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April 2005: Confessions of an Imaginary Line | |||||||||||||||||||||
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Funerals and waiting for funerals. March came like a lion, how ever it is that the innocent remain. Over fourteen days, the epic of Terri Schiavo unfolded spastic and baited. Mega-meme generators churned “news” on an empty stomach, or at least, the presumption of hunger. The apparition: a video clip of Terri Schiavo, replayed until, it can only be imagined, that the precipice of her conscious and conscience---would become apparent to the uninvited into the family tragedy. From the margins came this story of Terri, she, one who cared enough to mention, she wouldn’t be taking the TV when she was “gone”. A family Dub’-ate, as what went to the margins in the national dialogue, as the only other kind of dying one can do unchecked; is the mysterious fate of twenty-six captured enemy combatants that bliPPed. Then too, the drilling and exploration of the Alaskan Wildlife Refuge sneak wrapped through congress. Another earthquake in southeast Asia, and the coffins of dead soldiers. There will be resurrections and rumors of resurrections. If only we were cannibals we might, feel fed. Measuring fifteen days wide, meme generators framed the questions, drew imaginary lines. Have you written a living will (Now that tort reform legislation has passed)? Have you discussed your option to end medical care at an agreed upon time? (As your health care providers draw dollar signs on drop ceilings, then pull them back unveiling a beautiful time share heaven) The right-wing “agenda” is working, are you satisfied with a multi-million dollar machine that intends to do your living for you---if you can’t.Certain, edited, the spools of tracing paper headlinss. Ladies and gentleman, to your chest, anode and cathode! To your chest pledge without a resuscitation order: Until this woman dies…until this woman dies… Some abated, but beneath the breath of those caught in the spectacle, a murmur arose; “ Perhaps Terri would die on Easter?” Corrections were made, Good Friday /shouldwould have been the day. It got no further. Here is the secret, (14th century. Via French, from Latin secretus, “separate, hidden,” from secernere,) those involved were not concerned with apparitions, rather, appearances, re-appearances. That you believe in ghost is (w)holy, a private matter. 14th century. From Latin privatus, the past participle of privare: not for others, secluded, personal, not public, acting in personal capacity, nongovernmental, reserved and secretive, not understandable by everyone, lowest-ranking, in the old plural and also french: genitals. Adding to the definition of a word“the words” change in time, re-defining the dialogue here ---the term that could apply---is disingenuous. Her family welcomed and deserved no such attention. Despite waht was offered, it could have been avoided. Some people, like my brother John, doesn’t know about these goings on. He probably would know about the release of the video game “God of War” Most likely, has seen previews for a show on the new cable outlet, the Military Channel; a program about bombing exercises conducted at Nellis Air Force base that states cleanly “Less tribal councils, more explosions.” It could have been avoided, legislators of another time---could have foreseen situations that extend life, we could presume from recent events, they might have also, for the peac of the constitutional purists, better accounted for immortality. What's past is passed. The remainder, secrets that move on the edge of awareness and consent, like these from postsecret, a mail art project that invites people to share their most personal secrets via postcards, and publishes them online: "I was gang raped in college and turned into a slut almost immediately afterwards" "I regret every decision I’ve made except my abortion" "No
stressful job or rush hour traffic "I hate people who remind me of myself" "I talked someone into suicide" "While
others pray at church- --- Secret confession from postsecret.blogspot.com
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