mixed berries...

are you a whig or a tory
from what stance do you worship old glory
I saw the red and blue map
it had a pink hue of purple gleanings
so give me no crap
about the meanings of leanings
there is no definitive divide
from which we can hide
we're stuck with the middle
more reason to go outside to piddle

where is the ghost of Abby Hoffman...

... when you need him?

There are many collisions of purpose happening at once under the guise of a righteous reason, an undermined right reason at that because career politicians exist at all levels. I think we as humans are inherently career politicians in our struggle for significance. Somewhere, everywhere is a heap to be on top of. Our current battles with the State of Washington L&I and Liquor Board is purely political in argument as we push and pull for opposing perceived entitlements, and our involvement with trying to pull a beleaguered historic downtown community together has slammed into purely political agenda while shops close and buildings deteriorate. Of course someone or some thing will profit more than the majority that should be the beneficiary. At the end of the day, I fear position, prestige, validity, and the residuals of kudos will prevail as it always has. And then I read the following article from a very frustrated mother and committed peacenik extraordinaire, and I get a whole new appreciation for more important reasons to be pissed off about the said stifling effects of political agenda. I wonder if we are doomed to continually repeat our past and the only cyclical cleansing is the residuals of rage; potentially not a pretty outcome.

Note the author's verbiage.

Enjoy... http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article18367.htm

skagit bay utsalady way...

the water is starting to wake--wake from a slumber well deserved, as prior daily motorized churnings aerated beyond the norm, while maniacal feeding frenzies persisted late into the dusk and on the shores, a bohedonistic conniption disturbed the peace well beyond reason

balance now restored, anchored hulls bob to an ancient rhythm, the revelers nurse their wounds, and water fowl heckle for repentance