I am keen to imbibe early and people watch. Have you tried? You should. It. Is. Incredible. I've seen so much in between the glass of vino, the pint of distasteful yet local beer and ginger cider.
I was witness to a man wearing full on B.C Lions garb masturbating at the train station. We don't need any more detail than this.
I watched three ladies sitting on a curb, one vomiting, while the other two carried on a perfectly logical conversation regarding the nights festivities and so forth. No offer was made to hold her hair or console her in the least. Fascinating. As though, this was part and parcel of a typical night.
I was privy to a young female walking so awkwardly as a result of her tortuous footwear that it made my heart bleed for her. Not unusual, unfortunately. I suggest we all unite thusly and toss our sadistic lower half contraptions into the bin so that they may wreak no more havoc on our lives. It ain't gonna happen but a girl can incite all the revolt she wants in written form!
I saw a man bring his German Shepherd puppy into a rock concert who proceeded to freak the fuck out due to the excessive amounts of noise. Dogs pick up sound four times better than humans you fucking waste. People this idiotic should not be allowed to procreate or adopt/purchase pets. Though you have the coin to do so, you should abstain if you be insensitive and fucking stupid.
I stared at a dude who was severely over weight, dressed all in black with a hood. He was carrying a Gucci bag on his fingertips as he walked rapidly down the street.
Then there was me...Pizza and pop in hand. There was sauce spread halfway across my cheek and a big ol' grin rolling yonder round my face. I was witness yet ever part of this charade we call Saturday night. What a time to be alive.
And all before 11 pm.
Sunday, July 2, 2017
The House Party
I am the most considerate house party goer. I remove my footwear upon entering the home. I offer my services after said social gathering has expired.
I adore a good house party.
You know the kind where everyone has a splendid time and no drama transpires? Yeah. There is something so satisfying about the fact that only positive vibes were shared and everyone left feeling better about their existence.
Canada Day is the Ultimate House Party. It's our collective house. We share this planet, this nation, this province, with one another. It can be an amazing feeling. Can be.
This most recent of Canada Day's, for which I have been absent from for the last four years was quite subdued. Positive for all intents and purposes, just quieter than expected for being the big 150.
We are shell shocked. The world seems in a precarious state and that's okay. The reflective attitude was certainly palpable.
The problem was not the event itself but the aftermath. Like any good house party, shit gets fucked up. The realization of how bad is not fully swallowed until the crowd disperses.
Fuck you Canada on your 150th birthday, is what our wake spoke of.
The newly minted garbage receptacles were overflowing to such a degree that it seemed bizarre. The grassy knoll upon which I viewed fireworks was so encrusted with debris that it was a shock to the senses. I was overwhelmed by sadness that this how we treat our home. On any day, not just on it's conceptual day of day's. We shit where we ate. Literally. The ground upon which provides us with our very nourishment, we've poisoned. In more ways than one.
So Happy Birthday Canada. Fuck you for providing us with this much liberty and fresh air. We'll be sure to prevent any sustainability going forward.
I adore a good house party.
You know the kind where everyone has a splendid time and no drama transpires? Yeah. There is something so satisfying about the fact that only positive vibes were shared and everyone left feeling better about their existence.
Canada Day is the Ultimate House Party. It's our collective house. We share this planet, this nation, this province, with one another. It can be an amazing feeling. Can be.
This most recent of Canada Day's, for which I have been absent from for the last four years was quite subdued. Positive for all intents and purposes, just quieter than expected for being the big 150.
We are shell shocked. The world seems in a precarious state and that's okay. The reflective attitude was certainly palpable.
The problem was not the event itself but the aftermath. Like any good house party, shit gets fucked up. The realization of how bad is not fully swallowed until the crowd disperses.
Fuck you Canada on your 150th birthday, is what our wake spoke of.
The newly minted garbage receptacles were overflowing to such a degree that it seemed bizarre. The grassy knoll upon which I viewed fireworks was so encrusted with debris that it was a shock to the senses. I was overwhelmed by sadness that this how we treat our home. On any day, not just on it's conceptual day of day's. We shit where we ate. Literally. The ground upon which provides us with our very nourishment, we've poisoned. In more ways than one.
