Crumbs from the Curmudgeon

Apt Metaphor

2012-02-06T16:14:00.001-06:00

You are like heroin.
No wait, that isn't good.
You are like fine bourbon,
aged in oaken barrel wood.

Well, that isn't good either;
and the fact is, you are neither.
You are the woman that I love,
and not some facsimile thereof.

I wanted to write you a Valentine,
a smoochy, kissy I love you,
but I can't find an apt metaphor
that says it like I want it to.

How does one convey eternity?
Or love that flows beyond measure?
Can it be reduced to trite cliche?
Would chocolate love be your pleasure?

Wait, that last thing could be taken wrong.
What I meant was, I am as sweet as candy.
Oh hell, this love poem is getting sketchy,
and I'm coming off as namby pamby.

Look, it's simple, so I'll just come right out and say it,
your body is like a song, and I really want to play it.
You are the one for whom my heart most yearns,
your love is the axis about which my whole world turns.

Okay, so I admit it, this poem is a complete disaster.
Still, I think you get the gist of what I'm going after.
So how about it? Is it possible that you will be mine?
Will you hold me, and love me, and be my kissy kissy Valentine?

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

A Demon's Voice

2012-01-31T22:09:00.002-06:00

You called me the other night
and you were dead, stinking drunk.

Every other word was a curse word
as you heaped abuse upon the world,
while I only listened and prayed.

Your voice was dark and growling.

You said you had a cold.
"A fucking bad cold,"
you called it.

But I think it was the demon's voice,
the distilled spirit that now vies
for your soul.

Until that night I held hope for you;
believed that you could give up
drinking and start living life again.

Before that night I doubted
the existence of demons,
the kind that torment
lost and empty souls.

But that night, I heard a demon's voice
coming from someone that I love,
and I realized that you are now
in God's hands, and He alone can save you.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Comma

2012-01-30T21:24:00.003-06:00

Four siblings and then, one.

And I was the comma.

Two older boys,
two older sisters,
me and baby brother.

Hand me down toys,
hand me down clothes,
and a neurotic mother.

Small wonder, then,
that I was lost in the bustle,
a little half-Mexican boy
overlooked in all the shuffle.

Always coats and shoes,
never going without food
they did the very best they could
with an overweening brood.

Still, to feel an after thought,
as though you do not matter,
it can warp a young child's mind
into damn near a mad hatter.

Six kids and a former POW for a father,
a controlling mother who was a complex martyr,
slugs in the kitchen and roaches in the larder;
these explain why, for me, joy is so much harder.

Now mostly dead and gone,
they are ghosts who care no longer,
and yet the I, the comma, still remain,
pausing breath and blowing stronger.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

The First Time

2012-01-30T09:48:00.000-06:00

The first time I saw you.
The first time our eyes met.

The first time we talked, and laughed.
The first time my heart missed a beat for you.

The first phone call.
Our first date, first text message, first email.

The first time you let me kiss you.
The first time we touched as more than friends.
The first time we pressed skin to skin.

The first time we avoided saying I love you.
The first time we said I love you.
The first time we believed it was love.

Our first holiday together and apart.
The first poems I wrote for you.

The first time we were not well together.
The first time you took care of me.
The first time I cooked for you.

The first time I realized
that I always thought of you first.

Our first misunderstanding.
The first hurt feelings.
Our first argument.
Our first breakup and makeup.

Our first goodbye.
Our last goodbye.

These are the things I remember.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Prayer for My Children

2012-01-28T08:43:00.001-06:00

My beloved children:

I pray that God will always help
you know and remember
the difference between fun and too far.

My prayer is that your Heavenly
Father will always protect you
those times I cannot keep you from harm.

I beseech our great Creator
to grant you intimate knowledge
and closeness with Him that I
could never achieve.

I petition Him to be your blessing,
to grant you health, prosperity,
unbroken love that is pure
and always brings you peace.

Sweet children, my love for you
flows heavenward each new day,
as I ask for angelic intercession
should challenge come your way.

For you, my beautiful gifts from God,
my rich blessings from His treasure,
I offer the very prayers of my soul
for your happiness without measure.

May you always walk in His
light and stride upon His path.
For you, my much loved children,
these are all the things I ask.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Intentional Love

2012-01-27T11:49:00.001-06:00

I love you on purpose.
I love you without pause.
I love you deep and surface.
I love you just because.

My love is intentional,
the way philosophers use the term;
meaning that in my mind
you are the love that I love.

In a way, you could
have never even existed.
My intentional love
is about you, but it is not you;
my thoughts encompass you,
but you exist elsewhere,
not just in my mind.

If intention were magical,
I would have you always here;
no more a mental phenomenon,
instead my beloved most dear.

Because I love you on purpose,
and I love you without pause,
and I love you deep and surface,
and I love you just because.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Daring the Darkness

2012-01-27T08:15:00.003-06:00

Darkness descends upon the world.
It falls like a knife on the horizon,
beginning at the contours of my mind,
growing 'til it engulfs both hemispheres.

I am standing in the darkness.
I feel the claws of unpleasant
memories and toxic emotion
tearing at my psychic skin.

Fear and panic are there, too,
pulling at my mind, trying
to rip it out of my head.
My heart beats in the gloom.

Step by step, I will myself
to continue moving forward.
I pull a sword of prayer from
the hard scabs in my soul.

The sword flashes in the dark
as I swing it left and right,
driving back demons who
go scuttling away in chains.

I am strength now,
a knight who walks in night.
I am fearless now,
finding hope in god's dim light.

It is a fight that everyone faces.
None are spared their season,
none are immune from that time
when they must dare the darkness.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

I Will No More

2012-01-25T16:33:00.000-06:00

There was a time when I would die for you,

a time when I would fight to keep you;

days when I would have wrestled with angels

just to have you one day longer.

I will no more.

There was a time when I would deny for you,

cheat myself of both time and money,

steal love from my children and give it to you

just so I could hold you in my arms.

I will no more.

To say I regret having you in my life is not true.

Nor can I truthfully say I am glad to have known you.

You are a ghost now, a bothersome phantom

pain from my amputated heart.

I used to think about you and pray for you every day.

I will no more.

I have only the remainder of my life to live,

and every day without you becomes a little easier.

Perhaps easier is not completely accurate; rather,

I am grown adjusted to living life in pain.

I used to anesthetize my lingering love for you,

but I will no more.

I have discovered that happiness, like love,

is a completely voluntary decision to make.

You made your choices, seeking happiness in the arms

of codependent addictions and your other lovers.

I used to let that make me sad and lonely.

I will no more.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Frogs

2012-01-22T13:04:00.000-06:00

(With apologies to Emily Dickinson)

Little people,
like big frogs
in tiny ponds,
sing to their bogs.

Sitting on a Lotus,
padded safe and dry,
admire their watery reflection,
live from fly to fly.

And go hiding in a moss bank
when at night the Gigger comes
shining his bright light at them,
spearing with his prongs.

"Oh no, the Gigger!"
they cry and jump away,
then lurking in darkness,
they gather quietly and pray.

For they know
the Gigger knows
when frogs outgrow
their bogs.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Brick In My Pocket

2012-01-20T09:55:00.000-06:00

I hate my phone
when you don't ring it.
I carry it always
but wonder why I bring it.

Might as well be a brick
I carry in my pocket,
or a big box of breath mints,
for the way you used to stop it.

They told me it was a smart phone
which is one reason that I bought it,
but it couldn't tell me how to keep you,
so its "smartness" I cannot plaudit.

Someday they will invent a new invention,
a handheld device for breakup prevention,
you will simply wave the thing over your lover's head,
and it will reanimate all the feelings that were dead.

No longer, then, will I be carrying bricks upon my person,
no more waiting on phone calls as self esteem is worsened;
a simple matter, then, of making human love by cold machine,
a technological fix to ensure that this king is always queened.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Mistakes

2012-01-18T16:19:00.001-06:00

I have made more than my share
of mistakes in life and love.

I have burned bridges,
forgotten friends and family,
neglected neighbors and niceties,
and lost much beloved lovers.

I have missed the point,
missed the mark and
missed the deadline
of too many
important opportunities.

I have found God,
lost God,
and found God
again and again.

The Hebrew word for "sin"
is "chet," which actually
means "mistake."

Too many sins,
too many mistakes,
too many second chances.

I am living proof of God's
benevolence, loving kindness
and eternal patience with
his learning-challenged children.

From my mistakes I have learned
the things not to do, and valuable
lessons about the reasons why.

From my sins, I have gained
much wisdom, much pleasure,
and especially God's eternal love.

Mistakes.
Sins.
Regrets.
Soul lessons.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Man and Wife

2012-01-16T11:23:00.001-06:00

Sometimes a man and his once loving wife
become so accustomed to cold angry strife
they invite it into their once wedded house,
grow bitter and content with a contentious spouse.

Lovers at first, then partners in life,
honeymoon over as husband and wife,
hold grudges for years, perennially grouse
over things that need fixing all 'round the house.

Make cutting remarks with wedding gift knives,
go silent for days and cold sexless nights,
resenting each other for adding some pounds,
take secret lovers as vows they renounce.

Make broken promises, repeatedly try
to reignite passion as cold years fly by,
only to end up old and all alone,
unsure how they lost their once loving home.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Afflictions

2012-01-16T09:17:00.002-06:00

You were my addiction.
I was a self-sacrificing victim
of your much-loved self-afflictions.

Your obsession with perfection,
the need to control every situation,
moving people around like pawns,
keeping track so your lies did not
beat you home before the dawn.

In the days before I got sober,
went cold turkey from your love,
you were all I would consider,
my substitute goddess from above.

Now there is only day to day,
thinking up ways not to think
about the joy, the loving play
that could take you to the brink.

Now you are my affliction,
and I am a self-hating victim
of my much-missed love addiction.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

A Fine Line

2012-01-16T09:09:00.002-06:00

There is a fine line
between art and anguish,
a very thin line
between hurt and hate.

I walk that line most days now
like a drunken driver walks
the line at the side of the road.

Boundaries mean nothing
in the game of in-betweens,
when angels become demons,
when red gets the better of green.

They say guilt can be forgiven,
but shame is a permanent stain,
the one can beg for mercy,
the other becomes your name.

So there is a fine line
between heaven and hell
when truth becomes theory
and hope is hard to sell.

A short and broken line
between living and dying,
a very short distance
between true love and lying.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

The Judas Spirit

2012-01-16T09:05:00.003-06:00

You are full of the Judas spirit,
self-righteous in your suffering,
self-serving in your sacrifice.

Addicted to suicidal ideation,
craving your cutting edge
like a junkie craves the needle.

Confused in your spirituality,
claiming god as your savior
yet willing to destroy the very life
he graced you to possess.

I do not believe you will go to hell.
I believe you will be relegated back to life,
to bear all the pain of living again,
serving successive life sentences
as god teaches you that love
is the only thing that matters,
the only reason we exist.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Love Yourself

2012-01-16T08:59:00.005-06:00

Love yourself,
you child of God.

