Oligarchy or Democracy?

Tags

#environment, andrew jackson, capitalism, citizens united case, democracy, election, Exxon, justice, morals, new york times, ny times, oil, oligarchy, united states

I just finished reading an article about the supposed Exxon Mobil Corporation settlement with New Jersey. I’m not sure if this was a case that many were following, but once I read about it I was appalled. Also, I’ll admit publicly that I work for Exxon. Yes I know, working for a metaphorical devil here, but God I’ve been trying to get a job for over three months, and I’m sorry to say that I’m going to take a pay check over morals these days. I think a lot of people are in the same position, because what large corporation that provides jobs in our country, is without any human rights fault, ok other than possibly Ben and Jerry’s.

Anyway, apparently this case has been pending for over ten years and now this week they’ve finally come to a settlement. Yes, usually that could be a good thing. Not costing the tax payers’ anymore money, in a case that could possibly be appealed for years on end. But here’s the catch, after the amount of fifty million dollars (yes I know that seems like a lot but its not,) the money won in a settlement by the state no longer has to be used to pay for environmental issues or any issues pertaining to the lawsuit, instead it can be used to pay off the debt of the state. Which leads me to my next point, did New Jersey settle, just so that it could get the state back onto wobbly financial ground, instead of following the lawsuit through and suing a company that destroyed “1,500 acres of wetlands, marshes, meadows and waters in northern New Jersey…”

That is just one example, but I feel like this entire country’s government is at the beck and call of corporate interests because these companies carry the power of money to help bail our country out of the enormous debt and destitution that it finds itself in, thus completely destroying what this country was meant to be. God, if Andrew Jackson knew what was happening, yes I know he did some terrible things, he would be turning in his grave. He was a maverick in his time and he did do terrible, actually horrendous things to the Native Americans, namely stealing their land and causing a small-scale genocide, but he did have one thing right. He believed that the USA, should only be controlled by the hands of the common man, and during his presidency he dismantled a completely capitalistic organization, namely the First Bank of United States. He got that right at least.

The situation we are in right now, is that we are so taxed and tired from just trying to make ends meat after the financial collapse in 2008, that we no longer have the time to scrutinize and hold accountable the corporations that are truly ruling and destroying our country.

I read one more article this past week and it was about the repercussions of the Citizens United Case on the upcoming 2016 election. Not so much the Democrats, but this is probably because they’ve had to only worry about the election of Barack Obama over the past two elections, but the Republican hopeful candidates have already been making the rounds to different conventions held by the leaders of all major corporate companies in America to solicit campaign funds in preparation for election season.

So I beg to ask the question, is 2016 really an election? Looking at what just happened in response to the Exxon case, is the USA even a democracy anymore or is it just masquerading as one?

All articles reference are sourced below:

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/01/us/politics/gop-race-starts-in-lavish-haunts-of-rich-donors.html?_r=0 (United Case)

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/28/nyregion/exxon-mobil-settles-with-new-jersey-over-environmental-damage.html?_r=0 (Exxon case)

Gypsy Love

Tags

#America, #debt, boat, drunk, dublin, gay, gypsy, Ireland, love, travel, traveler, USA, vodka, whiskey

My third day in Dublin I felt lost. I was on an extended trip from my country. I was supposed to get well and then you walked into the room. I’d spent two days prior, alone, by myself, ready to spend another three months isolated, and then you walked in the room.

“Come on if we leave now we could sneak on the boat,” you called.

“Naw I’m staying here,” called a girl sitting next to me on the couch. She looked at me and rolled her eyes and I laughed. I’m sorry I laughed at you.

Ten minutes later you returned to the room because your plan to sneak on the ferry didn’t work out. You walked over to me and sat down.

“Where ya from?” you questioned. I looked into your brown eyes and fell in love.

“New York,”

“Yea been there once or Florida I mean,” you say.

“Didn’t like it?” I question.

“No too hot,” you say.

“Fair,” I reply as I lean down and carefully drink my rum and coke, I don’t want to get to drunk.

