WTF?

Well said, as per usual, Bob.It set me to thinkin’ . . . Bertolt Brecht wrote two of the most evocative, poetic pieces on the economics and politics of abortion I’ve ever read. I included them in the Cabaret at the End of the Empire, which I produced just before the election. One is the song, “Abortion is Illegal”, with music by Hanns Eisler–I can’t find a link to a recording at the moment, but it’s available on iTunes. Here’s the other:On The Infanticide Marie Farrar———————————-1Marie Farrar: month of birth, AprilAn orphaned minor; rickets; birthmarks, none; previouslyOf good character, admits that she did killHer child as follows here in summary.She visited a woman in a basementDuring her second month, so she reportedAnd there was given two injectionsWhich, though they hurt, did not abort it.But you I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.2But nonetheless, she says, she paid the billAs was arranged, then bought herself a corsetAnd drank neat spirit, peppered it as wellBut that just made her vomit and disgorge it.Her belly now was noticeably swollenAnd ached when she washed up the plates.She says that she had not finished growing.She prayed to Mary, and her hopes were great.You too I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.3Her prayers, however, seemed to be no good.She’d asked too much. Her belly swelled. At MassShe started to feel dizzy and she wouldKneel in a cold sweat before the Cross.Still she contrived to keep her true state hiddenUntil the hour of birth itself was on herBeing so plain that no one could imagineThat any man would ever want to tempt her.But you I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.4She says that on the morning of that dayWhile she was scrubbing stairs, something came clawingInto her guts. It shook her once and went away.She managed to conceal her pain and keep from crying.As she, throughout the day, hung up the washingShe racked her brain, then realized in frightShe was going to give birth. At once a crushingWeight grabbed at her heart. She didn’t go upstairs till night.And yet I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.5But just as she lay down they fetched her back again:Fresh snow had fallen, and it must be swept.That was a long day. She worked till after ten.She could not give birth in peace till the household slept.And then she bore, so she reports, a son.The son was like the son of any mother.But she was not like other mothers are – but thenThere are no valid grounds why I should mock her.You too I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.6So let her finish now and end her taleAbout what happened to the son she bore(She says there’s nothing she will not reveal)So men may see what I am and you are.She’d just climbed into bed, she says, when nauseaSeized her. Never knowing what should happen tillIt did, she struggled with herself to hush herCries, and forced them down. The room was still.And you I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.7The bedroom was ice cold, so she called onHer last remaining strength and dragged her-Self out to the privy and there, near dawnUnceremoniously, she was delivered(Exactly when, she doesn’t know). Then sheNow totally confused, she says, half frozeAnd found that she could scarcely hold the childFor the servants’ privy lets in the heavy snows.And you I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.8Between the servants’ privy and her bed (she saysThat nothing happened until then), the childBegan to cry, which vexed her so, she saysShe beat it with her fists, hammering blind and wildWithout a pause until the child was quiet, she says.She took the baby’s body into bedAnd held it for the rest of the night, she saysThen in the morning hid it in the laundry shed.But you I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.9Marie Farrar: month of birth, AprilDied in the Meissen penitentiaryAn unwed mother, judged by the law, she willShow you how all that lives, lives frailly.You who bear your sons in laundered linen sheetsAnd call your pregnancies a ‘blessed’ stateShould never damn the outcast and the weak:Her sin was heavy, but her suffering great.Therefore, I beg, make not your anger manifestFor all that lives needs help from all the rest.

Obama is guy that called sexuality “sacred”

Good grief, Bruno, that poem is heart-wrenching! I need to read more Brecht.

It just broke that Boner is advising House Republicans to oppose the bill and did this hours before Obama is set to meet with them…Here’s hoping Obama fucks up their world later today…

The Democratic Party – Experts at snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.