Revel in your parentage.
Accept your portion of the kingdom,
and dance while you can.
No, you do not reach perfection,
but that, child, is the perfect plan.

The creation is perfect
in its very imperfection,
no two of you alike,
and so out of chaos
grows ever abundant life.

Yes, your Father is distant,
having thrown you from the nest,
He equipped you with all you need
and now you must do the rest.

Pay homage when you are able,
never believe you are in His debt,
you are always welcome at the table,
with His grace and love are you blessed.

So love yourself,
you child of God,
and want for nothing
until you inherit all.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Self-Mortification

2012-01-14T09:21:00.001-06:00

In earlier times,
to atone for sin and shame,
we practiced self-mortification.

A lash on the back for
a lustful thought.

A hair shirt to wear
for the sin of pride.

Long fasts to demonstrate
our worth to an inscrutable
and distant God.

Today, our self-mortification
masquerades in various forms.

The dieter who becomes bulimic
is the modern equivalent of the
fasting penitent sinner.

The fitness buff, running for
miles to atone for an extra
doughnut is the reincarnated
practitioner of self-flagellation.

More serious are those
whose shame and guilt
for sins imagined or real
drive them to addictions.

Drinking and drugging,
sexing and loving,
religion and money,
gambling and ever-sunny
dispositions all substitute
for self-mortification.

Rescuing others,
finding new lovers,
prosperity preachers,
new age secret keepers,
depression and bipolar diagnoses,
obsession and self hating neuroses;
all are ways we have
of punishing ourselves,
while trying to answer the
self-loathsome questions:
"What is wrong with me?"
"What will it take to
finally break free?"

But mortifying flesh has
never healed or satisfied
a broken spirit, nor
helped or saved a
lost and hurting soul.

We post-modern flagellants
are no better or worse,
no more sinful or hurt
than our distant cousins
in time whose model
we unknowingly role.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

I Love You

2012-01-11T11:45:00.004-06:00

I love you more
than the sun loves light.
I need you more
than the stars need night.

I want you more
than birds want flight.
I long for you more
than eyes long for sight.

Loving you is the purpose
for which I was created.
Declaring my love for you
is why my lungs were first inflated.

For you my arms
are ever extended,
holding you their only
design intended.

When God in his heaven
wrote out his grand plan,
he etched our names together
in time's eternal sand.

Now and for eternity
it is my great joy to ponder
how you and I may merge forever
when the roll is called up yonder.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Hobbledehoy

2012-01-05T11:54:00.003-06:00

No longer ashamed,
limping and lame,
riding a three-legged horse,
drowning in his own remorse.

No longer
the scared little boy,
no more the loser,
the Hobbledehoy.

The warrior awakens,
raises shield and sword,
salutes to the heavens,
bows to his Lord.

Filled now with clarity,
the warrior inside
earns a new place of purity,
arouses his pride
and rides gladly into the fray.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Dead Inside

2012-01-02T10:41:00.001-06:00

I have a friend
who is dead inside,
you can hear it in his voice,
you can see it in his eyes.

Never takes responsibility
for the things that he does,
never feels remorse
for losing those he loves.

Always blaming others
for the failures in his life,
always finding faults
with his friends and his wife.

Thus passed his middle age,
as he tried to dull the pain
with alcohol and soft core rage,
and holiness movement shame.

He sits now upon a couch,
the throne from which he rules his house,
and refuses any chance to change,
claims the Bible will clean his stain.

And all who enter his home can see
a man trapped like Osiris in a tree,
a selfish martyr, full of selfish pride,
a living man who is dead inside.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Accumulated Grief

2011-12-31T10:00:00.000-06:00

Father died.
Then older sister.
Older brother.
Most recently,
mother.

All within the span of a few years;
barely a respite from the tears.

Not to mention the death of friends,
a bitter divorce, and various sins;
it all becomes accumulated grief;
too much to comprehend;
stuff I would love to give away
which I am forced to keep.

It's not a case of the glass half full.
There is no running from death.
Joy and grief are strung
from the same spool, spun
from the same golden thread.

Death is woven
into life's tapestry.
Grief is the warp
and love the woof.

When finally our race is run,
and we realize there are no losers,
that by God's grace everybody won,
we will all wear life's tapestry like
tattoos on our eternal souls,
and accumulated grief will be
the buttons on our godly robes.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Last Love Poem

2011-12-31T09:54:00.000-06:00

If I knew that I had only one love poem left to write,
if I knew that this poem would be the one to end my life,
I would want that poem to be about you.

The golden memories of the two of us resonate
between the tines of my heart and soul;
the ringing tone is the hum of god's tuning fork.

Lesser love I had known too much,
faulty love that fell to the ground,
flapping vainly like a broken-winged bird.

The love we made was witnessed by angels
hovering low above our very heads,
kissing us softly with their feathered wing tips.

Heaven opened itself to our perception
when we kissed in fiery mouthed passion,
and love itself was like naked water
sliding effortlessly over our tongues.

This, then, would be my last love poem,
the words carved in my head of stone,
my heart the chisel that drove them home.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Bouncing Along the Bottom

2011-12-16T08:44:00.000-06:00

Like so much cut bait
bouncing along the bottom
of a cold, dark lake,
I was strung out on your line.

You were an expert angler
dedicated to your sport;
I was a bottom feeding line tangler,
your intentions I hoped to thwart.

Our story, you managed to snag me,
despite my fight, you reeled me in close,
pulled me into your atmosphere,
hauled me shivering into your boat.
.
Truth is, I was a willing participant,
happy to crawl into your creel,
but now I spew an ichthyologic rant,
slit my guts on your deadly heart of steel.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Rigid Mind Melt

2011-12-15T15:34:00.000-06:00

How hard, striving to be right
without becoming self righteous?
Harder still to remain moral
without being moralistic.

It is human nature to scramble
for solid ground as Samsara
sucks us down like quicksand.

But molten karma solidifies
around our feet as soon as
we think we have the answers.

We cling to Absolute Truths like a life raft,
as we are swept through the rushing
stream of this beingness,
never guessing that our truths
may turn out to be the anchor
that drags us to the bottom.

A rigid mind tends toward hubris,
thinking we know all the answers,
telling others how they should live.
A static truth becomes an idol,
and protecting our idol becomes the goal.

Mental rigidity is an affliction
for both liberal and conservative alike,
believing that the world would be ideal,
if only everybody else believed like me.

Yet, how hard to accomplish openness
while competing in this brutal world?
Is it possible to live and let live
when others wish that you would die?

My mind refuses to cooperate
as these days I often contemplate
how to melt my own rigid mind.
My life continues to deteriorate
as I continue to deliberate
these questions bubbling in my wine.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Perhaps

2011-12-15T14:42:00.002-06:00

Perhaps I never loved you at all.

Maybe the love was always there,
already inside me, waiting for someone
like you to act as a mirror, reflecting
my own love back at me.

Perhaps that is all love ever is;
just self-involved, self-gratification.

Maybe falling in love is just a myth,
a pleasing story we tell ourselves
to justify our selfish intent;
a way to explain ourselves
to others and to God.

Love should never cause pain,
for ourselves or for others.
Perhaps pain caused by love
proves that it never was love?

Or have I just, perchance,
never known true love?
Am I, therefore, unqualified
to inquire of that which
I have never experienced?

Perhaps.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Life Scars

2011-12-12T21:58:00.000-06:00

A scar is a vivid reminder
of a past mistake,
the result of poor decisions
or faulty brakes.

Like the time I rode my bike
without working brakes
barefoot on a gravel road,
where I dragged by foot
and tore the nail from my toe,
and then I crashed and cut my knee,
and had to walk home bleeding
with my injuries.

I learned my lesson,
and I still have the scars from that.

Or the time I foolishly put
my hand through a window,
and glass cut a chunk from my arm,
and it bled until I didn't know
whether I would live or die.

It is fading, but I still have that scar, too.

There are scars that can't be seen.
Old hurts to the heart,
old trauma to the psyche that
no one knows about,
nor could ever truly understand.
Secret hurts that everyone bears,
dealing with them the best they can.

Those life scars serve to remind us, too.
More painful than the skin deep kind,
they sometimes open and bleed
for no apparent reason.

We all have those kinds of scars.

How we obtained the scars is not the question;
rather, it is whether or not we learned the lesson?

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

My Father's Voice

2011-12-07T21:18:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I hear my father's voice
when I say my own name out loud,
so sometimes I say it repeatedly
when I am alone inside my house,
the more clearly to remember him
now that we are fifteen years A.D.,
the more dearly to appreciate
all the good he gave to me.

My father was a complex man,
riven by the experiences of war,
the survivor of a prison camp
where he witnessed hell and horror,
haunted by the ghosts of friends,
and enemies that he slew,
revisiting war time terrors nightly
when he dreamed of them anew.

A man of strength to the end of life,
he steadfastly refused to succumb
to life's rod and constant pain
that would leave a lesser man numb;
a pious man, strong of faith in god,
he showed his children how to walk
this world with the humility of the unshod.

When I hear my father's voice,
see his face in my own,
I know that I am coming close,
a few steps nearer home.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Christmas Candles

2011-12-06T21:18:00.001-06:00

My Christmas candles just overflowed,
and now I have to clean melted wax
from the top of my bookshelf.

And I remember the Christmas we were
laughing because the kids got wax
on the carpet by pulling over a candle.

We were lucky no one got hurt, and
at first you were very angry, but I
managed to make you laugh.

It's a flash bulb memory I have of you.
Of us and our time as a family.

It's funny how our life together turned
out like so much melted wax,
a nuisance to clean up
and the smudge
will always
be there.

Christmas candles
and melted wax.
Joyeaux Noel.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Daimon Dust

2011-11-30T10:08:00.000-06:00

The poetic urge in me
is no pleasing felicity,
nor choice, but necessity.

It is not something
I willingly choose,
rather it is a voice
that within me moves.

No Koranic reciter I,
nor prophetic seer,
just a feckless illiterati,
with a low-grade veneer.

No Keatsian ode sayer,
nor Dickinsonian heart pray-er;
rather a hapless word rhymer,
a greater poet's boot shiner.

Driven to by the daimon
that whispers vanity and hope,
I pump out words like a
gibbering monkey high on dope,
all the while wondering if even one poem
will survive my journey back to the
dust from whence I came.

©Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

The Flag Wavers

2011-11-28T22:27:00.000-06:00

Paragons of virtue, they.
Upstanding models of morality.
They subvert justice and law
with their money and their maw,
and then judge the disenfranchised
and impoverished as having character flaws.

The flag wavers.

They give full-throated cry,
as they spit in the occupier's eye.
"How dare you question my riches?
How dare you? You sons-of-bitches!"

With their politician friends,
who all wear little-flag lapel-pins,
class warfare they declaim
as they expertly practice same,
and then have the audacity to claim
their good names are defamed,
when anyone suggests they share.

The flag wavers are happy to go to war,
send our soldiers to far-flung foreign shores,
in fights to protect the wealth they often inherit,
but which they then claim they earned on merit.

