Seeing Red

Well, I have to succumb and write something political. Everyday I look at the Yahoo! Political Dashboard and run my mouse over the "red" states to discover just how red we are here in Utah. Today: 62.7% red, 26.3% blue. No other state is even close. No one else is even in the 60% range. Utah is completely out of touch with what is going on in the rest of the country.

We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.

Oh those Mormons do love to be subject, serfs to the establishment. Subject me, dominate me, make me see red.

I do revel in the ancient rebel Mormon past of telling the federal government to stick it, but most importantly we are clannish. We stick together even when it doesn't make any sense. Take Harry Reid. I can almost guarantee you that the Mormons in Nevada voting for McCain, also voted for Harry Reid. It makes no sense (other than Reid is a political genius for being Mormon and Democrat in Nevada). It would also explain Utah's love affair with Mitt Romney, the former governor of the gay state of Massachusetts.

That said, what follows below is a slightly modified version of a letter I sent to my McCain voting family members (some of whom reside in Nevada).

The Nature of Political Discourse

The nature of political discourse discourages me greatly. Vague end results (with no discussion of the means) and ideological preferences trump thoughtful analysis. Fundamental and foundational questions are not addressed and are primarily avoided. I'm sounding like a professor.

Here is an example:

Issue: Health Care

What is the foundational question on health care? Obama and the Democrats are accused of wanting to socialize health care. McCain and the Republicans argue that the free market should control. This is an age old conflict of free market vs. government involvment that is as old as the Republic. Unless you address the underlying question, however, you are stuck in the "spin" cycle, spinning aimlessly.

The underlying question isn't should we socialize health care, but rather how do we do a better job of it? Once you get past the fact that our health care system is heavily socialized and subsidized already (Medicare, medicaid, even insurance is a free market form of socialized coverage) then the discussion becomes much more productive.

Both McCain and Obama's health care plans offer government solutions to the problem. Neither one does much to address the most critical problem in health care -- the massive health insurance middleman that has to take their share of the medical profits. (I break my arm. I go to the hospital. The hospital charges me. My insurance company pays the bill. Both the hospital and insurance are trying to make money, but only the hospital fixes my arm.) The most logical conclusion to solve this problem is to put the squeeze on the insurance companies. Anyone who has attempted to buy insurance for themselves knows that a group policy is the only way to go, since it makes for smaller premiums. Right now just my insurance premium is close to $10,000 a year. McCain's plan is frankly a pander to the insurance companies by offering tax credits for the purchase of individual insurance plans and doesn't address the underlying problem and as I said before, the insurance company doesn't fix my broken arm or my pocket book. Obama's solution is to create a "national exchange" that essentially allows any one to buy the same insurance as the federal government. At least it attempts to put the squeeze on the insurance companies. Even Utah has actually looked at a similar system for the state and it solves a host of institutional ills (pre-existing conditions, uninsured individuals, bankruptcy, etc.)

I find Obama's argument more compelling obviously, although he probably doesn't go far enough.

THE AMERICAN WAY

As I have been working on this email, I thought a lot about what I believe as far as America is concerned. I think this goes back to the fundamentals and foundational questions that need to be asked. More of our discussions should start from premises that we can all agree on, say "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and women are created equal." A nice sentiment and an ideal honored more in its breach than its observance, but I think it is one that we should all strive towards.

Take a typical Mormon housewife statement, "the thought of my husband and I sacrificing through years of school and hard times, to see my husband bust his butt and work like crazy, always trying to do better and be punished by having our taxes raised." I frankly agree with everything in quotes. I think this goes back to the idea of all of us being created equal. Despite the genuine attempts to create a society where each person is rewarded according to their efforts, we are in a constant struggle to avoid a collapse back into feudalism. Feudalism, aristocracy or its modern version, corproatocracy, is the disease that needs to be feared -- not socialism. Socialism is about equality and fairness.

Frankly Obama needs to get a little better speech writer, because this isn't about spreading the wealth, but preventing the wealth from coagulating at the top. The lazy butts and those that don't have to work are the extreme wealthy, not the poor. This is the historical stuff of revolution. The American ideal is to promote equality by having the reward equate to the effort. This is not the ideal of the extreme wealthy. The ideal of the extreme wealthy is to not work and to have property available to their progeny for inheritance and to be able to live off the proceeds of their property, never dipping into principal and never doing anything but owning. Personally, I prefer the American ideal and am willing to pass laws and maintain taxation policies that prevent the formation of corporate fuedal estate of which most of us are serfs. Now, we may disagree on the best way to accomplish this goal, but that is a completely different discussion and one that is less hopefully less heated, since we both want to accomplish the same thing.

