Truth Hurts
He sat alone with his paragraph.
He stared at this lump of white letters on a black screen for nearly twenty minutes.
Then he began to breathe life into it, shuffling words intently, whispering them to himself, listening to how they sounded until he found the perfect cadence—fifty disparate words, strung like bulbs on an idea wire.
“Done,” he said to himself.
“I’m done.”
The majority of Muslims are peaceful.
We hear this whenever Muslim extremists go on a rampage.
And though I agree the majority of Muslims are peaceful, if the average Muslim had to choose between living with a peaceful atheist like me or a fanatical Islamist, I think they’d choose the latter, because with the latter they share a religion.
Religion holds people together, while also dividing us from one another.
It lumps people into like-minded groups, where each group believes their God, their beliefs, their scripture, and their golden ticket to the afterlife is the one and only. It fosters an “us versus them” mentality, and when religion controls the narrative of who we are, we lose sight of our shared humanity.
When infused with fanaticism, religion celebrates flying planes into buildings and forcing families from their bulldozed homes as righteous acts.
When we view people through the prism of religion, we don’t see them as individuals. Instead, we see Jews, Muslims, or Christians and the preconceived notions those labels have to us. Categorization leads to dehumanization and dehumanization softens up the conditions for war and hate.
Fanatical groups like Hamas, ISIS, al-Qaeda, MAGA Republicans, and the ultra-orthodox Jews living in the West Bank see religion and scripture as a final arbiter or cure-all to all their woes and view those who don’t adhere to their beliefs as “less than” themselves.
Religion doesn’t only affect the religious. For example, religious-borne fear affects the moral compass of the religiously-agnostic when it comes to the war in Gaza. The fear of religious extremism is why we give a wide berth to Israeli vengeance. Our fear of Hamas and what they represent runs so deep that we give the IDF leeway in terms of their tactics and rationalize civilian casualties.
Religious extremism never serves the greater good. Clearly, Gazans in Palestine would be better off if they could get out from under the thumb of Hamas.
I want Hamas to be swept into the dustbin of history.
But at what cost? I guess that’s the question.
At what cost?
Last week, I saw a video post on LinkedIn that showed ghastly footage of bloody Palestinian children writhing in pain on a hospital floor in Gaza. It was horrific and sickening (and has since been removed). Many of the comments to that post referenced Allah and retribution, which filled me with despair. Those comments reinforce my belief that humans are slaves to what they’re taught in churches, synagogues, and mosques.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that people find peace, comfort, and a sense of community in religion — I understand the positive aspects of religion.
But I also see the negative.
Religious people get agitated at atheists like me who rail against the dangers of religion. In contrast, we atheists get frustrated that religious people can’t seem to separate the bliss they achieve from religion individually from the negative shit that comes out of a religious group dynamic.
Freedom from religion – the right of a person to have no religion in their life, opens the door to humanistic identity.
I was raised a catholic. For years, growing up, I went to church and catechism every Sunday, where I was lectured to by priests and nuns. Thankfully, I lived in a country that supports freedom from religion and free thought — where, over time, I could compare (without fear of retribution) what the priest and nuns were telling me to what I saw and observed in the world and what I learned of my own volition. This led to a sense of self not based on religious dogma and doctrine but rather on my personal experience interacting with the world and the people in it.
If I had been born and raised in Iran or Iraq, my experience would have been radically different. I would have been forced to adhere to the religious rules of the state or suffer the consequences of disobedience.
As an atheist, I could walk the streets of Telavi freely without having to look over my shoulder in fear for my safety. I’m not sure I can say the same about walking streets controlled by Islamist fundamentalists – who, if I made an off-color remark about their prophet, would separate me from my head without batting an eye – and feel justified in doing so.
America’s greatest gift to its citizens is freedom from religion. But lately, I fear we’re in danger of losing that gift and becoming an authoritarian theocratic state ourselves.
Just look at the speech that Elise Stephanic gave when nominating Mike Johnson as Speaker of the House. That speech included multiple references to God and scripture. And Johnson himself has informed American’s the way to learn how he feels about any issue is to read the Bible. ‘That’s my worldview, that’s what I believe.‘
Since Mike Johnson’s nomination to the speakership, we’ve seen gross outward expressions of religiosity on the house floor – a clear slap in the face to the separation of church and state.
Imagine the outcry if a Muslim speaker or representative busted out a prayer rug on the house floor to pray.
The increase of religiosity in the Republican party should be a huge red flag to Americans who cherish living in a secular and pluralistic society.
The GOP’s embrace of Christianity as a national religion is a genuine threat to the American way of life.
