When I was tidying up our storage yesterday I found an old journal of mine containing a poem. I used to really like it when I was younger, but it seeemes even more relevent now. I apologized to the guys for the sexism...if you want, this could be you to :)

I recommend reading the lower post first.

Lunacy Game

What if instead of drugging, shocking, tyingdown our Mad Women, we put them in warm tubs of water naked as babies and got in there with Them and cooed and encouraged Them to cry great salt tears, to grieve the passing of dreams, the rape of the soul? What if we rocked Them to sleep in giant hammocks of competant fat arms when They are too damn exhasted with keeping up pretenses or holding Thier heads up any longer? What if we agreed with Her that the whole world is fucking crazy, out of balance and that She is not to blame for the halt and the lame, the lack of food, the phone not being answered, the port wine stains on babies, the wars on every contenent of the globe?
What if we gave Her a baseball bat (none of the nerf shit impotant harm nothing foam battica bat bullshit, but a solid wood bone cracking put a goddamn lump on it BASE FUCKING BALL BAT ) and let Her slam every post stump wall door window house car in an arena where She is cheered on to a frenzy?
Then let's pick Her up when she falls down exhausted and foaming and take Her down to the locker room for a steam bath and massage that leaves Her noodle limp and rage-less for the first time in decades.

Dina Kerik