Talking of course. A friend called from New York City. Seems her mother is on a ventilator. Although she’s still conscious—"aware of what’s going on" etc., apparently the woman’s son—my friend’s brother—wants to pull the plug on Mom.
My cell phone was crackling. Our conversation was like old radio traffic far at sea. Somewhere out to the east there was a gibbous moon.
We must fight for every breath in this world. Who shall say the lives of others are inconvenient?
The brother was filled with what he called "ethics"—as in: "It’s terrible to see her this way. She’s probably suffering. She might not ever get better. Etc."
Like a million other Americans, "the brother" thinks life is simply about the absence of pain.
I tell my friend that I tend to side with conservative types around the issue of terminating human life.
But then again, I’m more consistent than conservatives because I oppose the death penalty.
I believe that Terry Shiavo was murdered.
I believe that Frank Zappa was right when he said America is turning into a "fascist theocracy".
I want to kick a badly manufactured thing: a tin lunch box with a picture of Mr. McGoo on the lid.
I want to roll through the day like a wheel on fire.
I realize that I need to stop talking for a time and read some poems by Pablo Neruda.
I went out into the sub-zero afternoon with my guide dog.
Nira, a yellow Labrador, who is only two years old, met her first goose just outside the University of Iowa’s student union.
The goose was eating pellets of salt from the sidewalk.
Students walked around the goose, ignoring it, talking to their friends on their cell phones.
People in this country are no longer living in the present tense.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 