2024

THE ONE CONCERNING HEADLINE ABOUT JOE BIDEN THAT NOBODY TALKS ABOUT

Do I think Biden should’ve run again? Absolutely not.

Nothing to do with the headlines about his age.

Nothing to do with the headlines about the debate debacle.

Everything to do with the headline, “Biden Campaign Brushes Off Idea of Reforming the Supreme Court.”

Joe Biden has a record of historic accomplishments. Still, while he may not be forcing us backwards, he’s hardly propelling us forward.

He’s the embodiment of the conservative Democratic establishment’s bizarre fetish for mediocrity and preserving the status quo. Aim for the mediocre. Pander to the middle. Put up with the middle. Protect the status quo. Accept the middle. Compromise relentlessly and refuse to have the upper hand in any situation. Accept the lose-win compromises. Respect the other side while they crush you to death. Refuse to fight fire with fire. Refuse to fight fire at all. Do the things we should’ve been doing for 20-30 years and call it accomplishment.

Don’t get me wrong. Joe Biden has my vote. But I am not hopeful.

Joe Biden has my vote.

I’m not impressed with the distraction drama game the media is playing.

I will vote for Joe Biden the way I voted for Hillary Clinton.

If Joe Biden somehow wins on a platform of save-our-democracy (a benign concept lost on most American dipshits because gas prices are the president’s fault and crisis at the border and more immigration and critical race theory and poisoning our soil and jobs for only Black people but affirmative action bad and gold painted sneakers are shiny plus Bible, flag, troops, Afghanistan, and also Marjorie Taylor Greene), I’ll look forward to another four years of historic accomplishments that just barely move the needle to left (which has ultimately become the center-right since the far-right has pulled and slid the entire measuring scale along with them in their ascent to outright fascism).

But I am disappointed, once again, with the Democratic Party. Joe Biden’s not the sleepy one, the party is. It’s so sleepy it’s wearing a CPAP machine and a fuzzy pink sleep mask with opened eyes painted on, swallowing a steady dose of Ativan and having sweet dreams.

They have got to do better next time if, universe willing, we have a next time.

And this is quite likely the last time I’m going to write about a headline that mentions Joe Biden.

I COULDN'T NOT WRITE THIS REACTION TO RAISE THE ROOF

Green Library Online Exhibit Supporting the Black Lives Matter Movement

This is important. You should visit it.

65 Stories: Say Their Names (a Stanford Libraries exhibit)


Raise the Roof by MeShell Ndegeocello (Read by Staceyann Chin)

“Raise the Roof” is a song from her forthcoming album No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin by Meshell Ndegeocello. It speaks about the Black American experience. I will never, as no white person will ever, be able to know precisely what that experience is like. But this song helps me feel what’s being felt by a whole lot of people, and it makes me want to be a better ally. My reaction to the song fits somewhere in that space.


My Reaction to “Raise the Roof”

This song is a poem. A heartbreaking, compelling call to action. A demand. An overdue alarm, a siren, an earthquake desperately shaking and rousing and stirring and waking everyone up from whatever apathetic existence they’ve resigned themselves to live in, languishing in lost hope.

This song is a reminder that the past hasn’t gone anywhere.

Parks and land and trees once public are sold to devil’s red developers with too much money and too little conscience.

These men, and they are men, take everything. They bulldoze and ruin. They make a profit. A profit without investment or acknowledgment or apology. Just. Profit. Just for them.

Greedy and gorging themselves they stand on the once public property they now own. They stand in blood soaked mud, and on tree stumps, and on what’s left.

They are proud and tall lumberjacks, dismissive destroyers with shined clean boots and expertly ironed bulletproof uniforms. Their careless, heavy feet pulverize anything in their path. What is in their path is rotting, still strange fruit dropped from southern trees they saw down and slaughter.

But strange fruit still ripens and rots even when the Poplar trees are stumps and roots. Strange fruit is on the ground under a black boot and can’t breathe. Strange fruit is carrying a toy gun before a badge and a bullet do what they’re designed to do. Strange fruit is 17 years old, wearing a hoodie sweatshirt bloodied and shredded by a vigilante’s not guilty verdict. Strange fruit dies - dead - as a direct result of a system that displaces, disregards, disenfranchises one group of people and rewards another.

Lumberjacks whose killing carnage goes without consequence don’t care. They don’t need to; they’ll be acquitted. Not guilty. And they don’t care what’s in their path because it’s their path - they designed it for themselves, they built it for themselves and they see it as the only path that matters.

But it’s not the only path that matters.

Alarms are going off and the earth is stirring, quaking, awakening.

And so we are woke. We are watching. We are done mouthing minced words. We are ready.

It’s time to raise the roof on these motherfuckers. Indeed, it’s time.


Notes

Some songs move me to want to write about them - to make and create something in inspired response.

I have lots of ideas about what I want to write for lots of songs I love to listen to. “Tusk” and “Walk a Thin Line” by Fleetwood Mac. “Narcissus” by Roisin Murphy. An essay for every major song on Boys for Pele by Tori Amos.

