Life Ain’t Fair, but…

Living paycheck to paycheck all my life, I’m used to financial pain and the continuing struggle of being a common American on the lower rung of the middle class. I put in my forty hours, pay my bills 

on time, and I’m happy for the 1% raise I get every few years. I’ve been a good boy. I’ve always been aware life ain’t fair, my daddy taught me that when I was a young one, so I never expected otherwise. I’ve always known injustice exists, and I’ve always told people what I think about that shit, never thinking that what I have to say would ever make a difference. It hasn’t. Being a wild man in my youth, I naturally knew that when I stepped up in front of a judge, I wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but I’ll never forget the day when a child molester stood before Judge Ryan, just before I did, and got probation, because he was a pastor or some damn thing. I remember thinking old man Ryan was a pretty lenient judge, and that I was going to be OK, until the jail cell door slammed shut behind my ass for the next six months. Always thought that was odd. Me, setting for half a year for drunk driving while some pervert was walking around free. Never have I understood our judicial system, but what I’ve always known is, is that there’s one for them, and one for me. If you’re looking for a definition of who ‘them’ is, well you simply haven’t been paying attention, or you’re one of them. Chances are you’re no Felicity Huffman or you’re last name isn’t Sackler. One a celebrity, and a minor one at that, and the other, rich fucks, major rich fucks. Now, 14 days in prison and a thirty thousand dollar fine for Ms. Felicity might seem an appropriate sentence for the movie star, ‘cept I don’t think she’ll set in the general population of San Quentin for two weeks. And the thirty grand, well, her hub has that covered. Hell, she paid half that to cheat.  When it comes to the Sackler family business of pushing drugs on unsuspecting citizens, not one of ’em is going to spend a day behind bars. Sure, they’re going to pay billions in compensation, but not out of their personal deep pockets. Their company will pay that shit, and just to make sure, they’ve moved billions of their personal money off shore.

The Palpitations of Hate

I live in a place where Somalians are hated. The hate is palpable, in your face, and everywhere. I’d like to justify that hate by thinking it’s confined to a small, but vocal group of people, but I’m not so sure. Funny thing is, if I talk to one of my friends who fall into this gathering storm of distrust, they don’t see it as hate. They just don’t want them around, unless they  talk

 like they do, dress like they do, act like they do. They rage on-line, and in person, against all the free help the Somalian population receives, how they get free living, free medical, all without contributing a damn thing back. I don’t know how much of that is true, and it doesn’t matter, because facts don’t change anyones beliefs. If truth was a factor in our lives, people would pay attention, they’d take time to think about things, do a little research, to converse with people of opposing views, but it’s easier to bitch and complain, then to question one’s own feelings. An interesting truth is that most of the people who find fault in these new American immigrants are not bad people. Most people here are honest, hard working folk, and regular church goers, made more intriguing because most Somalians are here because of our churches. Being honest, hard working, and church going isn’t an excuse, nor does doing so clarify the problem. In fact, it confuses the hate, making it hard to understand. From a personal perspective, and that’s a perspective of one who grew up as an entitled American in third world countries, I don’t get it. The only answer I can come up with is fear, fear of change, fear of loss, fear of anything that’s different, fear of anything that threatens a way of life. And hates a passionate way to express those fears. Wrong, but passionate. There’s a thought too, that the degradation of an entire culture also has it’s roots in larger fears, fear of political instability and division, fear of financial stress, and fear of the crushing weight of life that at every turn seems to be more complicated. We work harder for less, the rich get richer, and we parse our pennies for a loaf of bread, all while screaming at our politicians for relief, only to find out once elected, they don’t seem to give a damn. We surf the net, see IG posts of those living the good life, and are left wondering where’s my vacay in the sun bleached sand. All said and done, I don’t believe people are born with hate and distrust in their hearts, I don’t believe people, at least most people, live their lives looking for someone to vilify, but when I look around, and I extend that vilification to society in large, including everything from racial tensions, to social injustice, immigration, and the political divide, I can’t help but believe that my community is but a symptom of a larger problem. One that’s not going away, one that’s going to get worse, and one that there’s a thousand answers for, but not a single solution.

