My friend Eileen McCabe wrote this piece. She was scheduled to perform it at the Utah Arts Festival last night. She altered the F-word, although she “had every intention of performing it with glee” (her words) at the Festival.
George Carlin said “F**k Hope”
“F**k Hope?”
F**k no, George!
You gave me more hope than
any holy trinity of bloviating control freaks.
Hope and ranting rage
against Nixon, Reagan, Catholic dogma and injustice.
Hope and the courage to be despised and taunted
and alone in the support of principle.
Hope and permission to commit trespass
and sit in lockup under guard of gas masks and attack dogs.
Hope and the knowledge of the effect of language
to push boundaries and open hearts.
Hope isn?t the milk and cookies before bedtime
that lures you into a false sense of security.
Hope is the rudderless, whiskey-barrel boat
that sails on a windy wing and a prayer for guidance.
Hope lies not in feel-good speeches and on-line petitions
but in feather boas and bombast, human shields and barricades.
Hope is that itching, fist pumping irritation
that upthrusts middle finger and taunts you into action.
We used to shout at Nixon, ?Make Love not War!?
Let us joyfully copulate with hope;
make lots of little hopes
little black, brown, red, yellow
pink, blue and white hopes
who will go and f**k more hopes
till we breed away lethargy and despair.
Rest in hope, George,
and rest in peace –
as if that were possible.
F**k.
