Q&A

I question things. For instance, I question the validity of the government's expectation of our continued acceptance and participation in their policies. I question the validity of a government that openly admits that it protects the interests of large businesses over the people they are supposed to protect.

I question the moral validity of lobbying, of huge corporatations investing millions of dollars in politicians (did I say investing? Sorry, I meant "campaign contributions").

I'm not a rebel, I won't arm myself in protest. I also won't stand outside of some grey government building with a placard, ignored by my rulers, convincing myself I'm making a difference. Don't get me wrong, I respect protesters, and the valuable place they have earned in our society. However, after 40 some-odd years on this planet, I've come to the conclusion that protests usually ammount to just so much sound and fury.

So what can be done to fix our problems? I don't know. I'm not that smart. All I can do is question. Question why I should obey the rules of an organization designed to pad the wallets of the rich with the wealth of the average person.

Question why my government thinks its fair that 95% of the wealth in North America is in the hands of 3% of the population. Question why we should pay out about 40-50% of our income in taxes while a corporation with multi-million dollar net profits pays no tax whatsoever.

Maybe someday I'll find an answer.

Secret Prize-Winning Technique!

Do you like to roll up your Horton's cup? Did you know you can tell a winning cup from a losing cup without rolling the rim? Try it out. Take a look at the side of the cup, and you'll see the words "30 Toyota Camry Hybrid/Hybide" on the side.

Look at the word "Hybrid"; it should be outlined in white. If the outlining goes all the way past the top of the black lettering in "hybrid", then the cup is a winner. If the white outlining does not reach the top, then the cup did not win.

Unky Peter

For those of you who do not know him, Peter is a friend of mine. We are both honorary uncles of the cute and talented Daxon, which I suppose makes us Dax-brothers.

This weekend, Peter saved me. My car was dead, it wouldn't start. It would take a boost, but then once stopped, it would not start again. And the electrical system was flickering, lights, etc.

I thought I was doomed.

I showed my car to Unky Peter, who naturally had the right diagnostic equipment on hand to successfully diagnose the issue - dirty contacts. My other friend Corey had the correct tool on hand for Peter to use to clean my contacts. The tool was, incidentally, powered by an Eliminator battery back up unit owned my me. To be fair though, I only had one because Peter had recommended it.

Had I taken the car to a mechanic, I would have likely paid through the nose. Peter saved me, and I really appreciate his assistance. More so, he's a hell of a human being. I know people say that all the time, but sometimes its really true.

What Colour Is Your iPod?

What colour is your iPod? Is it pink, or green, or blue?
Is it white? Then that’s an old one. I have faint disdain for you.
It’s important to be current, it’s vital to be new
Don’t let yourself step out of line or we’ll all look at you.

It’s not nice to become noticed, it’s not quiet in our view
Society’s a mirror, twisted mildly askew
Unlidded eyes unblinking, recording and unthinking
Redividing, linking, and uploading to YouTube

Have you a sad delusion? Have you come to the conclusion
That you can sing like an infusion of melodious refrain?
If in fact you are mistaken then we would be forsaken
If we did not partake in some open mockery.

The freak show was a laugh, this one chick was half-giraffe
But now its more convenient, televised reality.
I can laugh without regret at ignorant rednecks
‘Cause they’re all racist scum so we can mock them on TV.

We’d rather not be famous, then nobody can blame us
If our opinions cause unrest because we hide behind our blogs.
And sure, some people flame us, but their rhetoric inflames us
Convinces us we’re relevant because someone disagrees.

So fuck the modern media, Fox News and Wikipedia
I get the news I need from Stewart and Colbert.
Fuck the infantile morality of televised reality
Webcams serve as cameras because all the worlds a stage.

And I get off on performing and think, Fuck you, global warming
It’s not that I don’t care, I’m just tired and need a break.
Each winter seems much colder, but the true curse of getting older
Is watching people make the same mistakes that went before.

Ignore the foreign starving, save your pennies, save your farthings
For the next incarnation of your favourite machine
X-box one? That’s for Jerks. PS3’s the one that works!
Unless your one of those assholes that likes to jerk their Wii.

