The Malcolm Berko Blog

A thousand generations ago, long before the bow and arrow, sailing ships and Viagra, our ancestors worshipped the wind, the rain and the seasons. Those elements and their cycles were the alpha and omega of everything in man’s small world and they became his gods. His well-being depended on these gods who could be kind as well as harsh. So man sought influence to please his gods because they determined his fate and he feared their wrath. And fortunately there were those among men who talked to these gods and would tell man what made the gods angry or what pleased them. And man knew that there were no other gods but these gods. So he designates a sacred ground from which to pay homage and make sacrifices. What could possibly be more powerful or sublime than the wind, the rain, and the seasons? 

Ahhhh….. But the world grew larger, generations passed, and cultures matured. Man became venturesome, wiser and explored more of the world in which he lived. He was boundlessly in awe of the heavens so the sun, the moon and the stars became his gods and the masters of his universe. Man reasoned if the gods were pleased, their women would be fertile, food would be plentiful, and good fortune would be his reward. And if the gods were angry he knew he would grievously suffer. Fortunately there were those among men who talked to the gods and understood what pleased them or made them angry.  And because man feared the wrath of his gods he built monuments for worship and sacrifice. Another god is inconceivable and would not compute in his mind. Man could not imagine a greater god than the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Generations continued to pass, the world grew larger, and man began to consider the concept of destiny. So he ascribed human characteristics to his gods such as wisdom, beauty, strength and evil, and in his own image created Baal, Neptune, Isis, Zeus, and Mars. If man would please his gods they would give him power wealth and wisdom. Because man felt he must worship and venerate the gods to avoid their wrath, there were those among him who could speak to the gods and make their wishes known. So man built magnificent temples from which he made sacrifices and proclaimed his god’s supremacy. These idols decided his destiny and there could be no higher authority. What other gods could there be?

Well, the world grew even larger and even more complicated. And after generations of worshipping multiple deities man grew wiser. So about 6,000 years ago this fellow called Abraham appears on the scene and has an “aha moment”. Abe asks: “Is the sun god more powerful than Baal? Could the moon god be more caring than the rain god?” “Hmmm” he ponders:  “If I do this god thing right I could have one hell of a money maker here. In fact this will inarguably be the greatest con job the world has ever seen. All I have to do is convince these multiple-god-fearing suckers that there is only one god. It’s a posilutely foolproof———–what could be more logical, appealing or simple? I’ve just got to persuade these mooks that there’s this ONE BIG GOD-(OBG) who created all the other gods who in turn created the wind the moon, good crops and gave man the strength to prevail over his enemies.” What an ideal idea. OBG and one-big-voice to answer all man’s questions about life’s purpose and destiny. “ “Christ” he pumps his fists: “This could be the greatest money making machine in the universe. And no taxes.”

Abe knows that people are more likely to believe the authenticity and sanctity of god’s word if it’s in writing rather from stories which are passed down from generation to generation. So Abe has his sycophants codify a marketing and business plan with instructions for man to obey and keep this OBG happy. In the process, Abe and his fawning followers kept copious records of the amazing events that god caused to happen over 3,000 years. But Abe’s success was limited because it was slow heart breaking work and switching gods took a lot of faith. However these records, which were kept on special scrolls in special earthen jars and, were passed down from generation to generation, eventually got lost in the shuttle of time. But a little over 2,000 years ago some enterprising grifters found the scrolls; everybody got all shook up and all hell broke loose. Then with unabashed plagiarism, without royalties, copyright protection, or attribution, the world got itself a new book. It was jam-packed with rules, directives and commands handed down by god which were exponentially more confusing than our tax and criminal codes combined. Still this new book became a best seller.

It instructed OBG greenhorn what they must do and how to comport themselves to please the OBG and avoid his wrath. And fortunately there were those among men who could talk to the OBG and who understood his wishes. So splendid and colossal buildings were built to make sacrifices and to worship OBG. “Who is like thee oh Lord, our God, our Creator, our Salvation, our Redeemer, ruler of the heavens who gave birth to the sun, the stars and the universe?”  This OBG is the embodiment of all things good and evil, the reason we exist, live and die. No one could possibly imagine the concept of another god———like can you imagine a house that’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside or heat that causes water to freeze?

But could there be a higher power? Is it possible 3,000 years hence that man may worship a complex spatial dimension, an energy cluster or a sub-atomic molecular pattern? And if he does, would he worship that god with the same reverential awe with which our early ancestors respected their gods? Or would he worship a new deity with the adulation, passion, and fervor with which we ascribe to this culture’s OBG? Today when tourists visit the Temple of Luxor, Stonehenge or the Great Pyramids, they might ask: “I wonder what those people were like?” And 3,000 years from now, when tourists are visiting St. Peter’s Basilica or the Mormon Tabernacle or the Crystal Cathedral they might remark: “I wonder what were those people like?” But today I imagine 3,000 years into the future and ponder what will those people be like.

