Condemned

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Desire for you
will damn my eternal soul;
My lust condemns me.

Robert F. Kennedy on Violence in America

  This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

  It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one - no matter where he lives or what he does - can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on and on in this country of ours.

  Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet. No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason.

  Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of the law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of the life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.

  "Among free men," said Abraham Lincoln, "there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs." Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire.

  Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.

  Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul. For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter. This is the breaking of a man's spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all.

  I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.

  We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.

  Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.

  We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.

  Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution. But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.

  Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.

– Robert F. Kennedy

I'm Burnin', I'm Burnin', I'm Burnin' for You!

By Bud Koenemund

  On this date in 2014, while working as a security guard at the headquarters of the Pittsburgh Steelers (a team I hate with the fire of 10,000 suns), I saved the building from burning to the ground.

  True story.

------------------------------

  Oh, so you want the long story?

  The Steelers had a guy come in to clean the very large hood over the stoves in the kitchen. He covered the stoves with cardboard -- to keep any soap from going in -- and hung plastic sheeting around the entire area.

  I went about my business while he banged around. I left the cafeteria to do my rounds. Upon ensuring that all three buildings within my area of responsibility were secure -- or relatively so -- I returned to the caf.

   While crossing the parking lot, I could see a flicking light -- a growing flickering -- through the windows and plastic.

  I expedited my return and located the cleaning guy in the supply room of the kitchen. I asked him -- already knowing the answer -- "Are there supposed to be flames?"

  He ran past me toward the stoves. I followed -- mostly out of morbid curiosity. He began removing flaming cardboard from the steel stoves -- located under steel hoods and backed by a stone tile wall -- and deposited it in a plastic garbage can filled with additional cardboard, plastic, and paper which then -- as if by magic; or, perhaps, merely science -- began burning.

  As he began to panic and blow on his singed fingers, I reached for the charged garden hose at our feet -- the hose he'd been using to clean the aforementioned hoods -- and proceeded to liberally apply water to everything in and around the garbage can -- including the cleaning guy.

  Luckily, our hero -- me. Or, you know, not -- extinguished the flames before they spread to the hanging plastic -- which led to the ceiling which was not made of steel -- and, more importantly, before the fire alarm activated.

  Cleaning guy had neglected to extinguish the pilot lights on the stoves before placing cardboard of them.

  Because the alarm did not activate, and the fire department did not respond, I did not write up an incident report that night. I figured the next day I would tell Steelers management what an idiot the cleaning guy was.

  I, of course, did not do another set of rounds until after the cleaning guy left.

  The next day, when I arrived at work, the head of Steelers security (not really my direct supervisor) told me he needed a report of what happened. So, I wrote up a version of the events, and included 27 8 by 10 color, glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what it was.

  To this day, only one person from the Steelers organization has ever said thank you.

Two Haiku

By Bud Koenemund

Muse
For Lindsay

Her body sates lust;
but her bright green eyes ignite
imagination.


Human
For Lindsay

Lust makes me a fool;
love makes me an idiot.
Both make me human.

Lessons Unlearned

By Bud Koenemund

For "The Three"

My inebriate
heart too often overrules
sober intellect.

Sunshine and Rain

By Bud Koenemund

You, Love, are sunshine.
I’m rain. But, I am content,
for flowers need both.

Goodbye Democracy

By Bud Koenemund

(With apologies to Margaret Wise Brown)

Dedicated to those who would not look past their own wallet

In a great white house
There sits an orange man;
With an enemies list,
A Diet Coke, and bucket of chicken.

Oh, how he’ll brag, and spout, and lie –
A ManChild nothing short of bratty –
And set about doing the only job he has:
To destroy us from within for his Sugar Vladdy.

Goodbye NATO;
Goodbye Ukraine;
Goodbye Paris Climate Accord;
Welcome back acid rain.

Goodbye Supreme Court
And women’s rights, it seems;
So, too, LGBTQ protections;
Welcome Heritage Foundation’s religious wet dreams.

Goodbye to bodily autonomy;
Goodbye to abortion;
Goodbye to proper health care;
Welcome, once more, medical burden.

Goodbye to equal rights for People of Color;
Goodbye to those lost in mass deportations;
Goodbye to non-partisan government employees;
Welcome back those found guilty of insurrection.

Goodbye Social Security;
Goodbye Medicare;
Goodbye prescription drug caps,
And Obama’s Affordable Care.

Goodbye independent DoJ and FBI;
Goodbye Department of Education;
Goodbye school breakfast and lunch;
Welcome the dangers of deregulation.

Goodbye student debt relief;
Goodbye teaching history;
Goodbye to the truth,
And banned books they call “pornography.”

Goodbye to diversity;
Goodbye to voting rights;
Goodbye to clean energy;
Welcome to Mango Mussolini’s free speech blight.

Goodbye to overtime;
Hello to tariffs on every nation;
Goodbye to taxes for the rich;
While the middle class suffers inflation.

Goodbye Democracy;
You had a pretty good run;
Achieving so much good;
But, by ignorance, undone.

Just a Thought...

By Bud Koenemund

Here's a little lesson I taught at physical therapy yesterday. A few therapists and patients were discussing the woeful performance of the Pittsburgh Pirates. They lamented that the team never really gets better. Now, it's well known that the team owner doesn't spend a lot (in relative terms) of money on the team. So, I explained that if they really wanted the team to get better, they should stop watching them; stop buying their merchandise, and stop going to their games. The owner has shown that he will give you what you accept. If you accept a team that struggles -- year after year -- to remain in the middle of the standings, that's what the owner will give -- while still making money for himself.
I told them this also translates to shopping. Does it annoy you when you go to Walmart, and they only have one cashier on duty -- while having 10-20 "self-checkout" lanes open? You're in a hurry, so you ring up your items (sans any kind of employee discount for doing their job). All while being watched by one employee and multiple cameras to ensure you're not cheating them by not ringing up every item. Well, it's the same principle. If you show Walmart that you'll do their job for them, they'll give you what you'll accept. Why put more cashiers on duty if the people will do it themselves?
But, if -- and I know this would be an inconvenience for a day, or two -- if 27 shoppers lined up at the one manned cash register, and refused to use the self-checkout lane, it would force Walmart to open another lane. And, if it happened again the next day, Walmart might get the message.
Well, it's just a thought.

All Over Again

By Bud Koenemund

I think about you

every day. And, miss you

all over again.

Debt

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  He started, sensing a presence behind him.
  “There aren’t many people who can sneak up on me,” he reflected.
  “I didn’t,” the form replied, quietly. “I’ve followed you for a long time; since your very beginning, in fact. And, waited patiently.”
  “I was a good man… once,” he whispered, as realization dawned. “After I was broken, it just became too painful to care.”
  “Life is often that way,” the figure offered. “But, I am not here to judge; only to collect the debt each man must pay.”
  Examining his own body on the ground, he nodded; then turned to follow.