It's so much easier being sick than being the caregiver.
☂ Give Me Love (Give Me Peace On Earth)
☂ Give Me Love (Give Me Peace On Earth)
Help me cope with this heavy load.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Denial Flavored Kool Aid with a Patriotic Twist.
Planted firmly on one side of a very divided nation, it's easy to look across the line and see a bunch of morons, especially when you're looking at what I'm looking at. I'm not talking about differing opinions. When one side clearly succeeds where the other side failed, it's fascinating to watch how bitter that failing Republican side can get: Bitter enough to revise history, ignore facts, and lie their asses off for a completely fake reality that suits them and their egos.
But it can't stop there. After all, someone needs to vote for them, and it sure as hell won't be anyone with the capacity to think and remember. That's where stupid people come in.
Have they convince you yet that President Barack Obama is to blame for Idiot Emperor Baby Bush's enormous deficit? Because it was there the day he was inaugurated. Baby Bush left it behind like an abandoned suitcase and a scorching case of herpes, and, by the way, pissed away President Bill Clinton's surplus with wars and tax breaks for the wealthy.
Have they gotten you to believe that Clinton is to blame for the September 11 attacks even though they happened well into Baby Bush's presidency? Because as he left office, he actually warned Baby Bush to watch out for Osama Bin Laden.
Have they gotten you to forget that less than six months after the attacks, Baby Bush gave up searching for Bin Laden and said, "I don't know where Bin Laden is. I have no idea and really don't care. It's not that important. It's not our priority?" Because they would now like you to thank him for Bin Laden's death even though he had absolutely nothing to do with it. Just ignore the fact that Bin Laden was killed by a strategic plan put in place by Obama, please.
If you are, in fact, stupid enough to ignore history for them, you are, by now, screaming for photographic proof of Bin Laden's death because they have taught you that when it comes to factual proof, a DNA match is nothing compared to photos. You're the same schmucks who don't believe his Birth Certificate is real.
And if you are stupid enough to ignore history and facts by believing their really obvious lies, you are probably insipid enough to finish it all off with the belief that you are a patriot. All of you who love to wrap yourselves in the American flag telling everyone how much you love this country haven't the faintest idea what it means.
To be an American Patriot, you actually have to care about the plot of land America sits on and its people. Republicans have no love for this land. Their mantra is Drill, Baby, Drill, and if they have their way, they will deregulate every measure of safety taken to keep this country's soil, water, and air clean and unpoisoned.
They have no love for Americans except the rich ones. Just watch CSPAN and tell me how much they care about our way of life.
Patriots? Right. My Little White Ass. Stop wrapping yourselves in that flag before you accidentally choke on it. With the Tea...
☯ Married with Children
But it can't stop there. After all, someone needs to vote for them, and it sure as hell won't be anyone with the capacity to think and remember. That's where stupid people come in.
Have they convince you yet that President Barack Obama is to blame for Idiot Emperor Baby Bush's enormous deficit? Because it was there the day he was inaugurated. Baby Bush left it behind like an abandoned suitcase and a scorching case of herpes, and, by the way, pissed away President Bill Clinton's surplus with wars and tax breaks for the wealthy.
Have they gotten you to believe that Clinton is to blame for the September 11 attacks even though they happened well into Baby Bush's presidency? Because as he left office, he actually warned Baby Bush to watch out for Osama Bin Laden.
Have they gotten you to forget that less than six months after the attacks, Baby Bush gave up searching for Bin Laden and said, "I don't know where Bin Laden is. I have no idea and really don't care. It's not that important. It's not our priority?" Because they would now like you to thank him for Bin Laden's death even though he had absolutely nothing to do with it. Just ignore the fact that Bin Laden was killed by a strategic plan put in place by Obama, please.
If you are, in fact, stupid enough to ignore history for them, you are, by now, screaming for photographic proof of Bin Laden's death because they have taught you that when it comes to factual proof, a DNA match is nothing compared to photos. You're the same schmucks who don't believe his Birth Certificate is real.
And if you are stupid enough to ignore history and facts by believing their really obvious lies, you are probably insipid enough to finish it all off with the belief that you are a patriot. All of you who love to wrap yourselves in the American flag telling everyone how much you love this country haven't the faintest idea what it means.
To be an American Patriot, you actually have to care about the plot of land America sits on and its people. Republicans have no love for this land. Their mantra is Drill, Baby, Drill, and if they have their way, they will deregulate every measure of safety taken to keep this country's soil, water, and air clean and unpoisoned.
They have no love for Americans except the rich ones. Just watch CSPAN and tell me how much they care about our way of life.