Priorities in how tax money should be spent are certainly open for discussion. $700 billion is approximately one quarter of the federal budget and both candidates just endorsed a proposal to allocate that amount for the government to buy commercial paper that the "free market" doesn't deem worthy of its dollar, yet they are willing to spend your tax dollars on it. I'm skeptical that this is a welfare package for the most wealthy and powerful. I looked at our federal budget and apparently in 2006 (the latest year with actual data) , we spent 1,100 billion on the military and 32 billion on foreign aid, helping people in other countries. Call me silly, but that seems like a misallocation of funds. Dropping bombs on foreign countries is much more likely to upset them, than say, helping them eat. To our credit and in case you didn't believe my footnote that we are a socialist country over half the US Budget or 1,688 billion dollars was spent on social programs in 2006. Shouldn't the argument be about how this should best be allocated, reduced when possible and increased where necessary?

A FINAL THOUGHT

While most of us worry about what is happening on a national level, the real battles are in the communities and the states. Get active. Do something close to home. Try and make the world a slightly better place than it was yesterday.

A Story for Sideon's Birthday -- The T. Wanker Version of the New Testament

In honor of Sideon’s 40th Birthday, I decided to actually post. Few events in midlife cause such consternation as turning forty, possibly because despite not having a math class in twenty years and even with the mental deterioration that comes with advancing age, you can still multiply 40 by 2 (much easier than 39 x2) and 80 sounds incredibly old, so you’ve reached the crest of the hill and down you go – and we all know that the downhill side always goes a hell of a lot faster. So thoughts of mortality stream into your head, as the wind of the years blows your hair back. Hell, you are already two years past your 20th high school class reunion – even if you didn’t go. There isn’t anything worse, with the possible exception of 45, which is also easy to multiply by 2, and 90 . . .

Obviously, with thoughts dwelling on mortality, I think of life immortal and the promise of a perfected body for all eternity. As I see it, you have a limited number of choices – become a Christian or a vampire or learn to multiply bigger numbers by 2 and hope for advances in medical science or a peaceful instantaneous exit, say, a car wreck or nuclear holocaust or something.

Now, this blog does have its erotic themes and in case anyone didn’t know Sideon has a predilection for the masculine gender, so in honor of his birthday, I’m posting the one homoerotic story I’ve written. I think this idea started germinating during a Priesthood Session of general conference as I mused on Jesus and his twelve guy disciples and wondered what the New Testament would be like rewritten as a homoerotic vampire novel. One of those grand projects I started and never finished, I mean the subplots – 3 Nephites living forever hooking up with John who are all sticking around until Christ comes yet again, but I digress –

Happy Birthday Sid. I give you the T. Wanker inspired version of Jesus raising Lazarus (Lance is the modern version of Lazaraus) – from the dead.

BLOOD OF MY BLOOD

Mary laughed. It was the type of laugh that would have sent a caustic chill through the back bone of a mere mortal. She laughed more heartily and hauntingly. The night air embraced her chortle. "This is the place," she thought as she gazed across the straight rows of lights, all organized in their conservative wide rows, an electric patchwork quilt of Mormondom pioneer organization. Temple spires bit into the black night, attempting to suck out the darkness with the gleaming white. Salt Lake City was now her place. The irony, after all these years, made her laugh. (Mary Magdalene was my lead character, but it never went anywhere.)
The first vampire had been a day walker. He had walked in the day and asked for voluntary members to join in a new religion of irony and blood feasting. The potential for eternal power wooed them and they left their jobs and followed him. His power became enormous and he soon proved that he had power over the grave. Many doubted him, but his exploits drew their attention.

Lance had grown ill and his family was certain it was terminal. Each day he grew paler and paler. None knew of the nightly visits of the First. The blood ritual Lance was undergoing, unbeknown to his family and friends, occurred nightly. The First had approached Lance to be his first disciple of eternal life and power. Lance looked into the warm blue eyes of the First, his long hair flowing over his shoulders and his dark beard hiding the gleaming white teeth and he knew he had no choice. His blood belonged to the First. The irony, the contradiction was that with the blood letting he would not die, but would live forever. Between the eyes, the teeth, the voice and the hair, Lance could not say no.

