Friday, November 21, 2008

Paris Hilton And The Kennedy Assassination — 2

So the strange rumors now are that Paris Hilton
is actually older than people suspect.
Seriously older. And the strange rumors now
are that Paris Hilton has played a larger role
in shaping the modern world than anyone knows.
Seriously larger. I don’t normally post
on silly internet fads and speculations —
I’ve said nothing about Diet Coke and Mentos
but since this is the twenty-first of November
I’m going to say something about this one part
of the strange new Paris Hilton mythologies,
the part about Paris Hilton in Camelot.


Proponents trying to win over hearts and minds
to the strange new Paris Hilton metaphysics
often start with an incident I’ll be quick with.
I’ll be quick with this because if you dwell on it
you can almost start to see a kind of logic
to a premise that’s best kept inconceivable.
When you talk about the Bay of Pigs Invasion
it’s not a profound suspension of disbelief
to see Paris Hilton as the guiding light there.
In our minds we can almost hear Paris saying,
“Send some Navy boats over that way. Tell the men —
Oh, never mind. You know, Cuba’s so yesterday
now that all the casinos have closed. Tell the men
just to come home and let the Cubans settle things.”

Paris Hilton is as good an explanation
as anything for that whole sequence of events.
But just because you can connect the dots and see
a cartoon drawing of Paris Hilton winking
that doesn’t mean she really was back there winking
at Kennedy and telling the man what to do.
It’s always good to remember there are other
possible explanations. Paris explains things,
but there are other explanations possible.


Paris Hilton believers, strange new scientists,
have a refreshing kind of honesty to them.
They don’t even attempt to cherry-pick data.
They may start with a strong case, the Bay of Pigs, but
they don’t shirk from discussing the Missile Crisis
even though it lacks the Bay of Pigs’ black slapstick.
And that’s really all that needs to be said right here.
The Cuban Missile Crisis was resolved without
the kinds of scenes you’d expect to see if Paris
had been winking, telling Kennedy what to do.
No nuclear missiles launched accidentally.
No bombers dropped their nuclear bombs by mistake.
Heck, no armloads of un-ordered pizzas were sent
late at night to Premier Khrushchev at the Kremlin.
Paris Hilton believers, strange new scientists,
are erudite and overwhelm you with details.
They see Paris at work in every little thing.
But the broad strokes of the Missile Crisis events
are not painted in bold, bright, Paris Hilton pink.


Efficacy comes up, too, that day in Texas.
The Kennedy assassination succeeded.
If Paris Hilton had been there as a player
would any of the bullets have hit Kennedy?
I’ve seen the photographs, the stills and movie frames
enlarged, computer processed, computer enhanced.
What’s there, in the splotchy grain, light pulled from shadow?
I don’t believe, not for one hot Dallas second,
that Paris was the shooter on the Grassy Knoll.
I don’t believe Paris was there, made up, in drag,
running everything as the Walkie-Talkie Man,
sending signals by way of the Umbrella Man.
I’ve seen the diagrams. I’ve seen the measurements.
I’ve seen everything interpreted by experts.
They see Paris at work in every little thing.
But I just remind myself that Kennedy died.
If Paris Hilton had tried to kill Kennedy
I think Oswald would have fallen out a window,
Grassy Knoll Man would have shot himself in the foot,
and the secret agents throughout Dealey Plaza
would have started hitting each other with cream pies
while Kennedy waved and then drove away unharmed.


In fact the main reason this thinking caught my eye
even though it never did win my heart and mind
is the notion that Paris Hilton is sitting
in the captain’s chair, commanding forty-five years
of intensive research into Kennedy’s death.
Paris explains things. Forty-five years of work gone
and still nobody knows who murdered Kennedy.
Forty-five years later. Endless theorizing.
Endless articles, books, legal machinations.
Forty-five years later and still nobody knows
who ordered the killing, who carried out the act.
Totally void results are what you would expect,
what you’d predict, if Paris were the Captain Kirk
of the assassination research enterprise,
if Paris were doling out the research dollars,
if Paris were deciding who would research what,
if Paris were defining which results would count.
Forty-five years of toil. Totally void results.
Not to mention the endless, mindless blind alleys:
“Look, you can see the limo driver turn around
and shoot Kennedy in the head with a handgun!”

Not to mention the reasonable things unsaid:
“Historically, political deaths often
come at the hands of a person’s own power bloc,
a person’s own former friends feeling badly used.”

Forty-five years of toil. Totally void results.
I don’t believe it but I wouldn’t be surprised
if Paris worked out plans with her pet Chihuahua.


Maybe Paris Hilton is the muse and mover
of the contemporary world around us all.
Maybe Paris Hilton is the natural E
that has everyone in the modern world humming.
Maybe Paris Hilton is the subtext beneath
all our textbooks and teachings, everything we learn.
Maybe. Proponents of this, well, cosmology
haven’t won me over, not my heart or my mind.
Their so-called Pink Camelot theories caught my eye,
but pink is a bright color. Paris explains things,
but there are other explanations possible.

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