Now, I had a big long rant on the mangled orange hellbeast’s ACTUAL FUCKING TREASON that played across a stunned world stage for all to witness. Where hellbeast and Pootie held hands and skipped as they assured each other that no, the Russians had absolutely not interfered in America’s election process.
Where even Fox News had dissenters on hellbeast! I know!! Hell got a tiny frost for a bit but it will wear off and things will continue as before, don’t even worry, darlings.
And the GOP expressed mild irritation over this…and they will fall in line as well, with Pencie actually proclaiming what a success that Helsinki Treason Summit/NATO blitzkreig was and that hellbeast…here, read it yourself.
Our @POTUS is now on his way home from a historic trip to Europe. And the truth is, over the last week, the world saw once again that President Trump stands without apology as the leader of the free world. Mike Pence
After you’re done vomiting…!!!
Number one–– I vow to speak up. I don’t need to explain this, right?
Number two— I’m drawing a blank. Oh, get a real job? Redo my resume? Oooh. That would involve…mmm.
Let’s see what’s available in my area. Let’s vow to do that.
Fuck this massive crushing chronic depression and my inability to be around other people for extended periods of time WITHOUT LOSING MY MARBLES.
No, really. I do. I go off the edge into Crazy as a Loon territory, I snarl and cry and shake and panic.
So. Customer service? No. Check out clerk? No. Oooh, waitress? Uh, no. Aide for group homes?
I’ve done that, I do have experience but budgets for those are long gone, and those jobs that used to be advertised all the time…seem to not exist anymore.
School aide? Those seem gone, too. [Kids don’t seem to trigger me as fast as grown ups do.] I could do the night shift at a group home. I’ve done that before.
What, use my degrees and teach? Yeah.
I either don’t have enough experience or am applying in the wrong area, as no one seems to think a playwright would have read Twain or Dickens or Toni Morrison. Or could discuss literary works with a class at college level or something.
Mm. I thought it was just me being a total loser not being able to land a gigantically fantastic, highly paid, totally no work at all involved, teaching gig at some college or university…nope.
Which doesn’t make me feel better as almost everyone I know is working at insurance companies or driving an ambulance while writing or acting or directing on the side…sigh. It’s not just me is no longer the giant comfort it used to be. Not that it ever was. [I know. Be positive and that will magically fix FUCKING EVERYTHING. I know!]
Number three-– I vow to write more. Novels, plays, etc.
No, nix that.
I have a pile of stuff and crap already.
Pretty up the stuff and crap to professional-looking levels [no typos and titles pages, hello.] and get those sent out.
Which I have not been doing lately as I’m waiting for America to end and kinda concluded there’s no sense sending off Maybelle or excerpts from my cannibal bikers versus the old ladies novel if I have to try and make it to the Canadian border with only some beef jerky and a half-quart of dirty river water to sustain me.
Yes, I do see that future happening. Yes, I do.
Number four— I vow to get outside more. Oh wait.
It’s a thousand degrees here and there’s wildfires all over.
Okay, stand by my mini garden and admire it as I get a sunburn in that five minutes. Coo over my dill plant. Squee over my Greek oregano. Weep gently over how well my squash are producing. Water as needed. Tell the mini garden what a good boy it is, which confuses the dogs. Score!
Number five— I vow to be a better friend to the friends I still have.
I might be a near-hermit that makes that guy from the Misanthrope look friendly but I can still be a better friend. Or a better person or something. I just rolled my eyes so obviously, I either need to improve or just scrap this one.
Number six— I vow not to slap people on the left who get hung up on single issues and then refuse to vote or vote a third party or do a protest I’m not gonna vote at all number.
One of those slaps that’s actually a roundhouse that lands them in the ER, where they can’t pay their bills so that is all passed on to everyone else in ‘murica because fuck socialized medicine, it’s got the word ‘socialist’ in it. And that’s, like, bad, m’kay.
If it has a D by the name, you vote for it.
That tactic wins elections for the Republicans, as they vote for the R, regardless if that R is an actual Nazi screaming we need to round up the Jews and fire up the ovens, like, yesterday. Yes, there are actual Nazi-esque sorts running here in America for public office. Right Wing voters vote en masse no matter how stinky the candidate/s might be. They are well trained to do so. That’s how that works. Nobody notices that but me???[ Roy fucking Moore barely lost. Barely! Get it now, you idealistic fucktwats?]
Do I have to give up cussing? No? Thanks!
Number freaking seven— I must give up my Yahoo Answers persona. Did you expect something profound here?? Come on!
It’s an addiction at this point. I could be polishing my rough writing into smooth torpedoes of success and fame but no…I’m answering why atheists eat babies and if evolution is true, why are there still monkeys ‘questions’.
No, not kidding.
If you splash an atheist with holy water, will it cure them? That is an actual question there…see? You want to sneak over there and answer that one yourself.
I must wean myself from that rabbit’s hole of whackadoodles, religious nuts, atheist snarlers and those wide-eyed deer just caught in the too-bright headlights.
I didn’t vow to destroy the present government with an elaborate scheme of poison sugar cookies and fembots, so there’s that, at least. I know people who could build a fembot–I have friends who build robotics with high school students for competitions.
I bet a fembot or gynoid, would be no problem for those whiz kids. I can bake sugar cookies and…wow, I’m there.
When the real world produces much scarier, crazier asshattery than any combo of words I or others can devise…you tend to wander off to youtube to watch puppy rescues and those top ten lists as to why Jupiter Ascending is the worst movie ever penned. Or the best.
Depends on which top ten listings of attributes and qualities you dig up, accidentally, while searching for Benedict Cumberbatch porn. Not that I do that. Or know anyone who does that. I just heard other people do that.
That wild baby bunny has died.
It was more than likely my mucking something up or it nibbled something bad for it when I put it in the outside cage as it was almost ready to be released…I managed to bring it back once but could not repeat that success.
It was laid out on its side, cold and not moving, having spasms now and then. I warmed it up, I got some milk down it, it actually sat up, had its head up, seemed to be recovering from whatever had plagued it…and then it died. Just turned its head a bit, spasmed, and then died. I watched the last little breath. The sides went in and did not come back up.
