Day 30 - Hire Arky

An Essay A Day For A Year

By Roe

Day 30, January 30, 2012

***

I’ve always been fascinated by how animals find their hierarchy within their species. I’ve been even more fascinated by how to spell hierarchy. I figured it out after plenty of misspellings. I’m pretty sure its hierarchy and I even spell checked it. It’s not hire arky or hire archy or heirarky or heirarchy. If you the reader are a learned person, then I just plunged down the scale of smart to dum-dumhood with you on our hierarchical scale, since you probably got that word right in the third grade. OK, back to the subject.

My favorite show when I was a kid was the Mutual Of Omaha animal show, (I remember the name of the insurance company and not the name of the show, so I guess the American marketing scheme works), but I’m digressing again. Ok concentrate. I loved watching rams bashing horns and birds cock-a-doodle-do-ing, and cats posturing, and many other hierarchical rituals. I didn’t much care for the big fat kid at my elementary school who knocked over my food tray at lunch on the first day to challenge me, and with whom I lost face, since I was afraid to do anything. For days I imagined putting him between the rams on Mutual Of Omaha, or out on the savanna where the lionesses hunted.

I also was fascinated by mating rituals, and in those days they only showed the lead up ritual and not the actual mating, so that kids wouldn’t be embarrassed. (actually, I now think that it was so the adults wouldn’t get excited, but I digress again).

I remember the Omaha guy saying that not all species establish hierarchy by brawn or fatness or bad attitude like at my school, but some by intelligence or beauty. Well I thought I had superior intellect and beauty, but lacked mass by a lot. I remember the Omaha guy saying that mates are selected by cleverness and not just age or prowess, and since I was 4 years younger than alpha boy and not as skilled at the art of harassing second graders, I had to really focus on my cleverness. The Omaha guy stressed in every show that it was survival and the need to procreate that drove all species in their establishment of hierarchy and mate selection.

Now enter Suzie, the best 4^th grade girl in my whole school according to me, and unfortunately many other boys. She was just perfect, and every boy only wished for her attention, including and especially guess who? Yup, me. I clearly had two major problems, one that I was addicted to liking Suzie, and the other that I was addicted to liking my beautiful face and I was afraid of the bully should I succeed in flapping my wings for Suzie.

I spent weeks working out a plan, and finally I made my second grade Omaha move. 1- accidently on purpose annoy master blaster with a full tray of food when Suzie was there and watching. 2- let the insensitive ogre knock my tray on the floor again. 3- make a feigned attempt to fight for my rights and take my blows like a histrionic soccer player. 4- get up and clean up the mess amidst ridicule. 5- walk out with dignity. 6- tell the principle that I started the altercation in the cafeteria and save the bully. 7- afterwards reach out to the bully in friendship to make an ally out of a foe, something I also learned on tv.

Well…… How did I do? Well to start out with I was terrified with only steps 1-7. It turns out that being a hierarchical animal or mating animal was a lot harder than it looked on tv. The good news is I effected the clever plan perfectly. I am still amazed by the intricacy of my 2^nd grade plan. Next comes beauty and soccer histrionics. It was easy to rile him up, all I had to do was stand in front of him and refuse to move. When he hit me in the chest he knocked the wind out of me, and everyone said my no breathing epileptic-like wiggle on my pizza on the floor was amazing. Cleaning up the mess I missed since all the adults descended upon the bully and the mess before I could breathe. I don’t even remember how I got to the principal’s office since I was still seeing stars, so I missed the dignity part. In the principal’s office my claiming blame worked perfectly, and the bully was amazed that I saved him. But when I walked out he just said “pussy” loud enough for everyone to hear. That was when Suzie walked up, ready to go into the principal’s office as a witness. “You’re a jerk!”, she said to the bully, and she grabbed my hand and led me out of the office.

From that day forward me and Suzie were friends, and I walked with her to and from school. I did reach out to the bully to help him with his homework, and so did Suzie. He accepted, and from that day forward I had all the hierarchical status among males possible, including and especially my friend the ex bully. I remember that no matter who came and went at any of my schools, whoever was top guy had the best Suzie.