The first session, Lance was undressed by the First. The sun had set long ago when the First entered with a wash basin. He had Lance sit on the bed. The First knelt at Lance's feet and removed his shoes. He placed Lance's feet in the wash basin. The cool water tingled the nerve endings, as did the touch of the hands. After washing the feet, the First had Lance stand as he unbuttoned Lance's shirt exposing his chest to the night air. He moved behind Lance and slid the shirt down the arms and off. The shirt was then folded and laid meticulously on the bed. by the strong carpenter hands of the First. "Look forward." The gentle command struck Lance's inner core and he fixated his eyes on the wall opposite him, not daring to move. He felt the Hand on his neck, but it was not a grab, but the gentle caress with the back of fingers.

The next sensation Lance felt was the bare skin of the First's chest pressed against his back. Strong arms wrapped around his body and those massive blue collar hands engulfed his upper thighs, as he felt his ass pulled back against the hard groin of the First. This was unlike any ritual he had ever imagined, but the First did often talk of Love and Sacrifice as being the necessary precursors to an existence in which death had no power. The hands slid up his thighs to his waist and deftly undid his belt and the clasp. The only power holding his pants against gravity was that of the First's fingers. A whisper of a voice echoed in both ears, making Lance unsure of the location of the lips that had uttered the words, "Do you love me?" All Lance could do was give a slight and silent nod of assent. With the nod, the press of groin and ass released and Lance felt his pants and undergarments sliding with supernatural slowness down his legs. A tongue flicked at his neck and began moving down his back with the same speed that his pants were falling. The moisture from the tongue left a cool remnant down his spine in the summer heat of his room. Before the tongue left the mid part of his shoulder blades his cock had sprung free of his pants, jutting out into the room. The descent continued until his pants were at his ankles and the tongue flicked at the top crevice of his ass.

A sharp pain surged through Lance's lower back as the teeth of the First sunk into the flesh at the end of Lance's spine. The teeth entered hard and deep as the mouth began to suck on the end of Lance's spine. The tongue emerged from the sucking mouth. With electric fervor, the tongue shocked Lance's nervous system, flicking and licking all the muscles of Lance's body into convulsive spasms of pleasure and pain. The sheer power of the connection of teeth, mouth, tongue and spine held Lance upright and lifted him off the ground at least three feet. Then as suddenly as he had been invaded, Lance was naked and free on the other side of the room with wobbly legs and the occasional shudder of a muscular aftershock. The only thing that kept him standing was a desk next to him against which he steadied himself.

A humid breeze blew through the room at the same moment the lights extinguished. Lance stood naked in the cold dark of his room. No light filtered through the window and the blackness re-dressed him in its oppressiveness. With the press of the black night, he began to regain sensations -- a dull ache at the tailbone and a sticky, trickle of blood flowing down between his ass cheeks, filling the crevice with red moisture. His mind was numb and his cock was still hard. "You poor, meek mortal." The voice intertwined with the darkness. "I shall give you the world."

The voice in the dark continued, "I have drank your blood and eaten your flesh. My tongue has entered your electric soul. I still have one more gift for you before this evening is done." Lance's eyes strained against the darkness, but the voice seemed to surround him and he did not know in which direction to look. The next sensation to course through Lance's system was his head crashing against the desk upon which he had steadied himself. The crunch echoed in the room and in his head. His naked, bleeding ass jutted out over the edge of the desk and in the flash of pain, Lance saw for an instant the bright, shining cock of the First. The head of the cock slid into the stream of Lance's blood and began to bite into the tight brown entrance, tearing flesh with its sharp push, adding more blood for lubrication. The pain made Lance tighten his ass, but the cock bit through bathed in Lance's blood. The cock forged in and then pulled out, making Lance feel that his insides were attached to the undulating movement. The loss of blood made him faint. As his body fell limp, the powerful hands of the First grabbed Lance's ass and pulled it hard against his pelvis. He then pulled the limp body off his cock, which stood like a sword dripping Lance's blood. He laughed and sprayed his sperm all over Lance's blood soaked ass -- little white droplets, mixing with the red, turning pink and being engulfed by the red sea of blood.

Lance awoke the next morning sore and a little pale. The ritual had repeated itself every night. One morning, Lance did not awake. The family had come to know the First and wanted him to perform on his promise of eternal life. The First was called and he came. He entered the house and commanded everyone to leave. Lance lay lifeless on the bed. The First knelt at his side. He ran his finger down Lance's cold grey cheek. Leaning over, the First began to kiss Lance, first softly and then with more passion. The tongue leapt inside the dead man's mouth, running first along the inside of Lance's teeth, then on the edge. He pressed his tongue hard against Lance's teeth until blood began to trickle from his tongue. The blood exploded inside Lance's mouth and his system shocked back to life. "You are the first of my chosen, " were the first words the new, never to die Lance heard. Triumphantly they exited the home and the First had become a God to his followers.

I say this in the name of the First, Amen.