I buried it. I feel a real loss that something in my clumsy care passed onward into whatever awaits or does not await. It had a personality, a feistiness. It explored the little box I had it in. It froze just like the adult rabbits do, hoping I could not see it. It responded to noises and huddled in its collection of pulled apart cotton balls, that tiny tail the only thing visible at times.
It remained wild, except when sick. Then it didn’t care if I handled it. I knew it was better when it didn’t want me near it. I felt a success that this wild creature wanted no part of me, that it would survive and go have a short life out in the fields.
As I know the fate of rabbits, yes, I do, in a world full of hawks, coyotes, dogs, cats and badgers. And humans.
I’ve gone through this with baby birds. They seem to be doing well and then the next morning, they’re stiff and cold, beaks open. And I still check for life, I make sure. Sometimes young animals get chilled, sometimes just getting them warmed back up…Thank heavens for heating pads and hot water bottles.
Why do I try when…Because you have to. That’s all I know.
I have to at least try.
I have succeeded in keeping baby birds alive and then releasing them. I’ve helped with too-young kittens, feeding them and caring for them as they needed. My mother taught me how. And sometimes they live. And sometimes they die. So sayeth life and death.
In a Thai cave, boys await to be rescued. That has been dominating the news. Because it focuses on things we can understand.
Children trapped. Cave filling with water. Brave people planning a rescue. Boys need to be taught to swim. A rescuer dies trying to help. Cave divers, from Scotland no less, who are the best in the world go to help. Boys start getting rescued…
We watch and sigh and cheer and cry, this is something we UNDERSTAND. This is something that makes sense.
When children get trapped, you go help them. When men get trapped down a mine, you go help them. Dramatic rescues remind us we’re all alike and yet all different and yet…that compassion magically goes away when applied to others who need help that don’t meet some public understanding of who deserves to be rescued and helped and who does not.
I am glad those boys are getting out of that cave.
But I keep getting drawn back to ‘murica and now, the UK and Brexit and the shenanigans world-wide. As the very modern far right seems hellishly determined to repeat the fascists regimes of the 1930’s that led up to…an actual world war. Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Franco!
I’ve left names out, I just know it. And everyone seems to have a nuclear warhead tucked away these crazy ass days.
It’s interesting times indeed.
I can’t compete with that in a literary fashion.
I see people getting more upset over being impolite to fascist wannabes than the actual fascism attempting to rear its very ugly head in the heart of the land of the brave and the free. [No, not Canada.]
I blathered on about that in other posts, I won’t here because if I do, someone might complain I’m being mean to the skin-heads and assclown Jesus shouters or something. God forbid they feel a moment of discomfort or actual shame. God fucking forbid.
Oh and someone or something crushed my tiny growing pumpkin.
I took a picture of it, imagining it grown into a lopsided ball of orangeness and bland pulp. A future jack-o-lantern. A future possible actual pie!
And then noticed it had been crushed.
Ants trundled all over the little insides. Ants.
It felt like someone hit me in the solar plexus. That unable to breathe for a bit sensation.
Oh great, the crazy liberal barely read writer lady is lamenting a destroyed squash. Liberals, lol. Need a safe space, snowflake??
I always add very sarcastic comments in my head now to all my reactions, feelings, sensations and thoughts. It’s just how I roll these days. Or always. I have a chorus of Fuck Your Feelings sorts catcalling me from inside my head…should I admit that or pretend otherwise?
So, I did finish a draft for Grumpy Odin and Sexy Jesus.
I rather like it. I need to go over and over it, get it a bit sleeker. Get its engine running smoothly and not at a choppy, too loud decibel that will have cops pulling me over and giving me literary tickets.
Sorry, ma’am, this novel is cobbled together with nonsense and duct tape.
This is not a safe novel to have on the literary highway. This is an accident that already happened.
Yes, that is the amount of the fine and not the national debt rounded up into a tidy amount number!
Well then, you should have rewritten it and turned it into the next Harry Potter series.
Why don’t you give up writing and become a two-dollar a blow job whore in your home town’s park? Like everyone thinks you are already?
It’s not like your writing ‘career’ is all that and a bag of chips, snap!
Or hey, just write something good. Then we don’t have to pull you over like this! Have a good day!
I should probably get rid of some of those voices in my head before the shitshow clown act that’s so far playing to the gullible and grungy alike, takes center stage in full costume under dazzling lights in full surround sound.
So the entire planet can relive in collective wonderment and Lock Her Up fashion and Hold My Beer super-patriotism– the 1930’s and 40’s in vivid, re-enactment detail, with updated clothes, New Age slang and fabulous city-destroying weapons one can send off with a push of a button!
Fascism has come to America wrapped in cheeseburger wrappings and waving a MAGA hat.
People are cheering FOR FASCISM and those who would be king…because it upsets the liberals. As long as the liberals are upset, hey.
Hey, how bad can it get? Overreact much?? LMFAO! They’re so emotional! Let me call the wahbulance! Finally, a president who speaks his mind! Drain that swamp! Lock her up! Fake media! Losers! America is great again, get out if you can’t handle it, commies! LOL, let me get a cup for all them tears. Fuck your feelings! Get over it, he won. GET OVER IT.
That’s the attitude of the ‘other side’, the so-labeled disenfranchised, economically anxious, nobody lets us talk yet we’re heard all the time and talk a lot all over the place, sorts. Middle America. Liberal tears taste so sweet. Snowflakes.
I’m tired. I feel tired all the time by this.
Fear lives in the center of me, a small tiny fear that this won’t turn out okay at all. That America won’t escape our turn toward fascism with a few bruises and maybe a bloodied nose. That we won’t rebound or shake this off or…yeah. Despair has come to nestle in so many of us lately. Actual real despair, like a moist blanket soaked in small pox we wrap about ourselves.
Because I’ve sat through the history classes. I’ve watched the documentaries on Charlemagne to the Mai Lai Massacre. And beyond. I paid attention. I tried to articulate a bit. I grew silent and grew into a coward about speaking up.
Me, with my big loud voice, am now silent and meek and afraid, afraid, afraid to say anything. As combating that constant gleeful, purposeful deluge of wrong information, twisted facts, made up stats, outright lies, whataboutism, why are you so angry, blah blah blah…it just gets to you.
And you curl up, put your hand out, say, fine, I can’t do this. I can’t combat this, I’m bleeding to death from a million paper cuts. I’m watching my own family and friends embrace this shit with gleeful, maniacal grins. The same ones who screamed that Obama was coming for their guns, going to turn us all into Muslim commies and declare himself president for life. Uh huh.
