The "Pod People" are winning. My art may be inappropriate but life is more so and you still allow children to live in it. Cowardice has people running for their toy armaments whilst people who have no desire to cause harm sit waiting for an alarm. It rang with the presidency. Welcome to the past and what my great, great, great grandparents called "The Wild Wild West." (Let me guess who the white people will kill first, who the black people will kill first, the children will kill first, etc, etc. 04-Apr-2018
If a child wants to play with guns, they can wait to be 18 and enroll in the many services America provides to ensure that they are used to protect everyone not just themselves. 16-Feb-2018
We celebrate the birth of every child without assurance that they will become decent human beings. As parents, our greatest ambition should be to preserve and enhance their lives not fight for the right to procure deadly toys that could extinguish them. I extol lives not births. 15-Feb-2018
Your children now have another source for "finding" guns. Parents, spiritual leaders, environmentalists, animal lovers, activists, the people who hate food and are convinced it will kill us, anyone...this is one of the few opportunities you have to show children they are a priority over toys. You shouldn't celebrate them, pray or whine until you do. 23-Feb-2018
The first time I saw a gun, I was a toddler, my mother was wielding it to shoot my father. She shot once, almost hitting her baby brother, before being subjugated.
The first time I felt a gun, I was fifteen, it was pressed against my temple and my mother, who was suffering from a breakup, threatened me with leaving home or dying. I was so exhausted by her instability, I chose death. I closed my eyes and waited for the bang but she chose to spread her boyfriend's clothes in the family room, blocking my exit, and start a fire which I proceeded to extinguish.
The first time I held a gun was to steal it from my mother whilst she vented to her older sister, with the idea of returning it to the idiot that thought she could handle it.
I called my father, explained and pleaded with him to take his gift back. If I could bring it to him he would get rid of it. I put it in a paper bag, headed out and traipsed an hour by subway in panic, sweats and paranoia. I shivered at the presence of police but I didn't rest until it was in my father's hands and out of our lives. My father never allowed her to retrieve the gift and it was one of the most sympathetic gestures my father ever extended to me.
I fought my way out of misery, the ghetto, my mother, without the need for a physical weapon or a gang. I think its why my words are so striking. 04-Jan-2018