Now over 40 years later I have never seen an exception to this Mutual Of Omaha TV rule. There may be CEO’s on top, athletes on top, politicians on top, soldiers on top, intellectuals on top, but when you walk up, no matter who you are, with the most intelligent, most beautiful, most maternal, nicest, sweetest, sexiest, funnest, wildest, most dazzling female as your girl, you instantly ascend to the rank of top male. A decade of Mutual Of Omaha TV shows can’t be wrong. Several million years of biology can’t be wrong. It makes perfect sense. If you can woo and enamor and maintain love and connection with the world’s greatest female, you must be the world’s greatest male. I learned from the beginning that the whole universe revolves around Suzies. That is a great thing since I really like Suzies. Good luck with your hire arky everyone.

See you tomorrow.

www.dear-roe-the-muse.com

yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com

Day 29 - Say Hi to Nick for Me

An Essay A Day For A Year

By Roe

Day 29, January 29, 2012

***

When I was a little boy about three years old, I remember adults used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. At first I really didn’t understand the question. I knew I was a boy, and I thought they were asking me if I wanted to change to be a girl instead. “I want to stay a boy”, I answered. I remember that made them laugh, so they thought I was being funny. That made me think I didn’t understand the question, so the next time I was asked again I assumed that they meant maybe that I could change to be an animal instead of a boy. At that time I really liked the cheetahs that I saw on TV, so I answered, “when I grow up I want to be a cheetah”. That of course brought even more laughs. “So you want to go fast! Well maybe you mean you want to become a race car driver when you grow up”, said one of my uncles. He seemed really animated and smiled at me, so to avoid more laughs I answered, “yeah, a race car driver!”. I think I only had a vague idea what a race car driver was because my mom used to yell at my dad for driving crazy like some kind of race car driver, so I thought that when I grew up I could drive crazy like my dad.

Many years later I pieced together that the grown ups wanted me to tell them what I imagined for a career for myself when I grew up. I listened how the other kids my age seemed to have it all figured out. I want to be a fireman. I want to be a policeman. I want to be an astronaut. I want to be a doctor. I just didn’t understand why I had to be anything when I grew up. I wasn’t even happy that I had to grow up at all. There was no way I wanted to walk into fires, I watched the firemen do that when a neighbor’s house burned down. I didn’t want to be a policeman, I watched the policemen beating up hippie people on TV and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to be an astronaut, sitting on top of a giant bomb and being sent to the moon didn’t sound like a career at all. I for sure didn’t want to stick needles in people and get blood on me, so I just stuck to race car driver to impress the adults and keep them from laughing at me. For a short time I wanted to be a fighter pilot, but then I met a neighbor who told stories to everyone how he just came back from his second tour in Vietnam toasting the enemy with napalm. That was the end of my dreams of being a fighter pilot.

By high school I realized that all my peers had dreams of careers, and they took classes for college prep, or shop classes, or ROTC to prepare to be in the military. Many were on track for college or Olympic sports. As usual I felt out of place, since after more than 10 years pondering on the question of career, I still really didn’t know what I wanted to do, or agree with the idea that I had to do anything. You have to get a job. You have to support yourself and your family. Well I really thought I was already somebody, and being told I had to do anything never sat well with me. I finally graduated early from high school so that I could work to earn money and have enough independence so that people would stop telling me what to do. That is when my career chose me instead of my choosing my career. I worked in whatever and wherever so I had money to do what I wanted, and that was to restore and modify my little MG sports car. I thought it worked out really well, since when my parents and peers got on my case for being a lowly junkyard parts salesman or mechanic or whatever, I would get in my car and drive away so that I didn’t have to listen to them. It took me a few years to realize that I didn’t like anything I was doing, or my MG, or being reminded that a bright young man like me was falling short of my potential.

One day I was talking to Nick, an employee that I had hired from New Zealand who had been traveling continuously around the world for 11 years, and who was at that time working for me in the U.S., his 39^th country. I told him about my career conundrum. He told me that what you do for a dream career is the average of your priorities and your abilities. He said his grandpa told him as a little boy that your dream career is an activity you get paid to do that you would gladly pay someone else for the privilege to do. As soon as he said that my eyebrows went up, and he had my attention.

