Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

An Angry Entry Where I Am Going to Use the Word Fuck a Lot

My God, is it any wonder I'm depressed, when the homework I'm helping Atra and Beau with is writing about Death of a Salesman and researching Klan murders since the 1940's? Can you imagine? And if that isn't enough to push me over the edge of an emotional precipice, I had the TV on in the background and CNN had one of these Fucking specials about animal "shelters" and the people who kill the animals there, on. Oh, poor, poor, animal "shelter" workers who can't bear to get emotionally attached to the dogs and cats they're going to murder, after the miserably brief period of time they're given to find homes.

Like I'm supposed to feel sorry for these people who don't want to name these helpless dogs and cats because it would be, "too hard on them!" Oh please, get a real job where you're not being an accomplice to this great evil, stand up and say, "No!" No one is making you murder these animals. Name them, they're too busy killing them, to give them names.

And the Fucking CNN commentator shows us this sweet, perfectly healthy, Golden Retriever, then tells us she got a one week reprieve by being the pet of the week in the local paper, and then amps up the cruel drama by telling us that she only has minutes left to live since no one adopted her. He's standing there at the shelter acting like he cares, making compassionate faces, petting the dog who is about to be killed, this dog who is enjoying the attention, who looks up lovingly and trusts this evil Fucker, and he doesn't do a thing to help? I got so upset I was shouting, "Fuck You!" at the TV.

It's like those war correspondents or Life photographers who are so busy looking for their Pulitzer in the midst of great cruelty and horror that they don't bother to reach in and lend a hand. I never understand how these people can be so detached and dispassionate, I guess it takes a certain kind of person to show suffering while doing nothing more than pointing at it and saying, "Looky here, I care so much."

I know that these things need to be shown, need to be exposed and documented, but I honestly don't understand the value of showing animals murdered. We can imagine this, it's horrible, it's evil, and if anyone can't imagine the scale of this atrocity then someone ought to take a camera and point it at the piles of dead animals being carted out of these death camps, but they won't show that, it would make them look too bad. They'd rather ask that we witness the death of a healthy animal whose life could be spared, make us a part of this, imply that it's our fault. It's not my fault. I'm doing more than a lifetime's worth of double duty on this front.

Wouldn't it be better to show a film where the self-involved, career-boot-licking reporter actually spares the life of the cat or dog, rather than feigning concern while doing nothing to prevent his or her death? It just reminds me of the kinds of things I have had to spend my entire life listening to, things that tell me much more about the people who say them, things like, "You can't save all of them," or "What about dying babies, why are you so concerned about animals when there is poverty, war, AIDS, starvation, etc., etc.,"?

You see what I mean? I can't get away from it -- the anger, the depression, the upset. There isn't enough Seratonin in the world to take my mind off of our cruelty, cruelty towards our fellows, and cruelty towards all the other living beings we share this planet with.


PS: Lovely, lovely, lovely, I just finished sending Beau links to lists of sites where people had listed the names of loved ones who'd been lynched, shot, or beaten to death by the FUCKING, (Yes, I said Fucking again, I told you...), Klan, and I thought, "I know, I'll put on my beloved Oprah and that'll lighten things up a bit," and guess what? Today's show is about a woman whose Mother was murdered by her boyfriend, and who herself was shot point blank in the face, and lost more than half of it. Oh Lord, looks like it's about time for me to spend some time communing with nature again. I need some outside garden time and soon, either that or some lovin' with my Scott, if only my bladder would stop hurting long enough...

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