In the heat of the moment... inspiration provoked insomnia

Apparently I have now become so attached to staying true to my readers, of whom I am finding out lately are in more abundance than my latter notions led me to believe, is more important to me than sleep. Eh... I have all the time in the world to sleep when I take the big nap! I really do love sleep, and I also love you! So, I am attempting to kill two birds with; ERR; I am trying to have my cake and eat it, too. So much to talk about, so little motivation at such a late hour, but, nonetheless, I am receiving an aching urge to write something to pacify my, what has now become religious, yearning to keep this blog a true revelation of my mind. So this is coming to you from a somewhat guilt alleviating platform and then again a religious angst and nudge to stay true and real. SO! Right now my mind is thinking about a song. I first saw this music video at the gym. If you read two of my very close friends' blogs this latter statement will give you a sense of nostalgia or deja vu as we all have a beautiful little habit of finding new and incredible songs, news, and other forms of intriguing media while pumping iron and shaping our manly buns. Any who, back to the subject matter at hand. The subject matter that will kill Miss insomnia with a single deadly blow to the chest. One can dream, and that is all I want to do tonight. Write to you all so I can alleviate this melancholy guilt, ergo, killing Ms. Insomnia. Here it is.


Icky Thump
By: The White Stripes
Iiiiieee.
Icky Thump
Who'da Thunk?
Sittin' drunk on a wagon to Mexico?

Ah Well
What a Chump.
Well My Head Gotta Bump
When I Hit it On The Radio

RedHead Senorita
Looking Dead
Came and Said,
"Need a Bed?"
En Espanol

I Said, "Gimme a Drink a Water,
I'm Gonna 'Sing Around the Collar'
And I Don't Need a Microphone"

Icky Thump
With a Lump In My Throat
Grabbed My Coat
And I Was Freaking
I Was Ready To Go!

And I Swear
Besides The Hair
She Had One White Eye
One Blank Stare
Lookin' Up


Lyin' There.

On The Stand
Near Her Hand
Was A Candy Cane.
Black Rum, Sugar Cane.
Dry Ice (and) Something Strange.

La La La La La La La
La La La La La La La

White Americans, What?
Nothing Better To Do?
Why Don't You Kick Yourself Out
You're An Immigrant Too

Who's Using Who?
What Should We Do?
Well, You Can't Be A Pimp
And A Prostitute Too.

Icky Thump
Handcuffed To A Bunk
Robbed Blind
Looked Around
And There Was Nobody Else

Left Alone
I Hit Myself With A Stone
Went Home And Learned How
To Clean Up After Myself.

You know, I never claim to know exactly what musicians are attempting to put across in their lyrics. Sometimes people just become channels of the cosmic minds floating around without a body to inhabit. They write whatever and it is brilliant. Yet, not knowing exactly what their own song means, they sing it anyway and intrigue us all to a place of awe and wonder. The beginning of this song is very fuzzy to me but the end is extremely clear. America, God bless her fucked up self, is having an ego issue. She seems to think that her brown, yellow, red, black, and rainbow colored sisters are somehow... inferior to her prestigous self. She doesn't blink twice as she picks up her poor little sister and tosses her over the fence by her hair to a land of dirt, crime, sadness and depravity. America, how beautiful is your silky, white, fat ass blowing in freedom's breeze. This song is amazing. White Americans, What? Nothing Better To Do? Why Don't You Kick Yourself Out You're An immigrant Too. One thing that always irritates me is people who call themselves African American or Asian American. Why the fuck do you need a special distinction? If I walked up to a black woman calling herself boastfully and without shame an African American and asked her what tribe her ancestors are from or what region her family originated from she, in most cases, would be grasping hopelessly for an answer only to find out that she needs to rethink her belting out claims that she can't back up with a healthy knowledge of her heritage. America is so confused about who she is anymore. Why can't she just be America? Why all this division? Do you ever see a white... oh wait, what is the politically correct term as if anyone had a problem being called white... Caucasian person boasting that they are a European American? First of all, you can only claim one nationality in the United States. You are born into citizenship. If you are born here, you have no right in the world to claim another nation or continent as your own. You are strictly American if you are born here.