“The problem is that you may not have the feet to be a ballerina!”, his grandpa continued, but if you get your priorities straight you may just be the world’s greatest ballerina choreographer”. He didn’t really understand the priority part, and neither did I, so he went on to explain old Grandpa’s philosophy. He told his grandpa that he wanted to be like Marco Polo and travel the world. “Consider it done!”, said Grandpa, “you have everything it takes and more, but it is going to cost you!”. My co worker went on to explain how he had left New Zealand the day after he had graduated from his high school at age 17, with a few hundred dollars, one change of clothes, and a toothbrush. That was funny to me since this employee still had a few hundred dollars, one change of clothes, and a tooth brush 11 years later. “Marco Polo is my only priority. All my friends back home have careers and money and homes and wives and children and many toys, and very grand lives”, he said, “and I am happy for them. I wish I had those things too. Many, many times in the last 11 years I have been so lonely, so cold, so hungry. But I would give someone $ 100 a day to work in Los Angeles so I could go to Hollywood boulevard and try surfing in Huntington beach”. That was funny because I was paying him $ 100 per day and we were within an hour of Hollywood and Huntington Beach.

“How long will you be working for me here?”, I asked him. “How much is a bus ticket to Mexico?”, was his reply. I was so impressed that I told him that I may just take him to those places personally. “How bad do you want to do that?”. He asked. I told him that I had to run the shop and fix my car and pay my rent and wash my clothes and get a map and check the weather and then make a plan to do that. He smiled at me and said, “we just found your problem, mate! Let’s imagine that your dream career is to guide Marco Polo around the world! I’ll pay you the $100 that you just paid me yesterday to ride those two bikes there on your wall to Hollywood right now, and then on the way to Tijuana we’ll stop in Huntington and surf”. When I stopped laughing at his joke, I explained that the bikes were too old, it was too far, we didn’t have enough money, and that he was just plain crazy! Yes sir! That is what they told Marco Polo when he left for China, and that is what they told me when I left New Zealand 11 years ago. But I’m serious mate. Priorities mate, and it’s going to cost you. You and me giving up anything and everything for what we would pay someone to do!”

Well, we left 5 minutes later on those two old Schwinn bikes, and it was a miserable 150 mile disaster. We broke down, we froze, we almost got arrested, we fought, and we couldn’t even feel our legs or butts when we arrived at the border 3 days later. He then shook my hand as he handed me back the bicycle he borrowed. “Remember mate”, he said, “there’s nothing to it, but to do it”, and he handed me the $100 that he offered. “Hey”, I said, I thought you were joking, you don’t have to give me this”. “You need it a lot more that I do mate”, he said, and he walked across the border with his one change of clothes and this toothbrush.

That day all my priorities got rearranged. I still remember how miserable I was on that trip, and I remember how much trouble I got in when I returned. I remember how long I kept that $100, and how many times I looked at it and thought of Nick and wondered where he was. Eventually I figured out that what I wanted to when I grew up was to love a girl to by my wife, and have lots of kids. I figured out that I would pay to have that, and give up and sacrifice anything for it, and for her, and for them. And finally with no less resolve and craziness I set out to make that happen. Now here I am almost 30 years later and I still don’t have a dream career. I have been so miserable so many times, but I have never been lonely. I have traveled the world with my dream girl and my four children, many times with just a change of clothes and a toothbrush. And like Nick, I am happy, and anything is worth it for just one more day.

My dream career would be to write an essay wishing everyone all the fortune in the world doing what makes them happy. Say hello to Nick for me.

See you tomorrow.

www.dear-roe-the-muse.com

yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com

Day 28 - Me-Self

An Essay A Day For A Year

By Roe

Day 28, January 28, 2012

***

I find it odd that all we humans are in search of self. Where exactly is our self and why are we searching for it? Who am I? Where am I? And even if I knew the answers to those two questions, now what do I do? I must be someone. I must be here somewhere. I better go search for me and figure these things out. As a matter of fact I feel unhappy and unfulfilled, and so onward little lonely soldier I go searching to become happy and fulfilled. Maybe along the way I’ll even find myself. Maybe when I find my self that will be my happiness and fulfillment?

Am I the chicken or the egg? Is finding happiness and fulfillment going to reveal me? Or is revealing me going to find happiness and fulfillment? Descartes postulated “I think, therefore I am”. I think that French guy is definitely the chicken. As soon as he becomes aware that he can lay himself, he now exists. Me, I’m really sure that I am a fertilized egg. In truth I was me even before I was a fertilized egg. I was me when I was a perfect little spirit just out there in the universe in potential balance. Then I said “oh what the heck, why not!”, and I rode a ray of exquisite light down to Earth and helped Daddy drill into Mommy’s egg, and I assured Mommy that I was cool with it. Now I’m still me.