And I don’t see a lot of loud, belligerent, fighting back sorts right now.
They are few in number and treated like lepers and enemies and told to hush. Maxine Waters, for one. Told to hush up and play nice by leading Democrats, instead of being backed up and supported…Tread carefully and don’t carry a stick at all seems to be the message.
I see mumbling apologizers who whisper for courtesy and niceness against actual real-time, real-world, yes it’s fucking happening in America, totalitarianism.
I hear a lot of– don’t upset them, play nice, we go high if they go low. When has that ever worked with fascists, with those trying a coup, with those thrusting their version of hell on earth into a government’s skeleton? To place a coating of insanity, greed, death and corruption over those bones…all while waving a flag and holding rallies and pretending to be saints and angels.
Placate the very ones beating the hell out of you over and over, day after day, year after year. We must be civil in the face of bullies, assholes, the stripping of our rights, the stripping of everything that makes life a bit more bearable. We must say please and thank you and not call names. No bad language. We must be door mats, so we’re not labeled violent extremists, which we are anyway by Fox News and Breitbart and Alex Jones and…and just hope they’ll turn as nice as we are.
As others have pointed out, that sounds a lot like abuse. You hope they won’t hit you today if you’re quiet enough or nice enough or cringing enough. And when they don’t hit you as hard, it feels like a victory, I guess. When you just have a split lip instead of a broken arm, hey, that’s great. That’ll show em.
I mean, this has been a hellish week. Our actual framework of what makes America America seems broken, shattered, torn into chunks to be sold to the highest bidders. To line the pockets of Cheetolini and his children and cronies. With no one allowed to say bad things about him or they get the fake media screech directed at them or…Hell seems far nicer than America right now.
Satan doesn’t seem that bad right now. I truly do think that. We never did get Satan’s side of the story, after all. Republican Jesus seems to be a horrific monster, no thanks. Just no thanks and I’ll reserve my spot in hell right now if that’s salvation.
Pregnancy crisis centers can lie to women. The Muslim travel ban is now permanent. Unions got gutted, bigly. Bang bang bang. The Supreme Court, our actual bastion against the very regime already in power in the White House…has failed us. With a justice set to step down, Justice Anthony Kennedy, stepping down suddenly under suspicious circumstances...it could be rigged for decades, for generations. If we have decades or generations left in us. There might go same-sex marriage rights. There would go Roe v. Wade. There might go civil rights, a revisit of Brown V. Board of Education might be looming…
Maybe people will vote.
That’s the big hope everything is pinned on. There’s a giant vote in November. The problem is people in America don’t vote for elections, we all know this. Well, the liberal side doesn’t vote, the other side shows up in droves.
This has been hashed out, fried in a pan, put in a bowl, taken out the next day and microwaved.
The Blue Wave is coming!
I’ll believe that when Cheetolini is impeached. Until then, I’m a wee bit skeptical. As the liberals seem utterly set on voting only for perfect angel candidates that mirror whatever their pet cause is. Instead of holding their nose and voting for anything with a D by its name…you know, that shit that wins elections or something. That shit the basic average Republican voter does because– Anything but a Democrat– is their actual belief and creed. They’ve been trained and taught and conditioned very well.
Pointing that out gets one labeled a snowflake who’s been conditioned by Hollywood elites and indoctrinated by the public school system.
We’re not the ones who are acting like zombie cult members under an orange Jim Jones, you are! Oh I love the taste of libtard tears in the morning!
And stories of days like this, where it’s just so utterly dark and everyone felt like giving up. Gettysburg. Paris. Pearl Harbor. No Man’s Land. McCarthyism. Vietnam. Korea. The Great Depression. The AIDS crisis in the Eighties, the…ugh.
The long slow slog to get some Americans the same rights as other Americans. And how people stayed to fight, as steady as boulders in a river trying to wash them away.
How people made light and kept walking forward.
With the knowledge that if they didn’t, that awful tide would drown everyone they loved in it. With the knowledge that that awful tide, whatever shape it might take or be, can be sent back out.
To wait for a time when it will be…invited back to wreak what horrors it can. Again. Again. Again.
This same pattern. Again and again.
Evil rising, the light rising to meet it, evil rising, the light rising to meet it.
And we never learn.
We never learn a fucking thing.
Which has me tired and yet oddly hopeful. Maybe this time it won’t take too many years to send that tide back out to sullenly plan its next inland surge.
But I must speak and fight and push back as much as I can. Because we’re all drowning. And it’s getting hard to breathe.
And those drinking the tears of others always seem miserably parched and miserably bitter about it.
And maybe the time after that, the time will get even shorter to wise up and send that tide back out before it can do any real lasting harm. Until we finally learn and can take steps, before we drown in oceans composed of our own blood, shit and tears.
Not just those we label our enemies or the other…but everyone gets to drown, we’re all equal at last as we drown together.
Don’t people know that?
Don’t you know you won’t be safe? Don’t you know all of this will come for you as well? That you won’t escape it? That eventually you’ll have to look history itself in the eye and explain yourself? I went along because it upset the liberals. Is that really your excuse here? For realsies??
Don’t you know…there will be consequences?
Being civil isn’t the answer to fascism. Because they will use it against you. As is being done now. I think I want to have ‘radical’ written in my obituary. She was a radical and she spoke out.
I want that, now. She spoke out.
Silence has seemed the safe, pretty blanket, the easy choice. And now I will pay for that. And try to speak as best I can.
As the suffragettes kept onward. As those freeing the Jews kept working. As those who ran the Underground Railroad kept going. As those who. As those who crumpled a bit in the utter-seeming darkness, who then searched for light, even starlight or a light within.
This is not my country, I hear. I hear that. A lot.
From very young, naive folks. From the elderly who should know better. From myself at times when I have brain freezes and forget the tidbits and scraps I’ve picked up over the years about the history of my country.
Separating children from the parents seeking help, asylum and surcease from whatever political bullshit they were fleeing from.
This is a POLICY put into place by Putinscunt, whispered into that corpulent ear by Stephen Miller…an avowed and known white supremacist. It’s not law. It’s not something the Democrats invented or put into practice.
And all three branches of the American government are ruled by the Trumpicans, er, GOP. So. As scapegoats go, blaming the Democrats for this POLICY is, uh, working.
