Showing posts with label anti torture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anti torture. Show all posts
Saturday, March 29, 2008
THE TITLE IS: A GREAT IMAGE ON ANTI-TORTURE
A very talented artist created the image below. Go visit her site at LeighDragoon.com She was the organizer of the whole Anti-Torture Blog Day.
Friday, March 28, 2008
SOMEWHERE IN THE STREETS OF PRETENDING,
He joined the service out of high school. He was your typical soldier; he was poor and in need of money like most of the poor are, Very seldom do you hear the poor complain about their bags being out of season. It’s just not in their nature.
And he joined the United States Army to defend his country, wave a flag, be all he can be, but mostly to pay the bills piling up from two kids at such an early age. He was not college material and though not stupid enough to believe he was too good to work in a burger joint or dig ditches, he did want something to stick his chest out about. The military gave him this, gave him authority and value from others.
That everything is alright,
Douglas started out like any other basic training soldier until he was spotted by the commander of a special operations unit while at the shooting range. She set him about being trained as a special ops sniper and that has been his travels for the last two years. It was everything the commercials said…Well, the commercials said a lot when they went off the air. You weren’t home at the time. The pay is good to send him and since he and the mother of his babies hate each other anyways, being away from home really is not much of a concern.
We are feeding monsters,
He got his current assignment because of a fight that broke out between a couple soldiers from military police and his unit down at the local pub near the base where they were picking up supplies. It was three MPs who stood their ground against an elite Army assault unit and their commanding officer was not angry at them for starting the fight or the fact that they nearly brought the roof down on a small local bar owners head, she was angry because they left with way more bruises than the MPs left with. And seeing how they did not really have a base of operations and were only passing through Great Britain she needed other ways of punishing each of her men while they were on O.M.T.(off mission time) He was the unlucky one and was sent to the British countryside to a top secret place called Underground; which, was in fact underground.
To everything that is wrong with our lives,
And now Sgt. Douglas Fielding was here in the Underground pushing a mop. One of the most highly trained soldiers the United States government has is pushing a mop around cleaning up cells in this retention center. He would say it out loud if he had the spine to but inside he just says it to himself. This is what happens when they put a woman in charge of an ops unit.
And everything is about,
He arrived here during the early hours of the morning and has been cleaning blood, shit, urine, and other things unidentifiable from the cells of former prisoners of the war against terror, preparing them for the next prisoner to walk in. He was almost in the state of mind of just doing the work until it was time for him to leave and stop grinding his teeth and un-tighten his muscles long enough to get through this without popping a vain or vessel somewhere in his body when the second in command of the compound code named Divine came seeking him out in the cell area.
The running up to face the questions of our times,
He had meet Agent Divine when he arrived at the compound. To him the agent seemed to be an ok guy, much more relaxed than most deep cover agents he has meet in his service time. Agent Divine even went as far and to tell him he could just tell his commander he did the duty if he wished and he could spent the time in their cafeteria sampling the many variations of beans and toast until it was time for him to leave but he knew she would find out somewhere and just said no, “My unit can take its punishments with its glories.”
And pretending all the truths are lies,
Agent Divine informed him that they just brought in a new prisoner from a Middle Eastern transport and his commander asked if he would like to sit in on the interrogation.
‘Better than mopping up shit and piss.’
He tossed his mop and kicked his bucket into one of the cells and followed Agent Divine through a corridor that lead out of the holding cell blocks and past another area that contained the communication and logistics operations and then through the area of command offices and bed areas and finally they ended up in the entrance area where you entered the complex through a series of small and very large transport elevators.
He stood there with Agent Divine waiting for one of the small elevators to open and for soldiers to escort the prisoner out. Probably still decking people out in those woeful orange jumpsuit. The elevator door binged like a microwave finishing a meal and out came two soldiers heavily armed and between them shackled and blindfolded and being lead in scooting steps was a young girl he guessed could not be any older than sixteen. He observed that she was small, skinny, and with small bruises all over her arms. He had a sister who was sixteen. He did not see her face because of a hood which was wrapped around her head.
The news burns the fires,
He watched as the guards lead her past them and into a room that was connected to the entrance area.
That spin inside our thoughts,
‘The observation room is by a set of steps in the door beside here. I have to go in now. There is a snack machine up there also.’
‘You will not need any change, it is all free.’ The agent said as he entered the room also following the guards and the prisoner.
What about you my lover?
‘Can I ask?’
What about you image in the mirror?
Agent Divine stopped as he was opening the door and closed it back and walked over to him.
