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Catfish Cantos YouTube playlist: www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlyOBlEtTq65geNzxIz8uYD5CzizBfjES

CATFISH CANTO I: A STANDARD AND A DRONE

A standard is a standard, and a drone is a drone. Well, why not throw a bomb on ... No, no! Listen to the King of the Jungle! He's a bastard, but he is our bastard, and we are too big to fail. We are cowards. We play choo-choo in the jungle. You there on the street! Is that Latin you are reading? I beg your pardon? No, the 21st. It is something new. With new names. Holy tradition, save us from the deviant! To Thee we pray, Thou art our reference. Can't there be silence in the mountains?

Drip drop, drop drop, what is this sensation? Is that you? There are voices of peace in the jungle: Chick-a-dee-chack, chick-a-dee-chack, and: Cocori ho! Cocori ho! I think it means good. Did you see that cat on Facebook? What a laugh. And if it rains, we'll take a cab. Real city, your cars like petals carried on ant paths. Your night-lights fading, pointing to references. Cave paintings on the walls. We celebrate the new millenium with war. When the terrorists are killed there will be we will be everything's gonna be something's gotta be something. Trust me. A new dawn.

Can you play this Beethoven again, please. Thank you. So elevating. So dead. What a relief! He would only talk back. He was not an easy man. Who are all these voices? They frighten me like ghosts. Is this seat free? I just need to sit down for a minute. Are you American? Yes, I thought so. You look so prepared for your second century. Good luck! And here is the news: Terrorists. Can we please drop this bomb now. I'm gettin' bored, sorry. Real city, the wind brings no sound. Anis Hamadeh 25 June 2013

CATFISH CANTO II: WHERE IS MY GROUP?

Excuse me, have you seen my group? Sorry, I need my glasses. No no, wait! I am for global justice, you see. Only, I don't find my group, and a monster haunts my nights. This is not my street, or is it? I remember the face there on the election poster, and that one, too. They line the street like crabs. But what is this stench? Is it meat? What is this? I used to go there, I think, but I cannot today.

In the river, seven flights below, barbels lure in darkness, reaching out, flirting. This way, polliwog, I will show you fear. Down here is the realm of the catfish. There is no one else around. It can smell you. You're away from the herd. So delicate you are. Moon sweat on the blanket. I must remember the name of my leader. My adviser. Mon semblable, mon frère.

In the East and in the West, catfish, catfish, unsuppressed, old and stout, unseen and wise, pulls the curtain from your eyes. Yesterday, when I watched the news, the colors were so different. Where have the jaunty words gone, verbiage and vodka? It was so easy when all of us were guilty, especially them, and nobody was better. Now there is nothing. And the catfish says: "Trust your inner voice," but it's a monster. A beast. Last week it took a poodle right from the shore.

I don't know what to do. They say the catfish is a terrorist. So many sought to kill it. They came with red heat pokers, guns and articles in the New York Times. Come back to the herd, dear, this is not for you. Did you have a bad dream? I know. Oh look, your brand is all worn out. Let's go and fix it! Anis Hamadeh, 2014 Published also at: http://dissidentvoice.org/?p=54103 (May 11, 2014)

CATFISH CANTO III: THE DISSIDENT

Now, this is the chair of freedom. In it sat the elected one. The pioneer, the chosen one. You can take a little flag on your way out, as a souvenir. In our country we have no dissidents. We have bonus cards and democracy. We have God. When the battle started, the chosen one cried: “God, help us disembowel the enemy and flay his daughter's skin! We praise you much.“ And there was peace. So don't spoil it! You are not going to eat this colossal fish alone, are you? Hey guys, come on over, here's a treat. No no no, not you! You're this whistleblower guy, ain't-cha? The traitor. Where is your flag? God, this is to die for!

In the desert I sit, the dissident. Oh, we have no desert, they would say, we have democracy. It must be something in your head. A crack or ... Ouch! No, it's this overstretch again. Does anyone have an aspirin? Now, which Roman emperor created those magnificent baths that were free for all? Yes, Emily? In the silence of the night the catfish goes unseen, untouched. It grows in the rivers, it grows in the lakes. Wrapped in brackwater. So will you follow now or what? We haven't got all day. What are you staring at? Helloho!

