Saturday, October 31, 2009
e-GAD, this is nothing new
One of the most accessible aspects of GAD, and probably my most pronounced manifestation of GAD-like psychological symptoms, is the predeliction toward extremely harsh self-criticism. In my experience, this self-criticism originally manifested itself as an inner voice expressing ceaseless doubt, perpetually questioning my choices or warning against impending failure. As a ten or elevent years old, I had no concept that this doubt was something other than who and what I was. In many ways, that realization did not occur until very recently, and still a perception that failure is ultimately the only possible outcome remains the cornerstone of my thinking. The primary difference now, as opposed to then, is that conscious awareness can at least attempt to actively counterpoint the assumption that failure is inevitable. In my youth, there was no cognitive third party intervening, there was the questioning, the doubt, and only acquiescence to its influence.
So it is probably no surprise that a majority of the goals set and endeavors undertaken at the time resulted in failure, when they were followed through to a result at all. Looking back across the windswept dunes that have consumed my memory, it seems to me that this pattern of self-doubt and manifest failure began around the time I was leaving elementary school. I can remember an incident around that time which serves as a reasonbly good example of the timber and tone my mind was taking at that age.
As a child, I was in love with drawing and drew or doodled compulsively. Literally, every piece of paper I came into contact with would be subjected to some doodle, shape, or object, if a means of making marks happened to be available. Subsequently, I had developed some rudimentary skill in the black art of picture making, by the time I was of middle school age. The particular episode that comes to mind was typical of the time: I am drawing when I should have been working on class work, and a small circle of my classmates had gathered around to watch. I suppose drawing was for me a means of gaining attention, as I learned very early that people enjoy watching the creative process in real time.
On one hand, I enjoyed being watched, it was generally positive attention, which was a sliver of light in the darkness to a pre-teen who felt completely alienated from his peers. On the other hand, I was always paranoid of making an error, or having to revise a drawing while people were looking on. However, it was not the watching that created a real issue, it was the compliments. The voice of doubt would not tolerate compliments, so it was paramount that each be actively deflected and, if at all possible, subtly discouraged. In this particular case, one of the huddled group extended a few kind words, something along the lines of "That's cool" or "I wish I could draw like that". In my mind, such commentary was patronizing at best, because what I was seeing was neither cool, nor something worth aspiring to. My eyes saw the flaws in proportion, the pose, composition, or shading. Every drawing was a failure of the vision I had in my mind, and part of my job as an aspiring artist was to remain acutely aware of these failures as a means of validating the voice of doubt and thereby furthering my dysfunctional relationship with art.
That said, the aforementioned complments had to be met with an impromptu dissertation detailing the shortcomings of the drawing at hand. I also felt compelled to inform the gathering that, in order to see what a real drawing should look like, they would have to check out my friend Chris' work. Chris was a buddy from the neighborhood, a friend none of the gathered circle would have known or met, because he was a couple of years older and had already started high school. Chris and I would sometimes hangout and draw together, working on the occasional Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fan comic (the Eastman and Laird turtles, not the fruity, "Cowabunga dude" nonsense put out by Archie Comics).
Mostly we skated around the neighborhood and played football. He could draw reasonably well, but for him it was more of a pastime, so he did not take it very seriously. Was he better than me in a technical sense? Even at the time, probably not, and it is highly likely that I was aware of this, but in that moment, it was more important that everyone present be aware I was in fact not very good at this drawing thing and that they should reserve their kind words for someone more deserving.
And my relationship with art and life only grew more virulent from there.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
I found GAD
Some people find God and in the idea of a universe Creator they find comfort, guidance, and strength. But I wasn't looking for God, and have not ever harbored any inclinations that I might come upon Him or Her or It. That bridge was crossed years ago, and I arrived on the other side with no semblance of peace and tranquility. I did, however, stumble upon the idea of infinity, effortless work, and the illusory nature of cognitive understanding. The truths of this Universe are not tangible, they are subliminal and intuitive, occupying the space between its physical contents. Our minds are wrought with delusions of solidity, permanence, and control. These concepts were welcomed by a mind overwhelmed with its own perpetual churning. And it is this perpetual motion machine that has proven to be life's double-edged sword.
