I'm fairly certain the moon made love to the sun this evening. Colors unnamed. And the drums made love to the earth. And the drums made love.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Those who do not live here commonly inquire about the climate of this atmosphere--Washington, D.C. My vote rarely counts. Capitol Hill is a lackluster cluster of romantic architecture set complicated to any buzzing neighborhood, offices where permanent out-of-towners dwell. It's true. I am privy to an incredible amount of detail. Within months of moving here, I had to forego my longstanding devotion to the daily newspaper and NPR. Overwhelming really. Living and working in politics--I'm inundated with goings-on. Never mind that I actually specialize in health care.
The rest of Here is actually quaint and the wind is ornery and the trees are showering us now slowly with their golden leaves. Things feel rather hush.
According to local heresy, there is a You Tube account of a past blessing between a christian clergy and Sarah Palin in which her minister asks her father god to protect her from witchcraft as she rises in office. Verbatim.
I don't know Sarah Palin and didn't expect to like whoever John McCain (who I also don't like. big surprise.) decided to invite into the intended White House. They can stack their House with my dead dog Lily and so long as they nominate more fucking assholes to the supreme court, I will burn down the house. Figuratively.
This I know: if we continue in our current twisted and absolutely unsustainable direction, it will be a detriment to our own bodies, our very souls (for those of us who have one). The laws of artistic success, of moral obligation, they have shifted. Those who cannot grasp this can go ahead and battle at heaven's gate. More earth for the trees.
I think I used to think there would be a quiet lot of land and everyone I knew and loved would gather there and the days would have planting and baking and sewing and writing and the nights would be full of music and dancing. It seems so simple that we no longer know how to do it.
I'm lucky. I see abortion is good. I am willing a society where a woman can access an abortion like she accesses a hair appointment. To take that time. To smell that good. To bask in spectacular lighting and the warm hands of a friendly stylist. Uteri cleansing with dignity and self-love. Indeed her menses flows monthly but it is only every two months or so that she trims the dead ends.
So maybe Sarah Palin has the Bible's God and certainly she'd toast me in a duel. Seedy men are suffocating every establishment in America. Completely emotionally inept. Wasting and taking everything to no avail. If these people have their way, things will get ridiculously messy. Heart-breaking. They may win.
But I ask: Will they ever have poetry?
By Naomi Wolf