carose59: politics (one of the f's)
Also, Yoko Ono Is Not Fictional.*

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There's a story by Harlan Ellison called Hitler Painted Roses. The story is about the idea that we go to heaven or hell based on what is remembered and believed about us by others, rather than what we've actually done. Hitler is not in hell because he's remembered as a painter. (That's my vague recollection of the story, anyway.)

I don't know about an afterlife, but that's certainly what this life is like. My favorite examples are The Story of the Two Flag Shirts, and Rock Star Reputations.

In the sixties (which includes some of the early seventies), Abbie Hoffman was a guest on either Mike Douglas or Merv Griffin's shows, I don't remember which. He wore a flag shirt, which was censored: a big blue dot was placed over it.

This wasn't because of the shirt, though, because Roy Rogers wore an identical shirt and was not censored. (Not on the same show, though that would have been incredible.) It wasn't about the shirt, it was about who you were while you were wearing the shirt. Roy Rogers in a flag shirt was a patriot because Roy Rogers was a cowboy hero. Abbie Hoffman in a flag shirt was desecrating the flag because Abbie Hoffman was a protestor. You are who people say you are.

The second story is about Jim Morrison and Simon & Garfunkel. Jim Morrison, as you may or may not know, was charged with—among other things—indecent exposure. According to John Densmore, Jim Morrison didn't expose himself, and was convicted of the things he didn't do and acquitted of the things he did do.

After his conviction, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel received an invitation to perform for some Christian youth group. They were both offended by this—their songs were not squeaky clean, they were existential protest songs! After getting stoned, they discussed what they could do about this, how they could change their image, and the idea of exposing themselves on stage was brought up. They both liked the idea, but they realized that it wouldn't matter if they did: the truth would never be strong enough to overcome their reputation, any more than it was strong enough to beat out Jim Morrison's and clear him.

People keep posting, "When will Trump voters realize they've been sold down the river." The answer is: never. They believe what they believe and they're going to keep believing it. Trump is who they admire because Trump is who they want to be like. They want to be allowed to be horrible, offensive people who can act they way he does without repercussions. (They want to be allowed to be, but they don't necessarily want to actually do it. They want to be able to say nigger with no repercussions, even if they never actually have the inclination to say it. They feel like their inferiors are telling them what to do and they hate it!!!)

They will never believe that he would treat them like this because they will never believe this one important fact: Trump and his people look at them exactly the way they look at illegal aliens and Muslims and gays and whoever else they see as unworthy and taking from them. Trump looks at them with the same hostility and couldn't care less if they die because they have no health insurance—obviously they should have made better life choices if they wanted to be rich and powerful like him.

Instead they will blame Obama and Hillary and the liberal media and anyone who doesn't agree with them. Even though we have as little power as they do, it will be our fault when their jobs disappear and they can't pay to see a doctor because . . . our bad thoughts are very powerful. I don't know. They've cast us in the role of the cause of all their problems and that's who we are now. Reality will not change that.

Their perceptions will not change because they don't want to know they're loathed the way they loathe people not like them.

carose59: politics (one of the f's)
"They Look Like A Bunch'a Fags. Not Really Fags, But Close. Gettin' There."*

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I've been reading about how, if Trump isn't given the presidency by the Electoral College, his supporters will become violent.

There are a couple of things wrong with that. The first is, they're already being violent, so that's not much of a threat. The second is, I don't like being extorted, and I'm particularly ticked off by an extortion that reads, "I'm going to beat you up unless you do what I tell you and even then I'm going to beat you up anyway." That's not even extortion. I don't know what that is. Maybe it's Trump extortion.

Trump supporters want to be violent. They're angry. They have a lot to be angry about—the delusional ones who think Trump is going to save them from the liberal elite do, anyway; we share a lot of the same anger-inducing situations: health care issues, job issues, things like that. They think Trump is going to save them and I know Trump is only going to make things worse for them. But they hate-hate-hate liberals, so it's not possible we could make things better for them. We're the ones who make things bad for them now. And we always will be.

We're looking at a red Presidency, red House, red Senate, and maybe a red Supreme Court. And if that comes to pass, things are going to get incredibly bad for anyone living paycheck to paycheck. And you know who the Teabaggers will blame?


Really. They will stand there, watching their designated saviors pass laws that take money, security, and health from them and they will blame the people fighting them. They will blame Obama (don't laugh, they blame him for 9/11). It will be all our fault.

Because we are in an abusive relationship with Teabaggers. The boss beats them up at work and they come home and beat us up. And then we're told by everybody outside what we did to deserve it. (I recently read that Trump is the fault of Democrats because we've been smug. Sound familiar? "And what did you say that provoked him to hit you, Mrs. Blue?")

And we try and find a way to help them because it's what we do because we're liberals. We want to save ourselves and everybody else. We want the world to be a better place and we think if it is, people will be better to each other and maybe even us.

