This is my third, and hopefully last, installment of my Schiavo Diaries. If you're joining
in medias res, please refer to my first two diaries concerning the subject.
AS Governor of Texas, we now know, George W. Bush signed into Texas Law the infamous Mengalian Futile Care Act somewhere around 1999, which permitted hospitals to intervene in the care of a patient against the family's wishes. Truthfully, this is just the sort of thing we should be terrified of our Government doing. It speaks volumes to the Psychotic Mess who currently occupies the White House, and underlies a fundamental issue in the Schiavo Case. It reveals that He, the Big Chief, has not only used government to stomp all over the tragedies of private citizens, but surrounds himself with the Sort who use Mob Rule to seize the Legislatures in an effort to
provoke government intervention in order to
prevent government intervention, all the while, all parties involved in this gross display of Human Excrement, promote themselves as the sort of people who are adamantly opposed to such beastly behavior, with Proclamations such as the classic "Cold, Dead Fingers" gun-nut mentality or the neo-cons who imagined a world in which liberated Iraqi's laid roses at the feet of good Christian Soldiers, marching into a conquered Babylon in imagery eerily familiar to their Unique and Militarized interpretations of Christ the King as he strode before a subdued populace upon Palm leaves, transfixed by the authority of imperial dogma. (For those now cursing me as an ungodly heathen, I must admit that one of my fondest memories as a child is the smell of the Palm branches we collected each Palm Sunday, and later placed behind the Crucifixes that hung on the walls of the ancestral manse. It was a dry, rich odor, the mix of Benedictions and crisp leaves.)
And with all this religious imagery crashing down around us during Holy Week, it's no wonder W flew in on the Midnight Special from Crawford like a Dry Drunk maniac desperate for political resurrection after several serious weeks of a vicious ass-kicking over Social Security - and he had not even seen the beginning of the response from the Fucked Off geriatrics over at the AARP, who just so happen to remember a thing or two about stomping fascists and sticking it to the likes of the Wall Street/Neo-con types.
Bush quickly infused his Traveling Social Security Salvation Show with high-minded diatribes on the Schiavo Matter, expressing his desire to err on the side of life, which was a completely absurd notion after the revelations about Texas and whispers spreading across the Web faster than Conservative media hacks spread their syphilitic rancor, involving words like "baby" and "pulling the plug" in the same sentence and "unable to pay" or "despite the wishes of the family." But these were just the rants of depraved lefty bloggers, after Midnight types, the sort of Devil worshiping Commie Filth that John Wayne ranted about and upon which the careers of men like Nixon and Joe McCarthy built their careers, actor types and food service workers...Democrats and other social libertarians.
Of course, none of that is either here or there, and it's about as relevant and dubious as Bush's bizarre attempt to associate his role in the Terri Schiavo Nightmare with his fix for Social Security, which even he admits won't solve anything and the GAO confirms will only hasten the problem. Yet onward Christian Soldier...I suspect Bush hopes to use the issue to stimulate the American people's non-existent confidence in his ability to handle Social Security...Like Lazarus, I have brought her back from the clutches of Death. And I will save Social Security, too. Alleluia...for YOU and ME and future generations. And those of you who are 55 and older, have no need to fear. By the time your Social Security payments dry up, I will already have signed legislation permitting hospitals to euthanize your wrinkled ass the moment the first check bounces...
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All Day the television has shown the now familiar images of Terri Schiavo in her hospital bed. A man calls out six, seven times..."Open your eyes, Open your eyes.."'' But there is no immediate response beyond the obvious uncontrollable rolling of the eyes and after the last try the voice on camera seems to give up. Then, after a lengthy pause, Mrs. Schiavo's eyes open - but not because of any direct stimulus or suggestion. They do not even open completely, not even half way, just enough that someone overcome by grief and in the grips of serious political exploitation might see the suggestion of what was desired. She does not maintain a gaze. The eyes are just rolling from left to right, occasionally up and down...The voice says that one eye is askew, farther out than the other. Perhaps the result of muscular degeneration, but that's speculation and there's most definitely too much of that going on. Besides, I'm no medical doctor and could no sooner diagnose my Great Dane, let alone an organism as complex as a human being.
