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Chris Kluwe Breaks it Down For Emmett Burns.

 

You have to love Minnesota Vikings punter Chris Kluwe: He has no qualms about speaking his mind on any subject, and this letter is in response to Maryland delegate Emmett Burns. If you hadn’t heard yet, Burns wrote a letter to Raven’s owner Steve Bisciotti asking him to “inhibit such expressions from your employee”,  after the Raven’s  Brendon Ayanbadejo publicly expressed his support the the Maryland ballot initiative to legalize same sex marriage.

Without further adieu, I share with you Chris Kluwe’s open letter to Emmett Burns:

 

 

Dear Emmett C. Burns, Jr.,

I find it inconceivable that you are an elected official of the United States government. Your vitriolic hatred and bigotry make me ashamed and disgusted to think that you are in any way responsible for shaping policy at any level. The views you espouse neglect to consider several fundamental key points, which I will outline in great detail:

1. As I suspect you have not read the Constitution, I would like to remind you that the very first amendment in this founding document deals with the freedom of speech, particularly the abridgment of said freedom. By using your position as an elected official (when referring to your constituents in order to implicitly threaten the Ravens organization) to argue that the Ravens should silence Brendon Ayanbadejo from voicing his support for same-sex marriage, not only are you clearly violating the First Amendment, but you come across as a narcissistic fromunda stain. What on Earth would possess you to say something so mind-boggingly stupid? It baffles me that a man such as yourself, a man who relies on that same First Amendment to pursue your own religious studies without fear of persecution from the state, could somehow justify stifling another person’s right to free speech. To call that “hypocritical” would be to do a disservice to the word. “Mindfuckingly, obscenely hypocritical” starts to approach it a little bit.

2. You wrote, “Many of your fans are opposed to such a view and feel it has no place in a sport that is strictly for pride, entertainment and excitement.” Holy fucking shitballs. Did you seriously just say that, as someone who is, according to your Wikipedia page, “deeply involved in government task forces on the legacy of slavery in Maryland”? Have you not heard of Kenny Washington? Jackie Robinson? As recently as 1962 the NFL still had segregation, which was only done away with by brave athletes and coaches daring to speak their mind and do the right thing, and you’re going to say that political views have “no place in a sport”? I can’t even begin to fathom the cognitive dissonance that must be coursing through your rapidly addled mind right now; the mental gymnastics your brain has to tortuously contort itself through to make such a preposterous statement are surely worthy of an Olympic gold medal (the Russian judge gives you a 10 for “beautiful oppressionism”).

3. This is more a personal quibble of mine, but why do you hate freedom? Why do you hate the fact that other people want a chance to live their lives and be happy, even though they may believe in something different from what you believe, or act differently from you? How does gay marriage affect your life in any way, shape, or form? Are you worried that if gay marriage became legal, all of a sudden you’d start thinking about penis? (“Oh shit. Gay marriage just passed. Gotta get me some of that hot dong action!”) Will all your friends suddenly turn gay and refuse to come to your Sunday Ticket grill-outs? (Unlikely. Gay people enjoy watching football, too.)

I can assure you that gay people getting married will have zero effect on your life. They won’t come into your house and steal your children. They won’t magically turn you into a lustful cockmonster. They won’t even overthrow the government in an orgy of hedonistic debauchery because all of a sudden they have the same legal rights as the other 90 percent of our population, rights like Social Security benefits, childcare tax credits, family and medical leave to take care of loved ones, and COBRA health care for spouses and children. You know what having these rights will make gay Americans? Full-fledged citizens, just like everyone else, with the freedom to pursue happiness and all that that entails. Do the civil-rights struggles of the past 200 years mean absolutely nothing to you?

In closing, I would like to say that I hope this letter in some small way causes you to reflect upon the magnitude of the colossal foot-in-mouth clusterfuck you so brazenly unleashed on a man whose only crime was speaking out for something he believed in. Best of luck in the next election; I’m fairly certain you might need it.

Sincerely,
Chris Kluwe

P.S. I’ve also been vocal as hell about the issue of gay marriage, so you can take your “I know of no other NFL player who has done what Mr. Ayanbadejo is doing” and shove it in your closed-minded, totally-lacking-in-empathy pie hole.

 

Oh, And One More Thing Chick-fil-A…

The Christian Right is Trying to Chick Fil A The Gay Away.

In addition to serving up lousy chicken, Chick Fil A is serving up a piping hot dish of hatred and bigotry. While many right wing Christians are defending the Cathy family’s right to free speech by showing up in droves to eat some really shitty food, they are either ignoring or covering up the fact that Chick Fil A has contributed millions to Christian hate groups who exist solely to discriminate against the LGBT community.