Because people don’t fact check in America. Fact checking is for losers. And liberals. And SJW’s. And commie socialists who want to take your hard-earned money and give it to illegals and drug addicts and MS-13 gangmembers…Right, Nancy Pelosi?
Those children, and they are children, are being held hostage, so I’ve heard/read, so that Putinscunt can get that wall financed and built.
And the Foxchristians [a term I saw and it just FELT SO RIGHT] are a thousand percent behind taking kids, already traumatized by leaving everything they know behind, and traumatizing them, possibly, for life.
That’s fine. That’s what Jesus would do and approve of. Mm.
I’m not some hardcore, shouty Christian type, don’t worry. But I was brought up in the Missouri Synod Lutheran Church.
I’ve been confirmed as a member. I’ve done Sunday School.
I’ve attended church camp. I’ve worked at that same church camp. I was almost raped at that same camp and never went back, so.
I do have some background in churches and the Bible. [And I know firsthand why women don’t speak up about what happens to them. Oh yes, I do.]
I’m puzzled, to say the least, by people who cheer for what’s going on at the border. At building giant, for-profit concentration camps–
in Brownsville, Texas, where it’s already a hundred degrees. Tents/facilities with no air conditioning.
I think I saw something about the Catholic Relief Aid trying to get fans or something sent there…
There are plans to build more CONCENTRATION CAMPS in Wyoming. Housing for 5000 at a pop.
Tax money being used for this. And people turning a profit off these concentration camps. Capitalism and crimes against humanity, score!
People seem dazed. Scattered to the wind. The resistance seems incredulous. This is not happening, seems to be the major takeaway.
The urge to roll my eyes at marches planned at future dates is just…not possible to control at all.
More out of why are we not just ripping those places apart with our bare fucking hands? Why am I not hitchhiking to Texas to do just that?
There are senators, including the one from my home state, trying to drum up public awareness and fan some god damn enough of this shit already outrage, which will lead to actual action.
Anger gets shit done, as Mr. Nancy says in American Gods over on Starz.
Anger is very dangerous to this POLICY designed to get a wall built and zero tolerance immigration crap passed.
Strangely, America has a history of this. Going way way back, babies.
We did it with slavery, where babies were sold on the auction block. There are illustrations of this oh so human practice. We tend to call such things ‘inhumane’, literally washing our hands of admitting that humans treat other humans like garbage a lot of the time.
We did this with indigenous people. Took Native American kids from their families, cut their hair, took their clothes, forced them to speak English only, stripped them of their culture and heritage, forced them to be Christians…it wasn’t until almost 1980 that the religious practices of Native Americans were even allowed to be practiced legally. [As at times ‘illegal’ substances were used, like peyote.]
And of course, the Japanese internment camps. See George Takei for a history of that. See lots of others for a history of that. These were American citizens. Stripped of everything, lost their livelihood, their homes, their possessions, everything.
A stark reminder that it did happen here, it did fucking happen here.
America has a gigantic streak of treating children like livestock, social experiments, POWs, and demonic criminals intent on destroying the Home of the Free and the Brave.
It seems we’re actually the Home of the Cowardly and Cruel.
We spout Bible verses without reading any of the verses around them.
Romans 13:1 does say to obey the laws of whatever land you reside in. Yet further, in Romans 13:10–Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.
That Romans 13:1, by the way, was spouted by Nazis and slave owners to justify their practices.
Jeff Sessions and Sarah Huckabee Sanders both spouted it as well…in a country that celebrates separation of church and state. Scary fucking times, indeed. By the same people who scream against Sharia Law coming to ‘murica. And upset that football players are kneeling quietly and…Not even Beckett could adequately capture the absurdity of America right now. Well, he probably could. He was Irish.
See history of how America treated Irish immigrants, dearies. Whee? Or watch Gangs of New York or The Departed or pretty much any movie about the Irish in America, really. It’s a popular topic and hey, white people front and center being treated badly…wet dream time for Stevie Miller. And Stevie Bannon. And Gorka. And Sessions. And David Duke. And…yeppity yep. Yes, the Irish got labeled and scorned for a bit, but…mm. Okay!
The Keebler Elf and Aunt Lydia both tell us to calm down, it’s not so bad, it’s in the Bible. It’s a law they can’t do anything about, they are just HELPLESS BEFORE THE DEMOCRAT’S EVIL WAYS. Uh huh. They bravely report that if only the Democrats would relent and…uh huh. And the Bible, of course, says treating kids like something out of Schindler’s List is fine and dandy. That treating brown kids in a repeat of the Trail of Tears is AWESOME WITH GOD. God loves immigrant criminal kiddie tears!
The same Bible that says to treat foreigners like family, as you were once a stranger in a strange land. To drown yourself if you hurt children–see that whole millstone thingie Jesus said.
The rabid pro-life crowds seems really confused and lost when it comes to actual children being tormented, tortured and lost. As in missing. As in no one’s quite sure where a big bunch of kids are. As in might be in the hands of human traffickers.
Ripping children away from their exhausted, frightened, stressed parents and housing them in a sweltering place where no affection or treatment that borders anywhere near compassion or actual concern for those kids is, um, the definition of evil.
There. I said it.
It’s about as far from what Jesus taught in the treatment of others as it’s possible to get.
I don’t ever remember at church camp, which had pastors and people studying to be pastors, working there and occasionally delivering actual sermons on kindness and love…about where it’s okay to hold kids hostage in nasty conditions until one gets what one wants.
A vanity wall that won’t keep anything out at all.
As most people come here on planes or boats and just don’t go back when their visas expire. That’s, um, known. That’s an actual fact. So.
Again, this isn’t law.
Calling a halt to separating kids from their parents is something that can be quickly shelved, stopped, ended today.
This POLICY of cruelty and deliberate malice is something Putinscunt decided to do all on his own.
And then blamed, predictably and with great success, on the Democrats. I didn’t do this, the Democrats did! OBAMA DID IT, TOO is the battle cry here.
It works. It always works.
That loud hectoring wasp whine drowns out the soft, polite, take the high road idiots on the other side.
And they are idiots! Big quivering ones!
Soft, melty idiots who scold over the use of ‘fuck’ and ‘cunt’ and ‘crude language’ rather than take on the real actual issues, as that might turn away voters who are tired of hearing about racism and other inconvenient social issues. Voters that stay home, at that.