The Silence and the Wind

When I look around the complicated American landscape of news, politics, and social media, and I do so more than I will admit, I find it exhausting. Tiring in the sense of an addiction, where I need something more fulfilling, more ambitious, like God and Jesus showing up in tandem to set the world afire. Not being particularly religious, I’d probably not pay attention to their facebook posts, unless they posted some pics of heaven and hell. That might set my world ablaze, until I started reading the comments. But that’s people for ya! All in disagreement, with their own opinions, each a raindrop in a thunderstorm, contributing to a flood of confusion, sweeping truth away with the receding waters. And that’s OK, I have dreams. If the world was ordered, and nice, and perfectly symmetrical, I’d have no need for dreams.

Dreams are powerful game changers. MLK and Kennedy had dreams, one unfulfilled, but still in motion. The other touched, abandoned, and left to the ages as a singular achievement. Neither forgotten, still relevant, foundations for the following days. America was built on dreams, our declaration was one of freedom from tyranny, our constitution, a single dream, coagulated from many voices, out of many, we are one. Dreams are essential to progress, the bedrock upon which the next step is planted, individually or collectively. We take the next step in our journey, because we dream of seeing the undiscovered country. We’ll never step on that soil, because dreams are fluid, being indicative of who we are. A million voices all screaming their differing dreams at any given time.

I remember when the night was silent, the only voices in my head was Cronkite’s, and my local paper. That silence was peaceful, the quiet of the night, and there existed no harbinger of future dreams turned inside out, of a people embroiled in a living nightmare. There is imperfection in silence, in that you do not hear the coming winds of change, being blind to your neighbor crying out in pain, to changing ideas, differing thoughts, and when those winds rush across and fill the void of silence, we’re left battered, and bruised, and dreaming of the silence we once cherished. Given the choice, I would appreciate the solitude of existing in a vacuum, tending the gardens of my personal dreams, and while there are those who reside in that choice, I’m conscious of the illusion of independence it gives birth to. A lonely, unfulfilled state of happiness where one sets on the same barstool, in the same bar, with the same bartender over the course of their lifetime. A life comprised of nothing greater than their own personal agenda, with no dialogue other than their own, no sense of thought for others than their own, no dreams larger than their own.

Few of my dreams have came to fruition, I’m not a well respected writer, my kids don’t have college degrees, my retirements going to be tough, I’m not popular on youtube, there’s no moonbase, and as a society, we haven’t ushered in a era of equality, peace and prosperity. While all that is bothersome, it’s more normal, unaccomplished dreams, that is, than those realized. I’d like to think, due to the failure of my own dreams, I’ve learned to listen to the voices in the wind, as agonizing as that landscape can be. I’ve been moved to research topics, to dig deeper for truth, to appreciate the views and beliefs of others, and I’ve been astonished at scientific achievements. I am continually in awe of the world I live in, even when I find myself tired, and confused with that world. I’ll take it over the void.

Political Garbarge

Abortion is a moral choice, and legislation of morals is political garbage, in that liberal and conservative leaders know it’s nothing more than a divisive issue, used to motivate or shame, supporters or opponents. Alabama, and other southern states, are passing arcane abortion laws in an attempt to have their voices heard in front of our supreme court, with the intent to overturn Roe Vs Wade. All will face lengthy, and expensive court battles on their way there. Even if these states were to prevail, they’ll lose, we’ll all lose. Women will still seek abortions, unsafe and alone, without support, without compassion. I’m also of the opinion, that of the 25 white males that voted for Alabama’s legislation, that not one of them would step forward to help support a child of an unwanted pregnancy. As a man, I’m not comfortable discussing what I believe is a womens personal choice, rooted in their beliefs. Personally, I’d like every child to be born, if we lived in a perfect world, but we do not. To legislate that a women impregnated by a viscous, brutal rape must carry the child through to birth, is beyond my comprehension. Indeed, it’s an embarrassment to our compassion for others. I do not know what the answer is, I don’t know if a six week old clump of cells is a living person or not, I don’t know when life begins, and neither does anyone else. You might believe human life begins at the moment of conception, but your belief doesn’t make it a valid fact. Yes, there’s an argument for potential. It’s a valid argument, that a group of cells, might one day be a  human being, but if that’s your argument, every sperm I have carries that capacity, and perhaps vasectomies should be deemed illegal.