Since 2003, Chick Fil A’s charitable arm, the WinShape Foundation has donated over 8 million dollars to several anti gay Christian organizations under the pretense of upholding traditional family values. The list is a who’s who of hate groups:

• Marriage and Family Foundation
• Fellowship of Christian Athletes
• National Christian Foundation
• New Mexico Christian Foundation
• Exodus International
• Family Research Council
• Georgia Family Council

In 2010, nearly 2 million dollars was donated by WinShape to these 7 groups, who in turn used the money to promote their homophobia. In addition, Chick Fil A VP Dan Cathy launched his own hate group in 2007: Formerly known as the Marriage and Family Legacy Fund, the Marriage and Family Foundation is a Cathy funded, Cathy led project of the Anti-Gay Marriage CoMission. This coalition of anti marriage equality groups features hate filled homophobic lunatics such as Alan Chambers from Exodus International, and Barry Sheets from Citizens For Community Values: These two men make Rick Santorum look like a progressive!

If Dan Cathy wants to make moronic statements, that is indeed his right. In turn, I as well as many like me have the right to criticize him, as well as not spend our money on his nasty food. However, when the Cathy family has a documented history of promoting hate and inequality, that’s where many of us draw the line. It’s not about the First Amendment in this case: It’s about fighting back against a corporation who so willingly leads the way in the war against a group of people who wish for nothing more than to enjoy a life filled with love and equality.

The Cathy’s are not the victims, they are the oppressors. As such, they deserve to be under attack for their deplorable ideology and actions. They have earned whatever retribution that comes their way.

Maybe we can gay away the Chick-Fil-A ;)

12 Reasons Why Gay Marriage Will Ruin Society

 

Obama Comes Out In Favor of Marriage Equality.

President Barack Obama and Vice President Jose...

President Barack Obama and Vice President Joseph R. Biden, Jr. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Did I just see rainbow smoke coming from the White House chimney? In an interview with ABC News Robin Roberts today, President Obama echoed the sentiments of Joe Biden ( without the off the wall Will & Grace comments):

OBAMA:”I have to tell you that over the course of several years as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors when I think about. members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point

I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same sex couples should be able to get married.”

The interview is scheduled to air tonight.

I must say, this is a pretty bold statement, considering the fact that it’s an election year. Hopefully, he’ll get another 4 years to back that statement up. As I stated in a previous post, it’s going to take a hell of a lot of work to get rid of DOMA, and finally bring about marriage equality on a federal level.

I hope Obama’s actions will be louder than his words.  

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Shame On You North Carolina

National Organization for Marriage

National Organization for Marriage (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Equal rights for the LGBT community took a major hit yesterday. In North Carolina, same sex marriage, as well as legal benefits for same sex partners, was banned with the passage of Amendment One. The amendment, which declares that marriage is only to be recognized as a union between one man and one woman, was pushed through by some major players of the religious right, including NOM, which contributed nearly $500,000 to get the amendment passed. In spite of several please from many state wide christian leaders from the African American community, the amendment passed by a wide margin.

I have to say that not only am I surprised that such a prejudicial law was passed; I also feel shame. Even though 30 other states have such laws, it seemed as if the country was making huge strides toward LGBT equality. In fact, in the most recent polls taken, 47% of Americans asked are in favor of same sex marriage, which is the highest rate of approval so far. Many christian ministers have spoken out for LGBT equality, and recently many high ranking members of the Obama administration, including Joe Biden, have outright stated that they are in favor of same sex marriage as well. What the hell happened in North Carolina?

NOM, the National Organization for Marriage is what happened. This group of right wing, homophobic religious zealots has been sticking their bible thumping noses into both national and state legislatures for years. As I mentioned earlier, NOM swooped into the state, and poured nearly half a million dollars into making biblical law a secular law. They put political pressure on state legislators to create the amendment, then they proceeded to blitzkreig the public with an immense campaign of homophobic misinformation that was sure to make the most expert of propagandists proud. Hell, they even trotted out the 93 year old minister Billy Graham, who took out a full page ad in several North Carolina newspapers, in order to put his hateful rhetoric back into the public eye. Because of NOM, equal rights in the LGBT community never stood a chance in the Tar Heel state. Religious zealotry won over basic human rights, and that disgust’s me.

So what does this mean? For starters, the Obama administration needs to put forward a clearly defined policy concerning LGBT rights. Although it has made perhaps the biggest advancements toward equal rights in this arena, their policy toward same sex marriage is still vague. Sure, DADT is gone, and the Department of Justice has been instructed not to defend DOMA in court; there is no doubt that the administration is sympathetic to the cause. However, a major blow could be struck if DOMA were to be eliminated, it can be done. Several circuit courts have declared it unconstitutional; it needs to be challenged in the Supreme Court. If it can be stricken, then maybe legislation could possible be introduced to protect same sex marriage on a national level, state statutes be damned. It’s a hard, long fight, but it can be done, and Obama must lead the way. Otherwise, prejudiced hate groups like NOM just may continue to get their way.