I’m not naive. I know religion isn’t going anywhere, though I am heartened that among American adults, secular humanism and postmodernism are growing in influence in our culture.
Let’s judge religions by their ideas.
The notion that criticizing a religion is unacceptable because it might “offend people” is what allows dangerous movements within generally peaceful religions to spread and radicalize individuals.
We need to voice our objections loudly against any religion that promotes divisiveness, intolerance, or hate, because these are bad ideas for humanity.
I’m stepping down from my soap box now.
Israel says there is a safe zone for civilians in the south of Gaza.
Israel suggests that Hamas is preventing civilians from going to that safe zone because separating Gazan civilians from Hamas means fewer civilian casualties, which is terrible for Hamas because (according to Israel) Hamas relies on civilian casualties as fodder for their propaganda machine.
So, who do we believe?
How do we, the ones watching this conflict from the outside, get to the truth to form an opinion?
It is hard to trust the controlling parties on either end of this conflict, and in that scenario, everyone in the middle gets obliterated.
And let’s not forget that our struggle for truthfulness is nothing compared to what Gazan civilians are facing hourly. Gazans are struggling to live and breathe just long enough to bury their dead.
Americans understand the raw rage that Israel holds towards Hamas. It mirrors what we felt towards Al-Qaida on September 12th, 2001. We understand a desire for payback that originates from the gut – it’s what drives our support of Israeli efforts to uproot and destroy Hamas.
But I’m guessing there’ll come a point where support for Israel tips in the other direction – when our gut reaction to the sheer number of civilian casualties forces us to say, “Enough!”
Who will be the last Israeli soldier, Hamas terrorist, or Gazan civilian to die before we reach that point, and will it matter?
How can civilians in the “political middle” of this conflict affect change now when they couldn’t affect change before the conflict? – Isn’t the task of effecting change way more difficult today?
Gaza is in ruins. Survivors filled with rage and hopelessness will be looking for payback, and the peace and security that many Israelis seek has become less of a possibility.
It’s hard to find hope in any of this.
Hamas has been at the helm of the Government in Gaza since 2007.
What have they done for the Palestinian people?
The Hamas Charter explicitly calls for the obliteration of Israel. Hamas is not interested in negotiating or coexisting with Israel. Any talks with Israel that might result in a better life for Gazans would be detrimental to Hamas’s hold on power — because peaceful coexistence with Israel negates Hamas’s primary objective, which is to kill Jews.
Hamas militants are fueled by religious hatred, laid bare in the brutal and vicious nature of their attacks on Israeli citizens. When you believe God commands you to slaughter your enemies, you do so with zeal. The greater the depravity by which they murder, the more glory to their God, or so it seems.
Even if you blame Israel entirely for the plight of the Palestinians in Gaza, how can anyone justify the terroristic and vicious nature of the Hamas attack on October 7th, 2023?
I understand that Israeli policies that expand settlements and displace Palestinians exacerbate the hardships felt in Gaza.
I understand the Israeli government has contributed to Palestinians’ indignity for generations.
I understand that Israel has killed many innocent Palestinians in military operations over the years.
Does all that understanding about the indignity, the generational hopelessness, and the death and destruction at the hands of the Israeli military – justify Hamas’s attack on innocent civilians?
No, it does not – because Hamas has done nothing on behalf of Palestinians to move the needle toward peace.
They offer no hope. They are the enemy of hope.
There’s a palpable dread for what’s about to go down in Gaza.
Palestinian citizens and the hostages taken by Hamas are pawns in a never-ending religious, ethnic, and geopolitical dispute that Hamas has no interest in resolving.
That’s why they need to go.
The words made their way from the lips of the lady behind the ticket counter into my slightly hard-of-hearing ears.
I hesitated to answer.
Of course, I knew the answer, but I think I was shocked at being asked.
After a few seconds, I said, “Yes, as a matter of fact. Two of us are.”
And voila, my first senior discount transaction was complete.
It happened at a Showcase Cinema in Seekonk, Massachusetts, for the movie Dumb Money (which I highly recommend).
For me, it was the first time being asked publicly about my age — it was a bit trippy – and so, for a few seconds, I was a little foggy on how to respond – because, in that instance, I was forced to reconcile that regardless of how I feel or how I envision myself, in the objective eyes of others, I’m old.
I don’t see a senior discount when I look at myself in the mirror.
I don’t hear senior discount when I pump up the volume of my 90’s gunge playlist and dance around the kitchen to Nirvana and Everclear.
I guess that’s why I hesitated when asked the question.
Now I’m wondering – with my first senior discount under my belt, will I start to feel my age?
Will I begin to understand the feeling pulsing through my veins when Smells Like Teen Spirit blasts through my headphones is a hoax – a mindfuck?