So Happy Birthday Canada. Fuck you for providing us with this much liberty and fresh air. We'll be sure to prevent any sustainability going forward.
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Do You Know The Mushroom Man?
I have a hole in my ankle the circumference of a dime, can barely stand and have the worst gas I've ever had...this was how the night ended.
This is how the night began...
I ventured out to witness the local drunken creatures of the eve. I got what I came for. As the night drew to what I conceived as being its close, I met a man named M. He had a friend with the handle D. I smelled a set-up. M gorged on something fried then buggered off. D began conversation with me immediately after M bolted by confessing his wife had just left him. Keep in mind, I did not ask, we had just met and he didn't know my name yet. So, clearly the man needed someone slightly more sensitive to speak to than a counterpart who fills his face with samosa's then jets. I invite D to open up. He mentions that this is a 'having a smoke kind of convo' so he gives a chick with rainbow hair five bucks for one and begins his woeful tale of love lost.
He had just purchased a new lawn-mower to landscape his three properties that him and his lady owned together. He has money. She called to him from one of their superfluous and somewhat unnecessary porches, to come on inside. Once inside, she said she wanted to split. No warning or explanation to the end of an eight year relationship. Boom. Done. Take your new lawn-mower and go fuck yourself. Of course, this is how he tells it and he's cute and vulnerable so I sympathize.
D then mentions he needs to go home and walk his puppy. I am invited to attend to such matters and of course I go. It's 2am, I've had four pints and there is a dog somewhere that needs to poop! I'm there. He gallantly pays my bill and off we split. He apologizes on the cab ride over for the state of his shitty 'apartment'. Clearly embarrassed that he's not showing me one of his three mansions that the wife now owns. His 'apartment' is a two storey palatial heaven. Not what I would ever designate this manor as being an 'apartment' but, ok dude, you feel bad about this. Anyway, his place is awesome and his dog is adorbs, win win. He supplies me with an alternate pair of shoes for puppy time as I decided on heels for my evening of exploit. This guy starts checking some boxes for me. Chivalrous, caring, dog owning, rich, trained by someone other than myself...so far so good. After the incorrigible mutt was walked and pooped, we cracked a beer and blasted some tunes. The first thing he plays is The Beatles. Check. Then he asks me if I want to do some mushrooms from the giant bag stashed in his fridge. Checkcheck. They were capsules so I took one, not sure on the affect that they would have. He says he's been popping them all night and he seemed pretty level headed.
As I wait for the awesome high I'm sure to experience (it is BC psychedelics by the by), we chat by one of the three fires in his 'apartment'. Then shit begins to unravel. By shit, I mean D.
An Alan Jackson song comes on and he bursts into tears. I feel somehow responsible for the improvement of his heart situation so I squeeze him tight while he sobs uncontrollably and speaks through weeps of the times shared with bitch-beast ex-wifey. We've all been there. Also, for a moment, I wasn't the most pitiful excuse for relationships gone wrong in the room and I took solace in this.
Then the farting began. Having taken however many mushroom capsules from the six hundred dollar feast on his kitchen counter was beginning to affect his guts in a most inconvenient way. If you've never done shrooms...they can give you what's so affectionately known as 'gut-rot'. You are ingesting a poison for which your body now spends six hours or so, trying to deal with on a few different levels. The capsules were causing some toxic gastrointestinal release. So through the tears, D farted. A lot. It smelt bad. I didn't want to laugh for he was in an altered and fragile state. I tried to keep my attention on the cute rescue pup and the fact that we had the same shower curtain. After a time of mournful country, loud and oppressive farting, and a perfectly would-be romantic sitch ruined, D jolts up and says he needs to remove his contacts. He takes off his shirt, for some reason, asks me my name and what I do for work for the third time in two hours then heads to one of three ensuites to take his eyeballs out. I ask if I can watch as I find it so satisfying removing things from the body. He takes out his ability to see, puts on a hat and then tells me the reason he left his wife was because they weren't fucking anymore. Wait. Several mushroom caps earlier you said she left you and there was no rhyme or reason. Kk...I'm a apart of this train-wreck now...let's see how many passengers we find.
