Guest Post

Guest Post: Why Separation of Church and State IS Religious Freedom

by M.A. Brotherton on August 9, 2012

I made a comment the other day about needing to get drunk and rant about Amendment 2 in Missouri, and low, my friend Yeti_Detective decided that he would go ahead and do that before I got a chance. Since he’s my friend, I relented and decided that I would post it on the site today. I think he believes that I have some sort of divine link to the internet hive mind or something.

You should be warned that the following article is Rated R. Yeti_Detective has a tendency to drop the “f-bomb.”

A lot.

Read at your own risk.

-MB

Ian Sane via Compfight

So Amendment 2 passed in Missouri’s most recent election. This amendment affirms the rights of Missourians to their freedom of religion, according to the most commonly circulated text. I voted against it because even that benign description just makes it sound like self-righteous assholes defending something that is not even remotely under attack.
When people in this country talk about the “war on religion,” what they’re really talking about is their crusade to force their religious beliefs on the public at large. Their ‘defense of religion,’ ironically, is the biggest threat to the religious freedom upon which America was so strongly founded.

I don’t mean to say that freedom of religion was the only reason this country’s founders did the things they did, but it was a major fucking sticking point. It was definitely bigger than capitalism, which existed before the revolution, and I don’t think any of them ever even mentioned Modern American evangelical conservatives believe a lot of stupid things. A lot. Like, virtually every goddamn thing they believe is stupid. Let me list them.

The earth is only 6000 years old. This is a dumb thing to believe because we have very reliable methods in modern times for telling how old something is, including the earth. Also, the number 6000 isn’t in the Bible, but was arrived at by a bishop using math that even the most illiterate klansman/juggalo would find dubious.
- (Before any juggalos/klansmen get offended, I’m not saying that the two are similar in belief structure. Only in intelligence level. Replace “fucking magnets, how do they work?” with, “fucking genetics, how does it work?” and you’ll start to see a pattern unfolding.)
The homosexual agenda involves anything other than ‘get equal rights’ and ‘get them to stop beating us to death.’ At this point I won’t even compare evangelicals to juggalos, because it’s too insulting to juggalos.

And the final, and stupidest thing evangelical conservatives believe:

Their religion is under attack in American culture.

No. It. Fucking. Is. Not. Unless you consider that a large part of their religion involves forcing their beliefs on others, denying equal rights to whatever minorities they can get away with persecuting at the time, (They didn’t come out of the civil rights movement of the 60s looking too good,) and keeping women barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen.

If you consider that, it still isn’t even so much that their religion is under attack as it is being defended against. They practice Assault Religion while simultaneously attempting to play a passive-aggressive sympathy card.

Let me quote Republican State Representative Mike McGhee, one of amendment 2’s sponsors, who says that the amendment will remind people about their religious freedoms. “It’s OK to bring your Bible to study hall.”

Really, Mike? Is it fucking really? Because I haven’t been to public school in a while, but I’m pretty sure that when I was there I brought my fucking Bible. In fact, the second time I read the Bible through almost entirely took place in study hall and my lunch break of my junior year. I went to the fucking prayer club at my high school. Once a year or more, Christian students will gather around their public school’s flag pole and hold hands and pray in an event called, “See you at the pole.” Look that shit up. It happens in, I am comfortable with speculating, every goddamn public high school in the entire country, and probably even most of the middle schools. And that’s fine. Those kids are allowed to do that. Your charade of religious persecution not only belittles the faith of those kids, it reveals your own hypocrisy as well as that of everyone who supports you. Anyone who believes that prayer isn’t allowed in school just never fucking even tried to pray in school. I did. So, fuck you, Mike McGhee.

I’ll finish with this.

Separation of church and state is the same as freedom of religion. It means the government can’t tell you what religion to follow or what god to worship. But it also means it can’t tell your neighbors what religion to follow or what god to worship. Secularism is not anti-religion. In fact, it is the most pro-religion stance there is, because it allows everyone to have faith in whatever they decide to have faith in. When you vote to put the ten commandments in a court house, what you’re really saying is, “Fuck you, buddhists, hindus, agnostics and atheists.” When you lobby to put a nativity scene in a publicly funded space, what you’re really saying is, “Fuck you, Jews. My holiday is better.” And when you do any of these things you’re saying, “Fuck you, founders of this country. I will invoke your spirits in order to force my beliefs on other people which is something you founded an entire nation in defiance of.”

And when you do that, you’re basically the worst piece of shit to ever stink up this continent. I hope you choke on your fucking chicken sandwich.

Yeti_detective is an angry man that gets drunk and live tweets movies on twitter, or gets drunker and rants on Tumblr. You can also read his other editorial work in What White Elephant each month. If you’re an astute listener, you’ll know him as the drunken half of the Half Drunk Podcast.

