Breaking Red Dawn

So much I’d like to cover but I’m slammed. Preparing for a huge mediation. Bunch of travel. Oh and, of course, tonight’s Twilight premiere, Breaking Dawn Part 2. Team Edward, here.

Israel and Gaza have been trading rockets. A real UFO over Denver. The, what I like to call, “Jill Kelley Experience.” Too many choices.

But, in the roughly 45 minutes I have tonight before I go “imprint” on a bucket of popcorn, I want to tackle this little thing called China’s Central Politburo Standing Committee of the Communist Party (PSC). And, if you’re brain just retranslated the last sentence “Rope ’em Gangnam style”? — well, then you’re a racist.

Anyway, pretty sexy stuff. The PSC is apparently the primary decision making body of the Communist party. It’s the holy of holies so to speak. It represents essentially the leadership of China. The new committee members were announced today. The whole process is fairly secretive and so little is known about the committee or the method by which it is formed. But, hey, that didn’t stop me from writing a whole news rap about it, like an expert.

Plus, the committee members were again drawn principally from a group with maybe the coolest name ever: “the princelings,” or Crown Prince Party. The name refers to the offspring of certain famous and wealthy revolutionary leaders. But, don’t let the title fool you. They’re all over 65 and accompished. This isn’t some Tommy Boy family business style inheritance. Still their continued presence is an obstacle apparently to real reform and policy balance in the Chinese government.

Really, I just wanted to say “Xi” in a rap.

By the way, it’s 2:21 am and I’m recording this, with the worst mic I have, in the front seat of my Volvo (in honor of the Cullens of course). My mother-in-law is here and for some reason my wife doesn’t prefer that I record in our room in the middle of the night. She’s cooky, that one.

Written and performed by theipoetlaureate. Music produced Sundance.

Today’s blong here:

Crown Prince Party


Camp 22

It’s easy to Team America mock the Dear Leader. He looked and behaved a fool.

And, it’s a credit to the complexity of the human psyche that, merely as a function of physical and emotional distance, we so easily dismember the comedy of a totalitarian murderer from the tragedy he imposed. Kim Jong Il operated one of the most brutally savage regimes in the history of mankind. Many rulers have butchered their own citizens. I’m not sure any have done so as heinously as Kim Jong Il, in modern times, while simultaneously demanding the kind of obsequious displays of affection he did. Through contrived famine and labor and prison camps he killed millions of people. Mass Games to his glory that he simply chose not to attend. Again, these are the ironic hallmarks of abuse at any level — violence and guilt. He was just really sadistically good at both. And, maybe the most harrowing part is the the tent of isolation under which North Koreans have performed for so many decades.

So, in case you just got around to caring, Kim Jong Il isn’t a fictional marionette imagined by Trey Parker and Matt Stone. He was a real dude. And, don’t be confused by the silence emanating from the peninsula or maybe even your local paper. The screams were all nightmarish if you had been there to hear them.

There is various legend around his birth and childhood. Some aggrandizing, some excusing, some accusing. He was romantically born in a cabin on Mt. Paekdu along the North Korea and China border. Propaganda has it that his mother told him that the mountain was where his father had defeated the Japanese and that someday it should be his home. At three, his younger brother drowned in a pond at their estate in Pyongyang. Some have suggested the drowning occurred at Jong Il’s already pathological hand. There is no good evidence for it. His mother died from pregnancy complications just two years later. It’s always easy to pin adult wickedness on childhood trauma. But, maybe too often it’s something of the exact opposite. Maybe this sort of imperial wickedness flows from too much privilege. Lives with no difficulty leading to power without empathy. Maybe, Jong Il was simply a product of sugar and spice and everything nice. Maybe, that’s what dictators are made of. Oh, and failed communism.

My bad, yesterday. This song is not catchy or for kids. 2 obituary songs in a week’s time right before the holidays. Nice.

Performed by ipoet. Produced by pumpkinFoot.

Today’s song blog here:

Sugar and Spice