One of These

These walking wounded animals
I am one of these
I am happy today to be
One of these

Like sores that do not heal
I am honored to be
One of these

For way too long I waited
Until inevitably
I turned out to be
One of these

These broken and crushed vehicles
I am one of these
I am sorry to be happy to be
One of these

Lied to and taken advantage of
Who somehow still hold on to love
I am one of these


White Supremacist Bullshit

Enough with this white supremacist bullshit. White people are not supreme. I know: I’m one and I’m not supreme at all.

It’s long past time we recognize and acknowledge – especially white people in this country – that white supremacy is a greater threat to civilization than Islamic fundamentalism. Both are dangerous for the same reason: they are about to become extinct. And that is a very good thing – even for those whose deepest beliefs will be exposed as delusion.

Just as every person of color has known discrimination and every woman has known sexual harassment, every man has felt the toxic side of masculinity and every white person has felt infected with the disease of white supremacy.

When the next age comes and our ancestors laugh at us the way we laugh at Neanderthals, white men will benefit along with everyone else from a world free of war, poverty, and human injustice. And that makes the fear of those clinging to their privilege so much more pathetic.


The 20 greatest breakup songs ever – ranked! — Music | The Guardian

On the 40th anniversary of Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive topping the charts – and as the UK blunders towards its own acrimonious divorce – here’s the definitive list of tear-stained stonkersHip-hop isn’t big on romantic heartbreak, but this is a particularly fine example. There’s a lot of bragging from Guru about how he’s so…

via The 20 greatest breakup songs ever – ranked! — Music | The Guardian

It’s a nice list – well worth a look and listen – even if it almost criminal to leave off the greatest breakup song ever – Carole King’s “It’s Too Late.”

It was love

It was love. It had to be. What else could excuse such bizarre behavior? He fumbled with his hair, vaguely scratched his scalp, and told himself the same thing over and over: it had to be love.

He turned his key in the lock and braced for the dark emptiness that waited on the other side of the door. His television would do its best to entertain him, as would his computer and an endless supply of music and booze. They would all fail.

How long has it been now? It doesn’t matter. So many people have died, and tons of babies born, since the last time he had tasted all the exotic spices of her love.

He closed his eyes before turning out the light. He couldn’t bear to watch the darkness fall. It would wait – silently, cautiously – for the deepest pit of the night, for him to open his eyes, expand his pupils, and stare into the hungering darkness to ask: If it wasn’t love, what was it?

The Place Where No One Else Goes


I went to the place where no one else goes and though it was lonely, that is to be expected. What caught me with my pants down was just how cold emptiness is. So cold I couldn’t tell if I was frozen or burnt or if I just didn’t love all the way anymore.


There were echoes so faint that they might have been the laughter of children who didn’t know why, or the cries of the desperate who didn’t know how. There were shadows that disappeared in the light and others that were lost in the dark. There were shadows that were thrown by emptiness.


Prisons with bars are the simplest kind.
At least you know what you are up against
Wars with dead bodies make some kind of sense, at least to themselves.
I promised myself
That if I ever
Make my way out of the place where no one else goes
I will do the one thing that I need to do