Saving A Nation…


Ah… Election Day. Vote Early, Vote Often! 8o) (I have to admit, this is not a day of joy for yours truly.. exhausted with all the BS…)

Though I have a faint glimmer of hope, I am hedging my emotional involvement with this whole box of woe that we have going here. Yet, the old forms should be met. Vote. Vote Now. It does matter. If you don’t like the local candidates, consider standing up for election your self.

Enough is enough.



On The Menu

Just In Time For The Election Links

Cocteau Twins – Evangeline

Much has happened since we handed over our voice

Poetry: Mirabai Part 2

A wee reminder…


Just In Time For The Election Links:

Calif. ‘pot docs‘ put selves at risk

VA-Sen: Voter suppression in Virginia

Fired Evangelist Slams Gays in New Movie

It Flushes To The Anthem….

PhotoShopped HighTimes…


Cocteau Twins – Evangeline


Much has happened since we handed over our voice

Kevin Tillman

Kevin Tillman joined the Army with his brother Pat in 2002, and they served together in Iraq and Afghanistan. Pat was killed in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. Kevin, who was discharged in 2005, has written a powerful, must-read document.

It is Pat’s birthday on November 6, and elections are the day after. It gets me thinking about a conversation I had with Pat before we joined the military. He spoke about the risks with signing the papers. How once we committed, we were at the mercy of the American leadership and the American people. How we could be thrown in a direction not of our volition. How fighting as a soldier would leave us without a voice until we got out.

Much has happened since we handed over our voice:

Somehow we were sent to invade a nation because it was a direct threat to the American people, or to the world, or harbored terrorists, or was involved in the September 11 attacks, or received weapons-grade uranium from Niger, or had mobile weapons labs, or WMD, or had a need to be liberated, or we needed to establish a democracy, or stop an insurgency, or stop a civil war we created that can’t be called a civil war even though it is. Something like that.

Somehow America has become a country that projects everything that it is not and condemns everything that it is.

Somehow our elected leaders were subverting international law and humanity by setting up secret prisons around the world, secretly kidnapping people, secretly holding them indefinitely, secretly not charging them with anything, secretly torturing them. Somehow that overt policy of torture became the fault of a few “bad apples” in the military.

Somehow back at home, support for the soldiers meant having a five-year-old kindergartener scribble a picture with crayons and send it overseas, or slapping stickers on cars, or lobbying Congress for an extra pad in a helmet. It’s interesting that a soldier on his third or fourth tour should care about a drawing from a five-year-old; or a faded sticker on a car as his friends die around him; or an extra pad in a helmet, as if it will protect him when an IED throws his vehicle 50 feet into the air as his body comes apart and his skin melts to the seat.

Somehow the more soldiers that die, the more legitimate the illegal invasion becomes.

Somehow American leadership, whose only credit is lying to its people and illegally invading a nation, has been allowed to steal the courage, virtue and honor of its soldiers on the ground.

Somehow those afraid to fight an illegal invasion decades ago are allowed to send soldiers to die for an illegal invasion they started.

Somehow faking character, virtue and strength is tolerated.

Somehow profiting from tragedy and horror is tolerated.

Somehow the death of tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people is tolerated.

Somehow subversion of the Bill of Rights and The Constitution is tolerated.

Somehow suspension of Habeas Corpus is supposed to keep this country safe.

Somehow torture is tolerated.

Somehow lying is tolerated.

Somehow reason is being discarded for faith, dogma, and nonsense.

Somehow American leadership managed to create a more dangerous world.

Somehow a narrative is more important than reality.

Somehow America has become a country that projects everything that it is not and condemns everything that it is.

Somehow the most reasonable, trusted and respected country in the world has become one of the most irrational, belligerent, feared, and distrusted countries in the world.

Somehow being politically informed, diligent, and skeptical has been replaced by apathy through active ignorance.

Somehow the same incompetent, narcissistic, virtueless, vacuous, malicious criminals are still in charge of this country.

Somehow this is tolerated.

Somehow nobody is accountable for this.

In a democracy, the policy of the leaders is the policy of the people. So don’t be shocked when our grandkids bury much of this generation as traitors to the nation, to the world and to humanity. Most likely, they will come to know that “somehow” was nurtured by fear, insecurity and indifference, leaving the country vulnerable to unchecked, unchallenged parasites.

Luckily this country is still a democracy. People still have a voice. People still can take action. It can start after Pat’s birthday.

Brother and Friend of Pat Tillman,

Kevin Tillman


Poetry: Mirabai Part 2….

I Am Mad

I am mad with love

And no one understands my plight.

Only the wounded

Understand the agonies of the wounded,

When the fire rages in the heart.

Only the jeweller knows the value of the jewel,

Not the one who lets it go.

In pain I wander from door to door,

But could not find a doctor.

Says Mira: Harken, my Master,

Mira’s pain will subside

When Shyam comes as the doctor.

The Dagger

The dagger of love has pierced my heart.

I was going to the river to fetch water,

A golden pitcher on my head.

Hariji has bound me

By the thin thread of love,

And wherever He draws me,

Thither I go.

Mira’s Lord is the courtly Giridhara:

This is the nature

Of his dark and beautiful form.

Strange is the Path of Love

Do not mention the name of love,

O my simple-minded companion.

Strange is the path

When you offer your love.

Your body is crushed at the first step.

If you want to offer love

Be prepared to cut off your head

And sit on it.

Be like the moth,

Which circles the lamp and offers its body.

Be like the deer, which, on hearing the horn,

Offers its head to the hunter.

Be like the partridge,

Which swallows burning coals

In love of the moon.

Be like the fish

Which yields up its life

When separated from the sea.

Be like the bee,

Entrapped in the closing petals of the lotus.

Mira’s lord is the courtly Giridhara.

She says: Offer your mind

To those lotus feet.

Mine Is Gopal

Mine is Gopal,

the Mountain-Holder;

there is no one else.

On his head he wears the peacock-crown:

He alone is my husband.

Father, mother, brother, relative:

I have none to call my own.

I’ve forsaken both God, and the family’s honor:

what should I do?

I’ve sat near the holy ones,

and I’ve lost shame before the people.

I’ve torn my scarf into shreds;

I’m all wrapped up in a blanket.

I took off my finery of pearls and coral,

and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.

With my tears,

I watered the creeper of love that I planted;

Now the creeper has grown spread all over,

and borne the fruit of bliss.

The churner of the milk churned with great love.

When I took out the butter,

no need to drink any buttermilk.

I came for the sake of love-devotion;

seeing the world, I wept.

Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder:

Now with love

He takes me across to the further shore.


A wee reminder….