They call "heroic" the men and women who bleed
for a cause the flag wavers name "liberty's seed,"
a war that often only serves their need
to distract the masses from their naked greed.

Now back at home, the veterans suffer,
as the benefits they hoped would buffer
life's challenges, feed their children supper,
are now in doubt as flag wavers get tougher
on spending re-classified as "entitled"
by their politician friends-nee-puppets.

The flag wavers.

They point the finger of blame
for the current economic disaster
at any who would dare to shame
them in their decadent halls of alabaster,
claiming they are just too big to fail,
"job-creators," too important to go to jail.

And now, the flag wavers,
the very foundation, the nation's strength,
crumbles underneath our very feet,
and perverted justice has its sway,
as selfish greed is heartily praised
by flag wavers in pulpits highly raised,
and in Mammon completely steeped.

The flag wavers, it comes close to falling,
as corporate lobbyists continue calling
in the favors they bought and paid
for, using money they lied and laid
for with black-hearted and galling
men who blink opaque eyes of jade
at revolution erupting in the street.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Paper Gods

2011-11-08T10:50:00.000-06:00

Nothing but paper gods.

Money, fame,
the love of many,
glory before
the entire world;
it all looks good
on paper,
but it's all just
paper gods.

The gods of
the sacred texts,
the gods that create
minor sects,
the gods who ask
your life and money,
the gods who promise
milk and honey;
all just paper gods.

There are those
who disbelieve,
and those who
feel much aggrieved
that god won't kill
the ones they hate.

There are those who live in fear
of god's wrath and demons near,
and religious psychopaths
claiming to do god's work,
all passionately oblivious
that they are serving
paper gods.

Religious mystics claim to know
that the river of god forever flows
through the universe of eternal being.
Perennially creating and destroying,
always devouring and deploying
the effulgence of god cannot be
apprehended with the papered
over eyes of this human condition.

So we invent our passionate delusions,
we worship and praise with great effusion,
hoping our efforts will please the
distant and mysterious something we call god.

We hope and pray in dramatic profusion,
and deny and ignore our internal confusion
about the silence and absence we perceive
from the paper gods we serve.

Living and breathing,
our hearts ever beating,
we are the reality of
god's kingdom come.
No future, better version,
no paradise, or promise of virgins,
we are the leaves of grass
sown by god's green thumb.

Wad up and smash them,
rip up and trash them,
those paper gods we
cherish and hold.

Understand and embrace them,
uplift and replace them,
our brothers and sisters,
the faces of god's soul.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Broken Home for the Holidays

2011-11-07T08:35:00.000-06:00

Two kids
caught between
two homes,
two families,
two holidays.

With you this year,
with me next,
now one about to
leave the nest,
and we each wonder
about the following time
he visits this
broken home
for the holidays.

The fiction is
that children live
just fine between
two homes.

The reality says
that kids instead
are better when
two parents make
a whole.

Life is life, though,
and we grew apart,
we went to court,
I lost your heart.

Now our kids
adjust the best
they can.
They run their lives
through familial
quick sand
as they navigate
these broken homes
for the holidays.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Love's Legal Tender

2011-10-26T08:04:00.000-05:00

Andy
Warhol
gauche.

My silly
sweetheart
poems.

Saccharine sweet
and a half-inch deep,
inadequate to convey
fathoms of love at play
every time I think
of you.

Pedestrian and crude,
like fatty fast food,
they clog your heart
with dueling Descartes
as I struggle with the
love I can imagine and
the love I can prove.

I think, therefore exist,
my love is no trick,
no phantom of feverish brain.
No mirage born of heat,
nor soporific feat
of mad philosophic strain.

These poems are
love's legal tender,
the feeble attempt
by my heart to render
payment in full to you,
my beautiful poetic muse.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Life in a Garbage Can

2011-10-25T16:00:00.000-05:00

Walking late afternoon
this beautiful fall season,
I happened across a
trash can full of
late season flies.

The flies buzzed morosely,
as if aware the early frost
soon would terminate their
short lives on the trash heap.

They gathered mournfully
around a blue puddle of
sticky liquid, almost as
though parishioners praying
around sacred wine.

The afternoon sun glinted
on their fragile wings
as they languished in
torpidity inside their
trashy plastic universe.

For a moment,
just a moment,
I understood that
I was seeing our own
world from a god's
perspective.

This beautiful garden
that we call earth
is come close to an oily
trash can, and we the
flies around a sacred
black petroleum wine.

The detrital byproducts
of modern life fill
our lives, our minds,
our bodies and our
sacred spaces with
toxicity and garbage.

Do we, too, exist in
the late afternoon fall sun?
Is our existence also as perilous
as those flies living out their
lives in a garbage can?

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Left Unsaid

2011-10-21T15:07:00.000-05:00

I am learning so much from you.
It is amazing how much
I never knew.

You taught me that it is
more important to listen
for the things left unsaid.

A glance, a smile,
a quickly dried tear;
a touch, a squeeze,
a half-hidden fear;
those are the unspoken
words I must always hear;
those things, left unsaid,
to your heart are dear.

I love you for all the things
you are too sensitive to say.
I love you for telling me everything
in your quiet, loving way.

A man such as I needs
all the grace he can find,
and a woman like you
should probably never be mine.

But you grace me with your beauty,
you walk where angels fear to tread,
so I accept it as my solemn duty
to understand your words left unsaid.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Rusty Ship of Friends

2011-10-21T10:51:00.000-05:00

Life took a toll
on most of my
friendships.

A narrow wife,
a constricted life,
the joy of children,
griefs unbidden,
all of these oxidized
the ship that sailed with
my collection of good
friends.

Now my life approaches
a different phase
in which I have more
freedom than in
younger days.

And that begs
the question
of what next to do,
when you figure out
the hull of your
friend ship has
rusted through?

The answer,
like cancer,
had riddled
my brain.
And the cure
ensures
I will have my
friends again.

Like Noah,
I will find them.
one by one,
and two by two.
I will build a new ship,
fill it with friends
old and new.

No longer resting
on life's ocean floor,
I will salvage my
rusty ship of friends,
haul it back ashore
where we will laugh,
drink wine in the sun,
sharing life's victories
and aright life's wishes
still left undone.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Shall I Wait Forever?

2011-10-21T09:16:00.000-05:00

Shall I wait forever
for your answer,
which may be "never"?

Shall I hold my breath
as you consider,
turning blue as death?

Say yes, say yes;
just tell me yes.

I will bring you flowers, and
we will lay abed for hours
wondering how we ever lived
without this lover's gift,
this time to spend alone.

I will play soft music,
mellow, warm and soothing.
We will whisper quiet,
and our passion will run riot
inside our lover's home.

Is that worth the waiting?
Does your heart beat still for me?
Can we stop debating?
Do you finally see?

Say yes, say yes;
just tell me yes.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Promises

2011-10-19T16:41:00.000-05:00

What are promises
but sincere words wrapped
in ribbon of hope?

I try not to make
promises I cannot keep.
I try not to give
assurances I cannot meet.

I want to tell you
everything will be fine.
I want to sell you on
this faulty love of mine.

But this love doesn't come
with any guarantees.
It is like the autumn sun
humbled by a winter breeze.

Do you need promises
that cannot be fulfilled?
Do you seek certainty
that milk will not be spilled?

You are the dairy maid,
you know the prices paid
for love that is hidden,
for love that is forbidden.

So I won’t make promises
that I cannot sustain;
I won't turn I love you
into a glass of cheap champagne.
No other lover, no demon dark
can tempt me away with promises,
of greater love than yours.

I will ask you
to stay with me
to the end,
as my lover,
as my friend.

Let my tongue
play joyfully
around your name
until that glad day when
my words are no more,
and my life has been given
to you with sincerity
wrapped in hope.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Heaven Afoot

2011-10-14T23:58:00.000-05:00

My most beautiful friend.

You are heaven afoot,
an angel unwinged
so a devil like me
can hold you for
a moment,
and desire you
for eternity.

Our souls touch
when you but hold
my hand.

When you lay
down with me,
time stops,
and I smile.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Love Today

2011-10-13T14:19:00.000-05:00

Love today

is so confusing.

We all have hurts, regrets,
baggage we don’t want to claim.

I love you is so easy to say,
but so hard to mean.

It comes with questions --
Is it real? Does she mean it?
Why must I ask to be told?

Sometimes love is true
but is trapped inside

a too cautious heart.

Love today,
at this age,

in this age,
is so confusing.

So just wrap your arms around me.
Hold me close, and kiss my cheek.
Let me feel your breath on my face.
That is the comfort I need.

Be my true friend,

and I will hold tightly

to you for always.

Because

love today

is too confusing.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Peace, Be Still

2011-10-13T14:15:00.000-05:00

Silence.

Just be still.

Wisdom is found
in the space between
your thoughts,
not in the thoughts
themselves.

Peace.

Be Still.

Just breathe.

Just listen.

Understanding,
at last.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Ninety Nine and Hot

2011-10-12T11:54:00.000-05:00

I remember the first time I saw you
sitting in your chair.
I wanted to say you're beautiful
but I just didn't dare.

I never guessed a woman like you
could love a man like me.
Of all the things I thought I knew,
I thought our love could never be.

I was wrong and I'll say it.
It's my song and I'll play it.

And when you're ninety nine,
and still smoking hot,
and whether you're with me then,
or not,
I'm going to love you
anyway.

I remember the first time I kissed you,
in the cab of your pickup truck,
and when you left I missed you,
and hoped that we would
get to know each other better.

And when it all happened
it was like a dream come true,
I saw the silver fireworks,
just like they say you do.

But then I lost you.
I let you slip away.
And it cost me
a price I couldn't pay.

I was wrong and I'll say it.
It's my song and I'll play it.

And when you're ninety nine,
and still smoking hot,
and even after with me
you are not,
I'm going to love you
anyway.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Gradients of Love

2011-10-11T13:05:00.000-05:00

There is I love you,
madly, passionately,
and you're the
only one.

And then there's
I love you,
you're my daughter
or my son.

Sometimes, I love you
is said in kind support.
Other times I love you
is said in jest, as sport.

Love changes with the gradient,
the incline of the slope,
love changes in a person's heart
from sublime to knotted rope.

You say that you love me still,
but I don't know what it means.
Our love of fiery passion has
mellowed and grown lean.

On love's gentle gradient
I don't know where we stand.
Over our love light radiant
darkness has command.

Maybe your I love you
means a slow goodbye.
Or I love you as a friend now,
and that's all I can supply.

My prayer is for I love you
as only you could say,
and if I find that love again
it will never get away.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Let's Face It

2011-10-11T09:28:00.000-05:00

Let's face it...
I need help.

I am mortally
wounded,
emotionally
scarred and
incapable of
trust.

I can hear you say
I love you a million
times, and I still
cannot believe it.
In my mind, I replay
all the times I heard
those words before.

And look how that
turned out.

