From the liner notes of Steve Earle’s album, “The Revolution Starts … Now,” due out August 24:

“The Constitution of The United States of America is a REVOLUTIONARY document in every sense of the word. It was designed to evolve, to live, and to breathe like the people that it governs. It is, ingeniously, and perhaps conversely, resilient enough to change with the times in order to meet the challenges of its third century and rigid enough to preserve the ideals that inspired its original articles and amendments. As long as we are willing to put in the work required to defend and nurture this remarkable invention of our forefathers, then I believe with all my heart that it will continue to thrive for generations to come. Without our active participation, however, the future is far from certain. For without the lifeblood of the human spirit even the greatest documents produced by humankind are only words on paper or parchment, destined to yellow and crack and eventually crumble to dust. “

Link

This single sentence sums up the crux of Bush’s election plan:

KENNEBUNKPORT, Maine (Reuters) – President Bush warned Americans on Saturday last weekend’s terrorism alert was another sign the country was still not safe but said he was taking steps to prevent future attacks.

Be afraid, be very afraid. Be much too afraid to vote for anyone else, because we’re all about to die and only the Crawford Cretin can save us. oooooh.

And notice how it’s the terror alert itself — not the reality of the threat — that is the sign we’re not safe. In the New Speak, The Message is reality. Ridge makes an alert, Bush waits a week for the herd to get headed up, then he saddled up and keeps us mooovin’ along towards Nov. 2.

Meadow muffins.

Has anybody out there been waiting to see democracy in action in the newly sovereign Iraq? Boy, I have. I’ve been expecting the spirit of Jefferson to appear in the crater-pocked streets of Baghdad. My wait is over. Regrettably, my skepticism has been justified; democracy is stillborn in Iraq.

The closure of AlJazeera has proven to me, once and for all, that all pretense of democracy can be abandoned. We have hatched a totalitarian puppet government, doubtless on it’s way to being another inscrutable theocracy.

Nuts.

Aljazeera.Net

NO C-heney

NO A-shcroft

NO R-umsfeld

NO B-ush

and “Absolutely NO RICE!”

This is a diet that will take you successfully through the next

election.

Thanks Cindy!

Grandma passed away this morning, about 11am pacific time, at the age of 93. Her passing was very peaceful.

She was a wonderful person, very kind and sweet. She loved to sing, and she liked yard sales. She made quilts and pies and she loved people. She was one of the only people I’ve known who truly enjoyed work, just being busy taking care of her home and family. She took very good care of us, and I told her so yesterday.

Grandma and Papa were married early in 1928, so they were married almost 75 years when he died in 2002, at the age of 97. I miss them both.

The wind picks up a tattering of

songs and prayers.

I tell the dreaming dog

this woman held me long and well.

I’m glad we could all be together today. My parents, my brother and his wife and their child. What a consolation the little guy was!

My dad and I got to the hospital a few minutes after the rest of the group, and went to grandma’s room. Her name was still on the door. But the bed was empty, there was just the bare, dark gray mattress. I backed up into the hall. A nurse’s aide directed us to room 311, in the north wing.

I wonder how it’s possible for the mind to contain the idea of walking into a room, with the intention of saying goodbye – forever – to someone you’ve known for your entire life. Well, that was my intention and that’s what I did. It was hard. Then I leaned on the wall outside the door and wiped my eyes and looked at the number – 311 N – and decided I should remember it.

I remember a lot of things, like opening presents on Christmas and singing together in church. And how Grandma always made a big deal about my pretty hair. Maybe not what guys usually think is cool, but I always thought it was sweet.

Oh, won’t somebody come stay this long, cold, stormy night with me? … Inside joke, just between Grandma and a few of us she made feel special.

The hospice people seem to think it’s time, so we’re all going over to see our Grandma in the morning. Just like it was Thanksgiving or Christmas. God knows I wish it was.

Grandma always loved me so much, was always so kind to me. She made me feel special. She was the embodiment of tender loving-kindness. It has been so hard to see her fade away. One of the hardest things is that she was the one who always prayed for us; I guess soon she can do that in heaven. But the world is simply not the same anymore. My grandparents will soon all be gone … The world has moved on.

All together now…

Feel Like I’m Fixin To Die Rag

This world class bonehead was stealing toilet paper literally right out from under the cops. And you know what makes this interesting to me? Does anybody need 100 rolls of TP in 6 months? I’d ballpark guess I go through something closer to 50. But maybe Bonehead is supporting the personal absorbancy needs of some dependents. I wonder if his family knew where their squeezables were coming from, and whether the good people of Ashtabula OH will ever let them forget it.

