A cousin of mine died a couple of days ago. He was a year older than me. Way closer to 50 than 40.
His life was nothing to be proud of. A prison stint for abusing his girlfriend's children, never convicted of molesting another cousin or his own nieces -- we keep our secrets, this family of mine. He died a wreck of a human being, a final heart attack after many.
I haven't seen him in three decades or more. His siblings have fared no better in life: a sister with many children who drinks herself unconscious every day; a brother who is totally immersed in Fundamental Christianity, also with several children who are secluded from all contact except church-related; another brother who appears "normal," but what festers beneath?
What do I remember about this cousin?
I remember standing beside him, before his mother, as the woman grasped his arm and held a flame from a cigarette lighter to his hand. I remember her telling me that she wished she could do it to me. She obviously was afraid that my mother might object. A ridiculous fear. I remember... I remember knowing there was no one I could tell, no one who would stand for me, protect me, help me. Certainly not my mother.
I don't remember him crying.
I was three years old. But I remember her face, her words.
My mother, sister and I lived with these people during one of my mother's many "vacations" from her abusive husband. So many bad things happened in that house, but this is seared into my memory, as clear 45 years later as if it had happened yesterday. Seared with the flame that scarred him, outside for a while, inside forever.
He chose to deal with the abuse by becoming an abuser. I do not feel sorry for the man he became.
I cry for the child standing beside me with his hand in the flame...
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Standing Before a Door
I’m standing in front of a door…with the only key. I built this door, carved a place for it in the wall I raised to protect me from what’s on the other side. And to protect what’s on the other side from me. What’s on the other side is thirty years in the past.
I’ve kept many things from that other side, bones I bury and dig up, bury and dig up. My own personal graveyard with angry ghosts that scream and weep and demand retaliation, and weary spirits who plead for release from the too-frequent resurrections.
None of them whisper, “forgive… forget.” To forget would invalidate who I am, because the past created the person I am today. The person whose rage and pain gave her strength to fight back, to make different choices, to refuse to accept still more pain. To forgive would dissolve their guilt, tell them that their actions were acceptable, and they do not deserve that.
They deserve to burn in Hell. And in this life, to know no peace, no joy, no happiness.
Yes, my past has given me interesting hobbies. Such as the Hunt. When the ghosts scream too loudly for retribution, I can quiet them with the Hunt. When the Hunt is done, they are appeased, all I hear is the soft pleadings of the weary, and I am as tired as they are. My mind can rest for a while; the bones return to the earth.
What is the Hunt? The search for those who made my life a torment. A search driven by my need to know what they have made of their own lives, and the hope that those lives have been scarred, wasted, marked by loss and failure. I do nothing with the information.
How does this work? In a brief pause in writing this, I picked a name out of the past, and began the Hunt. Within five minutes, I had her married name, the name of her husband, the names and ages of her children, how long she’d been married, and the names of several of the friends she’s maintained contact with since those halcyon days. Fifteen minutes more, and I will have her address, phone number, and other personal information. And it won’t cost a thing.
I am not a nice person. I never pretended to be.
But this recent Hunt has snared more than the previous, and laid out before me is the proof of their freedom from divine punishment. Spouses, children, successful careers, stature in the community, beautiful homes… happiness. And this has caused the ghosts of rage and revenge to tear at their cerements, demanding … something more. Demanding explanation for the deeds of the past, and acknowledgement of the pain they caused.
So I am driven to build this door.
And the key is heavy in my hand.
Do I open the door? What would that accomplish? Would there be explanation, apology, acknowledgement?
Or blank stares?
I’ve kept many things from that other side, bones I bury and dig up, bury and dig up. My own personal graveyard with angry ghosts that scream and weep and demand retaliation, and weary spirits who plead for release from the too-frequent resurrections.
None of them whisper, “forgive… forget.” To forget would invalidate who I am, because the past created the person I am today. The person whose rage and pain gave her strength to fight back, to make different choices, to refuse to accept still more pain. To forgive would dissolve their guilt, tell them that their actions were acceptable, and they do not deserve that.
