born in a dead man's town

It makes no difference to the spider for whom shall die, but she'd rather be a lacewing, than a house, than a fly. After the clock was stuck at midnight, she scourged the city streets to the countryside, looking on her toes looking on her knees to whom was big enough for her glass half filled.

A very long name wrapped itself beyond the horizon, slowing down perceptibly at each of the poles, then gaining speed and doubling over at the prime meridian--upon satellite inspection it could be seen that this unpronounceable long name was actually a short, one-syllable word repeated a thousand times a minute without breath by some lost crazy girl until the earth became a ball of butcher's twine.

There’s a fire truck parked outside. Too bad I just cannot be alone out. There is this big act of not seeming completely anxious and nervous. Being alone will not make everyone notice you ten times more and the fact that you will look like the token of strange. Doesn't help much. It's probably a good thing that this place… is on fire.

I erased a few false starts after trying to write about something I’ve learned it’s better not to write about. So imagine you’re reading a beautifully written, thoughtful post full of romance and heartbreak about the gorgeous girl. If it doesn’t make you feel a little sad, then you’re not doing it right.

“I won’t be able to read your site anymore,” some would say. “Can you make it so I can’t go there? Can you ban me or something?”

“Yes.”

Please don’t ask me to explain.

Yesterday was veteran's day or as we Canadians, even maybe the Aussies or Brits call it, Remembrance Day.

I was impressed how it's not really a "day" where you put the old flag up next to the mail box, or get the day off, but I suspect in most of Canada, the good people actually think about the horrors of war and give considerate thought to the veterans who died for them.

What did you do? Apparently, we buy a red poppy from a old vet for a buck or two because we feel sorry for the guy and pin it to our jacket, shirt or cap and it's like the ribbons that we sometimes wear except not as cheesy. Dare I say, it came across to me as classy.

We talk a lot about supporting the troops but I wonder if they ever feel like sometimes the best way to support the young men and women who volunteer for the service is to *not* send them to every single war that a few men in power usher them off to as living pawns. For such an intelligent and diverse nation, I’m often shocked at how simpleminded so many can be, especially when it comes to something as serious and life-changing as war.

What I learned from the Canadians was that even though far fewer of them have perished on the battlefield, that they respect life so much that they really respect those who will give their lives in the name of their nation. Therefore they respect war so much that they would hesitate from entering into it for foolish reasons.

On Remembrance Day I believe its right to say that I think we are wrong to be in Iraq. I feel like the best thing we can do for our soldiers, who we support, is to get them the hell out of there, especially our national guardsmen who should be defending our borders.I believe that you can support the troops and disagree with certain wars, this one being a foolish one. And I believe that in a free country, especially in America, it is not only your right to stand up and disagree with the leadership when you have a valid point, but it is your duty as a patriot.

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow. Between the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the sky. The larks, still bravely singing, fly. Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago. We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved, and were loved, and now we lie. In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throw. The torch, be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die. We shall not sleep, though poppies grow. In Flanders fields