I made these videos on my phone, both are with the original ambient sound, one made in a shopping Mall in the UAE, the other in a homestead in UK. I post them as a note, because it struck me, again, this Halloween that no fiction is scarier than the reality of what in fact men to do one another, and to themselves; from the swift impact of war, to the slower seeping poisons of capitalism. Neruda says it most clearly, below, an extract from his early poem Standard Oil Company:
Standard Oil Company
Their obese emperors from New York
are suave smiling assassins
who buy silk, nylon, cigars
petty tyrants and dictators.
They buy countries, people, seas, police, county councils,
distant regions where the poor hoard their corn
like misers their gold:
Standard Oil awakens them,
clothes them in uniforms, designates
which brother is the enemy.
the Paraguayan fights its war,
and the Bolivian wastes away
in the jungle with its machine gun.
A President assassinated for a drop of petroleum,Extract, Pablo Neruda
a million-acre mortgage,
a swift execution on a morning mortal with light, petrified,
a new prison camp for subversives,
in Patagonia, a betrayal, scattered shots
beneath a petroliferous moon,
a subtle change of ministers
in the capital, a whisper
like an oil tide,
and zap, you’ll see
how Standard Oil’s letters shine above the clouds,
above the seas, in your home,
illuminating their dominions.