Monday, July 31, 2006

The Three Sentinels of the Alpha Centauri Outpost

Throughout the universe, there is no greater pejorative than the word "human", those self-deceived, maniacally self-devouring creatures made infamous with the sorrow and outrage of the Alpha Centauri planet. A play from Seti Alpha V has a famous moment where a character begins sawing off his own arm but his chastened not to by another. When the sawing man insists the saw will not cut off his arm, he is asked, "What are you? Human?" After his arm falls off, he replies, "Guess I am!" And the audience laughs.

That is what it means to be called human.

Occasionally a traveler will visit the human's outpost gone mad. For some, the story is so unbelievable, they must bear witness with their own eyes.


The minute your foot hits the ground you can feel the "wrongness" of the planet, as if some sort of current is running through the earth and into your being. "A sickening fear mixed with an inexplicable ancient human dread combined with a hypnotic fascination with death," as one previous traveler had described it. The legends surrounding this dead planet were no match for the actual experience. It was a living morality play forever standing as one race's abomination.

No one comes here anymore; too dangerous. Who wants to risk exposure to the insanity of the humans upon themselves? Better just to let things be. But I had to come, to see for myself. Standing outside my ship, a creeping doubt challenged my previously cocksure wisdom. The sky was a magnificent horror. An endless, swirling brown mass of clouds bubbling like a boiling pot of coffee left unattended - forever. Only on the tip of the horizon did the golden rays of the sun star break through, casting an eerie golden hue on all things it touched. Most of all, on the famous Three Sentinels.

Again, no book or legend or myth could substitute for the real thing. Three massive masterworks of machinery glinting mutely for whomever's eyes still chose to look. Time may come and time may go, but change they did not. The picture of the Three Sentinels was one known throughout the galaxy. What I hadn't counted on was the shear breadth behind them, disappearing into the murky horizon. These were the beasts used to suck the planet dry. Monuments of mania.

You could see it in the details; the intricate, unfathomable twisting and curving tubes feeding and winding their way in and out for processes long since forgotten. Such determination! To spend the years and the lives crafting these engines of industry into life required a fanatical drive; a religious zealotry. It's almost as if they resented this world and its riches and sought revenge by draining every last ounce of preciousness it had to offer. What had possessed them so?

They had sucked their future into the present in an orgy of greed. In a thousand years or a thousand thousand years, this planet could not be reclaimed. Walking past the rusting rot and faded words, you almost feel a pity for the machinery. It was the humans who'd done it; a race despised across the galaxy. They never overcame their own inner discord until finally it just ate them up. The wreckage here reflecting the wreckage of their souls. Goodbye human destroyers and may the universe never see the likes of you again.

Read the diary written during the outpost's final days

Sunday, July 30, 2006

To Know and Know Not

"Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appalls me?
What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red."


A Clever Man he was. Not clever with conceit as so many fatally are, but rather a cleverness that answered to the god of Objectivity, removing oneself from the equation - a path down which no self-serving soul can traverse. The Clever Man's only opponents were those who also served this god. But he was safe even from them for in his art he had achieved perfection. Dig as you might, no trace could be found; no strokes of vanity, no careless deeds, no fickle fate left to intervene. No, the murder had been a perfect one, for not even a crime was suspect.

And crime does pay for the clever. In a world that so prides itself on infallibility, success is a perennial virtue. He loved the unsuspecting morality associated with his wealth. The eager to please auto dealer, the smiling face of the banker and the snobbish warmth of his tailor each lauded this "good man". No apparent fault. The seed money from the killing afforded him an honest manner of living well. He had become as perfect as his crime.

Except that he knew. The power of it was exhilarating, an unknown fact to lord over the world. A mystery man with a cheshire grin, reveling in the ignorance of his fellow man. He cheated the world and was rewarded. He knew society's dirty little secret: it too was all a lie. Nothing makes you feel safer when you're a fraud than the absence of honest men. Fellow frauds don't ask questions. And yet he himself had fallen for the Original Lie, the snake that's never been silenced, the siren's call of one little phrase: "...but no one will know."

In time, Clever Man came to realize his prison. Could he have an honest family and not confess his crime? Or have an honest friend? He rationalized the futility of going to the police as a pointless waste of life. This was a world only concerned with inflicting pain, not healing it. In the end, there was no way out. The Clever Man was steadfastly locked into the life he created - and locked out of redemption. He was left with only the bitter cold god of worshipping the perfectness of his crime.

On the the 29th floor of the most elite address in the city, Clever Man strolled confidently from his office after chatting amiably with two men from the cleaning crew. He loved those sort of chats, appearing no doubt as a god to these men; a successful man who'd made it on his own terms. Surely they had seen none like him before.

"Something not right about that guy," said the man with a trash can in his hand.

"Whatcha mean?" asked the one holding open a bag.

"That guy - he never comes clean. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah...see what you mean. Not what you call transparent."

"That's it! He's hiding something. He's done something wrong and can't never confess it. And it's sumthin' big."

"Ya think so?"

"Yup, he's done killed somebody. Maybe that's how he got his money. Now he's fucked."

"Killed someone?? Nah, can't be that."

"I can feel it. No honest guy acts like him. He's guilty - and he's got no idea it even shows."

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

The Wisdom of the Teenage Girl

Hard to think of an easier target than teenage girls: giggling and gasping, chatting on their cells and primping in the rear view mirror in a self-absorbed haze. So-called "smart" guys stick them on the radio and ask them who the Vice President is or where is the Middle East or some such question and the male interviewer always gets a kick out of the girls' ignorance. Well, pal, the joke's on you - totally!