When my love-spark zinged into sperm-eggie-ness, I was me. When I walked down the dual DNA spiral staircase of Ma and Pa, I was me. I was me in Mommy’s tummy when I looked like a little reptile, and that was me that could have starred in a movie as a big headed alien. Towards the end of my time in my lovely Mommy home, I could feel all souls in the universe shining with me. “I am!”, I didn’t think, because I couldn’t think yet. But I still was. I heard Frenchie cognito-ing out there, and he seemed so excited to realize he was he when he thought about himself. I just smiled to all the unborn angels. All I heard was buh-blah-buh-blah-bluh, since I couldn’t understand language yet or even think. But “I am” was no less me, and my self was no less mine.

So it’s a funny question to ask, but “where did I go?” If I was my self before, during and after the great philosophers were postulating on self, and if I was my total me-self already inside Mommy, then maybe I lost my self? “Hello self! Come out, come out wherever you are!” How funny that life is like playing hide-and-go-seek with your self. “Peek-a-boo! There you are! Why you little angel, where have you been hiding? Why you poor little devil, what happened to you?” It makes a lot of sense that I have to look for you reading this when you don’t come home from fishing, or search for you after we had a fight and you ran off. But searching for my self, that sounds koo-koo. Nevertheless, every day I feel so unhappy and unfulfilled, and I pick up my little wooden shovel, and put my little soldier uniform on, and out I go in search of my self.

As I grew up I remember my me-ness struggling to remain me. “I want to play!” No, It’s time to eat. That was not me. “I want to eat”. No, it’s not dinner time, go and play. That was not me. “I don’t want to go to school, I want to go out and play.” No, you must go to school to learn. That was not me. “I want to stay inside and be with you”. No, why don’t you go out and play. That was not me. So I began to figure out that my me-ness was being greatly affected by the influences upon me, and as little me, there were very few influences that honored me. I just wanted to be me, and I always knew how to do that, even after I understood bluh-blah-bluh-blah. But I noticed that the world around me was intent on raising me to be me, and teaching me how to be me, and expecting me to be me. But no one noticed or asked me what I wanted. Me not understand.

Hi world. I am, and I was, long before me cognito or me ergo or me sum, buh blah buh blah. If I want to eat, just let me eat. If I want to play, just let me play. If I don’t want to do this and that, what are your qualifications in forcing me? I have very sound data (I’ve been conducting a survey since I was born) that you too world are unhappy and unfulfilled and searching for your self. “Hey world”, I thought, when I was quickly loosing me as a boy, “when you find happiness and fulfillment and your self, just live it, and let me live mine.” The answer I got from Ma and Pa and all those lost worlds around me was you gotta do this and you gotta do that and you gotta do this and you gotta do that and you can’t do this and you can’t do that and you can’t do this and you can’t do that...

ad-cognito-ergo-sum-infinitum- Maybe I lost my self in that very, very long sentence.

I wanted my parents and world to just be themselves, but the problem is I think that they didn’t know who they were either, yet they were all damn sure and hell bent to show me how to be me. I hoped that my world would show by example all their good manners and ethical behavior, and then I could decide whether that felt right for my self. I dreamed of seeing my parents and world living as fine upstanding citizens with compassion and good will for all, and then I could decide if that felt right for my self. Mom and Dad and world, if you feel that a fine education and the prestige of a lucrative career are your highest ideals, then show me how you educate yourselves and live lucrative and prestigious lives, and I’ll watch you and decide for myself if that feels right for my self. In the meantime, may I just remain my self? Maybe when I grow up I might not have to try as hard as you to find my self?

What is your investment Mommy and Daddy and world in influencing my like you do with all your have-to’s and cant's? “Well honey, well citizen, we just want the best for you. We just want you to be happy. We know what is best for you. We have been there, and we don’t want you to have to go through what we did. This is for your own good. You’re too young to understand. You’ll thank us when you grow up”. Come on readers, we could all sing the bluh-blah songs together. But somewhere in there I can at least say I lost me. And I spend a lot of my life now trying to find me again.

I would like to humbly offer Mom and Dad and world that if you want me to be happy just trust me to be me. The more you trust my me-ness and my own happiness and fulfillment and not yours, the more me I retain, and the happier I am, and by the way, you too. I have the right to be me and I deserve the freedom to be me, and I gain more by your successes at finding and living your own self, and that way I can choose to be my own self. I am not an extension of you or example of you or representation of you or dream of you or hope of you or success of you or failure of you or need of you or expectation of you or wish of you satisfaction of you or disappointment of you or pride of you or or win of you or loss of you or any you at all. I am me. Please let me be me?