We must be nice, we must be the grown ups in the room. Eventually we’ll, uh, win. The Blue Wave is coming. It’s Mueller Time! People won’t stand for this very long.
Bwha ha ha. I can’t breathe! My sides!
Oh yes, I’m a cynical little kitty cat right now.
You see liberals and others calling for ‘civility’ against the crude, very successful, attacks of the right. We can’t be like them, is the not-battle cry.
It’s a Ned Flanders kinda strategy.
We can’t get mad, facts will win them in the end, the truth is on our side…
And then my head just pops like a balloon shot by an AK-47.
The time for civility and niceness went bye-bye years ago.
We can get back to murmuring politely at each other when America isn’t being rapidly turned into a fascist shithole. The UN frowns at the US right now. America no longer supports humans rights. Canada is possibly considering an invasion to liberate us. They might team up with Mexico.
I can flash my Lutheran card when they come for me. I’ll be mostly okay if I keep my mouth shut and my eyes down. I have the right skin color. Yeah, I went there.
Only racists talk about racism…yeah, heard that one yet? Yeah, it’s bullshit and meant to silence conversations and observations. The BLM people are the REAL RACISTS HERE. We don’t notice skin color, why do you? Democrats arethe real racists. Etc. Etc. Etc.
It can also vend into Free Speech fuckery– why is the tolerant left so intolerant of my right to express myself about just why blacks are [insert stereotype penned by the KKK here] It’s my opinion! Why are they trying to silence me?
Yep. It’s why the left is reduced to softly scolding about bad language most of the time. People can safely rally behind not using bad language and being adult-ish. That’s my hot take, anyway. Oh yes, back to explaining how I can blend in with the American FlagLovers of Trumplandia.
I can scrub my feeble liberal-esque bloggings right damn quick if I have to. I can trace my ancestors coming here ‘legally’.
I have the right papers. I have my official birth certificate– it’s needed to get a driver’s license and a passport. I have a passport, which is valid for years yet.
My ancestors! From places like Norway. And Germany. And the UK. When itcomes down to that.
I have Viking blood! My grandpa spoke German! Some uncle fought for the South, as a general. I glow in the dark I’m so right-skinned!
As any liberals left will still be calling for nice language and take the high road, dang it. You can spot them by the patches on their chest. Yep, went there!
I can spout the right phrases with a straight face.
I have actor training, after all. I’m a writer, I remember phrases and slogans quite well. How math works, not so much. Democrats hate America, yep, that I can scream with the best of em, all while enjoying the rodeo and the countryfair and rallies…
It’s rather scary how well I could blend with the ‘other side.’ I live among the ‘other side’. I’m in very red territory in a very red part of Oregon and can cross over into super-red Idaho by driving about twenty minutes, if that.
Anyone who actually knows me would not buy my metamorphosis. But those who don’t…mmm.
I’ll have to work on my sarcastic eye-rolling and muttered cursing and loud WTF sighs. That’s where the compressed lips and eyes down at all times training comes in handy. I can combine my girl training with my go along with fascism necessities. Whee?
I have the freedom to express myself as long as I express what they want to hear. I know how it works, I know the damn score. Oh sorry. Dang score. Mustn’t descend to their level. Then they win or something. Or something.
Back to the actual subject of this sort through the wheat and the chaff effort.
You can contact and donate to the ACLU. You can take part in a march. You can post articles and videos and history lessons about this very subject on social media. You can write/text/call your representatives.
You can help fund grassroots hire lawyers or even volunteer if you have legal training of any kind. You can go help translate if you speak Spanish. You can oppose ICE at every turn. You can get to know what rights you still have left in America. Make a list. Cross them off as or when they go buh-bye.
There’s a tale of a lady on a bus, going from California to Arizona, I think. She refused to let ICE intimidate people into flashing their papers, she went ‘full donkey’, as she put it. ICE backed down because they are not used to people knowing their actual rights and demanding to be treated like citizens, instead of peasants at the mercy of a mercurial king.
There are small tales of actual hope coming out of all this. There are!
There are glimmers of people blinking, waking up from some dream of ‘it can’t happen here’. That’s, I guess, what you have to hold onto.
And try to be a loud, obnoxious, swearing voice yourself against this bullshit cuntery.
It’s scary, it’s hard, and you might have the luxury of being able to ignore it thoroughly because it, allegedly, is not something that affects you. [Kind of like the Black Lives Matter or the MeToo movement or…uh huh.]
Got around to watching the Handmaid’s Tale. And being an almost writer, had some thoughts and notions and impressions. Which went on rather long-ish. So I’m chopping my review/primal scream/ramblings into two parts. Here we go:
It’s the red dresses, the white hats that act like blinders on the women. Rather like one puts blinders on a horse. That red of sin and menstrual blood and fertility and death. The women walking in pairs, the flap of their cloaks, their faces so careful. So careful. The least betrayal of their actual thoughts could get them killed. Everyone, though, in Gilead, seems to be playing a part. The honesty seems gone from the very air even as people murmur constantly their allegiance to some truly tyrannical deity.
If you’ve not seen Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale, with Mad Men’s Peggy front and center, or Elizabeth Moss as some call her, you should. It’s…timely. So fucking timely. And yet it has an ancient grit to it. That grit of slavery and bodies exploited for the common good and a god used as a hammer to make everyone fall in line. Oh, we’ve seen this tale, it’s not a new one.
It wasn’t that long ago, after all, that women couldn’t have their own bank accounts. Or own land. Or run a company. Or attend school to become a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer of some kind. It’s only been recently that single women could get birth control openly without having to lie or obtain it illegally. You had to be married. Why does a single gal need the Pill for? Mm!
That was reflected upon in another great show–Call the Midwife, which chronicled the dawn on the Pill hitting the market and so forth. There was even a bit about a widowed Lady Mary, on Downton Abby, having Anna buy condoms for her. In the 1920’s. Anna got slut-shamed pretty hard at that chemist shop.
We seem to forget that openly buying birth control is a relatively new thing, since about the seventies or so and it’s still controversial here in America. There are groups working against it, as well as being rabidly ‘pro-life’ or pro-forced birth. As these same groups seem to drop any concern or care for that child once it’s born. So it seems.
