The Last American Penny
I am that I am[1]: the last American penny, an assortment of zinc and copper pressed into the image and likeness of my designers. I glance sideways at myself, carrying a symbol of upon my underbelly of democratic value. Yet, it is no soft parade for my ilk, no “gentle streets where children play,”[2] only the clang and clamor of countertops and piggy banks, activities which in short order have come to pass us and be gone. With 288 billion like me laying in pockets and ponds, my place—the place of the last American penny—will be the display case, an icon to an ideology peering out from history toward the furtherance of illusion.
Ideologies get tweaked with time: foaming up through decades to be empirically identified via their subscribers, settling down again to sleep in numbers and nostalgia. Valuable to those defining value, significant for a wish or two; or perhaps your baby teeth, I become invaluable only when the last of my kind passes through this languid epoch.
“Perfect,” the well-dressed man in spectacles and a white pressed shirt begins. “It is the law of supply and demand at work and you my friend have outlived your usefulness.”
He said, “Perfect.” The sister of omni-benevolence.
He said, “Supply and demand.” The magical law which spins the world.
He said, “Usefulness.” The axis on which a season finds its light.
The well-dressed man continues. “And to think a single one of you would get me a bushel of bananas across the sea or an audience for King Lear not so long ago.” He turns me over in his hand as I consider the last great savant of man:
“…there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord.” [3]
“Are the lawyers truly dead?”[4] I muse between his oily fingers. “Is there no chance for some of me to rub off on him, some piece that cannot be washed away with constructionist soap?”
I feel slick and impermeable, so masterfully held together that he would need ten-thousand fingers to the remove the first spec of me. Bananas, brooms, or abbot’s bottoms; no one can say anything about my placement save the one with whom I find utility, to which this aged collector most certainly exemplifies with showcased plans.
He said, “Across the sea.” Those pesky other countries for which he feels apt to judge my measure. Yet, there is more to me than them that use me, more to me than the shallow jelly jars in the back of the tent revival, more to me than the words in the Koran or the numbered gray hairs on his balding head, and more to me than this aged President to spend his days peering listless behind sealed glass with sanguine jaws.
“His knowledge must at least enable him to explain and account for what is, or he is an insufficient judge of what ought to be.” [5]
What ought to be. Indeed, who better the judge than the copper which man pitches gleefully toward false hope? Who better than the "least of these" in naked prisons and empty store shelves in foreign lands?
How alike we must be, the God in whom we trust and the last American penny! The faith that moves us from utility to spectacle, from one man’s brain to another’s active hands, from anecdotal definition to a daily efficacy is certainly no wider than a church door.
Buying and selling could just as easily be founded on the length of one’s toenails—what precisely is this terrible magic to which we are bewitched? Who needs the pressed metal, or the clamor of rudimentary, unverified economic law? Who needs the higher ideals of the divine? And why should any idea of man move its way from the appreciative gawk of shadows cast on cave walls toward the authenticated dream of men so embroidered in banks and steeples?
I am the geophysical manifestation of a belief. “I am that I am.”
[1] Exodus 3:14
[2] The Doors, “The Soft Parade” (1969)
[3] Act IV, Scene II
[4] Ibid.
[5] John Stewart Mill, Essays on some unsettled questions of Political Economy. Essay V: “On the definition of Political Economy”
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Is Oliver Queen Redeemable? Tony Bedard answers.
Anyone who knows me at all knows I'm a Green Arrow fan, big time. Oliver Queen is loud, proud, and idealistic. He's also obnoxious, over-zealous, and cocky. For the past five years, fans of this DC Comics character have had nothing to be a fan of.
Oliver walked out on his infant son and lied about it for years. Oliver participated in erasing Batman's memory and lied about it for years. He rekindled an old love, and subsequently cheated on her shortly after. Apparently still sexually unsatisfied, he proceeded to have sex with a fellow hero's wife. He scammed illegal stocks. He was ousted from his mayorship for a scandal. He failed to create a new Justice League when the old one was abandoned. He was defeated in almost every battle in his own title for half a decade. He allowed the city he was protecting to be destroyed. He followed dead lead, after dead lead thanks to a two year, yet unfinished story written by Judd Winick.
