Thu 20 Dec 2012
They are all my babies.
The thing with children is that I don’t really like them. They whine, and cry, and their noses run. The more I think about it, they are little vile disgusting creatures. They expect adults to feed them, and then to change their shitty diapers. Little drunken elves, really, they are a drain on society. While I do not like them much, I can honestly say that I do love children. I do believe they are the purest form of humanity.
For all of their bad habits, inside their souls, dwell some very important lessons. Lifestyles that I forgot about. Running as means of transportation. Evil Knievel Dare Devilry. Brutal honesty with no reverence to anyone’s feelings. And then there is the lever that is created between their hands and their elbows that allows them to propel a toy at my head at 45 -or more- miles per hour. Physics agrees with me, it is some kind of miracle ration equational proportion.
Children do not schedule vacations, they do not have to work out, and no dieting for them. They are always on vacation, always learning, absorbing their environments. They have but one evil adversary, and that is bedtime. What becomes of these beings? Why, they grow up and become us. Be someone you want all those babies to become. I try not to be an asshole, I know it is contagious.
If I am doing a good job at life, all the babies are my babies. The crying ones, the snotty ones, the super heroes flying in the grocery stores, they are all my babies. I am supposed to protect them even if it doesn’t always work. Keep trying. Look those little sons of bitches in the eye. Trick them. Sing and dance with them. If a wide eyed little guy looks at me and throws an imaginary spiderman web at me, I let him trap me. Take that challenge. I wasn’t born all growed up, I made a mistake and chose to be all growed up.
The hardest thing about the tragedy last Friday, is to know that adults failed these children. This is not limited to those who lost their lives. It includes those who witnessed those atrocities. Brothers who lost sisters. A generation that won’t trust the adults who failed them. A failed nation that gathers around a talking box and repeats the stories it hears. A sick individual who needed mental help, as a child, who was once a wide eyed little boy, he was failed a long time ago.
We live in a nation that imprisons the mentally ill and the drug addicted as though it will help. This needs to change. We can change that. In the meantime, think about how you chose to talk about the tragedy with your children. They all now know, they aren’t safe. We can teach them to trust and regain their hope. Every single one of those little vile disgusting creatures they can all be taught what love is. They all know what a smile is. Change those babies one at a time. Smile. Dance. Magic. Make Noise.
Dance While the Sky Crashes Down
(c)1999 by Jason Webley
The flowers by your bed are wilting.
The sun is setting in the west.
A fog is covering your eyes,
Your stockings are attracting flies,
Decay is nibbling at the boards on which you rest.
There’s someone waiting at your window,
Familiar face without a name.
One night he’ll creep in like the mist,
To touch your forehead with a kiss,
And lead you back into the void from whence you came.
We’ve all begun to die, and don’t know what to do.
Since it hurts to pray to God, when God is dying too.
Takes strength to laugh, when you start to drown.
And we dance while the sky crashes down.
Like that the earth begins to quiver,
And all the oceans turn to black.
A ship of maniacs with knives,
Are playing Blackjack with their lives,
To kill the time until the giant rats attack.
It’s raining leprosy and acid.
The saints were taken out and shot.
When someone proffers you a pear,
You sink your teeth in unaware,
That just beneath the skin lies pestilence and rot.
All that now breathes, and all that you love,
All that we weave, will find its way back to the dust.
A band of skeletons is playing,
Don’t act like you don’t know the tune.
Your part is echoed in the path,
Of every dead leaf blowing past,
Against a counterpoint reflected off the moon.
There is a banquet at the table,
Exotic cheeses wines and cakes.
And every one of us is damned,
Until we start to understand,
That living is to gorge ourselves at our own wakes.
When the stakes are high, best to play the clown.
And we dance while the sky crashes down.