Happy holidays. Given the sledgehammer to the nether region the year 2020 has been, I understand the cynicism. No, this won’t take long.
I just had a strange and wonderful thought.
Yes, I have lots of those but this one was special.
I don’t internally celebrate Christmas. This was not the strange thought. This is more of a confession. I never liked the way it was perverted into a reason and target to go shopping by. I am not particularly religious, so it hasn’t a lot of significance for me there, either. Neither the Baby Jesus, amazing ever-burning candles, or the forward-thinking, socio-political event punctuated with meaningful and thoughtful aspirations called Kwanzaa ever quite hit the mark. …
Congress is letting people die.
Tell a friend.
Okay, so I’m the bad guy
for telling the truth.
SO BE IT.
People are losing their homes,
hundreds of people
are in virtual Zoom sessions
as they’re evicted by judges
into the streets,
during a pandemic
to a disease spreading like wildfire
among a populace barely alive
catching aflame because
the system dried them out
left them vulnerable and
didn’t choose to save them;
their lives a pre-existing condition.
They let them die.
Congress could have saved hundreds of thousands of people, lives of American citizens who did not expect to die because of the incompetence of the people they elected to office; and they could have been consequential, dare I say heroic, if they had acted at any of a half a dozen times with humanity instead of contempt this year and instead did nothing. …
It won’t be the first amendment they topple on their road to Nazi America, but it will certainly be the last. With the turning of the screws in the Supreme Court and the shoehorning of Amy Coney Barrett into barely cooled robes of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, the Republican’s judicial gambit is now complete.
Whatever do you mean, gentle dissident? I’ve never heard of the “judicial gambit” before.
I am certain it has a real name somewhere, but I have opted to call the painstaking process undertaken by Republicans for thirty years to manipulate themselves into a position of power that would not require having dominance in the White House or the Congress, the judicial gambit, for this plan requires only the control of the lower courts, federal courts and the Supreme Court of the United States. …
A slow fire, crackling around our bones, a sudden pop surprises us, a cornerstone of our lives suddenly gives way;
A beloved movie star, an aging parent, God forbid, a child, vulnerable without the scars, the temporal burns to warn them away from the vicissitudes of life.
Time, a morass of moments, half-remembered, blurring between celebrations, festivals, acknowledgment, and failure, a personal relativity, compressed when one needs it, expanded during the dark tea-time of doctor’s visits, interviews for jobs, long conversations with aging relatives who have the same admonishments, every visit, unable to remember anything else.
Those are the worst fires of time, the ones which portend the unexpected, the inane, a conflagration unexpected. …
Depending on where you live, the first wave may be ending for you. Statistically speaking the first wave will have ended when a state has no new infections for fourteen days. Not one state can say this has happened.
Surviving the first wave is not something to celebrate. You survived it because you were likely sheltering somewhere if your state’s leaders were doing their job. The sheltering in place was only the beginning. It was to prepare you for the stage many states are now entering: The far more dangerous and possibly explosive second wave.
The second wave was inevitable. We all knew it. We agreed to shelter in place while hospitals figured out how to prepare for the expected wave of casualties from the first wave. We sheltered in place for two to three months, depending on where you lived in the country. …
If it is my duty to guide my sailors on their floating citadel at sea, then let me always consider them first. Without them, I lead a city of steel without a heart.
If it is a betrayal to err on the side of life, then let me be the first to err, for my crew is my life. Without a crew, our warship is naught but a hollow threat.
Most importantly, if I am to rain destruction upon my nation's enemies, if it is my life's work to defend my nation, then let it be that my nation is worth defending. …
Can we talk for a moment?
I promise I won't take much of your time. Don't mind that scary graphic. My agent said I needed to get your attention.
I figured I already have. I'm engaged in killing you (collectively).
It's not personal. You guys all look alike to me. I am not affiliated with any particular party, or social group. In fact, most other viruses barely know I exist. In my native habitats, bats, pigs, and other animals hidden in dark jungles, I exist in harmony with natural forces. …
The impeachment summary (because I can’t call it a trial, there were no witnesses nor evidence allowed to be submitted) will say to anyone who ever becomes president after Donald Trump, assuming anyone gets the luxury of doing that:
“Fuck these rubes. I can say whatever I want to whomever I want and screw the consequences. The law can’t touch me and I can bully anyone in the Congress into obeying me or make their lives a living hell. …
This is that moment when you
decide, as a species,
Or having a
“Some firefighters report flames 150 metres high. Read that again, slowly. Flames 150 metres high. Higher than a 40 storey building.”
Imagine a towering inferno of pure flame
terrifyingly majestic, feeling the heat,
Inescapable, inexorable, impossible,
Watch as it consumes your world
It’s fuel? Your hubris, your belief
In your dominance over nature.
It feeds on your history
The denial of your
I’d say that’s a 750 word challenge I was born for.
250 words a minute…
As a writer, your challenge in any presentation is to show what you’ve got. In a post-literate society, it is the most difficult challenge imaginable.
Not because people can’t read. But because they won’t. They have too many other choices. To make things worse, as a writer, you lack the visual punch of the artist or graphic designer. Visual art appeals and in a second we can decide if we like or not.
If you’re judging music or spoken word, its the syncopation, the rhythm of the work, which connects to you, the meaning in that staccato delivery, or the arpeggio bridging that final coda. …