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Archive for April, 2007

“I’m discusted by you. I dislike your wife. This abhorrent poetry and these redundant comments are becoming tire-some. I’m fed up.”
(All spelling and grammatical errors are property of the quoted parties.)
Ok, seriously. Who is obsessed now? Who keeps coming back for more? Looks to me like if you hated it all that much, you wouldn’t come back every day to read more. Come on, hit refresh! I dare you. At least have the guts to comment and let everybody read just how nasty you are. I say my piece and publish it to the world, and the world can choose to read it or ignore it. Your whining and pathetic comments reach only as far as your self-serving circle of co-dependent lemmings.
And let me spell it out for you just in case you weren’t sure. This post IS about you 😉
Go on, get mad. Post some inane away message on instant messager and let it all out. It’s such an effective tactic. So well-thought and clever. Bravo. Boy you really set my heart a-racing with each new literary dig you conjure up. Go ahead, pat yourself on the back; you deserve it.
But I guess I can’t really blame you, you’re only following the example you’ve been given. And oh what a precious and spotless one it is. One so much above reproach – how dare I stand in opposition to the “pastor” who said this?
“You use other people’s lives to cover up The lies in your own so you don’t have to take accountability for your actions, your free to bash, trash, and hurt whom ever you wish because everyone crapped on you, you’re the only one with a sincere case here. You did nothing, you sat back like a coward in silence. You use everyone for the landfill of your soul and then you act like you are the victim why you sat back and judged what you thought you know, oh I forgot we do know what each other is going through. What a joke, your void of reality, truth, and relationships and of course that is everyone else’s doing while you have sat on the throne of pomposity and arrogance, raising your scepter of acceptance or rejection, the very thing you claim you hate you have become, but after all you’re the smart one and everyone else. Is not you.”
Wow. And you bless your God with that same mouth. How holy and pious you all are. I bow to your consecrated betterness.
Enjoy!

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Delivery is probably the most important part of the message. It determines whether you’ve correctly assessed your audience and your level of dedication to having your opinion considered. If you deliver your message in such a way as to offend the listeners, they may come to hate your message instead of embrace it. So, the question is, are you willing to speak to your audience in a way they will hear and respect, thereby convincing them and persuading them of your argument? Or is the only proper delivery for an arguable message a contentious one? Or does the message trump the method?
For example, yesterday on my way through the Liberty tubes during morning rush hour, there were anti-abortion activists on every corner wielding 6 x 3 foot graphic billboards of aborted babies. Severed baby heads pinched between forceps. Bloodied dismembered baby arms and legs. Infant images dwarfing the grown men and women parading them. “Abortion at 20 weeks, Abortion at 30 weeks,” they informed an unwilling and involuntary audience.
If you know anything about the Liberty tubes during rush hour, you know that the average sit-time just outside the entrance is roughly 20 minutes. For 20 minutes, mutilated dead babies assaulted my sensibilities. What’s worse – my five-year-old daughter was inflicted as well. How do I help her purge those images from her mind? How do I purge them from my own? How do I – how can anyone – support an anti-abortion mentality when it looks like that?
The thing about graphic images is that in most cases people are given an opt-out. You can choose to watch the censored TV version if you want to avoid all the blood and guts. You can put nanny-control on your computer to alleviate the offensive and potentially disturbing pop-ups. Even email programs provide the option of displaying or hiding images. Movies have ratings so that you know whether you’re willing to commit when you enter the theater. The point about it all is that you can CHOOSE. You can subject yourself to as many or as few disturbing images as you like. And to be honest, I feel like these activists exploited their right to free speech and expression violating my right to filter the garbage that enters my head.
Does the (potential, questionable, uncertain) end justify the (overbearing, patronizing, exploitive) means?
Communication is a two-way street. If you just hurl your beliefs at people with no thought for how or whether they can catch them, you might as well chuck a brick off the Eiffel tower and pray you don’t wallop a pedestrian. If you want to persuade people to your mindset, you have to woo them, seduce them. Give them something they want to agree with. I for one, don’t want to agree with anything having to do with maimed babies. They’ve lost one. I could have voiced my stance in favor of their cause, but not now.
So what’s important, the pure message? The message beats all, come what may? As long as you say your piece, collateral damage can rot?
I don’t buy it.

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“Truthiness” ™

Idiots win by default if no one challenges them.

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“To the States”
To the States or any one of them, or any city of the States,
    Resist much, obey little,
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved,
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth, ever
    afterward resumes its liberty.
— Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

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Skin Deep

The outside trumps the inside right now. But only thanks to the mountains of boxes inside and the ever elusive tweezers. Beneath that veneer of clutter and disorganization, inner radiance is bound to peak through.
Check out Casey’s photos of flowers from our front yard.
Even still, favorite things about the house so far:
1. Windows open, stay open, and are screened for bug deterrence. This is new and beautiful as we have had less than harmonious relationships with our windows in the past.
2. Everything about the outside, including off-street parking.
3. When we close the house, it’s actually closed and the wind doesn’t sneak in around every crack and cockeyed window frame – because there aren’t any. In short, I’m adjusting to not living in a wind tunnel.
4. We have a compost pile. We don’t get municipality citations about it.
5. The toilet does its job without coaxing, bribes, or regular beatings.
6. I don’t have to crouch in the shower because it knows its place.
Those are just the love at first sight traits. I’m sure deeper, more meaningful connections will ensue.

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Moved

Here we are. New house. Mountains of boxes. Can’t find the tweezers.
A run to the local grocery store is like a day trip to an amusment park. Banksville Road sucks out my soul thrice weekly and delivers it up soggy and wrung out for another go round on Monday. I think Mt. Lebanon sits on the cul de sac of the South Hills of Pittsburgh – one way in; one way out.
The house and I are still in the courting phase; it might be awhile before we take it to the next level. It’ll probably be longer before I quit saying “home” about Vandergrift and apply it to Mt. Lebanon instead.
The kids got to play outside in the fenced-in back yard today. And I didn’t have to stay out there with them. They played by themselves, and they were fine. In the fenced-in back yard, all by themselves. I stayed inside, by myself. Without the kids. It was cool.
So far, it’s pretty good.

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Where are the Saints?

Somewhere a man, a rough and brawling man
lays in the gutter where you left him
choking on the bile in your heart.
He lays there waiting, wondering,
“Where are the saints?” he whispers into the rain.
Indeed, I echo, where are the saints
to feed
to clothe
to befriend
to visit
to comfort
these tossed by the Prince of the World?
They, those title-mongering priests, drown
in a bottle of something meant for sinners.
They burn in their country chalets
with passions not for the Lord.
They stoke hedonistic temptations
that threaten to self-destruct.
*******************
Religion, Oh God! Where are you in this occult?
They’ve warped your words and stricken your truths,
melded them into hypocrisy.
Strangling the freedom you bestowed,
they pontificate religious fervor.
Holier than thou, instead of
Holiest art Thou is the vestment
of that chapel.
*******************
Down this shabby street,
Down and down into a rut,
Mired in self-loathing,
You drove the man whispering into the rain.
“Where are your saints now?”
that Prince spits in his ear.
He used to be one of them
until they betrayed him.
Crippled by fear, you ministers
whine and coddle perceived offenses.
Withholding your gifts
from those with the least,
You save another sinner from Heaven.

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