Perhaps it is because
you are so beautiful.
Maybe I don't think
I am worthy of your
love and affection.

You are out of my league.
You are more than I
could ever imagine
to desire.

Or maybe it's because
of my own past sins
of omission and commision.
Things I did that I am
not proud of, which
haunt me to this day.

Maybe because of those
sins, I feel unforgiven,
undeserving and unlovable.

I really don't know the
answers, after years of
soul searching and
staring at my navel.

So let's face it...
I need help.

The kind of help that
only you can give.
The kind of love that
gives me reason to live.
The kind of help that
shows there is a God
in his heaven smiling
down on me and you.

It is so much to ask.
It is so much to need.
And I understand if you
want to cut out my
heart and laugh as
you watch me bleed.
I have wronged you out
of my own distrust.
I have besmirched you
with my ego made of dust.

Let's face it ...
you're too good to
ever be with me.
And after the hurt I
have caused you,
why would you
ever want to be?

Maybe it's too late
to get back to what
we had before.
Maybe in your heart
you have already
shut the door.

But let's face it ...
without you I have
only half a life,
without you I lose
the will and strength
to fight
life's greater jihad.

Let's just face it ...
without you
there is not
much me
left to even help.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

A Proper Goodbye

2011-10-06T20:11:00.000-05:00

Mere words won't do.

Goodbye seems hollow,
not appropriate for what
passed between us.

The highest highs,
the lowest lows,
the deepest sighs,
the fire below;
that's what we had,
that's what we
almost had.

I would be lying if
I said I was not
devastated by it all.
I would be trying
to mislead if I said
I was not sad,
I was not mad
at how it ended.

In our denouement,
this poem is all I am left;
my only way to bid
you a proper goodbye.

Know this.
Love always shines
in the darkest places,
love always finds
the smallest spaces
to grow green again,
to flow streams within
the most parched of hearts.

My wish is that you find
all the love you need,
and that you can forgive me
for this simple screed,
this poem,
this feeble attempt
to tell you a proper
goodbye.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

I Held Your Hand, God Holds Your Soul

2011-10-06T19:58:00.000-05:00

I promised you
and God
that I would be there
on that fateful day
of your passing.

There were late night
phone calls saying
she's dying now,
come home quick,
this time she's really sick.

I would get there
only to find you
sitting up and breathing,
suffering with pain
the doctors could not explain.

Slowly, yet quickly,
I watched you age,
saw you waste away,
but stubbornly holding on,
even after hope was gone.

In the end it was hospice,
strangers in your house,
injecting you with medicines
that melted you into death,
everyone saying it was for the best.

I sat next to you for hours,
and I held your hand,
saying that I loved you,
hoping you would understand,
even though I knew
you were already gone.

But mom, I never did thank you
for the legacy, the gift of words that flow.
The life that you have given me
and much of what I know.
I visited your grave site just
the other day,and I found myself
crying over words I failed to say.

Your life was a hard one,
and yet you carried through,
held onto your faith
and never questioned who
was your savior,
your lord and your king.

And I can only imagine,
hope and pray,
that now you sit on high and sing,
your songs of joy and praise
at having gained the prize.

I believe that God welcomed you
into the bright glory of his love,
and that he embraced your soul
in His everlasting touch.

And when upon His face
you first gazed
I believe you heard him say
"well done, thou good faithful servant."

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Love Lingers

2011-08-06T12:55:00.000-05:00

Alfred said it is better
to have loved
and lost
than to have
never
loved at all.

The good Lord
Tennyson was wrong.
One never loses love.

Love lingers.

Like a rusty barbed wire digging
deep into the flesh
of an unlucky tree,
love lingers in the heart.

Like the sharpest shard
of a broken glass
invisible on the
kitchen floor,
jabbing savage
into a bare foot,
love lingers in the soul.

Like the sweet perfume
of a passing lady
that reminds you of the one,
love lingers in the memory.

Better to have loved and lost?
As age and wisdom increase,
I now wonder if that is true.

Better to have loved or not?
Because love lingers, its sweet
taste I have come to rue.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Lovers and Liars

2011-05-18T13:49:00.000-05:00

We were lovers,
and we were liars,
declaring love
so we could follow
the desires of our
own selfish hearts.

Heedless, mindless,
blind to the pain
we were causing
others who
were invested in
our lives.

We both blamed
the spectre of
our youths,
but we were
old enough
to know better.

We reveled in
the joy of our
company, and
the abandon
of our bodies.

We swore we
would part as
friends, but that
too was a lie.

Love and lies
are more intimately
related than
kith and kin.

Lovers and liars
are comfortable together,
lounging naked
in their true skin.

In a world that
is poison to
love, perhaps
lies are all
we have.

In an age
when love has
no meaning, maybe
lies are a
new golden calf.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

No One

2011-04-11T10:21:00.000-05:00

No one
to love me
ever
again.

No one
to hold me
skin
to skin.

No one
to show me
the meaning
of love.

No one
to know me,
redeeming
my trust.

These are the fears
that haunt me at night,
cold, naked demons
not afraid of light.

These are the thoughts,
one hundred years old,
bubbling in my cracked pot,
leaching life from my soul.

No one
to mend me
when I am
ill.

No one
to defend me
when I am
still.

No one
to Shine
a love light
on me.

No one
to pine
when life
I leave.

These are the demons
that speak to me at night,
cold, naked fears
not afraid of light.

These are my secrets,
one thousand years old,
growing in my sore spot,
stealing sun from my soul.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Bob Seger Said It

2011-04-08T23:06:00.000-05:00

Life is a series of

calculated compromises,

uninformed choices,

and terrifying crises.

Navigating unknowns

and savoring vices,

stark disappointments

and pleasant suprises.

Bob Seger said it,

I no longer regret it,

"those are the memories that

make me a wealthy soul."

Love is a mystery

without any heroes,

a storybook history
of losers and zeroes.

Marriage catastrophes,
and divorce court dramas,
deadbeat dastardlies,
scheming baby mamas.

Bob Seger said it,
I finally get it,
"those are the memories that
make me a wealthy soul."

Death is involuntarily engaging
the emergent process of aging,
and walking steadfast into sorrow,
averting eyes from a final tomorrow.

A series of illness and healings,
of perpetual burning and peelings,
until the skin of our soul breaks,
rendering death no longer opaque.

Bob Seger said it,
I no longer dread it,
"these were the memories that
made me a wealthy soul."

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

A Father's Heart

2011-04-04T02:23:00.000-05:00

How like broken glass,
a father's heart, a father's love
ground underfoot until it has
turned into shards, turned into dust,
leaving only gritty remains
blown into the eyes of
unsuspecting strangers.

How like a hummingbird wing,
the laughter of children,
the patter of small feet,
beating as fiercely as
a father's heart
as they run away with time
in a thousand different directions,
leaving only empty spaces
inside a life once filled
with only their concerns.

How like a sacred story,
the tears of the father
whose prodigal son goes seeking
in a world of wrong turns and vices,
whose only daughter goes weeping
in a world that holds no new surprises
for a parent who has contended with
all of its evil and tempting ways.

A father's heart,
a father's love,
as certain as the morning sun,
still as vanquished as the light
by every certain turn
of the world on its axis,
by every passing of the day
into ever encroaching night.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Love Times Infinity

2011-03-28T21:45:00.000-05:00

When I tell you
you're the most beautiful woman in the world,
you know it's a lie.
The truth is you're not perfect,
and bless you,
because nor am I.

But it is the truth when I say
you are the most beautiful woman
that I get to see,
naked,
and laughing,
as we cuddle and tease.

Shivering under covers,
when it is cold and dark,
speaking in whispers
and sharing our hearts.

This, then, is love
as God meant it to be.
Blinded by love's beauty,
and blessed by love times infinity.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

America's Obituary

2011-03-27T10:11:00.000-05:00

The United States of America was found dead today inside her home. She was 235 years old at the time of her passing.

Investigators have not yet released a cause of death, but indicate that foul play is suspected. Historians performed an autopsy, but results have so far proven inconclusive. Their preliminary report stated that Barack Obama, Harry Reid, John Boehner and John Roberts, the four individuals last entrusted with her welfare, should receive the lion's share of historical suspicion for her death. Textbook writers are scrambling to print new editions including the nation's demise, and recording the four men's ignominy for future generations.

There apparently was some disagreement among the investigating historians, however, as a minority report also was released. The minority opinion placed blame for America's death more squarely on George W. Bush and Richard Cheney, the two caretakers in charge of her keeping prior to the current team of caregivers. The minority report noted that America's health began a rapid decline during the Bush/Cheney era, and pointed to the rapid depletion of Ms. US's bank accounts as evidence of fiduciary malfeasance and suspect behavior. The majority of investigators, however, dismissed the minority report as reckless and dangerous speculation, noting that both Bush and Cheney have retired from public life and have since moved to private islands they acquired during their tenure as caretakers. The prior caretakers, say the majority of historians, do bear some of the blame, but primary responsibility should be given to the current care giving team.

Meanwhile, independent investigators, working without the authorization of the American estate, continue to raise questions about all parties involved with the health maintenance of Ms. America. They point not only to the care giving teams, but also to the lax oversight provided by representatives of Ms. America's press. They cite questionable reporting and editorializing by many members of the press, referred to only as pundits. The independent investigators reserve especially harsh criticism for foreign owned press reportage, citing in particular one Rupert Murdoch. They note that collusion between the Murdoch press and the Bush/Cheney care giving team appeared especially suspicious, since it coincided with the initial diagnosis and rapid progress of Ms. America's health decline.

It should be remembered that Ms. US had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. Political scientists were never able to definitively pinpoint the type of cancer plaguing America. It was believed, however, that the cancer was caused by several contributing factors, including corporate and individual greed, an invasive militarism, the constipation of justice, and the corruption of religion and governance. Regardless of the cause, the cancer she suffered was quite aggressive, and was attributed with causing dementia and erratic behavior in the final few years of her life.

Ms. America is survived by over 300 million citizens. At her peak, Ms. US's estate was estimated to be the largest in the world. In her declining years, however, her estate had fallen into severe disrepair. The amount of income she was dedicating to her own maintenance soared as she grew older. In recent years she was devoting large sums of her estate to health care, banking, and energy supply industries that provided her with fewer and fewer sustaining benefits. The current value of her estate is unknown, but it is expected that her 300 million survivors will receive little or no inheritance. The independent investigating team has noted that the health care, banking and energy supply industry leaders, those receiving the bulk of the American estate in her final years, have since moved offshore and overseas, taking most of the American estate with them.

Funeral arrangements are pending as the official investigation continues. In lieu of flowers, representatives of the estate are asking for donations to help cover the expense of closing her estate. A very large donation has already been provided by gun manufacturing industry leaders, as their business has soared since the announcement of Ms. America's death.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Beats Per Minute

2011-03-25T21:10:00.000-05:00

Thirty seven million heart beats,
each of them for you;
one point six million minutes,
not knowing what to do.

