For Kiva , connecting people through lending for the sake of alleviating poverty
I’m not responsible for the double humpback camel or animal husbandry, masters or slaves, the Nazca lines or memes. However I’m behind the conspiracy to boot Paula Abdul from American Idol though. I love Ellen. Mom does too. “We must take our country back to its roots,” mom says, sarcastic. “To a time when all men (well just the white ones I guess) sweetened their coffee with Equal.” She’s tired of working. There’s no end in sight. Without her pub job we’d have nothing left to eat or seeds for the doves. I’m tired of the mob, mob rule, mobsters, church bells and wedding cake. I’ve had a long day, theoretically longer than the day before, and I’m not mom or a migrant worker. Annie Lennox is whispering into my ear, “you have a good life.” Everyone is alone. Everybody is an island of their own. In other words, I’m not afraid of cosmic radiation or daylight, volcanic eruptions or the pasado. Mom says the world is out to get her. The world is out to eat her bones. Scoop her up and toss her to the wind. She’s proud Whitney has finally made her comeback but she wonders what’s in it for her. It’s impossible to dance with the mentally disturbed, or translate the songs of bluebirds or blue whales, even if they’re not disturbed at all. I heard mom crying in the fridge this morning. She couldn’t stop counting the eggs and there was only one.