Oliver is the crapper. He went from being a proud, idealistic champion of the poor and disenfranchised, to a floating turd in the corner of the DC Comics Universe. Most fans were ready to see him get flushed. Again. You see, DC killed him off once before. I guess they didn't like the direction the character was going. (As if the current scene is much improved). DC never raised Ollie from the dead. They propped up his corpse and started throwing darts at it.
But just as fans were ready to pull the lever, along comes Tony Bedard (and Andy Diggle, but that comes in another blog). Bedard recently completed his four part story arc: Black Canary. The Black Canary is Oliver's lover returned yet again to her wayward and cheating man. It was a good story-- if you are a Green Arrow fan.
Backstory
Green Arrow completed writer Judd Winick's miserable run of stories by asking Black Canary to marry him. Fans wondered why any woman would ever return to such a louse of a man. Readers who know Oliver Queen prior to 2003 know exactly why she'd love him. But in a shallow attempt to redeem the character assassination heaped on Oliver's head over the last half decade, DC Comics gave fans a whiner baby Ollie who begs for his woman's life on bended knee, while the villain rests a fully erect sword in Black Canary's mouth (the symbolism was beyond insulting... and I'm not even a Dinah fan). Less severe, but also insulting was the cowering Green Arrow begging for mercy.
Obviously the current staff at DC Comics, and especially Judd Winick, don't understand Green Arrow or Oliver Queen. Thanks to a 12-million dollar ex-machina plot ending, replete with magic Justice League evaporation buttons, Ollie and Dinah live to see another day. That made for the fourth time Green Arrow had to be rescued in his own title during Mr. Winick's tenure on the Green Arrow title. Insulting, but par for the course. I actually believed that Judd would have Ollie save the day, to make up for his miserable run, but instead I got served a cry-baby Ollie who could nothing but sit and watch a villain molest his lover's mouth with a shiny sword.
Oliver proposed shortly after the rescue, and Dinah needed time to think it over. What woman would even consider it after such a manly display while she was victimized? Not to mention the cheating, the lying, the stealing, and the utter impotence that DC has allowed Oliver Queen to become... but
Enter Tony Bedard
The Black Canary mini (which in all reality should have been about Dinah with that title) gave readers a glimmer of hope in the cesspool of Oliver Queen's life. Ollie is patient in awaiting Dinah's answer. He befriends the little girl (named Sin) that Dinah has taken under her wing to raise in order to protect her from a life a violence. Ollie's old qualities begin to glimmer in issue #2 -- he is humorous, passionate, and hopeful. So much so that even a child raised in violence finds a way to love him. Dinah jokingly chalks it up to the girl being a bad judge of character.
Apparently a plot has been hatched to reclaim the young girl (a martial arts prodigy) and replace her in the League of Assassins and their future leader. Dinah is set up by her ex-husband who is being paid off by Merlyn, one of the few rogues in Green Arrow history that has had any staying power. The plan is to place Sin in a school thereby making Dinah feel safe before launching a kidnapping attempt.
The plan works, and in issue #3 we see Oliver trying to persuade Dinah into calling in the Justice League for assistance. Dinah wipes the floor with Oliver and runs off to face the baddies solo. Meanwhile, Oliver and his new ward (an HIV-infected, former prostitute) hatch a plan to keep the League of Assassins off their backs for good. They intend to fake the death of Sin, and escort her out of the country to the monastery where Oliver Queen and his son received training.
In issue #4, we see the plan in its entirety. Oliver fakes Sin's death by shooting a seemingly wayward arrow at the support cables that were lowering Sin to safety in an escape boat. Dinah is crushed and an onslaught of the enraged Canary begins, injuring everyone aboard, including Oliver.
When the dust settles, Dinah is shown throwing her engagement ring in the trash can. Ollie approaches and asks Dinah to read a letter, written by Sin in her knew home. She launches into a dialogue with Oliver about how selfish his life truly has become, but notes that he was willing to risk everything to get Sin to safety. She suggests that for once he wasn't doing something for Oliver, he was thinking of others. She digs the ring from the garbage and accepts.
