Keep an eye out. I have much to write about in the upcoming days. Schiavo. A Terrible Love of War. My Brother. H.L. and the weight of the world. I will be back shortly.

with breath,
m

Quote of the Day.

"O my friends,
the greatest americans
have not been born yet
they are waiting patiently
for the past
to die"

Saul Williams, from ", said the shotgun to the head."

Support our Troops.

In many ways that sign has become the signature phrase to suggest your level of patriotism. I struggle with those words, not because I do not "support" the troops, but I question what exactly am I supporting? Am I supporting the slaughtering of innocent civilians, the rounding up of Iraqi men and boys, whether guilty or innocent, the war we should not be fighting, the evil of war, whether it be for "democracy" (they hate our freedom) or some other religious/political end, or am I supporting the troops who are victims of a coursing evil that is festering in their bloodstream? What exactly am I supporting?

I think I'm supporting the troops by wanting the war to end -- IMMEDIATELY -- wanting the troops home now. That's support. Getting them out of harm's way. Getting everyone out of harm's way. That's support. Support is NOT cheering them on when more and more Iraqis are being slain. Support is NOT feeling thankful when only Iraqi death numbers go up. That is not support.

And what about how war and boredom seize these young men and women? How do we handle that in our support? How do we deal with the abuse our soldiers afflict on Iraqi prisoners? How do we support the deterioration of life's value during war times? How do we support innocent lives, human and animal, being slaughtered?

I am enclosing a quote from a soldier who is describing what he and other soldiers did for fun when they weren't being shot at by Iraqi soldiers.

"Hi my name is M. D. Formally of A TRP 1-10 CAV 4ID and while in Iraq we had a sport of killing dogs whenever the Iraqis werent shooting us. So when I shot this one at about 50 yards with my M4 and it ran yelping to lower ground, we had to finish it so my friends and I went to it and started shooting it. I ve never seen a dog take as many shots to the head at least 4 as this one did and then after we thought it was dead we dug a hole and when I picked it up with the shovel it came back to life, so we shot it a couple more times....its pretty funny."

This soldier is making reference to a video clip shot with him and other soldiers shooting a dog, a harmless dog. I have been privy to the video, but I will not disclose the source. It's too disturbing, too tragic, NOT "pretty funny." I suspect that these troops would not be shooting dogs for sport if they weren't in a war setting, but war has an insidious nature, robbing individuals of moral fiber. There is no morality in war. War is savage and because you may dress it with elegant language, it does not remove its festering deterioration of humanity. I do not speak these words as judgment, I would be subjected to the same disregard. I would kill and torture for sport. I would pluck eyes and noses. I would carve my tag on dead bodies I have killed. I would do all of this because this is WAR. I would be no better or worse than anyone involved. I avoid war because it is impossible not to be affected by its viral transmission, its disease. Beheading is no more evil than shooting someone in the head or heart. Rape is no more evil than sexual humilation, testicles attached to electrodes. And be assured of this, it is only a matter of time before we start hearing the reports of soldiers raping Iraqi women. Mark my words. Only a matter of time.

And please don't insult your intelligence by suggesting that these men are only doing what they are doing because of what is being done to them. Don't you realize that just because you've been oppressed, that it will never give you the right to become the oppressor?

I support my troops. I support them in their journey of becoming evolved. In their journey when they will put down their weapons and realize their responsibility to humanity. I support all troops in this mission. I support all troops in missions of peace. Those are the troops I support.

THIS IS MY SUPPORT

It's 1:06 am this Monday morning and Brian Nichols is in custody. Brian Nichols who murdered the judge, clerk, agent, and officer. There was a host of people who applauded his capture, some out of relief, some out of anger. And sadness filled me once again.

I heard some people who knew him say that they were shocked by what he did. They didn't know how he could have done what he did. There were no warning signs.

In days to come, I am certain we will be made to know all of the supposed warning signs, from security to shanks; from rape to restrictions; from imprisonment to feeling free. How could it happen?

It started a long time ago. Long before his jail time for rape charges. Long before he turned 21. Long before there even seemed to be a trace of this calculation. My heart goes out to all on this Winters night.

I am truly sad and cannot sleep . . .

Brian Nichols' story goes back. How could it happen? It could happen because of all the times he fought to be heard, and was met with criticism and silence. It happened because people failed him along the way. Because the system failed him. Because family failed him. Because he bought lies instead of truths. Because I failed him. Because we all failed him. Because he was destined to meet Ashley Smith. Because God loves him, and God's compassion goes beyond our mere sensibility, our limited capacity.

