underXposed

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As a person adopted at birth, all my life I wanted to know who I was and where I came from. The bottomless void of identity has always haunted me, defined my empty self. I’m not African-American, but I share that haunting sense that comes from being torn from roots, that sense of not belonging anywhere. That sense of having been colonized. So, the inexpressable joy I felt when I finally heard the voice of a blood relative on the other end of the phone was so intense I could hardly breathe. I finally belonged to someone, even if I was never on their family tree. That voice belonged to my maternal aunt.

I could hardly wait to dive into my existence for the first time. Excitedly I drove two hours to meet her, touch her, drink in her existence. When I looked into her eyes, I saw my own. I recognized my own laughter. I was related by blood, yet a complete stranger that no one in the family knew about except her. She put up with me, showed me photos, told me stories. She had survived my mother who had died of cancer years before. So, I had come to the end of my hope of ever meeting my mother. I was, after all, a bastard, product of an extra-marital affair, so I’d never know my father either.

I never wanted to leave my aunt’s side. But of course I had to get on with my own life. I had to leave her, knowing that she, like my mother, had terminal cancer. Despite her doctor’s assurance that she was doing fine on the chemo and radiation, she was going downhill fast. She looked worse every time I drove to see her. He never gave her the slightest indication that she might not survive the cancer, and she believed everything he told her. She was “getting better every day.” What the hell is wrong with this picture? She died eight months later. I lost the only person in the world who made me feel like a normal human being eight months after I met her (the rest of my blood clan could care less if I ever existed because we share no history together; I’m not on the family tree; I don’t really exist). How can I possibly explain the profound sense of what I lost? My story is just one of hundreds, thousands.

I’m posting this on my blog today because you and I both know that although it all looks fine on the surface, there’s something horribly diseased about American society. This disease is as putrid as it is fatal. The Democrats, those who were supposed to represent the people, are, with few exceptions, all infected by the same vampire’s bite. They have become the vampires we elected them to slay. Like them, we are all walking around in a fog, in a disconnected daze. The average American brain has been bitten by the novocaine vampire; or put another way, jonesing for a daily dose of the Bluepill.

This military-pharmaceutical-corporate-media complex killed my aunt. In case you doubted that she, like a huge number of Americans (including those who represent us in government) was/are sleepwalking through life, herded onto the Consumer Express toward a Disney-fied Auschwitz, this scene in the 1981 film, My Dinner with Andre nails it:

Alternate swf video: http://www.youtube.com/swf/l.swf?video_id=
U_0KYrVzYcU&rel=
1&eurl=http%3A//www.smirkingchimp.com/thread/16105&iurl=
http%3A//i.ytimg.com/vi/U_0KYrVzYcU/default.jpg&t=
OEgsToPDskISKrZhSNuQbiYqoDtHttEZ

And I can’t just end this post with such a depressing void of helpless victimhood. There are also those who know that this entire contruct is coming down around us like so many props. You can find hundreds of sites that reveal a burgeoning alternate world (my sidebar under Circle A/DIY has some). How about this one: Living Authentically and Simply