‘She was part of a radical anti-war group from your country who all traveled to Iraq and were giving add to several groups with known terrorist ties. Two days ago most of her little group was killed by a truck bomb as they were traveling from Baghdad. To the world she died with them so we have her as an information tool now.’
He smiled at him, ‘A gift from your government actually.’
What about you Mr. President?
Agent Divine walked into the interrogation room leaving him behind. He paused for a few moments thinking about his sister, then he walked up the steps to the observation room. He looked down from the room when he got there which was set up like a scene from hospital drama where they watch surgeries taking place.
It’s the race to skid overtop of the world,
This was not his first taste of interrogation but something but this was so different. The other times he had watched any interrogation it had been in the field. This was different. This was real information gathering. This was the stuff that causes him and his brother to argue when he goes home. At least now he could tell his brother how things really happen.
The world does not need you to save,
The interrogation room was sound proof so he could not hear anything going on below. He watched as the soldiers who had escorted her in seated her in a metal chair and locked her shackle chains into hooks fashioned on the metal floors of the room. The floors of the room were metal except for he noticed a small batch of carpet that circled the chair and another patch by a wooden table in a corner. They pulled the hood from her head and she looked up and directly into his eyes. Her face was peppered with bruises but her eyes were still a very bright shade of blue.
Save yourselves,
The world will survive after you die,
We are children of the feeding,
All together now let us join hands and die,
He watched…
He watched them…
He watched as they screamed at her.
He leaned against the glass and saw them strike her.
He watched…
He remembered his ex-girlfriend and all the good times they had before things went wrong.
We watched…
We watched them put the bag over her head again and….
We watched…
We watched…
We watched…
We watch…
He sat down in a chair in the observation room. A few moments later Agent Divine walked in.
‘I guess you got the information you needed?’ he said to the agent.
‘Just fishing mostly, that is all you can do with these people. They are not going to give you much to work with.’
He watched a young girl tortured to a point of silently praying for death.
He watched an American citizen tortured because she was a threat beyond rights and laws…
He watched a human being tortured.
The question lingers,
We watch people being tortured the same as if we were in the room with Sgt. Douglas Fielding when we do not speak up against it. This preachy message came to you by the hand of one hack writer sometimes called Billy and sponsored by no church, no money, no settling, no agenda but that of a notion for dignity for all, even those who may wish us harm.
Somewhere in the streets of pretending,
That everything is alright,
We are feeding monsters,
Feeding them our children’s eyes,
To everything that is wrong with our lives,
And everything is about,
The running up to face the questions of our times,
And pretending all the truths are lies,
The news burns the fires,
That spin inside our thoughts,
What about you my lover?
What about you image in the mirror?
What about you Mr. President?
It’s the race to skid overtop of the world,
The world does not need you to save,
Save yourselves,
The world will survive after you die,
We are children of the feeding,
All together now let us join hands and die,
The question lingers,
The question lingers,
Somewhere in the streets of pretending,
That everything is alright,
We are feeding monsters,
Feeding them our children’s eyes,
©brian c. williams
And he joined the United States Army to defend his country, wave a flag, be all he can be, but mostly to pay the bills piling up from two kids at such an early age. He was not college material and though not stupid enough to believe he was too good to work in a burger joint or dig ditches, he did want something to stick his chest out about. The military gave him this, gave him authority and value from others.
That everything is alright,
Douglas started out like any other basic training soldier until he was spotted by the commander of a special operations unit while at the shooting range. She set him about being trained as a special ops sniper and that has been his travels for the last two years. It was everything the commercials said…Well, the commercials said a lot when they went off the air. You weren’t home at the time. The pay is good to send him and since he and the mother of his babies hate each other anyways, being away from home really is not much of a concern.
We are feeding monsters,
He got his current assignment because of a fight that broke out between a couple soldiers from military police and his unit down at the local pub near the base where they were picking up supplies. It was three MPs who stood their ground against an elite Army assault unit and their commanding officer was not angry at them for starting the fight or the fact that they nearly brought the roof down on a small local bar owners head, she was angry because they left with way more bruises than the MPs left with. And seeing how they did not really have a base of operations and were only passing through Great Britain she needed other ways of punishing each of her men while they were on O.M.T.(off mission time) He was the unlucky one and was sent to the British countryside to a top secret place called Underground; which, was in fact underground.
To everything that is wrong with our lives,
And now Sgt. Douglas Fielding was here in the Underground pushing a mop. One of the most highly trained soldiers the United States government has is pushing a mop around cleaning up cells in this retention center. He would say it out loud if he had the spine to but inside he just says it to himself. This is what happens when they put a woman in charge of an ops unit.
