What, then, shall we make of today if it comes to us bearing nothing but trouble, sacks full of heartache, luggage with nothing but wrinkled misery? Do we confine ourselves to the pinhole vision of old men and bitter women teetering on the cusp of death, or do we dig for them their graves so that we might gleefully push them in and cover their decay with dirt? Is there any good found while cowering in fear? Rather, let us take to the feeble a battle they are unable to fight; for the noise they make is the sound of broken swords, clanging meaninglessly in scabbards fastened loosely around protruding waists.
I’m finding little use this morning in attempting to recount for yet another day the perils of my health conditions. Rain is in the offing for this morning and colder temperatures follow behind that. Even if I weren’t on chemo and my head wasn’t screaming this would still not be a day likely to etch itself into my memories for any good or pleasurable reason. Brief respite is given by those familiars who look on silently, rubbing a nuzzle against my hand, not conscious of the aid they provide. My shirt, pulled fresh from my closet this morning, is already covered with hair that is not mine, making me a walking allergen.
G came home from school excited about a D&D campaign he is planning for his friends to enjoy come January. His dreams are lofty and to achieve them I’ve recommended the works of Huxley and Asimov so that he needn’t reinvent what has already been so beautifully created. Alas, those volumes that were once on my shelves are no more. I am continually mystified at how pages filled with ink can disappear into some special ether that consumes nothing but that which I most urgently desire to read.
Tipper gleefully announced her intention to spend Black Friday in the company of her boyfriend. Their intent is to visit a Hot Topic at one of the remaining malls in the area. They are employing a strategy that assumes waiting until the afternoon when more eager shoppers have exhausted themselves, will provide them with greater access. He has promised to buy her whatever it is that she desires. I am hopeful that what she desires is on sale.
Familial lives change around me without my interference. I am of little use to any of them except as a source to share their syncopated excitements. As they grow into their own experiences I am freed to spend my time on other goals if only my body would consummate the intentions of my mind.
Perhaps the news of the day should worry me more. Does a television doctor threaten the health and wellness of my future? Will one steeped in the art of frivolous deception steer education into a mythological abyss? Can the assemblage of a privileged few threaten the humanity of those our ancestors embraced? Malfeasance has a short life and its demise is hastened with the raising of our voices. Are the streets not ours? The wind carries our objections and determination in gigabyte packages to audiences whose faces we never see. Political pyramids topple from the vibrations of marching feet today as surely as did the mythical walls of Jericho yield to the stomping and shouting of homeless nomads in antiquity. Even under perceived threat, our lives, your lives, are more powerful than the heated words of a company whose foundation is pretense.
All prayers are meaningless when there is no deity to hear them. No deity ever conceived gives an ear to the desires of hate. My love for you is infinitely stronger than imagined characters formed by willful ignorance. Your love for each other, open and unapologetic, demolishes the fear-fueled diatribes of those who clutch pearls in the shadow of a temple, a mosque, or a cross. Stand up. Clothe yourselves in flags of your own making. Set foot to the demolition of abhorrent attitudes and loathsome schemes.
Who can stop a nation whose will is to love as one loves without boundary or exclusion? One cannot make a mortar of hate. What is formed of execration crumbles like dust. Stand up. Blow your horns and stomp your feet with pride and defiance. The graves waiting to be filled will not hold you but the corpses of those whose faces turn orange as they scream into the winter wind.
Stand the fuck up. No one has put your feet in cement. The visions of threats are nothing more than a mirage. Your voice cannot be silenced. Your humanity cannot be defeated. If love does conquer all then all shall fall before you. Stand. Move. Yell. Scream. Defeat.
And do not bother to lay a wreath at the grave of hate.
What, then, shall we make of today if it comes to us bearing nothing but trouble, sacks full of heartache, luggage with nothing but wrinkled misery? Do we confine ourselves to the pinhole vision of old men and bitter women teetering on the cusp of death, or do we dig for them their graves so that we might gleefully push them in and cover their decay with dirt? Is there any good found while cowering in fear? Rather, let us take to the feeble a battle they are unable to fight; for the noise they make is the sound of broken swords, clanging meaninglessly in scabbards fastened loosely around protruding waists.
I’m finding little use this morning in attempting to recount for yet another day the perils of my health conditions. Rain is in the offing for this morning and colder temperatures follow behind that. Even if I weren’t on chemo and my head wasn’t screaming this would still not be a day likely to etch itself into my memories for any good or pleasurable reason. Brief respite is given by those familiars who look on silently, rubbing a nuzzle against my hand, not conscious of the aid they provide. My shirt, pulled fresh from my closet this morning, is already covered with hair that is not mine, making me a walking allergen.
G came home from school excited about a D&D campaign he is planning for his friends to enjoy come January. His dreams are lofty and to achieve them I’ve recommended the works of Huxley and Asimov so that he needn’t reinvent what has already been so beautifully created. Alas, those volumes that were once on my shelves are no more. I am continually mystified at how pages filled with ink can disappear into some special ether that consumes nothing but that which I most urgently desire to read.
Tipper gleefully announced her intention to spend Black Friday in the company of her boyfriend. Their intent is to visit a Hot Topic at one of the remaining malls in the area. They are employing a strategy that assumes waiting until the afternoon when more eager shoppers have exhausted themselves, will provide them with greater access. He has promised to buy her whatever it is that she desires. I am hopeful that what she desires is on sale.
Familial lives change around me without my interference. I am of little use to any of them except as a source to share their syncopated excitements. As they grow into their own experiences I am freed to spend my time on other goals if only my body would consummate the intentions of my mind.
Perhaps the news of the day should worry me more. Does a television doctor threaten the health and wellness of my future? Will one steeped in the art of frivolous deception steer education into a mythological abyss? Can the assemblage of a privileged few threaten the humanity of those our ancestors embraced? Malfeasance has a short life and its demise is hastened with the raising of our voices. Are the streets not ours? The wind carries our objections and determination in gigabyte packages to audiences whose faces we never see. Political pyramids topple from the vibrations of marching feet today as surely as did the mythical walls of Jericho yield to the stomping and shouting of homeless nomads in antiquity. Even under perceived threat, our lives, your lives, are more powerful than the heated words of a company whose foundation is pretense.
All prayers are meaningless when there is no deity to hear them. No deity ever conceived gives an ear to the desires of hate. My love for you is infinitely stronger than imagined characters formed by willful ignorance. Your love for each other, open and unapologetic, demolishes the fear-fueled diatribes of those who clutch pearls in the shadow of a temple, a mosque, or a cross. Stand up. Clothe yourselves in flags of your own making. Set foot to the demolition of abhorrent attitudes and loathsome schemes.
Who can stop a nation whose will is to love as one loves without boundary or exclusion? One cannot make a mortar of hate. What is formed of execration crumbles like dust. Stand up. Blow your horns and stomp your feet with pride and defiance. The graves waiting to be filled will not hold you but the corpses of those whose faces turn orange as they scream into the winter wind.
Stand the fuck up. No one has put your feet in cement. The visions of threats are nothing more than a mirage. Your voice cannot be silenced. Your humanity cannot be defeated. If love does conquer all then all shall fall before you. Stand. Move. Yell. Scream. Defeat.
And do not bother to lay a wreath at the grave of hate.
Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
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