Technically anything to do with protesting, or with campaign finance reform would qaulfy as going in here, but I don’t wanna deal with it because you’ll just fuck it up in like five minutes afterwards that something wasn’t really gonna work this time.
Better Late Than Never: A Birth Worth Celebrating.
Hey, better late than never right?
On the 15th of January of 1929 MLK jr was born into this world. He would grow up to become one of the most influential people ever born. His lifetime left a fingerprint on the very fabric of society makeup and composition of this nation in a major and compelling way. The fingerprint of his lifetime will be felt and seen, and may even pop up in the extremely rare instance that it’s needed. world, into this world ., easily one of the most influential figures in my own personal growth and development journey and that of so many others was born.
Who knows where this nation would be, were he still here if he were with us still today; would the protests and the #BlackLivesMatter or #BlackBrunch #EricGarner and #Ferguson campaigns would still be going on?.
Tragedy Strikes @ The Lorraine Motel Memphis, TN-April 4, 1968
A Great Leader Is Taken From Us Far Too Soon.
Dr. King’s life, his wisdom, and his leadership were stripped from us that fateful day, April 1968, robbing us of what surely would have been a calming voice of reason, drowning out the angry din of the turbulent times that lie behind us, and those that lay ahead. His moral judgement serving as a nautical star, always guiding us towards that promised land, the one he dreamed of; where all men are created equal and judged only by the content of their character and not the color of their skin.
It Is His Day After All
In honor of his birthday, his name day and his me-mo-ray(that’s memory for the illiterates amongst you), I shared some of his stuff below, beginning with speech about that dream his name came to become synonymous with.
Obviously Dr. King can’t take all the credit for the entire civil rights movement, much as the media among other people would like to just give it to him. There were people and organizations fighting for the rights of African-Americans long before Dr. King ever got sent to Montgomery, or got the spotlight from the boycotts, but his pre-eminent role as the representative and face of the larger movement as a whole can’t be denied either,
He was merely upholding a tradition kept alive by all those who have fought for equality from the inside like A Philip Randolph who threatened to march on washington if African-Americans weren’t included to begin with. No more of this playing game and shit with your crappy ass little weaves or whatever the fuck you put in there. within their tribe or their own mind that we really don’t need to have any one there for it, because it’s just been one like
These Times, They Are A Changin:
From the time the Montgomery Bus Boycott began in 1955 until the his death in 1968 and even beyond; Dr King and the rest of the movement took the battle to the power structure and not vice versa, continuously applying pressure. in well thought out places In attacking racism and discrimination where it existed and was most vehement; the lunch counters, the bus stops, and the polling place, of the deep south, they not only placed the entire practice of Jim Crow on display, they put it on trial in the court of public opinion, a battle Jim Crow eventually lost.
The Civil Rights Movement’s creative use of non violent direct action to frame and challenge the Jim Crow laws of the South met with violence and repression at the hands of small town police, members of the KKK, or just your garden variety, small-minded, red neck prick; most of which viewed by Americans across the nation were able to witness ignorance first hand at least once in their life. Meeting non-violence with extreme violence backfired, leading to increased support for the demonstrators and eventually leading to Jim Crow’s demise with the passage of the Civil Rights Act in 1964 and the Voting Rights Act in 1965.
A Job Well Done? More Like It’s Just Begun, Time For Phase Two:
Let us not forget this little tidbit either, just before his murder, Dr King had been in the process of expanding his consciousness and understanding and taking riskier opinions than he had previously or at least in public.s . Rather than basking in the major accomplishments of the Civil Rights Movement, especially for African-Americans of the South, he sought to do even more before he died, and his last efforts weren’t limited to the black community either welcoming all people regardless of religion and regardless of creed. He also came out against the Vietnam War publicly in one of his speeches, something the old Dr King would never have done for fear of rocking the boat. The Poor Peoples Campaign was open to all people regardless of race or anything like that, but it is probably my favorite speech of his .