Is asking about senior discounts just around the corner for me?
God, I hope not.
But one thing is certain: aging is like the Borg; resistance is futile.
So, I have noticed this about myself lately.
I’ll randomly blurt out “fuck you” throughout the day, at nothing in particular.
Like a hiccup, my “fuck yous” arrive without warning.
Most of the time, they happen when I’m alone, but not always, as my wife can attest.
I might be walking from the kitchen to the living room when BAM! – a sharp and sincerely felt “fuck you” burst from my lips.
Sometimes the “fuck yous” happen when driving alone in my car.
These car “fuck yous” aren’t preceded by a driver cutting me off or failing to use a turn signal (e.g., the standard “fuck you” driving scenarios). No, instead, it’s just me driving in peace and quiet when out of nowhere comes a terse and curt “fuck you!”
I’m not afflicted by a sudden onset of Tourette Syndrome, but something’s definitely going on with me. So, I’ve been trying to self-diagnose.
The first step in diagnosing Random Fuck You Syndrome (it’s what I’m calling this) is identifying life changes that might be contributing factors.
Change 1: Being Alone
One thing that’s changed for me is the number of hours I spend alone.
I’ve worked from home for more than 20 years — but recently, working from home has transitioned to working from home alone.
For most of my career, there’s always been another human in the house (for at least part of my workday). But this past year, our younger son moved out, and my wife, who leaves for work at 4:15 in the morning, goes to her mom’s house after work to visit and help with chores.
We have a dog who keeps me company throughout the day, but she’s deaf and, consequently, quiet as a mouse.
So, the number of hours I spend alone during the workday has increased significantly. For long periods, it’s just me, my laptop, the refrigerator’s hum, and my deaf dog snoring.
Being alone is not the sole cause of Randon Fuck You Syndrome, but I think it contributes to it.
Change 2: My TV and Phone
When you work from home alone, your smartphone and television become closer companions to you than they used to be.
I turn my TV on shortly after waking up and listen to the news while going about my morning routine of putting on a pot of coffee, feeding, petting, and talking to my dog (yes, I know she can’t hear me), making the bed, and emptying the dishwasher.
When I’m not absorbing content from work, I’m absorbing it from my smartphone and television. Throughout the day, I’m receiving input constantly – All that input gets stacked in the recesses of my mind, where it sits for hours, without interruption from healthy interactions and conversations with other human beings.
Change 3: Our Turbulent World and the Nature of Content
When the world is a mess, as ours is, having access to information is a double-edged sword. You stay informed, but you worry – a lot.
We have constant access to information about the war in Ukraine, the rise of fascism at home, the climate crisis, inflation, and the looming influence of AI, all contribute to an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty and anxiety.
On top of the pile of the undeniable mess sits a fairly new development (in terms of consequence): the demise of critical thinking and American’s willingness to relinquish their mental and intellectual autonomy to fantastical conspiracy theories and a known crook whose vision for America rests on retribution, revenge, and fascist-ideologies.
I can’t tell you how many interviews I’ve seen recently of Qanon followers who believe JFK is still alive, JFK junior faked his own death, and Donald Trump is a Christ-like figure divinely sent to save America from a cannibalistic cabal of elites.
Donald Trump, (a man credibly charged with stealing top-secret documents, directing a collaborative effort to overturn a free and fair election (and strong-arming state officials to do the same) said, “Don’t believe what you see or hear, believe what I tell you.” And millions of Americans are doing just that.
I stew at the knowledge that these people get a seat at the table and have a say in selecting the next president – that their vote counts the same as the vote from rational individuals who use critical thinking to guide their decisions.
This is a significant change, not just for me (a guy working at home alone), but for our country.
Change 4: Work Burnout
At sixty, what’s required of me at work and where I am philosophically have diverged irreconcilably.
I feel it in my bones and gut every morning I wake up.
There’s a nagging sense of entitlement that at this phase of life, I’ve earned the right to slow down, take my foot off the gas, and smell the roses.
I romanticize about a job that doesn’t follow me home every night. A job that ends when the day ends and doesn’t occupy my mind ceaselessly.
When I look at my workstation, I stress out about the amount of work I have to complete – work that no longer interests me – and the mental energy required to barely push through it.
That agitates the shit out of me.
So, these four changes – an increase in the amount of time being alone, unfettered access to information, the shit-state of our world and America’s growing population of unthinking Trump supporters, and job burnout – are contributing factors to the “Fuck Yous!” building inside my head and Random Fuck You Syndrome (RFYS).
At this phase of life, I have both no fucks to give, yet I’m full of “fuck yous” – it’s a strange dichotomy.
