Antifa; Anti-Fascist Warriors – Sort of

I’m going to dip my toes in shark infested waters with this post, but what the hell.

Antifa, a so called political movement, has captured my attention over the past weeks.  For those of you who are blissfully unaware, Antifa is a group comprised of far left extremists opposed to what they deem is a fascist right wing uprising.  I absolutely shy away from open political conversation because, like religion, people tend to be vehemently defensive of their beliefs.  Regardless of which side of the isle you A-line yourself with, Antifa should be on your radar for all the wrong reasons.

Now I love a proper show of civil disobedience if for no other reason than to demonstrate to those in power that we the people are to be feared.  Protest, boycott, disrupt multinational business operations, temporarily upset “normal” day-to-day comings and goings can bring attention to social issues and, in all honesty, be a good bit of fun.

Antifa takes things to another level.  Members seem to encourage violence against those holding ideals different from their own, and in some cases, literally oppose free speech.  Search Youtube and see for yourself, masked men and women assaulting non-violent protesters.  Let me remind you that these people say they are opposed to fascism – kudos, yet are somehow oblivious to their own hypocrisy.  Surprising differing ideals is something a fascist government would do.

To all my Antifa supporters, let me enlighten you.  The fact that you can protest literally ANYTHING proves you are not living in a fascist country.  I really don’t understand how some people miss that simple fact.

And I get the appeal.  I really do.  Masking up and taking to the streets in opposition of a potentially tyrannical regime is downright exciting.  The prospect of brawling with pseudo Nazi sympathizers gives me a chubby.  It simply sounds like fun.  But Antifa members are one hundred percent misguided.

Instead of wasting your efforts battling imaginary foes, seek out the real racists comprised of every ethnicity.  Fight deforestation and illegal whaling.  Oppose animal suffering.  OR, if you truly desire political change, get someone who shares your ideals and campaign for public office.  Punching people you don’t agree with is childish, and, if you swing on the wrong person, hazardous.

 

Dear Mom

 

I love you mom, but you fucked up

You should have left his ass

That miserable drunk

 

I love you mom, anyone could have seen

You facilitated his demons

Gave him the resources to be apathetic, violent, simply mean

 

I love you mom, but I think you’re a coward

Afraid of being alone

Unwilling to defend those you’ve flowered

 

I love you mom

Sometimes I just want to say

That I hate you for all the beating you let come my way

 

I love you mom, that will never change

I know life was hard for you

We shared that pain

 

I love you mom, and it hurts me to say

You fucked up because didn’t give me away

The Talk You NEED, But May Not Want

No one cares about your dreams.

Harsh but true.

Your nurturing parents don’t care you aspire to be a published author; they want a secure future for you.  Financial stability, a caring partner, have all your basic human needs met.  Friends are concerned about comradery, a mutual exchange of feelings, good times.  Girlfriends want stability.  Know you’re faithful, reliable, compassionate through life changing events.

Though they genuinely care about you, those you value do not give a shit if your book populates major retailer shelves.  And why should they?  Assuming you’re a happy, well-adjusted person in good health.  That is all those who care about are concerned with – as they should be.

Calm down, I know your boyfriend will do anything for you; I’m sure he claims you have his heart and soul during pillow talk time.  To him, you are perfect already.  Presumably that’s why he’s in your life.  Writing is but a facet of your persona, arguably not the most important one.

Now that we’ve agreed no one truly cares about your dream, let me be your biggest cheerleader for a moment.

YOU, squinting at your smartphone, cleaning the thumb prints from your tablet, have to accept writing is only import to you.  Look only to yourself for motivation.  Manipulate the dream into an obsession.  Wake every day with the frightening desire to write.  Time is running out.

Because, the truth of it is, the dream of being a published author is not something shared with those you love, with those who love you.  They will support you, but drop the pursuit tomorrow and see how consoling they become when what you really need is a kick in the ass followed by a few uplifting words.