Yahoo! News – Restroom tissue raid lands man in jail

This is my handkerchief

gray at the edges.

A prayer for the dead I have folded

or a dove asleep in my hands.

Dad gave one to each of us

at his father’s funeral.

We never seem to remember

such things, though

we have both buried too many

and many too young.

Cotton milled to capture tears

should be blue

with a bold design

to draw my grief down

and away over grass

cut short, stones laid flat.

Waiting for the mower

and the wind.

–Kyle Kimberlin

Signal Fires, 2000

Those of you in places where it’s miserably hot may find this amusing. Here in the Santa Barbara area of southern California, it’s currently about 60F degrees, and the high tomorrow will be about 70. It reminds me of the Battle of Yorktown. As Cornwallis’ men surrendered, Gen. Washington turned to General Rochambeau (inventor of the game Rock Paper Scissors) and said, “Man, it sucks to be them.”

weather.com

Well, it’s been a day. And for most of us, tomorrow will be another day. We expect it, don’t we? The sun will rise and we will still be alive. We’ll have breakfast and read the Sunday funnies. But I remember my Grandma saying something which stuck with me:

None of us has the promise of tomorrow.

No one has promised us that today wasn’t our last day. In fact, we’re warned incessantly, in the static of wisdom that drones on beyond the salubrious rhythms of self-centered daily life, “live each day as if it were your last.” So in that spirit, here’s how I spent the last day of my life:

• Slept in until 10am.
• Piddled around on the computer until almost noon.
• Worked on a financial aid case for a sick cat (I volunteer).
• Showered, dressed, and went to my folks’ place with my dog.
• Sat on the deck and chatted with my Dad, while waiting for my brother and his wife and small son to return from a long walk.
• Had lunch … a hot dog and fruit.
• Returned to my condo and re-shelved an avalanche of books that had accumulated in my bedroom. Made some phone calls.
• Back at my folks’ place, I hung out while Bro and family left for a concert in Hollywood.
• Sat on the deck and sort of eavesdropped while my Mom talked on the phone with a hospice worker, about Grandma’s end of life care.
• Talked with my Mom and thought about how the world is different now than what I used to think it was. The people in the world when I was a kid were part of the landscape and structure of the world, and some of them are gone. How can the world then be the same?
• More e-mailing and such.
• Had coffee with my Dad, sitting on a bench outside the bank, listening to people walk up to the ATM and discover it was out of order. For the most part, this didn’t throw anyone into grave conniptions.
• Rented a movie – Magnolia. I’m not sure what it’s about, haven’t seen it, and it’s still in my backpack. It’s a five day rental, so if I’m still alive on Thursday I’ll take it back. If not, hard cheese, Video World.
• Bought some pasta and a loaf of bread and some diet soft drink mix. Everything was on sale. Sweet.
• Drove to a hilltop near my home, overlooking the ocean. Walked my dog and let her sniff and pee while I called my 12-step program sponsor to check in on my state of mind.
• Checked my e-mail while making dinner and watching Evel Knievel’s son jump over a bunch of planes on an aircraft carrier in New York. He survived, but his actions don’t reflect what I believe, as my Grandma Chloe said, that none of us has the promise of tomorrow. This might be it, folks. My big finish, the ol’ shuffle off to Buffalo.

All of which brings me here, back to my black Dell, with the dog asleep under the desk. Remember the TV show Hill Street Blues? There was an episode where Lt. Howard Hunter of SWAT (James Sikking) was suicidal, and one of the other cops swapped the ammo in his gun for blanks. Then just before he tried to shoot himself, he sat down and wrote out a Haiku.

Well I’m not suicidal, but in keeping with the theme – No Promise of Tomorrow – I’ll leave you with a bit of poetry. And a word of advice, for those inclined to take advice from a poet: Pick up the phone, say I love you. Don’t wait until tomorrow.

So Hard

Some things just cannot be helped.

Your grandparents grow old, pass away.

Maybe you haven’t been calling; so

hard to be understood.

The roaring deafness.

Your dog gets old and sick

and bites as you set down

his tepid, pureed food; so

hard to be remembered for kindness.

The sun goes down coldly.

So you have the dog put to sleep

and driving home you remember

that girl that stopped calling; so

hard to keep the mind focused.

The singular grief of the day.

— Kyle Kimberlin

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