November 11, 1918

My muse has been absent for a week from my life, every day is like a screwdriver through my heart.

Today is November 11, 87 years ago today one of the most gruesome, brutal wars ended. It's amazing to think about how much this war has changed the face of modern warfare, the first use of planes, the first use of chemical weapons, the first time civilians were targetted by military forces.

It was called the "war to end all wars". I only wish that had been true. We are still sending our youngest to die on foreign soil. In recent years we've expanded that to include more and more women. I'm not sure that's progress. We live in a social structure that says that allowing women to be just as brutalized as men is progressive.

This is a tough day for me, it's a day when we contemplate our inhumanity. Events the past few years have revitalized slightly interest in this day, I guess that's a good thing. More and more children are contemplating what this day means.

This day provokes a lot of emotions for me. On a personal level, I'm reminded of sacrifice, I'm reminded of things that I should never have seen. Things I wish I had never seen. Last week I was on a bent about racism. I have seen where bigotry leads, it leads to babies being torn apart with farm instruments. It leads to pregnant women having their womb cut out with a shovel. It leads to men and women having their bodies hacked apart and cannibalized. That's the ultimate end of hate. People who make innocent jokes, or harmless steretypes to me are taking that first step down a very dark road. You can dislike someone because of an idea or choice, that's a whole different arguement, and to be honest oppression of freedom of speech does not generate the same visceral level of hatred. If you hate someone for what they are, their sex, their sexuality, their race, you hate them at their core.

When you talk to me, don't ever start a sentence, "I'm not a racist, but...." because you are.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.