my mind has changed

I read a story once about a white man and a red man. The story was staged back before cell phones, electricity, and even indoor plumbing. Both the red man and the white man stood together on the bank of a river early in the morning while the fish still jumped for bugs. The red man in a loin cloth. The white man in a soldier’s uniform. From his pocket the white drew out a handkerchief to clean his nasal passages, while the red man clogged one nostril and shot his boogers into the grass of the field. In response to the difference between the two men, the red man said, “you white men save everything don't you?”

We do save everything. And it is a shame that we collect and store pieces of life that aren’t really ours to begin with. And the poor beasts with chains around their necks, why must we enslave them? How many of them have we killed to make us kings and queens? The world wasn’t made to be owned. It was made to be free. It was made to be wild. But here we live taming it, breaking it for our submission. Break free young grasshopper. Charge with the north wind. Ride upon the tsunami that refuses to yield. I am not your master.

score one for justice

Let’s all celebrate because I'm mad at this guy, so I'm going to break that guy's stuff. Even though the guy I am mad at doesn’t even know me, and I don't even know him. But he did hurt someone who lived in a neighborhood a lot like mine. And the kid he shot did happen to rob a place beating someone up in the process. And instead of mentioning that the kid that was shot happened to be stoned, let’s say that he was about to start college even though the kid was really just enrolled at a trade school. And let’s pretended, for a moment, that the kid who was shot happened to be a model citizen and that he really was minding his own business as he thrust his hands in the air screaming, “don't shoot.” Because if we pretend all this, we can also pretend that the guy who killed the kid is a gun wielding maniac, and we the helpless citizens should fear him. And armed with our fear we should fight him by burning to the ground the life's work of another guy.

Poetic justice I believe they call this.

from the outside

He sings as he flies. He sings as he sweeps. He sings as he lives the life of the downcast and trodden. You see he isn’t a bird like the others. He isn’t a raven or crow. He isn’t a cardinal, magpie, robin or sparrow. In fact none of birds who have taken the time to know him can even name him. They place him as separate, a bird meant for a different time, a different place, a different forest where the branches are not nearer to death than to life.

But this bird doesn’t heed them. He doesn’t listen or care. He presses his wings while there’s are ruffled. He dons beads to his feathers instead of the dirt and grime. And he sings his songs with a warmth as if someone other than he was meant to hear them.

From a distant land; from across the ocean; on the side of the world were skies are blue, another bird comes. He, too, doesn’t look like the other birds, and his songs are difficult to understand. But he hears the songs sung by the bird living his life in the dying forest. As he hears the songs of the bird, down cast and trodden, he recognizes the voice, the melodies, the harmony, the warmth. With a gentle brush of his feathers he takes the bird back to his land where the birds of his kind have built a pedestal for the voice of this one bird, downcast and trodden. 

For a time this one bird sings for them, selling out shows once, twice, thirty times. The birds of this land hear him. They cheer, and sing, and praise him. Throughout the forest all the birds sings his songs mimicking his voice the best they can. But after two years, three years, four the bird, downcast and trodden, takes fight giving only a promise to return.

With the world in front of him and with the world behind him, the bird, not quite as downcast and trodden, lands again below the trees of the dying forest, setting himself to sing his songs with a warmth that he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be heard.

find meaning in that

I have a theory on thought, attitudes, opinions, and ideas. I call my theory the Whale Mentality. This entire theory of mine centers around the idea that the whale has no natural predators. The whale in every way is the master of its domain. No matter how bad the shark thinks it is, the whale dominates. Nothing swims faster. Nothing dives deeper. Nothing else can open its mouth and swallow whole populations of marine animals. And another little snit bit about this creature, with its eyes placed, oddly on opposite sides of its head its brain has developed the ability to see, focus, and interpret two difference images at once. The human brain in all its superiority would short circuit under such a proposition. In fact even in having two eyes and inputting to separate images, the human brain forces the two separate images into one fluid image that eliminates the gap that exists within our vision.

And yet, the whale does come with a flaw, a large flaw in fact. With no natural predators the whale has developed a sense of superiority. He can and does look at the world around him as his own person swimming tank. He doesn’t merge in traffic. He doesn’t step aside for old ladies to pass him. He mates where he want. He urinates wherever. Even when he is at his most vulnerable, sitting atop the ocean surface, he says, “I am going to breath my amount of times, and aint nobody going to stop me.” And in his statement lies his weakness. For as he is breathing the harpoon driving sailor saddles up beside him and thrusts his mighty spear through this creature’s skull, puncturing his brain. And if by chance the hunter misses his mark, the whale will not dive. He may swim off, but he will always pause long enough to resume his peaceful breathing; thus giving time for the hunter to retrieve and stab his spear once again. The crutch of the Whale Mentality: if the brute would just dive at the hunter’s first, second, or third appearance there would be no whale killings, no endangered beasts. But alas the Whale Mentality lives, and thrives, refusing to dive. It is sad really.

why don't you go there

America is a very tame place, especially when one looks at our rights of passage. Canada certainly isn’t impressive. South America…that depends on the country. And well, even their rights of passage are nothing to scream of. I understand that a Latin American girl will land a quinceanera when she turns fifteen. Hold the phone; she gets a party while all her relatives get wasted. In the United States we have our sweet sixteen party: a crown may be given, there might be guests, no underage drinking is aloud, and everyone goes home. 

Now look at this poor chap. He isn’t even fertile yet, and he is having a knife jabbed into his face for the sake of religion. The Catholics, they’ll sprinkle water on the face. The Christians, they’ll wait until a child is eight and then send him for a swim in a none shark infested pool. Please. This boy is taring a knife in the face.

So why are we so timid, mild, and lifeless here on this American continent? It's a fact. It's natural. It's the way it should be. So, whatever the answer is to the question above, whatever reasons we may give to not have to fear for our lives, I say thank you. For even are ghettos don't compare to the daily life of the majority of the world. I once read an article about a lady in the Middle East who wanted to leave her husband for her soul mate, her nose was chopped off. Singapore, they cane people for spitting on the sidewalk. In the Ukraine a person could get killed just for saying they want to be Ukrainian.

To be fare, there are problems in American. After all, we do have Detroit.