Oh gosh, and the big one. Voting.
Being able to help decide who runs your country. Who gets to speak for you in the halls of government. 1920 is when women won the right to vote in America. Woman had actually run for office earlier than that, in protest.
Women started being included in the American government. White women became grudgingly more and more common in the rank and file of Congress’s elected officials. Jim Crow laws, laws against Native Americans and the Chinese and…mm. America, you sure got a weird notion of who’s a citizen and who’s not. Even when born here.
Those red dresses.
The handmaids never allowed to wear anything else. That almost theatrical costume that marks them as human livestock. They are not free, they are watched constantly, they are guarded from taking their lives. Offred’s predecessor, for instance, hung herself using her own bed sheets.
What God would want any woman treated like that? Like birds in too-small cages, being asked to sing songs that ring with such false notes? What God is that?
I sat there and binge watched this show and wondered that. What society wants to follow a God that thinks so poorly of women?
It’s just traditional values at work, dear.
I hear that in my head. I hear it all the time in American society now. So called traditional values being used to justify the devaluation of women, the curbing of rights to anyone not a straight white male, the attempts to force LGTBQ folks back into closets, the snarling against the other known as immigrants, etc, etc. That ‘animals’ remark…
Conservative values seems to be they can do whatever they want and everyone else can suck it. That seems to honestly be what Conservatives stand for right now. It’s rather a little bit, or, a lot, scary. There doesn’t seem to be any opposing force to this yet. Yet.
Handmaid’s Tale showed, rather than told, very well why women didn’t openly rebel. Because those that did ended up swinging gently from ropes or they disappeared. Just gone. Or they came back with eyes missing. Or a clitoris.
One of the Of-girls, played by a Gilmore Girl! had ‘gender traitor’ qualities. She was gay, in other words.
This was found out, and since she was fertile, she was given a judgment of mercy.
Oh sure, she got to live and go to some new household where once a month she had to shave her legs, take a ritual bath and then get raped. By a commander. Be raped as the wife held her arms down and watched her own husband rape another woman. All in the name of God.
But this ‘gender traitor’ can’t act on her sexuality, or so the reasoning goes behind mutilating a woman’s genitals; she has been stripped of not only her identity but an attempt has been made to actually erase her essential self.
Her standing there with that heart-shaped bandaging between her thighs…we see her break. And she doesn’t scream or cry, she just breaks with a quiet ghastliness that actually hurts the viewer as well. This was silence screaming, if you will.
This was a reminder that such things have happened to women, to little girls, fellow humans, since a long time ago on this very planet. With dull knives used and no nice modern surgeon and anesthesia. That such things happen now…
And we get a small flashback scene where the commanders speak about renaming this rape-itual as the Ceremony.
To make it sound nicer. More palatable.
They KNOW what they do to the handmaids and their own wives is gross, creepy and fundamentally wrong, wrong, wrong and yet instead of facing that, and facing their own filthy dark hearts, needs and beliefs, they rename the damn rape day for PR purposes. That’s what God wants? Lies and theatrics and costumes and…?
So this Gilead doesn’t seem to run on honesty or truth, but on theatrics and mirrors and smoke so a few men at the top of this theocracy can reap some substantial benefits while nearly everyone under them suffers, burns silently, or burns openly and dies, or gets mutilated or sent off somewhere to work in a place of nuclear contamination or in a secret brothel everyone seems to know about.
The Jezebels, where we find out what happens to June’s best friend, Moira.
Everything in this ‘new’ society seems a gag-inducing farce.
We get a hideous picture of this in Commander Fred Waterford’s household.
The wife, Serena. Who helped craft the very laws and customs that now chain her into a narrow, icy role of sexless wife who must watch her husband use the handmaids that come into their home like a teen boy might use a sock. Or a flesh rocket.
That handmaid becomes both sacred vessel and sex toy. Without a name of her own.
But poor Serena and I do feel an actual measure of pity for her, in between bouts of picturing her riding a chainsaw as someone pours salt over her…because it would hurt more. And salt is very Biblical.
She had to become single-focused on Offred becoming pregnant or there’s literally no reason for her to exist in Gilead. If she’s not wheeling around that trophy baby, she’s relegated to arranging flowers and abusing the handmaid and the Martha. She’s also used as corporate wives are so used– to make the man look good.
Go look up how Hillary Clinton got compared to Barb Bush, for instance. One was a scheming, too-ambitious cold monster, the other a cookie-baking, cuddly grandma type. Mm.
Serena’s ambitions and dreams must be subverted and funneled toward the man in her life. She wrote books, she gave talks, in the old life. Clearly, Serena was a sort of Ann Coulter figure, using the very things feminists before her had won with such hard work and sacrifice to decry feminism itself.
She must now look good and act perfectly, to be a credit to Waterford. She must embrace this new role of hers or face uncertainty and chaos. She is a monster because she had to become one to survive.
I also think, and here the writers and the actress came together in small, brilliant little moments…I also think Serena didn’t think it all the way through.
She didn’t realize Gilead’s rules would include her. I honestly think that’s part of her deep, savage divide, one of her many layers. That bitter realization that she’s just as trapped as Offred and who better to take that out on? She can’t go after Fred, after all. It would bring her down as well. She would no longer have a place of some value. She might become a Martha or have to find a new husband and start that cycle all over again…suppress herself for yet another’s man’s fragile ego and standing among the other men. It would be unbearable, so she puts up with Fred.
Which is rather a throwback to the days when divorce was nearly unheard of and everyone looked the other way about the true nature of your marriage. Told you to bear it, marriage was for life.
A good wife has to wait for her moment of revenge.
Like the wife of Warren did. Warren, who, of course, had a side thing with their handmaid, the one-eyed mad girl Janine, or Ofwarren, who actually managed to get preggers and bear a kid. That wife threw her husband to the lions without a backward glance. We feel Serena would toss Fred, too, if it came down to it.
There is a definite caste system in Gilead. These wives are a higher rank than most, and coast on that with a carelessness that makes you wince and cringe. Because we see that. In real life. All the time. We see the privileged talking about how they managed to make their own toast one morning because the cook had an emergency. And expecting applause and endless praise…for some small ordinary act the lesser mortals take for granted.
That scene of Janine giving birth upstairs and the commander wives offering Offred a cookie, a treat. Treating her like both a whore and a child, at the same time. As if Offred had a choice in being a handmaid.