As I see it, the cure is retirement (a year or two off) and voting the current Trump culture into oblivion.
After that, I’ll regain control of my “fuck yous.” Until then, Random Fuck Yous will reign.
Today’s GOP
creates farce out of folly
under the sway
of the Orange Svengali
Awake to the woke
in love with sedition
blind to the broke
with no sense of contrition
a party of grievance
feckless and loud
swearing allegiance
to the vain and the proud
Gaetz in the Doorway
he covets that gavel
winking at young girls
as Kevin unravels
A chamber of stooges
a congress of cowards
Mitt-less and witless
like Moe and Shemp Howard
No mouths were gaping
at Beetlejuice Bimbo
hand jobs and vaping
through a national window
Gym Jordan’s a fool
like we’ve never seen
until we lay eyes
on one Majorie Greene
Then there’s the likes
of Tuberville Tommy
fucks with Core
like a one-man tsunami
In today’s GOP
there’s never too far
they’re crossing the line
to lower the bar
It’s been nearly six years (October 2, 2017) since Tom Petty died.
A few months before his passing, my son and I drove from Rhode Island to Philadelphia to catch Tom and the Heartbreakers on the final leg of their 40th Anniversary Tour.
On our way down to the show, we listened to every Heartbreakers album in sequence, amazed at the quantity of quality the band produced over their 40 years.
When Tom made his way to the microphone that night in front of a packed Wells Fargo arena — he seemed a little unsteady. His voice was thin and shaky when he addressed the audience, and I wondered if time had finally caught up to the rock icon.
That show was my sixth Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers concert. Like the previous five, I walked out of the arena blissfully. At 66 years old and on a fractured hip, Tom Petty remained true to his craft and the spirit of rock and roll. He and the band were brilliant.
For over 40 years, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers never cheated their audience with half-hearted performances or sub-par albums. They loved what they did, which showed in the studio and on stage.
That show in 2017 has me reminiscing on how and when I got hooked on the Heartbreakers.
The first Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers song I heard was Refuge in 1979 as a junior in high school. That song jolted with me the instant I heard it. My reaction to it bordered on chemical, and for three minutes and twenty-two seconds, I felt true clarity, like the music physically pushed shit aside in my head – so it was just me and the song.
I’m not sure why that song resonated so powerfully. Perhaps it was the convergence of Petty’s aggressive-edged delivery frenetically stirred by the tumult of adolescence and teenage angst.
I don’t know “the why,” but I remember “the when” like it happened yesterday.
I’m not sure how it began for my son. Maybe it was musical osmosis from exposure to A LOT OF Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at an early age.
Perhaps my son connected with a specific song or album during adolescence and got hooked like I did.
Or maybe he saw Tom Petty as a musical bridge to span the sometimes-fractious waters between a father and son.
The most intriguing thing about this trip down memory lane is how Tom Petty evolved as an artist and the impact that had on me as a fan.
As much as I loved Refugee as a teenager, listening to that song as an adult was mainly a way of reconnecting with my youth. Sometimes, “reconnecting” is the extent of our relationship with an artist or song.
A more substantive relationship develops when the artist evolves – because that presents an opportunity to connect with them on a deeper level.
As Tom Petty matured, he became a master songwriter. His songs tapped into the complexities of human relationships with sparse and simple language. That’s what kept me tethered to him as an artist.
The way I connect with songs like Wildflowers and Square One is totally different than the nostalgic way I connect with Refugee or Here Comes My Girl – because I evolved as well (thankfully).
Tom’s evolution as an artist allowed his fans to grow with him — and most of us did.
And that’s why the relationship is impactful to so many people.
painting by Rex Wilder
I visit the coffee shop on Twenty-Fourth and Broad to listen to lovers’ quarrels.
Their words float above clanging utensils on flatware before making their way to my table, where I savor them more than my favorite dark roast.
My husband and I would come here every Sunday morning after making love under the skylight of our dusty third-floor apartment.
He’s gone now. He disappeared in the ring of an early morning phone call from a police officer at St. Luke’s Hospital three years ago this week.
Time misspent in wonderland
she sips on broken dreams
In weeds of woe and circumstance
life leaking from her seams
Time misspent in wonderland
in what-might-have-been galore
with a distant grin, she stirs her gin
cross-legged on the floor
Photos spread haphazardly
she slips into her past
she bathes in milky memories
and prays that it will last
Time misspent in Wonderland
tears running down her face
when now comes knocking at her door
to occupy her space
“What’cha doing mama?”
words lilting and refrained
that pierce the walls of wonderland
to bring her home again
bendingtheneedle