“So you’re here for how long?” you question, testing the water.

“Three months,” I say and smile.

You don’t really react, but why would you? You’ve never worn your heart on your sleeve.

“Grand, so we’re going out, you coming?” you ask, a glimmer in your eye.

“ ‘Course,” I reply.

“Right thought Americans couldn’t hold their drink,” you say.

“Well I can,” I mumbled as I gulp my drink. I have to impress you, God help me if I can’t.

A blur later, we return from the club, and I look at you, you look at me. And before I know it, I can’t see anything because you’ve swallowed me into you and I never want to leave, but you eject me. It was too much too fast and I’m leaving. Always I will love you and always you’ll evade me because I’m the traveler never allowed to return.

Life

Tags

capitialism, feminism, NYC, philly, porn, whore

It didn’t hit me at first. It took me six months to realize that the inevitable competition of school had left and I Felt empty.
What was I to do?
Get A job! I know stop, telling me, but what else what is life?
I need a mate, a soul mate, but no one wants to talk about anything. They only want to press their bodies together, feel another’s soul for a fleeting second and leave without coffee.
So what should my goals be? Love, yes, absolutely. Not caring who cares who I care for, but other than that what?
A job but who cares, I don’t, I can’t because there are none, shit am I an adult? No people to hold me when I die, but why does it matter for when I’m on that hospital bed I’ll be alone, with myself, and forever I need to be ready.
Tell me!
What’s important? Wealth, no it doesn’t stay.
Love? They could leave before me, so I guess me is what’s important.
Help, help, help.
Ok, I’m back. I’m fine. I’m smoking, sorry did it blow in your face?
Sorry, but we’re in America, our land is cancer.
So I’m a tumor traveling here and there, everywhere, but I know nothing and no one.
A stranger in a familiar land
Does any one else feel like this nothing nothing nothing EVERYTHING
Help me!

A Call To Action

Tags

black, capitalism, Eric Garner, Ferguson, hipster, Occupy Wallstreet, politics, racism, white

I’ve come to the conclusion that living in suburbia is “the American Dream,” for it is one of the greatest myths that capitalism has created. It’s the goal, the white picket fence, a dog, probably a Labrador, and a doting wife who understands that your career is more important than hers, even though she’s just as educated than you. Well who can blame you ,that’s what the corporations that rule our country think as well.

So why is this a myth you ask? Because it creates a culture of isolation and need. You rule you self-worth by how you look to your neighbor because they ultimately have a say about whether you can grow roses or tulips in your garden. Focusing on such trivial fights, blocks and shields us from the actual issues happening in our country. And lets face it, ok maybe I need to face it, everyone I know comes from a white, middle class upbringing where these fights were paramount.

Why does it matter? It isolates everyone affected by the sickening effect of unregulated capitalism that has taken over this country. We’re drowning, choking, I CAN”T BREATHE in this economic political environment. I’m far to educated to accept what is happening, but not enough to actually get a job that’ll influence the current culture.

So what can I do? It feels like nothing. I get it. So what should our demands be? For starters, corporations shouldn’t be considered people because the actual people who populate this country get fucked over. And we need to stop seeing the world in technicolor, in other words who cares what the pigment of one’s skin is we’re all people.

And I know I’m a privileged, white, girl writing this and honestly I probably don’t even have a right to comment on what’s going on in the wake of Ferguson and Eric Garner, but I feel connected to this. Occupy Wall Street failed years ago because there was no focus for our anger. What’s happening is a human rights issue. Yes, it involves black men and I understand my experience in life is sheltered and cushioned compared to most ,but the idea of dehumanization I think can ring true through all races and economic statuses.
We’ve been fooled into thinking that the “American dream” can be ours if we are simply compliant to what the privilege want. Guess what! There’s been a war on all of us since the 1980’s. It’s time to stand up and stop it. The masses have a voice. It’s our time. Let’s be heard!

