Sunday, August 20, 2006

Living Way Beyond Brave

Cindy Sheehan knows that place, where part of you is ripped away, and it won't ever come back, or heal over. When Bush drafts my young son and kills him in the desert I'll have a room like hers. When he does it to your child, you'll have a room at the end of the world.

But I'll never call her brave for living on after landing in that place. I know she simply had no choice, and the sun kept coming up, and she's still here. It's a place where being brave falls by the wayside pretty early on, insufficient to the challenges presented. Truth is, there are human states of mind way beyond brave, and that is where cripples learn to live, afterwards.
This has everything to do with Mr. Bush, and whether he's fallen off the wagon or not.
For he is a cripple. He has no heart, no human feelings for other human beings. It never grew in. It's twelve sizes too small. Alone on the stage in his mind, everyone else and everything else are props in a lifelong play about him, only him. He's the only real person in the world. And so he plays with real people like boys play with little green soldiers, crashing waves of men upon one another, and making explosions with their mouths and minds.
Our concern is that he is not in control of himself while he is largely in control of our country. What harm he does to our nation while he plays with soldiers and follows the scripts put in front of him by his handlers is amusement to Bush; it is of no real interest or concern to him. It is to us.
That country he's set fire to? That's the one we were going to give to our kids.

A drunk is a person who flees immediate reality because they find it too painful to abide. Whether they flee by chemical means -- or by a contrived structure of mental, emotional, social, religious and physical supports that let them live in fantasy -- is entirely incidental and secondary.

Make a wet drunk dry or make a dry drunk wet -- you've still done nothing about the drunk. You haven't touched the crippled part, and you haven't put them in charge of their own inner life.
You've labeled them wet or dry, clucked over them a bit, and left them acting out and avoiding their windowless room. In Bush's case, acting out on a world stage. Literally, he'll start a nuclear war rather than examine himself.

(Boy does he come by it genetically).

Our nation is in a dance of death with a madman. Just as the high court of King Louis at Versailles held fanciful balls far into the night while hundreds of thousands starved in the villages of France, King George is acting out his hatred and fear and loathing for himself, his father and his mother with our young men and women in Iraq.
Bush will invade Syria and Iran next, if he is not stopped by his handlers or others -- it won't be his choice not to nuke them. He'll have to be stopped or talked out of it. He is acting out his rage and fear upon a world stage, and we are all helping him do it by pretending he is up in the polls or down in the polls week by week, or he is a wet drunk or a dry drunk today, or he is a lame duck or a strong leader with a mandate this year.
There is only death and destruction and misery and hunger and poverty and pain and sorrow down the road Mr. Bush is walking on. He is making a room at the end of the world for each one of us.
Don't go there with him. Be brave. Make your choice while you still have it.

The text for this particular blog is largely excerpted from the Daily Kos blog


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