The United Nations, myriad human rights organizations, imperious dignitaries, and pampered world celebrities sanctimoniously condemn Israel and have turned this tiny nation the world’s punching bag. The Obama Administration, Europe and Asia continue to cudgel Israel’s leaders as did Helen Thomas before her sex change operation. Barack Obama winks while world opinion portrays Israel of ethnic slavery and white supremacy. Somehow the world’s opinion of the Israeli-Palestinian disaccord has been altered from a disparate territorial dispute to a dissolute conflict between the mighty Israel and the survival of a tormented, suffering people who a generation ago emigrated from Syria and Jordan and now have no home. These emigrants, self-distinguished by the cognomen “Palestinians” have nominated themselves as an ad hoc member of the Third World along with Ethiopia, the Congo, Sierra Leone and Niger to name a few. And today the moral template through which Israel is viewed by the world community is that of a bullying colonial power committed to the repression of a helpless Third World people. This template blithely demonizes Israel and has morphed into the latest fashion in world wide political correctness. The international runway now demands that all nations become outraged when Israel refuses to release 1,200 *Palestinian prisoners, or prosecutes suicide bombers, or when their commandos board Hamas ships that deliver arms and bombs to the Palestinians. But somehow it’s not politically correct to be outraged when Muslim suicide bombers blow up a Haifa restaurant killing 35 civilians or when Muslims bomb a school because it teaches girls to read.

*For the purpose of this discussion Palestinians and Muslims will be used interchangeably.

And with a righteous, straight face, the United Nations has the audacity to demand that Israeli officials submit to an international investigation for its defensive responses while Palestinians armed by Iran and Syria, continue to rein thousands of rockets on Israeli towns, torch civilian busses and raid Israeli settlements.

The Chinese are wrong. The U.S is not a paper tiger, the U.S. is a tissue-tiger, embarrassed by its past. We need to atone for enslaving the blacks. We need to apologize for our imperialistic behavior, for the manner in which we imposed our economic and social culture on other nations, and with tail between our legs we beg forgiveness for our corporate greed that siphoned riches from other nations for the benefit of our capitalistic system. The Left Coast and Eastern Establishment view us as pariahs so we genuflect to “fess-up” and asked to be absolved and forgiven for the sins of the past. What a load of “do=-good, feel-good, over-sensitive, left-wing crap.” So we suck up to their approval because they are this country’s self-anointed, pure-blue moral authority.

This corrupted thinking has been a growing part of our impressionable mindset for decades. Today we won’t use our military power because others will consider is to be imperialistic. Stuff it. So we refuse to enforce our southern borders because we do not want to be viewed as racist. Can it. We won’t require immigrants to speak English and assimilate because we are afraid to be labeled xenophobic. So what? We are told the “diversity is our friend.” Now we are leaning that diversity is death by a thousand cuts and the cancer of Western Civilization. We distance ourselves from the glories of our past and because we are told that we must be shamed by our imperialism, our racism and our economic dominance. This clouds our perception and prevents us from seeing the Palestinians as they really are. So we view them as they view themselves: a persecuted people denied basic human rights, education, medical care, jobs, homes- the fault of evil Israel and sinful America. We lack the fortitude to demand the truth because we are fearful of losing our moral authority. We ignore the truth that the Palestinians are driven to conflict, belligerency, suicide bombing, religious strife, sickness, poverty, and illiteracy not by the U.S. or Israel but by their own inferiority that is passed down from each dunghill generation to another like the genetic clap. For thousands of years these people have been goat herders and hunter-gatherers most of whom remain in the slime of the 14^th century. The Palestinian looks but he doesn’t see, he feels but he does not understand and he hears but doesn’t listen. He compares himself to us and senses he is inferior to the modern world by which man is defined. His intellect cannot fathom a solution because he knows if he is given everything he wants… a homeland, housing, food, jobs, medical care; he would still be covered by a heavy cloak of inferiority.