They deserve to burn in Hell. And in this life, to know no peace, no joy, no happiness.
Yes, my past has given me interesting hobbies. Such as the Hunt. When the ghosts scream too loudly for retribution, I can quiet them with the Hunt. When the Hunt is done, they are appeased, all I hear is the soft pleadings of the weary, and I am as tired as they are. My mind can rest for a while; the bones return to the earth.
What is the Hunt? The search for those who made my life a torment. A search driven by my need to know what they have made of their own lives, and the hope that those lives have been scarred, wasted, marked by loss and failure. I do nothing with the information.
How does this work? In a brief pause in writing this, I picked a name out of the past, and began the Hunt. Within five minutes, I had her married name, the name of her husband, the names and ages of her children, how long she’d been married, and the names of several of the friends she’s maintained contact with since those halcyon days. Fifteen minutes more, and I will have her address, phone number, and other personal information. And it won’t cost a thing.
I am not a nice person. I never pretended to be.
But this recent Hunt has snared more than the previous, and laid out before me is the proof of their freedom from divine punishment. Spouses, children, successful careers, stature in the community, beautiful homes… happiness. And this has caused the ghosts of rage and revenge to tear at their cerements, demanding … something more. Demanding explanation for the deeds of the past, and acknowledgement of the pain they caused.
So I am driven to build this door.
And the key is heavy in my hand.
Do I open the door? What would that accomplish? Would there be explanation, apology, acknowledgement?
Or blank stares?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Anthropomorphosis -- or -- Puppy Kisses Don't Mean a Thing
Some people say that we shouldn't "anthropomorphize" animals. That is, we shouldn't ascribe human characteristics to lesser creatures.
The people who say this are usually "professionals" and "experts." Folks who are trained in these matters. Folks who make their living in the use of animals.
These people say that animals can't feel emotion. We're silly to think they can, they're just animals.
Emotions. Fear, joy, love. No, I guess I've been silly when I thought I've seen a terrified dog, or a cat who rubbed against my leg purring. That dog that ran and leaped at a Frizbee, it wasn't happy to be playing. Ridiculous. The dog that ran past one person and to another, greeting him with "kisses," didn't really have any idea that the person was his own, wasn't showing love, attachment and recognition. The cat who meowed loudly on the return of "her" owner wasn't expressing loneliness. That's just silly.
How can anyone say that animals feel no emotion? Isn't that the ultimate egotism to deny that another living thing can feel what we feel?
Or is it something more, something worse? Is it that, in diminishing recognition of the cognitive and emotional life of another creature, humans can feel (!) justified in causing that creature pain, in separating it from its family, in using it and deciding when and how to end its life?
It's "just an animal."
As are we.
The people who say this are usually "professionals" and "experts." Folks who are trained in these matters. Folks who make their living in the use of animals.
These people say that animals can't feel emotion. We're silly to think they can, they're just animals.
Emotions. Fear, joy, love. No, I guess I've been silly when I thought I've seen a terrified dog, or a cat who rubbed against my leg purring. That dog that ran and leaped at a Frizbee, it wasn't happy to be playing. Ridiculous. The dog that ran past one person and to another, greeting him with "kisses," didn't really have any idea that the person was his own, wasn't showing love, attachment and recognition. The cat who meowed loudly on the return of "her" owner wasn't expressing loneliness. That's just silly.
How can anyone say that animals feel no emotion? Isn't that the ultimate egotism to deny that another living thing can feel what we feel?
Or is it something more, something worse? Is it that, in diminishing recognition of the cognitive and emotional life of another creature, humans can feel (!) justified in causing that creature pain, in separating it from its family, in using it and deciding when and how to end its life?
It's "just an animal."
As are we.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Won't You Be My Neighbor...
Fascinating thing happened today, or rather this evening. I was in the bedroom working on my writing, when the doorbell rang -- at 8:15 pm.
Now, who could that be?
