Independence

This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

Walt Whitman; Preface to 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass

Grabagun, Rob Duran!

A couple of days ago a Facebook friend shared a post by a man named Rob Duran. Mr. Duran began by saying he felt he had to "fix a few people on here because emotions are high and stupid shit is being supported." He wanted to "fix" folks confused about what is and what is not an assault rifle. As a guy who can't remember the last time I even held a gun, much less shot one, I am among those who need fixing.

Mr. Duran offers a brief history assault rifles, particularly AK-47s and M-16s, and writes that they have been banned for civilian use by several acts of Congress as far back as 1934. He then continues with information about the AR-15, stating that "it does the same thing as any other standard rifle." He claims that anyone who thinks the AR-15 is anything more than a standard rifle sporting some "aesthetic differences" is "pants-on-the-head-retarded." The AR-15 "isn't more dangerous that any other standard rifle," and the only reason it gets used so often in shootings is because it is "the most popular rifle in the country...the iPhone of rifles...affordable, accurate...(and) easy to personalize because everyone makes accessories for it."

Not wanting to be guilty of supporting stupid shit, I decided to do a little research via the Internet on Mr. Duran's views. If this is such a clear matter, why are so many otherwise well-informed people ignorant about it?

There's a lot out there about the issue, but perhaps the most interesting to me is the website maintained by Grabagun, a business that makes it as easy as possible to do just that in exchange for cash. I will simply quote from that website's introduction to its ads for "Complete AR and AK Rifles":

"To the average gun enthusiast, it is sometimes difficult to tell the differences among the various types of ARs and AKs. This issue is especially true when it comes to the AK-47 and the AR-15. It can be easy to get these confused, as many of the world’s strongest militaries are using one or the other, making it difficult to differentiate between the two.

"The AK-47 is the top-selling weapon on the globe. It is used by militaries and civilians the world over. The AR-15, however, is the top-selling rifle in the United States. It is a little longer and lighter than the AK, and fires more rounds per minute. The AK is a little less expensive, generally speaking, and is favored by European militaries more so than in the United States.

"Regardless of where your heart lies, the fact that a debate still rages on between these two shows the fierce loyalty they inspire. The same can be said for a great number of AR and AK rifles available to the public."

I conclude that since "the average gun enthusiast" is sometimes confused about the differences between "various types of ARs and AKs" (maybe because of the "accessories" easily available for the AR-15?), that I may be forgiven if I am "stupid" about the whole topic. Whatever, the people at Grabagun do not think the differences between the two are so great that they can't list both under one category. Maybe they need educating.

I am, in fact, willing to be educated by Mr. Duran himself if he'd like to try, although I don't respond well to teachers who consider me stupid, or an idiot, or (I can hardly type this a second time) "pants-on-head-retarded."

A Comprehensive Census of the Internet

The internet is largely populated by many who know everything and few who forgive anything. The Cincinnati Zoo story is but a single example.

Liar, liar, California's on fire.

People who don't think California has been experiencing a drought will never be convinced that the earth's climate is going through a change, no matter what the scientific evidence. I don't see why Donald Trump deserves a single vote. Not a one, purely on his inability to grasp simple facts.

Does who is telling the lie make it less a lie?

How is it that people who are willing to spend years and millions of dollars trying to prove that Hillary Clinton has lied in the past don't hold Donald Trump accountable for the lies he spews forth in public every day?

Maybe Alone On My Bike

Maybe Alone On My Bike 

by William Stafford 

I listen, and the mountain lakes

hear snowflakes come on those winter wings

only the owls are awake to see,

their radar gaze and furred ears

alert. In that stillness a meaning shakes;

And I have thought (maybe alone

on my bike, quaintly on a cold

evening pedaling home), Think!-

the splendor of our life, its current unknown

as those mountains, the scene no one sees.

O citizens of our great amnesty:

we might have died. We live. Marvels

coast by, great veers and swoops of air

so bright the lamps waver in tears,

and I hear in the chain a chuckle I like to hear.

Grandfather's Cars, by Robert Phillips

Grandfather's Cars 

by Robert Phillips

Every two years he traded them in (“As soon

as the ashtrays get full,” he said with good humor);

always a sedate four-door sedan, always a Buick,

always dark as the inside of a tomb.

Then one spring Grandfather took off to trade,

returned, parked proudly in the driveway.

“Shave-and-a-haircut, two bits!” blared the horn.

Grandmother emerged from the kitchen into day-

light, couldn’t believe her eyes. Grandfather sat

behind the wheel of a tomato-red Lincoln

convertible, the top down. “Shave-and-a-haircut,

two bits!” “Roscoe, whatever are you thinking?”

she cried. Back into the kitchen she flew.

No matter how many times he leaned on that horn,

she wouldn’t return. So he went inside,

found her decapitating strawberries with scorn.

“Katie, what’s wrong with that automobile?

All my life I’ve wanted something sporty.”

He stood there wearing his Montgomery Ward

brown suit and saddle shoes. His face was warty.

She wiped her hands along her apron,

said words that cut like a band saw:

“What ails you? They’ll think you’ve turned fool!

All our friends are dying like flies-all!

You can’t drive that thing in a funeral procession.”

He knew she was right. He gave her one baleful

look, left, and returned in possession

of a four-door Dodge, black, practical as nails.

Grandfather hated that car until the day he died.