A "War on Terror" rebuttal.
| "Man Cave" - GKJ Brumwell - March 10, 2015 (a writing exercise in response to recent news of a "tunnel of terrorism," in which I place myself and perspective into another tall tale gone wild fire):
I dig down my hole underground, excavating my escape. I unearth some space as my place for solace. Wooden struts support my haven hall of walls and roof. I acknowledge this architecture as not a work of beauty. It serves important purpose, as my fortress of solitude, a project of passion. My plan is to expand cavern confines, creeping in towards something more comfortable, more breathing room and even a television. I will not watch the news much. I doubt some stories as simply such. They just give a false sense of reality, and cannot be in touch, of where or how I am. My muscles and bones continue to unfold and mold my secret scene. Already my private clubhouse includes a generator and water pumps, to better its standard of living. This starts to take care of itself. I believe I have this all under control, as good work therapy for my soul.
Now, a stranger stumbles upon my intriguing indentation into Earth's interior. The press stammers and stutters behind the scenes, then blurts out Canada's 2015 common theme. Dreadful dominoes declare it as a "tunnel of terrorism." Against simplest rational reason, default dives in, radicals are at fault! How could I be seen in this dark light? Journalism has jumped the gun and deep down my throat. I must cough something up, out of public's pit of panic. Everyone turns to police state political power, to prove our paranoia and the people responsible. Because, of course, it is not any of us, or our beliefs and acts of "war... on terror?" I am supposed to be terrified... but I am not, about what "they say" it is all about. About facing the facts, I march myself up to the authorities, to unravel their unbelievable mystery.
I tell it like it is. Not a mole monster on a malicious suspicious mission, I am but one fellow friendly man, making it out, under to stand for himself. I love the looks on everyone's faces. Caught contorted screwed up expressions, as lies leak out of their eyes. Forked tongues lick up sweaty stories of fictitious forced food for bought thought. It should be over with and settled... for now. I rest my cave in case.
- Jonathan BeWell