The Man Who Waited (Fiction)

Tags

Alan, cancer, love, suicide, World War Two

        Alan had always loved Ethel. From the moment he stumbled out of Murphy’s and saw her face, he knew that he loved her. Usually, he didn’t just walk up to beautiful women, but with Ethel it was different. He had liquid courage in him and he had gone for it. He ran across the street without looking for any traffic and asked her out. She blushed and turned to laugh with her friends, but eventually she gave in. He had taken her to a movie and had spent over five dollars on her, which was more, than he usually made in a week. She was worth it though.

They dated during the year of 1931, so neither of them had much money, but they’d been happy. As the years went on Alan thought about proposing many times, but backed out because he was too ashamed to do so without a ring. He hadn’t worked a steady job since before the depression and he didn’t think it right to commit himself to her, when he couldn’t even support himself. Still Ethel had stayed around for several years because she loved him, but times only got worse. She told him many times that he only mattered to her and that she didn’t care about money. Eventually, she grew impatient of her pleas falling on deaf ears and left him. His pride had always been his downfall and forced him to watch his love walk away from him down Broad Street.

Ethel dated many men after Alan, but for awhile she refused to settle down, hoping, deep in that secret part of her heart, that Alan would make a grand gesture and propose. It never happened though. Her parents began to badger her after she turned twenty three and she settled down with Mark right before he was shipped off to Germany. It was a marriage of convenience, but she believed that she could learn to love him. Alan received an invitation to the wedding in the mail, but he didn’t go. He could have stopped it, if he had been able to afford a ring, but he was still bouncing back and forth between any odd jobs he could land.

During the Battle of the Bulge he was kept warm by his memories of Ethel, while he sat in the dark frozen mud of the trenches. The bombs exploded around him, like some perverted version of the Fourth of July and he vowed that if he made it back to America he would tell her how he felt. Surely, Mark couldn’t also survive the war.

The first day he was back in Hempstead he drove his car to Ethel’s house. He waited outside, in his parked car to work up the courage to see her. He thumbed the simple gold band he had finally been able to afford. Just when he had gotten up the courage to walk up to the door though, Ethel and Mark walked out. Ethel cupped her swollen stomach and Alan had driven away.

He bided the years by focusing solely on his career, determined to outlive Mark and finally be given a second chance. Years turned into decades and Ethel’s family continued to grow. Occasionally, Alan would drive past her house, just to see how she was, but he never went to the door. He didn’t know what he would do if he had. He couldn’t proclaim his love; it wouldn’t have been fair to her.

Decades turned into half a century and Alan knew that his second chance was just around the corner. They were both in their seventies. Alan felt evil for wishing Mark dead, but the years had turned him into a bitter old man. He’d never married and was satisfied to stay faithful to Ethel and forever alone.

It was a Wednesday when he got the call. He always screened and had let them go to voicemail.

“Alan, its me. I looked your number up in the phonebook. I know we haven’t spoken in decades, but I still love you. I just got home from the doctor. I don’t know how to say this, but I have cancer. I don’t have long so I just wanted to say goodbye,” the voice echoed through his empty house. Alan was paralyzed in his chair. He should have gotten up and picked up the phone, but he couldn’t.

Surely, she wouldn’t die. It’d be to cruel of God to have allowed him to survive for so long and never having the chance to be with her again. He’d lived his life for her, although it seemed she would never know. He put off calling back for weeks. He knew he was probably hurting her, but he couldn’t bear to say goodbye.

He finally picked up the phone on November 15^th, the anniversary of their first date. He slowly punched her number into the phone and then waited as it rang. No one picked up and he was forced to leave a voicemail. How he had wished he would hear her voice one last time.

“Ethel, its me. I know I should have called sooner. I should have called years ago, but I couldn’t do it. I still love you. I never stopped loving you. I thought about proposing hundreds of times, but I never could afford that damn ring. I’m sorry. I hope you make it because I can’t imagine life without you existing in some way…” he was just about to hang up when the phone clicked to signal that some one had picked up.