I have my doubts. I know we have to save them; there are too many of them not to save and still save the country. But I do wish most of them would just drive the hell off a cliff. They aren't going to become nicer people and they're never going to be nice to us and I'm fed up with them.

*Joe Curren


Sunday, 18 September 2016 12:02 pm
carose59: politics (one of the f's)
"It's An Organization Of True Americans Devoted To A Healthy And American America."*

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And it suddenly makes sense.

The country is depressed; that is, the people of the US of A are sad and gloomy; dejected; downcast; pressed down, or situated lower than the general surface; undergoing economic hardship, especially poverty and unemployment; being or measured below the standard or norm and; suffering from depression.

The reasons for this state of affairs are many and varied and in some cases unreasonable, but there's no point telling people their feelings are unreasonable. This is where we are.

Some of us are trying to climb out of the depression, and trying to pull as many people as possible out with us. We're voting for Hillary.

And some people are finding the great relief anger can bring you when you're depressed. I don't know what the precise link between anger and depression is, but I know this: some days the best you feel is when you're yelling at the AT&T CSR about your screwed up bill. You feel so much better, it would have been a disappointment if things had gone well and they'd just been friendly and competent and fixed things quickly without you having to shift into bitch mode.

That feeling doesn't last. I crash pretty hard when I hang up the phone, even if everything has been resolved to my satisfaction. I'd like to be angry again.

Some people have found a way of doing that, and it's called being a Teabagger.

They're chronically angry over things they don't bother to research, so most of the time the things they're upset about either aren't true or are actually being caused by those they support. And it doesn't matter, because the point is the anger that give them some energy and make them feel better than the depression.

For example, the war on Christmas.

The people who rant about salespeople wishing them Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas tend to be the same ones who believe in unchecked capitalism. But Happy Holidays is capitalistic.

Because when your major concern is how much money you make, you want to sell whatever you can to whoever you can. Your religion (if you have one) doesn't come first. You want to appeal to everyone. So you're going to use the most inclusive message you can.

Which is a problem when you run into those angry about this. They're the ones who for some reason feel that others' being included means they're being excluded (see: gay marriage). So what do you to? Tell the truth and say you want Jews, Muslims, Wiccans and atheists buying your stuff? Of course not. You blame the liberals for their political correctness. You make yourself the victim. Since the anger junkies feel like victims themselves, they identify and feel sorry for you. The evil liberals are persecuting a poor, innocent business again because they hate America.

And so it goes, on and on. Blame the liberal media (even though it isn't liberal). Blame those who have life-threatening problems, and those who are working for them, because they must be taking something away from them. Everybody is taking something away from them.

Someone is. The problem is, it's the politicians they keep voting for, and we don't know how to get them to see that because the politicians they should be voting for aren't giving them their anger hit. And that makes them angry.

Donald Trump is, of course, one big anger hit. Hillary Clinton is not.

*Joe Davis
carose59: my mother's family (it seems to absolve us)
"No, I Try Not To Have Any Ideas. They Only Lead To Complications."*

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I think the thing that drives me crazy about right wingers is that you can't even ask them questions about what they believe or why. You're immediately shut down—usually with vicious insults. Since I don't understand anybody, I spend a lot of time trying to explore different ideas. Why asking a question is seen as an attack, I don't know.

(If you think I'm not serious about this, you have no idea how many hours I've listened to talk radio so I'd know exactly what I was talking about, so I'd know exactly what people were hearing. It turned my stomach, but I listened. Maybe that's one reason I get so angry with people who want to shut me up—I've done my damn homework, I've listened to those wretched men, just so I can have an intelligent conversation with you and now you're telling me to shut up.)

It's probably my whole not-being-believed-when-I'm-most-sincere syndrome.** I have gotten in more trouble for asking honest questions--people always think I'm being a smart ass. (Except when I am being a smart ass; that's when people take me seriously.) It makes me not want to ask questions. It makes me not trust people. When it happens, I just want to disengage, just—fine, apparently I can't talk to you so I'll go away. And please don't pretend things are fine now because they're not. They're really not. I just don't need more people in my life who want me to shut up. I have more than enough of those and I've never been any good at it. There are books I can't read because the need to answer back is too strong.

I quit talking to my cousin Alan because I refused to be cruel to him and he wouldn't stop being cruel to me. (I value myself to much to turn myself into something I despise if there's a way to avoid it.) He denied everything—he wasn't being cruel, I was too sensitive, it was just a joke, his reality was the real thing and I was just wrong, wrong, wrong. He thought mocking him was somehow acceptable, no matter how much I asked him to stop, and he hurt me so much, I became afraid of him. I know he doesn't accept this, but it's the truth. I sincerely thought about banning him from my mother's funeral, I wanted to see him so little.

I didn't. I pretended it was OK. Well, I was numb.

I know, I keep writing about this. I know it doesn't sound like anything, but the betrayal was profound. And last night something else happened with another relative.

