water moves under ice
I was thirteen years old when John F. Kennedy was assonated, eighteen when Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy were shot. I understood the importance of the Cuban missile crises and the Kennedy presidency, I like everyone was in shock as I sat in my school desk and heard the news from a TV that was hustled into the room. And later, with my parents, watched Walter Cronkite and the news all that night and the funeral three days later. I sensed the sorrow in my parents, my other adult relatives and my teachers, but for me, my sadness my sorrow was more linked to the adults around me rather than my own experience. My main concern was me; who I was, what was my life about. I had recently lost my faith in God, felt completely out of place and disconnected from the world as a whole. Three years later I would find LSD the films of Andy Warhol San Francisco’s Height Asberry, Polk St and the Castro district. My life and who I was, was coming into focus. I was not all that happy with what I found but was looking anyway. Two years later I was politically active sexually active rebellious and creative. The deaths of Martin Luther king and Robert Kennedy had a much greater personal connection for me than John Kennedy’s death, though with Robert Kennedy’s death I revisited John’s death and had a deeper feeling and understanding of it. Less than a year later I left home and started life on my own.
Lewis Black takes aim at the head of Barilla, Italy’s anti-gay pasta maker.
Parker ‘The Way of the Gun’
What are you going to tell god now?