Criminal Justice

When I was young, I was wild, and I ran with a pretty wild and crazy bunch of friends. The local cops knew us, and they gave us shit at every opportunity, like pulling us over over for bullshit reasons, and making us empty out all our beer before sending us on our way. If you grew up in small town America, you know what I’m talking about. We knew all the cops, hell, some of ’em were related. There was this one prick, Officer Bush, that we all hated, that crossed the line, always. He loved getting physical, and he loved playing little mind games, like stopping me one morning on my way to work, just for pure harassment. There’s more to the story, but the point

is Randy Bush was an asshole. He eventually got his comeuppance and I’ll leave it at that. I don’t believe none of what I experienced as a kid was police brutality, some of their behavior was wrong, like reaching into my car, turning off my headlights, and then telling me I was stopped for driving with no headlights. I’ve always had an awareness of police brutality, police wrong doing, and it seems in the last decade or so, it’s morphed into something else, to the point where it’s just fucking dangerous to be stopped by a cop, especially if you live in a metropolitan area, or if you’re a minority. Reading this article from US Todayis discouraging, and it makes me wonder, exactly what the hell is going on, cuz clearly, nobody ain’t policing the police, and somebody should be.

Check out robpaxton.me

TrumpCare, Ain’t Health Care

So Donald has reversed his previous thoughts on ObamaCare and now wants to abolish it, completely. Including the parts about not being penalized for having a preexisting condition, or keeping your kids on your plan until they’re 26. Just to backtrack for a minute, I never was in on mandating people to buy into health insurance, I never understood that. But overall, ObamaCare has been a good thing. The deciding factor in supporting the ACA, was simple. Politicians argued, and argued, all my life and never accomplished a damn thing to help people out when it came to healthcare. At least Obama did more than argue! Sure, the ACA’s not perfect, but it was a step in the right direction, something to build and refine on. And now, Donald just wants to wipe it away, like it never existed. I got
ta ask, where’s his healthcare plan? Are we going back to the stone age, where the healthcare industry fucked us every time we walked into our doctors office? My advice, Don, keep the good shit, and build on it, make it better, but you won’t take my advice, because your ego is in the way, and healthcare to you, isn’t about me, as much as it’s all about you.

Life as a Lie

There is an inherent need in all of us to be loved, to be acknowledged. For most of us, having that love and acknowledgment flow from our families and friends is enough. For others, families and 

friends just ain’t enough, you need the whole frickin’ world to bow down at your feet, even if you ain’t worthy. If you lack a sense of ethical scruples and moral fortitude, it’s actually kind of easy to do in todays reality. I’m not judging Jered Threatin for creating a godzillion million different social media accounts, or buying a bizillion likes, hearts and followers to create a wold famous person the world has never heard of, after all, his band got a European tour out of the foolishness. But then nobody showed up to hear his tunes, and now he’s world renown for the scam. As a struggling Youtuber myself, I’ve been tempted to go the dark route, but I’m actually fine with the love my three fans and family throw my way.

I write here as well

God Forbid, Bob Lazar Lives

God Forbid, Bob Lazar Lives

and I’ll be watching the upcoming documentary, Bob Lazar: Area 51 and Flying Saucers. Why? Simply because the guy has a damn interesting story, and he’s been awfully quiet the last twenty years or so. Hell, I thought he’d died or something, thinking perhaps he even got abducted, but not by aliens. I can slice a cake, and all the pieces ain’t the same size, and when it comes to cover ups, conspiracies and general weirdness, Bob gets a pretty good sized piece of that cake, because when the government claims ol’ Bob never did top secret shit for them, ‘ol Bob manages to prove them wrong with certifiable evidence that makes me eek out a wtf. I don’t know what the truth is when it comes to Bob Lazars tale, but there’s certainly a lot of breadcrumbs there to lead one along their way to whatever truth one wants to find.

My Weeping Heart

child, a little girl of seven died of dehydration and shock, after walking several thousand miles to reach our border. Every single footstep north she made, along dusty trails, jungle paths, and broken concrete, was distance from extreme violence, hunger and poverty. There are those who are crying out, that this child died in American detention, and while that’s true, I will not pretend to tell you I know the specifics, I do not.

What I do know is far more disturbing. That instead of compassion, aid and support for a child walking on her own two feet, facing incredible odds of survival, our government chose instead to denigrate that child, to discourage that child, and yet she continued, one small dirty, dusty foot after another, defining a courage that a lot of my fellow citizens have lost. There was time when our courage was not overwhelmed with fear of others, of those different. We were brave enough to accept them, even in the face of danger. We understood the possibility that not only evil people would walk into our home, but also people would bring change into our home. Organized crime found it’s way here, as did Catholicism, we managed.

My heart cries when we look in the face of a child, and do not see potential, and instead see our own fear, our prejudice. We no longer see ourselves in the face of that small girl, we see a stranger, and we become strangers to the soil we live and breath in, every day of our life.