The quandary you gave me,
Dirty laundry you saved me
With your quiet, secret love.

Heartbeats per minute,
times minutes by years,
equals thirty seven million,
the sum total of my fears.

Are you the last love
ever I will taste?
Are you the last witness
of my mortal disgrace?

Can ever love save
a fading wretch like me?
Shall I give up hoping
for what should never be?

Thirty seven million heart beats,
and each of them for you.
One point six million minutes
not knowing what to do.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Leftward Ho: Ratcheting Our Nation to the Left

2010-04-21T11:32:00.000-05:00

I had an interesting conversation with a faculty member yesterday that had me thinking all night long. He is of the opinion that our nation is, contrary to current appearances, moving ever leftward, toward liberalism and not away from it. I, of course, expressed a lot of skepticism. His outlook is a lot more optimistic than my own.

The examples he offered to prove his point seem unassailable. It took a civil war, but we ended slavery. We had prohibition, but we repealed it. We had deeply divisive McCarthyism, but we overcame that. We had institutionalized racism, but we enacted civil rights reforms. We had a deeply unpopular war in Vietnam, but an anti-war movement ended it.

His said our society is prone to pendulum swings, that we make progress, but then we take some of it back. Two steps leftward, one step right. But taken in the long term, he said, our country has been slowly ratcheting leftward. After all these years of hearing conservative voices bitterly complaining that our country is tilting toward liberalism, this professor was actually offering evidence that it is true. I remarked that his argument seemed to validate the conspiracy-theory world view of militia movements and Tea Partiers. He tenatively agreed.

The professor said that he believes we will have tighter gun controls at some point. Not necessarily the "take them all away" kind that the NRA and Gun Owners of America uses to scare its members into action. But logical, sane, gun restrictions that make our country a safer place to live.

Most of the night, I was pleased by his contention that our country is trending ever more progressively liberal. Then, unfortunately, sober reality returned with the cold light of dawn. Rachel Maddow presented an exceptional program on Monday night. The whole hour (now viewable online at provided link) was devoted to Tim McVeigh, the blower-upper of the Murrah Federal Building. The program centered around hours of audio tapes that McVeigh made after the bombing, an agreement he made with a journalist to tell his side of the story.

At one point on the tapes, McVeigh quoted a famous bumper sticker that says, "When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns." He said that he preferred more direct message:

"When guns are outlawed, I will be an outlaw."

Leaving aside questions of McVeigh's psychology -- whether he was a narcissist, a sociopath, suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, or was scarred by bullying in high school or by his parent's lousy parenting -- the sentiment he expresses above is still valid. That determination to resist any attempt to take away or control guns, that suspicion of the motives and direction of government, that worldview that says he and others of like mind are the only true representation of the intentions of the "Founding Fathers," are the very same things we seem to be hearing from many in the Tea Party movement ... indeed, from the entire Republican "conservative" apparatus.

Even if it is objectively provable that our culture is moving inexorably to the left over the long term, there is no guarantee that the trip there will be easy or without violence. There are many instances in American history where resistance to change has become violent, and the outcome of change was uncertain. The Civil Rights movement is an exceptional example of that, as we are still waiting for the promise of change to be fulfilled; for the dream to be realized and not deferred.

I believe there are those in our nation who will go to any length to resist and thwart liberal change: health care, gay rights, gun control, economic reform. Telling them that our nation will continue moving to the left will only further enflame their passions. And there are also selfish, power hungry, greedy, dishonest and insincere politicians and journalistic prostitutes who will stoke the fears and hatred of that element for their own political and economic gain ... the welfare of the nation and its citizens be damned.

In the long term, our nation may become a liberal paradise, where people like myself feel welcome and appreciated. In the short term, I'm betting we will see more instances of McVeigh-ism: violence seeking to overturn and up-end any strides toward a more liberal democracy and society. In my opinion, the only real unknowns are when it will happen, and how successful, damaging and destructive the violence will be. The depressive realist in me believes it is not inconceivable this nation could very quickly and violently turn toward a much more strident, assertive and aggressive anti-liberalism. After all, those who peg their identity to the term "conservative" seem much more amenable to cracking heads and shooting guns than liberals like me.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

15 years later, it's back to the future

2010-04-13T10:06:00.000-05:00

Fifteen years ago, Timothy McVeigh used a truck bomb to bring down the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. It was McVeigh's hope that his action would be the opening shot of a Great Revolution. He hoped a vast underground movement of militia groups and individual "patriots" around the country would rise up and join the cause when they heard the news of the bombing. McVeigh wanted to do to the federal goverment what his bomb did to the Murrah building.

The method McVeigh chose to bomb the federal building had meaning. McVeigh was a "gun rights" supporter, and frequently sold guns at "Preparedness Expos" held across the nation. These gun shows, held in the mid to late 90s, catered to survivalists and militia groups, and others of like mind. The expos were sponsored by the group Gun Owners of America, whose president and founder is Larry Pratt. Some of you may remember that Larry Pratt was a campaign manager for Pat Buchanan's ill-fated 1996 run for the presidency. Pratt was forced to resign after his ties to extremist thinking became known.

At these gun shows, McVeigh not only sold guns, he also sold an ideology. He distributed copies of the book The Turner Diaries. (WARNING: The book contains graphic, hate-filled, violent and racist content.) It is a fictional account of a future group of American "patriots" who are upset because black people and multiculturalists have taken over the White House and government. (Sound familiar?) The "patriots" also are upset because gun laws are passed that threaten to take guns out of the hands of American citizens. As a result of their anger, this group of men (and it is mostly men), rises up to start the "Great Revolution," after which America enters a "New Era."

The book's protaganist, Earl Turner, is a 35 year old white male who keeps a diary of his exploits during the revolution. In the book, Turner creates a fertilizer and fuel-oil truck bomb, and uses it to destroy a federal building. The bomb explodes at 9:04 a.m. It was this book that inspired McVeigh's method of attack. McVeigh, too, was trying to start a Great Revolution.

The Turner Diaries is taken seriously by many patriot and militia groups in this country. It is viewed almost as a blue-print for actions necessary to bring down the government. The FBI calls the book the "bible of the militia movement." The book ends with Turner flying a nuclear bomb, loaded into a single prop plane, right into the heart of Washington, D.C.

The book presents not only a methodology for how to bring down the government, but also a rationale for terrorist acts. Most people misunderstood the purpose of McViegh's attack. They though that carnage and destruction were the end goal. They are wrong. According to the The Turner Diaries:

"...one of the major purposes of political terror, always and everywhere, is to force the authorities to take reprisals and become more repressive, thus alienating a portion of the population and generating sympathy for the terrorists. And the other purpose is to create unrest by destroying the population's sense of security and their belief in the invincibility of the government" (p. 51).

President Bill Clinton commented recently that he sees similarities between the anger that motivated Tim McVeigh, and the anger and disaffection that motivates Tea Party activists. Clinton was careful to point out that not all Tea Partiers are Tim McVeigh wannabes, but he emphasized that the level of anger and mistrust is exactly the same.

I agree. I see the exact same anti-government, anti-gun control, racially tinged, and self-righteous anger in the Tea Party movement that motivated Tim McVeigh and the militia movements of the 1990s. The rhetoric these Tea Party members are using could have been written by Earl Turner himself. And today, a poll was released showing trust in the government at an all time low. In my opinion, the poll is evidence that McVeigh may have succeeded in his wish to spark a new revolution.

For those who want to learn more about Tim McVeigh and his motivation, tune in to the Rachel Maddow show tonight.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Lady Bug on My Knee

2008-02-05T15:16:00.000-06:00

The office I work in gets invaded by lady bugs several times each year. Look up at the light in my office and you're likely to see at least seven or eight lady bugs, some alive and active, some dried out carcasses. The live ones buzz around our heads during these invasions, sometimes flopping on the desks in front of us, or flying bang into our computer screens.

Today, I spent several minutes watching a lady bug crawling up my pant leg. My legs were crossed, and I watched in fascination as the insect crawled to the top of my knee, the highest point it could reach. There it crawled around confusedly for several moments, down one side of my leg and back to the apex of my knee, then down the other side and back to the top again. Several times it would perch on the highest point of my knee and unfurl it's delicate wings, then launch itself into space. It would fly for only a fraction of a second, landing scarcely an inch or two away from the place it started out on my leg. It did this several times, as if uncertain of it's own ability to fly.

I stared at the unfolding process in wonderment, pondering what might possibly be going through the mind of that little bug. Why didn't it just throw itself into space and fly away. Why did it keep failing to launch, only to try again and again?

I realized that I could never understand what that bug was doing or thinking. And it struck me how metaphorical the situation was of my own relationship with God. Is it possible that God sits upon high, staring at me -- at all of us -- in puzzlement and wonderment? Do we appear as uncertain and unsteady in our flight as that little lady bug appeared to me? Is the lady bug really that different than all of us, reaching the highest point we can find, and then jumping around in blind confusion, making futile attempts to take flight? What help can God render to a being in that condition?

Finally the lady bug managed to launch itself into space for a longer flight. This time it managed to stay aloft for about three sustained seconds, all the while spiralling downward to the brown carpeted concrete that is the floor of my office. It landed with a thud on the floor and sat still for several moments. I thought it was dead, killed by the vicious impact it had sustained. I was just reaching to pick it up when it started crawling slowly across the carpet.

I saw my own life flashing before my eyes.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Buddha with an RPG

2007-11-14T10:44:00.000-06:00

As the Buddha lay dying, he was surrounded by disciples seeking that last bit of wisdom from him. He was having none of that. He told them:

"Therefore, be ye lamps unto yourselves, be a refuge to yourselves. Hold fast to Truth as a lamp; hold fast to the Truth as a refuge. Look not for a refuge in anyone beside yourselves. And those who shall be a lamp unto themselves shall betake themselves to no external refuge, but holding fast to the Truth as their lamp, and holding fast to the Truth as their refuge, they shall reach the topmost height."

The truth is as elusive as the peace gazelle, but each of us has within ourselves the capacity to find it, recognize it, and hold it for ourselves. The message in the Buddha's dying words is that we must look inside ourselves, not outside, for the lamp of enlightenment. We must not rely on religious authority, religious tradition, or religious law to provide that Truth for us. We must find it for ourselves, as hard as that may be.

I've been slipping and sliding down the mountain of truth a great deal lately. I've got cuts, bruises and burns from the crumbly and sharp rocks of "fool's truth" that have shattered beneath my feet, causing me to fall. I'm back on my feet now, if still a bit woogity.

Today, I perceive a huge mountain of phony teachings on the pathway to the inside of me. Underneath all of that is my Lamp of Truth. So, taking advice from a friend, I have become like Buddha armed with an RPG. I aim the rocket at the base of the phony teachings and I fire.

We shall see if I get smooshed under the avalanche of debris that rains down on me.

Peace Gazelle, Lion's Pride

2007-11-13T13:35:00.000-06:00

Peace is as elusive as a gazelle running from a hungry lion. The predator stalks, gets close, has the goal in sight, then the prey catches his scent and runs away. The hunger only grows, and the predator looks on in disappointment at the dust cloud that was his hope.

