A Venting of Spleen


The response I am not going to post on Facebook because I don’t know you from Adam (or Eve) and because it’s not my place to hijack someone’s post, however political, to skewer your insipid and self-righteous opinion of the presidential election.  It is not fully sourced and linked.  I accept that and intend to come back and add lots of links.  I may or may not do that as I need to post and be free of this.

However, my blood pressure is at unhealthy levels, and I have to reply to this somewhere so…here we go.

In what world is the manner in which Donald Trump conducts himself as a presidential candidate one that we can elevate above Hillary Clinton?  How can you smugly call a woman who has spent her life in public service a bitch simply by rattling off a list of debunked issues and topics and laugh at those of us who haven’t done their research?

Research what?  How? Sit in front of Fox News and pat ourselves on the fucking back for absorbing the scant moisture available in their partisan vomit?  If you researched anything whatsoever, you’d know that there is no way that Donald Trump is an acceptable candidate for the highest office in the land.  For the expression of American ideals. For anything anyone would want untouched by smarm, self-interest, and profiteering.

Is the Hillary Clinton perfect?  Nope.  Is she the single best presidential candidate we could hope for?  No.  But she is a woman who can take our country forward without driving us all screaming into a ditch and set us on fire with the force of the crash. She is fully capable of handling all that comes with this most delicate of jobs. She can do this because she has political experience which she has used throughout her career to do considerable good – good including the Clinton Foundation  that has saved millions of lives.  A woman who doesn’t look at 50% of her constituency as worthless unless they have sexual appeal.  She has plans for the nation, plans that can be reviewed on her website.  These are tangible truths.

When your choice that you so proudly herald as A CAPSLOCK WORTHY alternative is involved in an ongoing child rape investigation, has destroyed the families who attempted to improve themselves via his university scheme, has shamed, has belittled every single swathe of culture and life in this country save for the much maligned rich white male, I don’t accept your smug delight that comes with it.   You don’t have any particular reason to justify your opinion beyond the handed-down, self-assured delusion of following the party line.  As if somehow that protects you from any stray dissent or evolution of thought reaching in and making you question how marvelous Donald J. Trump might actually be when it comes to anything other than filling up another reality TV slot.   I don’t accept you hitting my friend with this patronizing tone and the silence reverberating back at you like a great well of applause.  It’s not applause, it’s the abyss gagging on your flawed and dangerous condescension and retching it back up at you.

I don’t accept your insinuation that voting for Hillary Clinton is not something I could do after any level of research and personal education.  I’ve been in this, our seemingly shared universe, all this time.  So dumping out those old chestnuts of OOOOH Benghazi or OOOH emails, as if somehow you have the secret knowledge of malice aforethought on the part of Hillary Clinton that you have decided to keep to yourself, you clever, clever girl, is not going to somehow repudiate my choice.  Just because whatever you’ve cooked up is entirely self-fabricated to keep your delusion from oozing at its seams, as zero charges have ever been brought.  If you know something the rest of us don’t, rather than the filthy, slanderous impressions of someone who has nothing more than time to sit on her thumbs and rotate, call a press conference.  Tell us all!

Otherwise, keep your sick down your own gullet, because you’re stinking up the joint.

Here’s a fact: “Many people say” is an unacceptable burden of proof for a fact.

If Donald Trump is elected President, this is going to be devastating to the lives of people of color, women who are going to impacted by his choices for the judiciary, anyone who is related to anyone who lives in a foreign country, anyone doesn’t want their president to have ever laughingly called a woman a pig.  It’s going to take years off our lives.  It’s going send shockwaves through otherwise solid ground.

And the only reason that could be acceptable to you, random woman on the internet is if you are somehow in that mystical fucking Brigadoon where you don’t know any of us who fall into those categories or you just don’t give a shit.

This is all fine if you don’t give a shit if anyone’s life is savaged over the next four years so long as you can march along waving a flag for your own oblivion, unscathed by a world brought low by racism, sexism, homophobia and economic mismanagement on every level.  You’re cheering for that shit to start growing in the bones of our nation.  We’re already struggling like hell to get it out of the blood as it is.

It’s embarrassing as fuck that we can put a former Secretary of State on the same scale as this orange, maggoty ball of mucus and sigh to ourselves, well, I don’t know.  By saying that it’s too close to call, you’re not maligning a really talented, hard-working, and serviceable candidate, you’re just saying you’re incapable of critical thought.  You fail at rational decision making.  It’s not apples and oranges.  You can make a fruit salad out of, either.  For you, it’s apples and stale Cheeto crumbs you scraped off the floor.  One is not a viable choice, however much you shake your fist and laugh at me for going ahead with my apples.

Of course, you get to vote.  Of course, you get the satisfaction of none of this ever so much as flickering the dim 40watt that hangs between your eyes.  Nobody would suggest otherwise, random woman on the Internet.

You want to be right far more than you would ever care about America, so don’t worry.  We’ll just sit you down in front of the TV, don’t worry, we’ll get it on Fox for you, and you can just paste that shit-eating grin right back on through November 8th when we’ll kindly take it back.

Just shut the fuck up about Hillary Clinton.

Independence Day (On the Nose)

Woke up in Minneapolis in the sweaty, overloaded air.  Am home in the Denver area now in an equally charged, though not so moist ether.   The computer feels like it’s about 9000 degrees.  Does this mean I’m going to take it off my lap?  Not hardly.

So, I was pretty sure this post was going to be about my sister again and how she pretty much destroys all vacations and all self-esteem and all semblance of a normal familial experience with her psychic vampirism and her philosophy of Manifest Libido.  Which is, of course, she wants to get laid so the universe had better bend to her will including all laws of physics, time, space, any of us errant dependents she’s managed to pick up as barnacles on her great Pussitania.  Disgusting analogy, but entirely appropriate given her response when it appears that we can’t just making the plane take off or make my parents be any less overzealous about the safety of our family in a rental car on in a new city where they haven’t driven the roads to the point of deep memorization.  Those being our cases, she screams, she curses, she rips the earth right along the horizon.  She snarks and rages and confesses to sins to justify herself.  She throttles you with her voice and how little she cares that it bothers you.  She does it to resolve her frustration and she does it because she’s bored and she does it because no one can stand up to her.  And that’s the facts.  But that is old news, just forgotten until this weekend.  And I’m home now and I don’t live with her and as sad as I am that she treats my mother exactly that way while living rent-free, I have a whole other sea of fishes to fry and my own terrible problems and my own frustrations and loneliness.  I am definitely sitting in a glass house and pitching bigger and bigger pebbles at my pretty walls.

So,  here’s what I know as of right this very instant.  I am going to keep writing until I finish this story’s first draft.    I am going to take a cool bath.  I am going to set out my clothing for tomorrow.  I am going to get a trash bag and throw away five things.  I am doing 30 days low carb + exercise exercise starting tomorrow.  This includes tomorrow for both items.  Like it or no.  We said we would, so we must!

Freedom doesn’t always mean being a layabout.  In fact, it hardly ever does.

Freedom is about not having to be a wretch in your own head when you have all the tools to make yourself into whatever it is you want to be.

Me, I want to be airy, comfortable, loving and loved, in beautiful places, dangerous with a pen, safe with money, full of dreams, not bothered by screaming because I’m settled in myself and my path, less egotistical than I currently feel, with access to venom but no reason to loose it.

I am worthy of a good plan.  But more than that, I’m worthy of action.