I recently turned 42 and while I didn't pay much attention to it at the time, I've begun to reflect on my life. (Every 5 years or so I look back on my life and I have a good laugh. yeah, sometimes I think in lyrics.) I've come to a few conclusions; the most disturbing to me is that over the last few years I've become a bit misanthropic. Ok, maybe I've become a flaming misanthrope and I don't think I am happy about that. I also wonder when that happened. I mean I used to enjoy meeting new people and making new friends. Now, I can count on one hand the number of people I enjoy spending time with and even then only on a limited basis. What the fuck happened to me?
For the last week or so I had tried to pinpoint when this change occurred when a cd I had ordered arrived. I popped it into my computer and listened to it while working on my business plan and talking with a friend of my son's. As this piece began Fergie (my son's friend and one of my adopted kids) asked what I was listening to. Up until this point I hadn't really paid any attention to the songs, it was just background music. After she left I replayed the cd from the beginning and paid attention to the spoken word piece she had asked about. I couldn't believe my ears! The cd is an official bootleg by Ani DiFranco that was recorded on April 6th, 2002 at Carnegie Hall, less than 7 months after the attack on New York. The poem is entitled Self Evident (words to follow).
I have to say I am surprised that she wasn't arrested by this corrupt administration for treason or some shit for this performance, isn't that sad? I am surprised that an artist was not arrested for speaking out. But, I remember being called a traitor by friends & family for espousing many of the same views. I remember saying to my girlfriend in 2000 "If GW Bush is elected we should move to Australia or something and come home after he's gone. That is, if we have a country to come home to." I was joking at the time and even though I was afraid of what our country would turn into I never could've predicted the horror show that was to follow.
As I sat and listened to her words it dawned on me when my hate affair with the human race began, sometime around October, 2001. Around the same time our elected (and non-elected) leaders were linking 9/11 to Iraq. Around the same time our so-called Fourth Estate was busy drawing tenuous links between Saddam and Osama, (even though it was well known that the two men despised each other) claiming they were "in on it together." No one was asking any questions, we were told to question was to be a terrorist, unpatriotic, America haters. If anyone did dare to ask a question of substance they were shouted down, berated, told to move to Iraq, etc.
Religious leaders were saying that we were attacked because God had lifted his protective shield from our country because of the queers, pagans, feminists and secularists. Fuck me running! I am a queer feminist pagan secularist, I am so screwed. I have no protective shield!
Anyway…back then I didn't hear anyone asking the questions I wanted answers to…so I stopped asking. I stopped watching the MSM news and when my old dinosaur of a computer died in early 2004 I opted to not replace it. I went into a self-imposed exile and worked at not connecting with other humans. This is not to say that I stopped meeting people completely or making an occasional new friend, I did. But I no longer developed those relationships into anything deep or meaningful (with a few rare exceptions.)
I finally replaced my computer last April and started blogging shortly thereafter at the urging of my best friend who runs the friggin' cat house, as you can see I haven't done that much. Partially because I had no clue (and still don't) what to write about, even now as I read over what I just wrote I am not sure I will post it. But the main reason is, for me, writing is a way of connecting and I didn't want to connect. I would write to connect to me, to find those places that were damaged and needed healing. I would write to find those places that weren't damaged and in need of healing so I could celebrate them. Sometimes I would just write a random thought, a line from a song that struck me (read most of my blog headers) or a sappy love poem (yeah, it's happened…once). I learned about myself when I wrote, I connected.
I haven't done much writing in the last few years. That will change, whether y'all get to read that remains to be seen.
Thank you, Ani for reminding me how powerful words can be.
Self Evident – Ani DiFranco
yes, yes, yes, yes,
us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes,
rushing down the long hall
despite what the p.a. announcement says
yes,
rushing down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there
it's part of a pair
there on the bow of noah's ark
the most prestigious couple
just kicking back parked
against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific
in its indian summer breeze
on the day that america
fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century
without saying thank you
or please
and the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punchline
cuz we were all on time for work that day
we all boarded that plane for to fly
and then while the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky
and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war
than anything i've seen so far
so far
so far
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on
and i'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the pentagon
you can keep the propaganda
you can keep each and every tv
that's been trying to convince me
to participate
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution
even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from hell's kitchen to brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories
sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters
with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowin'
like never before
as all over the country
folks just shake their heads
and pour
so here's a toast to all the folks that live in palestine
afghanistan
iraq
el salvador
here's a toast to all the folks living on the pine ridge reservation
under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore
here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors
who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city
just to listen a young woman's voice
here's a toast to all those folks on death row right now
awaiting the executioner's guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream
cuz take away our playstations
and we are a third world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son
who stole the oval office and that phony election
i mean
it don't take a weatherman
to look around and see the weather
jeb said he'd deliver florida
and boy did he ever
and we hold these truths to be self evident:
#1 george w bush is not president
#2 america is not a true democracy
and #3 the media is not fooling me
cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation
i've got no room for a lie so verbose
i'm looking out over my whole human family
and i'm raising my glass in a toast
here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
may we vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
and the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges
and we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
i dream of touring like duke ellington
in my own railroad car
i dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face
give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally
and relearn how to rock and roll
yes,
the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there
so it's time to pick through the streets, clean the streets
clear the air
it's time to get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand
of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants
quit the hypocritical chants of
freedom forever
cuz when one lone phone rang
in two thousand and one
at ten after nine
on nine one one
which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that the whole world turned
just to watch it fall
and while we're at it
remember the first time around?
the bomb?
the ryder truck?
the parking garage?
the princess that didn't even feel the pea?
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue d?
can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design
following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?
it was a joke
at the time
and that was just a few years ago
so let the record show
that the fbi was all over that case
that the plot was obvious and in all of our face
and scoping that scene
religiously
the cia
or is it kgb?
committing countless crimes against humanity
with this kind of eventuality
as its excuse
for abuse after expensive abuse
and they didn't have a clue
look,
another window to see through
way up here
on the 104th floor
look,
another key
another door
10% literal
90% metaphor
3000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too perfect day
must be more than pawns
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job
and it's my job
to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain
sssshhhh
listen
hear the train?