“Who is this,” said a gruff voice.

“I’m Alan,” he responded.

“My wife died this morning, Alan. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to pass on the message,” the voice said twinged with emotion.

“Oh… that’s alright. I should have called sooner. I’m so sorry,” Alan said after a moment’s hesitation.

“The service will be this Sunday at St. Mary’s. I hope you come.” The voice said.

“Sure I’ll be there…” Alan’s voice trailed off. “Well I have to go. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Me too,” said the voice and then he hung up.

Alan slumped back into his chair. He felt hollow inside. He couldn’t muster one tear, but instead sat in his chair in a daze. It was over. He would never be with her. He slowly got up and walked to his bedroom. Opening the closet doors he pushed aside what little clothing he had and opened his safe. He kept the German luger he found at the Bulge inside and all of Ethel’s letters. He pulled the shoebox out, which he stored the letters in. He grabbed one and pushed it to his nose. It still smelt like her. Lifting the shoe box over his head, the letters rained down on him until they blanketed the ground. He placed the luger in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Perpetual darkness followed as his blood soaked the love letters through.

His body wasn’t found for weeks and no one claimed it. The only item of value that was found in the apartment was Ethel’s engagement ring; it was used to pay for his burial.

A Youtube Lament

Tags

ashley mardell, audible, democracy, grace helbig, Hannah Hart, mamrie hart, My Drunk Kitchen, myharto, sparkles of glitter, the trevor project, youtube

So I’m not very good at talking to a camera, but I want to get in on the conversation that’s been going on about youtube. First, a few weeks ago, SparkleofGlitter talked about the pressures of being a youtube celebrity and how foreign it was to her, whenever she went to a convention, then Ashley Mardell addressed the situation and I know countless have spoken about this, far more than I could list here, but the breaking point for me was Hannah Hart’s last episode.

It actually made me sad, and that’s saying something. MDK never makes me sad, in fact it’s usually the bright spot in my week, not to sound pathetic, but hey I’m living in a foreign country, dealing with the aftermath of coming out. Anyway, Hannah made a point this week of getting plastered, to almost prove she was still Hannah Hart. I never questioned this fact, but apparently more than a few people on the internet have. Towards the end of the video it turned incredibly poetic. She put a video of her sober self almost pleading to her audience, that she was still her, over the back drop of her drunk self.

Isn’t the fact that the past few months of episodes she’s produced been of  a sober Hannah, been more authentic than anything we’ve seen? And hey, we all know youtubers make a living off of ads. Hannah Hart however seems to always choose sponsors that would enlighten us. For god sake she has a book club. Other youtubers promote audible, but they don’t actually discuss the books they have been listening to with their viewers.

I know that there has been, for lack of better word, a rift forming between creators and viewers. As the audience of the site expands this is inevitable. I can’t even imagine the pressure that she and other well-known youtubers are under. They make a living by exposing themselves to the public, yet the public is always thirsting for more blood. In many ways I think the pressure they face is worse, than the usual trials a traditional celebrity has to face. They are their own paparazzi.

 We as a community should be happy that youtube has evolved into a forum that in some ways is being taken seriously by more mainstream forms of media. Youtube is democracy at work, we collectively have made all of these people “famous” and we should stand by them and believe that their integrity won’t be lost.

The website has exploded within the past four years and its evolving. I have no idea what it will become, but I still see it as a forum that can ignite change. I can’t tell you how many social causes I have gotten involved in because of some off hand comment or perhaps pre-moted soapbox: ie The Trevor Project, that a youtuber has pushed forth.

So let’s be patient as a community, I still have faith that this platform can be true and honest. We’re all figuring it out together, creators and viewers. Let’s not be so hard on them and let’s remember they’re people too. That’s all I have to say.

A Cliche

Tags

#time, beach, death, mystery, ocean, poem

Time is a mystery that only the dead have solved.
Its not fluid any more.
Time has turned into the rock of their headstones.
A marker, a mile, an inch, a second, a century.
Nothing more or less.
Like waves on a beach, sucking grains of sand into the ocean’s abyss.