“Of course honey, of course citizen, of course we want you to be you and will let you be you. We’re doing that already!”

I don’t think you got it Mom and Dad and world. Let me be more specific.

Please clean your own room to be you. Let me be me.

Please eat your own food to be you. Let me be me.

Please do your own chores to be you. Let me be me.

Please go out and play yourself to be you. Let me be me.

Please behave yourself to be you. Let me be me.

Please go to school yourself to be you. Let me be me.

Please do your own homework to be you. Let me be me.

Please work yourself to be you. Let me be me.

Please be responsible yourself to be you. Let me be me.

And there are many, many more Mom and Dad and world, if you would trust me or see me or value me enough to ask me. Did you ever think to ask if I wanted to do any of those things? Or if those things honored my special me?

I don’t want to be in search of self or happiness or fulfillment in my life. And I don’t need to think to be me. All I need is you Mom and Dad and world to know that I am already here. I already know what I want, and I already know what to do.

I am, therefore I am. (And by the way, so are you).

See you tomorrow.

www.dear-roe-the-muse.com

yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com

Day 27 - Yikes

An Essay A Day For A Year

By Roe

Day 27, January 27, 2012

***

Freedom is philosophical idea they say. Freedom is a political ideal. That’s funny , since philosophy and politics are manifestations of freedom. Perhaps freedom is more than an idea. Every parent knows that the “idea” of freedom is already nicely loaded into the spirits and personalities of all children. Isn’t it funny that children already know and want freedom before reading the great philosophers or practicing the great politics? Everybody wants to be free, and everybody enjoys their freedom. Everyone on Earth has restricted freedoms, and everyone wishes, longs for, fights for, and many even die for their freedoms. It would seem that freedom precedes and takes precedence over most everything in life. I would imagine that breathing, eating, drinking, defecating, and urinating must take precedence over freedom. That’s funny because if you don’t have the freedom to any of those, you have a real emergency and then striving for the freedom to breathe or eat becomes precedent. Freedom comes from the same spring where love and hope emanate. When love shone forth as light the first time, it refracted through the prism of life, and freedom is one of the most beautiful and appreciated spectrum colors of love. Freedom is not an ideal at all, freedom “is”, no less than light is or God is or you and I is. You have the freedom of noticing you don’t have freedom and want freedom, as soon as you don’t have freedom. Freedom “is” until it isn’t, and then we become mighty unhappy. Many people have died for love, a lot more have died for freedom.

The world’s purist hopers and purveyors of freedom are small children, and the smaller the child the purer the purveyor. Any parent knows that when a child’s need to be free is restricted, all hell breaks loose. In my house, with the four spirits that have entrusted me with their freedom, I have personally experienced the American revolution and the Russian revolution and the French revolution virtually every day. It seems that every day there is a conflict between the need to be free, and the inability to actually be free. It seems that the pre Big Bang universal bliss of non existence was the freest state of all, except that “it” wasn’t free enough to manifest. That is like purity and absence in perfect stasis realizing that they were in prison. The revolution said: “We have the freedom to manifest if we want to!” Love and freedom’s answer to that was one hell of a Big Bang.

We adults have lost a lot of freedoms. When we were tiny we were very free, that was until mommy restricted our freedom. We didn’t have a clue yet that the British king was taxing our tea too much, we didn’t know that the Czar was a jerk, or find out that the Queen only would let us eat cake. (Actually, we kids don’t mind the cake lady at all). As time went on we lost more and more freedoms every day. I always thought it was ironic that all the big people believed themselves to be powerful and free enough to teach me how to be free or not free, when these big people had far less freedom than I did. I felt that to be like a frowning clown moping around to give me a class on laughter.

When I questioned the right of an unfree dad to teach me about freedom, I was given a lecture about how I must be prepared for the world, because everyone can’t be free. I pictured my dad on the whipping block taking lashes on his back from the Queen with the cake, and looking up at me, saying: “Do you see now how life is son? Go on son, kiss the lady’s whip just like me, you have to learn that you just can’t have all the freedom’s that you want, just like me.” I didn’t have much respect or admiration for my dad that day “teaching” me about freedom. “I’ll teach you not to hit your sister!”, as he whipped me with his belt more times than I care to remember. Thanks dad, great lesson today. I didn’t have much admiration or respect for him on those days either.