What I thought... The PROS
1. It was a "five star" Green Arrow story in a Black Canary wrapping. Now that doesn't bother me at all, but I can see where the Canary fans might be disappointed. Black Canary has grown strong since leaving Oliver. She remade herself, earned the respect of her peers, and now heads the most powerful fighting force in the DC Comics Universe: the Justice League. Moving back to Oliver is a step back for her...
...but I suggest that it never had to be. It's a step backward for her because DC Comics allowed this once noble, thoughtful, and self-sacrificing emerald archer to be drug through the muck.
2. Green Arrow deserves a story like this. Canary fans get great stories month after month in Birds of Prey, thanks to a writer (Gail Simone) that actually loves her heroes more than her villains. Canary fans get to see their hero lead the Justice League-- they watch as she wields as much influence over the DC Comics Universe as Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.
Green Arrow fans don't have squat. They have a miserable solo title that continually makes Oliver Queen the laughing stock of the DCU. Even writers in other titles cannot help but take pot shots at Oliver and his ruined character. I think he is sometimes mentioned just to get an extra laugh in these days.
3. Tony "gets" Green Arrow, at least much better than any of the last several writers that were allowed to use his name in a story. He reminds us what is worth loving about this slandered character.
4. The art is good, especially the fight sequences in the final issue.
5. Although I don't like Sin being removed from the family unit, fans can rejoice that Judd Winick will not have her at his disposal with the new series, Green Arrow / Black Canary.
What I Thought... THE CONS
1. Removing Sin from the new family unit takes away some potential development and interesting story dynamics that would be available to future writers.
2. The first few pages of this mini are a flashback. Oliver is shown to be a complete jerk in no uncertain terms. Nothing like what I've read of the old Green Arrow offerings. More like casting Judd Winick's idea of GA backward into history. It was a pretty disgusting start. Even so, the portrayal wasn't enough to keep this story arc from getting five full stars for me. The rest of Bedard's story silenced my inner critic.
3. Dinah's speech to Oliver in the final issue before she accepts the ring. I guess it had to happen, but I would remind Tony and readers, that Oliver has NEVER been all about himself until this past decade of writers began butchering him. You might could accuse him of being about the higher ideals at the expense of those closest to him, but you could never justify him caring only about himself. In fact, his mistake with Roy was about him caring too much about everyone else and wanting to help others so much that he neglected his responsibility to care for his ward.
Nothing in the CON section was enough to take away from the fun of this story arc. Of course, I'm a die-hard Green Arrow fan, so I could see no other way.
Is Oliver Queen redeemable? Tony Bedard answers...
YES!
He gives fans the best Green Arrow reading since Kevin Smith started writing. He shows us what is worth loving about Oliver Queen. He launches us forward in a hopeful direction....
Ooops. As I was waxing prophetic I forgot to mention: the title goes right back to Judd Winick. I guess I'll be reading other people's blogs to see what happens, because I've jumped ship on Winick's Green Arrow, after 30 long years of collecting all things Queen. It's really gotten that bad.
But between Bedard and Diggle, I got a great Green Arrow fix that hopefully will outlast Winick on the new title.
Oliver walked out on his infant son and lied about it for years. Oliver participated in erasing Batman's memory and lied about it for years. He rekindled an old love, and subsequently cheated on her shortly after. Apparently still sexually unsatisfied, he proceeded to have sex with a fellow hero's wife. He scammed illegal stocks. He was ousted from his mayorship for a scandal. He failed to create a new Justice League when the old one was abandoned. He was defeated in almost every battle in his own title for half a decade. He allowed the city he was protecting to be destroyed. He followed dead lead, after dead lead thanks to a two year, yet unfinished story written by Judd Winick.
Oliver is the crapper. He went from being a proud, idealistic champion of the poor and disenfranchised, to a floating turd in the corner of the DC Comics Universe. Most fans were ready to see him get flushed. Again. You see, DC killed him off once before. I guess they didn't like the direction the character was going. (As if the current scene is much improved). DC never raised Ollie from the dead. They propped up his corpse and started throwing darts at it.
But just as fans were ready to pull the lever, along comes Tony Bedard (and Andy Diggle, but that comes in another blog). Bedard recently completed his four part story arc: Black Canary. The Black Canary is Oliver's lover returned yet again to her wayward and cheating man. It was a good story-- if you are a Green Arrow fan.
