My Cardboard Balcony

Well. This has been a crazy end of the week. Not just because of select health issues. Not just because of the holiday season (I did enjoy decorating the tree, obviously). Not just because of my work. But also because of how scary the world and the people in it can really be. I want to take the time to ask everyone reading to pray for the families who have lost loved ones in the horrid Connecticut school shooting. Twenty children were killed, out of twenty-seven deaths total. Twenty. Most of them not even older than five years old. Parents will never be able to celebrate Christmas with them again. Families will never be the same. The town will never be the same. I don't want to flood anyone with my thoughts on how we treat both gun control and mental illness in this country - I have loads to say, especially regarding my inability to understand why guns are so awesome to people and why we stigmatize sick people who need help so much. I just want to focus on the deceased. They ne...

Bourgeoisie by Belinda Roddie We are among the bourgeoisie They’re just like you but they’re not like me With gold on their hips and wine on their lips They’re lost in a 20s fantasy They don’t come to grips and they never pay tips They remain in a bloated revelry We are among the bourgeoisie They pluck all the fruit from each poor man’s tree Which then they devour while the lower ones glower And leave behind bitter memories While the rich own the hour and the prettiest flower They could even lease each other’s dreams We are among the bourgeoisie They’re just like you but they’re not like me They remain in a bloated revelry The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since July 9th, 2007.

Living is easy when there are no guns. No guns with six or more bullets in their skulls. No guns with iron teeth biting into your calf. Your thigh. Your groin. Your pelvis. Your stomach. Your heart. Your brain. Gray matter spoiled and rotten like curdled milk. Ending your love-filled existence. Twenty dead. All children. And yet people validate these monsters. So you like your guns. Why? Bobby likes fire. But if he plays with it, it’s called arson. Fair enough. Jessie likes knives. But if she plays with them, it’s considered dangerous. Very accurate. Henry throws rocks at birds. He’s put down for being cruel. Which is true. And yet as soon as someone whips out a Glock or a semi-automatic, by God, will people tell you to never, ever question their freedoms. We actually give intellectual credit for people who think that carrying around a machine solely designed to kill is a privilege to be taken seriously. People who think the solution to the deaths of twenty children in Connecticut is t...