Status Report: Where We Stand At Now
The Poor People’s campaign The plan was for a large multicultural group of poverty activists to march on the washington memorial plaza whatever and camp out there as a reminder of poverty that Congress wouldn’t be able to ignore it anymore. Sadly, Dr. King would not see this one through to completion James Earl Ray’s 30.-.06 cut his life short, and for no apparent reason other than who he is. At the time of the shooting, Dr. King and his entourage were in the middle of doing something with a document, it looked interesting
I think it’s pretty safe to assume everyone else feels the same as me when it comes to whether we feel as though we have to really put in very much effort .get up for anyone about our sloppy levels of play lately not being acceptable anymore. Everything has been all out-of-place I’m confident in saying I still don’t recognize the idyllic locale of his dream; guess we’re all still waiting on those two tickets to paradise as it sits now and you better believe this guy desperately is in need of a tan.
Gone But Not Forgotten
Luckily, I’m not the only one whose life the great Dr. King has touched. We can rest assured that his memory will live on, the light he used to combat darkness will continue to illuminate the way for each of us committed to making this world a better place, a righteous one filled with love.
All may take solace in the sure knowledge that with every new revelation, every new government scandal, and every new government lie, a weight is added to God’s Unseen Scale of Justice, tipping this ever-present scale toward the ultimate consequence of eradication. from Food for Thought
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Are we ok? Is it ok (the world)? Is there anything wrong with us, with it? If so, what is it; any thoughts? Do you ever take a moment to yourself to stop and ask these very important and meaningful questions? If not; you’re in luck!
Someone Else Beat You To It:
Don’t beat yourself up over it if you’ve never been lost deep in thought about the meaning of life, or struggled to find or identify the source for some of those problems.
You’ve been beaten to it by Bertrand Russell (1879-1970), a British philosopher, logician, mathematician, historian, social critic and political activist. (Lets just say he wore many hats and leave it at that).
Bertrand Said It Best, But What Next?
I whole heartedly, 100% agree with his observation; I’m just not the type of guy to be ok with leaving it as such; just an observation, or some witty & catchy phrase oft spoken of but never acted on.
There’s a happy medium between knowing you don’t have all the answers and thinking you know none of them, we just have to find it. There exists a constant give and take to everything.
Sharing our own thoughts and ideas is an importanat aspect of gaining knowledge or wisdom. It enriches the lives of those around you, offering them a glimpse into your thought process, a glimpse behind the curtains at what it is that makes you tick, that makes you human.
Being open to listening to other people’s thoughts and opinions and striving for understanding is equally important. It helps to make the world a wiser, and more understanding, tolerant and empathetic place. Sharing your thoughts with others is enriching; to them, to those around them, and don’t forget yourself)
Heres a prime opportunity to empower yourself, and those around you. Tell us, what you think? w What are your thoughts? others ourselves and each other by making use of that oft neglected moment for reflection to think I mentioned earlier and using it to actually put ourselves out there.
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Like many people, when I have a random question I want to know the answer to Quora.com is one of my first stops. You never know what kind of gems you may stumble across if you play around on the site for long enough.
I came across this one as I was perusing Quora a while back. Something about his response to this very personal question really blew me away. It’s visceral and in your face real and unapologetic and I applaud him for it. I recommend you read it, you won’t be disappointed.
If you like his response as much as I did be sure to stop by Quora and show him some love. Without further ado, I give you Dan Holliday’s killer response to the question “what it feels like to be an addict?”;
Answer by Dan Holliday:
Stages. Everything comes in stages.
I was always such a prude. No, not a sex prude, but a drug/alcohol prude as a kid. My best friend and I (in fact, my entire circle of friends) were pretty snooty about any addictive substances. I made it through high school without ever touching tobacco or any “street drugs”. I remember refusing to take pain killers after surgery. I didn’t drink that much (though, I don’t ever deny having drunk alcohol in high school). Generally, I was well focused in that regard.
I remember seeing the stoners in high school and laughing at them and calling them losers. I remember wondering what, WHAT!, in the hell were they thinking. How fucked up can you get?
I made it through early adulthood. I passed my 21st birthday and still only drank (“only” meaning that I drank on weekends, but not much beyond). Never drugs. I watched some guys do drugs and just wondered what the hell they were thinking. Seriously, one time I watched guys smoke some weed and I got all nervous and had to leave a party. I just didn’t touch any drugs.