He calls me Lacey for a little while, I let him cuz he is now my experiment. Back on the couch I ask him about his work as he's a producer for a video game company. Hence the extravagant expenditure of coin. The guy literally doesn't know what to do with it all so he buys bags of mushrooms and homes he doesn't need for a love that is now irrelevant. I ask him if he plays vids and he yells, "I'm a MAN! I don't do such things." I was asking as there was a play-station controller on his solid oak coffee table.
"Oh. Well, sometimes I get high and play," he says shrugging off the obvious previous fib.
I'm growing weary of the falsities and the fact that my mushrooms aren't affecting me in the least. I decide to crash for a bit as it's now four in the a.m. He takes off his pants, and asks me join him in his room. He has a pretty alright body but he's morphed into such a gradual douche that I can't even be bothered to sit on his face for which he asks me repeatedly if I would. He then tells me he can dance and kind of kills it in the center of the room. He becomes this whirling dervish of fancy feet and killer moves. Who is this fucking guy? One minute he seems like such a catch, then he can't remember my name, cries, farts without remorse and removes a piece of clothing.
It's time to go. I grab my shit and head for the door. He gets indignant. True colors are so palpable when you don't spread your legs.
"So it's gonna be like that then?" He says pointed and dismissive. I say nothing, put on my patriarchal torture devices that make my calves pop(yes I get the irony in this composition), and out the door I head...into the fucking rain at 4 a.m. I call a cab but the driver's an idiot(story for another time) so I decide to walk the rest of the way in heels with mushroom capsules beginning to wreak havoc on my tummy-tum. I arrive alive, smelling like a wet dog as I had just played with a dry one for a few hours previous. My feet are killing me, blisters have formed and popped several times over and the gas is now commencing. I spend the next five hours with a bloated gut, bleeding feet and a story to tell.
A successful night indeed.
This is how the night began...
I ventured out to witness the local drunken creatures of the eve. I got what I came for. As the night drew to what I conceived as being its close, I met a man named M. He had a friend with the handle D. I smelled a set-up. M gorged on something fried then buggered off. D began conversation with me immediately after M bolted by confessing his wife had just left him. Keep in mind, I did not ask, we had just met and he didn't know my name yet. So, clearly the man needed someone slightly more sensitive to speak to than a counterpart who fills his face with samosa's then jets. I invite D to open up. He mentions that this is a 'having a smoke kind of convo' so he gives a chick with rainbow hair five bucks for one and begins his woeful tale of love lost.
He had just purchased a new lawn-mower to landscape his three properties that him and his lady owned together. He has money. She called to him from one of their superfluous and somewhat unnecessary porches, to come on inside. Once inside, she said she wanted to split. No warning or explanation to the end of an eight year relationship. Boom. Done. Take your new lawn-mower and go fuck yourself. Of course, this is how he tells it and he's cute and vulnerable so I sympathize.
D then mentions he needs to go home and walk his puppy. I am invited to attend to such matters and of course I go. It's 2am, I've had four pints and there is a dog somewhere that needs to poop! I'm there. He gallantly pays my bill and off we split. He apologizes on the cab ride over for the state of his shitty 'apartment'. Clearly embarrassed that he's not showing me one of his three mansions that the wife now owns. His 'apartment' is a two storey palatial heaven. Not what I would ever designate this manor as being an 'apartment' but, ok dude, you feel bad about this. Anyway, his place is awesome and his dog is adorbs, win win. He supplies me with an alternate pair of shoes for puppy time as I decided on heels for my evening of exploit. This guy starts checking some boxes for me. Chivalrous, caring, dog owning, rich, trained by someone other than myself...so far so good. After the incorrigible mutt was walked and pooped, we cracked a beer and blasted some tunes. The first thing he plays is The Beatles. Check. Then he asks me if I want to do some mushrooms from the giant bag stashed in his fridge. Checkcheck. They were capsules so I took one, not sure on the affect that they would have. He says he's been popping them all night and he seemed pretty level headed.
