Sunday, March 27, 2005

My Simple Wish

Th ghoul-fest surrounding Terri Schiavo finally appears to be winding down, now that her parents have realized that Jeb Bush is not going to impose martial law and snatch Ms. Schiavo away from her husband.

I have a simple wish for the Schindlers and for everyone who has been involved in exploiting Ms. Schiavo for their own pathological reasons:

I wish that each and every one of you who is claiming that Ms. Schiavo is alive shall wake up tomorrow to find yourself in the condition you believe her to be in. That is to say, I wish for each and every one of you to be 100% conscious of your surroundings, fully able to feel pain, cold, hunger, and despair, hearing every word said around you, lying in your own shitty diapers and hitched up to a catheter for your urine, getting all your food and water from a tube sewn into your gut.

I want for you to never be able to touch you spouse, parents, and/or children of your own volition. Never eat a bite of solid food. Never pick up the phone and talk to your friends. Never go shopping, drive a car, pick flowers, jump in a pool, attend your church, pet the dog, turn on the TV, sing a song, cook dinner, clean the house, or send an email.

I am merciful, however. Unlike you, who wish this for Ms. Schiavo in perpetuity, I only wish it for you for as many years as Ms. Schiavo has lived it since her parents decided to fight allowing her to die until the moment when she finally goes to her god and is at peace.

What's that, 10 years or so?

In short, I wish for you to be in perfect possession of your own will and beliefs, and to experience first-hand what you have declared in your moralistic arrogance to be the fate Terri Schiavo must endure so you can pat yourself on the back for your moral purity.

I do not want Ms. Schiavo to die. Neither do I want her to endure suffering for decades. The only consolation I have as I watch the ghoul-fest is that Ms. Schiavo no longer possesses consciousness and is not suffering. She is beyond your psychopathic obsessions.

Anglachel

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