On Love

I wonder was the first prose for love. Even if the oldest known sample of the word is not on love the theme is so rampant in subsequent works surely the case can be made there is a most ancient amorous piece to be found. In truth we can never know for certain. But we know why. Every creature old enough to love has pined for it before they achieved it. And save for those few lucky enough to pass before their first deprivation, all know its loss. Some losses pull more than others.

She was crazy as those cold autumn winds, her sentiments like swirling leaves. Reason was the stone wall they spun into and up against but they never fell back to ground. Yes, she was ill but I’m not well myself and I suppose the madness between us played a part in both the draw and the break. Still, I miss her and that’s what it’s all about isn’t it? A lover can beat us and burn us but when it’s over we don’t feel the stinging. We just remember our face in their hair or their back to our stomach or their smile before our eyes. We breathe the absence of their breath.

It’s a new season and the perspective granted by time and distance gives as much umbrage and ache as comfort. I see her transgressions more clearly. What was once a suspicion is now a very operational theory and waits for confirmation. If it comes, it too will bring equal parts suffering and solace. Most of all I wonder. We do that don’t we? We wonder what they’re doing now.

We see them curled on the couch or with their hair running across a pillow. They stand in jeans before the dresser or a business suit on a city sidewalk. Smiling, crying, laughing, sneering, roaring.

I do not wonder was the first prose for love.

Got Blood?

Gandhi was an idiot. His declaration that ‘an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind’ is perhaps the epitome of absurdity. It assumes half of the planet is going around stabbing the other half in the face. Twice.

So why is it repeated so often? There is a fear woven into our societal construct which has us
convinced our reality is cantilevered over a chaotic hell and that the only thing holding us to function is punishment. It is a fear that without fear everything breaks down. Science has proven this wrong and it is widely held, even by many who insist on a system rooted in vengeance, that reward is the better manipulator of behavior.

Yet right now, in the wake of the NYC crane collapse, there are two questions on the minds of construction workers, whom will hang and for how long? Seven dead, several injured and no intent considered. Even so, it is almost certain there will be arrest and jail time.

The idea of criminal negligence is at play and raises the question of what exactly makes negligence criminal. Were a person to have a car accident in which someone is killed, it is rare (barring accidents involving substance abuse) criminal charges are even considered. Perhaps it is because we feel the person in the other car was partly at fault. Perhaps it is because there is no one to charge whom has not already been victimized by the accident. We already have our pound of flesh.

When there are survivors whom are unscathed, the spectators taste blood in the water. Whether it is the owner of a company, or a man who slung a load, or a cop who could not see clearly in the dark, people want justice. If there is no crime, they will make one out of tragedy. No victim, no crime. Victim? Crime.

Make no mistake; there is a place for criminal negligence. Where a person acts with depraved indifference for profit or other motive, when that person knew well the odds and made a conscious choice to disregard consequence, that person must pay.

When the desire for punishment is a greater motivation than the desire for justice, we are in the land of the sadist. It is in sadism that injustice flourishes.

Hell is a Karaoke Bar

If it’s true that people are often given the choice of being a slave in heaven or a star in hell, when your turn comes, choose wisely. At ten o’clock in bars all across our country, failed musicians and drunken patrons grab hold of a microphone and MC or compete (Oh make no mistake, it is a competition.) to be the one whose karaoke skills woo dozens. Has-beens hosting never-beens.

There will be girls exhaling, old men ogling young women, and college men saying they love each other… man. On stage will be a guy who thinks he’s funny or a woman who has “stage personality.” The performers run the gamut from people with no confidence who ham it up, to those who think they’re incredible (they aren’t,) to those who are genuinely good, to those who, regardless of their vocal ability, take it all way to seriously.

At the bar there’s a couple going through a circus-like drama. You don’t want to hear it, but you can’t turn away. In a few moments they’ll get up and sing “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” together.

On your other side is a middle-aged woman who is unbelievably hot. You know this because she’s telling you so. She tells you she’s unavailable. You can’t have her even though you want her so badly. You must, she’s just told you so. Try all you want, she’s not going to sleep with you. You know how this will end. She fills out a request slip for “Don’t You Want Me Baby.”

At the end of the bar is the girl from last summer. You’re embarrassed to be talking to the woman next to you, but you can’t walk away without the summer girl thinking you want to make yourself available to her. If you stay, she’ll assume talking to the soon-to-be grandmother is some pathetic attempt to make her jealous. You hope Summer Girl leaves soon. She gets up and sings “These Boots Were Made for Walkin’.”

Next, an old fellow gets up and sings Britney Spears. (Not bad actually.) A high school student with a fake ID sings Sinatra. (He oversells it.) A longhair with white cowboy boots sings Ozzy. (He totally shreds. Gets up on a chair and everything.)

You leave with the super hot unavailable chick. Ah, salvation. Drunken fools seeking out a piece of pleasure in a tortured night. The door breaks open and together you fall into her war zone of an apartment. (Thank god she can’t see yours.) She asks if you want a drink or something to eat. No. Want to talk? (Great, here come the hoops.) No. Are you just here for sex? Yes. Told what a pig you are, you get up and leave. Halfway down the stairs she calls you back. The cat poops on the coffee table and you have to wait for her to clean up. (The table and the cat.)

Sex.

The sun is rising and you walk home, taking white smoke into your lungs and tasting it wisp back out over your tongue. There is a desperately unkempt apartment, a hangover, and a distant sense of regret waiting for you a block away. Why do you do this to yourself?
Someone has to be Satan laughing with delight.

In Defense of Deception

Politics is inherently dishonest. It’s like life that way. The trick is for a person to be honest with themselves. What seems to bring people down is their ability to believe their own lies. Barack Obama may well survive the comments of his pastor because he knows exactly where the reverend’s beliefs separate from his own. Where he chooses to place his truth should largely be up to the public. After all, we’ll only see what we want anyway.

However, Mr. Obama has displayed an impressive ability to speak honestly about that which normally is so inflammatory, it is largely avoided by others. The obvious exception is when a person uses the issue against one they feel clearly is inferior to themselves in terms of record. Think Larry Craig.

The truth is we are all guilty of lying. We tell one boss one thing and another boss the opposite because the first boss cannot handle the truth or doesn’t remember their own lie. We neglect to tell our spouse about an expense to protect them from their own anxiety. We tell ourselves that our also being protected from that anxiety doesn't play into it. A candidate is dishonest about that which does not matter because that which does not matter seems to be all that matters. Clinton lied! Clinton lied! Well, whoop-dee-not-do. Bush lies, who dies? No one. A lie never killed anyone. Choosing to believe it? Maybe.

It falls on us. We have the government we deserve. We go out to the polls to ban a practice that doesn’t exist and while we’re there vote against a man who lied about something once. We’ll vote for a man who is honest about who he is. He doesn’t pretend to be a war hero when he’s not. He’s a real life cowboy, from Connecticut.

So how does this happen? How is it that we pick and choose the phony we find okay? How do we decide to believe the right lies? Does character matter? Define character.

What we seem to care about is that these people are better than we are. That’s character. And once we’ve bought that lie, we hate to be let down. So we deceive ourselves. McCain’s a hero, so vote for him. Heroism is what matters. It wont help with the economy or change the fact that he doesn't have a clue about the dynamics of the war he's running on, but maybe if we try hard enough we can fool the creditors into believing the money's comming in and convince the Shia they love the Sunni. Hillary’s the tough, go-getting, sensitive, caring, tough as nails, tried and true, invested, honest, nurturing fighter. We all decided on that, or at least one of those, a long time ago. We can’t stop now.

Lie to everyone else. To thine own self be true.