Another thing, while I am on this topic: what is wrong with using the name of a color to associate certain groups of people with? For those of us who can see and have the ability to see color, it is only stating the obvious. I get so angry with people who are asking about someone I saw or someone I talked to and I say "Oh, he was a black man with a blue hat and jeans and he... blah blah blah..." or " Yeah, she is this old, white lady that used to live down the street and she used to.. blah blah..." and get upset because I used color words to describe people. Last time I checked, people weren't all the same color. Let us broaden our scope a bit ad look beyond color. Let us look at all the different taboos we have for talking about our fellow human beings.

We have no problem stating the obvious if someone is tan or has brown hair or if they are short or tall. Yet we are quick to nail someone to a wall if they say that someone is fat or disabled or black or Asian or blind or gay or if they are a dwarf (AKA a "little person"). I have said this to so many people and I believe it with all my heart. Our bodies are just the shell. Having said that, it is the only shell you are given. I love my shell. I don't brag about it. I use it to the best of its capabilities because one day it is going to wear out and I am going to have to cash it in for something else. Why is it so wrong as we go about this planet and this life together ,as a human society, to describe how we all look to each other? Granted, it is fucking rude to yell "Fatty" at the lady walking down the street, but you can always use the principle of extremes to make a failed attempt at rebuttal in arguments with me and still not be able to walk away not knowing I have a valid and true point. Here it is: love yourself and others will love you, too.

I find that people who rise up in arms about someone not being overwhelmingly politically correct are the ones who feel so insecure about themselves that they feel the need to fight the world. I know this because I used to be one of these people.

I used to attend church regularly with my parents. It was a small little country church whose members were sheltered and uncultured country folk who thought that since they were not gay that it was safe to make jokes and preach angrily against this "vile sin". I was so afraid of what people would think if they found out I liked boys sexually. I mean, that was really a taboo thing to do in the small town I lived in. I cried myself to sleep in the arms of God, praying for him to relieve this guilt and burden away from me. God, whatever he happens to be did what I prayed for. It took eighteen years, but one day it came to a head. For eighteen years I was every gay boys worst nightmare. I would harass them, beat them up and get extremely angry whenever anyone would talk lightly or positively about homosexuality. I regret not coming out sooner. It would have made high school a lot more fun and I would have saved a ton of heartache and pain for some boys who needed my love and understanding rather than my hate. Turning out it was self hate, I obviously never pushed being gay out of my system and embraced it one day.

I am so off track. What is my point? My point is that if everyone eased up and became absolutely true to themselves then political correctness will not be an issue anymore. People can just be happy in their own skin and be Americans instead of trying to separate out of shame. The shame may be rightfully felt, but I feel ashamed of America right now also. I don't have the luxury to label myself an African American or an Asian American or even a Native American in attempts to distance myself from the reality that George W. Bush is the leader of the, what used to be, free world and that I have been lied to via national television countless times. Not to mention that my tax dollars are going towards one man's sick and twisted quest for oil in exchange for innocent lives, but I do not have the luxury of labeling myself something else to alleviate the shame. I am just American: sad and ashamed at how our president has represented us to the world and how a minority of people, mostly trashy celebrities, have represented us to other nations, I am an American. I can't be a pimp and a prostitute, too.

Enough with this minority bullshit. There is only one minority in the entire universe: alive. If you are alive, you are a minority. No color matters. No nationality matters. Nothing else matters except for the fact that you are alive on your earth living your life. Let me live mine. I will let you live yours.

Don't smear your color in my face. I am not a blank canvas. I have brown hair and brown eyes. I have tan skin. I may be white, but the properties of such a color disinegrate when you place a soul inside. You are not much different than me. Stop insulting me and just humble yourself and come down to my level, where nobody gives you special pity treatment or watches their words around you. I am talking to the "minorities" of America. Stop playing victim and love yourself, because like I learned the hard way, nobody will love you unless you give them permission to love you. You love you, and it permits others to love you also.

Well, this is a pretty long post for what was going to be just a little blurb. I am glad I got this out of my system. I know it may seem like I am ignorant on this subject matter, but this is my diary. I write how I feel. Feelings can never be wrong, only felt and experienced and documented. Neither black nor white. Just experieced.