As I wait for the awesome high I'm sure to experience (it is BC psychedelics by the by), we chat by one of the three fires in his 'apartment'. Then shit begins to unravel. By shit, I mean D.
An Alan Jackson song comes on and he bursts into tears. I feel somehow responsible for the improvement of his heart situation so I squeeze him tight while he sobs uncontrollably and speaks through weeps of the times shared with bitch-beast ex-wifey. We've all been there. Also, for a moment, I wasn't the most pitiful excuse for relationships gone wrong in the room and I took solace in this.
Then the farting began. Having taken however many mushroom capsules from the six hundred dollar feast on his kitchen counter was beginning to affect his guts in a most inconvenient way. If you've never done shrooms...they can give you what's so affectionately known as 'gut-rot'. You are ingesting a poison for which your body now spends six hours or so, trying to deal with on a few different levels. The capsules were causing some toxic gastrointestinal release. So through the tears, D farted. A lot. It smelt bad. I didn't want to laugh for he was in an altered and fragile state. I tried to keep my attention on the cute rescue pup and the fact that we had the same shower curtain. After a time of mournful country, loud and oppressive farting, and a perfectly would-be romantic sitch ruined, D jolts up and says he needs to remove his contacts. He takes off his shirt, for some reason, asks me my name and what I do for work for the third time in two hours then heads to one of three ensuites to take his eyeballs out. I ask if I can watch as I find it so satisfying removing things from the body. He takes out his ability to see, puts on a hat and then tells me the reason he left his wife was because they weren't fucking anymore. Wait. Several mushroom caps earlier you said she left you and there was no rhyme or reason. Kk...I'm a apart of this train-wreck now...let's see how many passengers we find.
He calls me Lacey for a little while, I let him cuz he is now my experiment. Back on the couch I ask him about his work as he's a producer for a video game company. Hence the extravagant expenditure of coin. The guy literally doesn't know what to do with it all so he buys bags of mushrooms and homes he doesn't need for a love that is now irrelevant. I ask him if he plays vids and he yells, "I'm a MAN! I don't do such things." I was asking as there was a play-station controller on his solid oak coffee table.
"Oh. Well, sometimes I get high and play," he says shrugging off the obvious previous fib.
I'm growing weary of the falsities and the fact that my mushrooms aren't affecting me in the least. I decide to crash for a bit as it's now four in the a.m. He takes off his pants, and asks me join him in his room. He has a pretty alright body but he's morphed into such a gradual douche that I can't even be bothered to sit on his face for which he asks me repeatedly if I would. He then tells me he can dance and kind of kills it in the center of the room. He becomes this whirling dervish of fancy feet and killer moves. Who is this fucking guy? One minute he seems like such a catch, then he can't remember my name, cries, farts without remorse and removes a piece of clothing.
It's time to go. I grab my shit and head for the door. He gets indignant. True colors are so palpable when you don't spread your legs.
"So it's gonna be like that then?" He says pointed and dismissive. I say nothing, put on my patriarchal torture devices that make my calves pop(yes I get the irony in this composition), and out the door I head...into the fucking rain at 4 a.m. I call a cab but the driver's an idiot(story for another time) so I decide to walk the rest of the way in heels with mushroom capsules beginning to wreak havoc on my tummy-tum. I arrive alive, smelling like a wet dog as I had just played with a dry one for a few hours previous. My feet are killing me, blisters have formed and popped several times over and the gas is now commencing. I spend the next five hours with a bloated gut, bleeding feet and a story to tell.
A successful night indeed.
Friday, May 12, 2017
To The Meat
I scratch at his flesh and it opens like a gaping wound of nothing and silence. There exists tissue and muscles, veins and sinew. I scratch harder, deeper, longing to unearth something more. I reach bone and it just is. He just is. He's like the rest. He's just like the rest. Easy. Simple. No resounding discovery of mysterious delights. He says and does what one should. He's honest. He's kind. And it bores me. In fact, I find it almost grotesque how unaffected I am by his sweet, transparent ways. He wants what I'm sure we all think we want. He has his identity set to fact and relishes the incomplex. I should want this.
