As an adoptee born in Pennsylvania where I am not allowed access to my original birth certificate I find it funny it’s warped inside an abortion issue where the idea is that life begins at conception; unless you’re adopted; then it begins conveniently once you’re taken home. everything before that is plastic shit; not even real feces that can be recycled and used for mulch to grow wisdom tulips for the next generation; this is Monsatto sponsored chemical dung that can only sit in the garden for the next six Mayan cycles and do nothing for the world around it; if life begins at conception, then it’s time to make that rue apply to everyone; I think what they should do is just put a UPC symbol on every woman’s uterus so the Uberstate can monitor when life begins inside of it or if it’s just echoes of pleasure pudding from joyful sex in which case the uterus will be confiscated; why be coy about the issue here. when I think about how much nonsense I had to go through to find my birth parents due to this legislative Candy Land for Sith Lords it make my man uterus crinkle and spit. So which is, life at conception for all or for none? Oy vey, I’m voting for Dr. Kervorkian for President. Al Pacino as Dr. Kervorkian for Vice President and Bill Hader as Al Pacino for Secretary of Defense. I’ll run everything else.
I know it’s a Presidential/Summer Olympic/NY GIants Super Bowl champions year and so usually it’s easy to get caught in the froth of red vs blue or grinkle vs drunke or whatever other Boolean analogy we have to make it seem like we have much of a choice; this year feels strangely quiet, like a rhythm is being missed for something larger and that brings me comfort because it means that underneath the usual patterns of fervor of spitting on the opponents lawn there’s a resonance in the soil, a humming that will seep into the feet quietly of every citizen of at least this country and cause eyeballs to shake loose theirHoliday Inn 1953 canned Eisenhower blankets and allow themselves to sway like blades of grass, together swaying with one wind but each in their way as nature does so easily; I think there’s a whole new currency flowing underneath the money we call money now and if you crack open the pyramid on any dollar bill and withstand the crooked tears and the angry mob spittle you’ll hear and see what lies inside: gold ole turn of the species wisdom ready to blow through modern times; I can’t vote for either of the two candidates this fall presented by Duff Beer (Duff Dry, Duff Light.. all from the same tub); vote for new resonance; vote for the achy heart winds that sit in our wounds waiting to be blown across our souls for healing, a vibrant sex that will heal the crack in the Liberty Bell, that will spill out what hasn’t been written in the Constitution by the imagination’s little orgy dance with the unknown hymns inside every child, every animal, every creature that walks this country.
Of course, if we don’t fess up maybe Jesus will come back and kick the sex right out of us. Ah, we’ll see.