Well, she did. Which would have involved her being executed or tortured or banished to the Colonies. And she has a daughter.
Somewhere. That she hopes is still alive.
So we understand very well why June goes along and does what Aunt Lydia and the others want her to do…pretend she’s some obedient fertile cow for Jesus.
I’m so tired of waiting, aren’t you, for the world to become good and beautiful and kind? Langston Hughes.
This was written a long time ago, in a world strangely just like now. Where minorities are hated and feared and blamed for everything wrong. Where racism is front and center, as it never really left the building AKA America. Where Christian power is cruel, cold and self-serving. Where ‘little people’ get stepped on with great abandon and reckless sadism by those with even an inkling of superiority that they are not ‘one of those takers’ or…
Yes. We’ve been here before.
Many times, in many ways. Where the divide between groups is Grand Canyon sized. The Grand Canyon might very well become a memory if the current gubbermint greedsters have their way with it and rape it death for its resources. Mining companies, oil conglomerates, private developers, yippee skip.
I am a bit gloomy right now. A lot, actually, but I didn’t wish to rain on anyone’s parade. As you’d have to stir about and find an umbrella or maybe check the weather reports for a good day for a parade. I don’t want you actually paying attention to my rain, because I’d have to declare some sort of truth and then wearily defend it against those frog people from the ‘other side’. You know, those weird frog people called Pepto or Peepo or Peepie La Pew…yep.
Waiting for someone/s to come save us all is fucking exhausting. Waiting for some magical savior to rise from these streets and bitchslap the crap out of the current GOPers brings on real malaise and the need for cookies and milk and a long long long nap. Are we going to get an FDR-esque sort to rise from whatever’s left of American politics? A ruthless, ballsy/ovary-bold sort who takes on the Bad Guys and wins the day? FDR has taken on mythical status, and no, I never forget the actual man behind all that. Okay? Okay.
It’s what we do here in America.
We wait for someone to come save us. Our politicians, our rock stars, our Hollywood stars, our…those with any sort of public face.
We wait placidly–except for those who take to the streets and shout things about oppression and a new dawn–for that mystical SOMEONE ELSE who will tell us where to squat and lean. “Where are our leaders?” has become the current battle cry…instead of an actual battle cry said by actual sorts who ‘stepped up’. As no one can agree or come together behind a solid banner…that squabbling over just what issue gets top billing instead of hey, let’s just get our people into office and then deal with this, that, the other. Bernie Bros versus everyone else versus feminists versus those who don’t need feminists because they’re not victims lol…yeah.
Pumpkincunt, the Great Pretender in Chief, the Liar’s Liar, made promises. Bigly ones. [Its still campaigning and holding rallies. Sad!] Those promises sounded super-bitchin’ and when said REALLY LOUD drown out the whispers that drift from the ‘other side’ that maybe this orange con-thing has never kept its word or been successful at much of anything at all except self-promotion. Fake news! You libtard losers should just get over it. You upset, snowflakes? Her emails and Pizzagate and Uranium One!
I also saw where the Bible offered to slaves, in America and elsewhere, had all the passages about freedom taken out. [Parts of the Holy Bible, Selected for the Use of the Negro Slaves (AKA “Slave Bible”) 1808. Though called “Holy,” it is deeply manipulative. Based on the KJV, it omits all entries that express themes of freedom.] That was in the Museum of the Bible tweets, by the way. I am reminded of today’s so-called Christian Right, who seem to omit any calling out to be kind to others not born to wealth and privilege. They also omit where the Bible mentions offering help to refugees and travelers, as so and so were strangers in a strange land. [Exodus 2:22, as said by Moses. Wow. Huh. Gee.]
Imagine the Bible with no Exodus. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
I hear that America is just going through a bad patch and everything will magically restore itself. Checks and balances, checks and balances will restore everything and we’ll all hold hands and skip. There will be glorious sunsets, apple pie, puppies and root beer for all!
I also have a bridge for sale. And have had a child with Bigfoot and Nessie lives in my bathtub and Jesus appeared on my English muffin just this morn.
Now!! What am I doing to ‘take back my country’? Sigh. Not much.
I think I’m going to have to actually do more than mope and whimper and retweet this or that. I once thought America would never have another civil war or reasons for massive protests or go through a Nixon-esque escapade ever again. That we had learned our lessons. That we were protected from such shenanigans. [Checks and balances, checks and balances…if repeated enough, it becomes a mantra and meaningless sounds.]
That we would not react like racist fucktwits over the next wave of refugees coming to our shores. [Cambodian boat people, Rwandan fleers of genocide, Somali…yeah, there’s a list here! Not to mention the Irish, the Chinese, the Germans, the Russians, the…ergh a burgha bug fug a lulu.] That we would not be like FDR and other Americans in the days before and during WWII turning away those running from Poland and Germany, etc…who happened to be Jewish. [We just had International Holocaust Day in January, after all. Never forget. Right? Uh huh.]
I keep waiting for others to wake up [omg I hate that fucking phrase. It gets used more than a box of Tampons but is far less sanitary.] so I don’t have to. I never went to sleep, of course. I [almost never, I promise!] ignored the good, the bad and the truly astoundingly ugly. Except when it was inconvenient or it caused waves or I didn’t want to face ridicule and scorn or even violence against me or…uh huh. I am no crusader. [Except with words once in a while. Maybe.] I wish I were. I prefer to be left alone so I can write silly things in peace.
I have been called an ugly bitch by my own family and learned to MUMBLE A LOT, internalize everything and go silent and hunch-shouldered and head down all the fucking time. Except I can’t please those who were never pleased with me to start with. Life lesson in there somewhere…
But I fear that time is over. Has been over for a long time. And I am hiding and being complicit and all the things that get thrown at those who hesitate. Who gulp at taking on the vociferous trolls and the earnest ranters alike. I’m so tired of waiting for the planet to find some sort of balance. I fear America will have to actually get a taste of fascist regime fuckery before it goes, oh, that’s bad, m’kay, lol, let’s get the gunz out and make speeches. We did have that one revolution, once, well, twice, and then there was that whole civil war thing but that was fought over state’s rights and…uh huh.
I also want to watch as those who think they won’t be affected by the current crop of awful laws being flung out and the mass deportations being planned and actually executed won’t be…affected or deported themselves.
