k. I was very delicate about discussing this on here. Because for the most part, I don't consider myself to be an activist. I have my opinion on how the world should work, but I am realistic and I know that humanity is stupid and frankly, doesn't deserve to know of the blessings I would bring it. Ego-trips aside, I rarely would ever fight for what I believe in unless the fight is brought to my doorstep. I consider myself to be a feminist. I am pro-choice, even though I don't have a vagina and you'd never see me standing outside the Right to Life Headquarters with a sign. I support gay marriages, even though I myself don't believe in marriage.

I have my beliefs. And I don't force them upon someone else unless they force theirs on me. The only time you'd ever see me standing up for what I believe in is if I am attacked for it, or something happens to greatly effecutate the chance of me being attacked for it.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a coward. I'm as much a martyr as Joan of Arc or Jesus Christ if I get to that point. But I'm not going to waste my time going to a national walk against the deforestation of Brazil when I know good and well I can't get a ride to Washington DC and my feet will hurt for weeks.

But if anyone ever challenges my right to holding hands with my boyfriend in public, my right to pray to whatever fucking god I feel like praying to– and right now that god is the three week old pack of luncheon meat in my parents' refrigerator– trust me, there will be hell to pay.

When I am pushed to that point, I will fight tooth and nail for what I believe in until I get my way or I am dead. Simple as that.

But I don't like being pushed to that point. I often tell people when I first meet them to never bring up these two subjects around me: religion and politics. Because I don't feel like debating them. Religion is a matter of personal choice. I respect that. I will never bring my beliefs up unless I am asked about them, or someone tells me what I believe in is wrong. Because it's not fair otherwise. Likewise I don't want to know about Christian this, Catholic that unless I ask. And you'd never see me tell someone else their God is the wrong one unless they start it first.

But I am pissed. I am livid. I am not an activist or a revolutionary but right now I think I could fake it.

Because in three days and counting there is a good chance we're going to have World War Three. Declared the day before my eighteenth birthday. Kathryn had Septembre Eleventh happen on hers, so it's no big surprise to me that something might summarily surpass that on mine. Ha, I make it sound funny.

No, I'm angry. Because yesterday I registered with the Selective Services because "my" government believes itself to be in the right to tell me that if it chooses, I have to stand up and fight for something I don't believe in. Because it says so. This makes me angry.

What fucking right does anyone have to push that upon anybody else? No one does. No one.

Sixty seven percent of the United States approves of using force to remove Saddam Hussein, but only thirty percent wants that force used right now. Make sense to you? Here's my opinion.

Hello 67%. Let's make some unfair generalizations now. I'm willing to bet you're a middle-class white american who barely remembers the Gulf War and probably never experienced Vietnam or World War Two or anything. I bet you've never even seen someone shot, though you probably own a gun. You probably have two children and two dogs, drive an SUV, vote for Republicans, and go to Catholic Church almost every sunday though you've stopped believing in the actual religion long ago.

This is my idea. The current statistic says that there are 287,400,000 americans alive right now. How accurate or up-to-date that is, I don't know. But we'll go with that. 67% of 287,400,000 is 192,558,000. 58,202 people were killed in the Vietnam war and approximately 295,000 people were killed in World War Two. So our grand total of carnage is 353,202 people killed in both wars. If I did my math right, that's 0.183% of 192,558,000.

Even discounting the number of americans who are female, under the age of eighteen, homosexual, disabled, etc, there are still plenty of people in that figure.

So here's my thought.

To those sixty seven percent who approve of World War Three. Why don't you do me a favour? Why don't you go right up to the nearest armed forces recruitment office and tell them that you want to go run to Iraq right now for a nice little vacation. Because I sure as hell don't. And I sure as hell do not appreciate being forced to fight the war that you wish to bring about, because you're too chickenshit to do it yourself. As does the other thirty three percent who don't want to bring about the next apocalypse.

So this is getting back to what I said about fighting for my beliefs. I do not believe in this war. So I won't fight for it. And if you do believe in it, hey, that's perfectly valid and I respect that. But you do your dirty work. Because unless you're willing to run right out and shove your head under the executioner's guillotine yourself, you DON'T believe in this war. And you shouldn't voice your opinion in it.