*Dr. Johnny Fever
**I once tried to post something frivolous on a Starsky & Hutch mailing list. My post never came through and never came through and never came through. I contacted the owner of the list to ask if there was some reason I was blocked and she said no, I should try again. So I did—a couple of times. Nothing. Contacted the owner again. She said there was no problem with the list.

So I came up with a different email—same name, only hotmail. And the post went through! So I figured it was just AOL and thought no more about it.

Until the owner sent me a furious email about me being sneaky and going around her. I told her I was just trying to solve the email problem, since apparently AOL was the issue.

That was when she told me how stupid I was not to realize of course I was blocked! (I was stupid for not knowing she was lying to me.) And how dare I try to trick her like this?! (She'd flat-out lied to me twice, but I—using an identical screen name—had been trying to trick her. That annoyed me just because I'd have to be pretty damn stupid to try to trick her using the same name. I might be clueless about what other people are thinking, but I'm not stupid!)

So it is me. I get that. I just don't get why.
carose59: dreams (whose mind watches itself)
"Oh, I Like It, It Has An Air Of Conspiracy To It."*

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My dream took place in a 1950's style musical. It was about a dim-witted stage manager engaged to a beautiful, dark-haired starlet. The starlet was just getting her big break in a big musical. (Yes, it's a musical within a musical. My dreams can be very complicated.) The stage manager overhears someone plotting to kill the starlet and calls the police, who add security to the theatre. (I think this bit came from The Phantom of the Opera.)

The murder is part of a much larger plot having to do with smuggling military secrets to Russia. The bad guys all look alike—tall and willowy, like ballet dancers. They're all dressed sort of like Boris Badanov, only in black leotards and tights, and the fabric of their black coats was light and gauzy. At one point they do this wonderful dance number, twirling and flowing across the stage, singing about their plan to drug the stage manager and frame him for the starlet's murder.

They're setting him up as secretly being a homicidal maniac. They have notes he wrote to the cast and have scissored them into meaningless phrases, which they plan to leave with the body. This would be the evidence that he was crazy and that he killed her.

They drug the stage manager, but he groggily escapes. Then they drug the starlet and leave her on her bed in her standard early '50's crummy hotel room. What they don't know is that when the stage manager escaped, he hid in her room, behind the dresser. So when they bring her in, he hears their whole plan--but he's too drugged up to do anything about it.

Except for the bit about The Phantom of the Opera, the only part of this I can place is the overhearing stuff, which was a plot point in an episode of The Good Wife that I watched the other day. Why it was important enough to dream about, I don't know. It was certainly entertaining, and the dance number with the Russian spies was very impressive.

Actually, now that I think of it, that might have come from Bye, Bye Birdie, which I also just recently watched—the drugging of the Russian ballet dancers to speed them up so Birdie will have time to sing. Not that any of that explains why. My brain has billions and billions of things in it and why it dredges up what it does to put in dreams is something I will never fully understand.

Oh, and last week I dreamed that Murphy Brown and Linda Ellerbee were covering Hillary Clinton's campaign, which if had happened twenty years ago could very easily have happened.

*Venus Flytrap


Monday, 10 January 2011 07:46 pm
carose59: FPA (finding something else on the way)
Prohibition is an awful flop.
We like it.
It can't stop what it's meant to stop.
We like it.
It's left a trail of graft and slime,
It don't prohibit worth a dime,
It's filled our land with vice and crime.
Nevertheless, we're for it.


(I'm not sure that's the real title, because I haven't been able to find the book it's in, and I haven't checked any of my Bartlett's yet.)

Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.
carose59: the rose behind the fence (Default)
"Nope, Nope, Nope! You Can't Start Singing Loud Just At The End Of Something! You Would Have Thought After All This Time--Decades Worth Of Time!--That You Would Have Learnt By Now If You Want To End War and Stuff, You've Got To Learn To Sing Loud All The Time So People Can Hear You!"*

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I took a long walk this evening, and while I was out I saw something . . . odd.

There was this statue in someone's front yard. Now, a lot of people have statues in their yards--the Blessed Mother, Jesus, St. Francis. I didn't recognize this one--it definitely wasn't the Blessed Mother, and I don't think it was Jesus, though he was wearing a robe. It could have been St. Francis, though my St. Francis has a dog at his side, and a bird on his shoulder and this one didn't have either.

He did have something, though. He had a small, plastic American flag draped across his shoulders like a shawl.

My first thought was of Abbie Hoffman. I don't know how many people remember Abbie's flag shirt, the one that was censored on The Mike Douglas Show. (For anyone who doesn't remember, and is wondering how you censor a shirt, they put a big blue dot over him.) It was disrespectful to wear a shirt like that.

At least, it was disrespectful if you were Abbie Hoffman. It wasn't a bit disrespectful when Roy Rogers wore the same shirt. When Roy wore it, it was patriotic.

I don't know what it means when some saint I can't identify wears it. I suppose it's that God is on our side, though I've never understood that philosophy. I really need to go back and figure out just who that guy is.

*Arlo Guthrie

July 2017

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