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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Monday, February 13, 2006

    The Death Of Childhood...

    ...second star to the right, and straight on til mourning...

    My Darling Nat came up to me minutes ago, excited from a rousing bout of Peter Pan and Captain Hook (check your local listings). She asked me, eyes aglow, "Is Peter Pan real?"

    I could have killed it then. No, you stupid little bitch, he is a fucking cartoon, and Santa is...and blah blah blah blah.

    Is rape any worse, I ask you? I dunno, honestly. But maybe not.

    America's soul is dying. No matter how loud you clap, or say "I do believe in America!" we are fading. The color is washing out. Grey is washing in, the first cousin of black.

    My wife made me cry, a bit ago. She called from the hospital parking lot, up there in Portland, where she and John have been all day. She was headed home, and she had a tale...

    Seems that down in the main lobby, they have a Bogendorfer (or however that's spelt) grand piano, and today, they had brought in a pianist to tickle the keys. He was playing all kinds of music, mostly the old familiar favorites, and then he hit one that Johnny knew.

    Johnny chimed in with his clear, high, strong voice, and began to sing like a cherubim. The wife, a trained classical pianist and opera singer, joined him, and the pianist became enraptured. Beauty draws, and feeds on beauty, and he kept playing familiar, sacred songs, and the wife and Johnny sang along, in their clear, sweet voices, and everyone in the area was drawn to them. A crowd formed, and joy filled the air, and people whose babies were sick and dying upstairs smiled, and swayed, happy for perhaps the first time in days...weeks...months.

    You know what is coming, don't you. I could stop right here, and you, athiest, Jew, Christian, anarchist, you could end this tale for me, couldn't you.

    My son, singing like an angel (and oh, how I wish you could hear him sing)...
    My son, who has nearly died so many times in that self-same building.
    My son, praising The One True God, while other parents hold each other upstairs and cry, and cry out to God for mercy on their child...

    ...was told to stop singing, by an officious little man, who said, and I quote, "This is a public hospital, and I could get in so much trouble for allowing you to do this..."

    That is all.




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