watching sarah palin and completely losnig my shit on her stance on the “culture of life.”
did it ever occur to these republicans that pro-choice is more in-line with their conservative values?
here’s why: the vast majority of abortions are performed on women in their early teens to mid twenties living in metropolitain areas. they are not financially indepedent and most likely because of their lack of a college education will not be after they bring a baby to term.
here we go, child born into unwanted household to parents, or rather PARENT of limited means. even worse, child goes into foster care. who subsidizes foster care, the government. abortion gets outlawed, more kids into the system. but not unwanted rich babies. people of means would simply leave the country to have the procedure performed elsewhere.
so now we’re left with unwanted babies being born to poor, working class teen/early twenty year olds in metropolitain areas of limited means and limited education. how are they going to support these children? ah, they ask for help, help from whom? the government.
so now we got single parents on welfare, children in foster care, and the government determining where these children should stay, how they should live. children in foster care tend to remain institutionalized in one way or another: mental, juvenile, correctional, etc.
more government oversight, regulation and bureaucracy.
how the fuck is this in-line with the touted fiscal conservatism of the republicans?
Category Archives: words
best bet tied
yakkity yak, here’s a smack, right across the face, did you like that? did you want more? no, no, no. tie them fucking hands up, shall we? you have no rights here, you are nothing here other than skin, bruised fucking meat, you’re my motherfucking punching bag. strain all you want, curse me, spit me, wriggle as hard as you can. it just makes me harder, makes my tighten my fucking fists. your best bet is to go limp. your best bet is to roll with it. your best bet is i get tired before i start on your fucking bones.
straining
the straining of leaves and I felt like we were in the fifties but awoke to an infomercial of supported breasts and an advanced push bra. it’s all over again and the ache stretches through the bones until it clamors in the mouth, drying up the spit and withering the gum. every action should have a consequence else we find ourselves drunk and disorderly, fumbling our keys trying to break into our own homes.
the lies that bind
We are constantly saying things we do not mean: I’m fine, we’re all fine, I hate you, I miss you, I love you. We say them to fill up space, we say them because we are afraid of the repercussions of piercing the veil, of looking behind the curtain. It’s the lies that hold this world together, that bind us into a false sense of security. Because we know there is no wizard, we’ve become too old to believe in magic, we’ve become snugly accustomed to not being ourselves.
anything at all
every confession contains within itself denial: we were all pretending. in the night, nothing helps, every utterance digs you deeper, you are more lost than ever. she looks at you, searching for who you once were. you tell her, this is nothing new, this is who i’ve always been. she whispers, maybe you can ask your mother to stop working, she can help out with the kids…
i never should have told you anything. i never should’ve said anything at all.
against inspiration
If you make it a matter of inspiration, nothing ever gets done, you’ll get no where.
It needs to be a force of will, you to be disciplined, you meed to do.
And sometimes, after a line or two of utter garbage something will come: something wondrous, monstrous, something that will you inspire you.
But most of the time it will be nonsense, it will be incoherent and unsalvageable.
However, ever present, the gnawing still, “one chance each time.”
denial
she says to me,
last year we were like all our other friends, we were happy.
and i cannot stand it, i cannot stand the smell of me, i cannot stand the fact that i breathe, that i can hold the steering wheel and not spin out of control, all the self-hate isn’t enough to end it all.
is it cold?
-here, he said, wiped the dribble of her chin. ok, let’s try again.
-dad?
-yes?
-where are we?
-we are here.
-is it cold here?
-it can be. but not always. mostly, mostly it’s-
-sad. it’s cold and sad here daddy.
-no it isn’t. don’t say that. you shouldn’t be saying that.
-but look. she points out the window, rain sweeps the street, a neighbor runs from their car to their driveway. no one parks in their driveway.
-that’s just rain.
-but it’s cold.
-yes, he hugs her, yes i guess it can be.
needing past
The trick is to run past the rabbit hole, to keep moving, to keep alive. You are not alive when you are alone: you are only breathing. The presence of others, of talking, touching, holding, being needed, this is living. It’s a certain kind of box, a certain kind of definition. And although it eats at you, their needs, their words, their beckoning, it gives you shape, it keeps you moving, keeps you breathing past that rabbit hole, keeps you from falling in.
they get away
matters of confusion from delving into the pain. we all weep wonders. and there the significance: his yowl, her ache, the crack in their mother’s spine, their father’s immutable impatience. how thorny, pricks of the skin, she tousles the sheets, wraps herself into suffocating and roaches crawl across newly stained wood floors, skittering legs that slip and slide with little traction. but they get away, they get away.