Showing posts with label jaded. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jaded. Show all posts

Friday, September 13, 2019

I Wanna Be Sedated

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: elections, blue, cows, stars, millennials. they were submitted by: https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

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I haven’t been as into politics this year.

I’m burned out.

I’m burned out on even reading the word “elections.” I’m burned out on the whole “blue no matter who” chant and the finger pointing at millennials for every ending, badly run, overhyped, no longer valid industry and every real, serious, and necessary criticism of Democratic candidates. I’m tired of explaining that wanting and expecting better of our potential presidential candidates isn’t what handed us Trump, and it isn’t going to be what hands us Trump again if it happens that way. The bigotry, willful ignorance, hatred, and selfishness of America is partly what gave us that and what will do it again. The undercurrent that has always been a problem in America gave him to us. Ignoring those issues while we pretend everything is fine is what gave him to us. Always focusing on electability over policy, always excusing racism and sexism and abelism because Trump and his supporters are worse is at fault.

How fucking low are we going to set the bar? We just gonna make racism okay as long as it isn’t blatant Trump racism?

And let’s face it, the inability for so many liberals to face any criticism of the Democratic party gave us Trump, too.

I spent a couple days recently enjoying some episodes of a show (Maude) made in the early 70s that was incredibly progressive for its time and complained, largely, about the same problems we face now only then it was Nixon. And after Nixon, it was Reagan. So many of the same criticisms that Democrats make about Trump and act like it’s all brand new territory are the same things written into this show created in 1972 about some other asshole we thought couldn’t possibly be elected at the time because we underestimated the selfishness and hatred of our fellow Americans but also because we failed to see the problems in our own party and cut off any real discourse about them out of fear. For literally decades, liberals have spent all their time fingerpointing at the other side instead of using losses to grow and make necessary changes.

Who is Joe Biden if not another Hubert Humphrey?

I’m tired of being one of the cows grazing on the pasture of whatever crumbs of progressive policy white liberals use to tease marginalized groups. I’m tired of waiting to be inevitably led to slaughter when those politicians suddenly cater to the mythological moderate Republican who might vote Blue for the right person.

Democrats would be better off spending millions trying to prove leprechauns will give us all a pot of gold if we just remove that scary word “socialism” from the English language. Or is that what we’re doing now? Close enough, I guess.

Spoiler alert: those people don’t exist. There is no large group of voting Republicans that can be courted hard enough to turn the tides of the election while the entire political spectrum shifts further and further right to appease a demographic that has literally never won Democrats an election. The thing of it is the kind of people who can be swayed by a conservative masquerading as a Democrat don’t vote and don’t have a stake in any fight. None of the policies being discussed really affects them or their livelihoods. They aren’t the kind of people who will have to worry about losing protections or being kicked out of the military. There’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain by making such a switch. So why in the ever loving fuck do we leave our most vulnerable out in the cold to cater to people who won’t notice much of a difference and won’t give a shit no matter who wins? What kind of tactic is that and what does it say about the core of the Democratic party?

No candidate is going to appeal to millennial and younger leftists by using slang badly on Twitter and lying about when they used to smoke weed on a podcast. We don’t give a shit. Honestly. I could not care less about who smokes weed as long as they’re keen on making it legal for everyone and easier to get coupled with releasing offenders who were charged with weed related, non violent crimes while rich white people get richer off the industry. I’d like more LGBTQIA+ representation in the government, out and open and proud. But that’s not a trade off for someone who supports Medicare For All. It’s not a replacement for having actual convictions. It’s not a shiny item that will distract us from a history of gentrification and racism. Policy matters. Past voting records and policy initiatives matter. Having a real plan of action and not some super secret healthcare idea matters.

People get stars in their eyes about certain politicians and fail at all to be able to accept criticism of that candidate and join others in pushing for a better version of that candidate. It’s all defensiveness and denial and “DO YOU WANT TRUMP AGAIN BECAUSE THAT’S HOW YOU GET TRUMP AGAIN” instead of any actual conversation about where we can compromise and what sort of past voting records and bills can be forgiven. Instead of examining Biden’s past with the 94 crime bill, his support of segregation and his continued racist comments, any of these points are met with BUT TRUMP IS THE WORST. Sure, ok. But where does that leave us? Doing this in ’68 still gave us Nixon. Twice. Focusing only on criticizing the opposition leading up to the primaries didn’t work then. It didn’t work for Reagan. It didn’t work for George W Bush. And it didn’t work for Trump. So why will it suddenly work now?

Self crit and growth aren’t easy. I get it. Pretending we always have the high ground over the opposition though has made for a stagnant party that continues to push further and further right so that American liberals are conservative in the rest of the world. The younger generations may get on board with a candidate we don’t fully believe in just for the sake of harm reduction for more vulnerable groups, but the longer the Democratic Party does this, the more of us get jaded, the more we feel our votes don’t make a damn, and that means even fewer votes period.

We’re fucking tired. Jaded. Nothing to do, no where go oh. We wanna be sedated.

Friday, April 10, 2015

Another Day

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.

My words are: trailer, affiliates, gruesome, nasty, trash
They were submitted by: www.batteredhope.blogspot.com

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Grant takes a look around the single-wide trailer from his spot in the open doorway. Morning light filters through the dingy, torn blinds on the windows brightening the room more than enough for him to see the details of the scene in the tiny ramshackle living room before him. Dust particles float lazily through the hazy glow landing in the pools of coagulated blood and the heaps of trash that clutter the floor—a floor full of holes and dips in the worn tan carpet. He takes it all in as he stands glued in place. Several windows are broken with duct tape warding off the elements. Cockroaches scurry around even in the full brightness of morning with no fear. The stale acrid odor of tobacco hangs in the air made worse by the several impromptu ashtrays of discarded food containers overflowing with butts. The roof was caving in over on empty corner that looked like it had become a toilet for some kind of dog or cat. Everything was falling apart, dilapidated, dirty...

