Thomas and Alito demonstrate something important: rights that are GRANTED can be TAKEN AWAY. And we have a word for rights that can be taken away: privileges.
Marriage as a privilege. Not as a sign of commitment, or love, but as a sign of privilege.
If I was married, I’d be pissed off. People might start thinking the value of my relationship has less to do with love than it does with a desire to belong to an exclusive club.
I don’t smell
I smell like
to watch you
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“Did you ever notice,”
Tate asks as he pulls down his shorts,
“that when they ask,
‘What’s your dream?’
like they do in that stupid movie —”
he turns around to face the tall white letters —
“about the prostitute with a heart of gold —
what was it? Oh, yeah, Pretty Woman —
that they never —
I say yes, the camera is ready.
Tate opens wide his arms to The Sign,
hefted cheeks glistening, reflecting the sun,
flexing newfound freedom, a bounce…
“ — really let you choose
The phone makes the sound cameras make,
a sharp click, as if something real just happened.
“Know what I mean?”
he asks as he pulls up his lucky shorts.
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I did her!
With sunglasses on!
— Memorial Acclamation
Go do it, then,
whatever it is that you do —
sex someone, buy that ring —
film it, even, make
a record of your elementary courage
and then social your accomplishment
to your kind.
After all, you have the keys —
— and I should want to be
If you’re going to do it, hijo,
choose a field where
you will get caught
and then I’ll know you’re real.
Let your body stand erect
as rifles are raised by priests and soldiers;
stand before their righteous hate, alone,
knowing you die for your desire.
Then I’ll follow.
In your childlike voice:
“It was just a little fun!”
“Why do you have to be so serious?”
Mi pequeñito, you have a thousand ways
to explain your survival —
as his blood sings from Spain,
intones a truth known only to me:
Divinity is a dead body,
sinking and stinking,
unliked and unfriended,
shot by justice,
abhorred by Church,
buried nowhere but my heart.
Learning from the best. A new story.
“Our future’s so bright we gotta wear shades.”Every graduation speech, ever
Everyone tells stories in high school, about what they do and who they get with. The baseball team at Van Nuys High School, 13000 Oxnard Street, Van Nuys, California, was a great source of these stories. Whether they were true or not — that didn’t matter. They kept our minds from imploding under the weight of Curricular Standards of Achievement.
It was 1985, and we were all just waiting to get out into the world, any world. And when that seemed impossible, or would take too long, we took matters into our own hands. It’s called in Educational Literature “The Creative Relationship to Boredom.”
Where would we be without boredom? Probably still eating raw meat.
There was Toby “the Bat” Bauer, slugger, blond, a man-child who would eventually go bald and who, it seemed, could inspire quite a few of the teachers.
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