new year resolutions - careful, they're political/

  1. dub
    31,123 Posts.
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    Good morning,

    This guy is possibly/must be Mike Moore's twin!


    Resolutions For The Damned
    For 2003: More veggies, louder orgasms and, of course, defy ShrubCo at every possible turn

    By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist Friday, January 3, 2003


    Glorious indeed is the texture of a brand-new year, bringing new perspective and new karmic spankings and a fresh sense of hope and possibility, which will of course almost immediately be trampled into idealistic dust by an overwhelming sense of imminent crushing war-thick GOP-molested dread.

    Only to be allayed only by huge doses of humor and sex and recreational narcotics and explicit information and continued vigilance, by a sticky personal combination of utter attuned awareness and divine laughing release, because oh dear God, look what they have resolved:

    For 2003, Dubya has resolved to keep the fear-addled nation enmeshed in at least one senseless oily insanely expensive unwinnable war for at least the next two years, lining the pockets of his dad's Carlyle Group cronies with countless millions in oil and military contracts, slamming the environment and mispronouncing "nukuler" and misrepresenting himself all over the English dictionary and embarrassing the nation almost daily.

    Dick "Facial Tic" Cheney has resolved to keep orchestrating Shrub's every move from deep in the private fur-lined Cheney bunker, while his lips continue to horrify small children and sexually sentient women everywhere, as Lynne continues to publicly champion the cause of old rich white powerful men and make Wolfowitz sweat with glee. So far, so good.

    Donny "Saved by 9/11" Rumsfeld has resolved to take that charming and rather nauseating People magazine title of Sexiest Cabinet Member to heart, and will henceforth continue to insult the intelligence of all bipeds by hosting wildly patronizing press conferences wearing nothing but an erect warhead and a malevolent smile and furry nipple warmers made of pulverized U.S. war policy and angry kittens and bloody bits of Colin Powell's desiccated sense of self.

    John "Sexless" Ashcroft, thunder stolen of late by Adm. John "Five Felonies" Poindexter's Total Information Awareness mega-database and Henry "What, Me, War Criminal?" Kissinger, has hereby resolved to re-emerge as the leading anti-women, anti-gay, anti-civil rights, anti-Calico cat lump of lumpy scowling dogma in the nation, reminding everyone of the thing with the statue drapery and the TIPS spying postal workers and, Goddess help us all, "Let the Eagles Soar."

    And then there is you. You are all too aware of what has been going on this past year. Perhaps you have wondered just how the hell you can possibly resolve to do anything worthwhile or substantial in the coming year to counter such painful and demoralizing levels of cultural and political poison. Or perhaps you're just tired.

    Maybe you've already made some resolutions, or were considering some significant ones, realizing that "Eat more pasta" and "Have louder orgasms" and "Quit canceling damn dental appointments" just aren't going to cut it in this time of war and rage and God vs. God and Lynne Cheney looking like she just ate a bowl of live black scorpions, and loved every bite.

    Your frustration is shared. Your pain is widely felt. Your soul's irresistible urge to scream a delicious curse word that begins with "mother" and ends with "uckers" is mutual. Here is what you do.

    You resolve to never let your fierce spirits sink below the waterline. You resolve to make more meaningful eye contact. You resolve to limit your exposure to angry scowling old white males who wield far too much power with far too little juicy moral cream filling to roughly one hour per week, max.

    You resolve to contribute your dollar to the "34 million friends of UNFPA" fund set up to counter the recent invidious ShrubCo decision to cut $34 million in aid for women's health care and reproductive services in some of the world's poorest nations, money that would have helped prevent hundreds of thousands of unwanted pregnancies, induced abortions, maternal deaths and infant and child deaths.

    You resolve to do as many things as possible that you know would openly terrify the ruling classes and/or the Republican Party, such as celebrating gay pride or piercing a Young Republican or ordering 300 copies of "The Anarchist Handbook" on Amazon and sending them to everyone you know and many you don't.

    You resolve to realize that SUVs are in fact far more directly tied to global terrorism than any drug could ever be. Resolve to turn off the TV for one full day per week.

    Resolve to understand that any organized religion that has the gall to tell you that it has all the answers or even knows most of the questions is gravely to be considered dangerous and apocryphal and should be shunned like bad porn and Christina Aguilera.

    You resolve to be nicer to dogs and the homeless. You resolve to stop caring what people think when they see you being nicer to dogs and the homeless.

    Resolve to be still. Resolve to get more deeply in touch with your own bad self. Meditate. Write down your whacked dreams in a small leather-bound bedside journal. Read them all at the end of the year and see how your divine connections have evolved.

    Resolve to love harder. Resolve to love harder even when love seems to be staring at you and snickering and scoffing at your sorry ass.

    Resolve to question your own beliefs about what you are and who you are and why you are that way, Christian Catholic lawyer dentist girlfriend marketing drone whiner sports lug smoker philatelist timid inhibited arachnophobe hair twirler accountant giggler control freak nipple fetishist.

    Question the cultural messages that deign to tell you who you are, the parents and the friends and colleagues who seem to mold you and bind you and shape you and perhaps restrict you. Resolve to wonder, aloud, repeatedly, just why the hell you do the things you do, and if those things are really all that good for you anymore, and what you might do to heave them over the side like so much stagnant ballast.

    Because damn if They, the powers that be, don't just love love love it when you feel restricted and pigeonholed and beaten down and delimited and utterly powerless to stop it all. Docile and submissive and ashamed and just a little guilty of something though you're not quite certain what -- that's how They want you. Resolve to castrate this sinister ideology with a karmic switchblade and a shot of vodka.

    Resolve, simply, to illumine your own life with nearly immeasurable amounts of wet messy joy. Resolve to let almost anyone in to almost any lane in front of you in traffic, even if they're driving an obnoxious H2 Hummer while wearing a backward baseball cap and spitting out the window and don't bother to wave a thank-you. You resolve to shrug and ignore them and get on with the process of moisturizing your soul.

    This is what you do. This is all you can do. Because, as always, you do not change the world by attacking it and hurling hot balls of fiery angst into its eyeballs.

    You change it by moving into yourself, peeling back the layers of accumulated BS and media hype and marketing PR and finger-wagging patriotic dogma, thwarting all efforts to confine your urge to color outside the lines. Man, they just hate it when you do that.


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