Patriots? Right. My Little White Ass. Stop wrapping yourselves in that flag before you accidentally choke on it. With the Tea...
☯ Married with Children
You are the result of 4 billion years of evolutionary success.
Fucking act like it.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
I Will Rejoice in the Death of One.
One more post about 9/11 on any day but September 11.
I found a lot of people quoting Martin Luther King Jr. in their Facebook and Twitter status yesterday. "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy."
Fuck that. They are entitled, but I didn't respond, and I certainly didn't repost. As I set out to write this, I checked to make sure that I had the quote right, and it turns out it's an altered version of what King actually said. Fine. Its inaccuracy doesn't change the sentiment that many wanted to share - that despite the Evil of this Cunt of a man and his followers, they could not celebrate his murder. Fine, don't. I on the other hand am happy he is dead, I'm ecstatic that he was shot in the eye, and I'm hoping that the last thing that went through his head besides that bullet is the realization that The United States of America got him.
He put us all through our own hell that day.
I woke up that morning to the sound of the phone ringing, and Caller ID told me it was my father. Because he lived in Manhattan and I was 2 hours behind in Chicago, I was quite angry and indignant that he would choose to call me so early in the morning. I let the machine take the call and then heard him say that one of the towers had been taken down. I didn't believe what I was hearing so I interrupted the message he was still leaving, and picked up the phone to tell him he was full of shit. He told me to turn on the TV. And I was just in time to see that second tower go. My brain didn't allow me to register that what I was watching was live, that it wasn't a replay of the first tower, that we were in fact under attack. My country. My friends. My family.
My first drive home opened a new wound. Yes, I used to drive from Chicago to NYC and back. I'm a huge Road Tripper and even lived out of a car for two years, but that's a story for another time. It was a long ass drive, but every time I saw the Skyline, I knew I was almost home. Seeing the skyline without my towers was indescribable. Won't even try.
While home I was able to chat with my dad's girlfriend, and she told me something that has haunted me. By this point in time, people were in some way of knowing who in their lives had made it and who had not. Even if they didn't know their friend's friends that well, by this point they knew which of them were OK. But during the course of a day there are people you come across who you don't know, but who are still a part of your routine. Maybe you never speak to them, but you know their faces.
They wait for the same bus or train as you everyday.
They are in your bodega almost as often as you are.
They are at the gym during roughly the same days and hours you are there. And some of them are gone now. You haven't seen them since early September, and you don't have their name, their phone number, or anyone to ask about their whereabouts.
Why isn't that tall guy using this train anymore? Has he changed jobs?
Why isn't that blond girl using this bodega anymore? Did she move?
Why isn't that really buff guy at the gym anymore? Has he fallen out of his workout routine right now? Or was he at The Towers that day? Each person missing from your daily routine becomes an unanswerable mystery and another fucking reminder.
So I don't care if you are or aren't celebrating Bin Laden's death. Do what you feel is right For You. I am rejoicing. I'm hoping his death caused him pain and suffering, and I hope those who cared for him are forever broken hearted. No disrepect to the late and Great Dr. King.
"Begin thus from the first act, and proceed; and, in conclusion, at the ill which thou hast done, be troubled, and rejoice for the good." Pythagoras
☯ Hallelujah
I found a lot of people quoting Martin Luther King Jr. in their Facebook and Twitter status yesterday. "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy."
Fuck that. They are entitled, but I didn't respond, and I certainly didn't repost. As I set out to write this, I checked to make sure that I had the quote right, and it turns out it's an altered version of what King actually said. Fine. Its inaccuracy doesn't change the sentiment that many wanted to share - that despite the Evil of this Cunt of a man and his followers, they could not celebrate his murder. Fine, don't. I on the other hand am happy he is dead, I'm ecstatic that he was shot in the eye, and I'm hoping that the last thing that went through his head besides that bullet is the realization that The United States of America got him.
He put us all through our own hell that day.
I woke up that morning to the sound of the phone ringing, and Caller ID told me it was my father. Because he lived in Manhattan and I was 2 hours behind in Chicago, I was quite angry and indignant that he would choose to call me so early in the morning. I let the machine take the call and then heard him say that one of the towers had been taken down. I didn't believe what I was hearing so I interrupted the message he was still leaving, and picked up the phone to tell him he was full of shit. He told me to turn on the TV. And I was just in time to see that second tower go. My brain didn't allow me to register that what I was watching was live, that it wasn't a replay of the first tower, that we were in fact under attack. My country. My friends. My family.