The LGBT movement may have taken a big hit yesterday, but it was by no means a death blow. Grass roots support grows bigger by the day, and the voice for equality just grows louder. Not even NOM with their bibles and money can stop it. Love is universal, and knows not of sex or gender. You would think even the hardest core christian would recognize and accept that: Isn’t love what your god is all about?

Apparently not in North Carolina: For now.

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Pastor Sean Harris Wants To Beat The Gay Away From Our Children

Sean Harris, the Senior pastor of the Berean Baptist Church in Fayetteville, North Carolina, is getting hard core about what to do with those pesky, gender bending children these days: Corporal punishment. While giving a fire and brimstone type endorsement of proposed Amendment 1, the Amendment that would outlaw civil unions and domestic partnerships in the Tarheel state, Harris went off on a tangent about boys and girls who do not conform to patriarchal gender roles. Check out this transcript, in all of its hateful goodness:

“So your little son starts to act a little girlish when he is four years old and instead of squashing that like a cockroach and saying, ‘Man up, son, get that dress off you and get outside and dig a ditch, because that is what boys do,’ you get out the camera and you start taking pictures of Johnny acting like a female and then you upload it to YouTube and everybody laughs about it and the next thing you know, this dude, this kid is acting out childhood fantasies that should have been squashed.

Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You are not going to act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you are going to be a male. And when your daughter starts acting too butch, you reign [sic] her in. And you say, ‘Oh, no, sweetheart. You can play sports. Play them to the glory of God. But sometimes you are going to act like a girl and walk like a girl and talk like a girl and smell like a girl and that means you are going to be beautiful. You are going to be attractive. You are going to dress yourself up.'”

Harris later back pedaled, and claimed that he was joking; does that transcript seem like joking to you? No? Me Neither.

This is exactly the kind of venom filled rhetoric that promotes domestic violence in the home, bullying in the school, and hate crimes in society, and for what? To force a child who may be wired a little differently, to conform to what society and religion dictates as proper? I call bullshit!

I could go on a rant about a child’s sexual orientation and how homosexuality or at the very least, the crossing of gender lines is completely natural. I could also stand on my tinfoil covered soap box, and preach about acceptance, love, and understanding of each others differences. The fact of the matter is that most rational people understand all that. The fact that Amendment 1 is likely to crash and burn is a testimony to that fact.

It’s the hateful homophobes like Sean Harris who do not understand that sexuality is naturally in a perpetual shade of grey. The decision to hate the difference in sexuality is the choice, not the difference in sexuality itself. Hopefully, the Sean Harris’s of the world will one day come to understand this.

Until that day comes, most of us will continue to use our voices and our votes to beat the pray away.

http://yahoo.infogin.com/ig8del/lnk000/=http://1.1.1.1:81/yahoo/searchredirect?target=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.huffingtonpost.com%2F2012%2F05%2F01%2Fnorth-carolina-pastor-sea_n_1468618.html%3Fref%3Dfb%26src%3Dsp%26comm_ref%3Dfalse%26_ult%3Dsec%253Dweb%2526slk%253Dweb%2526pos%253D2%2526linkstr%253Dhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.huffingtonpost.com%25252F2012%25252F05%25252F01%25252Fnorth-carolina-pastor-sea_n_1468618.html%25253Fref%25253Dfb%252526src%25253Dsp%252526comm_ref%25253Dfalse&intl=us&lang=en&sig=EHT4*y9B0mGVjhhrCjPy1UpcmfU_&ts=1335966721

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Angry Poetry Week: Howl – Allen Ginsberg

Portrait of Allen Ginsberg and Bob Dylan by El...

Portrait of Allen Ginsberg and Bob Dylan by Elsa Dorfman (1975) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Angry poetry week wraps up with perhaps the most popular and certainly one of the most controversial works of the Beat Movement: Howl, by Allen Ginsberg. Written in 1955, and published in 1956 by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the poem was deemed obscene, and would lead to Ferlinghetti’s arrest for making the material public. At the conclusion of this landmark court case, Judge Clayton W. Horn ruled that the material was not obscene, and could be published unaltered. When you read this wonderful poem, you can see why it would create such a stir in what was on the surface, a very conservative time in America’s history.  In my opinion, as well as many others, Allen Ginsberg was arguably the best and perhaps the most meaningrul writer of the Beat Movement, and Howl may be the pinnacle of what is simply an amazing body of work.