The world gets so much better when you become a real go-getter
Ignore your conscience, feed your wallet and you’ll never wear a frown
Spend money on your car, focus on you and you’ll go far
If confronted by the starving you’ll just flick on the remote.

Unless you download off the Internet.
Then someone already edited that shit out for you.

We don’t believe what we are reading, that some Chinamen are bleeding
Because Apple isn’t heeding humanitarian appeals
We might appear a land of reapers, but at least my iPod’s cheaper
And available in oh so many colours.

(c) Asher Hunter (Garry J. Sled) 2007
http://asherhunter.blogspot.com/

Modern Religous Theory

The Book of Bob, Chapter 7, Verse Twelve: Give a person a fish, they will eat once. Teach a person to fish, they will forget what you taught them, bitch at you when they are hungry, and whine if you don't have any fish for them this time.

Government as Stool Pigeon

You know what? I don't trust the government. Sure, some people call me paranoid. Some would say that you have to be patriotic. Some would say that you have to love your country. Ok, fair enough. But first off, I'd like to point out that my government is a temporary body of elected individuals, while my country is a large chunk of dirt that is far less temporary. In other words, despite what the government seems to believe, they are not my country. Canada is one thing, the government is another. We can love our countries without submitting blindly to our government.

Today, on Scientific American's website, it was revealed that:

"Despite decades of denials, government records confirm that the U.S. Census Bureau provided the U.S. Secret Service with names and addresses of Japanese-Americans during World War II."

Wow. So the US government took census information, promising its citizens that the information would never be used against them. Then, they turn around and illegally rat on their own citizens, for reasons based entirely on their racial/cultural histories. Frankly, this makes me want to spit. On a politician. And when I say "spit", its only because I swapped a "p" for the "h".

Of course, the government promised never to use Census information against the people, but then they just repealed that part of their promise so they could. Isn't it great to be able to right the rules, force (under the penalty of fine and/or imprisonment) people to conform to those rules, and then be able to re-write the freaking rules the moment you feel it is convenient?

I used to trust the government, because I was young and naive. I believed that they had my best interests at heart, or at the very least the best interests of my country. As I grow older, and see more and more examples of how governments lie, cheat and steal from their charges, the more disillusioned and frankly disgusted I get.

There are so many reports of both the US and Canadian governments sharing personal information in clear violation of the law that it makes you wonder how long we're going to maintain the delusion that the goverment is anything other than a self-serving corporate entity.

A Quote for the Patriot

"The spirit of resistance to government is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it always to be kept alive."
- Thomas Jefferson

Hot Dog on Cat Action

There are 2 kinds of love: dog love and cat love.

Dogs love others as they love themselves. Meaning, the love they have for others is equal in strength to the love they have for themselves. A dog will, if aware of the situation, willingly risk its life to save a loved one. Dogs are willing to adapt their life to fit in with the ones they love.

Cats love themselves while they love others. Meaning the love they have for themselves is paramount, but it does also allow for the existance of others. A cat will, if aware of the situation, regret the necessity of eating you if you die. Cast are willing to coexist, as long as no one steps out of line.

True Love

It's not often I come across what I believe to be a real life instance of True Love, but this is one of those times. William Haines was once one of MGM's biggest stars, with a huge career ahead of him. He turned it all down when he refused - at the studio's insistence - to leave his true love and enter a sham marriage.

He is an amazing man, and you can read more about him here.

Quote

"To read a newspaper is to refrain from reading something worthwhile. The first discipline of education must therefore be to refuse resolutely to feed the mind with canned chatter."
- Aleister Crowley

In production

Caleb's Way

I am currently in production on a piece called "Caleb's Way". It's about a five year old boy who is called away from the safety of his home to brave the perils of a cursed and haunted path.

Here's a screenshot.

I'm working in a "video storybook" mode, as a combination interest in animation and the fact that I don't yet h ave a video camera.

The idea for "Caleb's Way" came to me the other day. I was off work early, and I took my dog for a walk along the paths out behind Cootes Paradise (even though the paths were "officially closed").

