Friday, January 17, 2003 :::
 

Ok here it is; this is why I write. I am angry, really mad, belligerent, and disgusted. I wake up in the morning just full of it and not in a nice way, not in a lady like way, not in the way a woman in her middle thirties should be angry; I want to stomp, I want to scream, I want to throw rocks at something, I want a can of spray paint so that I can write graffiti and mar some public monument, somewhere. I want to riot, I want to object. It is not Christian like, or Buddha like, it’s not Martin Luther King Jr. like, and it isn’t nice and I don’t want to be nice when I write. It’s not peaceful civil disobedience; it’s more like I am screaming, stomping, spitting, cursing, mad; Up against the wall you mother fuckers, NOW!

I don’t know who or what I am angry at really, government, culture, racism, or economic disparities between the third world and us, and God won’t let me stay angry at life. Every time I try to blame God, I see a flock of ducks in the sky, wings skimming air to back ground of a pink lavender blue-gray sunrise and I catch my breath and my madness fades as they disappear into the distance, or the sunlight catches dew between the branches of a dogwood and bounces off my kitchen window and makes even the soap suds and last night’s undone dishes shine like holy objects in my sink and I know I could never stay mad at the ultimate creator; movie special effects seem tacky and space shuttles look like children with mud, dirt, and rusty old wagons, when every sunset is brilliant, bright, pastel or full sky like artist oil pallet and every beautiful season passes with changing colors and every day I see something new.

::: posted by melanie at 7:30 AM