And everything is about,
He arrived here during the early hours of the morning and has been cleaning blood, shit, urine, and other things unidentifiable from the cells of former prisoners of the war against terror, preparing them for the next prisoner to walk in. He was almost in the state of mind of just doing the work until it was time for him to leave and stop grinding his teeth and un-tighten his muscles long enough to get through this without popping a vain or vessel somewhere in his body when the second in command of the compound code named Divine came seeking him out in the cell area.
The running up to face the questions of our times,
He had meet Agent Divine when he arrived at the compound. To him the agent seemed to be an ok guy, much more relaxed than most deep cover agents he has meet in his service time. Agent Divine even went as far and to tell him he could just tell his commander he did the duty if he wished and he could spent the time in their cafeteria sampling the many variations of beans and toast until it was time for him to leave but he knew she would find out somewhere and just said no, “My unit can take its punishments with its glories.”
And pretending all the truths are lies,
Agent Divine informed him that they just brought in a new prisoner from a Middle Eastern transport and his commander asked if he would like to sit in on the interrogation.
‘Better than mopping up shit and piss.’
He tossed his mop and kicked his bucket into one of the cells and followed Agent Divine through a corridor that lead out of the holding cell blocks and past another area that contained the communication and logistics operations and then through the area of command offices and bed areas and finally they ended up in the entrance area where you entered the complex through a series of small and very large transport elevators.
He stood there with Agent Divine waiting for one of the small elevators to open and for soldiers to escort the prisoner out. Probably still decking people out in those woeful orange jumpsuit. The elevator door binged like a microwave finishing a meal and out came two soldiers heavily armed and between them shackled and blindfolded and being lead in scooting steps was a young girl he guessed could not be any older than sixteen. He observed that she was small, skinny, and with small bruises all over her arms. He had a sister who was sixteen. He did not see her face because of a hood which was wrapped around her head.
The news burns the fires,
He watched as the guards lead her past them and into a room that was connected to the entrance area.
That spin inside our thoughts,
‘The observation room is by a set of steps in the door beside here. I have to go in now. There is a snack machine up there also.’
‘You will not need any change, it is all free.’ The agent said as he entered the room also following the guards and the prisoner.
What about you my lover?
‘Can I ask?’
What about you image in the mirror?
Agent Divine stopped as he was opening the door and closed it back and walked over to him.
‘She was part of a radical anti-war group from your country who all traveled to Iraq and were giving add to several groups with known terrorist ties. Two days ago most of her little group was killed by a truck bomb as they were traveling from Baghdad. To the world she died with them so we have her as an information tool now.’
He smiled at him, ‘A gift from your government actually.’
What about you Mr. President?
Agent Divine walked into the interrogation room leaving him behind. He paused for a few moments thinking about his sister, then he walked up the steps to the observation room. He looked down from the room when he got there which was set up like a scene from hospital drama where they watch surgeries taking place.
It’s the race to skid overtop of the world,
This was not his first taste of interrogation but something but this was so different. The other times he had watched any interrogation it had been in the field. This was different. This was real information gathering. This was the stuff that causes him and his brother to argue when he goes home. At least now he could tell his brother how things really happen.
The world does not need you to save,
The interrogation room was sound proof so he could not hear anything going on below. He watched as the soldiers who had escorted her in seated her in a metal chair and locked her shackle chains into hooks fashioned on the metal floors of the room. The floors of the room were metal except for he noticed a small batch of carpet that circled the chair and another patch by a wooden table in a corner. They pulled the hood from her head and she looked up and directly into his eyes. Her face was peppered with bruises but her eyes were still a very bright shade of blue.
Save yourselves,
The world will survive after you die,
We are children of the feeding,
All together now let us join hands and die,
He watched…
He watched them…
He watched as they screamed at her.
He leaned against the glass and saw them strike her.
He watched…
He remembered his ex-girlfriend and all the good times they had before things went wrong.
We watched…
We watched them put the bag over her head again and….
We watched…
We watched…
We watched…
We watch…
He sat down in a chair in the observation room. A few moments later Agent Divine walked in.
‘I guess you got the information you needed?’ he said to the agent.
‘Just fishing mostly, that is all you can do with these people. They are not going to give you much to work with.’
He watched a young girl tortured to a point of silently praying for death.
He watched an American citizen tortured because she was a threat beyond rights and laws…
He watched a human being tortured.
The question lingers,
We watch people being tortured the same as if we were in the room with Sgt. Douglas Fielding when we do not speak up against it. This preachy message came to you by the hand of one hack writer sometimes called Billy and sponsored by no church, no money, no settling, no agenda but that of a notion for dignity for all, even those who may wish us harm.
