a specific sonic signature of death
The United States Navy's Blue Angels, or Navy Flight Demonstration Squadron, was formed at the end of World War II, by order of Admiral Chester Nimitz, the Chief of Naval Operations, to keep the public interested in naval aviation.
-
Lookin' at the devil
Grinnin' at his gun
Fingers start shakin'
I begin to run
Bullets start chasin'
I begin to stop
We begin to wrestle
I was on the top
-
Today, as the Navy's Blue Angels stunt pilots roared above the city, I felt a vestigial alarm. Even once I remembered the Fleet Week, even after I verified it online, the roars and zoom and deafening boom of the planes sudden announcement criss-crossed my mind. And this safe in the arms of the superpower. Terror even there.
-
2001: War on Terrorism: The U.S. invasion of Afghanistan began at 16:30 UTC with an aerial bombing campaign targeting Taliban and Al-Qaida forces.
-
On TV, Afghanistan reminds me of the most barren stretch of the US West - I have little else to compare it to. Outside Fallon NAFB, where Top Gun was filmed, the basin and range land of Nevada stretches its vast sagebrush fingers. There, on empty hillside trails, the only man or even mammal I'd seen in hours, I would encounter again this rush and crash as the void is shattered by such definite, screeching presence. "Metal hawks"? Certainly birds of prey, perhaps a demonic flying-too-close-to-the-sun. Hard to even see, the gap between the seen and the heard coming clear only later, in a contrail or sun-turning glint. One morning, near a hot spring, they woke Sarah and I up, and I exited my tent to witness three crossing the poet's rosy fingered dawn, shooting out of the snow capped Ruby Mountains on a crisp May morn. In formation.
-
Such presence even when marked as "friend". Imagine the impact when "foe". And that gray area between, eating all. Could I talk to those pilots? What would we hear?
-
The Blue Angels perform more than 70 shows at 34 different locations throughout the USA each year. Since 1946, they have flown for more than 260 million spectators.
-
Peace to the Iraqi and Afghani children, parents, the old, murdered and unborn of this fucked-over world. And to those spreading Hell in name of Heaven, an active, strong, vigiliant peace mixed with sorrow and rage, no matter how desperate it turns, no matter how little our swords and arrows seem to dent the titanium. That my tax money goes to such obscene ends while my own fellow citizens are bankrupted by an unforseen illness, or a minor surgery.
We all know this prayer, and this plea. Its more a question of what we are going to do, how often we repeat it, how much of our life we give to realizing another way. What to add? I'm in. Call me on it when I am not, thats what friends and critics are for. I'm in.
-
sonic boom. a bomb. to tear asunder. a 'deafening' scream. where i would like to hear. and death too is acrobatic, incendiary, leaves a trail... sneaks up, unexpected, and overpowers.
-
Sly Stone wrestling with that devil, and getting on top of him.
posted by Kyle at 12:13 AM
5 Comments:
great post brutha--esp. the part about having enough money to send the working class off to war but not enough for healthcare
not to be anti-military personnel. i have a lot of empathy for the soldier's plight over there. in many ways, it is a far closer mirror to our own situation to look towards the occupiers than the occupied. where these acrobrats fit in, its troubling. their performance of mastery and strength made possible by the same corporate backers who deform so much entertainment, packaging it up and sticking on some irrelevent brand name. why are the angels pro-war? because the military pays them, because the audience sees that nationalist lens. these aren't just technicians, entertainers, mercenaries - these are American boys - it means something, somethign altogether removed from the simple spectacle.
But no, not altogether removed, never altogether removed. A malignant, familair cultural tangent, a trope tacked on that i immediately identify, and so strongly, all else fades.
I love these jets, and the pilots who fly them, none of whom are presently engaged in war activities, though they are all top notch pilots. I hate that people are dying, I hate the war and I despise GWB, but I build airplanes and I'm in love with the beauty of their design. I also worked on the Stealth bomber, years ago, and saw it fly up close. It is a magnificent machine. I have not yet come to terms with my love for these jets, and the damage they (well, not them but others like them) do.
San Francisco doesn't need this annual recruiting exercise -- I say it every year, but there are more important causes, so I don't work on it.
What fascinates me is Rebecca's comment. A) because I have long hoped she would comment, and B) because she nails exactly the weird quality here, the disconnect between the spectacle of the planes and what they come to represent. Its so freaky - the Stealth is like a Porsche that kills people. And they do have a beauty and grace - as machines - I remember loving the WWII vintage aircraft, and pestering my grandmother to take me up to Turlock AFB to see a real Spitfire, Messerschimdt, etc.
As a human thing, I think its an extension of our fascination with, the seduction of, predation, with predators - pythons, mafia killers, the jaguar, wall street (and deep sea) sharks, great warriors, even serial killers, this killer instinct. It also becomes sexualized, connected with a sort of prowess. Its a rich vein. And yet these machines (and the Blue Angels) are intrinsically connected to killing 9their miltiary activity is a vital one - propaganda), their very sleek design is mandated, as the cougar's is, as my cat's is, for murder. And then the military pays them, they fly the murderer's flag...
I know that the US Military, in theory at least, defends this country, but in practice it sadly proves itself again and again to be on the offensive, and so the myth in the TV ads and top gun never quite plays out for me.
And those planes - my stepdad works in aeronautics, and has helped build them too - and his love for the machine, it so easily grafts onto the military machines desire for the killing machine.
For the record, death is very sexy, very cool. Killing - never. I really think never. Our movies and books have done us a great diservice there - the hunt may be elegant, but the actual take-down... if your eyes are open... there is grace, there is ballet, and there is the look in the eyes of the dying.
Post a Comment
<< Home