I hear from the kitchen, "Oh, hi, Terry!" It was our next-door neighbor, come to pay us a visit. I've seen him maybe a handful of times in the four and a half years we've lived here, he's never come to the door, and honestly, I don't even know his last name. I think he works in health-care, but even that is sketchy.
Being the friendly neighbor, I go to greet him also. And there's something odd about neighbor Terry. Doesn't seem to have his balance, he doesn't. And he's flapping a paper around.
The rest is rather a blur.
He's yelling that the census workers had sent him over to find out information on me. The little paper was "from the census" with the "sorry we missed you" message across the top. Left at his house. He got 6 inches away from me and said I had to call the number right then, while he was there. The man smelled like he'd bathed in Jack Daniels, and his balance, as noted before, was rather off. "It's the LAW!" he screamed, like he was going to be carted off if he wasn't successful in this bizarre mission from God -- I mean the government.
I asked him why he was so angry. "I'M NOT!"
Really.
Next salvo? "YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE GODDAMN CONSERVATIVES!"
No, actually, I'm one of those goddamn women who won't put up with abusive drunks. Been there, done that, the teeshirts are way too expensive.
So he staggers on out the door.
A little backstory: I did indeed send in my form, after April 1, as sending it in before constituted perjury. Read the not-so-fine print, folks. And people show up to my door claiming to be census workers, telling me they'd not received anything. They were quick to admit that "things get lost." Too quick. With worn badges that were unreadable. I sent them on their way.
See, I know someone who works for the census. He said they change badges every month, or more often. And the "official gear" is easily attainable.
So on with the story.... I called the number on the paper and asked the man why he sent my neighbor over to get information. I'd certainly been home all day, except the two times I'd been outside enjoying the fine weather.
The man asserted he had not sent Terry over, that he "did it on his own." So where did the paper and the message allegedly targeted to me come from?
Oooo, silence. Then more assertions that he was not responsible for my neighbor coming over for the first time ever, drunk and abusive. And (you'll love this) the guy knew who I was even though I hadn't given my name, he had my phone number, and he knew exactly who I was talking about! I was calling from my cell phone, which shows a number with a different area code (family plan from my old hometown). He also stated that he had my information for the census. Hmmmm.
I informed him I would be going over to Terry's to sort this out, and tell him what the man said about his doing this on his own.
So I walk over to the neighbor, and he's lurching up his driveway, as though to meet me. A moment later, he is three inches away (he'd apparently fortified himself further with good ol' JD), and begins screaming at me, calling me a bitch, saying that "we'd always been good neighbors but THAT'S ALL OVER NOW, BITCH!" Again with the "conservative" and "law" shrieks.
Ya just gotta love drunks. No, not really.
So, tomorrow, being the bitch I am (oh, he really has no idea), I'm going to begin a campaign. Please reference my first post. I'm not really a nice person. First the census worker. I called him back and thanked him for sending a drunk to do his work. I got the number for his supervisor, though he wouldn't give a name as they are supposed to. I'll be calling there tomorrow. Next I'll be finding out Terry's full name, and doing a little research. Health care licenses are fragile things, especially if one abuses drugs and alcohol.
Oh, no, Terry, I'm not a bitch. I'm a Bitch. There is, as they say, a difference....
UPDATE: I've discovered that he has no health-care license of any kind, and neither does his wife. Strange, he told us she was a nurse when we first spoke. I also found out his drunkenness is the norm. At least he's always been a quiet drunk...until now.
The census office is unresponsive. What a surprise. What about the "call when the census worker is there if you want verification" spiel? The strangers showing up at one's door would have to wait a long time before continuing with their interrogation. Of course, they will probably just leave, tag you as a troublemaker, and send the next person. Our tax dollars at work...
And I'm not done yet. Oh, no, nowhere near done.
Now, who could that be?
I hear from the kitchen, "Oh, hi, Terry!" It was our next-door neighbor, come to pay us a visit. I've seen him maybe a handful of times in the four and a half years we've lived here, he's never come to the door, and honestly, I don't even know his last name. I think he works in health-care, but even that is sketchy.