Good Lord...3:30 AM already...and I start a new job at 7:30. A part time cooking gig to bide my time but mostly to pay the bills. I detest the food industry and advise everyone to learn to cook for themselves. Until you've worked next to a man battling a severe onset of Scurvy, who also happens to cook food daily for several hundred people, you will not understand for serious examination and prior knowledge relating to the hygiene of those doomed souls mangling your food with their cross-contaminated, unwashed paws. I thought about bringing him fresh Citrus but was too revolted by the presence of the massive green build-up which covered most of the surface of his incisors and canines, also victims of serious decay and degeneration. But a person could make serious money as a health inspector, and supplement that income with fat bribes to hide holes in the wall, black mold in the basement and the raw chicken dripping onto the already processed foods...No matter what you decide, avoid the Shellfish at all costs...especially the Mussels. Unless I deveined a shrimp myself or took the modest risk of frozen Mussels, I would not ingest half of what passes for Fine Dining.
Mussels arrive about as fresh as the droppings being left behind by the Delay-Bush-Schindler Dog & Pony Show, recently departed from Florida and making the rounds in Washington, after a successful run in the Senate and a rousing encore in the House.
The Schindler's Home Movies are as equally disturbing as seeing the Zapruder Film or security camera footage of the Columbine Massacre or images out of Baghdad. Perhaps the only thing worse is the realization that Bob and Mary Schindler will go to their graves believing their daughter was smiling at them, when she was not, or speaking to them in groans interpreted as words. They are simply unable to let go of their daughter - understandably. But nothing usually good ever comes from obstructing the natural course of things...and for all those who bemoan starvation, it is a part of the process as the bodily systems shut down and there is no longer a need to acquire calories, proteins and nutrients. Left without even the ability to feel pain, Terri's passing from this life will in no way bear any resemblance to the fearsome fever dream depriving the Schindler's and their entourage, family and GOP creeps, of Reason and Compassion.
The videos shown by the Schindlers are edited and only show those moments when it seems Terri is responding. But even those are suspicious and nearly any interpretation could be contrived to explain her steadily darting eyes upon a spot inspection...a person could see whatever they wanted, easily presuming that the eye contact they made, when her eyes just happened to shift into their gaze or in their direction, was deliberate and mutual. Or that when asked to say something like "mama", the air flowing across the vocal cords and over the tongue sounded like..."Was that Maa...Baaah? C'mon...MA-MA...there, there...that was definitely a Gaa-aah"... This is something very difficult for the Right to Lifers to understand; they have a basic failure to understand the Science and Medicine, if they don't simply outright resent it.
Our old Schnauzer, which lived to the remarkable age of 18, had a strange reaction to the word, "mama." When one approached him and spoke this word, he barked in response and one could swear the little bastard was mimicking your "mama" with his own Schnauzer "rah-rah, rah-rahrrr-rrr." It was a curious auditory hallucination, like hearing horns on George Harrison's All Things Must Pass when there were no horns playing...but there they were blaring along with My Sweet Lord and you, curled up in a corner of the room, too gripped by the FEAR to leave your room for the next thirteen hours, fearing your brother has already called the Feds or worse, your parents, and cursing the rat-bastard who sold you the bad Sugar cubes from the back of his vintage Mystery Machine...
So, either the Schindler's are zonked out on Acid or some other psychoactive substance, or completely deranged as a result of an overbearing religious indoctrination or overwhelmed by the grief of losing their daughter and desperately clinging to someone who they were just not ready to say good-bye to. Take your pick...in George W. Bush's America; Reality and Truth are up for grabs.
The truth is surprisingly relative. And easily manipulated when it is kept in the family. Rig an election, pass off your shameless political exploitation to your brother, hire on all of Daddy's friends, take care of the Corporations and Saudi business interests, set fire to Iraqi oil wells and hold back production, so American companies can jack up the price and smash the pristine Arctic Wildlife Refuge and every Polar Bear, Caribou and Beaver - not to forget everyone who happens to drive a car and from the looks of things, automobiles have caught on...never mind it will only yield six months of oil once we begin extracting it a decade after we start drilling. Not that I'm suggesting our government would hold up Iraqi oil production...merely theorizing, brainstorming, an exercise in stream of consciousness...But the scene in Washington these days is enough to make a person dizzy and quickly send them reeling to the ground with a violent rush of blood to the head. And after several days of all of this, I am admittedly lightheaded and fatigued and ready for a well deserved break.
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"There is no happy ending."