#YesAllWomen

Tags

men, sexism, yesallwomen

I’m a guy,

I see a girl and if I like her, its mine.

I’m a guy,

I yell at you in the street.

I’m a guy,

If you’re gay its just because you haven’t met me.

I’m a guy,

I’ve been taught the world is mine.

I’m a guy,

Even if you say no, I know its because you’re shy.

I’m a guy don’t hold it against me.

Society has told me its fine,

I’m a guy, please help me.

The Concussion

Tags

concussion, death, france, injury, logs, morning, mortality

There’s a large log that juts out of the ceiling and hangs over my bed. I’m short, so most times it really isn’t a problem. This morning though I woke up drowsy, had to pee, and stood up far to quickly. I smacked my face into the hard wood, which resulted in me biting down onto my tongue and passing out near the bed. When I came to there was dark, red, blood all over my shirt, sheets, and I had a throbbing head ache. I stumbled down to the bathroom, finally relieved myself and looked in the mirror. I had a bruise the size of a cherry and half of my face was swallow. That’s when I started panicking.

You see I’m used to medical problems, god my life is one, but I’m not used to having them when I’m living a lone in a foreign country.

I realized this morning that I’m mortal and that life can end very quickly. What if I had actually gotten a concussion? What if I had passed out, not onto the mattress, but down the stairs, I live in a loft. It was scary and it taught me never ever jump out of bed. Take a moment and just simply bask in the fact that you woke up to another morning, that’s how you avoid slamming your head into logs.

The Forgetful Man

Tags

Aups, dementia, france, old age, scotland, wine, writing

 I met him within the first three hours of landing in France. I’d just set down my one suitcase in my apartment, and decided that now was good a time as anyway to explore the small town, I had decided to make my creative prison, so to speak. Fighting jetlag, I wasn’ts particularily keen about my decision, but it was only one in the afternoon and although I’d been awake for almost twenty four hours, I still couldn’t go to sleep.

So I headed to the center of town, stopped at the first café I found, and sat down. A Scotsman was sitting to my right and noticed me immediately.

“I’m Stevie,” he said extending his hand to mine, before I had completely sat in the chair.

“Cait, just got here,” I said.

“Here as in the café, because I can see that, or Aups?” he muttered and then took a sip of wine. He was quite “refined.”

“Aups,” I replied. He flicked his hand up, as he gestured to the waiter.

“Une rouge pour la mademoiselle,” he says in a perfect French accent. The waiter hurried away and brought a glass of wine to the table. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, I had a stash of Marlboro, that I brought with me.

“So they kicked you out did they,” he said as he motioned towards the cigarette

“Nearly, I actually came here to finish a novel,” I said.

“Fancy yourself a writer? I guess the young are allowed to have dreams,” he said as he downed the rest of his wine and once more motioned to the waiter.

“I suppose,” I replied not feeling like defending myself at the moment. I sat with him for over two hours, and learned that he was from Scotland, he loved the queen, and he thought that Julie Andrews had the voice of a fallen angel.

I left happy that I had made a new friend and passed out in my loft. The next day I was up early and went shopping for food. I saw Stevie across the street and waved at him. He waved back, but didn’t seem to remember me. I figured he probably had to much to drink the day before, he looked as though he might have been eighty.

Several days passed before I saw him again. I was sitting at the café answering emails and watching youtube, when he walked up to my table and asked in French, whether he could sit with me. Of course I said yes.

“I’m Stevie,” he said with an out reached hand. Its then that I realized he didn’t remember me. He may remember the past, but the present is covered in a fog that’s impossible to discern.

“Cait,” I said, not wanting to embarrass him.

Most times we talk, it’s about memories. He never mentions what he did that day, but he loves to tell me of the old days. When he worked in London, and had a secretary, when he was important.

 

I see him every day, but he never remembers me. Stevie, I promise I’ll never forget you.

 

*Names changed