Backstory
Green Arrow completed writer Judd Winick's miserable run of stories by asking Black Canary to marry him. Fans wondered why any woman would ever return to such a louse of a man. Readers who know Oliver Queen prior to 2003 know exactly why she'd love him. But in a shallow attempt to redeem the character assassination heaped on Oliver's head over the last half decade, DC Comics gave fans a whiner baby Ollie who begs for his woman's life on bended knee, while the villain rests a fully erect sword in Black Canary's mouth (the symbolism was beyond insulting... and I'm not even a Dinah fan). Less severe, but also insulting was the cowering Green Arrow begging for mercy.
Obviously the current staff at DC Comics, and especially Judd Winick, don't understand Green Arrow or Oliver Queen. Thanks to a 12-million dollar ex-machina plot ending, replete with magic Justice League evaporation buttons, Ollie and Dinah live to see another day. That made for the fourth time Green Arrow had to be rescued in his own title during Mr. Winick's tenure on the Green Arrow title. Insulting, but par for the course. I actually believed that Judd would have Ollie save the day, to make up for his miserable run, but instead I got served a cry-baby Ollie who could nothing but sit and watch a villain molest his lover's mouth with a shiny sword.
Oliver proposed shortly after the rescue, and Dinah needed time to think it over. What woman would even consider it after such a manly display while she was victimized? Not to mention the cheating, the lying, the stealing, and the utter impotence that DC has allowed Oliver Queen to become... but
Enter Tony Bedard
The Black Canary mini (which in all reality should have been about Dinah with that title) gave readers a glimmer of hope in the cesspool of Oliver Queen's life. Ollie is patient in awaiting Dinah's answer. He befriends the little girl (named Sin) that Dinah has taken under her wing to raise in order to protect her from a life a violence. Ollie's old qualities begin to glimmer in issue #2 -- he is humorous, passionate, and hopeful. So much so that even a child raised in violence finds a way to love him. Dinah jokingly chalks it up to the girl being a bad judge of character.
Apparently a plot has been hatched to reclaim the young girl (a martial arts prodigy) and replace her in the League of Assassins and their future leader. Dinah is set up by her ex-husband who is being paid off by Merlyn, one of the few rogues in Green Arrow history that has had any staying power. The plan is to place Sin in a school thereby making Dinah feel safe before launching a kidnapping attempt.
The plan works, and in issue #3 we see Oliver trying to persuade Dinah into calling in the Justice League for assistance. Dinah wipes the floor with Oliver and runs off to face the baddies solo. Meanwhile, Oliver and his new ward (an HIV-infected, former prostitute) hatch a plan to keep the League of Assassins off their backs for good. They intend to fake the death of Sin, and escort her out of the country to the monastery where Oliver Queen and his son received training.
In issue #4, we see the plan in its entirety. Oliver fakes Sin's death by shooting a seemingly wayward arrow at the support cables that were lowering Sin to safety in an escape boat. Dinah is crushed and an onslaught of the enraged Canary begins, injuring everyone aboard, including Oliver.
When the dust settles, Dinah is shown throwing her engagement ring in the trash can. Ollie approaches and asks Dinah to read a letter, written by Sin in her knew home. She launches into a dialogue with Oliver about how selfish his life truly has become, but notes that he was willing to risk everything to get Sin to safety. She suggests that for once he wasn't doing something for Oliver, he was thinking of others. She digs the ring from the garbage and accepts.
What I thought... The PROS
1. It was a "five star" Green Arrow story in a Black Canary wrapping. Now that doesn't bother me at all, but I can see where the Canary fans might be disappointed. Black Canary has grown strong since leaving Oliver. She remade herself, earned the respect of her peers, and now heads the most powerful fighting force in the DC Comics Universe: the Justice League. Moving back to Oliver is a step back for her...
...but I suggest that it never had to be. It's a step backward for her because DC Comics allowed this once noble, thoughtful, and self-sacrificing emerald archer to be drug through the muck.