Being the friendly neighbor, I go to greet him also. And there's something odd about neighbor Terry. Doesn't seem to have his balance, he doesn't. And he's flapping a paper around.
The rest is rather a blur.
He's yelling that the census workers had sent him over to find out information on me. The little paper was "from the census" with the "sorry we missed you" message across the top. Left at his house. He got 6 inches away from me and said I had to call the number right then, while he was there. The man smelled like he'd bathed in Jack Daniels, and his balance, as noted before, was rather off. "It's the LAW!" he screamed, like he was going to be carted off if he wasn't successful in this bizarre mission from God -- I mean the government.
I asked him why he was so angry. "I'M NOT!"
Really.
Next salvo? "YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE GODDAMN CONSERVATIVES!"
No, actually, I'm one of those goddamn women who won't put up with abusive drunks. Been there, done that, the teeshirts are way too expensive.
So he staggers on out the door.
A little backstory: I did indeed send in my form, after April 1, as sending it in before constituted perjury. Read the not-so-fine print, folks. And people show up to my door claiming to be census workers, telling me they'd not received anything. They were quick to admit that "things get lost." Too quick. With worn badges that were unreadable. I sent them on their way.
See, I know someone who works for the census. He said they change badges every month, or more often. And the "official gear" is easily attainable.
So on with the story.... I called the number on the paper and asked the man why he sent my neighbor over to get information. I'd certainly been home all day, except the two times I'd been outside enjoying the fine weather.
The man asserted he had not sent Terry over, that he "did it on his own." So where did the paper and the message allegedly targeted to me come from?
Oooo, silence. Then more assertions that he was not responsible for my neighbor coming over for the first time ever, drunk and abusive. And (you'll love this) the guy knew who I was even though I hadn't given my name, he had my phone number, and he knew exactly who I was talking about! I was calling from my cell phone, which shows a number with a different area code (family plan from my old hometown). He also stated that he had my information for the census. Hmmmm.
I informed him I would be going over to Terry's to sort this out, and tell him what the man said about his doing this on his own.
So I walk over to the neighbor, and he's lurching up his driveway, as though to meet me. A moment later, he is three inches away (he'd apparently fortified himself further with good ol' JD), and begins screaming at me, calling me a bitch, saying that "we'd always been good neighbors but THAT'S ALL OVER NOW, BITCH!" Again with the "conservative" and "law" shrieks.
Ya just gotta love drunks. No, not really.
So, tomorrow, being the bitch I am (oh, he really has no idea), I'm going to begin a campaign. Please reference my first post. I'm not really a nice person. First the census worker. I called him back and thanked him for sending a drunk to do his work. I got the number for his supervisor, though he wouldn't give a name as they are supposed to. I'll be calling there tomorrow. Next I'll be finding out Terry's full name, and doing a little research. Health care licenses are fragile things, especially if one abuses drugs and alcohol.
Oh, no, Terry, I'm not a bitch. I'm a Bitch. There is, as they say, a difference....
UPDATE: I've discovered that he has no health-care license of any kind, and neither does his wife. Strange, he told us she was a nurse when we first spoke. I also found out his drunkenness is the norm. At least he's always been a quiet drunk...until now.
The census office is unresponsive. What a surprise. What about the "call when the census worker is there if you want verification" spiel? The strangers showing up at one's door would have to wait a long time before continuing with their interrogation. Of course, they will probably just leave, tag you as a troublemaker, and send the next person. Our tax dollars at work...
And I'm not done yet. Oh, no, nowhere near done.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
You Can't Take It With You -- Or -- I Left My Heart In SF, My Eyes in Bangor, and My Kidneys in Miami and Detroit...
Hey, kids! Again with the long silence, but the world marches merrily on into madness...
So now that they have everyone marching to their drummer and convinced that they know what's best, and before the devastating reality of Obamacare kicks in -- too few doctors, rationed care, bankruptcy (financial and moral) -- the Govmint of Obama's Party has decided that, even in death, we cannot escape what's "best for us." Enter the latest Big Brother, NY State Assemblyman Richard Brodsky.