What I thought to be wilderness paths turned out to be rather well manicured and cared for paths through a rich area of town I had never visited before. The paths even had signs. Nice ones, made of metal and everything. No shit.

One of the paths was called "Caleb's Way Trail". The name just took off with me, and the story was written by the time I got back to my car. I had my camera with me (thank God) so the pictures you will see in the story are mostly all taken by me (most of the "special" elements were done in Photoshop, naturally).

It is a hell of a lot of work, as I am discovering, to edit a film. I estimate I have have put about twenty hours into it so far, and I have just hit the four minute mark in the film. That's what happens when you're hand-crafting each frame.

I am really enjoying this project, painting the images the way my mind saw them. It's an extremely cathartic and pleasing experience, to say the least.

If interested, you can click the title of this entry to go to my film production website.

Auntie Agnes

Postcard from the Umbra

There is a little bit of darkness in us all, I assume. At least that’s what I gather from a lifetime of observation. I’m sure there have been some exceptions, but rather expect such instances to be rare, few, and far between. On the Buddha/Jesus level. Gandhi, probably. Not so much the popes. I think there has always been a bit of darkness in each pope, because they quite often seem to be involved more in the business of filling coffers and selling fish, and not so much into the salvation side of things.

I think everyone carries their own inner degree of darkness. Before I go too far I would like to clarify precisely what I mean by the word “darkness”. For me, the dark side of an individual is not necessarily the evil side. Our dark side is that which recognizes evil without condoning it. For example, when you discover that grown men will, in fact, sexually molest children, your inner darkness grows.

Darkness is not a good thing, but it is not a bad thing either. It is a necessary defense; a kind of psychic couch-cushion fort built to protect against an overwhelming, and all-too un-imaginary, monstrous assault. Some people seem to think that darkness is synonymous with evil. I suppose it is, in the same way that a scar is synonymous with a deep cut.

Each of us carries their own darkness; it’s where we keep our pain. People handle darkness in different ways. Some people like to shine light on the darkness. They want to expose the things that crawl in the night, the evils that prefer to be left in the blackness. These people often times become police officers, or lawyers, or detectives. Sometimes they are priests, or teachers, or construction workers. They believe in something.

Some people prefer to turn their backs on the darkness. Build walls, lock doors, turn away, deny, and hide. After all, bad things don’t happen unless you talk about them. If you can pretend loud enough, it sometimes even helps to drown out sound of their dreams.

Some people embrace their darkness; they recognize sympathetic vibrations within their own darkness and those of others. Like minds enjoy meeting; it gives you someone you can talk to, someone who understands. Someone who gets it. Angelo Buono and Kenneth Bianchi met that way.

Others explore their darkness. They don’t like what it contains, but they realize its part of their mental geography, and as such, must be understood, not left to fester. It has to be investigated in order that we are able to learn to protect ourselves against it. The problem is, no one really wants to learn about what lives in the darkness, because it’s a nasty piece of work. So the explorers learn to laugh.

By shining a somewhat filtered light on the darkness, these explorers conspire to reveal the absurdity of evil. The explorers, armed only with somewhat faulty intellect and an equally somewhat sarcastic wit, try also to expose the evil that lurks in the shadows; only this time, with it’s pants around it’s ankles and a goofy look on it’s face.

Apology (Politicians)

From Monty Python. 1972. It’s amazing to me that things haven’t changed yet.

We would like to apologize for the way in which politicians are represented in this programme. It was never our intention to imply that politicians are weak-kneed, political time-servers who are concerned more with their personal vendettas and private power struggles than the problems of government, nor to suggest at any point that they sacrifice their credibility by denying free debate on vital matters in the mistaken impression that party unity comes before the well-being of the people they supposedly represent.

Nor to imply at any stage that they are squabbling little toadies without an ounce of concern for the vital social problems of today.

Nor indeed do we intend that viewers should consider them as crabby ulcerous little self-seeking vermin with furry legs and an excessive addiction to alcohol and certain explicit sexual practices which some people might find offensive.

We are sorry if this impression has come across.