But my OCD ADHD brain usually kicks in and then works and overworks all those ideas, dulling rather than polishing them, demotivating me and getting in my way. The ideas and inspiration get stuck. I don’t write anything.

Sometimes I hear a song that’s so compelling and important, I can’t not write about it. Like, right now. Like, I won’t be able to do anything until I write about this because I can’t do anything until I write about this.

Hyper-focus takes over and forces my fingers to the keyboard, my eyes to the screen. I start writing and words seem to know where to go - structure being more intuitive than intentional. Then it’s done and I am released until another song grabs me by the arm and tells me it’s time to write.

The song “Raise the Roof” by MeShell Ndegeocello, is one of those compelling and important songs that I can’t not write about. So I wrote. And I stopped. And I hope it encourages someone to listen to the song, and consider all the considerations that need to be considered: fascist, racist oligarchical regimes are running and ruining the country, and we need to stop them once and for all. What will your contribution be?

(This post contains fucks.)

Today I Learned:

Gov. Noem is seen as a leading contender for the GOP vice presidential nomination alongside Trump. She also brags about shooting a puppy (not kidding this fucking sociopath fucking shot a puppy dead and boasts about it) and later, a goat.

Mortifying.

BEST NEWSLETTER ON SUBSTACK

I have a new favorite newsletter. Don’t worry, though, I still love Heather Cox-Richardson, but her writing style is a little bit, how shall we say, more refined than this gentleman’s?

I’ll say one thing, though - he sure knows how to write one helluva post title 😊

everyone is entitled to my own opinion by Jeff Tiedrich

Filing under, “Funny ‘cause It’s True”.

THIS IS A CHICKEN 🥚

Posted to LinkedIn:

This is a Chicken.

Despite what the liberal media would have you believe, this is a chicken.

Immediately upon fertilization (and cryo-preservation) it is a chicken. All rights of chickenhood are bestowed upon it because it is a chicken. It can peck and eat insects and seeds, it can preen and take dust baths, and because it cannot sweat, it cools itself by dunking its beak in cold water or flapping its wings. It can even lay eggs (which this is not because it is a chicken) and hatch them. It can mate, and it can perch and it can roost. It is important to note that chicken life cannot be wrongfully destroyed without incurring the wrath of a holy God, who views the destruction of His image as an affront to Himself. Everyone recognizes that this is true of unborn chicken life no less than it is of all other chicken life—that even before birth, all chickens bear the image of God, and their lives cannot be destroyed without effacing his glory.

Except for when you pay money for a chicken to be raised, slaughtered inhumanly, defeathered, and deep fried for the church picnic.

Even God says a good scald on a chicken, which this is, is alright because that s*** is just finger licking good.

Upon a red background lies a white chicken egg. The headline reads, This Is a Chicken. The paragraph under it reads, Despite what the liberal media would have you believe, this is a chicken.  Immediately upon fertilization (and cryo-preservation) it is a chicken. All rights of chickenhood are bestowed upon it because it is a chicken. It can peck and eat insects and seeds, it can preen and take dust baths, and because it cannot sweat, it cools itself by dunking its beak in cold water or flapping its wings. It can even lay eggs (which this is not because it is a chicken) and hatch them. It can mate, and it can perch and it can roost. It is important to note that chicken life cannot be wrongfully destroyed without incurring the wrath of a holy God, who views the destruction of His image as an affront to Himself. Everyone recognizes that this is true of unborn chicken life no less than it is of all other chicken life—that even before birth, all chickens bear the image of God, and their lives cannot be destroyed without effacing his glory.  Except for when you pay money for a chicken to be raised, slaughtered inhumanly, defeathered, and deep fried for the church picnic. Even God says a good scald on a chicken, which this is, is alright because that s*** is just finger licking good.

AN UNDECIDED VOTER’S DILEMMA OR MIRANDA NEEDS OUR HELP, YOU GUYS

NPR Watched Biden SOTU Speech with Undecided Voter Who ‘Wasn’t that Impressed’? | Snopes.com

The funny thing about this (not funny “ha ha” but funny “omg we’re all doomed and if I don’t nervously laugh about it I WILL have a meltdown and I WILL take you there with me”) is that any American is “undecided” on who she’s voting for.

What else on this entire earth do you possibly need to see with your own dull, listless, hollow eyes to make a decision? What more literal evidence do you need to have presented before you?

I mean, are you ok, Miranda? Because we’re all concerned.

I know it’s hard to make up your mind when you’re sipping daiquiris on a floatie drifting around in an Olympic sized pool of privilege, and when you get uncomfortable thinking about the political decisions being made impacting millions of other people’s rights but not yours so everything’s cool, and when your non-committal, coy, on-the-fence-I-just-don’t-know act brings all the politicians to the yard to court your vote which makes you feel like they actually care about you as a person so you feel a little less emptiness inside your pure white Christian soul, but come on. Undecided? Really?

Come on, Miranda.

Come on.

🙄

SCOTUS 🙄

Also is Mitch McConnell rotting in hell (where he belongs) yet?

I heard he’s gonna “retire” soon.

I hope that’s just a funny way of saying gonna “rot in hell (where he belongs)” soon.