21st year. 22nd year. And then my 23rd year. I was living in Key West. I started drinking heavily. See, KW doesn’t really have that much to do beyond ocean stuff and night life. I really partied a lot. And tons of guys were popping these newish pills called “Ex” (they called it that in Key West) and it seemed so easy and they really seemed to enjoy the stuff. But the thought of it just made me shudder.
I didn’t do drugs.
And damn, I kept thinking about how much fun it looked like they were having. So, my friend at the time (a lady I still talk to who, herself, has moved well beyond that era) was sort of in a relationship with some French Canadians living in the Keys who had a whole “business” going that was focused just on ecstasy. And you have to remember, the US Federal Government at this time hadn’t even caught up with the stuff; it was still something like Schedule 2 or 3. It was not a high priority.
And given how it didn’t seem to have any weird side effects, I finally gave in to the curiosity and asked to buy a pill†. That was a big deal. The big night came and I took it. Tick tock, tick tock. Nothing. Another hour went by and nothing. Damn, and by the time we realized that it was not going to happen, there weren’t anymore connections. Fuck. What a waste of 15 bucks!!! Worked for everybody else, just not me.
So, the next weekend came and we were prepared: TWO PILLS!!! We did that shit right and popped the pill right as I got to the club (I’m actually getting jittery thinking about it now). Tick tock. Tick tock. Nothing. “GODDAMN MAN! You must have an iron metabolism. No worry. We came prepared. Second pill . . . CRUSHED! Now open up. This’ll be a little gross buddy, but it’s sure to . . . .”
Alllkkkkk! Splattt! Clakk! Grulp. Ugh. Oh, holy motherfuck, there’s nothing that can describe the horror, the absolute gag-reflex-inducing, hellish, bitternesss of a crushed up pill of ecstasy in the mouth. Aspirin doesn’t even come close. Fuck me sideways that shit was horrible.
Then suddenly after swallowing the crushed-up death-tasting powder, it hit me. “Wait a second, even a crushed-up pill of Ex can’t hit you that fast. Oh SHIT! That’s the first pill kicking in. OH GODDAMN DAN! You gotta hold on buddy because when the second dose kicks in, you’re gonna be in for a hell of a night.” —–
This is why I’m still an addict. This is why I will be “in recovery” for the remainder of my life. As I type this answer, an answer I’ve had marked to answer for a while, my eyes are dilating and my hands are shuttering so much that I have to get up and take a break. My right leg has been bouncing on the floor so hard and so fast that my boyfriend had to walk into the office to find out what the pounding was . . . . . He knows. He knows me well. He knows this emotional force emanating from me right now like coronal flairs. He hates it and wisely fears it because conversations about this subject should induce horror or shame or fear, but this specific drug and conversations thereabout always inspire poetic, fantastical, whimsical language in me of joy and excitement that aren’t in line with the reality that was, with the reality that I make myself remember in order to remind me that the reality and the memories were always worlds apart. NOTHING about this isn’t exciting right now. That’s something he rightly fears, though having never seen the addict. I’ve been clean for 11 years.
—- From that moment in time, from that moment forward for the next four years and four months and three days, I was an barely-functioning (and rarely functioning) drug addict. I didn’t stop. Every weekend for the next four years was spend on some kind of drug, culminating in the last year of my life spent endlessly on drugs and at times without a home. But we’re not there yet. We’re at the fun stage where no problems seem to be caused by the drug.
Only good times. And that night was a really good time. The intensity of pleasure and joy and connection I felt with those people in that minute was profound. That’s what MDMA does. I know it’s history. The Dan Holliday who spouts proudly his knowledge of history existed back then as well as today.
3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine was invented a long time ago. In fact, it’s celebrating it’s 100 year anniversary this year, 2012. Invented in Germany as a test drug for treating psychological issues, it is highly “empathogenic”, meaning that it just makes you a happy, cuddly, loving person while you’re on it. I’ve witnessed, live, many closed, shy, homophobic, hateful, angry people turn about and confront their inner hangups about things and become the happiest people I ever knew. Ecstasy just has that affect. You cannot hate on that shit.