What I learned Today (and "A Bushy Squirrel Tale")

What I Learned Today

Today I am working on a graphic art piece that depicts several nasty little brownies; I’m going through a “mythological creatures” period. Each brownie has a look to them that brings to mind a natural animal. One has chipmunk fur, another a bushy squirrel tail, etc.

I wanted one of them to look like a bird. A thrush, in particular. Now, to obtain these animal effects, I usually just find a real chipmunk, zebra, tiger, etc. and overlay it’s fur on the target, and blend it in. So naturally, I went online to search for a picture of a bird to use as a basis. I went to Google Images, and I searched for “thrush”.

Forgetting that it is a disease.

A disease that is apparently much more commonly photographed than any mere natural bird. Because the entire first page of photographs, apart from 2, were of the disease called thrush. The other two were birds. I learned another thing.

Not only is there a disease called thrush, there’s a specific variant referred to as vaginal thrush. And that’s the first picture that comes up if you do a Google Image search on the word “thrush”.

Let my pain be a warning to you all.

While I was writing this, the following story occurred to me. So you get two posts for the price of one today. Let that make up for the six months of total silence. We will never speak of it again.

A Bushy Squirrel Tale

Once upon a time there was a squirrel named Nutspike (due to the fact that his left testicle was pierced). Nutspike liked the ladies, and he liked them dark and dangerous. One day he met a young Goth chipmunk named Deathcuddle who informed him that, along with nuts and berries, her cheeks could store a prodigious amount of semen.

Nutspike asked Deathcuddle out, and that very evening they went to see aKorn in concert. They had sex at the concert1, they had sex in the limo on the way home2, and they had sex on the steps of the church down the street from Deatcuddle’s father’s house3.

Nutspike and Deathcuddle fucked like, well, rabbits4. Needless to say, Nutspike was in love with Deathcuddle. More accurately, Nutspike was in love with the frequent and eager access to Deathcuddle’s chipmunk vagina5.

One day, Deathcuddle seemed reluctant to have sex in the back of the library6 when normally she was more than eager. Nutspike asked what was wrong.

“It’s your tail,” said Deathcuddle. “It’s so hairy and gross. So 80’s. Would you shave it for me?”

Nutspike was happy to comply. Deathcuddle produced a razor and some shaving cream (leading Nutspike to suspect that she had planned this out) and shaved his tail in an erotic and genitally7 pleasing way.

The following day, they met at the coffee shop. Deathcuddle seemed distant, and quickly took Nutspike aside.

“Look, don’t be faggy about this, but I’m breaking up with you.”

“What? Why?” Nutspike said loudly.

“No, that’s the faggy way,” she reprimanded, and ushered him into the men’s bathroom.

“Why are you breaking up with me?” Nutspike’s mind played out visions of Deathcuddle’s delightful pussy, flying away into the night on oddly bat like wings.

“It’s your tail,” she replied. “Bi-bi MaggiePie8 said this morning how with your tail shaved you just look like a big fucking rat.”

Potential Moral Number One: Be true to yourself, and do not change for others.
Potential Moral Number Two: If someone likes you for who you are, changing for them will make you into someone else, whom they may no longer care for.
Potential Moral Number Three: While the ride is usually short, psychotic and psuedo-dangerous, there’s nothing better than fucking a hot Goth chick. And hair grows back.

---------------------------------------------
1. With Deathcuddle sitting on Nutspike’s lap, humping away while she blew some strange Rasta-coon (Rastafarian Raccoon) with a pony tail.
2. With Deathcuddle leaning out the window, her furry tits blowing in the wind as she screamed loud obscenities at the passengers of other cars while Nutspike fucked her up the ass.
3. Because for some reason that idea turned her on.
4. I.e., with frequent spanking and biting, occasionally involving restraints, vibrating tools and strap-on phallic substitutes, with frequent domination and submission episodes. Rabbits are kinky little cunts.

5. For those searching for related porn photographs, try looking for “squirrel on girl action’.

6. Near the books about parenting.
7. Note the play on words on “generally”. Do it now.
8. Margaret Pile was a bisexual Magpie with the annoyingly long nick name of Bi-bi Maggie Pie, who also had the social clout to pull it off. Similar, but opposite to, the famed comedian Kenny Partridge-Ruffles, who insisted on being referred to only by his initials.

