News

Earlier today, Republican rural states, backed by a military fearing major cuts from the newly elected government, blocked the shipment of meat, vegetables and fuel to Democratic urban centres, attempting to starve people into political change unattainable via the recent election.

In addition, they promise more bad weather directed at urban areas, just like the ones they recently demonstrated on the northeast coast.

More as it develops…

“Why I voted for the Green Party”

The words we choose follow in perpetuity, echoes crashing against canceling waves upon waves of grain and wheat and grapes and leaves.

A voice appears to appear in the middle of a laptop computer due to stereo speaker sounds competing for binaural ear stimulation interpretation.

I have no idea about today.

I live 1000 years from now, where sounds from this moment are embedded in layers of archaeological papers and electronic storage.

I have.

I live.

A historically accurate portrayal of Christa DeCicco vibrates the air from 2009.

Drumbeats.

Trumpets.

Happiness is sitting here, electricity lighting the air, my eyeballs, the wind, the desktop designed for a writing surface height, not a laptop computer keyboard.

Parties celebrate, mourn, serve, destroy.

Punch bowls, cookies, napkins, candy, cups.

Doing what I want, many expenses spared, nodding my head to the music.

Thinking ahead, behind, behead, ahind, letters and characters symbolically assembling thoughts rhythmically.

Composing the next video.

Looking for an artist, an ensemble, to complete the audiovisual puzzle.

Waiting…

As usual.

Waiting…

Very unusual…

Waiting…

Waiting…

Tables.

Bars.

Songs.

Nonsense words.

13,695 days to go…

Hum, did-ee, dumdum, doo-be, be-too.

D-E-V-O-tion, the short story turned game turned film turned over

Well, my little piggies, for whom shall we devote our vote which devolved in a dissolved dessicant disappearing into a detached decanter?

My adherents to the religion known as professional American football tell me the gods of good fortune have pointed us to a victory for the challenger, the incumbent having lost his chances with the defeat of the Redskins yesterday.

On the eve, the cusp, the edge, the cliff, we bait our weighted breath (although some wait with bated breath (rather, bad breath flavored with garlic, chives, garlic chives, cilantro and a hint of jalapeño)), breaking our baked bread, unleavened at your leisure, pleasure, or religious fervor.

Humour me, that’s all I ask.

Take the millions of privately-owned property to train militants for a proxy war of pixies, except not in the heart of Dixie, exception being the heartland, or Penn’s forest, take your pick, and your beer in a Dixie Cup.

Better yet, another nor’easter long before Easter but not on Easter Island, with da plane, da plane.

More as it develops…

For the record books…

In which part of the year is your area setting new maximum temperatures?

In which year: HSV-record-max-temp-year?

Thanks to the NOAA NWS Huntsville website for this data.

Real question:  is there a pattern in the data that we can do anything to change?

See fungi lunge at lungs in the fun guy!

When I was a kid in public school, competing with my peers for getting anointed by the class sage (i.e., the teacher), I discussed “grownup” issues with my friends.

Politics, business, healthcare, family finances, etc.

Yet, discussing is not the same as knowing, just like when I and a fellow Boy Scout, in our midteens, taught archery for a Cub Scout day camp one summer.

Wed overheard two Cub Scouts and a pre-Cub Scout (what they call Tiger Cub Scouts now) talk about a “birds and bees” discussion between parents and an older sibling of one of the Scouts.

They were so thrilled to use grownup words that few of them had heard before to describe sexual contact but had no idea what they meant.

As archery instructor, I chose to steer the boys’ conversation to the use of a bow and arrow, a practical conversation with immediate results.

They were too young to understand the words they used, except that the words had importance amongst their more knowledgeable siblings and must mean something.

Almost 40 years later, I ask myself when is a word or idea relegated (and regulated) to the “age appropriate” standard?

In the news lately have been revelations about sexual predators in the ranks of Boy Scout leaders.

I consider myself fortunate by comparison.

Our Cub/Boy/Explorer Scout leaders made any references to sexual activity off-limits.

To be sure, some Scouts would ask each other questions about girlfriends as they got older but there was never, for lack of a better word, any impropriety between leader and youth during my Scouting days, which included local (weekend campouts), regional (Boy Scout camp) and [inter]national (Jamboree) events.

In fact, my fellow camper at the National Scout Jamboree in 1977 was Robert Lincoln, a General Sessions Court Judge w/ Juvenile Court Jurisdiction, who cared for special needs children even when we were Boy Scouts, helping in the summer during the week devoted to special needs children at Camp Davy Crockett.

When I look around at the personalities of our seven billion members of our species, I know that no single form of upbringing is perfect for every personality.

Our genes have an influence upon us that become more and more apparent as DNA genome analysis becomes cheaper and more readily available, making us aware of our foetus’ future even decades later, let alone at birth.

Right now and up to the 6th of November, I’m going to keep hearing about appeals to get my vote for political candidates who make promises that we all know they can’t keep, but they influence my thought patterns with their empty promises, anyway, as I encounter mass media in daily activity, where political adverts, op-ed analysis columns and news stories are promoted.