And I used and used. I burned through thousands . . . oh so many thousands of dollars over the next few years. Night after night, week after week. The intervening two-ish years are unimportant because they were all repeats of the same night over and over again.
Until I met Luke.
No, his name isn’t Luke. It could be Tommy or Jake or Omar or Juan. But we’re calling him Luke because his name really isn’t important. Luke was a good guy, I mean it. A heart of gold, but just misguided as I was at that time. Luke was, well, he was my dream guy: very attractive, friendly, gay friendly in fact, and totally straight. We were instantly friends. Luke was well ahead of me in self-destructiveness and he’d had a love affair with meth and coke for a while.
Ever wonder how a person who “fears” a thing can instantly break down their barriers stopping them from doing that “thing”? Lust. I don’t know a single person on earth who hasn’t engage in the stupidest shit over lust, and I lusted after Luke. Luke’s all I thought about. On our second night hanging out we went to a gay bar and Luke did something that utterly melted my heart and — from that moment on — made me completely infatuated with him . . . addicted to him in ways more powerful than drugs.
At the club I could see that he was a bit loopy. Heart beating faster than it should. The pulsing being visible in the way he was breathing and the veins in his neck. I was curious, so I asked. Without a second thought, he grabbed my hand and put it on his chest to feel his heart. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. Nothing about that powerful of a heartbeat is safe. A goddamned battering ram pushing through his rib cage.
It’s been 13 years since that day. Humans have been born and entered puberty. A global war on terror has come and nearly gone. Millions of lives have entered and left the Earth. Regimes have changed and taken the course of history with them.
13 years is a long time.But I remember.
I remember every person in the bar, what I was wearing, what he was wearing, the music, our drinks, the looks (Luke always got lots of looks), the conversation and his face. I call that a “crystal moment” (appropriately coincidental considering the subject matter). I felt his heart through his chest, and every muscle on his chest. Luke didn’t think about what he was doing and had no clue what I was really feeling. He was just a guy, but my hand on his chest feeling his heart beat made me completely enslaved from that moment on. Luke, beautiful Luke, was on meth that night.
I wasn’t far behind.
The next day, we snorted crystal together.‡ A week later we did coke. Within a few months I had lied to my wealthy grandfather and convinced him to send me a sizable chunk of change. All of which was spent on drugs. Huge Christmas gifts came in from the same grandfather (by “huge”, I mean: new car or down payments on houses, big). All of it spent on drugs. All of it spent on Luke.
And then the money started running out and I’d lost my job and I’d moved out of my one stable friend’s house (who was, himself, extremely worried about me). I’d stopped talking with my family. I’d stopped eating right. I started losing weight. Weeknights and weekends were spent “casually” using meth, while spending the entire weekend at raves or after hours night clubs in Phoenix that catered to drug users.
I was there, and it was so exciting. Then, somewhere along the way, the ecstasy stopped being as fun and I’d switched to “just coke and meth” (because I didn’t want that drunk feeling). And along the way I’d stopped parachuting meth (putting a few grains in a wad of toilet paper or napkin and swallowing it like a pill). I’d switched to smoking it out of a pipe. And along the way I’d begun using (not going to spell it out) alternate methods to make income and pay for my addiction.
And I wasn’t one of those stupid drug addicts in denial. I knew full well I was addicted and admitted and talked about it. I laughed about it. I made art about it. I wrote poems about it. I was never in denial, I just didn’t care.
And then I lost my house. And then I lost my car. And then I had to start sleeping on a buddy’s couch because I had nowhere else to go. My friend, Luke, stopped being my friend and like a shot in the head, I spiraled out of control. It took YEARS to admit that I was in love with Luke, but not then, I was in denial (about a great deal). I started completely numbing myself with more and more meth. I smoked a full 8-ball a day (8th of an Ounce — enough to keep an ordinary person strung out for a week). I’d lost all my friends.
