The Clash Menagerie

Where I’m from, there’s a saying about folks, rocks and glass houses – maybe you heard it?

And right now, there are a lot of folks without any houses to live in.

Right now, there are a lot of folks who are dead. Will we ever, truly, know how many?

Right now, Sergeant Paul Accardo’s family, friends and colleagues are mourning his death. The New Orleans Police Department's chief media spokesman put a loaded gun in his mouth last week and pulled the trigger. He simply didn't want to live anymore.

And right now, I see stones flying left and right…I see stones being thrown with and without purpose…I see anger and dismay and rhetorical rage.

And it’s like the shattering of a glass house to me -- a thousands falling daggers – sharp, painful, hateful, cutting, destructive.

And I have to tell you kids, there’s a part of me that understands why Paul Accardo pulled that trigger.

Despite the overflow of compassionate and generous response from all corners of this planet, there’s an inhumanity about witnessing the destruction in the South that is simply staggering.

And I’m not talking about the staggering devastation from the storm itself. The continuing frenzy of media reports and blog entries and political accusations – despite their verity (or lack thereof) – are painful to watch, read and hear. At least they are for me. Perhaps I internalize things too much – identify with the losses too closely – feel that I should be doing more – and only wind up feeling detached and demoralized; pissed off, yet overly pious; fatigued – but totally restless.

And all I have is this damned blog as a vehicle for self expression. Because running around the streets muttering like this is bound to get me bound and gagged. Blog Interrupted – The Sequel.

I took some time off a while ago to go searching for a kinder, gentler, sober-er Rob – and just when I thought I’d found him by co-founding the United Church of Bitchitude and Latter-Day Drunks – a whirlwind of rain and wind and an onslaught of far crueler human vituperatude ( I know that’s not a word…neither was sober-er…so just play along) has left me feeling like I’m bleeding a slow-death from a thousand little cuts.

I thought it was clever – how the initials for the United Church of Bitchitude and Latter-Day Drunks was UCBLDD.

You see blood.

I don’t know about you, but when I see blood, I examine the wound and determine if it needs stitches or simply a bandage, or I determine if it can be ignored. Sometimes it just involves waiting, regardless of my choice of treatment – waiting to see if a trip to the Emergency Room is in order. NO! I’m not a cutter. I’m just a klutz.

Metaphorical or literal – this country has blood on it’s hands – and this waiting…this waiting…this waiting is more than I can bear. Right now, I cannot ignore the blood I see. But I feel so ineffectual…it’s like being thrown into the middle of an open heart operation, feeling like I should know what to do, because I got good grades in school and watched a couple of episodes of MASH, Trapper John, M.D., and E.R.

Some folks criticize blogs for being overly personal, for their inaccuracy, for their descent into me-me-me land…but sometimes they’re handy…like right now.

Tonight I was in a vicious mood -- the thought of talking to anybody about anything necessitated a bike ride across town, to find refuge in the middle of a busy coffee shop. The smoking section inside is full – as are all the tables outside on the sidewalk patio.

It’s crowded here tonight and the kids inside are playing pool. They’re laughing and giving each grief for being lousy pool players. Outside, the gay boys are flirting and looking all cute in the latest almost-fall fashions. The college girls are smoking cigarettes and talking shit about somebody. I think somebody got a boob-job over summer break. They keep making boob-like gestures. It’s enough to almost make me laugh.

Almost.

All around me, I see folks going about their lives, doing everyday normal things – and for some reason – I cannot.

I cannot find joy (for long) in the everyday. In the so-called normal. In what I used to like to do. Alone. Especially with friends.

It’s a very strange thing, indeed – to run into a crowd to find some time alone. To find peace of mind among noise and strangers.

I’m content in this coffee shop with its huge plate glass windows, its concrete floors, its greatest hits of the 80’s 90’s and today...
Shereef don't like it
Rockin' the Casbah
Rock the Casbah
Shereef don't like it
Rockin' the Casbah
Rock the Casbah

I’m content to watch life go on around me. To see folks living life with some humor, joy and companionship.

Sooner than later, I’ll be ready to walk outside again and resume life as normal.

I just hope that the wait is not too long.

Posted September 6, 2005 10:46 PM