Then I scratch you. I dig and I plunge my hands inside of you and I rip you to shreds and what do I find? You bleed. Scarlet, substantial, and full of secrecy. You bleed and bleed and I have yet to reach bone or tissue or normal things found in the human man. You are rare. You do not bore me. I could descend into you and fade out before ever reaching the truth. I find this so exciting. You excite me. You stimulate a part of me I thought I had eradicated. I feel like the person I was suppose to be around you.
Alas, I cannot be with you. You are not mine to have. I will suffer and wither. Alone.
Then I scratch you. I dig and I plunge my hands inside of you and I rip you to shreds and what do I find? You bleed. Scarlet, substantial, and full of secrecy. You bleed and bleed and I have yet to reach bone or tissue or normal things found in the human man. You are rare. You do not bore me. I could descend into you and fade out before ever reaching the truth. I find this so exciting. You excite me. You stimulate a part of me I thought I had eradicated. I feel like the person I was suppose to be around you.
Alas, I cannot be with you. You are not mine to have. I will suffer and wither. Alone.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
A Cruel Joke
You told me I smelled of strawberries
and looked beautiful in the sun
grasping through the open window.
Then conversation turned abruptly
and you confessed that you were
betrothed to another.
The body reacted before the brain
could conceive.
Such an unexpected reaction of
lust and regret.
I was a big bird in a small cage.
Then freed by the beauty in
your words and the touch so
serene.
You remind me of possibility,
how can I be asked to let that go?
Please don't ask.
I watched you enter the orange room
and the din disappeared. Your people
were there as were mine but all went
with the depth in your eyes.
Timing kept us apart and now circumstance,
so what now lover? Can you come over?
I will swim in your eyes, feast on your flesh
and drown in your words.
The you will return to the one before me
and I will be bones and skin and nothing
no more.
and looked beautiful in the sun
grasping through the open window.
Then conversation turned abruptly
and you confessed that you were
betrothed to another.
The body reacted before the brain
could conceive.
Such an unexpected reaction of
lust and regret.
I was a big bird in a small cage.
Then freed by the beauty in
your words and the touch so
serene.
You remind me of possibility,
how can I be asked to let that go?
Please don't ask.
I watched you enter the orange room
and the din disappeared. Your people
were there as were mine but all went
with the depth in your eyes.
Timing kept us apart and now circumstance,
so what now lover? Can you come over?
I will swim in your eyes, feast on your flesh
and drown in your words.
The you will return to the one before me
and I will be bones and skin and nothing
no more.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Anti Protest, Protest
People will march tomorrow. Several thousand people will protest the state of things and convince themselves of progress. This is unskilled thinking. To remove one evil to be rapidly replaced by another. We are in this now. The most absurd and laughable leader has been chosen. It is done. I understand the sadness. The shock. The unwillingness to accept. The problem now is not what's done. No amount of dissent will save us now because of our inability to accept the true nature of what is. We did this. We created this with our apathy, our hatred, our fear. We brought this to be because of our externalization of reality. The new *gulp* president merely embodies how messed the world has become under our dutiful watch...when we're not on our cell phones, computers and generally ignoring one another. We have forced the hands that guide us by electing a man to power whom only serves one man. We wanted an answer. A quick fix to a delicate and intrinsic tangle. It serves no one but oneself to protest and march and chant and rally. We do this because we are at a loss as to what to do. None of us truly understands how to 'fix' the world or to make existence 'better'. So we cry out in divided unison. We cry out to be seen, to be heard, to be felt. It serves the one and only one.