What is GAD? Let's start with what GAD is not. GAD is not an excuse, an handicap, or a reason for pity. It is not the sole reason for failure, and is not the only hindrance to success. What it is, is an explanation. It is an ancient, crackling light bulb tentatively pressing tendrils of dulled, fragile, amber light into a an omnipresent darkness. GAD is quite literally a state of mind that permeates the entirety of one's physical and cerebral self, creating a pervasive unease that becomes so endemic as to become invisible. GAD morphs into a murky, semi-translucent filter, altering nearly all sensory input, generating compromised output. In this way GAD disrupts one's central processing, subtly, but continuously, distorting reason and perception. GAD operates around the conscious mind, enveloping thought and feeling and action, without ever making its presence readily apparent. You only recognize its existence by having your eyes opened to its tells.
GAD is an acronym for Generalized Anxiety Disorder. According to the Mayo Clinic, generalized anxiety disorder is a chronic disorder that typically begins to manifest in youth and progressively grows more pronounced and disruptive throughout one's life. Their list of symptoms include personality traits that feel eerily familiar, including obsession with large or small concerns, depression, restlessness, difficulty concentrating, memory problems, and trouble sleeping. In children, symptoms like obsession with punctuality, perfectionism, and lack of confidence are commonly associated with the disorder. None of these things alone led me to believe GAD is the albatross I've hung round my neck, but combined with a lot of the medical literature available online, it was undeniable. The descriptions of GAD behaviors and accounts from diagnosed sufferers felt positively biographical.
Self-diagnosis is fraught with hazards. It is something modern medicine would universally discourage as something the layman should absolutely not do. The risk is that self-diagnosis will yield self-treatment, which could ultimately become self-medication. This is the stuff addictions are made of, particularly where anxiety disorders are concerned. It makes intuitive sense, and the medical community seems to agree, that anxiety disorders can often lead to destructive coping strategies. Anxiety keeps the sufferer under constant tension, and tension breeds pressure, and pressure begs an outlet. One need not make a massive leap of faith is assuming people would turn to the usual substances and activities when the search for a coping strategy begins. I am going to have to try something different.
Street drugs and alcohol are non-starters, that's just putting band-aids on a bullet wound. Prescription meds make more sense, but side effects can be severe, dependency is always a possibility, so there is no guarantee of ever being able to leave the medication behind. Prescriptions and sit downs with a professional are the fall back plan. For now, it is time to make an effort at finding some peace with this new understanding, alter some behaviors, and stay focused on the long view. Having open eyes and a patient mind are essential. This is just the first step in a long march toward balance.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Expectations...
Surrendering expectations is the key to psychological and spiritual salvation. This is the core of the Buddhist idea that desire is the root of all suffering. Expectations are a form of desire, perhaps the most insidious form, because an expectation is desire manifested with a skin of entitlement stretched over its illusory nature, so that it seems somehow solid. In reality, expectation is desire given imaginary solidity and validation, so that it becomes something accepted and anticipated in a way that generates a perception that the expected event is inevitable, or at the very least highly probable. Of course, there are other forms of expectation. As beings walking the Earth with minds clouded by expectation, expectation dictated by circumstances and perceptions, humans are intrinsically reliant upon anticipated outcomes informed by experience, which are effectively little more than faith.
Where the average American might expect to live life placed somewhere between relative comfort and absurd levels of excess, while the average Ethiopian might only expect to face another day of starvation and misery, struggling to survive. For the time being, discard the moral implications of these contradictory realities, because they are irrelevant, because there is no reason to believe that, were their roles reversed, either person would act any differently living in the other's circumstance.