Without further adieu, I share with you:

Howl

 For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver

joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

where you must feel strange

I’m with you in Rockland

where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

where you laugh at this invisible humour

I’m with you in Rockland

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I’m with you in Rockland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

Angry Poetry Week Continues: Powers of Recuperation by Adrienne Rich

Today’s poem was written by the iconic feminist poet and essayist Adrienne Rich, who passed away yesterday at the age of 82. Rich’s literary works inspired countless feminist authors and activists over several decades. Rich was revered for her social commentary as well as her deeply moving personal reflections.

She lived and wrote openly as a lesbian for most of her adult life, beginning in an era when homosexuality was condemned by more than just knee jerk christian conservatives. As an author and activist she fought bravely for not only the rights of women, but for all who are disadvantaged in our society.

Her list of works and awards span over 7 decades, and she is one of the most anthologized authors of the 20th century. Although her writing style may have not been the in your face, bludgeon you with a hammer type poetry that’s been featured this week, her message was always loud and clear, and succinctly relevant. I would be remiss if I didn’t honor her today by sharing with you one of her poems.

Sleep well dearest Adrienne; You are cherished by many, and you are already missed.

Without further adieu, I share with you:

Powers of Recuperation
by Adrienne Rich
 
i.
 
A woman of the citizen party—what’s that—
is writing history backward
 
her body
              the chair she sits in
to be abandoned
             repossessed
 
The old, crusading, raping, civil, great, phony, holy, world,
               second world, third world,
               cold, dirty, lost, on drugs,
 
infectious, maiming, class
war lives on
 
A done matter she might have thought
ever undone though
       plucked
 
from before her birthyear
and that hyphen coming after
 
she’s old, old, the incendiary
woman
 
endless beginner
 
whose warped wraps you shall find in graves and behind glass
        plundered
 
ii
 
Streets empty now
           citizen rises
         shrugging off
her figured shirt pulls on her dark generic garment
    sheds
identity inklings
  watch, rings, ear studs
now to pocket her flashlight
         her tiny magnet
shut down heater
            finger a sleeping cat
lock inner, outer door
     insert
key in crevice
      listen once twice
to the breath of the neighborhood
take temperature of the signs
     a bird
scuffling
               a frost settling
 
… you left that meeting around two a.m. I thought
someone should walk with you
 
Didn’t think then I needed that
 
years ravel out and now
 
who’d be protecting whom
 
 
I left the key in the old place
in case
 
iii
 
Spooky those streets of minds
shuttered against shatter
 
articulate those walls
pronouncing rage and need
 
fuck the cops
      come jesus
blow me again
 
Citizen walking catwise
close to the walls
 
heat of her lungs leaving
its trace upon the air
 
fingers her tiny magnet
which for the purpose of drawing
 
particles together will have to do
when as they say the chips are down
 
iv
 
Citizen
at riverbank
          seven bridges
Ministers-in-exile with their aides
limb to limb dreaming underneath
 
conspiring by definition
 
Bridges
      trajectories arched
in shelter   rendezvous
two banks to every river  
     two directions
to every bridge
twenty-eight chances
every built thing has its unmeant purpose
iv
Every built thing with its unmeant
meaning    
    unmet purpose
every unbuilt thing
child squatting    civil
engineer   devising
by kerosene flare   in mud
possible tunnels
carves in cornmeal mush   
    irrigation
canals by index finger
all new learning looks at first
like chaos
the tiny magnet throbs
in citizen’s pocket

vi
Bends under the arc walks bent listening for chords and codes
bat-radar-pitched or twanging
off rubber bands and wires tin can telephony
to scribble testimony by fingernail and echo
her documentary alphabet still evolving
Walks up on the bridge   
    wind-whipped      roof and trajectory
shuddering under her catpaw tread
one of seven
built things holds her suspended
between desolation
and the massive figure on unrest’s verge
1pondering the unbuilt city
cheek on hand and glowing eyes and
skirted knees apart
2007

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Kirk Cameron Controversy Keeps Growing: Pains to Defend His Stance Against Homosexuality.

Photo taken at the 41st Emmy Awards 9/17/89

Photo taken at the 41st Emmy Awards 9/17/89 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Kirk Cameron was on the Today show this morning, defending his statement a few weeks ago that he did not support gay marriage and that homosexuality was ”destructive to so many of the foundations of civilization.”

Cameron also stated this morning that he has been a devout christian for 15 years and he doesn’t understand why- wait, back the bus up; Kirk Cameron is straight?

http://news.yahoo.com/kirk-cameron-defends-controversial-homosexual-statements-163315861.html

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“Like” Beneath The Tin Foil Hat on Facebook for stuff you won’t see on the blog, or follow me on Twitter: @Tinfoilhatman3

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