2. Green Arrow deserves a story like this. Canary fans get great stories month after month in Birds of Prey, thanks to a writer (Gail Simone) that actually loves her heroes more than her villains. Canary fans get to see their hero lead the Justice League-- they watch as she wields as much influence over the DC Comics Universe as Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.
Green Arrow fans don't have squat. They have a miserable solo title that continually makes Oliver Queen the laughing stock of the DCU. Even writers in other titles cannot help but take pot shots at Oliver and his ruined character. I think he is sometimes mentioned just to get an extra laugh in these days.
3. Tony "gets" Green Arrow, at least much better than any of the last several writers that were allowed to use his name in a story. He reminds us what is worth loving about this slandered character.
4. The art is good, especially the fight sequences in the final issue.
5. Although I don't like Sin being removed from the family unit, fans can rejoice that Judd Winick will not have her at his disposal with the new series, Green Arrow / Black Canary.
What I Thought... THE CONS
1. Removing Sin from the new family unit takes away some potential development and interesting story dynamics that would be available to future writers.
2. The first few pages of this mini are a flashback. Oliver is shown to be a complete jerk in no uncertain terms. Nothing like what I've read of the old Green Arrow offerings. More like casting Judd Winick's idea of GA backward into history. It was a pretty disgusting start. Even so, the portrayal wasn't enough to keep this story arc from getting five full stars for me. The rest of Bedard's story silenced my inner critic.
3. Dinah's speech to Oliver in the final issue before she accepts the ring. I guess it had to happen, but I would remind Tony and readers, that Oliver has NEVER been all about himself until this past decade of writers began butchering him. You might could accuse him of being about the higher ideals at the expense of those closest to him, but you could never justify him caring only about himself. In fact, his mistake with Roy was about him caring too much about everyone else and wanting to help others so much that he neglected his responsibility to care for his ward.
Nothing in the CON section was enough to take away from the fun of this story arc. Of course, I'm a die-hard Green Arrow fan, so I could see no other way.
Is Oliver Queen redeemable? Tony Bedard answers...
YES!
He gives fans the best Green Arrow reading since Kevin Smith started writing. He shows us what is worth loving about Oliver Queen. He launches us forward in a hopeful direction....
Ooops. As I was waxing prophetic I forgot to mention: the title goes right back to Judd Winick. I guess I'll be reading other people's blogs to see what happens, because I've jumped ship on Winick's Green Arrow, after 30 long years of collecting all things Queen. It's really gotten that bad.
But between Bedard and Diggle, I got a great Green Arrow fix that hopefully will outlast Winick on the new title.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Eyes Wide Open
My cat died a couple of nights ago. We live in a family of four and we've had numerous cats over the last 10 years, but this one was mine.
I named him Bugsy, after the musical Bugsy Malone and the mythical gangster. I found the whole film to be confusing, but no less amusing as a young child. I admired the main character Bugsy Malone for his ability to walk the line.
My recently departed cat, Bugsy, and his brothers were dumped near a public garbage receptacle. They were barely weaned off mom's milk and clear signs of starvation had set in. Six brothers in all were abandoned and Bugsy was the runt.
A few of us at my place of employment divided up the cats to provide them with a good home. I took two. At first, I was only going to take one cat, but no one wanted Bugsy. He was the most sickly looking of the group. I took him home and on the drive, he and his brother climbed my legs and perched themselves on either shoulder.
Bugsy was an introverted cat with a personality much like my own. He could care less if you were in the room, he just kept doing his own thing and although he was a very loving cat, he could be accused of being anti-social. That's probably common to most cats, but Bugsy was a bit extreme.
At the age of five, his brother contracted a lung infection and died. The product, I'm certain, of having been dumped and malnourished as a kitten. We lost five other cats during the seven years we owned Bugsy. One very recently was struck by a car; he likely died while looking for another one of cats who vanished, we had another one vanish (probably a coyote), and the family favorite Maxx, was I believe also taken by a coyote.
Bugsy was a survivor. Each death effected him I think, but no car or coyote was ever going to get him. He was too cautious and too smart. He always faced life, challenges, and the outdoors with both eyes bugging out, wide open.