These expected realities are irrelevant because the future is an unknown quantity. What happens next is entirely beyond any sort of absolute control. In reality, the future is just another expectation, an illusion we cling to, so the American could see his/her way of life collapse, and the Ethiopian might see the weather, and his/her fortunes turn, so that food is once again adequate, and the vestiges of civilization have the potential of being reestablished. Our expectations are transient and often times fickle, they rarely have to have anything to do with reality.
His mind pondered these things while answering emails, submitting tasks to Mother, and sipping coffee. Hey Jude by the Beatles buzzed in his headphones, an interesting counterpoint to his mental wandering. Self-awareness had exposed him to enough of his own illusory expectations, and the trivial nature of their substance, but he was not yet wise enough to fully grasp the broader picture being painted. Hopefully, that will come in time, or if time runs out, in death, or perhaps the after life, or the next life, whatever form it might take. That was the beauty of such thinking, as he conceived it. These types of thoughts were infinite and potentially endless in their scope. They would only end when his mind finally went completely quiet. He was absolutely aware that there may be no conjoining such ideas with reality as it is lived, but did not see this potential impossibility as a torment, but rather a lifelong source of intellectual exercise. Something to occupy his mind as human civilization goes through its endless contortions.
His own expectations, of himself, his mind, his body, his world, are all mistaken attempts to generate a predictable world fueled by his desire for some (any?) level of greater understanding, but in desiring this knowledge he only guarantees his persistent failure to achieve it. To move forward without expectations of any kind is to move forward with any hope of real insight. Expectation generates a bias, and that bias can easily hide truth.
In his ears, the Beatles sing...
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
Hey Jude, don't be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better
And anytime you feel the pain
Hey Jude refrain
Don't carry the world up on your shoulder
For well you know that it's a fool
Who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder
Hey Jude don't let me down
you have found her
now go and get her
remember to let her into your heart
then you can start to make it better
so let it out and let it in
hey Jude begin
you're waiting for someone to perform with
and don't you know that it's just you
hey Jude you do
the movement you need is on your shoulder
hey Jude don't make it bad
take a sad song and make it better
remember to let her under your skin
then you begin to make it better, better, better, better, better!
Laaaa La lalalalaaaa lalalaaaaa Hey Jude!
Saturday, November 08, 2008
People are strange, so it gets stranger
Alcoholics are said to experience a moment of clarity when they have finally reached the point when a life spent nuzzling up to liquid escapism is no longer tolerable. They lose their taste for the drink, or can no longer bear the consequences of their need for inebriation, and find a new way to cope with their internal struggles. In some way, maybe that is what our anti-hero is trying to do, find that new way. He does not imagine himself an alcoholic, in that his way has not been destructive, but it has been dysfunctional in a way that leaves him desiring the alcoholic's clarifying flash of personal insight.
For most of his life, certainly all of his adult life, he has depended on abstract ideals and high concepts of existentialism as sources of justification and validation for what can only be described as an odd nature. He held fast to these ideas when almost no one could see any sense in doing so. In many ways, he lost touch with reality and spun off into a world largely of his own making. On one level, this invisible exodus was a means of seeking out some coping mechanism. The world around him did not make sense, in that many of the people around him seemed mentally or morally deficient. He began to believe very strongly in his own mental superiority and used this as a means of pulling himself up and away from a mass of humanity that began to exist in his mind as the "unwashed masses". This is how he came to see the word "average" as an insult, or even an excuse for acquiescence to the tireless drive of social conformity.
"These people have to be stupid. There is no other reasonable explanation. They are stupid, there is no point in fighting that. There is no point in being any part of that. There is no point in being a part of 'them'". That was the thought process that made alienation more attractive than normalization. By most accounts, this made him stronger psychologically, but left him with a glaring emotional deficiency. When one disconnects willingly, there is little to keep you tethered to the shore, so you begin drifting out to sea.