Somewhere in the streets of pretending,
That everything is alright,
We are feeding monsters,
Feeding them our children’s eyes,
To everything that is wrong with our lives,
And everything is about,
The running up to face the questions of our times,
And pretending all the truths are lies,
The news burns the fires,
That spin inside our thoughts,
What about you my lover?
What about you image in the mirror?
What about you Mr. President?
It’s the race to skid overtop of the world,
The world does not need you to save,
Save yourselves,
The world will survive after you die,
We are children of the feeding,
All together now let us join hands and die,
The question lingers,
The question lingers,
Somewhere in the streets of pretending,
That everything is alright,
We are feeding monsters,
Feeding them our children’s eyes,
©brian c. williams
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
THE TITLE IS: THINKING ABOUT THINKING ABOUT FRIDAY
I am going to write a short story for Anti-Torture Blog Day. And I had planned to start this story last Monday but I must have caught a bug because I woke up with my throat swollen and throbbing. I was in no condition or mood to go to the gym, read, have sex, or even write, to write for Gods sake, it keep me from writing! That shows you how sick I was. Matter of fact I can not even remember what I did on that Monday?... well, besides having my sandwich burned at B&N and enjoying it anyways.
I am writing this today, today being Tuesday, the Tuesday of last week to you. Today I woke up still sick but after my love made me toast and a smoothie we went to the gym and a sluggish day at the gym was had were I spent most of it distracted. Distracted partly by Wave running on the treadmill and the other partly by what I was going to write for Anti-Torture Blog Day. I just did not want the torture to come when someone reads my blog.
I returned from the gym tired and Wave headed off to work and I use AND way too much to be anything more than a hack writer…And I mean it, I am also a little Emo… and a little Cherokee… Anyways, I got on the computer after Wave left to either start my story or create my own religion. I did not do either task, though on the later, maybe Sunday? Just need to schedule a resurrection? Wonder how much they cost, probably just a few thousand lives in a few Crusades?... Ok, sick, bad mood, equals Brian writing senseless and angry at times. I guess this thing might turn out to be pain for some people…But hopefully for just the right people.
Later in the day while eating some of Wave’s delicious Vegetarian Shepard’s Pie she called me on my cell while I was watching M*A*S*H. She was stressed and upset by something that stresses and upsets me also, not that too much does not. Remember the Emo mention above? I would be Goth but I have no dress sense whatsoever. Emo goes better than Goth on 33, no front teeth, cubby, and a love for Bend It Like Beckham.
Yea, that’s right. I’m not ashamed.
Wave’s call had me thinking. This thinking mixed with my previous thinking stewed into a thinking writing blood pudding. Add in loud music and I was so disconnected from everything around me that I was one with the thoughts I have when reading or viewing images on the torture acts my country has taken part in.
I wonder if some of the talking, shouting, whispering, flag worshipping people knew while standing chest out in front of a flag in technicolor set up for a photo-op, if they knew while preaching a Uncle Sam doctrine of doing anything to protect America with asterisks pointing you to the bottom of the page where it says, “We know it is not a useful tool but we enjoy it so very much, like Peeps.” I wonder if when the speeches were over and the backs were patted, I wonder how they would feel if they found out their son, daughter, brother, sister, or house keepers second cousin had been taken as a prisoner of war?
I worry about Wave because the world is not a bandage, the world is a seeping sore. I worry about her because she worries and things out of our control can affect her, can hurt her. I ask myself if out of the wisdom of the great Rassilon, God, the salty Spaghetti Monster Fred, what if something in creation lead her into a situation of being a prisoner of war… I would hope and pray to all the Gods I do not believe in that those who are holding her do not treat her how we seem to be able to happily treat our prisoners.
Wasn’t there a time when dirty government secrets were hidden and the subject of bad 50cent novels? Makes you wonder what we don’t know about? Makes you wonder about what bleedings we are not seeing? Makes you wonder how much longer until we are all as a community whole called humanity going to take all this bullshit?
Even Mr. Brian (sometimes called Billy) Clifton Williams could not fall that far into fantasy to think if someone I loved became a prisoner of war that they would be treated differently from how our government gleefully treats its prisoners of war. How can our political leaders not see the counterproductiveity….tivity of seeing torture as being anything else but a threat, a direct sight line aimed at our own?
I fight no battles for a greater good, no higher honor, or work of fiction about gardens, serpents, and planets that started with a whole honking of incest. I fight my battles for those I love because issues such as torture, friendly fire, civilian causalities, the rape of civilians as well as our own service women by their fellow soldiers are issues which should be to everyone and most certainly are to me issues which I am ready to die for.