About three months ago, Bugsy developed a leaky heart. It started as chest congestion and later the blood moved into his stomach. Last week, he started vomiting blood. The vets said there wasn't much we could do, but they offered us some medicine to attempt regulating the leak. Bugsy hated medicine. He was like an old man who refused it with all his might. We'd find the pills all over the house where he'd hack them back up after we forced them down his throat.
A couple of days ago it looked like Bugsy wasn't going to make it through the week. He had hacked up some really large blood clots, lost half his weight, and wouldn't even get up to use the bathroom. I grew up around animals, so I knew what was coming.
I took him to the vet with every intention of putting him down. When the doctor brought in the paper work for me to sign to end his life, Bugsy sprung to life. He purred and nuzzled up on me, looking up with those buggy eyes wide open. I couldn't do it. He didn't want me to do it. So, I took him home and fixed him a place by the window. Around midnight, I headed to bed. I stopped and stroked him a few times, he looked really bad, but comfortable.
I'm a very sound sleeper and almost never awake in the middle of the night unless something is out of order. My kids come into my room and my wife gets up without me ever knowing some nights. But I heard a sound around 3:40 in the morning. Instinctively, I knew it was my cat.
Bugsy was stretched out in the spasms of death. His breathing was quick and labored. I knelt down beside him and began stroking his fur. Within 30 seconds he passed very peacefully. He was waiting for me, I knew.
At first, I felt guilty that I didn't put him down that morning. I wondered if I made him suffer needlessly. But I think that Bugsy wanted to die his own way, on his own time. That's the kind of cat he was. He died with his eyes wide open, just like he lived his life: head-on and self-assured. It was a good death. If only we could all be that lucky.
Early that morning a dug a hole out back. I carried his stiffening body there and curled him up in the hole. As I folded him neatly inside, a pocket of trapped air emerged in growl. I jumped back startled and frightened. His eyes were still wide open, and he held a last breath and a last message the grave... a deep, maddening growl. Head-on, self assured, eyes wide open, and growling at death with his last breath. If only we could all be that brave.
I named him Bugsy, after the musical Bugsy Malone and the mythical gangster. I found the whole film to be confusing, but no less amusing as a young child. I admired the main character Bugsy Malone for his ability to walk the line.
My recently departed cat, Bugsy, and his brothers were dumped near a public garbage receptacle. They were barely weaned off mom's milk and clear signs of starvation had set in. Six brothers in all were abandoned and Bugsy was the runt.
A few of us at my place of employment divided up the cats to provide them with a good home. I took two. At first, I was only going to take one cat, but no one wanted Bugsy. He was the most sickly looking of the group. I took him home and on the drive, he and his brother climbed my legs and perched themselves on either shoulder.
Bugsy was an introverted cat with a personality much like my own. He could care less if you were in the room, he just kept doing his own thing and although he was a very loving cat, he could be accused of being anti-social. That's probably common to most cats, but Bugsy was a bit extreme.
At the age of five, his brother contracted a lung infection and died. The product, I'm certain, of having been dumped and malnourished as a kitten. We lost five other cats during the seven years we owned Bugsy. One very recently was struck by a car; he likely died while looking for another one of cats who vanished, we had another one vanish (probably a coyote), and the family favorite Maxx, was I believe also taken by a coyote.
Bugsy was a survivor. Each death effected him I think, but no car or coyote was ever going to get him. He was too cautious and too smart. He always faced life, challenges, and the outdoors with both eyes bugging out, wide open.
About three months ago, Bugsy developed a leaky heart. It started as chest congestion and later the blood moved into his stomach. Last week, he started vomiting blood. The vets said there wasn't much we could do, but they offered us some medicine to attempt regulating the leak. Bugsy hated medicine. He was like an old man who refused it with all his might. We'd find the pills all over the house where he'd hack them back up after we forced them down his throat.
A couple of days ago it looked like Bugsy wasn't going to make it through the week. He had hacked up some really large blood clots, lost half his weight, and wouldn't even get up to use the bathroom. I grew up around animals, so I knew what was coming.
I took him to the vet with every intention of putting him down. When the doctor brought in the paper work for me to sign to end his life, Bugsy sprung to life. He purred and nuzzled up on me, looking up with those buggy eyes wide open. I couldn't do it. He didn't want me to do it. So, I took him home and fixed him a place by the window. Around midnight, I headed to bed. I stopped and stroked him a few times, he looked really bad, but comfortable.