Seems Mr Brodsky's widdle wubbins Willie (and who names their daughter Willie?) has been the beneficiary of TWO donated kidneys. Donated of free will. But that's not enough for Mr Brodsky. Freaking out because she might need another, he has decided that ALL citizens of New York should be required to donate their organs on death. Gotta keep a steady supply, and this ensures he'll have a match when needed.
Now, when one of these idiots gets an idea, the rest of them start getting jealous and want a piece of the glory.
Slippery slope ahead...
So now that they have everyone marching to their drummer and convinced that they know what's best, and before the devastating reality of Obamacare kicks in -- too few doctors, rationed care, bankruptcy (financial and moral) -- the Govmint of Obama's Party has decided that, even in death, we cannot escape what's "best for us." Enter the latest Big Brother, NY State Assemblyman Richard Brodsky.
Seems Mr Brodsky's widdle wubbins Willie (and who names their daughter Willie?) has been the beneficiary of TWO donated kidneys. Donated of free will. But that's not enough for Mr Brodsky. Freaking out because she might need another, he has decided that ALL citizens of New York should be required to donate their organs on death. Gotta keep a steady supply, and this ensures he'll have a match when needed.
Now, when one of these idiots gets an idea, the rest of them start getting jealous and want a piece of the glory.
Slippery slope ahead...
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Happy Days Are Here Again!!
Okay, so I haven't been very consistent in posting. Truth to tell, mostly I've been watching with fascination the feeding frenzy away over thar in the Nation's Capeetol. I almost did a blog on how Olympus was trembling, the Throne of Zeus crumbling under Him.
But I didn't. *Sigh*
No, things are moving so fast that by the time I would have posted, the whole focus had shifted from Olympus to Poseidon's realm, where the sharks had begun to feed on the chum (Coakley, Bernanke, Nelson, et al) tossed to them by Zeus.
It's a beautiful thing...
And now -- now -- oh happy day! Zeus is sending down His emissaries to walk among the mortals, to speak to them and learn their fears and Hopes and why they have turned away from Him and the other gods, and bring back the news to Olympus, so that He may address these problems.
But wait, didn't He once walk among the mortals himself, touching and being touched, speaking and being spoken to, rallying the mortals and gathering them to Himself in a great groundswell of Hope and Change? Did He not swear to be One with them always? Did He not promise to bring back the rains and make the crops flourish, to heal the sick and shelter the homeless, to bring the poorest poor to the heights of the Titans, while slaying the Titans and spreading their gold and jewels among the mortals? To bring an end to war and suffering?
He did.
But, as with all gods, and even more so with the King of the gods, He has no mortal blood or soul in Him, and so cannot truly feel the pain of mortals. His moment among the mortals convinced Him that they were fools, easily led and manipulated, and He spoke their language well enough to convince them that He was One of them. He won the war waging on Olympus and took the Throne.
And promptly shut the gates, lest others come to challenge him. He gathered to Him those He had called enemy, of Himself and of the mortals, and spoke to the mortals, saying, "You shall forget that I once called them incompetent, liars, and evil." And it was forgotten. He commanded great feasts of celebration, while enjoining mortals to live frugally, to give their last coin, to work in His service after laboring through the day in their own shops and fields.
And below, the crops withered, the poor grew in ranks, and the Titans regained their wealth and more, as tributes from the mortals filled their coffers, poured there by the hand of Zeus. For, despite all the rhetoric, Zeus knows that He cannot survive without the Titans. He and the gods lost sight of the world below, and the suffering of those who had raised Him to His place.
A season is nothing to the gods, a blink of time. But to mortals, it is a long time, wherein life and livelihood, money and home are lost, and scales can fall from eyes. The gods surrounding Zeus, being as they are, war among themselves. And they are always battling, for position, wealth and power. A group of them thought themselves greater and wiser than the others, and naturally wiser than the mortals, and sought to make new commands for the people, calling it Health Care Reform, and said it was good.