He began drawing conclusions based on intuition, rationalization, and in some cases, blatant supposition tinged with the pungent musk of prejudice, but almost nowhere was experience to be found in the foundations of his thinking. In practice, life became an exercise in seeking out comrades who would validate his thinking, while progressively closing his own eyes to alternative conceptualizations of what it means to be alive. He drifted, eventually finding himself very far from anything he recognized, and he set himself to pondering his situation.
What he realized encouraged and scared him. He had meandered so far into the distance, he had become something of a strange, distant animal. He was unwanted, and did not want anyone, so that his situation became both discouraging and empowering. In one hand the shame of not being desirable, in the other, the freedom of having no specific desire. The Buddha would say that he was probably in a transitional state, or taking his first step on a long journey that would lead him right back to where he started; nowhere and everywhere. Others would probably say he had moved a few inches closer to losing it. Can one suffer a slap to the ego and a spiritual affirmation in the same moment? The question lingered tantalizing and ominous, as he realized just how tired he had become...it is time for some rest.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Number 44
Barack Obama, a mixed race man, will be taking the oath of office in January of 2009. The year he was born, Southern blacks were still being attacked by dogs, fire-hosed off of streets, and hung from trees by men dressed up like children on Hallow's Eve, all because they had the nerve to demand equality. At the time, America's South took pride in defecating on the Constitution. The situation may have continued everlasting if not for the brave men and women who decided enough was enough and began what would become the American civil rights movement. Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King Jr., and innumerable others died so that Americans of African decent, many of them the grandchildren of former slaves, could enjoy the most basic human rights. A little over 40 years ago, these men and women stood up for human dignity, and after years of death and degradation, they won what was essentially the final major battle in a prolonged war going back to the dawn of this nation. In many ways, Barack Obama embodies the culimation of their efforts.
At the time of Obama's birth, mixed race relationships and marriages were constibutionally prohibited by some Southern states, schools were still segregated, and blacks were still very much marginalized to roles of menial labor and servitude in the deep South. Whites Only restaurants, bathrooms, and stores were common throughout the Southeastern US. Black men were routinely attacked and killed for offenses as minor as talking to a white woman in public. All of this was happening well within my parents' lifetime. It wasn't only the South which embraced such ignorance. Even in exhalted places like the Kennedy White House, a place some referred to as Camelot, blacks were handled as if they were unpredictable animals, no matter the level of their education or status. For instance, a black staffer in Jack Kennedy's White House was prohibited from being left alone in a room with white women, because white staff members were afraid he might molest or coerce their white female coworkers. That was the America Barack Obama was born into and now he has been elected to lead it. That is a massive, paradigm shifting reality, regardless of where people fall on the political spectrum.
These thoughts meander through what is left of ta 30-something office drone's mind as he browses the homepages of FOX News, CNN, USA Today, and the endless expanse of online news outlets. A sip of coffee, a few minutes to skim through a transcript of Obama's victory address, then it's on to an article about McCain's concession speech and the unraveling of his campaign. The day after America's 44th President was selected, the reaction is very mixed. Some of his friends, people he considers extended family, were posting blurbs to their Facebook and MySpace accounts proclaiming Obama a racist and a Socialist. A couple declared Obama's supporters to be idiots, asking "what is wrong with people", a rhetorical question tinged with frustration at the fools who would dare vote for someone other than John McCain.
Funny thing is, the drone doesn't feel like a fool, or an idiot, he feels like someone who voted his conscience. Obama is not a racist, so far as the drone could tell, and given Obama's mixed race heritage, it is hard to imagine a man raised by two white women known to have showered him with love and support being a hater of caucasian America. Of course, the drone and millions of other Americans could be wrong, but it is a time for new ideas and a new direction. After all, this is not the America the young drone grew up believing in. The country he sees is a place divided by ideology, governed by greed, and run into the ground by a white executive aristocracy. It is hard for the drone to accept that there is not inherent wisdom in putting a middle class, black man who knows what it feels like to be at the bottom of the economic barrel in charge of remolding the fragmented remains of a once mighty titan into something smarter, leaner, and more responsible. So much damage has been done in the pst 8 years, drastic change is necessary, and there is nothing more different than a mixed race, mixed faith man who once saw his food being bought with food stamps. A man intelligent enough to make millions of dollars practicing law, or authoring books, who chose public service as his calling. There is much to respect in this man.
