However, and for reasons unknown, I did watch this morning, the video under the header Behold: The U.S. God Of War. There was little accompanying the clip, other than a reference and a link to Mark Twain's, The War Prayer.
Given the fact I had featured the War Prayer myself, back in 2007, I decided to go back to those earlier years and re-up here, some of my earlier posts. Offered up again, although without the detraction of the many graphics used in the original posts, that which is posted below has as much, if not more significance today as it did then.
I have upped the War Prayer videos and text, but in truth, these are not essential reading or viewing in my opinion. The same can't be said however for Layla Anwar, Arab Woman Blues. What she has to say, is the essence of this post. As equally, and perhaps more meaningful, are the replies from the good Christian folk of America.
The first re-up really doesn't need an introduction, just as it does not need the highlights that I employed in the original. The whole nauseous, steeped in God and hypocrisy, piece, is a highlight in itself.
Save Your Prayers For Those That Need Them
July 03, 2007
Give thanks to God for the excellent work of the American military in the capture of Saddam Hussein. Praise Him for the diligence and attention to detail that led to this monumental event, and for the answered prayers of millions of Americans. Rejoice with President Bush and his team in the opportunity for freedom for the people of Iraq. Pray with the President for the ongoing efforts to build a hopeful and self-governing Iraq.
As reaction to Saddam’s capture has sparked uprisings and violence, pray for peace and calm in Iraq, and protection for our troops.
Pray for the President and Mrs. Bush as well as Barbara, Jenna and other family members as they gather at Camp David this week. Pray for their safety, enjoyment and for the blessing of God to be with them.
As Christmas nears, pray that the spirit of the holiday will spread throughout our nation—that compassion, hope, peace and generosity will characterize our national culture. Pray for those who are homeless, in poverty, addicted or lonely this Christmas, that the love of God will be shed on the neediest Americans. Pray that many will step up to serve their fellow citizens in need.
Pray for the troops who are spending Christmas away from home, friends and family in foreign cultures. Pray that they will remember the constants of the season—God’s love and plan for the world, the high calling of their service to America, and the responsibility they have to honor and serve their Commander-in-Chief with integrity and faithfulness.
Pray for the members of Congress and the Pentagon as they evaluate the necessity of increasing the number of active military held by each branch of the Armed Forces. As more and more troops are called on to serve in the Middle East, many feel there is a need for greater numbers of well-prepared military. Presidential Prayer Team Dec18 2003 (dead link)
"Free" & Ruined Lives.
July 1, 2007
I am "Free". He is "Free". She is "Free". They are "Free". And you are only a spectator...
Free, Freedom, Democracy. I shudder at these words.
I want to burn Plato's Republic and spit on your Constitution, on your Founding Fathers, on your Laws...
Free limbs, detached, solitary limbs, scattered to the four cardinal points and a bleeding heart in the middle, like a compass.
An arm to the West, a leg to the East, a head down South and a torso up North...And that damned bleeding heart in the Center.
Free, so free...
Free, free in Prisons. Free, so free in Detention centers...
Detention centers in the Mnistry of Interior, Ministry of Defense and Ministry of Justice!
Crammed, packed, jammed... The smell of blood, urine and feces...covering the infected wounds. Wounds of torture born on transparent skins covering rib cages...
Free, so free.
Tortured and Free in American camps. Sodomized and Free - American democracy flavor. Tortured and Free, whipped by sectarianism - Iranian flavor. Oh so Free.
Free to die. Free to cry. Free to mourn. Free to flee. Free to escape. Free at the borders...jammed, packed.
Two thousand "free souls" flee a day. They amass at frontiers, waiting for a stamp on that damned Green passport...that cursed passport.
The passport with a broken winged eagle as an emblem. Clipped wings of Freedom.
It reads "Republic of Iraq."
Republic of whom? Iraq? What Iraq?
Two thousand a day. Grave faces, desperate eyes, lost voices...
A forgotten, abandoned people. A despised, humiliated, tortured, stolen people.
A raped people.
Lost voices in the wilderness of your indifference. The Lost voices of Freedom and Democracy...The father wipes his tears and you can see the look of being stuck in "Freedom".
" I have 8 children. Look at how I am living. Has anyone asked me how I feed those kids. I have been without a job for 2 years. I tell you how I feed them...I can't feed them. I spit on the U.N. I spit on the thief Bush. If I ever return to Iraq it will be to free my country from those criminals. I will either kill or be killed by them. There is no other way " says this worn out father who looks 3 times his age.
" The Iraqi government helping us? Are you insulting me or what? The Iraqi government has not and will never do anything for us. These are the most corrupt people in power that Iraq has ever known. They are sectarians and thieves. I don't want this passport. Take it now. I don't want this nationality. I am even willing to go to Somalia. Just find me a solution. Take that passport. Take it." says another father of 32.
" The Americans bombed my house. My 9 year old son was inside. Look at his face. He is burnt all over. His eyes are stuck and he cannot open them. His tongue is stuck to his palate and he cannot talk or swallow. And his head was stuck to his shoulder.
