I’m listening to Kerry’s concession speech live as I sit here. To the American people, he says, “I will never forget you and I’ll never stop fighting for you.” He’s a gentleman and a statesman. I feel so betrayed and disappointed by the American people today. How could so many be so myopic? Well, the fight against arrogant war, economic indifference, environmental avarice, and civil fascism, begins anew.

Endeavor to Persevere.

Edwards was just on TV, saying they intend to see that every vote is counted. Damn straight. Speaking of which, what happened to Florida? They got mugged last time; this time they just threw their wallet in the street. I hoped for some pissed off democrats down there.

… anything to get me to wake up from this nightmare. Freddie’s still out there … it’s y2k all over again.

Use this page to keep track of things tonight … and into the litigation, if any. Looks like things are off to a good start for my team.

I’m back. Got my little “I voted” sticker on my shirt — somewhere north of my left lung, if not my heart. So — along with the rest of the blogs calling the plays today — I have returned to tell you all what I learned at the clubhouse of the mobile home park down the street, closer to the creek, which is my polling place.

First of all, I walked in and the people at the table said Hi. There was no line; never seen a line to vote in this town. There were about six voting stations set up, and the machine that sucks away your ballot into the abyss. (We have paper ballots here, marked with a navy ink, felt-tip pen.) Three of the six stations — styrofoam and cardboard, just like on TV — were empty. I chose one by the door.

I eavesdropped as I completed the ballot, using a cheat sheet I’d filled out at home and folded into my pocket. What I, the consumate vigilant and astute blogger, can report is this: No one in that polling place was doing, saying, wearing, or displaying anything which could be construed to denote a political cause or opinion of any kind. Except that, when he handed me the sticker for my shirt, one man said, “You can wear this with pride.”

The topic of the day was how long we’ve all lived in our little town, and how much it’s changed. Alas, this, for the most part, can’t be blamed on George W. Bush.

That’s it. We’ll see how my observations play out as the night wears on. God help us all, and bless America. And I’ll leave you with this, which I heard Molly Ivins say on C-Span last night:

“It’s always a pain in the ass when the Klan shows up.”

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Changed the look of it again. Didn’t want to, but that other html template was causing me a bad mental rash. So I changed to a simpler template. To heck with aesthetics tonight. This one will Git-R-Done.

Yahoo! News – Bush, Kerry Sprint Toward Finish Line: “

‘This election comes down to who do you trust,’ Bush said as Air Force One carried him to a half-dozen states on a final full day of campaigning. “

Boy, truer words were never spoken. Imagine them coming from the mouth of the biggest liar ever to mislead this country. I can’t wait to vote tomorrow. But I dread tomorrow night. I may just have to rent a movie, or hide under the bed until it’s over.

Well, we’ve had our dress rehersal for a night of fear and loathing. Tomorrow, we rest — Day of the Dead — and Tuesday’s the real deal. Ready? Got your sample ballot all filled out? Me neither. But tell you what, if you’re still undecided on the presidential race, just forget it. It’s alright. Just sit this one out. Maybe in four years, we can field a candidate with three elbows or something, some quality you can relate to.

If you’re still undecided, you’re probably also one of those folks who can’t speed up or slow down to merge into traffic. Just stare straight head, check your teeth for spinach in the rear view mirror, and don’t sweat it. We’ll make room.

Fall is my favorite time of year. I love the steady darkening toward Christmas. The world slows down and thinks about itself more deeply. And with the early darkness, we can see farther into lighted interiors as the night comes on. I’m sitting now in a coffee house in my little town. It’s getting dark, and the small shop across the street is a jack-o-lantern. But I don’t like Halloween. The little kids are cute in their costumes, but then they’re always cute. Beyond that, the holiday is shrill and vulgar, grotesque.

I like Dia de los Muertos. The Mexican Day of the Dead has a context. It’s not superfluous or rude. In its rhythm and mysticism, there is meaning, rooted not in fear but in loving memory. I’m glad it’s not an American thing because we ruin everything, strip and drain it of meaning and power, until it’s politically correct and fits the moral relativism and the most spiritually convenient common denominator of the Great Unwashed.

If Christmas is for presents and Easter is for candy, when do we celebrate the birth and resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ? Have we forgotten Him? And the Eve of All Saints as well? We have. What will be the cost of that? The wasteland of our collective spirit will bring our barren culture crashing down around our ears.

Speaking of fall, here’s a poem I wrote about it a while back. I set out to do a poem for a co-worker who was leaving for greener ground. I wound up thinking of another woman entirely. I probably should have kept the poem to myself at that point. Emotional clouds. Story of my life.

Trouble with the Fall

I always write about autumn,

how the air changes becoming thinner,

how the crows gather in the thinning

trees, calling to something they must

see beyond life. Even blood is weaker,

opaque, but soup cures this.

I loved a woman once, and for many

years, but then one clear October night

we talked on a veranda overlooking

eucalyptus and the crows were quiet,

the moon was up and when I turned

to find her she was gone.

I blame the moon for making things

obvious, the crows for not defending me.

I love the season with leaves underfoot,

the first puddles and Dia de los Muertos

and see – the trouble with the fall

is just that someone always leaves.

Here’s another one from the hallowed vaults of Kyle’s Strange But True. Hold on to your wigs and keys. Before you read on, you need to click here for theme music appropriate to this post. (Wav file, opens best with Windows Media Player.)

I came home this evening, unlocked the door, set the doggie on the floor, turned on the kitchen light. I looked at the telephone on the counter, intending to check the voice mail. I noticed the phone was turned around backwards, and the cord was goofed up. Strange. Someone has been in here, thinks I. I thought maybe my folks – they have a key. Then I looked down and saw a Sheriff’s Department business card.

click to embiggen

There it was, sitting on the counter. I picked it up and held it. (Yes, I scrubbed his name; the guy maybe doesn’t need his name on the Net.) And it took a while for it to register in my mind — the cops have been in my place! I moved through the condo in half a good panic, checking my stuff: TV there, computer there, Papa’s shotgun, (It’s not real, and that’s another blog) furniture, piano … Arrgh. I picked up the phone and started to call the number on the card — what the hell!? — then noticed there was writing on the back.

click to embiggen

Well, what do you think about that? I did leave the front window open. I’m glad for that — they didn’t have to kick in the door. And they don’t seem to have busted anything. I’ll look more carefully in daylight. Anyway, I called them after I calmed down. It took a few minutes to figure it out. First, they suggested a passing airplace may have triggered a call from my cordless phone. But it turns out they got a real 911 call from a little kid who kept hanging up, and … wait for it … went to the wrong address.

Oh well, the way I look at it, it’s nice to know that if I was choking on a presidential pretzel or something, someone would come and find me before I started to pee-eww up the joint — assuming I was choking to death in my neighbor’s house, two doors down. My only regret is that I don’t work at the Sheriff’s Dept., so I won’t have the opportunity to give Dep. ______ a ration of s–t about this.