This is not mine, I wish it was, it was written by a FaceBook friend, Rachel Taylor, and shared with her permission. It highlights the hypocrisy. I think back to the infamous Bill Clinton BJ in 1995. What a roiling waste of time and money that was.
I found out this morning the little girl – the who we can’t name or share her picture, the one born addicted to heroin, the one born blind, the one born deaf in one ear, is now “profoundly brain-damaged.”
I am so fucking done loving the addict and hating the addiction. This little girl and her story have tested my belief system about as far as it can be tested.
I was up last night thinking about a rant on child protective services and how they are doing everything in their power to keep us from raising money for this little girl, but you know what, fuck that.
I am an addict, but one day in 1993 I was able to dig down underneath the layers and layers of self-pity in denial and bullshit and touch, for one brief moment, what was left of my humanity. You cannot be a bigger addict or a bigger asshole than I was or am, for that matter. If I can anyone can.
If you are using and pregnant you need to do one of three things: you either need to pull your head out of your ass, walk away from your denial and get into a program and work the fuck out of it, or you need to abort that baby, or you need to load up that spike with enough dope to kill five motherfuckers and take care of the problem now.
Monday I was driving through the Black Dirt, it was ninety-five degrees.
The temperature coming off that dried muck had to be near one hundred, if not more. I’ve never felt hot like that particular and peculiar hot coming off those goddamned fields.
In Orange County, in the 1970’s, to have worked out in the Black Dirt is a rite, a passage, it is something you did so that forty or fifty years later you could tell the stories with authenticity. Continue reading The Black Dirt→
It is not about Hillary or Trump, and for what it’s worth it’s not about Bush II or Clinton or Bush I or Reagan or Carter or Ford. The accumulated clusterfucks of these past administrations have now come here to haunt us. The recent election is long over so please stop talking about Obama to me. Stop talking about Hillary to me. They are no longer relevant to the current conversation.
The situation today is desperate. It is not about Russian spies and American cowards. These are all simply symptoms of the disease that is killing us, all of us, quickly.
It drives me a little crazy when people accuse me of being a good person.
If and when I do something good or helpful or even useful my motivation is purely to get back to zero, to try and undo some past wrong.
There is an ancient Hindu/Buddhist concept called “Ahimsa” it essentially it means, “do no harm”. Non-violence in and to all things. I can’t even grasp that conceptually. I have a lot of work to do to get back to even, to undo the harm I’ve done and the pain I’ve caused.
There is a balance sheet in the universe; I have operated my entire life in the red, on the negative side. Taking from the universe, injecting harm. Continue reading Ahimsa→
Written by Linda Sharp, one of the most talented journalists in the country. The sad thing is that those in greatest need of reading this article would quit midway through the first paragraph.
What Will It Take?
So, you voted for Trump.
You cheered his rhetoric of hate and phobias.
You proudly wore your “Fuck Your Feelings” tshirts to his rallies.
You cried out “Lock her up!” at his events – not caring to comprehend that there is nothing to “lock her up” for. Hell, as recently as last night in Tennessee, you were still chanting that ridiculous mantra as he held another “Make Me Feel Great Again” rally.
Ireland 1847 – No green beer. No corned beef, no cabbage. No potatoes. No shamrocks or leprechauns. Starvation. Betrayal. Ruined lands and lives. Watch the heavy laden ships sail to England, with the crops and cattle of your land, while your family starves to death. Swear allegiance to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
Haunting, well-written, and addresses via a dramatic telling, the challenge so many addicts have coming to peace with the third step in their addiction road to recovery. Sometimes brutal, sometimes hilarious and always thoughtful, this is an interesting find and look forward to reading more from this author
Of all of my years living with addiction, then recovery, then in the quest for the always elusive sobriety; in all of my attempts to help others reach this place I’ve enjoyed for over twenty years, I’ve never felt this impacted.
I’ve never been bold enough to declare myself sober. I’m still trying to reach that place of complete clarity and calm. At best, I’m working the process. People have admired me for my strength. Trust me, I’ve got nothing inside remotely resembling strength. Continue reading Lilly Bug – a baby born addicted to heroin→