My apartment had been robbed long ago and all my good shit was stolen so I couldn’t sell that. And everything, EVERYTHING was just completely lost. FUBAR. I was fucked and even my last friend, the guy who’s couch I’d been sleeping on, had had enough of me. I was so emotional (drug emotions are like being severely bipolar — indistinguishable, in fact). I was up and down. I was insane and incorrigible. I was alone and on the verge of just killing myself. It was so painful. I remember wanting out and not knowing how; trapped in a world of drugs, drug selling and the caramel river of one pointless day oozing into the next, without enough velocity to crush me against the rocks, but not solid enough for me to get a grip and swim to shore.
People were looking for me. I owed money. Goddamn, I owed so much money to so many people. Death was the quickest and easiest way out. I’d spent my last relationship. I had nothing left and the years that I should have spent doing something of value were spent doing nothing of any worth and so, having no recourse, I’d decided that I was just going to kill myself.
And I called my dad to say goodbye.
We hadn’t spoken in years. Three-ish years, but our relationship ended long before that. I was certain he’d written me off. I was always more than the black sheep; the pink sheep, of the family. I never fell in line. I never ever feared being different and I didn’t have a problem making other people suffer for me being different; so what would he care if I was gone?
So many people make so much of biology. My dad who raised me was not my biological father. At something like when I was a month old, my mother left my biological father. At something like when I was 9 months old, my mother met my dad and as far as both of them tell me, I instantly considered him my dad. The other guy wasn’t around and when he finally showed his face I’d already bonded with my dad. The other guy was just a sperm donor.
My dad was there through it all. When I was attacked by dogs, he stayed with me through the surgeries. When we were in a car accident and my mother was killed, he was our rock. When I struggled in my early teen years with letting go of my mother, he held out and gave love to this irascible, splenetic teenage boy. And while he wasn’t a perfect dad (and who the hell gets to put that kind of pressure on father? How dare I make that demand as a kid, as if I could ever do better), he was a great dad to a less than great kid.
And so much is made of biology, like our connections are defined by chemical similarities within our cells and not by shared experiences and shared pains and time-well-spent together. In my head, I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t “really one of his”, that he’d written me off. He wouldn’t care. Why would he, after all I’ve done? He had his “real” kids (and never did he ever, EVER make that distinction between any of us).
None of you have any fucking clue what it means to know what a dad is until you’ve pushed that relationship so far; sullied it; cursed it; insulted it; belittled it; lied to it; used it; pissed and shit on it; defiled it in ways that rightly IT SHOULD NOT BE THERE, that rightly you should have been left rotting in a ditch for what you’d done . . . only to turn around and find a granite block of unmovable, unbending, unstoppable love . . . and arms wrapped so tightly around you that for the first time in years, you realize you were never alone and that you’d never fall.
And my dad caught me before I hit the ground.
†I kept a journal for a period of four years of my life throughout my drug use–yeah, VERY Basketball Diaries–and I tracked with intricate detail the pills I took. First pill was a “Pink Elephant”.
‡Burn? BURN!? Oh my. You have no idea.
Maybe know it’s a little more clear why it resonated so much. Don’t forget to stop by and check out and like his original post using the link above, if you liked it. You may find something of mine buried deep in the recesses of his comments section if you had half a mind to look.
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Shot through the back on his fifth day in Iraq and paraplegic ever since, Tomas Young became an outspoken critic of the Iraq War as being an illegal and unjust one for us to have gone into.
His advocacy and his message led to him becoming the subject of a documentary film entitled “Body of War” which documented his transition back into society as well as his activism and advocacy efforts following his injury.
Standing up for what’s right is something that comes second nature to Tomas, despite being wheelchair bound. Thats what I call heart.
Plagued by mishaps and medical setbacks, (the most recent of which was having his colon removed;), ever since that fateful moment he ended up in a snipers sight, or line of fire, Tomas Young currently lives in hospice care and is preparing to die;
Naturally, he wasn’t going without first saying goodbye to those responsible for the Iraq War.
His “Last Letter” offers an extremely powerful condemnations of war; made all the more powerful because it obviously comes from a very real place.
Watch the clip, read the text; let it all sink in and then let me know about your thoughts while you’re at it!
I’m glad theres at least one reporter who has a fucking brain these days and isn’t willing to just go along with whatever the Obama administration says should go, like the rest of the mainstream media that isn’t FOX News, at least.
