We Are Not Privileged

We Are Not Privileged

“Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.” – Dalai Lama Swiftly, shakily, steadily I slide down the sleep induced slurry of the sewage spitting out of strangers mouths. I can’t seem to find my way away from the increasing idiocracy of America. My prolific posterior is becoming bruised from the constant onslaught of condescension within our communities. One idea after the other. One feeling after the other. One conversation after the other. One belief after the other is met with such hatred and delusion – but this delusion has become an allusion of elusion. We are running. We are running from everything we do not understand. We don’t understand what we don’t understand. It’s easier to not understand. For if we don’t understand we could never be held accountable. If you cannot be held accountable, then the status quo is blissfully adequate. Not acceptable – just adequate. By building these silos, we are no longer a nation of neighbors. Our faces are buried behind the screens. Our blue faces have developed a furrowed brow and our smiles have traveled south. Our thumbs mindlessly, absently scroll to the next story. The next status. The next pic. The next hashtag. And we blindly press share. We didn’t read the article. We don’t have time for that. We liked the headline. We liked the idea. We shared an idea. That idea was met with hatred and delusion. We no longer have ideas. They have been taken from us. They have been stolen from us. Ideas are subjective idioms that are becoming increasingly illegal in this industrious aristocracy....
White Lies

White Lies

  “I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.” – Pietro Aretino I’m going to the well again. Oh well, again. It’s hard to begin to explain the strain that society has put on humanity again. When nine-year-old brown eyes slowly look up at me, capillaries exploding with dubiety and inquisition, my mind melts and freezes – a verbal stroke stumbles sleepily out of my stupid mouth. Seven-year-old green eyes quickly look up at me, and asks if everything is okay in innocence and ingenuity. Another verbal stroke followed by convulsions of the heart. It’s hard to begin to explain the strain that society has put on humanity again. Through my mental seizures I question why these eyes are viewing these reddened and blackened skies, and if I should just hug them with little white lies. White Lies. White Lies. White lies beneath all of this rubble of black, yellow, and red stones. Foundations of our society – cornerstones of humanity. White lies beneath all of this demolition. Demolishing this beautiful landscape we call life. White lies decapitating discerning discourse. What happens when we can no longer sit down and listen to the traditions of our fellow humans and learn from their experiences and learn from their pasts and learn from their presence? It’s hard to begin to explain the strain that society has put on humanity again. What happens is that we begin to notice our differences – and we become frightened. We tell White Lies. We lie. We...

I Don’t Have Room in my Heart

“No guns but only brotherhood can resolve the problems.” –¬†Atal Bihari Vajpayee So, in the past few days, I have been experiencing something that I am not used to. It started Friday for the most part. Thursday night, maybe. But definitely Friday. It was the start to a weekend where I had to work all Friday night. I’m used to being with my family every Friday. It was not a great big deal, because I have one of the best jobs around. I don’t feel that I am working when I’m at my job. In a weird sense, I feel that I am hanging out with anyone I come into contact with at work. It’s an amazing feeling. It’s a feeling. But, I also had another feeling. A feeling. A sense of impeding longing for my family. You see, in addition to being gone all Friday night, I was also going to be away all Sunday. For a good reason, though. The Chicago Cubs played the final game of the season on Sunday at, perhaps, my favorite place on the planet – Wrigley Field. It was a glorious day too. At times it was hot. At times it was cool. Beautiful. I took my son to the game, together with my parents, sister and nephew. I took Miles to see the World Series trophy – something I had waited 36 years to see and something he doesn’t understand at the age of seven. A weird butterfly-y happiness ejaculated into my stomach. There’s a picture of it on my Instagram. I follow the Kanye rules to photography almost exclusively. This...