All Kinds of Fireworks!

Happy Fourth Everyone. Kim-Jong Il kicked off the festivities with a test of his long-range missile, the Taepodong-2, at about 2:32 pm today…(that kind that is supsected will eventually be able to hit Alaska or California – shout out to my Left Coast!)

After 35 seconds, it was a dud, off the coast of Japan. Was this a test meant to go into the Pacific? Will there be more tests? Does the U.S. see this as a first strike? Will we retaliate with nuking their launch pad and base?

The President has been strangely quiet today. I know, I know. It’s a holiday. But trust me, I’ve had jobs that didn’t even pay $30,000 a year where I was on call for holidays, we’re talking about the mother-fucking, President.

Isn’t he supposed to be like Dad? Get on the TV and don’t scare the kids with your tactical talk, just tell us that you know what we know. You know that someone is shooting off test rockets and trying to provoke us. Tell us you have it under control. Get out your little megaphone that you did that little skit with at Ground Zero and wear your Members Only jacket in a pile of rubble and make me feel safe, damn it!!!

Anyway, everyone thinks I’m neurotic and has asked me if I’m “okay.” I do have problems, fearing things that I can’t control. But more likely, it’s things that I can and can’t control. For example; flying. Yes, once that thing takes off, I am not in control. But if that plane starts to crash, I can think to myself, “Well, I could have controlled getting on the plane or not.” And I just can’t deal very well with that kind of mental torture.

However, the out-of-my-control-ness of a nuke, or a world where nukes are going off, even if it “doesn’t affect me” by hitting my street, I can handle. I don’t panic. I get sad. I’ve made peace with my maker and I know I’m a good and imperfect person. I’m not worried about pain or some after-life Hell. But I get sad. I’d like a chance here, if that makes sense.

For the most part, I look around, walk around, talk to and meet awesome and interesting people all the time. Right now some socially awkward girl is playing violin with dirty fingernails in her room and she has no friends, right now some girl is trying to fit in with the popular girls, sitting around making fun of that violin girl with her friends, knowing it feels kind of nasty. Right now some jock is wrestling (no pun!) with the fact that he’s gay. Sorry if this sounds like that weird Van Halen song. Anyway my point is, we’re all suckers, losers, weirdos, ugly, gorgeous, interesting, boring, artistic, stunted people. I love us all. It’s a beautiful day here in California. Hot, sunny, blue sky, palm trees, no work.

And some world leaders, just a handful, less world leaders exist than people who live on my street and THEY ARE IN CHARGE. They just are. Wow. Okay. I’ll sit back. But I can’t say I won’t get sad if I don’t get to grow up more, get old, get sick, watch people I know change, see if my dreams ever come true. Or see if they already have and I just never knew it. Sad. Sad. Sad. And then…a little angry. That’s always fun. FUCK YOU. You true and real evil-doers. I don’t know how your energy became the “ruling class” but it’s not what most of us are made of. And we down here, know it. And we’ll always have each other no matter what you throw at us. And because I’m not evil, I still hope that you sick fucks in charge, get whatever your heart desires, whatever need you have that is so sick and deep that death to millions and putting just pure, ugly on this beautiful planet solves for you, I hope you find it. I’m glad I don’t suffer as badly as you must.

Oh. P.S. I started a thing called “Letters to George.” My therapist told me to blog about how I hate and resent my President because he makes me feel unsafe and out of control (sort of how I felt in childhood.) So, I decided to not blog about it, but to write him one letter a week, until he’s out of office, letting him know who I am, how I feel and etc. I’ve already mailed the first one. It would make my day if someone from somewhere knocked on my door and told me to cut it out. We’ll see.


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