Isn’t that a Monty Python song, or am I imagining things again.
You believe, as I do, that every human life has value, that the strong have a duty to protect the weak, and that the self-evident truths of the Declaration of Independence apply to everyone, not just to those considered healthy or wanted or convenient.
How like Dubya to spread a clause until it touches—just barely touches—upon the magic word. The trigger, the hot-button. The code in which he speaks, and in which they hear.
Healthy…okay, passable. Wanted…still room for debate. And then the sly death grip closes in on the terrible and bald-faced lie, “convenience.”
How damaged. How broken. Because really, the fair sex is condemned aforehand, and those with the sanity and the shovel might dig out to say a piece or two, but millions don’t.
You want to know where equality starts? About two, three thousand years ago. And it is categorically NOPH. (Not our problem, honey.) No matter that they imagine this, and try to imagine they do, the male gender cannot fully, ever, project their entire litany of cruddy thoughts onto the female. It just plain doesn’t work. He is not She.
And It makes less of a man of whomever tries to do so; no one sane and in full possession of himself has the need for a scapegoat. Process and forgiveness, that’s what life’s about. There’s a way in which casting all one’s own crap onto someone else and punishing it there is, in the existential sense, a stillborn thing of its own. An aborted attempt to somehow remain above and beyond the fray, and thus, oh greatest prize: be In Control.
And this autistic removal? Who, exactly, thought up the idea that being not with life was superior than being with. Talk about never getting born.
