Bless me reader, It's been a week since my last confession...
A week and no new rejections. No new submissions. Sure, some writing including a couple things with some promise.
I confess I stopped for a Diet Coke at Casey's on the way home. The vwet nice lady at the case register waved me off and said you are good. Very nice of her, Unfortunately, it is very watered down and like an addict I'm drinking it just the same.
Working on some ideas about my voice - I confess, very rough so far but it will get there.
Sunday I started on Ozempic. I have Diabetes, and I was taking. two oral diabetes meds and an Insulin pen. We dropped on of the oral meds as I started Ozempic. I confess it has been really strange. My stomach mostly feels kind of full all the time. Sometimes a bit of nausea. Nothing I eat really tastes right. I had a bowl of Maple Malt-O-Meal for breakfast and that was the first thing that. kind of tasted normal. It was enjoyable and that is a first since Sunday.
I confess I am wavering between a salad and stuffed peppers for dinner.
It's 78 in the house and that's not because that is my preference. That is because of our fascist energy company that feels compelled to not cooperate with my desire to feel comfort.
Thought for the day....
" We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don't know." W. H. Auden
That question reverberates in my mind every night. As a poet, I ask myself whose story is this to tell? I'm not among those constantly wandering in search of safety for the next few hours. Wondering then, where to next? I'm not clutching my stomach to pain of emptiness in a body wasting in the drag on it as it as it tries to pull some kind of strength from nutrients that aren't available.
I'm not having to close my eyes as I step over body parts that are barely distinguishable. That every breath I take is filled with a mixture of dust, of soot particles and the sulfur of explosions. The smell of death that is always an undercurrent. I know of these things but I don't actually live then, so it's not really my story to tell.
The story that is mine to tell is none the less painful. It is the story of a mixture of anger and sadness. It is a frustration that even as a poet I cannot seem to find the correct word to convey that sadness because sadness is not. good enough. It's more than that... it's not even despondency, it's overwhelming, it's grief. It is seeing so many photos and videos that they have become a collage of images in my brain. And as this goes on, my anger grows and it is hard to keep it under control because it is American Tax Dollars, Billions of them that has been feeding this ugly vial right-wing Zionist government that has made the decision to choose genocide on the people of Gaza.
That anger is fermented by the inability to stop our government's ongoing support of Netanyahu, of Bezalel Smotrich, of other Israeli government leaders and the IDF who are executing a campaign of ethnic cleansing so that they can clear the Palestinians out of Gaza and the West Bank, one way or the other and finally take their land as their own, just as they have been illegally doing in the West Bank now for years.
There is a deep pain, deep sadness, unspeakable outrage that America has played a roll in this. The deaths of women and children. The Starvation. The inability to say to the Palestinians, this was not my wish. This was not collectively the desire of the American people. It was the inexcusable actions of many who thought they were doing something they should do, because they have tried to defend Israel for so many years they didn't see that their actions were doing to a whole nation of Palestinians. There is no excuse for these misguided actions.
So, my nights are filled with the anger of our involvement. With the sadness for a whole generation of Palestinian children what are being lost to death, to being maimed, to being orphaned, to a lifetime of trauma, as well as the remainder of the civilian population of men and women who suffer this unspeakable genocide. That is the story I must tell.
The story of the Palestanian people and the story of the Americans who have not asked for the roll in their genocide are parallel stories. Different, yet the same. They are stories that must be recorded for history. Each must be told.
Grab a cup of coffee and come with me to the confessional...
Friends, it has been one E.T. movie with the grand kids, one rejection of three poems, 8 days of Grind poetry, one discontinued conversation on Medium with a fellow who was stuck on telling me I was repeating Hamas talking points on Gaza, and I explained after many different conversations that he sounded like a genocide apologist, and I was through wasting both of our time, Blogged on Dante and Rodin, am convinced that Trump's presidence will be crippled by the Epstein dibockle and he will not be able to shake it, the start of reading a new book, and a full week since my last confession.
The book I am reading is Censoring an Iranian Love Story by Shahrar Mandanipour. It's his first book to appear in English translation. I am finding it fascinating. I confess that I find it so inventive in its approach to telling the story.
I confess, I believe Trump's presidency is toast. He will not be able to recover and further Democrats will sweep a new majority into the House, and perhaps the Senate as well.
Blogging on Rodin and Dante and the inseparable link between the two over the Inferno and the Gates of Hell, and I confess I need to delve into Dante's Divine Comedy.
The war in Gaza has taken a toll on my sanity. I confess that I never thought the actions of Israel could be so brutally inhumane. But they are, and
honestly, I have acknowledged this as genocide a lot longer than many.
Oh, what will I write about on day 9 of the Grind? I confess I have no idea presently,
I confess I forced my grandkids to watch the movie E.T. on Sunday. Every child needs to see that movie. It has so much to say about empathy. I believe it is an excellent teaching moment.
That's about it for this week. Thanks for handing out with me as I talk about the good and the bad of the week.
We must hurry Confessions are ending in 15 minutes, Follow me...
Reader, it has been submissions to two journals, umpteen Diet Cokes, way more text messages than I want or need, One Nacho cheese and jalapeno pepper dinner, one Labor day holiday, and one week since my last confession.
I confess that I am exhausted by the complete ignorance and incompetence of Donald Trump. I confess I believe he is killing the economy largely out of ignorance and poor decisions. But you know what? That will likely nail the coffin in the midterm elections.
I confess when I think of Trump, there is nothing good that comes to my mind. I make no apology for that, just as he has never apologized for the lawlessness he undertook to attempt to overturn the the 2020 election. He owes the people of this country a giant apology, but we will never get it. He is clueless.
I confess I am in the mood for black walnut ice cream. Yeah, go ahead and say it... that's old people ice cream. So what, I'm old!
I confess when I get off here I need to write a Grind Poem for today. don't want to wait much longer to do it.
I confess it is hot and humid in this house, and it makes me want to scream. I do not do hot well, and I never have.
Let me close tonight by saying that I am so totally sad and angry at the continued gross arrogance and intense brutality that Israel is inflicting on the Palestanian people. The large scale and indiscriminate bombing, and the inhumaine starvation are enough to make me want to scream in the face of Netanyahu and tell him I cannot wait for him to go down. His genocide legacy has also become Israel's genocide legacy. I confess that. I believe they no longer deserve a seat at the United Nations. I have supported Israel since my early childhood. No more. It lacks any moral justification. It has skimmed U.S. Taxpayers money for years only to use the weapons and ammunition on Palestinians who for decades held them down under Apartheid. No more. Not another dime for weapons for Israel. The zionists have taken over the government it is time the Israeli people free themselves the zionist hate, and the bloodthirsty Israeli government. They all should be tried at The Hague, The entire Netanyahu cabinet, and the IDF - and the zionists that have set up illegal homes in the West Bank all should be tried in The Hague.
With that, I bid you a good night till next time. Peace!
