outsourced and homeless

I was thinking the other day that, at least they wont be able to blame this catastrophe on America. I guess this idiot found a way.
http://michellemalkin.com/2010/01/15/danny-glover-the-lefts-pat-robertson/

Been meaning to do this for years.

If this is what’s happening on the outside, what’s going on inside?

The man was always given to the rather depressing habit of reading the obituaries. Having been deposited, two years earlier, in this nondescript nursing home in a nondescript town in eastern Pennsylvania, he was thankful at least of having a view.

Murmuring Bumble and Honeybees, fluttering Cabbage butterflies, and the occasional Monarch or Swallowtail, their legs and wings powdered with pollen and beautifully iridescent, formed the perfect panorama in which, given to his unceasing habit of reflecting, remembering, and regretting, he could continue to project himself, as if to decouple the endlessly contemplated life from its owner.

Plump, merry, and attentive Haitian nurses, not wholly unlike the Bumblebees outside his window, attended to his not-so-merry brethren.
Most of the other residents, their brains long since diseased and incapable of much more thought than what would be required to lift the spoonful of baby food to their mouths, sat around disconsolately in their wheelchairs, some of them rocking to and fro, others staring into an empty void, waiting for their lives to wink out – the simple pleasure of memory having been so ruthlessly denied them.

How many years – decades! of trying to find the answers? How many decades since the last belly laugh? Decades of trying ceaselessly to revive that long dead, vibrant being, the one with the wry, yet unique sense of humor and a modicum of charm? How many false hopes, aims futile; how much love… unrequited?
It occurred to him recently to draw the following analogy; bad experiences are like tiny malignant tumors, which, harmless when small, alone, and, lacking the ability to grow or spread, bind themselves to neurons and synapses, and sit there…waiting.

All optimism, pleasant thoughts, aspirations – the subconscious mind itself, rotted by a lifetime of shattering disappointments, self-reproachment, bad memories and decisions, tumors – subducted like some giant tectonic plate being inexorably driven beneath its diseased counterpart. Down it goes into a molten abyss where dreams go to die. All of the books, positive affirmations, meditation tapes, benzodiazepines, staring at candles! NO GOOD. Try something else! Keep fighting. Another year gone, then, another decade. Perhaps a philosophy of timelessness and the inconsequentiality of human existence? Yes, minimize and trivialize the life of the individual in order to instill a belief in something grander – somehow more important, more timeless than oneself; “when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered.”

If only he could raise up this belief system to the forefront of his subconscious, subsuming all of the negativity, perhaps…just perhaps the negative thoughts could be suppressed, themselves subducted below a new paradigm – one which could liberate the top layer of the subconscious mind and banish the tempest that raged within it – create a sort of vacuum in which other, more benign thoughts could take up residence.
It seems so long ago that he had pondered this idea, devoting countless time and energy to it, all the while recognizing the paradoxical nature of it. “How can I adopt this paradigm of trivializing a human life and, once fused and hard-wired into my brain, and, having successfully brought about a resolution to the problem, can I go back – flip a switch, and revert to my core belief system – that of the importance of the human condition; the sanctity of a human life and human memories, happiness?”
For example, one cannot just decide one day to “get religion.” There must be some powerful motivating force. The essence of being “saved” is that of surrendering to one’s demons – putting them in the hands of a higher power, freeing oneself from the terrible burden of finding the answers. One cannot be saved and then, once cured of the maladies that necessitated this surrender, purge the bitter pill and revert back to their old beliefs.