- Michael Schiavo
After thirty hours of a persistent sleepless cycle, I finally collapsed and was able to put this terrible fever dream behind me. It was around 2:45 AM when News broke that the Appeals court had denied the Schindler's request to reinsert their daughter's feeding tube. Earlier in the day, the Federal Judge, forced by the actions taken in what has become known in Washington Circles as the Palm Sunday Compromise, ruled against Bob & Mary. It initially seemed the whole thing had come all the way around, just missing the last exit toward some sort of conclusion and running right back to where all this started and where it has been hanging, in limbo, for the past six years.
News came over that Bob & Mary Schiavo were once again pleading with legislators to once again intervene on behalf of their daughter...But after a few brutal days of this and the early rumblings of serious blowback directed toward Republicans, Legislators seemed uninterested in forcing anything. Of course, as we've all learned, Bob & Mary have testified that they were not doing this on behalf of their daughter, but for their own sake - they wanted this for Terri because it's what they wanted. At this point, let me admit that I'm no longer certain which part of this Sad Saga is more tragic and depressing - the wife, the husband or the in-laws. Michael seems to have suffered heavily from the tactics of those who fought against him, who spread innuendo & rumor like Gospel Truth...Sweet fuck...let's hope that's the last of this wretched religious symbolism. Holy Week is an extraordinarily dull period for those who have unleashed the chains of Organized Theology, which is a lot like organized crime only that the Shakedown is much more polite and sublte, generally ended with a simple "Amen," and relying heavily upon the Guilt Centers of the Brain...But it's time to get this mother of a story back on track...
AND that's not hard, considering the Schiavo case is still dominating the 24/7 news cycle, pushing the Minnesota school slayings to the second spot in the rotation. It is a terrible bummer, that savagery in Minnesto, and it seems there is still much for us to learn with regards to preventing these senseless school massacres. In a related story, a man in Indiana, PA was gunned down by Police after a telephone tip alerted authorities that the man was carrying a weapon...After the police asked the man to put down his weapon and his subsequent refusal, they opened fire...killing him before learning that the weapon was nothing more than a pellet gun, an air pistol. But these are trying times and its no wonder America is strung out from Sea to Shining Sea and the once fertile Waves of Grain seem in danger of turning fallow...like a Colossal heroine junkie indebted to the Red Chinese and shunned by half the Globe...
By now, it seems apparent most folks are coming down on Michael's side, not that there are any sides or, at least, in a more civilized world there wouldn't be. Even more than a few Good Christians feel Congress seriously overstepped its boundries. But little obstructs these Right to Exploit Terri Schiavo types; they have a strong stomach for the dirty work of force-feeding the Nation it's Agenda, but they've gone so far as to reject the ultimate conclusion of Life - Death. I suppose most don't like to hear that starvation is natural in the cours of Death - but it is sadly. Perhaps the only thing to grateful for may be the fact that Terri Schiavo is not here, like your or I, to see this terribly degenerate Dog & Pony Show - to see herself exploited and involuntarily thrust into the middle of a political sideshow or see her husband trashed by the Right Wing or her parents, passing day-to-day, seeing things that aren't there...No, Terri Schiavo has already departed...and maybe, just maybe, Thank God for that...
ON the Friday before Palm Sunday, Tom Delay declared to the Religious Right that God had delivered them Terri Schiavo. He also reminded them that he had been very good to the Rapture Crowd, and expected them to return the favor by standing behind their Guy amidst the gathering threat of an indictment in Texas and stewing ethics violations. In the advent of Jeff Gannon, it's uncertain what Conservatives mean when they say they will get behind their Man. But what was made very evident by the Joseph Wilson/Valerie Plame incident is that one way or another, when you cross paths with the Neo-con cabal, expect to get screwed by some sinister, blood-sucking pervert who just might go by Bob Novak or Bill Kristol or Tom Delay...Are name is Legion and we are many...And just when you think the violent rape is finished and sooner than Albert Gonzalez can toss you on top of his Human Pyramid, Karl Rove, and the rest of this Nazi Brain trust, will drag your brutalized and bruised self across the coals just before finishing you out back like the climax of some savage Snuff Film.
How much blood is on their miserable hands? Fifteen hundred U.S. soldiers...100,000 dead Iraqi women & children...not to mention scores of maimed, wounded and mentally scarred young American men and women...and all the Death orders he's signed as Governor of Texas...