The part he was just coming to at the end is really the most powerful and the most prescient portion of his argument and it’s what we are witnessing at the moment from the Obama administration and is something we will be forced to reconcile one way or another, especially considering how very little concern Obama has shown for his actions.
Until we show the Obama administration that we are not willing to just give up without a fight, and that we do not in fact condone it’s present course of behavior; then we should expect more and more and more egregious steps to be taken until the administration is met with some kind of response from us.
What’s your take on it? Do you think Obama is justified in doing something like that? Or do you think he has his head in the political sand and essentially has absolutely no idea whats going on in the first place?
Bill Maher Needs To Spend Some Real Time Considering Misguided Stance Toward Muslims:
I have a lot of respect for Bill Maher and I agree with him on many points, enjoying the way he delivers his points with acerbic humor and sarcasm. In that sense he’s a man after my own heart, but his hardline stance on the religion of Islam is as confusing to me as someone who’s pro-life but advocates war and the death penalty; a walking contradiction unto itself sitting down, making no more sense than many of the conservative policies he’s enjoyed so much commercial success poking fun of.
For someone who’s clearly intelligent, and claims to be an atheist on top of that to suddenly begin singling out one religion as being worse than all the others is somewhat ludicrous. I mean his documentary movie “Religulous” was all about poking fun at the craziness that’s secretly all modern religions if you look hard enough or as I like to say; each organized religion is as bat-shit crazy as the next; they just take a different flavor Kool-Aid is all.
I feel Chris Mathews made an excellent point when he was recently on the show when Maher went on one of his anti-Muslim tirades, saying things like
“most Muslims-at least half of them, I think, around the world-think it is ok to kill someone if they insult the prophet. And that is a big problem. That is a clash of civilizations.”
It does make him sound like he’s giving the late Osama bin Laden everything he wanted by way of inciting a damaging and costly holy war or at least the perception of one between the United States and those of the Islamic faith; too easily dismissing people of the Islamic faith as being terrorists and alienating them in the process.
Although he typically possesses more free thought, or so I thought, than he has exhibited on this subject; it would seem he chooses not to use it, blindly accepting the Obama administration and the Bush administration before its weak rationale for the reasoning behind curtailing our civil liberties, the murder of US citizens overseas as in the case of Al-Awaki, the indefinite detention of suspected terrorists as happens at Guantanamo, and the aggressive prosecuting of whistle blowers to proportions unseen before the current administration, most notably with Bradley Manning, or the recent AP incident.
Maybe it’s the fact that he donated a million dollars to his campaign this past election and has a refusal to accept that it’s been a bad investment for him.
When I first heard him say some blatantly anti-Muslim shit on his show, I thought to myself, surely I must have misheard, he misspoke, or I missed the punchline to his joke. Maybe my overactive imagination was at work yet again, making mountains out of mole hills. Surely he would go on to vindicate himself through saying something to the contrary, maybe even a “gotcha”, or that it would be put into context, but this was not the case.
Nothing was to come in the form of rebuttal; strange given the fact I typically agree with nearly everything this guy says; it’s witty, it’s funny, it’s honest in making fun of our political reality in all of its absurdity; it’s butter.
On this issue however, it smacks of being off brand margarine, devoid of it’s fancy packaging, or any flavor, it’s easy for me to believe this shit’s not butter.
What most pisses me off, and gives me added cause to worry about is the likelihood his bigoted stance will encourage those already of a more hard-line persuasion that they are being moderate or reasonable even; in addition to potentially misleading others who have come to place faith in his political commentary as being relatively on point (just delivered comically), as is the case with myself.
I can hear their argument now, “see, even Bill Maher believes Muslims are the problem”; using it as a justification for their continued xenophobia, their discrimination, their hatred and their desire for persecuting the Muslim population.
By using his show to air these misguided and mistaken beliefs, he effectively joins the ranks of the Rush Limbaugh‘s and Glenn Beck’s and all those like them; a shock jock like Howard Stern and nothing more. Just another talking head blatantly opining without any regard for accuracy, or quality in his opinion or its contents. By choosing to spread anti Islamic hate speech, Maher only gives comfort to those who would say we truly are in the midst of a jihad.