I feel that we children should be giving courses on freedom to the big people who have so little. “Come on Mommy, play with me!” “I don’t have the freedom to play son, I’m a grown up and I have to work.” The funny thing is she said it with a smile on her face, kissing the whip no less than daddy. I remember every pompous adult that gave me a lesson of one kind or another that conflicted with my innate knowledge of freedom. “OK, little Indians!” My kindergarten teacher sung out. “It’s time for our pow wow to stop for now, and we must all lie down for our naps!” I then watched the ridiculousness of the teacher lying down with us pretending to sleep, and the obedient little kiddies all running to get their pads. “I don’t want to be a little injun, and I don’t want to take a nap!” I said. “I want to play and have fun MY WAY!” I said. That went over as well as the Boston tea party and the storming of the Bastille. I clearly remember the sting of my dad’s belt to remind me of how I just couldn’t be free like I wanted. I was told that I had to go to school to learn about things like Indians and taking naps with the others. I clearly remember the western movies on television where the Indians were having their freedoms taken away and fighting and dying for their freedom. I looked at all the adults in puzzlement, like blind people trying to blind me so I could see like them.

I never liked school. I used to just shake my little head back and forth from side to side, I used to roll my eyes, and I used to stand up and announce out loud, “that is complete bullshit”. I was never popular at school, not with all the obedient Indians, but especially not with the teachers. It really seemed like everyone was trying to mold me into being like them, all smart and grown up and big, and proud of their lack of freedoms as they taught me how great America were so free. I watched scenes from all the wars on TV perpetrated by big free American people. I watched free American presidents and free American preachers being gunned down by big free American people, and I watched how the black children who were bused into my free white school got spit on by the same little free Americans from my kindergarten class.

Something was very, very wrong I memorized, luckily just before my freedom of speech and my freedom to have freedom at school were finally extinguished. Later in my education I was given the freedom to be forced to learn about fascism. That was a miracle day for me. Finally everything fell into place and made sense to me. Here is what I learned about fascism:

“Fascism is a governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism”

Yup, that was my schools and teachers.

“Fascism is an authoritarian system of government and social organization with intolerant views and practices”

Yup, that was my schools and teachers.

Here are more definitions of fascism:

Belief that the STATE can transcend social conflict and blend all social classes into a harmonious whole. Belief in the power of POLITICAL IDEOLOGY to transcend human nature and produce a better world.

Promoting a high degree of STATE intervention in personal, social, or economic matters. Belief that the STATE can accomplish anything.

Now let’s add our schools and educational philosophy:

“Belief that the SCHOOL can transcend social conflict and blend all social classes into a harmonious whole. Belief in the power of EDUCATIONAL IDEOLOGY to transcend human nature and produce a better world”

“Promoting a high degree of TEACHER intervention in personal, social, or educational matters. Belief that the TEACHER can accomplish anything.

When I was a small boy, I used to walk into my schools, and listen to my teachers drone on about freedom and how our “education” was so important. I used to think “yikes”, this is a scary world. I think my teacher also lost the real thread of freedom.

When I realized the direct conflict of compulsory schooling with my ability to be free in a supposed free country, I said “yikes”, this is a scary world. I realized that compulsory anything is fascism. Traditional parenting is fascism. I knew that the first time I didn’t get to eat cake, and I learned it much better when I was punished for punishing, to prove I shouldn’t punish. Compulsory schooling is fascism. I knew that the first day I walked into kindergarten. Little white kids forced to go somewhere and play Indian while the weird unfree teacher pretends to take a nap to get us little revolutionaries to sleep is the best definition of fascism I have ever had the misfortune to witness. Then going home to be punished for fighting for my freedom at the school where all little Indians should be forced to take a nap in this great free America, that was fascism in a nut shell. It’s a wonder I’m not in the loony bin or prison or under a park bench with my bottle by now I’m so free. “We’ll teach you all about life little boy, and how you can be free!”

“Mommy, will you play with me?” “No honey, I’m not free like you, I have work to do. Besides, Daddy said you can’t be free to play since you hit your sister again, and you have to go to school now so you can learn all the things to be big and free like your Daddy.”

Yikes.

See You Tomorrow.

www.dear-roe-the-muse.com

yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com