The Koran does not speak of love. As soon as a Muslim child can walk, the Imams teach him to hate, hate is literally and figuratively beaten into the child like an animal hater might chain a dog and whip upon it with a stick. This inbreeding over the last thousand years has caused hatred to replicate in a Muslim’s DNA and become part of his genetic code. Hatred is prominent in the Koran, it’s the focus of its teaching and it’s the over-arching lesson in Muslim schools. The Imams know that hatred is a forceful aggressive emotion that clearly hi-jacks Muslim’s inferiority which is a weak, passive emotion. Muslims are taught to believe that the problem is not themselves, but Israel, America, and Western Civilization. This is a cleverly calculated, victimization scheme providing Muslims with a moral enlightenment that they can understand. So the Muslim concludes that while Israel and Western Civilization may be modern and smart, The Muslim possesses innocence and that make him a victim. He may be impoverished, sick and homeless but the Muslim is blessed because his soul is clean. Even his inability to understand the world around him gives the Muslim a feeling of moral superiority because the success of Israel and Western Civilization is a testament to its inhumanity. The Muslim’s hatred is his self-esteem. Take this hatred from him and he has no identity. Hate is a life raft in his sea of despair giving him the buoyancy to survive. And this is the season why Yassar Arafat rejected the 2000 Camp David Accord in which Israel offered the Palestinians almost everything they demanded including recognition of a homeland and 90% of the Gaza Strip. Yassar was a fox, an extremely wealthy fox who straddled both sides of the fence. He knew that if he accepted the Camp David Accord that his Palestinians would be left without a scapegoat for their misery, denied their “raison d’etre”, and that their hatred would have lost its meaning. He knew if the Palestinians didn’t gave Israel to hate that they would have to face their inferiority… and so too the Muslim’s in Iran Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Iraq, and where ever Muslims live.

The Muslim’s hatred of Israel and Western Civilization is the glue that binds them. Without Israel to hate the Muslims will have lost their moral authority, their influence, and prestige. And once again they would become goat herders in the 21^st century and an embarrassment cultural stink in the eyes of the modern world. Yes, the Muslim World knows that Western Civilization is a tissue-paper tiger. The Muslim knows that we fear their rhetoric and their savagery and their commitment. The Muslim knows we are weak.

And because Western Civilization is insufficiently ruthless this conflict does not have a bi-lateral solution. Centuries of treaties have failed to establish peace. For obvious reasons neither Jordan nor Syria want their people back. Giving the Palestinians access to Israel is like inviting Chicago’s South-Side to live and work in Cape Cod. And suggesting an alternative homeland for the Jews (such as Australia) is an anathema to the Jewish people. The current situation is an over-ripe, festering boil from which a putrid, yellow puss is seeping. And when that boil pops Western Civilization will disappear because our Imams teach us to turn the other cheek.

I sat in a stinking wino bar

outside Ruskin

next to a gnarled nigger

whose clothes

stank of stale piss.

His back was stooped from

a lifetime

of  “pick’n the ‘Duds’ vine.”

We talked of old dogs

women

and watermelon wine

and the $183 he made at

a Clweiston crap game

“in 59 aftuh pick’n cane.”

He’s got some kids “somewheres”

but “don’t recollect their names.”

“I supose, ” he said

“the Laurd know where they is

and their momma too”

and he guessed his age

at 62

He wore a crushed straw hat

that he “took from a dead Mex”

lined inside with old paper so it

wouldn’t fall below his ears.

He had on a faded blue bandana

knotted around his neck.

Tattered bib coceralls

several sizes too big

hung on his bony shoulders

over a once white shirt

not soiled and stained grey-brown.

A pair of $28 canvaas shoes

from the company store

and pocket change of $1.04

They called him “Neptune” and

he “don’t know why

cept that aftuh Ise borned

the Suwannee o’flowed

and flooded us out”

He said, they said

he was “pulled wet from the wather

by whitey with a cast’n net.”

“Mor’n fifty years, ” he guess

“pick’n vines, cane and citrus.”

He’s “knowed six women that

either died or lost away”

and owned seven dogs each a stray

“that died dead on me.”

Ruskin got a lot of Niggers

that will soon be 62

ten years, twenty years, forty

years from now.

They will get “penny-pound

pick’n the vine,”

spending it at the company store

and what’s lefe

on wine

I left at midnight.

Heard they needed whities

at the mills in North Carolina

and figures three days of thumbing

ought to get me there

before my $8 runs out.

What city are we passing now

whose dim lights warmly glow

while I’m so far above from

the people down below.

Do they stare up at the night

as I quietly pass them by

and wonder who is flying

across their night sky,

Who are the people there

I really wish I knew

Are they black – are they white

are they Christian – are they jew.

Their city looks tranquil

in the blanket of the night

that I ache to stop and visit

to prove my vision right.

Why do perspectives mellow

from a vantage in the sky

Why does all seem equal

from 7 miles high.

From here I don’t consider man

black or white, or Christian or Jew

So the only real difference is

its got to be my view.

Each of us is a time traveler

looking through the cosmic warp

or another universe

to discover that time is

a parallel world

where eternity begins and ends.