And now I'm going to bed. Cos it's too damn early and I have work. Cos the real world goes on, whether or not there's bombs falling from the sky.

the future.
A story about the girl
who didn't die in the gas chamber,
her words– her story
living on.
The troops marched past,
machines, all of them.
As-the-war-engines-of-hatred (chug, chug)
barreled through her city
no one's principles were left standing.
It just showed us what happens to the insanity left out in the sun.
She, a little girl who wasn't allowed
to move– breathe
with a sound. It hadn't
mattered that she had no childhood–
(No playing dress-up with mommy's clothes, baby.)
that could be bought later.
Her family needed to focus on their salvation.
So when the soldiers came
and found all of them huddled there,
they could be secure that
"we have tried as hard as we could."
And the door exploded,
followed by marching feet
(chug, chug)
and screaming Germans.
"Get up, bitch!" the soldier yelled
as he kicked her body over and over.
And he (the father) never saw her again,
until the diary had been found,
and so began the practice
of making money off the dead.
(though, to be truthful, it's always been around)
"But we only wanted her memory to live on…."
And after all the world's pity
had been bought–
we turned around again

• Better Than Ezra
  ("Friction, Baby")
  You need to download Flash if you see this message.

there's an angel on the stairs
(as if you'd even care)
when the lights go up,
and the sun has nearly gone down

did you see him on the street?
did you pass him at your feet?
did you think aloud, "how dare they
even look me in the eye?"

and he loves the girls
and he loves the boys
going to make twenty dollars
before the weekend's over

so set him up,
let him fall
turn him over in your hands
God save the King of New Orleans

got a ticket to a show
going to see him take a blow
when the drunk one said,
"Cat Sssstevens was the greatest singer!"

and did you kick him in the head?
did you see the blood run down? did you laugh at all
when the people walked right by and said aloud,
"you gutter punks are all the same?
probably make twenty dollars
'fore the weekend's over."

so set him up,
then let him fall
turn him over in your hands
God save the King of New Orleans

radio in my head
radio in that car
going down again,
he's going down again….

anyway you look, anyway you talk it over
it's easier to let it slip out of your mind
but it rips your heart out

then it kicks your head in
just give him one more chance,
try to see the beauty in his world
all the way in on my hands, in on my feet
and shoulders.
going to make twenty dollars
before the weekend's over

so set him up,
then let him fall
turn him over in your hands
God save the King of New Orleans

on a girl,
tied to a pole. Smoke
curled up around her feet.
Again, the Pope–
he was pointing fingers at her.
"In the name of the Father,
the Skeptic,
and the Scapegoat, we hereby…."
the last of his words
drowned out by the choir.
A full 360 degree turn,
and we saw that she was standing in a ring
of people
as the orange flames crawled up her dress.
as the orange fingers crept up and over her legs
caressing thighs and calves and lust and breath–
Because we all know the distinction between
man

and

woman
is so blurry these days that it doesn't matter to a
misogynist
as long as he's in control.
"Disclaimer!"
they cried.
"This program may offend some viewers."
but, then again, it probably should. If you're not pissing someone off
what're you here for?
And then the dancing and feasting began.
They had to prepare her for saint-hood!
And she stood, roasting, roasting.
Another lamb, killed
for their own piece-of-mind.
No commotion, no scenes,
if you please.
The lights dimmed,
and when they came back on
we saw

around, showing us a model of the solar system.
Some man was sitting–
I think he was a Pope–
on top of the Sun.
He was wearing a dunce cap
(the letters painted in blue ink)
and holding a Bible in his hands.
A child was standing
on the Earth,
holding up a book;
the letters K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E
glowing on its cover.
He was dancing and laughing.
"Do you see it now?" he asked.
"The Earth rotates around the Sun;
the Sun is the centre of the universe!"
A church choir started singing,
and the Earth burst into
flame.
The child was still laughing
as he flew past the Pope.
The camera followed
after
him, and the picture focused

I still have not gotten my computer hooked up to the family's network, and thus, the fabulous cable modem they have, but I finally got the disk drives to cooperate, so I can now display the pictures I took of my haircut. Taadaa:

So there you go. Everyone tell me how sezzy I am.