That is what it feels like to me right now. Happiness, peace, love seem to flee from me, allowing me close enough to catch a glimpse only to then pull away at speed.

On the plains of Africa, when the old lion is dethroned, he wanders aimlessly, catching what food he can when he can get it. How apropos that the alpha male lion is deposed and thrown from his "pride." The pride of lions is the curse of man. The peace he desires as elusive as a gazelle.

The hunger grows, and the predator -- in this case, a broken, mangy-maned old lion -- ponders a blessedly short life alone.

Mountain Lake of the Mind

2007-10-20T09:08:00.000-05:00

Quote of the day:

"Well-being of mind is like a mountain lake without ripples. When the lake has no ripples, everything in the lake can be seen. When the water is all churned up, nothing can be seen. The still lake without ripples is an image of our minds at ease, so full of unlimited friendliness for all the junk at the bottom of the lake that we don't feel the need to churn up the waters just to avoid looking at what's there."

Pema Chodron
When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

Task for the day and the rest of my life: meditate on the still lake of the mind.

Divorce Mood Music

2007-10-19T15:31:00.000-05:00

Just in case anyone out there wants to share the mood, here are some good songs I've been listening too lately:

You Could Be Happy -- Snow Patrol
Sorry -- BuckCherry
Crazy Bitch -- BuckCherry
Shine On -- James Blunt
Coming Home -- John Legend
I Really Want You -- James Blunt
Give Me Some Love -- James Blunt
I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For -- U2
With or Without You -- U2
Have I Told You Lately -- Van Morrison
Wherever God Shines His Light -- Van Morrison
Just Like Greta -- Van Morrison
Lonely and Blue -- Van Morrison

Creativity

2007-10-17T11:52:00.000-05:00

Last night as I was doing my evening jog/walk, a poem formulated in my mind. I was working on it through the course of the workout, and could hardly wait to get home and type it into my computer. It is titled Phoenix Rising, a cliched title but appropriate for what the poem conveys.

I have noticed that it is in times of very intense crisis and emotional duress that I tend to be the most creative. As much as possible, I try to distill my emotions, to crystalize them in the form of words or poetry.

I sometimes wonder who gives a f*** about what is going on in my life, and inside my head. Why would they bother to read my poetry? Just who the heck am I to comment on the profundities of life anyway?

Maya Angelou once expressed similar hesitation about the quality and message of her poetry. But then she also said something very interesting. She said words to the effect that sometimes you just have to put the poem out there, and trust the universe that it will mean something, that it will touch the heart and soul of another human being. And so, I continue to reflect upon life, my own and others, and to write and to post. I trust the universe, if not my own talents.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2007-10-16T13:27:00.000-05:00

David Bowie used to rock out. His song Changes is an anthem for my life right now.

One of my friends has a great Blogspace called Behold a Giant Muh. It's a quirky, personality filled little blog that is always so much fun to read. Great photography really makes the site, but more than that, it's the pithy, aphoristic nature of the writing there that is so much fun to read.

Someone once said that emulation is the sincerest form of flattery. Well, I'm emulating the Giant Muh, and recasting this blogsite from a boring old, same old same old Blog to a less pretentious and less wordy blogspace.

And this concludes blog entry number one.

Can't We All Just Get A Loan?

2007-10-10T09:19:00.000-05:00

Fred Thompson, the newest Republican frightmare to enter the presidential race, just said yesterday that he sees no signs of a recession on the horizon for our economy. Well, I guess it's a case of "perspective matters." If you're a rich actor/republican politician, I suppose you wouldn't see any signs of a recession. But if you're a normal everyday human being living in the US, you are probably depressed about the economic depression we have been in since shortly after Hurricane Katrina.

Gas prices have had a ripple effect on the economy, causing food prices to rise. Neither of these are included in the Consumer Price Index, which is one of the major indices the government uses to gauge the health of our economy. So the government chooses not to see or take into account the very two things that are most impacting your pocket book. That's why they can continue saying the economy is booming, when only rich people like Fred Thompson really believe it is true.

Carlson's Prediction: Another Congressional Page Scandal

2006-10-08T13:05:00.000-05:00

Tucker Carlson, that well-known Republican hack and all around blowhard, just dropped an interesting item at the end of today's (10/8/06) Chris Matthews Show. He said that he knew of at least one other heterosexual Congressman who has had inappropriate contact with a Congressional page. That story, said Carlson, is about to break.

Thus, we are given a preview of the Republican party's next "blame anybody but us" spin and diversion. It is even money that the promised next scandal involves a Democratic congressperson. After failing to gain traction with their previous attempts at damage control -- first coverup, then denial, then memory failure, and then "I smell a rat" (it's liberal media and the Democrat's fault) -- the Republicans will now resort to tit for tat. They will wag their scandalized fingers right back at the Democratic leadership and say, "not so mouthy now, are ya'?"

For their part, the Democrats should hope and pray that if there is another Congressional page scandal about to break, that it does indeed involve a Democratic congressperson. They should, right now, today, scour their own ranks for any Foleyesque misdeeds. If they find any, they should announce immediately that the guilty Congressperson is being forced to resign, and will be charged tomorrow with criminal charges. They should not resort to the stall-and-delay tactic the Republicans have taken with their Congressional Ethics Committee investigation. The Democrats should view any such scandal as a golden opportunity to demonstrate a level of responsibility, competency, and forthrightness that the Republican party can never match.

This blogger earlier speculated (albeit somewhat tongue-in-cheek), that the Foley Folly was probably the "October Surprise" promised by Karl Rove. Others are now openly positing that the Foley affair is, indeed, a Rovian creation. If there is a Democratic Page scandal, and especially if it involves a high-ranking Democratic Congressperson, that speculation may well turn out to be true.

With an artful jujitsu move, Rove may have calculated the Foley revelation with an eye toward tarring the Democrats in the final few days before the November elections. By revealing a similar Democratic miscreant, and thereby dominating the news cycle going into the election, he may be hoping to turn the tables on the Democratic party. Such speculation gives Rove way too much credit, however. He may be a campaign genius, but obviously, given the many and sundry failures of the Bush Admininstration and Bush Era Republican Party, his only gift is electioneering.

Democrats can easily neutralize the "gotcha" politics that Carlson's prediction seems to foreshadow by simply doing a much better and proactive job of policing their own. It may require that they act in contravention to their normal political instincts for self-preservation, but by doing so, they can demonstrate a maturity and competence that the Republican party will never be able to duplicate in the short days before we all vote in November.

Now is the Time for All Good Republicans to Come to the Aid of Their Country

2006-10-05T13:55:00.000-05:00

Anyone who has ever taken a typing or keyboarding class is familiar with that line. Of course, in this instance it has been altered slightly to make a point. And to issue a call to action.

The Republican party is in serious disarray at the moment. This blogger is not, nor has he ever been, a member of the Republican party. He is, instead, a liberal, left-leaning, independent voter who disagrees with everything the Bush Administration has managed to muck up in the past six years. For this blogger, watching the Republican party self-destruct is a guilty pleasure ... like a triple dip cone of chocolate almond ice-cream for someone on a strict diet.

One must take care, though, when wishing for the comeuppance of others. The universal law of karma suggests that doing so will ultimately rebound, and provide the wisher with a similar comeuppance.

Still, it is hard not to take joy, not to experience a moment of schadenfreude, at what has happened to the Republicans. That joy is made all the sweeter by the fact that the fundamentalist, ultra-orthodox, right-wingnut arm of the Republican party has for decades proclaimed a moral superiority over anybody more liberal than, say, Nancy Reagan. Like the Pharisee in the temple, they have raised their collective hands in prayer and thanked God that they are not like those nasty, immoral, and "godless" liberals (Luke 18: 9-14 and Ann Coulter, respectively) who are the cause of all problems in our society.

It must be infuriating and frustrating to the many American voters who chose to become a member of the Republican party because of libertarian and economic considerations: because they felt the Republicans more closely reflected their concerns about an expansive and wasteful government, and overly agressive taxation to support that expansion and waste. Now, the Republican party has become a parody of its former self, hijacked by a small group of ideologues who believe that they, and they alone, possess the truth and right action in the world.

The Foley Folly represents an opportunity for old-fashioned, true blue Republicans. Now there is a chance for true Republicans to take their party back from the religious hypocrites who proclaim themselves the "moral majority." Now is an opportunity for true Republicans to come to the aid of the country, by mounting a party-wide effort to throw out any and all Republican leaders who have forged alliances with the religious right for the sake of political expediency, power mongering, and their personal enrichment (ala Tom Delay, Duke Cunningham and Ralph Reed).

Demand the immediate resignations -- not just from their leadership posts but also from their Congressional seats -- of Hastert and the entire Tom DeLay substitute team of leaders. Reclaim the conscience of your party, and its credibility, by cutting yourself off from the "base" of religiously self-pious voters; those who long for the apocalyptic destruction of the entire world, because they smugly believe themselves to be immune from such destruction.

By doing this, you will render a great service to your country. By doing this, you will also force the Democratic party to likewise reform itself, to wean itself away from the power teat, the lobbyist dollar teat, and the poll-driven candidate teat. By reclaiming the Republican party from the clutches of an alliance with a disingenuous and self-serving religious right, you may start American down the path of much needed healing and reform.

Heaven knows that the Democratic party is too disorganized, too power hungry, and too timid to lead that healing and reform.

Is Foley the "October Surprise" Promised by Rove?

2006-10-04T09:30:00.000-05:00

The Repugnant party is "going on offense" says Speaker of the House, Dennis Hastert. He is now trying to blame Democrats for the GOP's latest scandal: the "exposure" of a hypocritical Republican Congressman, Mark Foley, for sexually preying on an underage male Congressional Page.

On the Rush Limbaugh Republican Propaganda show aired Oct. 3, Hastert alleged that Democrats knew of the more explicit text messages that Foley was sending to underage boys --the ones where he quizzes the boys about their masturbation habits, and apparently "gets wood" by doing so. Hastert says that the Democrats purposefully withheld those text messages until the final day of the Congressional session, and then released them in an attempt to smear an entirely innocent GOP.

It seems the Republican party never has to bear the blame for anything. All of their woes and scandals are the result of those nefarious, devious, dastardly Democrats and their political dirty tricks. And if not them, then anybody else who opposes their party.

So instead of taking responsibility -- and we are all familiar with the Republican mantra about the importance of personal responsibility -- Hastert's "offense" is to point his fat fingers at the Democrats. In essence, the Republican reaction is to complain that the Democratic party revealed the GOP's dirty little secret at a time that is bad for them. (We probably will not hear Hastert admit that if he had dealt with the Foley issue a year ago, when he first learned about it, the whole affair would be over and done by now.) At bottom, Hastert's "offense" is nothing more than a pitiful, childish complaint that the Democratic party "told on" the Republican party.