And Tom Delay is more concerned about the Liberal Syndicate seeking to stop the Conservative Menace. He babbled something about how all of this is Lyndon Johnson's fault and how terrible it was that the Liberals had finally figured out how to stomp a Conservative. But after realizing "Hot Tub" Tom had no problem putting his manipulative scheme to exploit Terri Schiavo right out in the open, like his bizarre pronouncement of God's Deliverance, it was obvious Delay was suffering from the onset of Syphilus and Hysterical Blindness would soon follow. Like the most twisted among the Faith-based Crowd, Delay is most likely counting down the days until Terri's , at his home in Laredo, praying that this will be an especially good, and prophetic, Good Friday...afterall, this is for the Base and the reports of Terri's detiorating condition no doubt swelled the flaccid members of more than a dozen GOP Congressmen and a number of their Apocalyptic Constituents. Delay needs the Base...to pull his fire out of the flames. But it's unlikely he'll escape this one without severe burns and a horribly disfigured reputation as a shameless political hack and general bottom-feeder.
And the President is unlikely to pick up any moment from this with regards to Social Security. Six months from now he will still be flailing about the country screaming about Social Security and the need to address the oncoming crisis...but Americans remember a thing or two about gathering threats and nipping them in the bud...and they do not trust the Almighty to lay his hands anywhere near this one. So, it's unclear what this was really ever about, other than a depraved diversion, a quick smoke-screen to back the Opposition into a corner and begin laying the foundations for the next wedge issue - the Right to Life Agenda. But so long as men like Delay and Santorum and Bush are behind the controls of the GOP Monster, perhaps there is less to fear as these Baboons slowly self-destruct with the increasing frequency of their political missteps...Of course, I'd never advise anyone to give these CREEPS any slack or turn my back on one, for fear of feeling the rusty thrust of a home-made shiv as it pierced my kidney and the wretched Bastards left me for Dead.
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Jeff eventually called me back, but I wasn't around to answer. And after a week of this heavy shit I had little patience for people. Bob & Mary Schindler would appeal to the Supreme Court but it seemed apparent that the steam was running dry, and the Justices were just as likely to repeat the same decision they made before. Even Florida legislators could be seen hiding behind corners and ducking into bathrooms, jumping in front of Charter buses and thrusting themselves into the waiting jaws of the Everglades, when Bob & Mary asked them to intervene again. The Right Wing Smear factory was still cranking out munitions, but I wasn't even modestly interested in listening to Fred Honzberger trot out a psychiatrist who claimed Michael Sciavo fit the profile of an abusive husband. Fred put down O'Reilly and made an Oxycontin crack toward Limbaugh, and I quickly assessed this as an effort by Pittsburgh's Neo-con Mouthpiece to distance himself from the others, figuring Fred's brain was under unbelievable pressure, literally, from the Cognitive burden of towing the Republican agenda and in danger of exploding all over the booth, getting in the dials and equalizers and the Six O'Clock Sports Guy's microphone...but Fred will probably never change. And there's an odd sort of comfort knowing that the Right in this country never really changes - just the names and faces and occasionally a battle to sink to the depths of the Political bottom dwellers.
But there is a sense that the Villagers have beaten the Monsters back into the Night and Shadows and Howling Winds...this time, for who knows what these Brutes have in store and what schemes lay in wait for the '06 elections, hidden deep in labyrinthine catacombs and the vestibules of the Damned. Surer than stink on a skunk, the Republican Party, approaching shakey ground next year and treading dangerously close to a Florida-sized sink hole, is cracking the whip hard across the backs of the Dirty Tricks brigades in an all-out quest to silence the Huddled Masses and Citizen Horde rising up in opposition to their draconian policies.
As the Winter finally gives way to Spring in Pennsylvania, here's to the Resurrection of the Trees and the Flowers and the Land and the renewal of the Soul...The long, slow thaw following the last few flurried outbursts of February and March...that goddamn Hog-weasel in Punxatawny was only off a few weeks - again - yet his most devoted followers, numbering several thousand, arrived as early as 1 or 2 AM for a ritual of Polka, Pork by-products and mass consumption of Alcohol in the chilly Appalachian morning...a Dyonisian Festival for a prognosticating Ground Hog, complete with a substantial maketing gimmick involving t-shirts, hot-pants, plush toys and prophylactics...
But, alas,the Muse is out on a Smoke & Beer run and there are Midnight Hours to Burn...