abandon your post

it's intentional, of course it is, these posts, historically, have recipes worked into them, lists of ingredients at least, things you can whip together, as though anyone can cook though I'm not sure I believe that, and usually a photo but today the plate is empty the recipe is for disaster and there are too many ingredients to list:
the Aleppo of pepper and underground mystical souks, the Damascus of sweet diesel fumes and upscale coffee shops and everything seething below its surface we’re not going back there now it is a different place it is a stomping ground at least outside the gates but maybe that report I watched on “frontline” was all staged, part of the plot to drag down the nation to bring on outside intervention don’t sweat it son no one is firing up their jet fighter plane engines just yet the flyboys aren’t even striding out across the tarmac
that journalist had some big balls how did she get into Syria without raising suspicion those balls you can’t hide them in your jeans very easily all kidding aside give her a Pulitzer for laying it out, focused disoriented terrifying life in the Syrian underground opposition movement, context provided by a second report with history, experts, disturbing footage, though the plot is not thicker than blood and it’s easy to follow put yourself in the shoes of a beleaguered regime and it makes sense: If you write slogans against me I will show you the freedom you demand I will show you sweet release, If you draw pictures against me I will cut off your hands, If you sing against me I will rip out your throat, well, this is, in part, class warfare, I acknowledge that, so I will get someone else to do these things for me that’s what makes it classy, it’s pretty simple, pretty straightforward I think you see how it works
Heads will spin
Heads will roll
and we will hold on we will not cancel the gala because of some pesky complaints and criticisms it’s the gala if you can pay the price of the ticket then the fray that you are above is simply titillating you don’t have to lose any sleep over it its not like you are cutting out your own throat
the president, it is reported, is following the advice of his mother, who apparently is telling him, in so many words, have tongues cut out, have bodies riddled with holes, and if there are not enough ditches along the roadsides, have more ditches dug, the Hama rules are still in play they are the oldest play in the book all the talk of reform has always been a dumbshow we are sticking with what we know, the old playbook, which is better because it is the devil everyone knows
that’s like so Pinochet, so Guatemala, so East Timor so Colombiana
history that’s like so 20 minutes ago the whole world isn’t watching
2000 years ago I remember the photo-of-the-day on a website of “most-viewed” photos was a Palestinian boy shot it appeared by IDF in Gaza, his father clutching him behind a concrete barrier the next day the boy dropped to second place the latest cutest puppy in the world had plopped into the number one slot now over the ether out of the cloud I learn that in the ensuing years there has been a controversy swirling around this boy’s shooting, some claim the whole thing was staged, that p, l, and o are the first three letters of plot, but perhaps because of a global penchant for puppies such arguments don’t get much “like” I’d say thank goodness for staged puppies but dead Palestinians aren’t getting much traction either and years from now in 20 minutes when the creeping vines and mosses hang down thick into old roofless mainframe server facilities a few remaining humans will straggle in and after initial perplexity put two and two together ok this is where all the puppies and lol cats and dead people and thoughtful comment threads and invective and striking photo archives of the anti-capitalist movement were stored, my friends we have stumbled into a treasure trove of cultural artifacts too bad none of this equipment works anymore the throat of that singer in Syria that message sent by a forgotten regime it’s in here somewhere it still has something to sing to us from a few seconds or centuries ago, we were a troubled people back then smothering ourselves in poverty and excess if I had been alive and had had a throat it would have been choked with corrupted spammy urgent files maybe even one that read: dear leader, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes let alone your head what a mess it must be, if I may so casually project, I mean as an opthalmologist what is your view of the fact that one of the boys who wrote graffiti on the school building in Dera’a was caught and had an eye gouged out by the secret police, that’s classy, and if people run out of peepers there should be a brisk business in manicures the odds are ten to two you won’t lack for a living, then in the future in another 20 minutes, fingernails, tongues, hands, and eyeballs have surrounded the nation's capital shouting are you in there are you even in that big head of yours you can come out now