for you

I realize some of this is redundant, but I just wrote this in response to a friend's email and thought, "Well shit. This is potentially a more efficient use of words than the previous soapbox declaration." Plus, I like the picnic metaphor. And now I offer it to you.

Yeah, I definitely feel disconcerted. But I also feel a little more free. Backing someone as unfocused as Kerry takes a lot of energy. It's not that we were merely fighting against the Grand Old Party machine. That fact that so many of us stooped so low to fervently support, defend and trump up the Kerry icon, seems sad to me.
I'm sorry that Bush is still there, don't get me wrong. But who really, truly wanted John Kerry in office? I think we only fooled ourselves into playing along with the politicians. We need a different way to make and implement decisions.
It's like we were all on the same Republican road trip, and occasionally, when we had to pee, they pulled over at a truck stop and we thought that was us being powerful. They were driving the car the whole time and now we're at their intended destination. They never veered off course. We could've jumped out at any time -even when they were going too fast- but we were so scared, we stayed under the comfy protection of the convertible roof. Now we've made it to the "Conservative" picnic and there's nothing to eat but cheap hotdogs, potato salad and Budweiser. Those things are mediocre, showy nourishment. I hope we can collectively look past the folding picnic tables and well-manicured lawn, to see that Life has something more to offer, before we gorge ourselves once more, in exhausted, childish resignation, on the post-modern white bread of our comfortable forefathers.

have a bitchin' summer

Why, O Lord,
amidst such bounty and peace
do humans take reason
for suffering and cause still more?

We were all fooled and I'm sorry.
I never quite felt in my heart that Kerry would be a good choice to lead the country; never really wanted him there; only partially bought in to the pitiful, left-wing fever. I saw that I wished for there to be a strong, confident alternative to Bush. In the end now, I see clearer that Kerry was only a pathetic construction put together in imitation of, reaction to the incumbant.
You can't please anyone when you raise your limp-wristed middle finger to the mirror.
I'm kind of glad Bush won this time.
Let the bombs fall.
Let the freedom reign.
And yet I do feel some melancholy. I feel surprised by the seasons of the power of men at this time, as though we were living in the Dark Ages.
Kali Yuga is behind us because Dwapara is defined as 'humans becoming aware of the fine electricities that make up creation.' But damn it if I still feel confused by the intentions and desires of my brothers and sisters:
You're beautiful
but I cannot save you
from the machines
-war, fear, miracle-
of this world.
You must carve your own trail
out and away from speeding tractors'
paths of ruin and ages.
This place would
strap you down
splay you out
as though you were
a cowboy pilgrim's
victory meal
on a sunshiny
Easter Sunday.
You will be groomed
like a prisoner
to the electric chair
if ever you decide to bite,
if ever you choose to
accept completely
any half-assed truths
of all the clutching civilizations
on this planet.
You must let go
of the need
to become too fat
off the riches
-and later an obese zombie
scratching indiscriminately
at doors-
*hopeful eyes*
and waiting for donations.

In your slumber
you are peaceful.
Why do you not bring
that peace to your
waking days?

O bleeding heart of humanity
and open hands of understanding,
where art thou?
Flower of God,
where art thou hidden
inside this trepid war
of life?

When I seek Thee
I have found Thee
betwixt my soul
and the night.
When morning comes,
and I see Thy shining face,
shall I sing with glory
to the patient mountains
or weep for the coming
of another cycle
upon our quaking bones?


__________________________________________________________

A state by any other

You learn the rules and in the end, they're only rules so you let them go.
All that stuff about syntax and punctuation, that whole plan about getting a job and starting a family, all your ideas about who men are and what women do- it dissolves when you die. And you will die. At some point along the way, you will be forgotten too. It may take thousands of years or maybe just a few days; rest assured.
But you have right now.
This is the time for you to play games with rules, to play those games- to take those rules, examine them, hold them up to the light for a better look- and think about the whole thing. Ask questions like, Why am I playing this game? And, why do these rules seem so important to me?
Maybe you're in school. Or maybe you just think you're in school.
Stop for a moment to consider the fact that all of this is made up. Humans created sidewalks and the word, 'sidewalk.' There weren't always words for things. And the things humans have created haven't always been around. There is no reason to believe what humans have made up will continue to exist in a few hundred years.
Bombs could fall today upon our most beloved institutions and it wouldn't matter who was president because we'd just perish beneath it all.
I think we are especially fragile when we believe in presidents and institutions to save us from other presidents and other institutions. I think it must just be a game we play to avoid dealing with our fear of the unknown.
We teach rules to children without suggesting to them that the rules ultimately don't matter, and the children grow up into adults expecting, even repeating, situations in which the governing platform of the situation can only exist once humans have managed to dutifully switch off their capacity to wonder and create things lacking in fundamentalism.
It's as if the dogma sniffing at the heels of our youthful days claws into us and grows like a disease, deforming our humanity as we lower our heads, then our bodies into dull brown boxes. The lid flaps taped over the top of us are our death as able, thoughtful, compassionate beings.
And when this happens, all that's left is a dusty silence accompanied by occasional conveyor belt scratching as our boxes take us through endless circles around a desolate factory.
Get up, people!
You are not living.
Wake up!
Wake up!
Wake up!