Unfortunately for Hastert, saying "the Democrats did it" is giving them way too much credit. That kind of political finesse is not generally associated with the disorganized Democratic party. It is hard to imagine the Democratic party being disciplined enough, and calculating enough, to hold that kind of explosive information and keep it secret. It is much more likely that if Democrats had known this information, they would have released it months ago when Bush's numbers were at all time lows. Face it, the Democrats suck when it comes to playing dirty, hardball politics. The Swiftboating wing of the Republican Party is the real master of this kind of thing.

In fact, Herr President's best buddy Karl Rove is probably the most widely acknowledged master of the political dirty trick. It is much more likely that the Foley Folly is the much anticipated "October Surprise," and that it was orchestrated entirely by Rove. By redirecting public and media attention away from the failures of Iraq, the price gouging on gas prices, and the general lack of intellect of Herr President, the Foley Folly actually helps the Republican party. It may even provide Herr President with an opportunity to display his moral bona fides by allowing him to chastise both Foley and Hastert. And that would play well with the Republichristian Fundamentalists.

Plus, it is no secret that the real power behind the throne, Vice President Cheney, has been looking for a way to get rid of Hastert ever since the Speaker challenged Cheney in a loud confrontational meeting last May. Cheney is not a man to forgive and forget. In fact, the whole Bush Administration is probably the most merciless "get even" machine ever produced by American politics. By embarrassing Hastert, and by having their political propagandists call for his resignation, Bush/Cheney/Rove are killing two birds with one stone. They get even with Hastert -- not a real loss to the Republican party anyway -- and they give the American public a salacious and tawdry sexual tidbit to misdirect them from the real issues that face the country.

It is not inconceivable that, in their elaborate political chess game, the Bush Administration has decided that sacrificing control of the House is a better trade off than having to answer any more questions about Iraq during the runup to the midterm elections. After all, Bush is now a lame duck President. He can definitely stall, dissemble and dance through the next two years of Democratic investigations and oversight.

It's the Hypocrisy, Stupid!

2006-10-03T13:15:00.000-05:00

I am a registered independent voter, and have been for my whole voting life. I would probably be a Democrat, if that party were still true to its populist and proud liberal roots. These things are important to state at the outset, given what I intend to argue in the remainder of this piece: that Republicans are not the only ones who have been disingenuous about the war in Iraq.

First, I believe the common wisdom among common people like me is that the Bush Administration had plans to invade Iraq from the moment they got into office. The events of 9/11 were a godsend for this administration, allowing them the perfect diversionary cover to execute their pre-existing plans.

We will probably never know the true reasons why we are in Iraq. Is it to fight a “larger war on terror,” and to promote freedom and democracy in an Islamic society? Or is it because of the failed assassination plot Hussein hatched against Bush the Greater? It could be because Bush the Lesser wanted to best Bush the Greater by getting rid of Hussein, something his father had failed to do.

It is certainly probable that this is a war to secure the oil rich reserves of Iraq, and to ensure that there will be a U.S. Dollar-driven economy in the area as opposed to a Euro-driven economy. It may be because the war in Iraq is an overture for a greater war in the region, ending with the overthrow of regimes in both Iran and Syria.

There is a possibility that we are in Iraq because Cheney and Rumsfeld wanted to correct their earlier mistake in supporting and arming Hussein with weapons of mass destruction. At a more sinister level, and this is my personal belief, it may be because there is a personal profit motive that certain administration officials have in the military industry, which means that war is a personally enriching proposition for those officials who are also stockholders in companies that are ancillary but prominent in any U.S. war effort. I’m talking about companies like Halliburton, Boeing, Raytheon, General Dynamics, and Northrup Grumman, to name some of the better-known companies.

Of course, Republicans in the Bush administration are not the only ones who might be profiting by the war in Iraq. I believe it is a fair question to ask Democratic lawmakers and office seekers, as well, if they have any conflict of interest in supporting or authorizing the war in Iraq. Which brings me to the point of this article.

The Democratic party has attacked President Bush on issues of truth and accountability. They accuse the President of misleading the public about the threat Iraq posed to the United States. They say that he lied about weapons of mass destruction, and manipulated intelligence reports in order to make Saddam Hussein seem like much more of a clear and present danger than he really was at the time. As the 2006 midterm elections approach, and with the recent release of Bob Woodward's book State of Denial, these charges have reached a fevered pitch in the media.

I agree with all of those statements. I do believe that Bush and company lied, and took us into a foolish, expensive, and potentially catastrophic elective war. But I don’t believe the Democratic party is totally without blame in the run up to the war. They could have -- and should have -- mounted a much more vigorous and pointed opposition to the war than they did. Instead, as President Bush is gleefully hurling back at them, most Democratic lawmakers voted to authorize the invasion on what we now know definitively as erroneous or manipulated intelligence.

The Democrats plaintively argue that, like the rest of America, they were misled by the Bush administration. They made their decision and cast their votes on the basis of that intelligence. They “trusted” the president, and now they regret their vote to authorize military action in Iraq.

Democratic strategist James Carville is famous for a phrase that catapulted Clinton into office in 1990: “It’s the economy, stupid!” I would like to suggest a similar phrase for our current political zeitgeist: “It’s the hypocrisy, stupid!” It is hypocrisy that plagues our national political system, and that explains why Congress currently has an approval rating even lower than this wildly unpopular president.

Democrats may have been misled by manipulated intelligence. In fact, I believe strongly that much of the publicly known intelligence running up to the war was tilted and massaged by the White House to correspond with an earlier decision to invade Iraq. Who, exactly, manipulated that information, I cannot say with certainty, but like many Americans, I think a lot of the blame lies with Cheney, Rumsfeld, Libby and Rove.

There was probably nobody in America who was in a better position to challenge the administration, and to seek out unbiased or un-manipulated information than our Democratic senators and representatives. Yet they failed to do so. And the reason they failed to take action or vote against the war wasn’t because they were misled by pre-war intelligence. Instead, many of those Senators and Congressmen who voted to authorize the war in Iraq made a cold political calculation – or perhaps I should say a craven and cowardly decision – that a vote for the war would protect them from future criticisms of not supporting the troops or the President.

In hindsight, those lawmakers now know that they were not protecting or supporting the troops in any way by voting for this ill-conceived and globally disastrous war. In fact, they were signing the death warrants of thousands of noble and brave soldiers who truly wanted to provide service to their nation.

Today, we hear those Democrats who voted to support the war trying to talk their way out of that vote. Some say they “regret” their vote. Now, a few even say they were “wrong.” But none of them have made the full confession that they allowed personal political expediency to take precedence over the good of the nation. None of them have admitted that it was their desire to maintain their place of privilege, to retain their hold on office that motivated their vote to approve what we now know may be the nation’s worst foreign debacle under its worst-ever president.

I hear many in the Democratic party bemoaning the fact that they cannot seem to connect with their base any more. I hear them argue that the solution is to move further to the center, which has moved ever rightward since the days of Ronald Reagan and Newt Gingrich. Such suggestions are not only wrongheaded, but they are doomed to failure. And in the process, they are dooming this once great society to a grim future of petty oligarchic or theocratic rulers. Appeasing, or worse, trying to match, the petty and self-righteous morality of the right-wing Repugnant party is a sure step down the path of decline that has been the fate of once-great cultures of the past.

I have focused mainly on the hypocrisy of the Democratic party in this piece. That is because it would take a book of several volumes to detail the hypocritical falsities that are currently being tolerated at all levels of the Republican party. This is a party that promotes itself as the conservator of Christian values, and as an inclusive party of compassion. To prove that, they offer up immigration legislation that refuses any economic opportunity to the “least of these,” to the poorest inhabitants of the hemisphere to come into our country to work and make a living.

They also prove their Christian love by trying to pass an amendment to our Constitution that will ostracize and criminalize lesbian women and gay men who wish to live together as a wedded couple. They say we must "stay the course," and continue a war that has already killed thousands and thousands of innocent Iraqi men, women and children. At the same time they push this vicious and bloodthirsty agenda, they claim that they want to create a "culture of life" by banning abortion in our country. And they do all of this with the smug assertion that they are doing God’s work and God’s will.

Then, when a longtime and successful Repugnant like Mark Foley is shown to be a hypocritical ephebophiliac, they act as if they are scandalized. They pretend to be shocked and dismayed. They make long and voluble protestations that they have been used and abused by the party of the President. Instead of a mea culpa, they launch a "blame the gays" or "blame the Democrats and ABC" campaign.

It is the hypocrisy, stupid! That is what the Democratic party should be railing against, and working against. That is the way they will win back the hearts and minds of the average American voter. By first being honest about their own motivations, and then by pointing out loudly and forcefully the hypocritical nature of the modern Republican party.

Two Days of Vacation in November

2006-10-02T11:59:00.000-05:00

When is it time to begin calling for open resistance to the Bush monarchy?

We recently saw a federal court ruling that excoriated Bush for trying to establish himself as King of our nation, in direct contravention to the presidential powers spelled out in our Constitution. One has to ask: why do the Republicans hate the Constitution? Despite their frequent protestations that they are the only real "patriots" in our nation, and that anyone who doesn't support the president is for Al-Queda, they have done more to shred our political fabric than anyone or anything else. Their proposition that Bush has nearly unlimited powers as a result of the Congressional declaration giving him war powers is not only delusional, but extremely dangerous.

Thus the question, when is it time to begin calling for open resistance? Is it now, or is it already too late? Have we gone so far down this ludicrous path of "unitary power" that we can never return to the liberties and protections once guaranteed to us by the Constitution?

The nation has perhaps one more good chance to turn things around in a peacable fashion. National polls are currently showing that Americans are extremely dissatisfied with the Republican controlled Congress, and that more voters are likely to vote for a Democratic candidate in the mid-term election than for a Republican. If the Democrats can gain the majority in one or both of the Houses, there is a good possibility that sanity and the separation of powers created by the Constitution can be re-established.

There is even the possibility -- albeit remote, given the craven and self-serving nature of most Democratic politicians -- that Bush will face impeachment proceedings for his violations of the Constitution. That he should face impeachment proceedings is a slam dunk, especially since U.S. District Judge Anna Diggs Taylor recently ruled that Bush violated the Fourth Amendment with his Terrorist Surveillance Program.

Still, there is no guarantee that Democrats will be able to win back even one of the Houses of Congress. That is because they have been so wishy-washy on Iraq that they are out of step with the majority of the American electorate. It is also because the Republicans now "own" the electoral process through their shell company, otherwise known as Diebold. The probability of more dishonest elections is a greater threat to our nation and the Constitution than even the monarchical/dictatorial G.W. Bush.

Is it too late? Have the Republicans, through their hidden control of the electronic voting machine manufactories, so tilted our electoral process that America is now little better than the "banana republics" that we have so disdained in the past?

This blogger fears that to be the case. It seems that now nothing short of the promise of open and forthright resistance against "fishy" election results can correct the electoral fraud that was so apparent in the last three election cycles. That is why Americans who are concerned about the validity and reliability of our election process should schedule Two Days of Vacation in November.

