Author Archives: Missy Comley Beattie

Unsafe at any exposure

The human body has to be robust. It would have to be, considering the toxins that pervade our existence. It would have to be, considering that government fails to protect us from fungicides, pesticides, pollutants. It would have to be, considering that plastics have been found in our blood, in our lungs, in breastmilk, in babies’ urine. Continue reading

Goodbyes

Wouldn’t you appreciate an essay unrelated to the horror of climate catastrophe, Afghanistan and ending a never-ending war that never should have been waged, the Afghans who are casualties of US empire, a global pandemic, a governor who says Biden should follow his Covid protocol (no masks but Regeneron clinics for those with severe Covid—DeSantis must have huge investments in Roche), a president who doesn’t take questions after stumbling through a teleprompter-guided update, a former president who claims presidential powers despite his defeat, etc.? Continue reading

The biggest loser

Finally, it’s over. Even if we’re concerned about how he’ll depart, if eventually, he’ll leave peacefully or possibly in a straitjacket. And what he might inflict during the remaining days of his tenure. Continue reading

Shit bowl country

I will contradict myself numerous times in this piece. Continue reading

‘There is no hope, but I may be wrong’

We compose our opinion pieces, writing anywhere from 400 to 1000 words. Most of us use “we must” and “we should” and “we need” and conclude with a paragraph that offers hope. Continue reading

Is. This. It?

One way to intro this piece is to mention the funeral home next door to my building. Continue reading

Please, Jill Biden, please

I noticed disturbing signs. Then I’d look for positive signs to dispute those disturbing ones. Continue reading

My abortion

Her face is like an image in a photograph, as clear today as it was years ago when I first saw her. The little girl, named Amber, was among my best friend J’s social work, foster care caseload. And I wanted to adopt her. Continue reading

Putting values into action

Earlier in May, two North Carolina Republicans intro’d state legislation that would place obstacles in the path of renewable energy development. Senate Bill 843, sponsored by Senators William Cook and Andrew Brock, leaves anyone with even semi-decent cognitive functioning asking WTF(?). Despite the unquestionable obviousness of the why of that What, you still can shake your head no, no, no in amazement, outrage, disbelief. Continue reading

Derangement Syndrome

I have it. I have a bad case of it. Not yet bad enough that I’m medicating with an anti-anxiety or antidepressant, however I’m acquainted with people who require drug therapy to treat their Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS). Continue reading

Shut the f*ck up, Missy

A couple of hours after reading the Trump administration’s devastating climate report, I was assaulted by Tangerine Nightmare’s ignorance, his tweet: “Brutal and Extended Cold Blast could shatter ALL RECORDS—Whatever happened to Global Warming?” Continue reading

Words get in the way

If compassion were contagious, they’d mandate a vaccine to prevent transmission. Continue reading

American Horror Story

We sit around the coffee table and as much as we’d like, there is no avoiding the topic: Trump. Sometimes, it’s his tweets. Then there was his attempt to explain Helsinki, snowballing as it did into Helsinkigate with foam-at-the-mouth rage by corporate media actors who screamed treason that Trump was Mr. Congeniality when he met face-to-face with that existential menace, Putin. Even some who consider themselves liberal/progressives appear to prefer war with Russia than rapprochement. And when we mash on that befuddlement, it’s with a near-certainty that Putin must have the goods on Trump, something more threatening than information about a golden shower or liaisons with prostitutes. Would be reassuring if we could conceive of something positive about Trump, but so far, no. He’s just too untrustworthy and, well, unstable. Continue reading

Ten years

Ten years ago, my sister Laura and I were in Greenwich Village at a restaurant near Washington Square Park. We stood all afternoon, hopped up at New York City’s Gay Pride Parade. Continue reading

Very little or no hope

A few weeks ago, I wrote an article, one I didn’t submit. I’d given it to my son to read. His response was: “You need to see a psychiatrist.” Continue reading

Remembering Barbara Bush

Barbara Bush, mother of war criminal George W. Bush, died on April 17, 2018. Geraldine Comley, my mother, died April 17, 2011. Bush was called the matriarch of a Republican political dynasty. For years, my mother was chairwoman of the local Republican Party in Nicholasville, Kentucky, however she eventually rejected the Party, leaving it when George Bush was elected president. She’d watched the news, his campaign, and pronounced him stupid. Continue reading

The Age Of Absurdities and Atrocities

I’ve started pieces, several, abandoning each, feeling whiplashed. Continue reading

Message to new activists

A picture is worth a thousand tears. “Not my child. Please, not my child.” Continue reading

The violently familiar

We drove through Dotard country before anyone called him a dotard. Saw signs in yards: “PROUD DEPLORABLE.” Now, weeks after the Christmas decorations, the life-sized crèches and the flashing red and green lights dancing around windows, have been dismantled and entrusted to the basement or attic ‘til next year, those homages to Trump still stand, like monuments to a Confederate hero. Continue reading

