Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Reflections: Election Day 2016--Hard Choices

I just watched Bernie Sander's speech from Philly at the DNC last night. It is sad that it has come to this. But Bernie did get to me.

Obama promised most of what HRC now promises and was able to deliver only bits and pieces of it. HRC won't do any better unless the revolution extends down ticket. Even if you can't bring yourself to vote for Hillary--and I don't blame you there-- you must go and vote for the Democratic congressmen and senators who are up for election or reelection in your state and district. I personally contemplated abstention as an option this time around, but I now reject that notion as irresponsible and potentially destructive.

That said, we also need a strong anti-war movement such as we saw in the Vietnam era to put an end to HRC's murderous foreign policy agendas.It's all well and good if she can mitigate the obscene profit-taking of Big Pharma. But she must also put an end to the huge profitability of the arms industries and the slaughter of innocents abroad that those profits provoke and incite.

I haven't yet decided whether I can bring myself to vote for Hillary Clinton. But I have decided to vote. And as a resident of the crucial swing state of Ohio, with the polls currently showing Trump and Clinton tied, I am persuaded that if the election were being held tomorrow I would have to vote for Clinton--even though I would fear hating myself ever after for doing so.

Hillary Clinton is not a good human being, but we live in a fallen world and we must, of necessity, do the best we can with what we've got.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Reflections: Mean Girls, 2016:


I find it increasingly amusing to see all the Clintonian feminists, who could detect even the faintest whiff of alleged misogyny emanating from the Bernie Sanders campaign and react with claws out, now mutely indifferent to the rampant slut-shaming of Donald Trump's wife--or even ruthlessly participating in it. In this, they mirror the intellectual and moral flexibility of their bloodstained heroine. You go, grrrrls.

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Rodak's Writings: Don't


Don’t mess with me today:

My stars twist torn and bleeding
clustered on a barbed-wire
skein of deterministic torture

My vision is tunneled
through lightless pipes
of sewer-seasoned angst

I’m feeling meaner
than a half-breed
My Lai rape baby
staring at a bust
of Rusty Calley

Get in my face
and I’ll pee on your foot

Open your mouth
and I’ll force feed you
fetid gobs of fly-blown truth

So back slowly away
and trust me

Just don’t

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Rodak's Writings: Doing the Stroll

Doing the Stroll

I have noticed
that I no longer walk –
I mosey.
I am overtaken and bypassed
by every pedestrian soul
on the public pavement,
each of whom, evidently,
hurries toward some goal
more crucial by far
than the one I saunter toward:
Call it, if you will, a victory lap.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Remembrances: A Dream Killed by Progress

As a boy, I wanted to be a gas station attendant when I grew up. I liked the snappy beige uniform with your name embroidered in red over the breast pocket where the tire pressure gauge resided.  I loved the gas company logo on the opposite pocket, and I coveted that military-style black-brimmed cap.  

I wanted to be asked to “fill’er up,” or to “put in a dollar’s worth” and listen to the pump’s hum as I scraped smashed bugs off the windshield with my squeegee blade.

I envisioned how I would expertly brandish a cloth-cradled dipstick before the trusting eyes of the proud owner of a shiny late model Packard, Studebaker or Hudson, to prove conclusively that his oil was a quart low and then smoothly punch the gleaming spout through the top of the can before deftly pouring its contents into the hot, clicking engine.

I wanted to keep the change. I wanted to jingle the coins in my right pants pocket, while gazing down the highway, awaiting the arrival of the next customer, first seen climbing through the shimmering heat to roll over the rise, sunlight flashing from the chrome.

But sadly, by the time I was grown and ready to launch a career, the sign above the pump read “Self-Service Only” and my dream was nothing but the relic of a longed-for past, where simple aspirations were enough upon which to build an honest life.

Saturday, June 4, 2016

R.I.P.: Muhammad Ali ~ 1942-2015

Muhammad Ali  ~  (1942-2016)

He was the Elvis  
of thump;
the Allen Ginsberg
of professional fisticuffs.

There has been
no swallowtail so pretty,
no bee with such sting,
no dancer more agile.

On the roster of champs
there was nobody bigger.

And, trust me, no Viet Cong
ever called Ali “nigger.”

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Rodak's Writings: ...from Whom all Blessings Flow

…from Whom all Blessings Flow

I’ve been too easy
on myself
and on you
and on your world.

I’ve wished you a river
and I’ve let you skate.

And that river flows
and it burns --
its primordial wetness
mocked by tongues
of dancing blue flame,
as if a bad dream
set free to consume
all that yearns
for a simple peace.

See? you say –
It’s a fucking miracle!

Praise Him!