And it was good. For them. Greater wealth and power was written for them in those scrolls.
But the Oracles spoke to the mortals who would listen, and the mortals cried out against the new edicts, even as the gods warred among themselves to increase their power and wealth and could not make strong enough alliances to bring agreement to Zeus for his Seal.
Zeus heard the cries of the mortals, and said to them, "You will not listen to the false Oracles or to the mortals who bring you this disinformation. They lie to you. They seek to frighten you. I am Zeus, the King of the gods, and I know what is best for you. You will hear only me." And the mortals...rebelled.
And they sent a message to Olympus, taking back a Temple Seat from Zeus, and throwing His own words back at Him, calling it the Mortal's Seat. The absolute power of Olympus was broken. And the King of the gods has remembered the power of the mortals. The power that brought Him, an unknown, to the Throne as King of the gods and of the world.
And He is afraid.
He is afraid because He has lost the love of the mortals, and fear has been such a part of their lives for so long that He cannot use that weapon effectively anymore. His lightning bolts are weak. He has lost allies among the gods and demigods as they see their own positions threatened, their temples ignored or surrounded by angry mobs, their rivals strengthened in the eyes of the mortals. They will not side with Zeus when they soon face their own time walking among mortals, for that brief moment trying to convince mortals that they are One with them, that they feel the pain and bring hope and change.
So He sends His emissaries forth, to walk among the mortals...
Will the mortals remember that He once told them He knew their hearts, their hopes and fears? Will they see now that He never had, that He always knew He was better and greater than they, that He is a god without the need for mortals? Or will they forget again, and fall into the sleep of the charmed? Will the knowledge brought back by the emissaries be used for good, for learning, or for weaving a new web?
That scroll is still unwritten...
But I didn't. *Sigh*
No, things are moving so fast that by the time I would have posted, the whole focus had shifted from Olympus to Poseidon's realm, where the sharks had begun to feed on the chum (Coakley, Bernanke, Nelson, et al) tossed to them by Zeus.
It's a beautiful thing...
And now -- now -- oh happy day! Zeus is sending down His emissaries to walk among the mortals, to speak to them and learn their fears and Hopes and why they have turned away from Him and the other gods, and bring back the news to Olympus, so that He may address these problems.
But wait, didn't He once walk among the mortals himself, touching and being touched, speaking and being spoken to, rallying the mortals and gathering them to Himself in a great groundswell of Hope and Change? Did He not swear to be One with them always? Did He not promise to bring back the rains and make the crops flourish, to heal the sick and shelter the homeless, to bring the poorest poor to the heights of the Titans, while slaying the Titans and spreading their gold and jewels among the mortals? To bring an end to war and suffering?
He did.
But, as with all gods, and even more so with the King of the gods, He has no mortal blood or soul in Him, and so cannot truly feel the pain of mortals. His moment among the mortals convinced Him that they were fools, easily led and manipulated, and He spoke their language well enough to convince them that He was One of them. He won the war waging on Olympus and took the Throne.
And promptly shut the gates, lest others come to challenge him. He gathered to Him those He had called enemy, of Himself and of the mortals, and spoke to the mortals, saying, "You shall forget that I once called them incompetent, liars, and evil." And it was forgotten. He commanded great feasts of celebration, while enjoining mortals to live frugally, to give their last coin, to work in His service after laboring through the day in their own shops and fields.
And below, the crops withered, the poor grew in ranks, and the Titans regained their wealth and more, as tributes from the mortals filled their coffers, poured there by the hand of Zeus. For, despite all the rhetoric, Zeus knows that He cannot survive without the Titans. He and the gods lost sight of the world below, and the suffering of those who had raised Him to His place.
A season is nothing to the gods, a blink of time. But to mortals, it is a long time, wherein life and livelihood, money and home are lost, and scales can fall from eyes. The gods surrounding Zeus, being as they are, war among themselves. And they are always battling, for position, wealth and power. A group of them thought themselves greater and wiser than the others, and naturally wiser than the mortals, and sought to make new commands for the people, calling it Health Care Reform, and said it was good.