Certainly there are questions. The drone sees every human being that walks as questionable, but with those questions comes a real sense of hope. At a time when the once mighty giant finds itself bloodied on its knees, Number 44 will be charged with coaxing the titan back to its feet. The task is a daunting one, given the damage done by the outgoing junta, but the country is out of choices and there is no time for slinking away from challenges. Meanwhile, the drone finishes his coffee and moves on to the sad and almost desperate task of keeping himself employed in a country balanced on the brink of Depression.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Comet Spirit
He likes to imagine the trajectory of his life as a wayward comet moving relentlessly toward its inevitable end in some unknown, unmapped corner of space. Distant, aloof, almost mystical in its alluring power and inaccessibility, the comet makes for a compelling metaphor, but the reality is that a life is more like a leaf tumbling to the ground. Where the comet is as old as Universe, the leaf is young, short-lived, and eventually destined to be disassembled and absorbed by the elements of Earth. There is no question that he would prefer to be the comet, with all its power and celestial majesty. In his mind, the physical aspect, the biochemical aspect of his reality, would work wonderfully as the comet's icy vapor trail. After all, the physical is temporary and in a perpetual state of decay. In his mind's eye, a vision of the ghostly cloud trailing off behind a brilliant, glowing comet as it rushes through space is the perfect metaphor for physical life. Tiny bits of its mass are shed through time and space, leaving behind fragments that become anonymous components of the infinite ether.
Yes, being a comet would be a fine thing. One could set one's self off in a direction without worry or anxiety about what lie ahead. The movement would be the thing. Progress, all of existence would be about progress. Not necessarily progress toward a goal, so much as a perpetual, forward progression. The concept makes such intuitive sense, he argues. This world, this life within this world, these things are three dimensional and irresistibly forward in their nature. Even the Buddhist who declares there is no when but here and now must recognize that the physical state of here and now is perpetually changing, so that there is no constant but change, with history being a snapshot of the self at that moment which is left behind and discarded, even as it is still developing. In this way we leap from moment to moment, depositing our own cosmic dust as the perpetual motion machine that is time, or physical decay, advances apace.
With every grain of icy dust, the ball of ice gives itself over to a finite contrail beginning at birth, and exhausting at death, with chronological life lived in between. Being a physical thing, the material self, like the comet, is subject to collisions, interference, and transformation. One day, the material self is healthy and powerful, then in the blink of an eye, or the passage of several decades, that same mass of molecules and energy dissipates and becomes a diminished artifact of some previous moment. In this way, the comet spirit sees its Earthly self as an eroding sandcastle in which it must attempt to grow comfortable.
The motorcycle's exhaust pounds its voice back into his consciousness. This must be what it sounds like to be an artillery shell flying aware from a battery at full song. Each explosion instigated by an eager spark plug agitating the indifferent air and gasoline occupying the machine's heart. Could this be the sound of a comet soul making its way through this multidimensional world. It certainly stirs his spirit in ways he does not always understand, but at the moment, it might simply be the last sound he ever hears, should he fail to get his mind back in the here and now.
"Goddamn I'm a mess", he muses to the inner lining and membranes of his skull. With bleary eyes he focuses on the road ahead with almost no hope of being able to be right now for a long time.