It took me about half a year to get my correct birth certificate. It’s probably still not correct. I wonder what country my country will deport me to? Norway? Germany? France? Will they DNA test me before shipping me somewhere with twenty bucks in my pocket and English as my only language? [I can get by in Spanish, sort of. I am a true American, I never bothered to learn a second language. Gulp.]
I’m a liberal. A female. I can claim to be a Protestant on a good day. Brought up in the Lutheran church.
My grandmother’s birth certificate is in Norwegian. Will that affect my current ReelMurican status? Sure, it says she was born in Nebraska, but her mom and dad were not. [If they were, their parents were from the Old Country. Just sends a shiver down my spine!] She’s a damn anchor baby! I’m a product of CHAIN IMMIGRATION. Thanks, dad! Why didn’t you apply for that easy-peasy ReelMurican post card thingie so my entire family doesn’t get sent back to NorGerFranDutchWhateverlandia?? I don’t speak EUROPEAN! They’re all SOCIAL COMMIE SPACE LIZARDS THERE. Everyone has FREE HEALTH CARE AND PAYS TAXES OR SOMETHING!
God knows what’s actually on my mom’s side of things. There’s one account of a relative who snuck over here from Germany/Bavaria/Bohemia…not sure there. And worked her way through Nebraska [both sides of my family can claim Nebraska as their Old Country]. She cleaned or invented cats, not sure there at all, either.
She also married someone who was not the father of her illegitimate baby. Slutty ancestors! Also, though, whenever her husband got mad at her, he made her sleep out in the barn, with her illegitimate kiddie. They had kids, however, [the guy who did marry her other than the guy who was not allowed to marry her because she was an immigrant and not good enough…] so it was just her and her bastard son out there. In the barn. Being punished. Traditional marriage, huh? What a hoot! So, that’s fun. Thanks, mom. I’m a double anchor baby product. God damn it!
I’m trying to gear myself up for a political protest beyond retweeting stuff and holding arguments in my head with current, super-stupid, relatives over this or that. I write a tiny bit better than I talk, so. Maybe a poison pen screed or seven will fill in my Civic Participation certificates.
While I wait for SuperPolitician to rise up and smack the bejesus out of the SuperVillains in the White House, a’course. Then I don’t have to bother with a feeble dribble of words. Hopes and prayers sent to me from me for that happy day.
I am languishing a bit, waiting for ‘inspiration’ to tell me to…!
I, meanwhile, work on crap and shit, because I have to claim I’m ‘working on something’ or I lose my cool Writer Street Cred with the other growling, snarling Writers that lurk near my part of the forest.
I have a collection of writings I’d never show anyone. And maybe one day publish under a name not mine and make tons of cash because it’s easily digestible fluff and not angsty, vague, endless examinations of why my parents didn’t really love me. [Are we writers all not, pathetically, Eugene O’Neill on his worst and best days?]
And then I remember someone thought of Sharknado and pitched it and people loved that.
And then howl with despair, inside my head, of course, at the state of my own serious ‘stuff’ and not write anything for the rest of the day. Or feel guilty I’d rather knock out some fluff-n-fold, which won’t advance my career in the least unless I show it to someone who has the power to publish it…if not self-publish it but then I’d have to go back through it all, tidy it up, fill in blanks I left because I wanted to get to the ‘good parts’ and…oh the work load alone. It’s both exciting and terribly not exciting at all.
I have some options for my next Serious Stuff Project.
I can think of something brand new, based on a short story or something I started. Or something yet in my head.
There’s Aftermath, my zombie short story that grew into an actual novella and now waits for me to finish it or call it a day. I left Hannah staring down into a giant crater outside of Boise, Idaho, with wild zombies closing in. I know. Zombie. I know but…well. And like every other god damn zombie blah ever, it’s NOT ABOUT ZOMBIES. It’s a METAPHOR FOR TENTACLE PORN AND ACID-WASHED JEANS and possibly something about politics and feminism and greyhound racing. Zombies, pfft! It’s never about zombies, is it.
There’s the Tales of Beastface Bay, my Wind in the Willows meets Modern Societal Wrongs meets the Marx Brothers rompings. No. I can already feel myself just going nope nope not yet in my head.
I can work on my third book in the trilogy of my House on Clark Boulevard fun. I need to read through the first two. Alice in Oregonlandia might need a reworking…ooooh. Maybe.
Work on my Honest Women full length play. Mm.
Curl up on the floor, in utter despair, at what has happened in a very short time, to America. Drink directly from vodka bottle. Eat a taco of leftover stuff from night before. Continue with this list.
Give up writing altogether and slit wrists. Mm. Maybe.
Take up writing fanfic. Either Watership Down or something in the Barbara Kingsolver area. I could really work the hell out of a Bean Trees/Twilight mashup. And all my characters could be badgers who act like British rabbits. Which would lend nicely to my Beastface Bay squrivvels and scribblings. [Made up word, ten points!]
Actually try to make heads and tales of my fluffy, can’t-show-to-no-one, pennings. Arrange them, put them in order, rewrite the truly awful ones. Fanfic…ahem, um, yes. Sparkly vampire badgers who spout Moliere…oh yes, spank me with a gray tie. [If you get that, we can now be friends.]
Start a new blog, under another name, full of naughty stuff. To see how popular that would be as opposed to my dull, proper plodding blog here. Anne Rice and A. N. Roquelaure, for instance. Maybe I’ve already done that! Ooooooh! [I haven’t, for the record.]
Take up knitting or adult coloring because it’s clear my writing is full blown crap on burned, moldy toast that no one outside of my patient, tolerant friends, would go near.
Take an online course in how to have self-esteem and sell your crap to friends and strangers alike for cash to pay things like bills.
Um…yeah. This has been fun. I should go watch the twirly skaters or stare at the sky, waiting for the snow. It still has not snowed here. I’m flabbergasted and hurt.
What about an earthquake full of bears? Bearquako. And then the sequels! Bearquako, Fists of Bees. Samantha Saves the World, Bearquako III. The Son of Bearquako! And of course, Bearquako, the End? And that has to be a question, because sequels…they sell. The marketing does itself.
Obviously, I have about two maybe good-ish ideas on here for NEXT ACTUAL PROJECT and some silly-Susan kinda wafflings. Wish me luck.