And it was good. For them. Greater wealth and power was written for them in those scrolls.
But the Oracles spoke to the mortals who would listen, and the mortals cried out against the new edicts, even as the gods warred among themselves to increase their power and wealth and could not make strong enough alliances to bring agreement to Zeus for his Seal.
Zeus heard the cries of the mortals, and said to them, "You will not listen to the false Oracles or to the mortals who bring you this disinformation. They lie to you. They seek to frighten you. I am Zeus, the King of the gods, and I know what is best for you. You will hear only me." And the mortals...rebelled.
And they sent a message to Olympus, taking back a Temple Seat from Zeus, and throwing His own words back at Him, calling it the Mortal's Seat. The absolute power of Olympus was broken. And the King of the gods has remembered the power of the mortals. The power that brought Him, an unknown, to the Throne as King of the gods and of the world.
And He is afraid.
He is afraid because He has lost the love of the mortals, and fear has been such a part of their lives for so long that He cannot use that weapon effectively anymore. His lightning bolts are weak. He has lost allies among the gods and demigods as they see their own positions threatened, their temples ignored or surrounded by angry mobs, their rivals strengthened in the eyes of the mortals. They will not side with Zeus when they soon face their own time walking among mortals, for that brief moment trying to convince mortals that they are One with them, that they feel the pain and bring hope and change.
So He sends His emissaries forth, to walk among the mortals...
Will the mortals remember that He once told them He knew their hearts, their hopes and fears? Will they see now that He never had, that He always knew He was better and greater than they, that He is a god without the need for mortals? Or will they forget again, and fall into the sleep of the charmed? Will the knowledge brought back by the emissaries be used for good, for learning, or for weaving a new web?
That scroll is still unwritten...
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Reality: Not for the Faint of Heart.
Hi, thanks for stopping in. This is my maiden voyage into the sea of blogging, sort of an outlet for the interesting thoughts that swirl around looking for a way out. I'm not a nice person, but I do play one in public. That's what I get paid the big money for.
I am, however, a smart person. Apparently smarter than most, because you won't see any nekkid pics or stories of my trysts or whining about my job/company/co-workers. Religion and politics? Oh, I'm sure a few words on the subjects are bound to creep in. Especially on the latter. I can sum up my political views with one sentence:
How's that whole Hopey-Changey thing workin' out for ya?
There, that's out in the open. And if you haven't hit the X or "next blog" button...
Welcome, my friend!
So, about me :-) ... I enjoy writing (I've been published a couple of times, nothing big), I work for a living, I'm a single parent, the only bumper-sticker on my aged car says "Remember who you wanted to be" and I have this uncommon belief in personal responsibility and individual freedom as a pair, inseparable. That will no doubt also rear its ugly head on this blog. I abhor the hysterics and panics that are used to control the masses. And last, but certainly not least, I tend to say what others only think. Even in "the real world."
But this is different, isn't it? So let's haul anchor and sail...
I am, however, a smart person. Apparently smarter than most, because you won't see any nekkid pics or stories of my trysts or whining about my job/company/co-workers. Religion and politics? Oh, I'm sure a few words on the subjects are bound to creep in. Especially on the latter. I can sum up my political views with one sentence:
How's that whole Hopey-Changey thing workin' out for ya?
There, that's out in the open. And if you haven't hit the X or "next blog" button...
Welcome, my friend!
So, about me :-) ... I enjoy writing (I've been published a couple of times, nothing big), I work for a living, I'm a single parent, the only bumper-sticker on my aged car says "Remember who you wanted to be" and I have this uncommon belief in personal responsibility and individual freedom as a pair, inseparable. That will no doubt also rear its ugly head on this blog. I abhor the hysterics and panics that are used to control the masses. And last, but certainly not least, I tend to say what others only think. Even in "the real world."
But this is different, isn't it? So let's haul anchor and sail...
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