And you don’t have to sound bit or give me rank for me to do so.
I am anti-torture and anti-being a sheep to my government.
You call me what you wish and I will wear the button with pride and be your label which you sorrowfully get glee from putting on me. Call me feminist, peace monger, liberal, or anything else, because I am those things and so many more.
Now I am off to work on my short story for Friday and also another novel that probably very few will read but I will learn from it as I did from the last one and move on. My days will have battles. My days will have wars. I will fight for my loves, my words, but I will also fight for others to be treated with dignity and respect no matter how they may or may not see me.
C.
I am writing this today, today being Tuesday, the Tuesday of last week to you. Today I woke up still sick but after my love made me toast and a smoothie we went to the gym and a sluggish day at the gym was had were I spent most of it distracted. Distracted partly by Wave running on the treadmill and the other partly by what I was going to write for Anti-Torture Blog Day. I just did not want the torture to come when someone reads my blog.
I returned from the gym tired and Wave headed off to work and I use AND way too much to be anything more than a hack writer…And I mean it, I am also a little Emo… and a little Cherokee… Anyways, I got on the computer after Wave left to either start my story or create my own religion. I did not do either task, though on the later, maybe Sunday? Just need to schedule a resurrection? Wonder how much they cost, probably just a few thousand lives in a few Crusades?... Ok, sick, bad mood, equals Brian writing senseless and angry at times. I guess this thing might turn out to be pain for some people…But hopefully for just the right people.
Later in the day while eating some of Wave’s delicious Vegetarian Shepard’s Pie she called me on my cell while I was watching M*A*S*H. She was stressed and upset by something that stresses and upsets me also, not that too much does not. Remember the Emo mention above? I would be Goth but I have no dress sense whatsoever. Emo goes better than Goth on 33, no front teeth, cubby, and a love for Bend It Like Beckham.
Yea, that’s right. I’m not ashamed.
Wave’s call had me thinking. This thinking mixed with my previous thinking stewed into a thinking writing blood pudding. Add in loud music and I was so disconnected from everything around me that I was one with the thoughts I have when reading or viewing images on the torture acts my country has taken part in.
I wonder if some of the talking, shouting, whispering, flag worshipping people knew while standing chest out in front of a flag in technicolor set up for a photo-op, if they knew while preaching a Uncle Sam doctrine of doing anything to protect America with asterisks pointing you to the bottom of the page where it says, “We know it is not a useful tool but we enjoy it so very much, like Peeps.” I wonder if when the speeches were over and the backs were patted, I wonder how they would feel if they found out their son, daughter, brother, sister, or house keepers second cousin had been taken as a prisoner of war?
I worry about Wave because the world is not a bandage, the world is a seeping sore. I worry about her because she worries and things out of our control can affect her, can hurt her. I ask myself if out of the wisdom of the great Rassilon, God, the salty Spaghetti Monster Fred, what if something in creation lead her into a situation of being a prisoner of war… I would hope and pray to all the Gods I do not believe in that those who are holding her do not treat her how we seem to be able to happily treat our prisoners.
Wasn’t there a time when dirty government secrets were hidden and the subject of bad 50cent novels? Makes you wonder what we don’t know about? Makes you wonder about what bleedings we are not seeing? Makes you wonder how much longer until we are all as a community whole called humanity going to take all this bullshit?
Even Mr. Brian (sometimes called Billy) Clifton Williams could not fall that far into fantasy to think if someone I loved became a prisoner of war that they would be treated differently from how our government gleefully treats its prisoners of war. How can our political leaders not see the counterproductiveity….tivity of seeing torture as being anything else but a threat, a direct sight line aimed at our own?
I fight no battles for a greater good, no higher honor, or work of fiction about gardens, serpents, and planets that started with a whole honking of incest. I fight my battles for those I love because issues such as torture, friendly fire, civilian causalities, the rape of civilians as well as our own service women by their fellow soldiers are issues which should be to everyone and most certainly are to me issues which I am ready to die for.
And you don’t have to sound bit or give me rank for me to do so.
I am anti-torture and anti-being a sheep to my government.
You call me what you wish and I will wear the button with pride and be your label which you sorrowfully get glee from putting on me. Call me feminist, peace monger, liberal, or anything else, because I am those things and so many more.
Now I am off to work on my short story for Friday and also another novel that probably very few will read but I will learn from it as I did from the last one and move on. My days will have battles. My days will have wars. I will fight for my loves, my words, but I will also fight for others to be treated with dignity and respect no matter how they may or may not see me.
C.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
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