I'm a very sound sleeper and almost never awake in the middle of the night unless something is out of order. My kids come into my room and my wife gets up without me ever knowing some nights. But I heard a sound around 3:40 in the morning. Instinctively, I knew it was my cat.
Bugsy was stretched out in the spasms of death. His breathing was quick and labored. I knelt down beside him and began stroking his fur. Within 30 seconds he passed very peacefully. He was waiting for me, I knew.
At first, I felt guilty that I didn't put him down that morning. I wondered if I made him suffer needlessly. But I think that Bugsy wanted to die his own way, on his own time. That's the kind of cat he was. He died with his eyes wide open, just like he lived his life: head-on and self-assured. It was a good death. If only we could all be that lucky.
Early that morning a dug a hole out back. I carried his stiffening body there and curled him up in the hole. As I folded him neatly inside, a pocket of trapped air emerged in growl. I jumped back startled and frightened. His eyes were still wide open, and he held a last breath and a last message the grave... a deep, maddening growl. Head-on, self assured, eyes wide open, and growling at death with his last breath. If only we could all be that brave.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
20/20 Vision... 20 Years?
A 20 year reunion. It's been 20 long years since high school. I don't feel a bit different now than I did then... but am I? After a few conversations, I know that I am different. Who can really say if a person changes over time? Who is the best judge? After all, I look in the mirror each day and see me... the changes are slow and subtle. I hardly notice them. Someone who hasn't seen me in 20 years, things tend to look a bit different to them.
The Chinese used to have a form of execution known as "Death by a thousand cuts."
The idea is pretty barbaric and basic; it's nothing short of torture and has been long since outlawed, although it continued for years after. The idea itself carries meaning, both for the convicted and the executioner.
First, we should examine the convicted. Perhaps in certain occasions, ones in which a human being has committed the most vile of crimes, a person could condone torture. More often that not, the process was probably inordinately cruel and even after being outlawed was rumored to have been applied to Christian missionaries at the turn of the last century.
I look back on my life and fully recognize that I lack 20/20 vision of my high school experience. After all, it's been 20 years. But time has a way of reckoning the past, and my personal development has stemmed from a thousand cuts... each one a little deeper, even gashes that carved out whole new places in which my soul has learned to settle into the vacuum of each removed piece.
Some of the slashes are mere wrinkles, a receding hairline on its way out for a pass from a quarterback that never throws the ball, or even shades of gray appearing in locks of hair from the front to the back like the surface of lake at the end of a cloudy sunset. Others are deeper cuts and they seldom show themselves apart from a detailed conversation about the journey life takes each of us through.
The victim is itself the loss of innocence, though we seldom call it such. It is that idealistic belief that true love never dies, that justice and goodness win the battles against our prejudices, our fears, and apathy. It doesn't seem like these notions of truth and beauty are capable of reduction beneath time's scalpel, but they are as vulnerable as the face and hair color. Our most noble ideas need not whither with time, but the death is slow and for many of us, it is often deliberate and hidden.
The second big idea around the death by a thousand cuts involves the role of the executioner. It is doubtless true that old saying, "You will always be your own worse enemy." The loss of innocence is a garden expulsion, to use biblical references. An expulsion involves a violation of the order of things. As life's rich and often painful experiences attack our psyches they offer to us choices. We can close up, we can open up and more often than not, we do both simultaneously.
As one door begins to shut and one slice penetrates the will, we are forced in turn to open another door. Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, there can be no new tree. So 20 years later, surrounded by my dearest friends, I am offered a light into the places I let close down... the victims I subjected to the death by a thousand cuts. Yet the loss of idealism and innocence is in fact the path to realism. We emerge stronger and better equipped to parent and to protect, to love with eyes wide open, and to stand above the grayish haze of life's finer ideas and evaluate their fitness for our human experiences. The door to truth opens wider-- no longer a naive Maxim which must be followed, instead truth becomes an intricate structure of being, which when lived and applied brings out a richer fruit.