He has already undergone 9 operations and he needs another 9... He is only 9 years old. Look at him. I, myself, have 3 bullets lodged in my body. I served the Iraqi Army for 24 years. One in my thigh. One below my ribs and one in my back. I need surgery too. But I am not important. My son is. How will I manage? On my way here, highway bandits took all my money. I sold the house to come here. Now I have nothing. The boy needs treatment. No school is willing to accept him. One school did but the other students rejected him. They said he frightened them with his looks."
Ah the look of America on his and his son's face. The look of " Freedom ".
Another one plays the lute. A melodious tune that makes your heart quiver. A languorous tune of longing that fills the empty space like smoke. A smoke soon dissipated into that nothingness of " Freedom ."
A couple with a paralysed little girl who needs urgent treatment. They have been there, waiting since the crack of dawn, at the gates of some embassy or the UNHCR. Others take to the pavements. They sit and wait some more... Long hours of waiting in the space of " Freedom ".
Free comments on a blog.
And the rats crawl from the gutters...Rats droppings, Albert Camus's "the Plague". The same kind of rats that rule Baghdad with their droppings...
Rats everywhere, crawling the streets, crawling on this page, leaving behind them a trail of excrements wherever they pass.
Rats on the go. Rats exiting. Rats entering again through a different door.
The rat with the grey steel eyes. The eyes of lies and deception has exited only to re-enter again after having ruined our lives with Freedom. Now another rat has taken up his place.
The fat rat of Baghdad. The rats of Iran. The rats of America...
The plague of Freedom.
Free, Freedom, Democracy and forever Ruined lives...
Forever Ruined. Layla Anwar
A Brief Hate statement...
by Layla Anwar
March 14, 2008
I really hate America, Americans, their culture, their ways, their accent, their politics, their arrogance, their stupidity, their ignorance...
I really can't stand Americans. I can't stand their men, their women, their country, everything they represent...
I truly, deeply, sincerly hate them.
I will elevate this hatred to an Art form.
What colors do you think I should use ? I love colors and I find them to be a colorless people...
So what colors should I use ? Gray, Black or Red ?
Or maybe just White ?
I have this idea of taking an old sheet, a dirty sheet...burn the edges, stab it with knifes and make holes in it, over a million holes, then throw in some bright red, like rain drops...
At other times, I fantasize about using the Abu Ghraib excrements and smudging the sheet with it, then collectively wipe your faces with it. Wipe your faces with the shit of the detainees you tortured.
Sometimes, my fantasy takes on a perverted twist, you must be a contagious lot with your perversity.
So I imagine a dirty sheet, covered with semen from forced masturbation, and have a few penises dangle on the corners, the penises you castrated, have them dangle there...and then give it a few brushes and strokes of hemorrhaging blood from the wombs of the women you raped. And this will be your new American flag.
Then you can all gather under that flag and we will take pictures of you. Don't forget to say cheese, will you ?
You know something, all the Americans I come across, the ones who are polluting the Middle East like some bacterial disease, they all know how much we hate you deep down...
They invariably start their sentences with "I'm an American, I hope you don't hate me"...And we give you the same stuff over and over..." No of course not, we have nothing against the American people"..."It's your government."
Can you really blame any of us? What is so likeable about you ? After all you are nothing but a bunch of cold, indifferent, murderers...murderers of an innocent people. A people you have totally destroyed, destroyed right down to its fibers...
Your Bush, your Clinton, your senile Congress, your Senate...and you....All to be flushed down the toilet. But then, even the sewages of the world will vomit you out.
Of course if you are eager to hear words of praise, you really should not be visiting this blog. You can go to other Iraqi bloggers who have developed the expertise of kissing your ass for a "symbolic fee". Inside and outside the Green Zone.
But then deep down, you have contempt for these bloggers...They are too slave like. What you really secretly long for, is someone to tell you the Truth about you, about your moral degenerateness. And I shall not spare you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever...
The most fascinating part of it all, is that I am very comfortable with this feeling I harbour towards you. It does not bother me, does not eat me up, does not cause me any guilt trips...It is so natural, so free flowing...
So what do you think ? What is the most appropriate expression for me to show you how much I really hate you ?
P.S: Brits may apply too. But you may get the leftovers...After all you have become a leftover yourselves. Layla Anwar
God Bless AmericaMarch 20, 2008
I am neither going to comment on what is writ below nor am I going to highlight any particular passage. (well just the one) It all makes for an insightful read.
For those that are not familiar with Layla Anwar she is a dispossessed Iraqi woman woman taking refuge in, as far as I know, Syria.
She is not unsurprisingly more than a little angry.
These first few comments, with a little editing to remove the dross, were posted in response to Anwar's post above, entitled "A Brief Hate Statement."
I intended to finish at this point but before parting I thought I should offer this last nugget.
Behold: The U.S. God Of War
The holy fire of patriotism
O Lord our God, ... help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, - Mark Twain ICH
The War Prayer
By Mark Twain
It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation
*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*
Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"
The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.
"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.
"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.
(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.
Least We Forget: Fuck America