I protest on the inside. I challenge internally how I turn so quickly to judgement when I could show a glimmer of compassion. I disapprove of my actions if they resemble disrespect to a fellow man regardless of race, creed, colour or sex. I question my speech if it offends or portrays anything but empathy. I choose not to protest a broken leader in an inefficient system out of a mock sense of self righteous indignation. I could pretend that the leadership is the problem and not the reasons behind why this particular leader is now ours to endure. I could pick a side and bury my head in the deep end of the sandbox with images of what grand deeds shall be accomplished. I could put on airs that I know the answer and write a smarmy blog post proving such. Or I could just do the best I can everyday. For nearly most of us, that's all anyone is trying to do. So let's support one another in that! Regardless of where your vote led, let us be there for one another. Enough torturing one another with endless debate over who is right and whose a racist. This is a game for which you both look like assholes. Turn awareness inward, silence the ego for just long enough to hear what needs to be done. We only serve to entrench ourselves in disillusioned dialogue that will never provide the remedy. Pick your feet up not to march but to take you to someone in need of a hug. Open your mouth not to scream a pithy rhyme but to say a consoling word to someone in need. Spread your fingers wide not to hold a sign within them but to wave hello to a passer-by. It sounds small and insignificant and myopic, maybe. If we are incapable of beginning with you and I, I fear we will be consumed by the hallucination that seems to fit and not the one we design.
I protest on the inside. I challenge internally how I turn so quickly to judgement when I could show a glimmer of compassion. I disapprove of my actions if they resemble disrespect to a fellow man regardless of race, creed, colour or sex. I question my speech if it offends or portrays anything but empathy. I choose not to protest a broken leader in an inefficient system out of a mock sense of self righteous indignation. I could pretend that the leadership is the problem and not the reasons behind why this particular leader is now ours to endure. I could pick a side and bury my head in the deep end of the sandbox with images of what grand deeds shall be accomplished. I could put on airs that I know the answer and write a smarmy blog post proving such. Or I could just do the best I can everyday. For nearly most of us, that's all anyone is trying to do. So let's support one another in that! Regardless of where your vote led, let us be there for one another. Enough torturing one another with endless debate over who is right and whose a racist. This is a game for which you both look like assholes. Turn awareness inward, silence the ego for just long enough to hear what needs to be done. We only serve to entrench ourselves in disillusioned dialogue that will never provide the remedy. Pick your feet up not to march but to take you to someone in need of a hug. Open your mouth not to scream a pithy rhyme but to say a consoling word to someone in need. Spread your fingers wide not to hold a sign within them but to wave hello to a passer-by. It sounds small and insignificant and myopic, maybe. If we are incapable of beginning with you and I, I fear we will be consumed by the hallucination that seems to fit and not the one we design.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Anti or Pro?
Our ego enjoys the juicy nosh on controversial subjects. We love to pick a side and chew on the remains of the day. It's so lovely to debate. It's so satisfying to see the glint of discord in a fellow beings eyes when you've 'trumped' his opinion for yours. Which of course is the only true and just opinion to have. Your opinion has been mulled over and thought upon at great lengths. You've probably spent a fair amount of energy researching why you're so very correct. But that's the just of it. It is just your opinion. The universe doesn't care about what you think is right, or fair or just. Wars have been waged over what is thought to be right and fair and just versus the other guys opinion to the opposite. People are dying everyday over what one believes in friction to another. Often times the ones so content to be right are the most violent and toxic people this world has ever known.
I ask of you, in what revolution has one ever found success? In the history of mankind, there is not one. Real and lasting change does not come from rioting, rallying, nor masses gathering in peaceful outrage. The Vietnam war did not cease to be because of protests. Monk self-immolation and the Kent State four did not sway those in power to cease and desist. These tragedies were mere dramatic epilogues in a beast too large to fell. Women suffrage did not occur through numbers even though we had them. It came to pass through the democratic process of lobbying and petition. The Civil Rights Movement is still moving through years of bloodshed, destruction and disillusionment.