PinExt Guest Post: Why Separation of Church and State IS Religious Freedom

Guest Post – Elizabeth Howard

by M.A. Brotherton on May 21, 2012

Trying to Put Down the Writing Tools

Why, oh, why God, do I do this to myself?

Let me preface this by saying: I am a writer. Which figures into the upcoming conversation.

Do you know what I all need less of?

Time with myself.

I’ve been blogging for years and I get so BORED talking and thinking about myself. It’s boring.

I read Stereo*’s post "Back to Basics" and a deep sense of longing went through me.

Lately, everytime I sit down to TRY and write something on my blog, I just think UGH: Why oh WHY God?? Do I have to?

It’s rolled downhill as well. I’ve recently been taking intermittent breaks from Facebook as well. I can’t seem to think of a single thing to write about myself on my status update other than: Trying to think of a status update…

I’ve become a Facebook troller, just scrolling and reading and "liking" shit, like a complete asshole.I hate myself. WHY oh WHY God can’t I think of a decent Facebook status????

–

My life has changed somewhat since last summer, when I finally bit the bullet and decided to quit teaching writing and be a stay-at-home-mom to my four kids until they are all finally fully in school. (Sheesh, who wrote THAT crappy run-on sentence?) And that leads me to another question I ask myself quite often:

Why oh why God did I do that??

I mean, all work can be drudgery at times. That’s the nature of doing something repetitive. But making lunches and doing dishes and being alone with small kids — for me? — well that’s got to the be the heighth of brain-numbing boredom.

It’s also exceptionally important and necessary as well. It’s a job that shapes human beings, for chrissake! I should bow down in awe of my role everyday (hah!). It’s hard to do well, and I wonder all the time if I could be doing better.

And fuck yes, it’s lonely.

Part of the reason I logged off Facebook for awhile was because I felt lonely even when I was with the kids and I would catch myself hopping on Facebook even while in their company. Idiotic. Besides. It didn’t help. I think it made me even more lonely, pining for friends I didn’t have nearby.

And the kids felt me being distant too.

I didn’t want my kids to always see me staring at my phone.

Seriously. Have you ever WATCHED people staring at their phones? They look like scary zombies from a sci-fi movie.

And you know, my littlest one, she was always, always carrying around her play cell phone. Hmmmm. Why was that, do you think?

–

So here are these kids, and I have my blog I don’t want and I haven’t worked on a novel in years, and I’m starting to get freaked by my blog.

So my existential crisis was that I am a writer who suddenly just wants to put down her tools.

Why oh why God?

Here’s what must have happened though: I guess I had stopped writing for awhile since the kids came to live with us 3 years ago (they are foster kids we are trying to adopt). I put aside work on my novel and my journalism career as well. I was teaching, anyway, which had already started to draw my attention away from my own writing and focus toward others.

Now I turned my focus on these people who needed me, just so I could get their heads and hearts straight. And I had to get mine on straight too. Also, there was a LOT of clothes to sort through and food to cook and clean up every friggin day

During that time, my blog was a safe place for me to just keep my writing machine oiled I guess. It was a facade for a long time, an honest one, though not a true one. I couldn’t be true, because I didn’t REALLY know what the hell was going on!

I had to deflect for a long time because my mom hands are very busy.

Now they have settled into routines and relaxed into life, that place feels odd. I wonder: Why do want to put down these writing tools?

I question.

Why do I wake up at 4:15 am. in a panic, to write?

Why am I not ready to just thrust myself back at that work?

Why DID I even volunteer to write this guest post?

(I guess the writing tools are not interested in being put down.)

Lately, I’ve been deflecting again, in a good way, with poetry. It’s an old habit I’ve rekindled with success! Shorter writing for shorter spans of time.

I suppose that what’s called evolution?

Guest Post – Of Star Stuff, Glitter, and all things Sparkling… Words. (Domestictype)

by M.A. Brotherton on May 16, 2012

I am made of a core love of the stars. One of my earliest memories is of star watching. Not in the “I totally saw Kim Kardashian!!!” way. I try very hard to not celebrate the mediocre. But when I was very little, my parents took me to see a 4th of July fireworks display. I was, naturally, terrified by the banging, sizzling, screeching of the fireworks. But after the beautiful firework faded, it was one of those lovely, clear nights that’s both dark but intensely bright with moon and star light. I was fascinated by the way they seemed to carve themselves into the blanket of existence so early in my memory.