Perhaps we are not comets after all, but merely tree leaves flipping and flopping to our respective grand finales in the dirt. He would rather not find out today, so he points two wheels toward home and pushes the infinite nothingness that contains every thing from his active mind.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
The times, they are a-changin'
Regardless of where you stand on the political spectrum, or who you intend to vote for in the upcoming election, one thing is certain, this is not the America any of us have known during our time on this planet. It has been decades since our country was in this level of financial distress, and it has been 40 years since we were last in a war which proved to be as prolonged and costly as Iraq has become. Life and our national direction seem so uncertain. The future looks like a rather bleak affair, but there are reasons to be optimistic.
From great adversity rises the catalysts for a new generation of social movers. It is nearly impossible to motivate masses of people toward change without a calamity, or collective hardship, to properly focus their perspectives. We now have such a calamity and it is undeniable to anyone with any sense. The last time our country faced such stress was following the terrorist attacks of September 11th. The country stood up and took notice. No one could deny the power of what we had all seen, and there was no debating, something had to be done. Unfortunately, George W Bush systematically squandered that sense of communal unity by recklessly chasing a political agenda based on ideology and hubris, rather than humbly, intelligently, strategically moving forward toward a real solution. He failed, but I am fairly confident neither of the men running for President will ignore the lesson of Dubya and conduct themselves with such arrogance. Maybe I am giving these men too much credit, but I think there is reason to believe that both men would lead their cabinets in a way that would not take the country down a similar path of shamefully shortsighted action.
This time, the war will be financial, but it will also be spiritual. I am not talking about god or souls, I am talking about the country's collective spirit. There is a real chance, depending on how skillfully, honestly, and surely the country moves through this mess over the next several years, that America could fail. Greed could bring the once mighty giant down to the level of a fractured, expansive, banana republic. A strong argument can be made that we are already there, but it is not yet too late to take a turn in a new direction. What it will take is real leadership in government, but also real effort on the part of the constituency.
We are on the precipice of a very real recession. Given the borrow and spend mentality which has defined this country's government and its people, no one should be surprised that we have dug this massive hole together, but we do not have to acquiesce and resign ourselves to being buried. Each of us must take on a higher level of personal responsibility. Collectively, we have to understand that leadership matters, that people matter, that we matter. Our choices in the years to come will determine the course of history and could have repercussions that extend far beyond the next generation.
If we do not come together, if we do not put aside the innumerable, insignificant differences used to divide us, we will ultimately fail, and the next generation will suffer immensely for it. The economy is going to shrink and shrivel, we will all be forced to make sacrifices, but in many ways, we will be coming back to Earth after 3 decades of living in a fantasy land. But this is all common knowledge. Barack Obama and John McCain both agree on this, so the differences between them are rooted in the "how" we get there. This is good and as it should be, since those differences will lead to debate and compromise, which will keep both sides honest.
And honesty is paramount, if we are to make any real progress. Americans have to be honest with themselves, and they have to demand - not hope, or request, but demand - that the government is honest as well. Whoever wins the White House must be required to be honest, but they must also keep America honest. If they fail to meet those obligations, we will descend into an abyss from which we might not return as a functional nation. I believe that much is at stake over the next decade.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Blocked up
Lots of things to write about, seemingly no ability to write about it. Lots of things I should be drawing and putting color to, seemingly no ability to create. Right now, life is a lot of running in place, watching the world convulse, and hoping the ship holds together long enough for most of us, if not all, to make it over the next crest safely. The problems before us are so large they surpass the imagination's ability to fully grasp them, but at the same time, seem so simple that their enormity is almost laughable.
In so many ways, we have paid more than we make as a culture for decades and finally, those plump, juicy, diseased hens have come home to roost. We wanted it all and we wanted it now, and like Jim Morrison, the foundation of our being finally succumbed into a heap. When I talk about we, I am talking about the entire, collective we. The problems we face are bigger than the narrow visions of nationalism, and broader than the modern concept of globalism. The drive to greed and gain and power that have started every war, poisoned so many minds, and fueled nearly all of our illusory divisions, has been with us nearly from our earliest days. And as we have seen, it is not going anywhere anytime soon.
