Little Bit of a Rant

Patriotism is recognizing that we

are all one, sharing the lofty ideals of

a society free from the corrupting

sins of gluttony, greed, self-aggrandizing,

and superiority.

We are to govern ourselves through

the hierarchy of elevated ideals and

educated thoughts. Power should

not be the ambition, only the

outcome of reason and knowledge

through the trials and tribulations

of a truthfully informed populace.

Mediocre or ill-conceived thoughts

lead to ruin and a corruption of

power, corrupted power is a sickness

of which no society can benefit.

The societal contract in which we

are to take care of one another, our local community

and all humankind is often brushed

aside through the ill conception of a

violation of one’s “Rights”.

“Rights,” are merely socially agreed

upon privileges. They are not real.

They are intangible, yet infringement

of these intangible rights can lead

to terrible outcomes, outrages and

the destruction of the elevated truthful ideals

we should strive to protect for the

betterment of all and not for the few.

Short-sightedness of thought has

only put us in a place in which any

perceived slight or inconsequential

injury side tracks the progress of the

whole.

One small hole in a ship may not sink

it, but thousands of little holes most

surely will. That single hole is not

special, but the person that plugs it

may turn out to be, as long as they do

not forsake the thousands of other

special holes.

It is special to do one’s duty for

the betterment of society; not for

material items, greed, self-service,

or a perceived slight. That is not

special. It makes you one of the holes

that needs to be filled.

As people resist the high ideas of

limiting exposure to a deadly virus

by wearing masks in public, they are

actively confusing individual rights

with the rights of a society to exist

peaceably.

Patriots wear masks, because they

care about the people of their country.

People insisting that wearing a mask is an

infringement on their rights are not

patriots. They are King George, who believed

his divine rights outweighed the rights

of his people.

If we govern ourselves with the worst

off of us in mind, we can elevate the

whole. If we understand that Patriotism

is sacrifice, then we increase the chances

of our beliefs carrying well into the future.

To a time when rights are more than

mere constructs of hope, but tangible,

and cohesive. Unifying and indestructible.

  

A Letter for your Birthday

Dear United States of America,

I understand it’s your birthday in a couple days. I know you’ve been going through some tough times recently. Not that it’s anything new for you. I mean, c’mon, you’ve been going through trouble since July 4, 1776; trouble is pretty much your middle name.  

These recent troubles though, the last sixty- seventy years or so, have really been rough on you and I wanted to remind you of who I think you are, or at least, who you ought to be. I know it isn’t easy, what with being a country founded upon the ideals of a Revolution, to listen to any whispers of revolutionary ideas or politics. It would seem hypocritical to do that. Yet I see you struggling with that notion every day. And it’s okay. I know in your heart you want to do the right thing but perhaps you’re not sure what that “right” thing is.

Equality is the pillar of your soul and it is always in your best interest to try and live up to the challenges it presents. I know you want the citizenry to be healthy, wealthy and wise but you have to figure out the way in which we all can get there, regardless of the labels put upon us. It is obviously a rough go, but it can be done so I don’t want you to lose heart.  It is one of the “right” things.  Equality isn’t always equal, but a fair chance at it is always a solid plan for success.

Opportunity is one of your greatest gifts. A person, broken and abused in their original homeland could come to you with an idea, a cause or wish and you’d hold them to your bosom and ask, “What do you need?” A willingness to provide this stranger with an opportunity to fulfill their own hopes and dreams is another right thing. It is in this Land of Opportunity, in a relatively short amount of global time, you changed everything. Your recognition that anyone that comes to the table with a good idea can have the opportunity at success. Yet opportunity can be so much more. Opportunity doesn’t have to spring forth in a miraculous industrial revolution, it can be simpler. Opportunity to change the world can come from providing the chance for all to attend quality schools and attain the knowledge they might need to add to your greatness.  Opportunity needs a little push sometimes and from that small push, greatness can arise.

Justice. That’s a little trickier since Justice is supposed to blind. I mean, I’ve seen some really accomplished blind people in my life but sometimes you do tend to bump into a lot of shit and hurt some people. It’s not always your fault, sometimes the suppression of your values has you double-blinded, but for true justice, you have to have at least one eye open. That eye should be focused on the elevation of your values and not punishment. Behavior rarely changes if the only reward for trying is disownment and punishment. Justice has to have one eye on the present, one eye on the future and a third eye on involvement. Justice is not served when the world is blind and kept at arm’s length. So, think about that a little.

Humility is another thing that I think you might want to work on. I mean, U.S., you’re pretty cool, but no one likes a braggart. I mean, I’m perfectly happy to talk about you and all the wonderful things you have the capacity to do, but I’m not shoving it in anybody’s face. If you want a more democratic world, more places like you, then you have to let them get there on their own, like you did when Britain was all up in your face. Freedom will find a way. And if they ask for your help, help them, but don’t come looking for them to pay the bill after the party. Be humble.

I think within all of this, there’s a chance for you to really be brave and bold. I think you can come out of all of this with a new sense of who you are and who you want to be. You’re still a young country yet and these things do take time, but I know you can do it. I know you can find those brave parts of you that long for those ideals so eloquently written 244 years ago and to live up to them.  

U.S.A., you’ve got a hard road ahead and I do not envy you the work you must do, but I wanted to let you know that I’m with you. We may not always agree, we may not think each other is doing their best, but I will always have faith you’ll get to the place where your values and your lofty ideals are your greatest strength.

So have a Happy Birthday! Don’t go crazy on a jet-ski with fireworks shooting out of your asshole as you blaze across the lake. Maybe stay on the pier this year and responsibly enjoy a few cocktails with the rest of the grown-ups.  Anyway, have fun and keep your chin up.