We all know that I’ve dealt with all sorts of adversity that would probably make most people just throw in the towel and say “You know what, life? Have it your way. This is wretched.” But, like the stars, I seem to have a fighting instinct carved into my flesh all the way down to my soul and when I gave into the fact that writing was my destination, my journey, my star stuff, it seemed my instincts breathed a sigh of relief.

I had fought it off with a stick for far too long. I am still fighting. Right now, I am recouperating from surgery for ovarian cancer. Oh, and under the fun effects of morphine, so pardon me, if I suddenly call y’all up for a “Riders Of The Storm” Moment.Get a tshirt that says “Just Blame Matt.” He is my little brother, after all. But the thing is that while all the adversities I’ve squared off with would be dream crushers for so many, it adds fuel to the fire for many.

But the thing is that while all the adversities I’ve squared off with would be dream crushers for so many, it adds fuel to the fire for me. I’m a determined one, if there ever was such a girl. I let one run in with my father, who had his own destructive demons almost tear not just his but my world apart badger me off of writing until I was nearly as bad off as him. I was letting the (his and mine) shadows get at me from every corner. Words set ablaze to these and make my world right again.

Why? We see, I let my fire be snuffed out once. It was cruel and horrific and it resulted in nearly a decade or more of my making bad choices. I own these bad choices through writing, in a sense. But as Joan Didion once also said, “I write so I can learn more about the world around me.” This is also true. I write to explore and to push myself.

Next week at my daughter’s school is “Author’s Week” and they have some authors coming in to read childrens books every day. My daughter is sometimes my number one champion, she takes me seriously when nobody else does. I had no idea that she had told her teacher not only that I had cancer but that I was a writer. Whilst I still blog, work on my manuscript, and shockingly enough a project full of childrens stories with a friend, I am barely published, but I have written many ‘books’ for my kids. Her teacher wrote me and asked me to come in and be her classroom’s guest author. I am still flabbergasted.

I write partly because I need my children to see that your life must be made up of choices that are both sound but lead you to happiness. I also write because every word that rings true to me when it burns itself into my mind and onto a page, well, it’s a star in my own galaxy. I do this to myself because happiness is not necessarily a continuous supply of foie gras and Crystalle champagne but of small victories like a cup of tea and words that spill onto paper into a little victory in a morning where you thought stubbing your toe would be all you could accomplish.

Not to totemize it- but since having been diagnosed with cancer, a cancer that whispers death very quickly into the women who are diagnosed with it, writing and choices are even more important. I can say that “I refuse to die.” or something like that or I can fill my days with moments that are meaningful and victorious in their own right. For me, a lot of those moments include words. My own words. Which is something that makes me keep going.

A few friends call me a glitter tornado. I feign ignorance but there’s a reality to it. We’ve seen a lot of bad in my life. I don’t try and cover that up, but I want to move on in the best possible way. To me that means, make your days happier, brighter, and yes, sparklier. I want things to be bright, cheerful, happy, and better than they were before. I think we all deserve it. So, fine, I am a glitter tornado.

I believe, that when we die, we return to the stars and look down on the things we have created and help them along. It’s a romantic notion, yes. But when you have beautiful children and beautiful words and you want them both to make the world a little less ugly and cruel, I would rather be a star that winks at you when you need a smile in the night.

“You – you alone will have the stars as no one else has them…In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night…You – only you – will have stars that can laugh.” –The Little Prince by Antoine de Sait-Exupery

Sara Rose

Sara is the queen of sparkle and glitter. She is Glinda to the core, you know. You should follow her on twitter and read her awesome writing over at her blog Domestic Type.

PinExt Guest Post Of Star Stuff, Glitter, and all things Sparkling… Words. (Domestictype)

Guest Post – Tracy Mangold – Why, oh, Why God, do I do this to Myself?

by M.A. Brotherton on May 14, 2012

Why, oh, Why God, do I do this to Myself?

When Matt asked us to write a guest post answering this question, I have to admit, I had no clue what to write about. I knew I wanted to do a guest post because Matt is one of the most fantastic people I know. And to be featured on his site is an honor indeed. So thanks Matt – thank you for allowing me to be part of your guest posting series. Matt constantly inspires me with his creativity – his talent, his outlook on life – and his never-ending ability to make me chuckle. I keep telling him he needs to have his own comic strip and column in the newspaper.

In terms of the question, “Why, oh, why God, do I do this to myself?” I ask myself this quite often – especially when I’ve volunteered to do something only to find out I’ve bitten off more than I thought could chew but plodded on anyway despite my intense fears and overwhelming self-doubt.