And what are we to do about it? There is no easy answer, obviously. What is not so obvious to some, is that there may be no answer whatsoever. The intangible change we need may be beyond our grasp, and beyond our common mind's ability to embrace. Greed and gratification, how many words have I typed or spoken aloud whining about, condemning, or contemplating those things? After all of that chatter and brain cycling, all I have come to understand is just how far away I am from transcending these things and how vulnerable my own life and sense of well-being is to the greed and selfishness of others. That's not to say the situation is entirely hopeless, but with so few reasons to be optimistic, it is nearly impossible to deny the dreariness of the current landscape. We are living in a world painting by Van Gogh, written by the Marquis de Sade, and narrated by Salvador Dali.
For better or worse, this is home.
DLZ by TV On the Radio
Congratulations on the mess you made of things;
On trying to reconstruct the air and all that brings.
And oxidation is the compromise you own
But this is beginning to feel like the dog wants her bones
saved
You force your fire then you falsify your deeds
Your methods dot the disconnect from all your creeds
And fortune strives to fill the vacuum that it feeds
But this is beginning to feel like the dog's lost her lead
This is beginning to feel like the long
winded blues of the never
This is beginning to feel like it's curling up slowly
and finding a throat to choke
This is beginning to feel like the long
winded blues of the never
Barely controlled locomotive consuming the picture
and blowing the crows, the smoke
This is beginning to feel like the long
winded blues of the never
Static eplosion devoted to crushing the broken
and shoving their souls to ghost
Eternalized. Objectified.
You set your sights so high.
But this is beginning to feel like
the bolt busted loose from the lever
Never you mind
Death professor
Your structure's fine
My dust is better
Your victim flies so high
All to catch a bird's eye view of who's next
Never you mind
Death professor.
Love is life,
My love is better.
Eyes could be the diamonds
Confused with who's next
Never you mind
Death professor.
Your shocks are fine,
My struts are better.
Your fiction flies so high,
Y'all could use a doctor
Who's sick, who's next?
Never you mind
Death professor.
Electrified, my love is better
It's crystallized, so am I.
All could be the diamond
Fused with who's next
This is beginning to feel like the dawn of a loser forever
This is beginning to feel like the dawn of a loser forever
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
John McCain as part of the Keating Five
I was just a kid when the SnL collapse at Lincoln Savings stuck the US taxpayer with a $3.4B tab, so I wasn't aware of John McCain's direct involvement with the scandal. Apparently, ol' John took a substantial amount of money, and enjoyed some personal time, with Charles Keating, who most people agree is little more than a piece of shit with legs. I suppose, if McCain-Palin can insinuate that Obama is a terrorist sympathizer, I suppose it's fair that Obama-Biden respond by letting us know that McCain has a certain amount of sympathy for the types of people that destroyed the financial services industry.
I wish it hadn't come to this, but when the McCain campaign made the decision to start using "smear tactics", they left Obama's campaign with little choice. You take the high road and fail to respond, the idiots on TV starts ranting about "weakness". On the other hand, if he goes on full offensive, he gets dragged into the pool of shit McCain and Palin are piling up around themselves, which ultimately does him nothing but harm. This seems to be an attempt at going up the middle, and the statements made are supported by the historical record, which is very important. This is how the Republicans do things, so there are times when a Democrat or Independent has to step up and fight fire with fire. Unlike Palin's accusations, the assertions made in the video are supported by facts, which is always nice...
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Sarah Palin debate flowchart
Thought this was funny. :)From Pheer and Loathing via BoingBoing. 
Bonus item: Sarah seems more attractive as a candidate, now that I know she has holy protection against witchcraft! Is Barack Obama protected from witchcraft? Who knows? Just one more way the man is a dangerous unknown!!
I'm waiting for the video of her church dancing with snakes. :)