into a glass of water; the stars
burning as the backdrop.
A tiny thunderstorm rested above
the water's surface,
minute-by-minute filling the glass.
The picture zoomed out, and a hand moved
across, into view.
He held the earth between two fingers,
and released the planet into the glass.
(It's half empty.)
Time lapse ahead fourty days
and fourty nights
while the herds of sacrificial lambs
(I having died for your sins….)
were slaughtered.
Water meant new life–
rebirth,
and all the children were dying.
The camera turned

into a grove of trees.
We were overhead it all, with a forest rushing
past, as a tidal wave of bird calls, animal cries
and screams
were heard.
Then, below–
a woman; nude. The tree was next to her,
its upper branches on fire.
She was holding a rotten apple, made out of pure gold.
One bite had been pulled from its slick surface.
But everywhere else:
in her hair–
on the ground–
in the trees–
were snakes
their bodies on fire.
(rattle cobra king coral viper python)
They were eating her up:
biting off her toes,
legs,
fingers,
as they inched upwards, across her arm,
licking up the blood pouring from the wounded apple,
and crawled into her screaming
mouth
as the image faded

Lights, camera, action:
Overhead lights flickered on,
and the picture came into focus.
A girl was standing there;
holding a dove in her right hand
and an olive branch in the other,
singing
"Alleluia, alleluia symbolism."
She smiled, though we don't know
why
we're seeing her, or what importance this
is supposed to mean for us.
Background noise: a symphony was playing.
It was mostly violins and bells.
The picture zoomed out,
and you noticed that she's standing on an
island
inside the middle of a sea of fire.
(It was all for the drama.)
Voice-over of a baby crying–
and a thousand birds
(doves)
flew into the picture as
it rose

So, I found this to be interesting.

Happened upon a poem I wrote nearly three years ago. March 29, 2000, to be exact. Or, that's the first time it got mentioned in my journal; I believe its creation was a couple days priour. This beast was the longest thing I've ever created. Totaling exactly five pages typed and ten handwritten, I've never come close to that record.

It feels fitting for me to share it now. Because back then I was all "fight the power" and an adament athiest, and I think that's reflective in my writing of that period.

But now, with all the Septembre eleventh hooplah, I think I need to draw upon the energy of that child again. And share some of the words he believed in.

The poem was titled Multiplicity (the God Montage), and it is a ten-part piece. However, due in part to the fact that I'm not posting anything here and to stretch out some sense of suspense, it will be shared over ten days as well. One day for one part.

The poem is intended to flow from one section to the next, so I guess I'm disturbing that some by disrupting that. But there are also ten voices here, ten seperate beings that stand on their own feet, but work together to make a whole.

I haven't shared this one much, though it was featured quietly on my website in the distant past. But now it gets its spotlight.

So, without any further rambling, part one.

I believe the poems and songs (or the quotation of those songs that are not mine) come when no other content is avaliable. It's no hard-to-see thing that my writing has dropped off dramatically. And how long have I been here? Goodness, two weeks, perhaps?

I guess it's time to quit moping though. Because this is temporary.

I feel so lost sometimes but I know it's just for now.

So. I will attempt to resume my old schedule. I will attempt to update here as often as possible. I will make an effourt.

Because otherwise I think I'll just sit here until my butt melts into the chair and the fibres from the seat merge with my cellular structure. And then I will be Chair-boy, and I will charge admission to see me in the circus. Uh.

Yeah.

Birthday: Nine days. le sigh.

there is rain and it is falling
and it is falling on my face
but I am walking and soon I'm running
trying to escape some monster going faster than my pace

cos love is just like breathing
and one day I might wonder when I stopped
when I wake up scared and gasping
words I'm left with on my chest like rocks

there is rain and it is falling
and my heart is falling just for you
and there's love but it is heartache
so you're someone who just won't reach me this soon

one day you might find me
laughing as I cry
cos by then I bet I'll be running down these streets naked
and you can't stop me if you try–
sometimes you've made me this crazy
and sometimes I've asked you to
and sometimes fighting does it,
over something I don't think you ever knew

there is rain and it is falling
and maybe love just is this way
and I am sitting on a planet
but it's pushing me away

yeah, there is love and it is falling
and it is falling on my face
but I am walking and I've just stopped running

falling
to
the
concrete

cos I can't escape this monster
coming faster than my pace

I haven't been around in a while.

I've been tired, working when I could, and I've been steadily disliking my living situation. But I'll figure things out.

Samhain was interesting, to say the least. I finally went to my first gay bar, and that turned out to be quite the entertaining (in retrospect; at the time I was pissed) experience. I doubt it's something I will repeat anytime soon.

I am enjoying the last hours of my two-day weekend. And then. work for six days straight. Alas.

I picked up the new Tori Amos cd today though. So far it sounds really awesome. I'm enjoying it.

But I'm gonna run away now, though. So, I'm not dead. Now you know.

Ah. And just twelve days until my eighteenth birthday. Goodness.