electric/static

The incredibly sexy lisa ray lives
And my childhood lingers in
The folds of her skin
In thrall of the flame that would
in my eyes wave so gently
Now she has walked through fire
I am burning still


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GspDcFjtJbQ


It has been noted by a group of historians from my college texts that certain allied pilots operating on the far-eastern front who had the misfortune of bailing out over rural bengal at the peak of the quit India movement were lynched by the local populace. From the wreckage of british world war II planes scattered over the golden country, waiting to be dug up, a battered black box has been salvaged which was found to have logged this last conversation:

Hamish: Say Arthur let’s eject here. Map shows land as ours. We are well west.
Arthur: I rather fancy a shot at making it back to base, hamster, in that case. I doubt we could be more than 50 miles off if you are correct. In the meantime, keep trying the radio please.
H: This is good open land to cut loose when there’s still time. Further ahead might be unsuitable terrain. Who knows we may even land on a tribe of bloodthirsty fakirs hiding in the forest, waiting to nab the first Englishman in need of rescuing. If you ask me (as he well expected to be, being co-pilot) we should bail right here right now.
A: The hindoo gentry is essentially peace loving. I mean haven’t you heard of Gandhi. Really you should have gone through the green book. I have it all down to the t. should we crash her, which, hamlet, is a preposterous idea, we just bail where we can and short of a malfunctioning bag land wherever on his majesty’s territories it pleases us and catch an ox cart back to base.
H: Ah if only we could carry some of those lo///li////co/s////bacwi//////////he///h/////he//////

Although anglosaxon perspicacity bordering on prescience was the sharp end of the rapier that kept the subject peoples in obedience, the ability to rule the native fate and therefore guide it through a subordinate destiny had been well worn down by the middle of the twentieth century, what with the solid buffeting the white vision received on wall street and then from the nazis. In the event his smug self-assuredness was just another symptom of an unraveling colonial world order; a gradual narrowing of the sphere of what the west could say for certain that it knew about the orient.
The finger was off the pulse; the grand days of pageantry were dissolving in the light of a setting sun. He couldn’t have been sanguine about the native’s peaceable ways simply because he could not know everything infallibly and it was only of late that he had discovered that numbing sensation. Yet he was told he knew everything he needed to because an appearance of white infallibility was in itself of vital importance. And he believed he did. A belief that is self-serving. It is not exhausted by itself in that sense rarely prevails over it when it has not been given a good jolt by a rude awakening. The most abiding lesson here is not the race theory of brains but the tenuous grip of control on free will at all times.