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After yesterday's intense scrutiny of Mental Health Violence and Quality Control, we go to the flip side of the issue, with a civil rights poem and a creative description of the void too deep for psychology. I wish to emphasize however, we are looking at the exact same problem (Quality Control), just through a different filter.
"A Fuss on a Bus" is (currently) Chapter 23 in my book "Enough! Losing the Scarlet Letter. The end of self-imposed adult abuse."
It starts out like this:
Hey Rosa . . . The eyes of the world were upon you Way way back . . . back in nineteen and sixty two All the world wondered A nation had blundered . . . Summer stopped to stand stark still in sweltering stasis . . . Men, and even senators stood supine The foolish beguiled the wise . . . A woman took a mighty nation to its moral knees . . .
I think everyone will enjoy this poem about Rosa Parks.
"4 A.M. Someplace" is (currently) Chapter 8 in my book "Enough! Losing the Scarlet Letter. The end of self-imposed adult abuse."
It's the artsy touchie feelie side of the same quality control argument i tried to make yesterday in much more logical terms. It starts out like this:
The Wal-Mart fan rattles on the scratched gritty wooden floor and blows the smells of new and ancient sweat off thin unwashed sheets affixed to the rough fibered blue surface of the sleeper couch below; and troubled minds are spinning in circles balancing shaky human alliances and application of scarce resources to problems, like an overmatched general pitting starving troops on a wet frozen battlefield against a superior well fed mechanized opponent.
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It's good to talk.