A Rant about the Speeches in the Democratic Convention

Obama saved America from a depression?! You're kidding right? Because of Obama, some illegal alien is receiving the education my parents have saved and worked for for me while I struggle to find a way to pay for the only education I can afford right now--COMMUNITY college. TELL ME OBAMA! HOW IS THAT NOT DEPRESSING?

And no sir, the American public school system is NOT a wonder of the world. Kids are pushed through the system and their grades are adjusted to get them graduated as quickly as possible. There's nothing wonderful about that. How dare you tell me that the hardworking American's tax dollars are funding the school system. That's the biggest load of bull crap I've heard all day. Baby mamas send their kids to ramshackle inner city schools with smart phones tucked into Gucci bags that hang off their perfectly manicured hands while they keep on having kids to get bigger government checks. America, our tax money essentially pays for these people to support their habit of DOING NOTHING. We are paying the lazy people to get manicures and sports cars while we drive our 90s four doors and send our kids to community college because it's all we have left to afford.

Oh and by the way, you want to save the environment by not drilling on our home turf? If you seriously cared about the environment, you'd ban ALL oil consumption. But we can't afford that. You're destroying the world anyway because it doesn't really matter if it's the Arabian environment or the American environment. You're screwing the earth either way. Only, by living off of the resources from the east you're not only killing the environment, you're killing the economy as well. So if you're gonna kill the earth anyway, you might as well save us some money and drill at home!

And to the kids my age, I'd like to say something. You DO matter. As much as you're only one vote, and as much as one solitary vote really doesn't make a difference on its own, the millions of other young people that live in that same self-defeating mindset DO. THE FATE OF THIS NATION IS OURS. Not our parents', not our grandparents'. It's OUR right and responsibility to vote. And if you become lazy and fixated on the thought that you're only one person and one vote doesn't make a difference, then I will blame you for flushing this nation down the toilet. DO WHAT AMERICANS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO!! The government is only as powerful as we allow it to be and from my point of view, we are slowly slipping into becoming a nation that is dependent on its government. And I'm no expert, but theres nothing about government dependency that doesn't scream communist. It's your vote. Make it count while you still can. If not for the common good, then at least for your own sake. I need you. America needs you. But most of all, YOU need yourself.

Definition or (What Happens When the Soul is Inspired)

Rain, Earl Grey, Pink Floyd, an empty page.  And here I sit, trying to conjure the equation that turns those things into an inspired piece of writing.  I've noticed a pattern lately.  I do my best writing when the skies are gray, when the leaves have changed, or during a good song.  Looking back through old journals, all the best tidbits are dated in the fall, and some of my favorite pieces were written about rain or music. 

And so I begin to wonder what happens to a soul when this thing we call "inspiration" takes place.  How do I begin to define the word?  Is it an inner feeling caused by an outer idea, or does the feeling change the way we percieve those ideas?  Does the mind just wake up one morning and tell the soul to be inspired and subsequently, we view the world through artistic eyes?  Or is it the art in the world that invokes inspiration to the heart and soul?  I can ask these questions all day long and never really get an answer because in what I believe to be the truth, the word "inspiration" means something different to everyone. 

But to me, inspiration is found in the bottom of a teacup that's empty but not yet cooled.  Or the crevice of cells in a leaf that has just begun to change color.  Or the tiny splashes that falling raindrops make as they collide with the rippled surface of a rising river.  Inspiration is the what that Gilmour guitar solo sounds like singing through my record player.  It's the quiet swish of slippered feet dancing across a stage.  It's how I can't help but pull my car over when certain songs come on the radio for fear of losing them to the static that may exist over the crest of the next hill.

So I'll ask a question for you to consider for today: what does "inspiration" mean to you?  How do you define what moves your soul to the point of becoming compelled to think on a higher level, to create something great, to leave your comfort zone and exist in a world, real or metaphorical, that you'd previously been to afraid to enter?  Brew some tea and think about it.  And if you want, tell me what you come up with.  I'd love to know too.