Anne Coulter, put the crack pipe down....

Excuse me? Since when does the walking hate crime herself get to call victim here? She was scheduled to speak at the university of Ottowa, and they had to CANCEL her engagement since the protest outside was bordering on riot. The entire reasons she’s calling foul here is because the University official overseeing her speech sent her an email stating that she should use ‘respect’ when metering her words because the hate crime laws are more strict in Canada than they are here.

Ok, so this guy is trying to be nice and warn her off of getting arrested and causing an international incident because of her inability to not spout lies, and she’s bitching? Classy, Anne, in your classic classy fashion, you hopeless degenerate scarecrow.

This is just one more symptom of the festering cancer that is what’s left of the GOP. They are in shambles as a group, fractioning off within the confines of the far right into varies grades of violence, lunacy, and bigoted hypocrisy. They honestly will fight long and hard against anything this President says or does, even if it is exactly what the people need/want. They care nothing for the people, they care about telling the people what they want and need, not letting them make up their own minds based on actual fact. It’s amazing to me the amount of abject bullshit these people will just make up on the fly and call it fact. From the birthers (wow, fail) to the Tea Baggers (still laughing) to the right wing in general, these people are dangerous. Their ideas are poison, and they sit gleefully steeped in their own hatred, refusing anything even resembling reason.

Then you have the riot inciters, the Rush’s and Glenn’s and Anne’s of the far right that love nothing more than being loud and obnoxious and spouting absolute shit, anything to get attention, money, and make people squirm. There’s a word for that: Bully. And we all know how I feel about bullies. I request no violence toward these people. I request only that they be held responsible for the words they say, for the hate they spread, and for the people who’s lives are trampled under the tiny but spiked heel that is the Wingnut Militia within the US. They were more than happy to let the government have full reign when it was their side on top. Now the tiny barking minority is crying out for justice. Justice, you say? Let’s put you on trial for the murder of abortion doctors, the erosion of the middle class, the protesting at the funerals of soldiers (Westboro is a whole other line of thought that I will not dive into this round. Way too angry), screaming hate while their families grieve when all these men and women did was DIE FOR YOUR FREEDOM. Fuck you very much.

See, this is why I'm not allowed to have Henry Rollins' children. Short, highly intelligent, foul-mouthed, ANGRY, tattooed children with no neck to speak of who would take over the whole damn planet. no one needs little clones of me running around. Humanity just isn't ready for that much bottled rage. Vacation blog to follow soon! :)

Here it comes again.....

The sun has risen, the Fog has not. I listened in the Dreamtime to its rhythm and its rhythm, floating on its grey waves even as I stay anchored. A rock in a silver sea, the graffiti left behind a scar, a story, a memory, a song. It took me by the hand as it washed away the world. I wonder what else it has to share?

The sun is obscured, as if the day is merely and afterthought. The waterbeat rhythm still shifts my feet. I want to walk it back to its source. Not yet.

It hangs above the remaining snow and newly revealed grasses. It knows what we are coming to understand. All things end, and all things come back, and the stories between are worth telling, worth listening to, worth keeping. So too, then, are we.

Here it comes .....

The Fog rolls in like dragon’s breath, thick and rich and sweet. In the short walk from the train it has cast over the streets and between the buildings, so dense its hard to know that stranger drifting out of the grey mist before me. Is he from around here’ Does he know where here is? Do i? Curious.

The dreams com slow and wild, drifting in and out of the moving grey like figures on strings, the silver curtain the only veil between our worlds. What becomes of the ones caught still walking when the Fog lifts? This is the kind of night where people disappear and reappear at will, though by their own or another’s is a matter of perspective.

Ashen and expectant, it rolls on, beyond and through me. Dare I follow, either to its source of along its journey? Nah, I stay behind this time, drinking in the newcomers and watching that which is taken drift along, freer than it will ever be again. Perhaps one day I too will join it, but this night is not for me. I close the door just to, letting the Fog roll in as it Will. What stories have you brought to share tonight, Old Wise One? What more have you seen in the wide Worlds?