Thursday, February 1, 2018

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Shift switch


It's sick the price of medicine
Stand up, we'll put you on your feet again
Open up your eyes just to check that your asleep again
President gas is president gas again
-Psychedelic Furs 

For the first time in over seven years, I am no longer working the day shift.  My wife has retired, and as such, there is no need to remain on the 4:30 to 3:00pm schedule.  I have endured the additional stress of dealing with management with detrimental effects on my health for the sake of our marriage, and now I am dealing with the stress of changing my life.  The toxic atmosphere created by the management team will, I hope, be lessened by the shift change, but it still is taking a toll.

Trying to maintain health insurance for us both has become the overriding controller of my behavior. My wife is still years away from medicare; and as such, the responsibility falls to me to maintain our coverage. This situation seems to resonate with the national debate over access to affordable health care; with our circumstances better than many, but not without difficulties.  When one is beholden to an entity without conscience or remorse; fixated on profit instead of the people it presumably serves, this creates a conflict difficult to resolve.  I see abuse and theft occurring on a daily basis, but to expose these behaviors risks the health and welfare of my family.  Due to the structuring of insurance in this country, I feel trapped in my position; unable to change my position without great hardship, but still uncomfortable in aiding and abetting a dishonest corporation.

This, I feel, is deliberate; a way to keep people in an untenable job, held hostage by a concern for protection against the devastating costs of uninsured illness.  For the reactionary rulers, this remains a godsend; thus their resolute resistance to national health care.  The tax incentives may be enticing, but keeping the collar around the neck of the public is far more important.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Daily dread

Once I had a place in dread; the daily movements of life inspired fear within my head.  I could never justify my existence and thus lived in a semi-constant apprehension that someone would decree my unworthiness fair grounds to exact the death penalty. To blur this knife edge I took to distractions- television, books, sleep, intoxication- anything and everything to numb the sensation of nettles in my skin.  It has finally faded somewhat, but with it, a portion of perception has also departed.  What is it worth, I wonder, to lose the pain by gaining a loss.  Sick, sick, the price of medicine- the cure has become worse than the disease.  The most galling aspect of the situation has become a lack of concern; a measured indifference to destruction.  Now I wonder what was so terrifying; what prompted me with such due diligence to unmake the essence I possessed.  I can't remember what I wanted to forget; I don't recall that which I tried so hard to put from my mind.

All I want sometimes is rest, but the rest that looms ahead darkens any illumination that might enlighten me.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

The sight of blindness


What is observed is not always what is seen.  In fact, the perception of the world through sight can obscure reality; overwhelming the senses with an immediacy that precludes more complex comprehension.  Like a flash dims vision, certain images can conceal the meaning that lies beyond; evoking an awareness dulling blindness brought on by fear and hatred.

When we are trained to react to certain stimuli with revulsion, our perception of something fitting the pattern evokes a visceral  response; clouding our judgement and leaving us vulnerable to instinctive reactions.  Thus, the homeless person asking for money incites anger, and prompts a harsh reply to a simple request.  The ethnically  dressed individual moves us to scorn their attire as disruptive or disingenuous.  Protestors become ungrateful children, whining pathetically or shouting dangerously at a system they should respect.  Those with whom we disagree morph into deplorable creatures deserving contempt and punishment.  What we think we see precludes an objective analysis of who stands before us, and allows condemnation to flow uninhibited.

This self indulgent diminishment of our moral judgements cripples us. The less we see clearly, the darker the environment becomes, and the less likely we are to act appropriately.  Monsters arise from the dimly lit shadows of our fading vision, threats that trigger the lighting of torches and the raising of pitchforks.  The mentality of the mob pervades our mindset, even when alone, triggering deeds that  even the coming darkness can not obscure.  The sight of blindness is lost.




























Add caption
Slubdigulible found itself bewildered by the lack of difference after his courageous vote to reestablish  its privilege.



where's my free lunch?                                                                              




                                                                            

Saturday, October 8, 2016

did ya see my podcast of ritual infant disemboweling?
Awesome, amirite?


Slybob's appalling lack of discretion was only matched by the depths of his moral depravity.

Sunday, September 25, 2016