A Poem, of sorts

All This

A hand to hold, a heart heard beating
A stolen kiss, a moment fleeting,
A sigh, a moan, a folding union
A soaring, sighing mass communion
Allies inside the darkened night
Souls eternal reunite.
Laughter shared and brightness seen
Emotions on a trampoline.
Hope and future, ball and chain
Joy in sorrow, joy in pain
Powerful, a soul defiant
Sorrowful, a spirit pliant.
Dark and soothing, mistress strong
Hearts desire heard in song.


Things she gave me when we fell in love.

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Written by me. Patent pending.

Choices.

Ok, I’m taking a huge chance here. I’m touching on a very tense and politically charged issue, with two very strongly opposed sides. And I’m not actually on either side, so I guess there’s a good chance I’m going to attract some ire. However, I do feel strongly about this issue, and want to put my message out there. Because no matter what happens, I don’t want to feel that I didn’t at least say something.

I’ve really been thinking about the whole “Native Crisis” thing up around Caledonia. You know, the blockade, tire fires, collapsing power towers, that stuff. Now, I don’t claim to be an expert on the behind-the-scenes issues and factors at play here. I, like most everyone else, learned about the events by watching it on the news or reading about it in print. I followed along with interest.

The original protest was smart and completely understandable. Sometimes, you just have to stand up for your rights. How long are the Natives supposed to do things the “right” way (i.e. the way our government tells them to)? How long are they supposed to navigate our labyrinthine legal system, only to be stymied, lied to, ignored, and patronized and condescended to before they finally stand up and shout “Enough!”?

Of course, as any intelligent individual knows, any successful protest will, eventually, get out of hand. Because it will grow, and once a mob reaches critical mass, it becomes an entity on its own right. Warriors become vandals. Because no one can control the mob. So, anyone who starts a protest must therefore accept responsibility for the fact that the protest could, conceivably, end up out of their control. And they must respect the fact that they are therefore accountable for the actions of the mob even after they have lost control.

If you start a fire, you are responsible for what gets burned.

And then the folk of Caledonia, who had had enough, decided to have their own blockade. Apparently deciding to fight fire with fire. A popular phrase, which I believe really only actually applies to real fire. Not a phrase to be used metaphorically. Think about it. You don’t deal with a flood by shooting fire hoses at it. In otherwords, another bad idea.

Why? Don’t the people of Caledonia have just as much right to protest as their neighbours?

Welcome to the analogy portion of the diatribe.

Once upon a time there were two brothers. Their names were Bob and Wolf. Now, Bob and Wolf were adopted brothers, true, but fate and circumstance had put them together, in the same family, in the same house. Like it or not, they were going to have to learn to live together.

Turns out, Bob knew some pretty cool tricks. He had collected some pretty cool toys, and had even invented a few new ones of his own. They definitely came in handy. Wolf knew a lot about camping, sports. Turns out, even though they would sometimes fight, that both brothers had a lot to learn from the other.

Left to their own devices, things probably would have worked out for the best. But their adopted father – let’s call him Government (ok, so it’s “very thinly veiled analogy time”) – didn’t really want the kids to get along. He had his own agenda, and in order to accomplish it, he would need to take things from both his adopted children.

If there was one thing he couldn’t have, it was a united enemy.

So he gave Wolf special “privledges”. A good allowance, but only if he stayed out of sight most of the time. He sometimes took things away from Wolf, and gave them to Bob. Well, sold them to Bob. This made Wolf angry, because Bob had his things.

Bob resented Wolf’s anger. After all, it was Government who took Wolf’s things. Probably for good reason – after all, why wold Government do something if it wasn’t for good reason? Wolf most likely had done something to deserve it.

So, to recap: Government stold from Wolf, and sold the stolen items to Bob. And in the end, Wolf was angry at Bob, and Bob was angry at Wolf.

Turns out Government was quite Machiavellian.

And a genius. Now he could play Bob and Wolf however he wanted. As long as he continued to play each side against the other.