The innocence beneath the executioner's blade then moves from a victim who is succumbing to torture to a patient who is undergoing surgery. I've learned to excise some of the parts of me which didn't function in a real world setting, and after a thousand cuts, I trust that these places have emerged from youth with something much different to offer my own waywardness and gullibility.
The strangest thing about looking back is the sinking feeling that comes from wondering if the surgery was really worth it. I think it probably was... but after an hour long chat with faces I've not seen in 20-years, the ghosts of childhood innocence begin their haunting and each clean cut begins to bleed again. On night's like this, I break out the scales and begin to evaluate which way the changes lean, not just for myself, but for my friends as well-- the ones present, and the ones absent.
I'm certain it is different for each of us. Our conversations and stories can only take us closer to seeing the fullness of our lives with 20/20 vision. I regret not having more time, more talks, and even more ghosts brought out to examine with a shimmering blade.
The Chinese used to have a form of execution known as "Death by a thousand cuts."
The idea is pretty barbaric and basic; it's nothing short of torture and has been long since outlawed, although it continued for years after. The idea itself carries meaning, both for the convicted and the executioner.
First, we should examine the convicted. Perhaps in certain occasions, ones in which a human being has committed the most vile of crimes, a person could condone torture. More often that not, the process was probably inordinately cruel and even after being outlawed was rumored to have been applied to Christian missionaries at the turn of the last century.
I look back on my life and fully recognize that I lack 20/20 vision of my high school experience. After all, it's been 20 years. But time has a way of reckoning the past, and my personal development has stemmed from a thousand cuts... each one a little deeper, even gashes that carved out whole new places in which my soul has learned to settle into the vacuum of each removed piece.
Some of the slashes are mere wrinkles, a receding hairline on its way out for a pass from a quarterback that never throws the ball, or even shades of gray appearing in locks of hair from the front to the back like the surface of lake at the end of a cloudy sunset. Others are deeper cuts and they seldom show themselves apart from a detailed conversation about the journey life takes each of us through.
The victim is itself the loss of innocence, though we seldom call it such. It is that idealistic belief that true love never dies, that justice and goodness win the battles against our prejudices, our fears, and apathy. It doesn't seem like these notions of truth and beauty are capable of reduction beneath time's scalpel, but they are as vulnerable as the face and hair color. Our most noble ideas need not whither with time, but the death is slow and for many of us, it is often deliberate and hidden.
The second big idea around the death by a thousand cuts involves the role of the executioner. It is doubtless true that old saying, "You will always be your own worse enemy." The loss of innocence is a garden expulsion, to use biblical references. An expulsion involves a violation of the order of things. As life's rich and often painful experiences attack our psyches they offer to us choices. We can close up, we can open up and more often than not, we do both simultaneously.
As one door begins to shut and one slice penetrates the will, we are forced in turn to open another door. Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, there can be no new tree. So 20 years later, surrounded by my dearest friends, I am offered a light into the places I let close down... the victims I subjected to the death by a thousand cuts. Yet the loss of idealism and innocence is in fact the path to realism. We emerge stronger and better equipped to parent and to protect, to love with eyes wide open, and to stand above the grayish haze of life's finer ideas and evaluate their fitness for our human experiences. The door to truth opens wider-- no longer a naive Maxim which must be followed, instead truth becomes an intricate structure of being, which when lived and applied brings out a richer fruit.
The innocence beneath the executioner's blade then moves from a victim who is succumbing to torture to a patient who is undergoing surgery. I've learned to excise some of the parts of me which didn't function in a real world setting, and after a thousand cuts, I trust that these places have emerged from youth with something much different to offer my own waywardness and gullibility.
The strangest thing about looking back is the sinking feeling that comes from wondering if the surgery was really worth it. I think it probably was... but after an hour long chat with faces I've not seen in 20-years, the ghosts of childhood innocence begin their haunting and each clean cut begins to bleed again. On night's like this, I break out the scales and begin to evaluate which way the changes lean, not just for myself, but for my friends as well-- the ones present, and the ones absent.
I'm certain it is different for each of us. Our conversations and stories can only take us closer to seeing the fullness of our lives with 20/20 vision. I regret not having more time, more talks, and even more ghosts brought out to examine with a shimmering blade.
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