It happened because we live in a world where messages are confused, and tragedy and patriotism are discrete lovers. Because Brian Nichols believes he's a soldier and soldiers kill for a higher purpose. Because Brian Nichols was under orders. Because war is savagery. Because war is noble. Because that's what he was told by WE, you and me, those friends, those loved ones, our president. Because we are all prisoners, and sometimes we just want to feel normal; to have pancakes baked for us; to take a shower; to put down our guns; to feel loved; to feel normal. To live.

Because Ashley Smith showed more bravery than hate, more love than fear. Because she reminded us of what it means to be human, stripped from the right and wrong, devoid of judgment, free to touch heart to heart, soul to soul. Because Ashley Smith cared. All the guns in the world, all the snipers on tall buildings, all the manhunts, all the hate fueled bullets being chambered could not bring that kind of redemption. Because Ashley Smith cared. Because Ashley Smith gave a damn.

I am saddened tonight because lives have been lost and prayer is a foreign sound on my tongue, echoing repeatedly in the passage ways of my mind, because I need to care, and cry for Brian Nichols. Cry for that small child who dreamed about one day being something great, something beautiful. Cry for that small child: so bright, so aware. Cry for that teenager who started to harden, made aware of imperfections, fitted on the masks, adjusting them into a smirk, a scowl, false resilience. Cry for the man who questionably raped. Cry for his prison self, forgotten by all of us who pray and don't pray. Cry for the man who sat in Ashley Smith's apartment, not recognizing the man who did those horrible killings. Cry. Then cry again. Cry that he was once held as a screaming baby, so much potential, so much innocence. Cry that life raped him. Cry as I cry now.

And once the tears sting, once when you can taste the salt pellets, once when you can feel some softness in your heart, once when you are ready to recognize that there but for the mercy of God and Life's arms go you and I, once when you see yourself in Brian's sad eyes, once when you can see his pain, her fear, his life, her wisdom, his desire, her daughter, his hope, our life, then shall you pray. Not just for the families who lost loved ones, but pray for all. Pray for the trial. Pray for Brian. Pray for Ashley. Pray for the laughing children of today. Pray for the terrorized children of tomorrow. Pray for this country. Pray for this world. Pray for peace, for we have enough soldiers dying and killing for projected, honorable and dishonarable wars. Pray for you. Pray for me. Pray for us all. But above all else: PRAY. With chants like weapons. With love like bombs. With hope like a new dawn caressing us, like dust to dust. With a simple thanks. With pleas that hang like the small chatter of spring mornings. With the words: I love . . .

How I felt on My 34th Birthday . . .

Perhaps the simplest way to describe how i felt on my birthday would be the lyrics of Billy Squier.




Billy Squier Lyrics - Nobody Knows Lyrics


I may get around...I may laugh alot...Now you'd think that I'd be happy with the life I got
Nobody knows...nobody sees

Ain't nobody really knows the inner side o'me...I may seem secure...I could have it made...You might think you see a lucky man who made the grade

Nobody knows what dreams I see

Ain't nobody really sure just who they wanna be...But everybody has a place and time...A chance to live...a need to find

We all got somethin' that we care aboutI propose you find it out...It's not in a book...or a magazine...Or the stars who guide our fortunes on the silver screen

Nobody knows...it's up to me

Ain't nobody who can say it like it outght to be...I see my future at the rainbow's end

Happy hours...timeless friends

And if I ever chance to find my way

Rest assured...I will stay...You may see your life as a compromise

You may live to find the promise dancin' in your eyes

Nobody knows...it's meant to be...Let the magic of the moment say it all to me

Happy Birthday!

To Me!

Happy Birthday,
to
Me

Happy Birth Day
ToMe.

Love,
me

Night falls fast
and sleep buries my eyes

i burst through this scene
reckless, desperate

to save the he and she
him and her, alone

they sit, alone
together, in circle

she has bruised eye
from dad, twice this week

he perfect circle tee shirt
for his perfect circle burns

and the chanting of Jesus
by young preacher boy

seems so out of sensibility
or sensitivity or sense

and they come for the warmth
13, 14, 15 years of age

and the pain keeps coming
but for one day

this day; we stand connected
circles broken only to be reshaped

into a broader circle
and exhaustion takes hold

of my spirit; and i'm just
taking it all in

knowing she might not cut
tonight and he might not

burn tonight; and Jesus
will heal all of us tonight.

I saw this on a website today. It was an anonymous site for secrets, and I thought I'd share this with you. If any of you have an anonymous secret that you would like me to post, you can always send it to my email address: meawicked@yahoo.com. I will not post anyone's name, but I will post any question or issue that I feel I can adequately address. Here's what I saw:

My Beautiful Little Sister, Joy.

Not so little anymore, but still my baby, almost 12 years younger.

Truly Beautiful. I love you Little Boo!
Picture Dis Homey