#BugMartini | #blameAdam
Something about mope and faith, or Mopey the Morbid Angel, at which point we find ourselves obliged to reckon with Cookie Monster, and then the Universe collapses into the gravity of this nexus of cascading invocation and eternity; a bug in the system stacks to overflow, accretes to singularity. Blame Adam when it all comes whimpering to a pathetic end.
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Image note: Triptych detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 27 June 2018.
Catherine Pearson recalls for HuffPo twenty-four high-profile sexist moments over the course of the last year, and we might offer only two criticisms.
To the one, the year isn’t over, yet, and a bunch of Republicans are running for president.
To the other, we would humbly recall the occasion Sen. Marco Rubio (R-FL) explained that his faith governs his use of intrauterine devices and emergency contraception.
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Pearson, Catherine. “24 Times Sexism Was Very, Very Real In 2015”. The Huffington Post. 9 December 2015.
This is why we adore Rick Santorum:
Republican presidential hopeful Rick Santorum says he loves Pope Francis, but he wants the pontiff to stop talking about climate change.
Santorum, a devout Catholic, told Philadelphia radio host Dom Giordano on Monday that the pope should “leave science to the scientists.”
His comments come as the pope, who earned a master’s degree in chemistry before turning to the priesthood, becomes increasingly vocal about climate change. Pope Francis is preparing a groundbreaking encyclical to be released in the coming weeks that’s expected to make the case that taking action to fight climate change is a moral and religious imperative.
(Mazza)
“It is clear that in America personal religious beliefs are protected. You don’t have to welcome a black, gay or Jewish person into your home. That is your right. When it comes to the public square, your personal beliefs have limits.”
While Stampp Corbin has a point in his own right, it is worth taking a moment to consider just how strange this assertion of Christianity is. Nobody ought be surprised that we might take the occasion to reassert the thesis regarding how this is a faithless ego defense, a panicked usurpation of God’s authority in defense of earthly desires, but neither does Corbin’s discussion invalidate that thesis.
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Corbin, Stampp. “The Mark of Cain”. The Huffington Post. 9 April 2015.
And it’s Tom the Dancing Bug for the score. And the win, really.
No, seriously, just click the damn link.
Or the picture. That works, too.
And when you do, read. Understand. Get the point.
You know it’s the only way this can go.
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Bolling, Ruben. “Lo, in the land of Indiana …”. Tom the Dancing Bug. Daily Kos Comics. 2 April 2015.
Sometimes it is hard to know just how to respond. React. Perceive. Feel.
Author Peter Monn appears to be retiring from the fight:
I don’t claim to know or understand God. I know there is one and I’m not it. I don’t need to reinvent the wheel but I also believe in religious freedom. But this isn’t about religious freedom. What knowing LGBT person would want to spend their money or hire someone who so opposed who they are at their core? Not me.
But I’m tired of fighting. I’ve been fighting since I was 5 years old to have other people accept me for something I never understood in the first place. And if I couldn’t understand it then I know they certainly can’t understand. And I’m done trying. I’m tired of explaining to people who would never be affected by such a bill how it haunts me and once again makes me feel different; less than.
My life is probably more than half over anyway. This is for our children. I refuse to fight so that when I’m 80 I can have my picture taken for the local paper because it’s such an honor that they finally passed some ridiculous bill of rights that I should have had all along. Nope. I’m done fighting. And to me, that is freedom. It is obvious that my word is not important anyway. It is obvious that my life does not matter to those voting in fear, hiding behind religious freedoms that do not specifically affect their personal lives. The best that I can do is step away.
There must be something I’m missing, because the first thought to mind is bitter: “Go tell it to the headstones.”
To the other, many of us hid while others stood the line for us; it is hard to protest the desire to stop fighting and simply live.
There are others who will fill the gap in the line. This isn’t over yet.
Thank you for your service, Mr. Monn; we are all, truly, grateful.
Be well. You helped with the heavy lifting; we’ll take it from here.
And we will stand. We will speak. We will fight. And we will win. And then we can all get on with the business of living.
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Monn, Peter. “How I Will Express My Religious Freedom in Indiana”. The Huffington Post. 24 March 2015.
“Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.”
Facebook is the new bumper-sticker faith. It is an easy way to show your religious piety to everyone, you know? Just slap a slogan on the ass-end of your automobile, or litter everyone’s Facebook feed with sappy, sentimental hackery.
Everybody thinks I’m crazy. They say, “You take the Jesus thing too seriously”.
Well I don’t know, but Christ took me pretty seriously when he died for me on the cross.
Or He took Himself so seriously.
Okay, in the first place, yes, there is obviously something amiss.
The Salon article itself is by Kendall Anderson, and bears a familiar, queasy sentence for a headline: “I wish I’d never reported my rape”. It is, of course, as depressing as you might expect; and it is also another one of those pieces that ought to be some sort of required reading.
I sit in the windowless interrogation room, fingers brushing against the cool metal of handcuffs attached to the chair, and try to comprehend what the detective sitting across from me is asking.
“Were you a virgin?” he says, his lips curling slightly as he repeats the question. “Explain to me, how could you have been bleeding if you weren’t on your period? Have you had sex before?”
I feel my face flush with embarrassment as I think about how to respond. Before I can say anything, there’s a knock at the door and another officer walks in.
“The suspect’s attorney is here.”
Suspect? My stomach drops. Did he really just refer to me as a suspect?
The detective turns to his colleague.
“She agreed not to have the lawyer come in for this.”
I open my mouth to object. Our “agreement” consisted of the detective asking me why I needed a lawyer if I was innocent. Before I can speak, the other officer leaves, the door closes and it’s just me and the detective again, alone in the windowless room.
There are so many things to say at this point.
Four words: Christian sex toy store.
What was it President George W. Bush said? Oh, right: “Fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me—you can’t get fooled again.”
No, really. He actually did say that, though I recall in the moment it did not occur to me that we were witnessing the stuff of legend. Stupidity, yes, to be certain, but such monumental, titanic idiocy? Well, come on; was a time when being President of the United States actually meant something.
Never mind; this isn’t about Dubya. Rather, this is about something even more stupid than our forty-third president.
No, really. Such things do exist, though as you might imagine, ineffable stupidity is also often tragic. The Associated Press turns our stomachs:
A couple serving probation for the 2009 death of their toddler after they turned to prayer instead of a doctor could face new charges now that another son has died.
Where does one begin? Quite obviously, the answer is that one simply doesn’t.
Naturally, it gets worse.
This Is 