Thoughts on the 45th

Editorial note: I posted this here on my much neglected blog just in case someone wanted to share this on down the line.

It’s 9:11. It’s the current time, but it’s also an emergency. The collective “we” are now officially at the start of a four year journey, destination unknown. The driver is childish, misogynistic, homophobic, classless and tactless, non-disclosing, disconnected, lying heap of a man in a badly tailored suit.

Do I have strong opinions about this? You bet I do. Am I going to shut up? You bet I’m not.

Since Trump won, I’ve heard so many things from his advocates and defenders. Things like, “you lost, suck it up” and “you can’t just act out because your side lost”. I won’t even give screen time to the hatred laced comments referring to what the “other side” feels they had to deal with for the last eight years and anything heaped onto the “losing side” is justified. I do mean anything. Personally and reported in various media outlets I’ve seen attitudes change. I’ve seen people shifting to feeling like it’s okay now to be rude, hateful, and mean because their guy is in charge so their view is justified. It’s not. It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

Over the last few months I’ve been taking a stance that’s easily recognizable as thinly veiled avoidance, but I just can’t keep going on this way. This month I shifted my public persona into an almost unrecognizable one. It’s one of ultra kindness. 

Please and thank you.
Excuse me.
How can I help you?
Let me get that for you.
What can I do to make your day better?

Why?

Because I can post (and will continue to post) information, but most Trumpets will not read the missives. They will not educate themselves. They will not approach these views from any side other than the one they’re current standing on. If they do, it’s either deemed media propaganda (no matter if it’s multiple sources of varying sways) or quickly refuted by half truths and half baked facts. But, if in person, I’m as sweet as honey, especially to those various hued, low to middle income, non-traditional sexually oriented groups about to get punched in their respective tits and beanbags, then great. Someone has showed them kindness and their spark of hope remains afire. And, if the person happens to be from the other side, well I’ll just be the “sweetest misguided socialist-minded liberal” they ever did meet.

Bless my heart.

But, seriously people. Stop being assholes to each other. Care about your fellow humans. We’re all in this together.

While you’re at it educate yourselves. Don’t pick one topic upon which to hinge your entire stance while ignoring or discounting the rest. 

Educate yourself about how the government works. 
About the policies. 
About gerrymandering. 
About the REDMAP project. 
Get informed and then make decisions.

It’s an ongoing process, so never stop learning.

The day you do, you’re a puppet.

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Henry Rollins

Mr. Rollins,

Credit: Timothy Norris

Credit: Timothy Norris, taken from http://tinyurl.com/lf3y5jz

In my more rebellious youth I graffitied my brown paper bag book covers with the iconic, bold black bars of the Black Flag logo. I listened to the Rollins Band at volumes loud enough to cause both temporary hearing and memory loss. The music, driving and primal, spoke to young me on a level older me has trouble reconciling with now. I remember those days with the fondness of misunderstood youth and the rage to escape the gilded cage and set loose upon the world. Continue reading →

Driving Home

Mile 10:

There’s a hot girl on a motorcycle. She throws a wave to every biker she passes. Few, if any, toss it back. She’s hunched low, stretched out over the tank, her shirt blowing up revealing a pale pink bra when she accelerates. I’m envious instantly.

Mile 12:

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Kismet

Oh, the things we find ourselves saying when a kindred spirit we meet
As hours run late the phone battery dispatches warnings quickly dismissed
Letters combining
into words
into sentences
into stories
Talking, sharing, caring, connecting without agenda
Discovering safety in the bond of a fellow wave rider
Familiar with the push and pull, ebb and flow, high and low
heady
intoxicating
wonderful non-aloneness
The wifi signal stays strong keeping the link, but the eyelids grow heavy
Pauses grow longer as the next day’s commitments creep in
Another time
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Saturday Night

Another throwback post, this time from a random Saturday 7 years ago. I was so artsy in my lack of capitalization. Oh silly 29 yr old self.

deciding that i’d had enough of the stuffiness of my apartment and had sufficiently lost untold hours in front of the television in an HGTV® trance, i packed my satchel full of books, grabbed my car keys, said farewell to the cats and hit the road.

what? yes, I’m looking at you and typing with an accusatory tone…

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Poem For People That Are Understandably Too Busy To Read Poetry

Poetry became a topic of conversation tonight. So I offer this gem I found years ago. I bring it with me from site to site. It still remains one of my favorites.

Relax. This won’t last long.
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there’s a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he’ll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you’re busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it’s sex you’ve always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party’s unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don’t think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don’t know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it’s needed. For it’s apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I’ll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don’t give anything for this poem.
It doesn’t expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case
or in your house. And if you’re not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:

Good. Now here’s what poetry can do.

Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There’s an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You’re beautiful for as long as you live.

Stephen Dunn