My first drive home opened a new wound. Yes, I used to drive from Chicago to NYC and back. I'm a huge Road Tripper and even lived out of a car for two years, but that's a story for another time. It was a long ass drive, but every time I saw the Skyline, I knew I was almost home. Seeing the skyline without my towers was indescribable. Won't even try.
While home I was able to chat with my dad's girlfriend, and she told me something that has haunted me. By this point in time, people were in some way of knowing who in their lives had made it and who had not. Even if they didn't know their friend's friends that well, by this point they knew which of them were OK. But during the course of a day there are people you come across who you don't know, but who are still a part of your routine. Maybe you never speak to them, but you know their faces.
They wait for the same bus or train as you everyday.
They are in your bodega almost as often as you are.
They are at the gym during roughly the same days and hours you are there. And some of them are gone now. You haven't seen them since early September, and you don't have their name, their phone number, or anyone to ask about their whereabouts.
Why isn't that tall guy using this train anymore? Has he changed jobs?
Why isn't that blond girl using this bodega anymore? Did she move?
Why isn't that really buff guy at the gym anymore? Has he fallen out of his workout routine right now? Or was he at The Towers that day? Each person missing from your daily routine becomes an unanswerable mystery and another fucking reminder.
So I don't care if you are or aren't celebrating Bin Laden's death. Do what you feel is right For You. I am rejoicing. I'm hoping his death caused him pain and suffering, and I hope those who cared for him are forever broken hearted. No disrepect to the late and Great Dr. King.
"Begin thus from the first act, and proceed; and, in conclusion, at the ill which thou hast done, be troubled, and rejoice for the good." Pythagoras
☯ Hallelujah
Be troubled
and rejoice for the good.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Dear New York City...
Published: September 11, 2005
Spalding Gray, the actor and monologuist, died in 2004. The following letter, which he wrote in the aftermath of 9/11, appeared in "Life Interrupted," a published version of the monologue he was working on at the time of his death.
Dear New York City...
By Spalding Gray
For 34 years I lived with you and came to love you. I came to you because I loved theater and found theater everywhere I looked. I fled New England and came to Manhattan, that island off the coast of America, where human nature was king and everyone exuded character and had big attitude. You gave me a sense of humor because you are so absurd.
When we were kids, my mom hung a poster over our bed. It had a picture of a bumblebee, and under the picture the caption read:
That is still New York City for me.
What a night, huh?
☯ Requiem for a Dream
Spalding Gray, the actor and monologuist, died in 2004. The following letter, which he wrote in the aftermath of 9/11, appeared in "Life Interrupted," a published version of the monologue he was working on at the time of his death.
Dear New York City...
By Spalding Gray
For 34 years I lived with you and came to love you. I came to you because I loved theater and found theater everywhere I looked. I fled New England and came to Manhattan, that island off the coast of America, where human nature was king and everyone exuded character and had big attitude. You gave me a sense of humor because you are so absurd.
When we were kids, my mom hung a poster over our bed. It had a picture of a bumblebee, and under the picture the caption read:
"According to all aerodynamic laws, the bumblebee cannot fly because its body weight is not in the right proportion to its wingspan. But ignoring these laws, the bee flies anyway."
That is still New York City for me.
What a night, huh?
☯ Requiem for a Dream
But ignoring these laws
the bee flies anyway.
Please Please Please Let it Be True.
Bravely done, Mr. President. Bravely done... Now please let it be over.
☯ Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.
☯ Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.
Bravely done.
Manchild
I love how playful The Boy is with our dog.
The way he crawls on the floor to sneak up on him when he's just laying there.
The way he chases him around the apartment.
The physicality of a full grown man (after all, The Boy is in fact 37 years old) and a full grown American Pit Bull Terrier playing with each other, one with no fear that he may be accidentally scraped or grazed by a claw or tooth, the other fully aware that he must pull back on his own outrageous strength to avoid hurting the man he loves more than anything else in the world - it's Fucking Precious.
My Boys. Who cares if neither one of them has any interest in balancing the checkbook...
☯ The Man with the Child in His Eyes
The way he crawls on the floor to sneak up on him when he's just laying there.
The way he chases him around the apartment.
The physicality of a full grown man (after all, The Boy is in fact 37 years old) and a full grown American Pit Bull Terrier playing with each other, one with no fear that he may be accidentally scraped or grazed by a claw or tooth, the other fully aware that he must pull back on his own outrageous strength to avoid hurting the man he loves more than anything else in the world - it's Fucking Precious.
My Boys. Who cares if neither one of them has any interest in balancing the checkbook...
☯ The Man with the Child in His Eyes
He will be yours
faithful and true
to the last beat of his heart.
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