me, “Human beings are not supposed to live like this. Look at the birds and squirrels. They can go where they want and sleep where they want. These animals can piss and shit where they want and still look civilized. Man, I’d rather be an animal!”

“Many of our homeless are also on wheelchairs, so this is how we treat our lame, feeble and sick, even the horribly injured or diseased. In Berkeley, there’s a diaper-wearing homeless man with a huge blood and pus-caked wound on the right side of his head, yet he’s forced to be outside from before dawn until early evening. Around the Downtown Berkeley Station he hovers each day, to be ignored, mostly, by the thousands who walk by him, the way one instinctively averts one’s eyes from a piece of shit on the ground.”

“Our criminal bankers, meanwhile, are kept in high style with billion-dollar bailout after bailout, as served up, shuffling and grinning, by our criminal politicians, with the entire criminal enterprise sanctioned by American voters, whether conservatives, liberals or progressives, and explained away or ignored by our moronic or dishonest intellectuals. It’s no wonder we’re bankrupt.”


Why are these poor suffering people on Main Street?——simple, Wall Street:

Editor’s Note: It’s been well over 40yrs since I wandered the streets of Calcutta, a naive suburban kid on his first journey. In those days there wasn’t a trace of the ‘New India’ that one marvels at now. What I saw then was a living hell, and now, as I approach the end years of my life I see that living hell in America and I am ashamed to be an American. I’d rather be an animal.

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