One day, Wolf had decided he had been taken advantage of long enough. Not too long ago, he had bought a car with his own money. Government had taken the car, and sold to Bob. Wolf wanted it back. He was tired of arguing with Government, because he would always just lie. He’d promise to set things right, then renege. Or deny it.

Wolf decided that if he couldn’t use the car, neither could his brother Bob. He got some heavy chains, and wrapped them around the car, locking them with padlocks. Bob was pissed, but Government told them both that he would deal with it.

Government got drunk and decided to ignore the problem.

Eventually, Bob got angry, and sick of waiting, and decided to put a padlock on the bathroom door. If Wolf was going to keep him away from his car (and yes, it was his car, because he paid for it), then he was going to keep Wolf away from the can.

Stepping away from the analogy here, I hope you can see what I am getting at. We shouldn’t be angry with each other. We should’t be on opposite sides of the issue. We have to, as a people, realize that we have a common antangonist. We all have to do some soul searching, and be willing to take a portion of the blame onto ourselves. We all have a share.

Once we have done this, we can turn our attention to Government. We can shake our heads and wag our fingers, and admit we’ve been had. It was a fun ride, but now it’s over. We’ve grown up, we’ve turned 21, and we’re not going to be played against each other any more.

That means supporting each other. That means that Bob will have to admit that Government should not have stole things from Wolf. And Bob will have to admit to himself that he should not have bought Wolf’s things, because in doing so, he was perpetuating a crime.

Wolf will have to admit that, while Bob’s actions were wrong, they were done more in a spirit of ignorance than antagonism. And while Bob does have things that belong to Wolf, he does want to put things right.

So who should pay? Should Bob just give everything back to Wolf, allowing Government to keep all the money he paid? Should he just loose everything?

Should Wolf just decide to forget about all that he lost, and allow Bob to keep it all? While Government still, once again, keeps the profits?

Fuck that.

Where possible, Bob should give Wolf back what he bought. Government would then pay Bob back, with interest, the money that the items are worth.

In some cases, Wolf will have to accept that Bob will be keeping some things, but in turn, Government will pay Wolf what the items are worth. With interest.

And Government, if he has any sense at all, should just shut the fuck up and let the brothers make things right.

My Friends and Family

We were going through my grandma’s personal effects. We found this poem. I guess she must of written it shortly before she died.

My Friends and Family

I’ve baked my last pie on earth
But I don’t want you to cry
I’ve become a new citizen
Of the kitchen in the sky

The baking here is perfect
I never burn a thing
So don’t shed tears for me, my loves
I’m not closed, I’m opening

I made a cake for daddy
Had tea with Vic today
I even made lasagna
St. Peter said I may

Miss me but don’t mourn me
I’m quite alright you see
Just keep my spirit alive
In your thoughts and memory

And one day we will meet again
I’ll tell you where I’ll be
I’ll be waiting for you
In the kitchen, drinking tea

- Isabel O’Meara

It

I turn towards it. The mask. The Official Replica Batman Cowl, made from the same mold used to make the real cowl for the movie. For real. It sits in it’s place of honour, atop my glass pyramid of priceless movie mementoes. Atop the sculpted bronze dragons, the hideously grinning plaster skull, atop this altar to aspiration, it stands. There’s even a light, placed behind it, to cause it to look exactly the way it did when first seen in the movie.

For some reason, tonight the cowl calls to me. It beckons me as my eyes lock upon it. It speaks to a side in me that had long lain dormant. The side of me that willingly stole into the night to play pranks. To knock on doors and run away. To hide behind signs to scare the wits out of innocent passersby. To take chances, to leap from the tree branches, to trust that, when the time comes to land, I will come out of it more or less ok.

The mask speaks to me, and whispers to this dark fox inside me. Put me on, it whispers softly. I know I don’t really hear it, but a part of me realizes that I do. Take to the night, slip from shadow to darkness. Take chances, follow  the dare, tilt at windmills! Become! Transcend! Take to the night!

Then the microwave beeps. Ah, the burritos.

The Invitation

Recently I've been reading up on Native American sayings and wisdom. This piece really spoke to me, so I'd like to share it.

The Invitation By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting in your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit in pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own,if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tip of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.