CUBAN MUSINGS

Dancing crabs, lizards, foliage unreal,
Mind numbing heat, so that sweat is all you feel,
Water and wind lending brief relief to steal,
Workers smiling wide; on the side they cut a deal,
Trying to improve their own situation,
Hunting for a peso, or any contribution,
From the many tourists soaked,
In rum-drenched absolution,
Is this the vision Ché sought,
When he fought The Revolution?

Thoughts on Norway: the children of Utøya

Like most Americans, my ancestors came from many different countries. There’s a little German here and a little Welsh there, but I happen to be more Norwegian than anything else. Until recently I’ve never really identified in any particular way with that country. However, since yesterday afternoon I’ve felt more Norwegian than I’ve ever felt before. My Norwegian great-grandfather, uncles, aunts and cousins, all of whom are a part of me, must be in mourning. Of the nearly 100 people killed in yesterday’s attacks in and around Oslo, at least 84 of them were teenagers at a summer camp on the island of Utøya.

It’s so hard to think about those kids without breaking down and crying. What must it have been like for them? Nearly 700 of them were gathered together and huddled around television sets and radios, listening for news of the bomb attacks that had just taken place in Oslo, about 20 miles away from where they were on the island. A tall, blonde, blue-eyed man dressed as a policeman approached them and asked them to come over to him. He said he was there as part of the investigation of the bomb attacks and probably had news of their families back home. Naturally they trusted him without question. Why shouldn’t they? He was a policeman come to help them, so of course they eagerly went over to him.

He then produced several weapons, including a machine gun and shotgun, and opened fire on them. The teenagers ran in terror for their lives and some even jumped into the water in an attempt to swim to the mainland, but he continued to mow them down, randomly, and indiscriminately. Eventually he was caught, but not before he had managed to kill dozens of people, some of whom were as young as sixteen years old. At the time of writing the search continues for more victims, but the current body count is 91. This includes the 84 found at the summer camp, and seven from the bombings in Oslo.

Now everyone is trying to figure out who is responsible and why it happened. Was this the act of Muslim extremists? At this point it does not seem very likely. Did the gunman act alone or is he a member of an anti-Jihadist group? Again this does not seem to be the case. For my part I find it hard to speculate on the motives behind the attacks. I cannot identify on any level with someone who would commit such atrocious acts of carnage. The typically Norwegian-looking gunman Anders Behring Breivik, has been described by the media as a right wing Christian fundamentalist, based on his own description of his religious and political beliefs on Facebook: “Christian” and “Conservative.”

So what, though. He’s a Christian and a Conservative, but so are millions of other people, none of whom are capable of the committing the atrocities that took place yesterday afternoon. I’ve been asking myself over and over why this happened. How could anyone do this? What would lead someone to commit these atrocities? It’s so frustrating because there are no answers to these questions and the violence seems so pointless.

If he had any kind of agenda then how on earth would committing these acts gain any sympathy or support for it?

The Old Photograph

These are your roots.
She said: your family.
And I stare at them.
Until my eyes burn,
From lack of blinking.

Stare at the faces,
Black and white smiles,
In the old photograph.
Frozen long ago,
In a moment in time.

These people are long dead.
Gone before I was born,
And yet, they feel
Strangely alive,
As if across distance

They have travelled,
And across time.
It seems so improbable.
How could they be dead,
And yet alive?

Here, but not here?
And suddenly,
I understand why.
I am alive.
And I am here.

And I am them.

God hates Sweden and vice versa

We all know that God hates Sweden because the Westboro Baptist Church told us so.  But did you know that the reverse is also true: Swedes hate God(s)?  Or at least the liberal-fascist-socialist-communist-god-hating editors at Bonnier book publishing do.  How do I know?  I present to you the book by Elizabeth Gilbert called “Eat, Pray, Love.”  Now this book was so popular they made it into a movie starring Julia Roberts.  As we know when something becomes outrageously popular, like Harry Potter, it’s translated into a million different languages.  Sometimes translations fail, and sometimes they fail because of god(s)-hating atheists and their evil liberal agenda.

Lyckan, Karleken och Meningen med Livet (Swedish Edition)So the original title of the book is Eat, Pray Love.  But the evildoers changed that to Lyckankärleken och meningen med livet.  Which re-translated into English means, “Luck, Love, and the Meaning of Life.”  Terrible, terrible, terrible.  There’s no PRAY in there, not even any reference to EATing!  So not only do Swedes hate deities, they hate eating as well.  Of course being liberals they love the loving, so they left that part in.  As for the meaning of life, who knows?

Suicide…but is it painless?

Perhaps I should be called Macbeth as tragedy seems to want to surround me, ok that is a little dramatic but twice now I have physically been close to someone who has attempted suicide…one a failed attempt jumping from a third storey building and sadly yesterday’s not so happy ending of a woman who jumped in front of a train.

This isn’t a subject people like to talk about because then they would have to decide which side of the fence they are going to sit on, should they feel sympathy or anger towards a person who has committed suicide? Suicide is not easy to understand unless you have been in that downward spiral where you believe there is only one way to take you away from all your emotional pain. That of course can include the pain of loneliness and lack of care and attention they receive.

Cutting wrists is visually dramatic, often to impress friends and family with haunting images, that are sometimes meant to punish them for not helping the person in cause when they needed you most.

Public suicides however, have a larger target audience, so what are they trying to tell us? Do they want to become remarked, to stand out, due to a need for acknowledgment, with this; they blame the whole society for their problems, and their death. Furthermore, they delude themselves, that a suicide in public will be long remembered after their death. Just like any normal person wants to live longer, an abnormal person with suicidal tendencies is satisfied with a longer existence through the tragic memory of others. You and I might consider this absurd, but for their flawed thought process, during an intense emotional state, this seems reasonable.

Yesterday’s incident is still very raw in my mind but I haven’t forgotten the other chaps attempt, I think of it often…so the fact I still remember, after all that time, proves the chap still exists in my memory. That is the exact reason he attempted to kill himself in front of me and many others. I am sure and this may sound odd, but I believe that is what feeds public suicides.

Suicides are not pleasant, nor for the victim, their family or the audience. But who should I feel sorry for, the woman who committed suicide or the driver and the rest of us travelers who had to be party to this one persons melt down? My heart does go out to her family but my head tells me I should feel more sympathy for the living…the ones who will have that image burned into their brain for the rest of their days.

And I hope Ken doesn’t mind me posting the following poem he wrote a while back, which can be found on his website http://www.readysteadyrhyme.com/

This is how death should be treated.

Death
by Ken Donner on September 28, 2009

When Death comes banging at my door,
Let it fight to get inside,
I’ll not bow to what’s in store,
I’ll not turn or run or hide,
When Death comes round then let it be,
Because it’s angry, seething mad,
Filled with rage and jealousy,
Envious of the life I’ve had!