No one should even be living here at all, but now, he supposes, no one did except the roaches.

The scene is absolutely gruesome…maybe even the worst he’s ever seen. Blood has pooled and splattered on just about every surface he can see. For now, the two bodies are covered, but that isn't much consolation considering how much of their internals he can see scattered throughout the room. He takes a deep breath of the pungent air hanging in the doorway and immediately regrets it. Almost gagging, he tips the black Homburg hat back on his head and loosens the cheap blue-checked Sears tie around his neck--a bad sign considering it wasn't yet 9 a.m. It was going to be a long day.

He takes a few steps back from the door and calls to one of the officers who first responded to the scene, “Miller…grab me a pair of gloves. And keep the coffee coming.” Then he sighs long and loud. It’s a habit of his, that sigh. Anyone in earshot would know it well and know what it means—that he’s already had enough for the day and to stay out of his way as much as possible. That sigh happens more and more lately.

Miller brings the gloves and assures him that coffee is on the way. For his trouble, he receives a grunt in response and a dismissing wave that tells him to get the fuck out of dodge and in a hurry.

Grant slides the gloves on his hand struggling to get his already-sticky skin into the latex. He is certain this Southern heat will kill him long before anything else ever does. He stands there, then, gloves barely on, shirt sticking to the small of his back, sunlight highlighting the nasty scene before him unable to move. He has no idea where to start and no desire to figure it out if he’s honest. The job had gotten to him a long time ago. He knew it, he knew everyone else knew it, but they just kept going along with no one really knowing what to do with that information.

“Boot covers!! Miller, I almost forgot my damn boot covers.”

Miller obliges scurrying around in a fashion that too-closely resembles that of the tiny cockroaches invading the crime scene. This time, though, he brings coffee along with the boot covers and is rewarded by a quick slash of a smile and a mumbled thanks when he hands them both over.

Grant stands back a bit not wanting the air in the trailer to taint his first cup of joe for the day. He leans against the side of the wobbly iron railing on the front porch steps wondering if he is going to go crashing through the rotted wood before he can even make it inside. The place doesn't even have
that fancy vinyl siding. It's rusted through in places, green and black with mold where it should have been white and faded to a soft brown where it should have been dark. He takes it all in, sipping his coffee, taking mental notes of the whole scene. If he's honest with himself, though, he's stalling but recognizing that fact really doesn't do much to get him motivated.

Deputies have already been inside after getting the 911 call from another trailer in the park. No one in there is alive. There’s no urgency to this, so he stays on the porch sipping his coffee and preparing for the day ahead.

This particular trailer park is a frequent stop for the county officers. One of the residents happens to be a Neo-Nazi in the American Nazi Party whose affiliates are more than a bit rowdy and always antagonizing the other residents especially those who don’t fit their standards of acceptability. It never ceases to amaze him how people seemingly dredged from the cesspools of society feel they can lay down judgment on others, but a good chunk of his job in this area deals with just that...today's case too most likely.

People were too much for him these days, he reckons. When he started this job so long ago, he had so much pride in what he could accomplish and the ways he could help people, but that pride had faded so long ago he couldn’t remember what it ever felt like. All that is left is a weight so heavy he doesn’t think he can bear it another year until he can officially retire especially on days like today knowing what he is about to walk into…knowing there is nothing he can do to help these people and save them from their shitty lives in this shanty of a trailer or from the horror of their final moments. All he can do is try to get the right person behind bars. And at the end of the day, he has learned the hard way that putting someone in prison for the rest of their life doesn’t fix anything. Sure, it might be justice, but it’s no real help. It doesn’t give people their folks back. It doesn’t reverse time. It sure as hell doesn’t give closure or any of those other shiny words politicians seem to vomit in political speeches about being tough on crime.

He takes another sip already nearing the bottom of the cup when he notices a few pairs of eyes on him.

“I’m gonna go in when I’m good and damn ready. Just gimme a minute here. What’s the rush?”

Those eyes quickly dart away and pretend to be busy on other things leaving him in peace at least for the moment. He swirls the remaining sips of gas station brew in the bottom of the cup. This particular cup had a pretty high burnt factor. It must have been the bottom of the pot. It’s not like he can expect some gourmet blend, but he hopes the next one will be a little stronger and a little better and away from this godawful trailer park.

With that thought, he motions for Miller to grab the cup from him who quickly obliges. Then he takes a final breath of the semi-fresh air outside the entrance to the place, grits his teeth, and steps inside all while hoping this isn’t the case that breaks him.

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http://www.BakingInATornado.com                                 Baking In A Tornado
http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                          Spatulas on Parade
http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com                      The Bergham’s Life Chronicles
http://themomisodes.com                                          The Momisodes
http://www.southernbellecharm.com                           Southern Belle Charm
http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch                Confessions of a part-time working mom
http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                   Someone Else’s Genius
http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/                 Stacy Sews and Schools
http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/                              Sparkly Poetic Weirdo 
http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com                    Searching for Sanity
http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com                              Climaxed
http://eileensperpetuallybusy.blogspot.com                     Eileen’s Perpetually Busy
http://www.JuiceboxConfession.com                             Juicebox Confession
http://batteredhope.blogspot.com                                  Battered Hope