The first day should be November 7, election day. Voters should spend that day by first voting, and then by monitoring the electoral process. This can include everything from sitting at home watching news reports to hanging around the polling place making sure that no one is allowed to intimidate voters this year. Also, by volunteering to help voters in any fashion necessary to see that their votes get cast. This would help prevent large numbers of voters from being disenfranchised, as we have witnessed in the last few election cycles.

The second day should be November 8, the day after election day. If it becomes apparent that, yet again, questionable voting results have tilted the process in favor of an out-of-favor Republican party, voters should immediately descend en masse upon their state capitals and the nation's capital, a full outpouring of protest to force an investigation of the election results. If necessary, even civil disobedience should be put on the table in order to win back the nation's electoral process from the cynical political manipulators who now seem to own it.

Of course, with the dictatorial powers now bestowed upon Bush by a complicit and compliant Republican Congress, even suggesting such actions may constitute a terroristic offense, and may be cause for arrest and detension in isolation. We now know that habeas corpus only applies to Republicans and other supporters of this supposedly "unitary" President. Under the power this President now holds, our Founding Fathers could have been -- and probably would have been -- rounded up and held indefinitely before being tried in a military court.

So perhaps the question, "is it too late?," has already been answered.

Of Course They Are Manipulating Gas Prices

2006-09-30T08:52:00.000-05:00

If the oil and gas industry spokespeople are to be believed, there is no way they can manipulate gas prices. It is all up to the magical forces of the market to determine how high, or low, gas prices will go. They deny having the ability to shift prices lower in anticipation of the upcoming mid-term elections. A new poll by Gallup/USA Today shows that almost half of Americans believe otherwise. According to the poll, 42% of Americans believe that gas prices have been purposefully driven lower in an effort to help Republicans maintain control of Congress.

The denials from oil and gas producers are lame, considering the many anti-trust laws that Congress has enacted over the years, laws aimed specifically at preventing "price fixing." Obviously, Congress thought that the oil and gas producers must have some method of controlling gas prices, otherwise such laws would not be necessary. In his latest book, just out, Bob Woodward states explicitly that the Bush Administration contacted the Saudi Arabians and asked them to increase oil production and thereby lower gas prices before the November election. The Saudis were apparently glad to comply with this request from their longtime buddy.

So for Tony Snow, the president's mouthpiece, to say recently that Bush does not have the influence to call his oil and gas producing buddies and ask them to drive prices down a little bit is not only misleading, it is an outright lie. The only question is whether it was Bush or Rove that made that phone call.

Many liberal bloggers, this one included, worry that Americans will be fooled. They will forget the $3 gas prices we saw earlier this summer, and will still vote Republican in November. One can only hope that they are smart enough to realize that only a Democratic House and Senate will be empowered to investigate the so many things that still need to be fully investigated: gas prices, the Katrina disaster, the Iraq war planning, the horrible events of 9/11.

Foiled Terrorist Plot Arrives Just In Time for Fall Campaign

2006-08-11T10:39:00.000-05:00

In today's Wall Street Journal, Daniel Henninger fired the opening salvo of the Republican fall election campaign strategy. Their tired old refrain? Be afraid, be very afraid.

He points out that Lamont's victory in Connecticut was followed within 24 hours by the news of a huge "terrorist plot" to blow up planes. (By the way, how convenient is that for all the President's men?) The thrust of his argument is that the Democratic party is surrendering to the same anti-war sentiments we saw during the Vietnam war. He equates the current anti-Iraq war sentiment with the anti-war protesters of the 1960s. The Republican big lie is that those protesters turned off American voters, and caused them to turn away from liberal Democratic presidential candidates. This, they dissemble, is the reason Republicans have won seven out of the last ten election cycles.

This is the same pernicious lie that Cokie Roberts trotted out on Meet the Press on Sunday, Aug. 6. She argued that a Lamont victory in Connecticut would be a disaster for the party, and that left-wing politics is why Democrats haven't won the presidency more frequently in recent years.

Let's debunk that lie, shall we? First, the Republicans count presidencies the same way their friends in the corporate world count profits -- that is to say, very badly and inaccurately, and with a very short term outlook in mind.

It is true that since Richard Nixon, the Republican party has carried seven of the past ten Presidential election cycles. At the end of Shrubby's second term in office, Republicans will have been in the White House roughly twice as long as Democrats during the 38 year period between 1970 and 2008. Republican presidents will have held the presidency for a total of 26 years. Compare that to the Democratic tally of just 12 years, and it looks pretty lopsided in favor of the Republicans.

This, of course, gives Republican's the benefit of the doubt that they actually won the elections in 2000 and 2004, and didn't steal them by virtue of dirty politics and vote rigging. There are a lot of people who believe that is the only way they managed to win the last two election cycles.

Taking a longer view of American politics, however, is quite instructive, and more favorable to Democrats. In the past 74 years, starting with Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Democratic presidents have held office for a total of 40 years, while Republicans have held office for a total of only 36 years. During that same time, the Democratic party has produced some of the greatest presidents in the nation's history.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt is generally considered to have been a great wartime president. Harry Truman won two terms (barely) and made the fateful decision to drop the atom bomb on Japan. He cannot be called a weak-on-defense president. John F. Kennedy was of course one of the nation's most inspiring and visionary presidents the nation has known. He faced down the Soviet Union in a pokerfaced game of nuclear brinksmanship. Again, not a weak-on-defense President.

Bill Clinton, who deserves a paragraph all to himself, may go down in history as one of the best American presidents in the modern era--especially since his administration was followed by what is turning out to be one of the most corrupt and incompetent administrations ever. During his time in office, the economy was strong, and the price of gas was about $1.25 a gallon. His administration maintained and tightened the no-fly noose on Saddam Hussein, and tried to kill Osama bin Forgotten with guided missile strikes. He was not a weak-on-defense president. He may have had a weakness for fat booty young women, but he was a decisive leader on matters of national defense.

Compare these strong Democratic presidencies with the Republican presidencies of Nixon (first American President to resign in disgrace), Ford (only American President who was NEVER ELECTED as Vice-President or President), Bush the Elder ("Read my lips. No new taxes!"), and Bush the Younger("Mission Accomplished!").

The only Republican president who stands above the fray is Ronald Reagan, and his principle strength was that he was a polished and outstanding persuader. He invaded Grenada, so he might be considered a strong-on-defense president; but he also supplied weapons to Iran. Also, notably, it was under Reagan that current Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld travelled to Iraq, to smile, shake hands, and provide support and assistance to one Saddam Hussein.

To his credit, Bush the Elder did create a strong international coalition, and swiftly and successfully pushed Hussein back to Iraq when he invaded Kuwait. He also had enough sense to listen to his advisers, who told him that invading Iraq was a recipe for disaster. They knew then that sectarian violence would tear that country apart if Hussein was overthrown.

Democrats are their own worst enemy when they allow the Republicans and Cokie Roberts (is there any difference between the two?) to frame American politics as beginning with the Nixon years. Perhaps that is because so many Democratic lawmakers have become Liebermanesque. That is, they are really more Republican than Democratic.

Right wing spin cycles like the Wall Street Journal will bombard the public with this mantra that Democrats are weak on defense, and that Americans have historically rejected liberal candidates for the presidency. They will try to equate an anti-Iraq war stance with weakness on all matters of defense. They do so at their own peril. They are delusional if they believe that the public is going to fall for that argument in a post-Bush the Younger America. The fact is, G.W. Bush has been such a horrible President, and things in this country have gotten so bad, that even the tried and true fear mongering of the Republicans will not work this time.

The Republicans Are Sore Afraid after Ned Lamont Victory

2006-08-09T16:15:00.000-05:00

The Republicans are up to their old tricks again, trying to paint a progressive Democratic victory in the Connecticut primary as a victory for them. Like everything else the Republicans say publicly these days, the words are a lie to cover up their deep fear. They know that the Lamont victory is a ringing rejection of George Bush and everything and everyone associated with him.

Ken Mehlman said that Democrats are returning to a “defeatist” attitude, and are once again embracing “isolationism.” There is only one word to describe this statement: chutzpah. If anybody is isolationist, it is George Bush, Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney and their Republican enablers. Their unilateralist attitudes, their refusal to pursue real diplomacy, their decision to engage the nation in an elective war and ensuing occupation in Iraq, have made America the most isolated, distrusted and disrespected nation on earth. Their every action screams of isolationism. If the Republicans try to pin the label of isolationism on the Progressive Democrats, they are opening their own worst wound.

And to say that Democrats are “defeatists” is also ludicrous beyond belief. Bush and Rumsfeld have placed America and its troops in a no-win situation in Iraq. It is obvious to anybody who is not willing to drink George Bush’s grape Kool-aid that the situation in Iraq has already devolved into a sectarian meat grinder, and our soldiers are being tossed into the mix. They have created a no-win situation where America is damned if we withdraw, and damned if we stay. The Bush “plan for victory” in Iraq is obviously a disaster. American soldiers will never lose a battle they fight in Iraq, but there is no way they can win this foolhardy and unnecessary war. It is the Bush Republicans who are the defeatists, by insisting that American get involved in another quagmire like Vietnam.

Mehlman also said that Progressive Democrats are adopting a “blame America first” mentality. Again, this assertion is on its face totally ridiculous, but inherently revelatory of Republican fears. Progressive Democrats aren’t blaming America first, they are blaming Republicans first, and all of their enablers like Joe Lieberman. Every time we hear Republicans charge that Progressive Democrats are “blaming America first,” we will know that they are terrified. They know that they, and they alone, bear the blame for what has gone wrong with this nation since they took control of the White House, both Houses of the Congress, and all of the electronic voting machine companies in this nation.

Let’s look at a brief list of things that Progressive Democrats are blaming on the Republicans:

• Gas prices, that were less than $1.25 when they took control
• A war in Iraq that is draining billions out of our economy, and is killing and maiming thousands of soldiers, who are our most precious national treasure.
• A vast network of blatant greed and corruption, and a “pay to play” attitude among the majority of Republican legislators (DeLay, Ney, Cunningham, et. al.)
• The consistent and arrogant destruction of the rule of law by President Bush, with his attitude that laws do not apply to him (signing statements), and his secret prisons and torture chambers, and his intention to spy on Americans at every opportunity.

These are just a few of the major things that Republicans bear the blame for. This short list is enough to make them wet their pants in fear as they face a groundswell of righteous indignation by Americans who are tired of having their constitutional rights trampled on, their wallets robbed by corporate malfeasance with Congressional approval, and their morality questioned because they do not agree that torture and war are the wisest ways to go about promoting peace and democracy.

So go ahead, Republican spinmeisters. Try to label Progressive Democrats as isolationist, defeatist and immoral non-Americans. Your fear and trembling are well justified. Your self-delusion that you represent true Americans is about to be shattered. The arrogance of George Bush and his neo-con crew are about to be your undoing. It may take generations before the Republican party gains power again, if it even survives the George Bush presidency.