nathansnook

Far from Vietnam

Má Ơi, There is blood in my soil and the bombs are cherry-picked, plucking detonations out of bombs like fair apricots. There are people in the ground, hiding, dying. Cement covers them, as shelter, as rubble. When the film slips up into black and white, I know death is near. The French protest as if their life depends on it. There is nothing to bless about America. There’s too much blood on its hands. America forces its daughters to clap. And for what? Victory? Are deaths of others a victory for you? We look and look, but we no longer see. Pondering comes with seeing, and we ponder so little. America, I’ve never seen this footage before. It wasn’t shown in schools. I wasn’t looking hard enough. But a hard look was given to me when I sat in APUSH, wondering why we glossed over the war so quickly. America, at the top of your lungs, you screamed, “BOMB HANOI!” And you did. Are you proud? “𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵, 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.” America, my clowns tell you this. My clowns in cải lương. It’s funny that complex feelings come about killing an innocent soul. Not just sadness. Complex feelings. My tears come out of this cruel laughter. Can my tears water seeds for a future generation? One of hope? I said your idealogy’s was vague, Godard. I wonder what you would’ve captured. Dans tes yeux, mon coeur. “𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘝𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘢𝘮, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 [𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢] 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘝𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘢𝘮. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯.” You leave me. Leave blood. Leave bodies. What is left? How do I go on? Love, Vietnam 🥮🥮🥮 If you enjoyed this write-up, please consider purchasing my novella here (https://nathansnook.bigcartel.com/). Or find other thoughts on books and films here (https://www.youtube.com/@nathansnook/videos).