So now I remain confused. I have been invited to participate in the March of Women to protest Trumps' Inauguration. Why? This will not alter the past nor steer the future to a more positive outcome...whatever that means. It means that a bunch of people will be 'seen' as activists. Some wonderful photos will be taken and everyone will pat the other's ego in a 'Mission Accomplished' type scenario. Not only will the foe of today's fight be quashed but the ego can now rest assure that the right side has won out against evil and tyranny once more. This is a dangerous game to be playing at. To vilify the other has never gotten society anywhere but deeper into the pit of distraction and dis-ease. We divert attention to things we 'feel' matter when in reality, this is not so. The reality isn't that Trump is going to be the leader of the free world although, that is for sure happening regardless of protest. The reality is that society is crumbling at a ferocious rate and the population is disillusioned and dissatisfied with life as we know it. People are out of work. Homelessness, illness, climate change, pollution, rape, inequality...this is the reality faced by so many. Instead of addressing these real and tangible problems, we obsess over an ineffectual political leader. Do we obsess because we have no idea how to actually help one another and our planet? Are we so lazy and self concerned that a 'March' is what will suffice as actual change? Would we rather debate until our eyes glaze over and mouths turn purple then effect true societal and humanitarian arising?
Civil, Racial and Equal Rights are not going to regress because of the carnage about to enfold in the White House. They regress because we distract ourselves into thinking about the unreality of nature and forget that we are in control over how we treat one another and the planet every moment of every day. It's dangerous to think that choosing a side on any matter is going to solve the problem. We must look deeper. Deep into our own consciousness to realize that change begins in our thoughts and that leads to correct action. The ego must not be our guide if we are to survive on this rocket ship around the sun. I cannot help another if I'm caught in the story I want to tell myself about what is good and what is bad. Such dialogue leads to picking a side and blaming the other. Turn the blame inward and that's when real progress begins.
P.S If any reader thinks this was pro or anti Trump in any way...give your head a shake. The two brain cells remaining may rub together causing enough friction for a fire and rid us of your stupidity.
I ask of you, in what revolution has one ever found success? In the history of mankind, there is not one. Real and lasting change does not come from rioting, rallying, nor masses gathering in peaceful outrage. The Vietnam war did not cease to be because of protests. Monk self-immolation and the Kent State four did not sway those in power to cease and desist. These tragedies were mere dramatic epilogues in a beast too large to fell. Women suffrage did not occur through numbers even though we had them. It came to pass through the democratic process of lobbying and petition. The Civil Rights Movement is still moving through years of bloodshed, destruction and disillusionment.
So now I remain confused. I have been invited to participate in the March of Women to protest Trumps' Inauguration. Why? This will not alter the past nor steer the future to a more positive outcome...whatever that means. It means that a bunch of people will be 'seen' as activists. Some wonderful photos will be taken and everyone will pat the other's ego in a 'Mission Accomplished' type scenario. Not only will the foe of today's fight be quashed but the ego can now rest assure that the right side has won out against evil and tyranny once more. This is a dangerous game to be playing at. To vilify the other has never gotten society anywhere but deeper into the pit of distraction and dis-ease. We divert attention to things we 'feel' matter when in reality, this is not so. The reality isn't that Trump is going to be the leader of the free world although, that is for sure happening regardless of protest. The reality is that society is crumbling at a ferocious rate and the population is disillusioned and dissatisfied with life as we know it. People are out of work. Homelessness, illness, climate change, pollution, rape, inequality...this is the reality faced by so many. Instead of addressing these real and tangible problems, we obsess over an ineffectual political leader. Do we obsess because we have no idea how to actually help one another and our planet? Are we so lazy and self concerned that a 'March' is what will suffice as actual change? Would we rather debate until our eyes glaze over and mouths turn purple then effect true societal and humanitarian arising?
Civil, Racial and Equal Rights are not going to regress because of the carnage about to enfold in the White House. They regress because we distract ourselves into thinking about the unreality of nature and forget that we are in control over how we treat one another and the planet every moment of every day. It's dangerous to think that choosing a side on any matter is going to solve the problem. We must look deeper. Deep into our own consciousness to realize that change begins in our thoughts and that leads to correct action. The ego must not be our guide if we are to survive on this rocket ship around the sun. I cannot help another if I'm caught in the story I want to tell myself about what is good and what is bad. Such dialogue leads to picking a side and blaming the other. Turn the blame inward and that's when real progress begins.
P.S If any reader thinks this was pro or anti Trump in any way...give your head a shake. The two brain cells remaining may rub together causing enough friction for a fire and rid us of your stupidity.
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