We are then the thoughts of

yesterdays

and tomorrows

so that all dimensions converge

into an instant vacuum

where distance is

past and present

so that time shall cease

that we must find release

for we are the soul of man

Today I watched a telephone line man

shinny straight atop the pole like a jazz man

playing “When the Saints go marching in.”

A hard leather belt gave him support

as steel ankle spikes beat rythm

into the dry pine.

And when he reached the top

he played the coolest jazz

and notes just danced round and round

cause he was on top man.

And when he came down

the creshendo of spikes

thudded into that pole

splintering curls of pine

like so many notes

from a smooth clarinet.

He reached the ground on a high note

smiled and lit a bit cigar

He was way out and laughing jazz

The morning calls to wake her sleeping city

and the inimitable chain of life responds

entering from another time zone.

The chain wakes to wash

the taste of bad dreams from it mouth

then…..

steps out of doors

to join a new, misting dawn.

In the distance a lonely factory whistle blows

disturbing the fragile equilibrum of morning lethargy.

Another answers in plaintive response and

an empty trolly car emerges in the din.

The moon smiles on the waking city

and searches with its eyes

to pluck away the beams it left behind.

Peoples houses blink their windows

and come to life

as street lamps succumb one by one to day.

The sun rests on the far horizon

and people begin to filter out

to taste the morning air.

A trickle of life begins to evolve

and as the sun gathers momentum

a vast concert of motion swells the cit’s belly

and what was once

the gentle moan of morning

has now become the

pandemonium of day 

Leathery old woman

shriveled

stooped

by burden

and toil.

You were to bed once

mant times

laughed

lived gaily

and sang songs

that the young sing.

You had flashing green eyes

flaxen hair

ruby red lips

and a thousand watt smile.

But all have dulled by the years

leaving only memories as witness

to how impartial time so often

is.

No man wants you Old Woman!

What will you do now?

Scrub floors?

To hold the breath of a day gone by

To catch a beam of the sun above

To glide the arc of a bird above

Those are things I love……

Then to gaze upon dandelions

Myriad in high hills

At will to walk through the clouds

Freely as a dove

To tread the glass with shoeless feet

Picking daffodils

Those are things I love

John Marshall has a beer belly

lives in Lordstown and

pays real estate taxes for

his brick house on Fulton Street.

John Marshall has a Christian wife

tow children

earns $40,00 a year

and bowls every Wednesday night at

Ned’s.

John Marshall guzzles Schlitz

during the Monday Night Football games

and King George The IV at the

Thrusday night pool hall.

John Marshall and plant workers

strike.

Their auto assembly line job is

boring.

Sargeant Rover Davis, POW

sits in a Viet Cong prison camp

sits in a

Viet Cong prison camp

sits in a

Viet Cong prison camp

sits in a ……………..

Night grey city streets

search endlessly for their horizons.

Their maasive structures scream

“beat me, beat me

ha, ha, I’m mightier than you.”

Bare trolly car rails

racing to infinity

scowl at the moon

“let me rest, tomorrow my burdens resume.”

Sidewalks darkly oblong

into the distance

waiting for the tide of

early morning feet to warm its belly.

Street lamps yawn

and lean to one side

some sleep and spill broken

patterns of hard light

that bring doubt to the night.

Buildings whisper to each other

and laugh at the prostrate forms inside

who close their eyes to reality.

In this world

for just a few hours

lights are lightless

sounds are soundless

and the sky is six feet

She has a face of angelic glow

Her manners are impecable

She has an ass like a buffalo

And her family respectable.

But she has some talents known to few

They are her pleasures and her fun

The ways this lady learned to screw

And I’m about to tell you one.

This lovely lady is quite some lass

And fucking is her favorite fun

Place a dozen eggs beneath her ass

I promise you she won’t break one.

Make a wish on a butterfly Tuesday.

Never sleep when its a rainy day in

Georgia

and always smile

when moon beams

fall on green rose petals

 A man said to the Universe

“Here I am

I exist.”

replied the Universe

“I recognize you

however

I am under no obligation.”

 The hand is quicker than the eye I

As yes, but the hand can not see.

So each must function together

Both hand and eye I dependantly

I own a chicken

that lays an egg

every day or two

And

I have a friend

who does the same

whether or not

he wishes to

I know a man

who can make

eight faces

and

they call him

octopus

People who live on a

planet

ought to

plan it

I have a watch

that works on time

and a friend

who works on cars

I once went fishing

for a Porpose on purpose

or did I go fishing  on purpose

for a Porpous?

Oh nevermind

what’s on my mind

I just wish

for a fish

on a dish.