A few days ago I sat down to explain to Ender and Remy why it's so difficult to defeat Chtulhu (they were fighting my crocheted Chtulhu and my Gipsy Danger). I got a piece of paper and drew a dot, then a line, then a cube, and explained the fourth dimension is time. "In the stories, Cthulhu exists in even more dimensions." I drew more points on the paper, connected them to the cube, to themselves, and to nothing. "Oh," Remy said, "that's why people who see him go crazy." I felt like dropping the pencil like a mike. My work is done; their monster hunter training is complete.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
I agree that you are making a point, and this point is responding to a position that isn't really being taken. We went to school together, remember, and we had friends that were black, white, brown, yellow (although I don't recall any Native American kids, now that I think about it). If someone is claiming that one ethnicity is free from civil liberty violations, then yes, they're probably trolling you.
The points that I see being made are: Local law enforcement has become more concerned with being in control than with the rights of American citizens (as has our federal government).
Police officers seem to use lethal force waaaay more on minorities. Which, possibly, have all been completely justified. Maybe minorities are just way more aggressive and dangerous overall and they all had it coming. It's possible, right? But until that's actually proven, why is it considered "controversial" to want an investigation into a police shooting? Might it have something to do with the person being black? If not, then what are some examples of other ethnicities being killed by police that have struggled to get an impartial investigation?
Finally, I think we all have stories of being harassed by the police. The trend you may notice is that, on average, minorities have waaaay more of these stories. I've been driving for 15 years. I've been stopped by police 31 times resulting in 2 tickets. 30 stops in AZ, 1 in CA. I got a ticket in CA, since I was speeding. My other ticket was for expired tags, in AZ, that had expired the day before and I got the ticket on my way to the DMV to pay my registration. That was just funny.
Is that a normal amount of times to be pulled over? Is it normal to have a stop/ticket ratio of 1-15? Might it have something to do with my skin color? I admit I don't know, really. It's only my personal experience.
But I don't think sharing my personal experience is further dividing the country. With our access to vast amounts of conflicting information, we have the luxury of deciding what we want to be true first, and then only accepting the information that supports what we already believe. It's not great for systems of democratic government, but on a philosophical level, I think we are finally going to see who people really are.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
You had a name for me. I had a name for you. Always turned my head. Your memory was good, but you still remembered some moments as lasting longer than others. I wonder if I do it too.
Our lives were hands on a doorknob turning. Closing doors and final moments.
Where do they go, the people I don't dream of anymore?
8 percent battery life.
Tomorrow waits in queue, ticket in hand, carpet bag in the other. Fleeing the future.
A woman told me she was the last matriarch of the DeLeons. She said she was every blood type. She said the military took her spinal fluid and it is hidden in a vault. She said her body cured her cancer on its own after she refused treatment. She said she wasn't supposed to get excited because of her heart. She said "Ha ha" as two words and a question mark. She said she was going to turn Minnesota from Democrat to Republican by calling her family members there. She said I was wrong.
She told me that she was a descendant of Ghengis Kahn. I believe that is the second most probable thing she said to me.
The phone disconnected. I called her back. She answered by telling me again that she has blood types O-, U, and N. She asked me to look at the letters and tell her what they spelled. I didn't. The phone disconnected again. I did not call her back.
Monday, July 07, 2014
Sunday, July 06, 2014
Slicing sheets for sleeping better. When they tangle I have nightmares. Machine for bad sleep-breathers hisses gaps in mask and hose. I pretend it's space travel.
Writing desk trapped in the corner with a window to look beyond. These nooks are vital for my vitals. Nooks could make up my whole home.
I did not wash the dogs today. I meant to but a storm was coming. Desert storms with orange dust paint rollers over everything. When they come it feels like the world is an old film.
I'll wash the dogs tomorrow.
Last night, in tangled sheets, I dreamt you were dead and I panicked and ran from nook to nook with armfuls of everything I meant to tell you. Where now could I keep them? There was no more room in the memories of you. Sight and smell and taste of you and your murmers of possession. No room for what could have been.
The bedsheets are freshly laundered. The dogs will jump and sleep on it while I am away at work.
I'll wash the dogs tomorrow.