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The Truth About David
Wednesday, December 29

Tired of mass graves

The Christian fundamentalist must be getting scared.

I know U am frightened of where this little space rock is heading. It all seems to be getting worse, year by year, conflict by conflict. Nations fighting internal wars. Leaders failing to be such. Mothers burying their children and their bloodline along with them. If it's not war it's nature. It's everywhere.

I'm tired of hearing about another mass grave.

When will sense return to this world? When will people remember that we are all brothers? All children of Africa, born of fire and determination. Salt of the earth and guardians of the whole. Seems like we have lost our way. Lost the power to change wrongs through love, instead of violence. Instead of the insidious lacquer of disregard that coats our societies. Asleep beneath the veneer of greed, cuddling our callousness.

I wonder how it will end?




The truth is: balance is the natural way of the universe, as we know it. So even though the errors of our time seem obdurate, things will get better one day. One day, I hope.

thrown together by
David Lee I Be around 6:05 AM
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Tuesday, December 28

If I could

There she was, crying in high definition.

Her hands, with fingers spread wide, going up and down in a mock pumping fashion. The small child beneath her lay obviously dead. His skin pale with a light yellow tinge to it, the tell tale sign of drowning.

I winced at her contorted face.

She let out a roar of cry, from deep inside her human core, ended in a sob. In turn a small sound escaped my lips, unconsciously, and I cried with her

I cried because her pain was so real, so primal. She had lost a child in an instant. The unfeeling sea stealing his breath and leaving only his mangled body behind as proof of it's authority. Absolute and immutable. Her grief was mighty and substantial.

I started my day feeling bad. My body ached and my back felt like my heart did the day I lost my last lover: bruised and seemingly unfixable. But seeing this woman, her anguish displayed in such a exploitive way, made me forget myself. Forget my worries and gripes. I could only feel for her and her loss. Her sad time come to bear on my shiny TV.

I was humbled, grateful.



The truth is: If I could, I would leave this trap of couch and go help. Build things, comfort people. Be the man t my mother told me to be. But alas, I am still here, watching and hoping things get better. For now, it will have to do.

thrown together by
David Lee I Be around 1:19 AM
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Sunday, December 26

Her place

I don't sit in that chair because that chair is heir's. Not by way of property, but by inference. By association.

By amore.

I glance, every now again, for the visage of my friend but find instead the aura of her person. The seat of warm feelings where she broadcasts her affections, dispenses that which I am grateful to receive

And so I go from spot to spot, aware that I'm being invaded. Aware that my everyday reality is shifting. Heading towards something bigger. Better.

So I relent day by day. Hour by hour. Seeding ground to most treasured invader. Allowing her space, all be it slowly, to streech her arms, hoping that they end up around me.

Now I reflect on her presence, due to absence, and ponder what I want. What she wants. And what we both need. Waiting on her return with ardor, I look around at things that are not mine but stand familiar to me.

Those are her things.
And this is her place.

thrown together by
David Lee I Be around 10:30 AM
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