Thursday, August 30, 2007

Alas, I am on Homeland Security's no-hosting list

I am tired of Windows.
Profoundly tired.
To host my Internet expansion I chose
Rock-solid Linux hosting.
The good stuff, Red Hat all the way.
I paid my money down, and a cheery machine
Spat a promise in my direction:
Cash received, setup details to follow
In twenty-four hours.
Then silence.
Profound silence.
Continuing.
Reasonable e-mails
To sales at, billings and and, finally,
To legal at,
Produced no response.
With difficulty,
I kept my Atilla the Hun in check.
At least for the moment.
I have been allowing myself to be
Too much the human flamethrower.
Patience, I thought,
Would produce an answer.
All it produced was silence.
Finally, I intuited the answer:
My loud-mouthed opposition to Imperial America's
Invasion of the planet Mars
Has brought upon me
Homeland Security's thunderbolts of wrath.
Invisibly, they have pasted me into their no-fly zone,
Which I haven't noticed for the simple reason
That I never fly stateside.
And never will.
Fascist America, as far as I'm concerned,
Is permanently off the menu.
You LA fingerprint machine,
You can take that and shove it
Right up a place
Totally remote from sunlight.
I have also been,
It may reasonably be hypothesized,
Placed on the no-borrow list at the Library of Congress,
The no-buy list that the real estate agents conform to
From arctic Alaska to equatorial Florida.
If they ever catch me coming across one of their borders
Then I'm in deep doo-doo.
But I want nothing from them.
Saving America's best,
The rock solid stability of the big machines
Housed on the continental United States.
There is a price for everything,
And Homeland Security's price
Is to inflict upon you
Horrors:
Windows hosting, at the worst,
In the Republic of Kosovo,
In Putingrad,
Or in Outer Eastern Berzerkistan.
This done to you in secret,
So you cannot protest.
All you have is silence,
And a failure to respond to e-mail.
All of which could indicate that the guys who are asleep at the switch
Are not, in fact,
A part of the oppression machine.
Just participating, for the moment,
In the life of the degenerate West,
Slumped at their Grand Theft Auto screens,
Watching Miss Booby Tits Hot To You Porno,
Or having cluster-grapple sex in the toilet,
Senatorial style.
Still, I like my hypothesis.
It makes sense.
However, America,
While it rules the world in porn production,
Lawsuits,
Gunfight fantasies made emergency room reality
And lies big enough for a whole Republic to swallow,
Does not own the computer hosting world entire.
I will get,
Sooner or later,
The extra hosting I require.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
And continue to protest.
The annihilation of the Martian people
By the orbital laser Golgotha
Is wrong.
The fact that the outraged billions of planet Earth
Say that it is wrong
Does not,
In and of itself,
Make it right.
Eventually,
Somewhere out in the reaches of the Deeper Abyss,
Somewhere between Alpha Proxima and Andromeda,
America will meet its match.
And go down.
Its history of coups, overthrows, cannibal dictator buddies
And gung-ho propaganda
Will come to an end.
And Homeland Security?
That outfit you'll be able to buy in cans,
Cans of dog meat at the America Was Us emporium.

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