Saturday, September 25, 2004

I'm in Montana now. Left Olympia yesterday at 4 p.m. and drove ten hours here. This afternoon I spent time with Grandma and massaged her feet and legs. She just moved into an assisted living center and I can tell that she's scared she might be on the verge of death or something. I think she's just a little ill from some bad drugs she took recently. She needs a physical therapist, though, to help get her body working properly again. I'll try to rub her feet and legs every day this week and encourage her to drink lots of water.

I drove her to the Charlo Viking High School Varsity game at 7:30-- she was dizzy but managed to hang in there until the end of the game, which happened to be an exciting one! Bo, my first cousin, is the team's quarterback, and he threw two touchdowns and ran for a third. They beat Noxon 20-14. Jake, Bo's younger brother, also made an appearance. He's a freshman, though, so he only gets a few minutes.

I'm staying at my friends', Tom and Karin's, house tonight. Karin and I were ruminating on the bewildering ill-mysticism of Dubya and the Neocons. This nation is being hypnotized by something. What, what, what we ask... Perhaps fear-- that tragic unmagic anti-aphrodesiac? Perhaps psychic exhaustion from killjoy occupations? The debts we incrue and the stresses that ensue? Guilt from centuries of racist rationalizations? Unacknowledged antisemitism? Internalized loathing? Unexamined inferiority complexes? The preference of the quick-fix (pills, scapegoats, murder) over counseling/meditation/flower essences? Television without vision? Clogged arteries, chakras, airwaves? Ingrained imperialism? Time-released amnesia? Christianity minus the mulleted Jew who liked to raise hell with arrogant Empire Makers? I mean, wtf?

Who are these fugly architects of war? These wizardly channel-changers? These cowardly corporate clowns? These maniacal, suburban bloggaholics?

...they are you and I, of course, and we're as much to blame as the sheistiest hypocrite hypnotist in Washington if we don't figure something out soon, soon, soon--

and do it with joy, joy, joy--

and make it last, last, last--

and remember, remember, remember--

that life is cool, cool, cool--

and so are wee, wee, wee!

...All the way home.

(On the count of "three" you will climb out of your sleeping bag and march to the local convenience store for coffee and a banana.)

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Chris- Shawn here, you and your grandma have been in my thoughts. Just wanted to let you know, and I failed to tell you before you left, this poem has been pulling me onto my feet when I'm on my knees. Take care.