The moon is so big tonight, look! So white. We need a home, everybody does. I'm talkin' 'bout peace now. OK, so you laugh, but when we all have a home, what could there be other than … The catfish turns its head, stirs up the ground, and now, all mouth, it sings: "Hatch, half a million, in the cold, brave little darlings, two days old." So what was this thing again about the moon? We put a flag there, you know. Anis Hamadeh, 2014 Published also at: http://dissidentvoice.org/?p=54209 (May 18, 2014)

CATFISH CANTO IV: THE WHEEL

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, was getting old. Her cards all used and her hands like stubs of burnt olive trees. Here, said she, is the Drowned Calf. I don't know if it's your card. This is the Wheel, and this is the card of our sponsor. Thank you! Come on, there's nothing to it! Now jump from the pier, will you! The water is good, and something's tickling my feet. Ladies and gentlemen, The World's Got Talent Incorporated proudly presents a new star. She sings like a bird, and further we heard ... "Yeah, that's right!" ... you can, is that right, foretell the future? A big hand for Insomnia Perkins!

Far from the surface, down in the deep, little catfish thrives. Lush are the banks of the river. They feed on everything. They don't think, they feed. Some will survive. First of all I wanna thank everybody. It's so great to be here with you tonight in HD. I see crowds of people dancing round in a ring. So many! Now I turn the wheel of fortune, and away we go! It's a win-win situation. I know what you think: fracking, climate change, money crisis, corporations, international conflicts, I know. But what I say is this: If we talk together to reach a consensus, we can really make it. I don't like this negativity that I sometimes sense. No, Mr. Hirosaki, we never speak the names of the two cities. Yes, thank you for the bonsai, quite futile, still … well.

Isn't it great that we're all together now! Email me, I wanna show you this YouTube video about a leopard caring for a baby baboon after having devoured its mother. Oh, you saw it? Cute, ain't it? No, I'm fine. I mean, you gotta believe in something, no? My wheel is happy. Sometimes, when I cannot sleep at night, I watch the moon and the stars above. I'm more on the celestial side, my mother says. Daughter daughter, shun deep water, don't get nearer to the mirror! Fish will come and snatch your toes; this is how the story goes. I love my mum. Mum's the word! Anis Hamadeh, 2014 Published also at: http://dissidentvoice.org/?p=54319 (May 25, 2014)

CATFISH CANTO V: THE GARDEN WHERE STORIES END

In the beginning was the story. Y'all see de railroad track down 'ere? That's where John Henry with his mighty hammer challenged the machine. In the delta, where the gators grow so mean, sweet waters meet like flautists in a strawberry field. Sir? If you must smoke, kindly leave the plot. (Idiot!) A steam engine this is, a-steam-a-steam engine this is, a-steam a-steam a-steam a-steam Choo choooo! Quick, more fuel, steam-a steam-a, don't be cruel, steam-a steam-a, ra-ta-ta ta-ta-ta ra-ta-ta ta-ta-ta, Hi ho, speed, my silver jewel!

So, was there any feedback on this peace ad you took out? Well, what did you expect from life? Hey, buster, what's up? You're jumping like a catfish on a pole. Oh, it's a dance, I see. You're an artist. Great! No, art is great. I have a niece that can juggle with four oranges. Faster, faster, silver steam, dream on faster, dream on, dream! Ra-ta ta-ta ra-ta-tar, Let it ring from bar to bar! In the garden where all stories end cowers the unseen one, the untouched. He has many names. He is there. He knows his way around.

Listen, this PTSD lotion they gave you, is it any use? It comes with a massage, right? No, I'm just asking. All this violence, I cannot ... It's hard sometimes, you know. Of course we had to do it, sure. That's common sense. In the garden where his story ends, nothing depends upon a silver wheel barrow leaning against the apple tree. Anis Hamadeh, 2014 Published also at: http://dissidentvoice.org/?p=54412 (June 1st, 2014)

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