Memories

I remember that day when Robert Byrd of West Virginia took the Senate floor and begged his colleagues and our idiot-boy President to reconsider the brash and ill-conceived rush to war in Iraq. That speech nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Tears of despair.
Tears of rage.
And tears of frustration and disbelief.
I had experienced the disbelief and frustration for many a year -- from the unbelievable spectacle of a b-movie cowboy as President to the present shabby and criminal climax of George W. Bush, his minions, his rancid propaganda machine: the permanent stain he, his father and that imbecilic two-bit actor have left upon this country.
As the images of Shock and Awe glowed that weird green on my TV screen, I mourned the death of America.
From that day until this, to quote Dylan:
If my thought dreams could be seen,
They'd put my head in a guillotine.

4000 dead is part of the price -- a big part; and yet only a part.

I'm getting old. I hope I may live, however, long enough to see justice done. That will be small enough comfort . . .