Based on our genes, our upbringing and our subsequent, slightly-changing personalities as we get older, who are the “grownups” in the room during the rest of this election season or perennially, for that matter?

Who amongst us is wiser than the fungi growing on the dead tree limb outside the window in the chilly autumn air this morning?

Do we have enough information about adults in their socioeconomic roles to say that, like Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World,” we can look at their genes and determine how to assign newborns to training programs based solely on their DNA profiles?

Would I have known 25 years ago whether an adult person today would find this story about stadium-sized religious worship or this opinion about public “get out the vote” behaviour more interesting?

What about identifying sexual predators at birth?  If we can accomplish that, and keep them away from healthy activities like Scouting, how do we make them viable members of society the rest of their lives, knowing their propensity for unacceptable/antisocial behaviour?  What if parents were told with 99.999% accuracy that their child would be a psychopath or sociopath causing irreparable damage to the society they know and love?  What decisions are they allowed to make then?

I’ll carry this thought to the next subject currently in the news: if government mandated abortion purely for socioeconomic purposes, would a person’s life finally only have a socioeconomic value that is quantified, bought and sold from conception?

Doctor: “I’m sorry, future parents, but we’ve already exceeded our limit of the socioeconomic quota for your subculture and its propensity for a specific religious preference.  We have ordered a mandatory abortion for your foetus, effective immediately.  Guards, take them away.  Nurse, please place a sterilisation order for the couple to prevent any ‘unplanned’ pregnancies by them off the grid.”

Nurse: “Yes, doctor.  Like our global economic leader proudly proclaims…”

Together: “‘We control the balance of power from conception to death by preserving the well-maintained path of our officially-designated pursuit of happiness.‘”

Subjects and Objects

In domestic news lately, political candidates have, in the course of speaking, in the cause of getting elected, voiced personal opinions about rape.

Most of the time, men rape women.

Some of the time, women rape men.

But, for the sake of this blog entry, let us consider only the first case.

I have a personal stake in this discussion.

Quite possibly, I exist because my grandmother was raped by my biological grandfather.

Certainly, family lore says that my biological grandfather abused both my grandmother and my father before he abandoned them (or was forced to leave them).

Every day on this planet, without a doubt, a man forces himself upon a woman for sexual pleasure.

He may pay for the privilege or take his pleasure for free.

Men, for the most part, are physically stronger than women and rarely sexually engage a woman stronger than them.

I agree that rape is a terrible injustice for the raped as well as for the institute of marriage and against the joys of consensual sex.

But, in the eyes of an omniscient being (or Being), am I a gift of/to God because of rape?

Am I, instead, merely the lucky offspring of a man who was the unfortunate result of a rape?

I do not exist in the public eye as a celebrity who feels driven to share opinions constantly or an expert authority who must answer questions about the validity of abortion.

However, I have an opinion about myself.

I like me, for the most part.

I have enjoyed my life.

I can understand my father wanted nothing to do with his father and all but forbid me to contact his father’s family until after my father was dead and buried, especially if he was the result of a rape and subsequently abused physically/mentally.

It’s tough for me to believe my grandmother could have aborted my father if she was raped.

Being a staunch member of the main (Central) Baptist Church in her community, she probably never considered abortion, but I have no way of knowing her thoughts/opinions on the matter, other than through her general opinions/actions in relation to her Christian faith.

I only know I exist.

I like existing.

I suppose most of us do.

Those who were aborted or will be aborted never get to know if they do or do not like existing.

Those who choose abortion have made and make that decision for their offspring.

A mighty BIG decision I never have to make.

I exist.

I hope you like existing.

If you don’t like existing, I can understand why you wouldn’t want the fertilised egg in your womb to exist.

If you do like existing, I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want the fertilised egg in your womb to exist.

We exist and choose to accept the legal/moral/social/religious issues surrounding our decisions.

To say one wants the freedom to abort a fetus is as grave a desire as there is in this world, more important than any words that can be assembled together in one blog entry.

I can’t change the circumstances of my father’s conception but I’m just glad my grandmother didn’t abort my father, no matter whether she was raped or abused before/during/after sexual intercourse.

The Feeling is Mutual

Dust and skin oil collect in the rounded corners of the touchpad.

Tiredness fights for the right to take this body to bed and slumberland.

One brief moment, where a sole statistic, the number of teen/young adult suicides, helps decide an election.

A prime minister clicks her heels and ends up sprawled in front of the Gandhi memorial — she’s not in Kansas, that’s certain — why does she wear high(er) heels to walk on grass?

A tree faces the wind without a face.

How does schooling teach teamwork rather than individual test score achievement?

A nephew has a private discussion with a Supreme Court Associate Justice (Scalia), (con)firming his decision to pursue a law(ful) career, setting political beliefs/opinions aside.

Sleep is a stronger attraction than sighting/siting/citing the future.

The next chapter races dreams for a place in this blog…