Sunday, November 23, 2008
I've been longing for some new art. I've grown used to the pieces hanging on my walls and hardly give them a glance anymore. I've also lamented the mostly rather primitive works of art that we give one another when we want to pay homage to our favorite bloggers. Susan at Phantsythat is a remarkable artist and talented writer. And it seems Randal asked her for a painting. It amazes me that those with extraordinary artistic gifts so seldom see themselves as the enormous talents they in fact are. Prior to this, the prettiest award being passed around was the Marie Antoinette award given to me and others by Liquid Illusion. My first award was the E for Excellent award and I treasure it, then I got the Rebel Grrrl award, and that thrilled me because it was finally acknowledged, and celebrated. Halleluia!
I'm a woman who never won anything prior to blogging. So now I love the awards. I can't get enough of them. I was amazed that in this particular time of economic peril anyone would think Marie "let them eat cake" Antoinette was a fitting award, but she is pretty, you've got to give her that. And it does make one think of the French Revolution and the quite literal toppling of a corrupt regime. Which of course makes me think of the guillotine. What a lovely word for such a fierce and fatal final execution. And there sits Madame Defarge, on a stool, knitting as the heads roll off the block and into a basket at her feet. I, being somewhat old, no longer lovely, and rather bloody-minded at this point in our nation's history, feel rather more Madame Defarge-like and would like to see some rough justice for the rulers who brought us to our knees, forced some of us to lose our homes and cars and livelihood. I'm wanting to see the Bush administration, the entire pack of liars and thieves beheaded, and I would sit smiling as I knit and watch the heads roll. Oh yes I would. Am I nice? No, not so much. Did I ever claim to be? Where is my sense of forgiveness? Killed long ago.
"But didn't you say you don't believe in capital punishment?" Well, yes I did say that. But that's because so many people on death row were not rich enough to hire world class legal teams to defend them. And the "justice" system is filled with republican justices appointed by republican regimes, and the prisons are now so often privately owned and operated and are crying "poor me, I need more prisoners to justify the hefty profits I make running these mighty fine prisons you pretty much gave me"--like the ones in Texas that are owned by the Chenneys and looked over by the likes of Alberto "I don't recall" Gonzales. It must have been some mighty horrific conditions and abuses of power that prodded a Texas grand jury to charge both Dick Chenney and Alberto Gonzales. Remember that Texas is the state George Bush governed and calls home. Now that takes balls, Texas. Good on ya. I'm not so embarrassed to have been born there now, if only for a moment or two. Oh how I'd like to see those two heads roll. Let's open another bottle of wine and toast that thought.
Anyway, to get back to art. Susan has painted a Heart Mandala and is giving it as a blogger award. And Randal Graves and the Boarder Explorer and I are three of it's first recipients. There will no doubt be more. And maybe this will open my heart chakra a little. But forgiveness for those criminal bastards will be a little harder to accomplish. Nothing less than a War Crimes Trial will do. Maybe I do have a trip left in me. Lets all meet up at the Hague when the time comes. And to celebrate after the convictions, I say we spend at least a couple of days in Amsterdam.
Posted by Utah Savage at 6:07 PM
If you haven't read the notes on my last musical Sunday post please do so now. This is a continuing sloppy saga of fatally flawed infatuation.
Is it possible to fall in love with someone you've never met, whose voice you've never heard, whose only words are typed upon a page, who lives in another country, who scares you a little? Maybe love isn't the right word, maybe it's only flirtation, or the time of night he speaks to you through the lines on a page, like the words in a dream, when you know that it's real and not real at all.
This was the year I sailed for Italy.
Thanks anonymous for the suggestion, which surprised me. Weren't you the one who said, It's much like the music of Richard Wagner's not as bad as it sounds? I would rather listen to cats fucking than anything by Wagner. Wagner is torture. Bill Evans is sublime. Shall we continue this conversation?