Election 2020 foresight

The Golden Globes: Hollywood’s most prominent women, costumed in black to support the #MeToo movement, were misty eyed, wonderstruck when Oprah Winfrey delivered her first campaign speech, inspiring liberals throughout the USA! USA! USA! to an orgasmic shattering-of-the-glass-ceiling altitude. Some among the crowd appeared transfixed, transcending the secular. Their faces rapt, as if they were witness to the birth of a saviorette. This time, one beloved enough to defeat Donald Trump. Fast forward to when there would be no need for a post-inauguration multitude of pussy-hat wearers from towns and cities throughout the country, walking, driving, busing, flying, raging to Washington, D.C., to protest the defeat of a neoliberal, regime-change warmongering, homogametic narcissist by a pussy grabbing, white nationalist, soon-to-be warmonger, heterogametic narcissist. Continue reading

Challenging the plutarchy

“I hope they see my humanity.” They. Don’t. See. It. Don’t because in order to see humanity, one must be empathetic, feel the suffering of others, bear witness to it. I look at Ady Barkan and I see my sons. Not only do I see my sons, I think, “Ady Barkan could be my son.” Continue reading

It’s capitalism

To say we’re approaching the brink is a yawner. Especially when Nobel Prize recipients are warning that we’re poised at a tantrum. They’ve called on Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un to “tone down the rhetoric” to prevent nuclear disaster, that we’re a “tantrum away” from catastrophe. Isn’t it enough we have an epic urgency—that Mother Earth is marinating in pollutants, one of which is pesticides that are neurotoxic and carcinogenic? Big Pharma to the rescue though with an answer that’s unrelated to prevention: drugs, drugs whose side effects often are as bad or worse than the diseases they’re designed to treat. We’re at a death-rattle moment in human history. See this link for the world’s worst air quality locations. Continue reading

Big dick diplomacy

Years ago, when I watched Hotel Rwanda, I was intrigued by Sophie Okonedo, her unique beauty. She can appear plain, almost strange looking, yet when that huge smile dances across her face, she dazzles. She is radiantly gorgeous. Continue reading

Paging Dr. Vogel

My mother used to say, “She needs to have her head examined.” Or, “He needs to have his head examined.” I thought of her, of this, when I read that Stephen Paddock’s brain is in route for examination at Stanford University where Dr. Hannes Vogel will analyze the tissue for any number of neurological disorders that might shed light on motive for the mass shooting in Las Vegas. Continue reading

Bitch, get out!!

Saturday, Oct 14th, I opened snail mail to read this typed letter that arrived in a typed envelope with a Purple Heart stamp. Continue reading

When we’re done

My dear friend E. emailed that she was carjacked at gunpoint and would phone when she was less shaken. A few days later, we talked. Continue reading

This man

This man is a husband, the father of two children, Latino, and a US citizen. For 18 years he taught high school, most recently in a rural area of a southern state—where he also resides among farmers, many of whom reject the notion of a generous earth that nourishes all people. Instead they stand their ground, soil fertile with roots that grow deep into the past. They wave Confederate flags, display the oppressive symbol on their vehicle’s bumper, long for a time when black men and women slaved in the fields. They believe Donald Trump will make America great again for many reasons. They want that wall built, migrants deported. They support Blue Lives Matter, the right to carry a gun, any gun, including assault rifles, would subjugate not only people of color but also anyone who is outside their definition of acceptable. Continue reading

He’s got the whole world in his hands

I don’t know about you but I’m pretty fucking calm right now. Maybe even slightly giddy. You see, I was raised in the Baptist Church. Sunday school. Bible school in summer. I memorized so much scripture I was rewarded. Honored to carry the American flag from point A to point B in the auditorium. March, march, marching in obedience. Church. Sermons that scared the Hell right out of me. I attended more than a few tent revivals in Kentucky. Got dunked when I was 12 or so, I think, because my sister made that faithful decision to turn her life over to Christ and I wanted in on the act. As Dr. Phil would ask, “How’s that working for you?” Until this moment not so great. But I digress. Continue reading

Moralizing vultures: Swooping to pick at anguish

Charlie Gard died July 28, 2017, a week before his first birthday. Continue reading

Glioblastoma as metaphor

For those of us who see the dead, the children’s bodies washed ashore, charred skin, how are we supposed to feel? What are we to think? Continue reading

The mother of all fireworks

The vehicles are in the driveway, parked in front of a two-car garage. Both the SUV and the hybrid sedan boast statements of identity, an OBAMA BIDEN bumper sticker and a HILLARY FOR PRESIDENT bumper sticker. Continue reading

Meet the Parkers

Six terrorist attacks in Manhattan in one month changed everything. Continue reading