I’m doing some ironing on a gloomy morning and it causes me to think way too much – and to remember… a friend’s brother who passed away too-young stricken by a disease, and another friend who also passed away too-young in the rapids of the Potomac river.
Not a big ball-fan, but we watched the sweep last night and I gotta say that Sergio Romo and his fierce beard could be a low-brim icon in the next Tarantino film.
I never went to a baseball-game with my dad – the quintessential things of Youth and Dads. I guess it was not his sport or priority – and they (Mom & Dad) were always too busy with church or mission-work – or else we were not even in the country for it to happened at the time/age when we might have. Living overseas produces gaps in Information and Culture that we have on both-sides harnessed to our own devices and reasonings to find an explanation.
My parents will vote or have already by absentee ballot, for The One. And I am reminded how political it is now become – but even that it always was. I remember the old Soviet Life magazines laying around, just something to read for a kid who insatiably read everything – masquerading as tolerance for The Other in order to appear open-minded, the embrace of political poverty as an expression of Humility. The Pharisees at work.
Both of those things: Politics and Religion, transformed from a deeply held blessing of Faith and belief, with miracles and Hope, merged and subsumed into a Socialist pop-slurry of debris and gutter mung, a poverty-ridden sour-mash of sweaty human grudges, a tawdry political philosophy garnished by the statistics of death. An elixir of hate to be distilled in the violent crucible of Revolution. And rebellious as ever I disagree with them. I can’t vote for a Socialist and I don’t hate America – or the hold to idea of it as a stolen continent unfairly taken from its natural inhabitants by foreign thieves and bankers. I don’t accept the poisoned chalice, rotten wafer, or the 10-million dead from Communism. It’s scary stuff – worse than witches in the woods or children baked into pies – it is all those things made real.