Exceptions Rather Than The Rule:
Yes, there are concrete examples of Muslims desiring to cause us harm. Unfortunately, both 9/11 and the recent bombing of the Boston Marathon were carried out by those who professed to follow Islam.
This in and of itself does not serve to prove or to justify Mahers point as being a valid one anymore than the Westboro Baptist Church is evidence that Christianity is intolerant, or the molestation scandals involving priests would imply that all who practice Catholicism like to diddle little boys, or that it stems from their religion.
Where Maher fails, as do many of us, especially in these times of fear, is in making the effort to see the situation through the eyes of another, placing yourself in their shoes for a moment (if its possible for yourself); doing this allows us to see that deep down we aren’t so different underneath it all.
One opposing view that it would be reckless and folly for us to ignore is that of the people we have consistently rained down death upon since the year 2001. What do you suppose it is they see when they see us? Are we not Christians? Is that not violence? In terms of sheer death and destruction, the massive body count and pile of rubble we leave behind us solidify us as being the most violent and destructive society in history. period. end of point. We are more destructive than anything that has existed on this earth before us. How eager are we all to be judged by world or by god (if you believe in one) on the merits of actions we played no direct part in?
For the first time I could remember, I couldn’t help looking at Bill Maher like he was at least semi-retarded… The degree to which he attempted to defend Christianity against those heathens who practice Islam was baffling and sickening to witness in someone who supposedly flat-out doesn’t believe in it at all.
(Did Bill suddenly decide to eat the poison apple?)
I’m not sure who exactly he desires these brownie points for, or with, but I just hope his high ass knows that they’re not actually brownies or made of chocolate (I’m not sure that anybody has told him this, he must have the munchies).
I really still can’t get over how belligerent he insists on being in his new pastime of being an ignorant fuck…. he sounds just like most of his more conservative contestants who like an addict hide their guilty pleasure of racism from themselves; oblivious to it’s existence despite it being as plain as day for everyone else to see so clearly.
That very same fuck, or those very same fuck(s) I’ve heard him rail against time after time after time on his show; easily making them out to be just plain ignorant or dumb, and now it turns out he should be doing it into a mirror.
Casting a blanket characterization that all people of one religion, Islam, have a greater propensity towards violence than others is just plain retarded, especially for someone who loves talk about how they’re an atheist, and thinks that all religions are stupid.
This view is no less racist and no less discriminatory than those views of black people he looks down on as being backwards, and intolerant. Why would something apply in one instance, or fit on one hand and not fit on the other?
Prejudiced, is prejudiced, hate is hate; fear is fear; backwards is backwards; right is right; and wrong is wrong, one equals the other no matter how you slice and dice it.
That is why I was especially glad Glenn Greenwald happened to be the guest on his show this last week; checking Maher hard into the boards just as he started to get out of line.
Glenn Greenwald is the only person I’ve seen really stand up to him and challenge his views when he gets on this tangent. When it got brought up this past week or so, Bill Maher looked like he had just got owned over the entire issue having the fact he knows nothing of what he speaks laid plain before his entire audience as he got his tongue twisted and nearly had himself a little shit fit; looking notably flabbergasted from the experience.
Finally Something About the Muslim Population That Makes Sense on Real Time With Bill Maher: Glenn Greenwald
I don’t know how it is that I just really became acquainted with the work of Glenn Greenwald, but I have to say he easily offers one of the best assessments of the situation we now find ourselves in; both in terms of our eroding civil liberties and congressional and judicial oversight and the continued growth of executive power here at home as well as the increased anti-American sentiments within the Muslim world; both of which are a result of our War on Terror.
(You can follow that link to see what else I have to say on that)
If you don’t already subscribe to his RSS feed, you should and I don’t recommend that lightly.
I would like to know where you all stand on this issue; I know it’s a sensitive one which is by no means agreed upon by everyone or even most people;
So let’s get this party started and found out where everyone and their opinion is currently standing.
Nows your time to chime in if you’d like to, I know I’d like to know whether your opinions fall more in line with the host Bill Maher, or with the journalist for the Guardian, Glenn Greenwald?