Love,

This Guy

Sitting by the Sea

“So, what is it,” she asked.

“I’m really not sure,” I said, “it’s

blue and black and red and gold,

with lightning bolts and squirrely

looking swirls scattered all about it.”

“Is it alive,” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” I said, “it

barked a little while ago, but there’s

no mouth that I can see, no nose or

holes for it to breathe.”

“Should I kick it,” she asked.

“No,” I said, “I think that might be

cruel, besides it might be magic

or grant wishes or be from another

world or even another Dimension.”

“Can I touch it,” she asked.

“I am not sure about that wisdom,” I said,

“it might be something bad still, we just

don’t quite know yet. I think we should

probably call someone.”

“Who can we call,” she asked.

“Maybe a scientist,” I said, “maybe

a priest, maybe a doctor or cop,

maybe someone with a college

degree in animal husbandry.”

“I’m going to poke it with this stick,” she said.

“Be careful,” I said, “you know what happens

to the pokers in the movies. They always lose a

hand or face, or get some space disease that

turns them into flesh eating monsters.”

“I’m not going to poke it then,” she said.

“Well I’m not going to either,” I said.

We sat on our haunches, in the beach sand,

staring at the unknown creature, our brows

furrowed in contemplation,

as the sea slowly lapped the

shore, lazily tickling our toes

and childish curiosity.

Activation

Activation,

when the blood is roiling

in the veins, thick and hot,

pulsing in vicious milliseconds

through the extremities,

electrifying every nerve

and twitching the muscles.

Set off,

buy the unkind words,

the devilish acts,

the hardened hearts,

the weak minds,

the grief of millennia

and the deep schism of double-talk.

Bursting,

in waves of fiery words,

a klaxon of shouting,

repeating the furious chants

of threadbare hearts so casually

broken again and over through time,

erupting in rageful plumes of lava.

Spilling,

from between the scarred cracks

of tired skin onto the streets, into

the fray, obliterating the status quo

on every corner of every congested

town, every packed boulevard and

overcrowded city.

Embattled,

in an obvious struggle against

apathy, obliviousness, and the

mindless ethos of unchecked

“that’s the way it is” – ness.

Fighting perceptions of alleged

nature, through tall grass.

To victory,

of all the embittered battlers of

stagnant, seething rancor.

To cheer and laud the triumphs

of humanity over dehumanization.

In arm and arm, unified, forever,

a long fought for peace, built on martyr’s graves.

The Munch

There’s an insatiable hunger

chewing at the edges of society

I have deemed it, “The Munch”.

It’s out there, on the fringe,

Munching.

The Munch eats everything in its

path, never stopping, relentlessly

feeding on the joys, miseries and

the cavalcade of emotions we’re capable of.

Like locust’s jaws scissoring back and forth.

I can hear it in the soft echoes of night,

in the chants and screams of the righteous

and the unjust.

A crunching, munching, mashing, chewing,

sickly sound swallowing everything.

The Munch eats the will of the brave,

the courage of the weak, the minds of

the smart, the curiosity of the dim,

the backbone of the wise and the

moral fiber of the elected.

The Munch eradicates fields of

thought, of will, of empathy and

compassion. It chomps down into

the essence of humanity, taking

giant gaping chunks from us.

We hardly notice. The Munch is

actually quite small.

Microscopic. Infinitesimal.

Its work is done over long stretches

of time.

Munching in the dark,

Munching in the sunlight,

Munching in the fields,

munching in the cities,

Munching for millennia.   

Until one day,

all that’ll be left,

is The Munch.
And we’ll be the empty table settings

from the third course meal.

I Don't Know

How I know that I don’t

know?

I don’t know.

But not knowing isn’t the

end.

It’s a beginning.

Knowing only comes after

admitting not knowing.

Once I think I know, I can

then confirm that I might

not know after all,

which would require

more admissions of a

lapse or lack in knowledge.

To which I can gain more

knowledge, thus again leading

me to the conclusion that I know,

that I just don’t know.

It’s okay not to know,

it is not okay to leave it

at that.

Knowing may require digging into

the depths of empathy previously

unexplored, or taking time to

listen, to hear, to read, to study.

Then I can say, proudly and most

assuredly, “Now I’m sure, that

I don’t know.”

And maybe knowing may never come,

maybe my life experiences will never

lead me to complete knowing, but I

won’t stop my desire to want to know.

That’s how I know that  I don’t know.  

Bowling for Fish

Bowling for Fish,

is all the new rage.

All the cool kids do it.

So I’m standing on the shore,

getting the bowling

ball from the tackle box.

Tossing the ball

into the water,

with the hope

of catching a

big, fat, fish. 

A huge splash. 

Getting my pajamas

wet, my slippers too.

The sun is in my eyes,

twinkling with the ripples

on the surface of the

water. 

My stomach grumbling

in anticipation of the

meal to come. 

Rubbing my hands together

with glee, the enjoyment of

the hunt. 

Something isn’t right though.

The other kids seem to

have wandered off. 

I’m the only one left,

standing on the muddy

shore in my pajamas.

The fishing seems poor

today. And a new

dilemma has appeared,

how do I get the bowling ball

back? How do I reel it in?

The water is deep.

Maybe this fad wasn’t my

thing. My slippers are soaking,

my pajamas are damp.

I’ve lost a good bowling ball

and the fish don’t seem 

interested. 

I think I’ll go back to doing

my own thing.

No more of the cool kid stuff.

Leave me out of those cool fads.

I like some of the rules, a rod and

reel for instance, and pants, and waders.

Those are the right tools

for fishing at the shore,

the proper way to do it. 

The most likely way

to catch a meal and avoid hunger.

And to stay alive.