I asked this question the first time I climbed the 100 foot ladder leading up to my fire tower. I am afraid of heights and once I had reached the level on the ladder just above the tree tops, I saw my life flash before my eyes. My heart raced and I felt like a porcupine clinging for its dear life to a tree as the wind gusts and pushes around it. And then, I took a breath, silently recited a few lines of Robert Services’ poem, The Quitter, opened my eyes and saw – really saw – the most amazing view. My heart stopped pumping like a jackhammer. I knew quitting wasn’t an option. It’s not in my vocabulary. I would never climb down from that fire tower a quitter. I would climb down and climb back up again day after day for as long as I had the job. And I grew to love it.

I asked this question once again when I got pregnant with our daughter. Getting pregnant is the fun part, telling everyone is pure joy and then there is the reality of morning sickness, extreme fatigue, back pain, sciatica, sleeplessness, strong aversion to once favorite foods, weird hair growth and other bodily “abnormalities” that you are unaccustomed to and let us not forget to mention the fact that you become a human Niagara Falls once your water breaks. And of course – the delightful “discomforts” of labor and the moment you realize where they came up with the term “ring of fire”.

I remember lying flat out on the floor one night in the early stages of my pregnancy – the room spinning and churning around me, asking WHY GOD – WHY on earth did I VOLUNTARILY do this to myself? For an instant I placed all the blame for my condition firmly on my husband but as they say, it takes two to tango, so I merely groaned and clung to the floor in hopes of finding gravity. And then I felt my little one move inside me and was reminded – yes I can do this and YES it is all worth it.

Living in general is a lot like that. I ask myself why on the bad days when all hope seems lost – WHY are we put through this – to experience loss – to lose loved ones and friends – financial stress – to be put through sickness and trials and tribulations – to watch our parent age – why? I didn’t ask for this! So why? And for all too many things there are no answers. Only questions.

The key is to keep asking – to never stop asking – to never give that sneaky old devil Complacency/Apathy the ability to take up residence in our heart. That would be death to our spirit. So we plug on. We ask WHY GOD OH WHY but then we take a deep breath and we find things to keep us going. We create, we build, we love, we LIVE. We find the courage to send our creations, our words, our feelings – OURSELVES out into the world. We face strong criticism at times and are unfairly judged – sometimes harshly so, but for every negative, there is that ONE positive reaction (at least one) that knocks all the bad things out of the ballpark and makes it all worth it. That’s why we keep going, keep pushing, keep on creating and keep living.

The why suddenly doesn’t matter so much anymore. And instead we ask ourselves HOW we can do this and we respond, “to the best of our abilities.”

Tracy Mangold is an amazing woman who writes over at Inkytwig! You should read her poems, view her photos, and make her your friend. She’ll probably be one of your biggest cheerleaders.

PinExt Guest Post Tracy Mangold Why, oh, Why God, do I do this to Myself?

Guest Post – Jason Benoit: Tell it, Or Else

by M.A. Brotherton on May 11, 2012

Oh, you think it’s easy; you think the words flow from my fingers like wine at a wedding. You think this shit writes itself; or maybe I have a clan of satanic chimps that pluck words at random from my Emo refrigerator-poetry magnet set, and I just click-clack them onto the interwebs until you’re ready to slash my wrists for me.

Well, have I got news for you Punkin; every sentence, every single word, is agonized over. Sometimes, I sit for minutes on end writing the same sentence again and again; arranging, rearranging, and re-rearranging over and over until it rings just right, until it sounds like the frantic screams inside my head.

The words scrape, claw, and dig into my mind, they whisper in my ear; they wiggle and waggle before my eyes. They take root, spread throughout my skull until every thought is another fruit bore by its mighty branches. I am given no choice in these matters, I will write these pages, or I will mutter these words to myself wearing a not-so-straight jacket in a 6×9 with rubber walls and imagined windows.

As I walk through my day and manage conversation, they lie idly by sunning themselves and sipping cocktails. They pretend at indifference; they are calm and cool, as amiable as a horny husband with high hopes, but as the sun waddles over the horizon and gives a knowing wink to the loneliness lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce as soon as the coast is clear, the cacophony erupts in my mind and the haste is born anew. There are nights when I tick-tack-click-clack until the sun comes rolling back over the Atlantic. I have no choice; it’s write, write, write, or die, die, die.

Oh, but Punkin, when I get it right; when all the smoke and mirrors fall exactly into place and I can give you a sample of the flavors of my madness, when you can finally see into my mind and hear the clanking of the cogs and gears, then and only then, my dear, will they give me peace. Then, I can sleep; then, I can breathe. When every word is exactly where it belongs, and the page draws the perfect picture, it is in that moment that I can think, if only briefly, that there is something I am good at.

Jason rights some amazing things over on his blog, Jason’s Brain. You should be sure to check him out on twitter, and also, buy his e-book. It’s brilliant!