"Don't follow leaders; watch your parking meters."
-Bob Dylan

It's funny to see all the self-deluded men discussing politics and world events and "being responsible" with a verbal dick in their hand. Whether it's on TV or the park bench, guys love this sort of distraction. Full of specious analysis and psuedo-logic and simplistic answers, they are tackling the "big issues" of the day. Hogwash! If you think verbal masturbation is going to save the world, take a look around you 'cause it ain't worked yet. And never will.

"But, just can't ignore world events! You gotta do something!" See? They never finish that sentence. It's supposed to be: You gotta do something meaningful. Well, I present to you the teenage girl is doing more for global warming, the price of oil and geopolitical entanglements than all those "responsible" men combined. Live your life - it's why you're put here. It's the job of each and every one of us to save our soul. And when that is collectively done, as a byproduct the world will be saved. (And that's the only way it can be saved.)

So go ahead and spout historical facts and "discuss issues" and try to feel important in a self-absorbed haze. God needs none of it.

"I tell you the truth,
anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God
like a little child
will never enter it."
Mark 10:15

Sunday, July 23, 2006

They Tried To Give Me A Pill

They tried to give me a pill.
When I told them my soul was dying
They tried to give me a pill.
I was in a place of neglect,
Old linoleum and ripped apart furniture
Told you all you needed to know.
It was the Official Place for help,
A place for Sterilization.
I sat listening to a girl.
She was telling of times before.
The food is bad she said,
Get out when you can.
I was waiting for my turn
To be Processed.
I was in fear for my life.
SHE was leaving.
I was grieving.
I told them this sorrow
And they understood.
He was losing his support structure,
He needed her.
The answer
Is a pill.
A pill to love and laugh with,
To look into its eyes
And see the future.
A pill to have sex with,
To hate and argue with.
If you couldn't have HER
Have a pill.
You people are a nightmare.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

A Song Unsung

"I think I had met my match, he was singing"
Sara - Fleetwood Mac

I did a posting previously on Sidney Reilly but I didn't exactly say why, posing it as just a point of interest. Truth was, when I read about Sidney, I was reading about me, right down to the Japanese and Napoleonic fetishes, contempt for the world and the need for manipulation. In everything he did I saw myself.

I'm always falling into the fallacy of manipulation. It's just ingrained in me that that is the way to get things done. Debby taught me differently. I would try to be coy or tricky and she was completely guileless. When I saw her reaction I was ashamed of myself. She didn't say a word of reprimand and probably didn't even notice my own disingenuousness. But she showed me the true way to be.

Debby had a lot to teach me - and I her. We were good for each other. It has been said that God sends us the people we need. Of all the people I've met or even heard about, she's my only mental match. I couldn't outfox her - then I found out I didn't want to. I was healing and learning and growing with her presence. To spend my life with Debby would be to fulfill all my dreams. I still carry the nuggets of wisdom she gave me and remember them when I fall back into my wicked ways. Echoes of a song never sung.

Friday, July 21, 2006

A Vanity of Man

  • Can you say you love Jesus and it not be true?
  • Can you say you don't love Jesus and it not be true?
  • Can an atheist go to Heaven?
  • Can a man be holy without believing in religion?
  • Does God accept people of any religion?
  • Can you be saved without ever going to a church?
  • Can you go to church and not be saved?
  • Is God's word in the Bible?
  • Did Jesus rebuke words in the Bible?
  • Did Jesus want us to question?
  • Are there people in jail who will go to Heaven?
  • Are there people outside of jail who will not?
  • Is there a way right now for Man to live without killing?
  • Can saying you're born again be another way of saying you've given up on life?
  • Does everyone want to be born again?
  • Can you live a lie until you die?
  • Can I believe Jesus is my savior and not be saved?
  • Is Love all there is?
  • Am I sounding too much like that Andy Rooney fucker?

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Power of the Open Mind

In the beginning, there was a time of "not knowing". We knew only what we saw. If a man said "Move!" to a mountain and it moved, he accepted it and went about his business. Maybe we could fly off a cliff or walk on water. There was no conception of life yet, so life could be anything.

The Nephilim were on the earth in those days - and also afterward - when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.
Genesis 6:4

Hmmm, OK. Who or what exactly was humping our women. There's only us in the universe, right? The Bible must be mistaken. We know better than to believe that crap now.

Aaron threw his staff down in front of Pharaoh and his officials, and it became a snake. Pharaoh then summoned wise men and sorcerers, and the Egyptian magicians also did the same things by their secret arts.
Exodus 7:10-11

So if a man threw down his staff and it turned to a snake, what would our reaction be to that now? Same as Pharaoh's - that no matter what you saw it was not unbelievable? Nah, we'd scream our bloody heads off in panic because we just saw the impossible. We know the laws of physics. Don't tell me there's anything else.

Joshua said to the Lord:
"O sun, stand still over Gibeon. O moon, over the Valley of Aijulon." So the sun stood still, and the moon stopped.

Joshua 10:12-13

There would be terror in the streets if that happened now. Back then, the unknowing just said, "Fuck, what a long ass day!" They didn't know they had lived through a miracle. Or was it a miracle? Maybe there are just realities out there we have forgotten. If a man walked on water every day, would it still be a miracle? Or just a part of reality?

Life still can be anything.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

"Jimmy our busboy is a director."

Ignominious (ĭg'no-mĭn'ē-os) shameful; dishonorable; disgraceful; contemptible; despicable; degrading; humiliating

The title of this post is a quote taken from "The Big Picture". The protagonist has graduated from film school, signed a deal and bought a Porsche. But the deal falls through, he becomes a leper in the business and soon is out looking for any source of income. It's the restaurant manager looking over his resume who utters this ignominious remark. Dante's Inferno come to life.

The cruelty of a life not lived. I've done a lot of crap jobs over the years and I'm invariably at the bottom of the pecking order because it's never an endeavor that interests me. Sometimes I get caught up in the moment and find myself arguing the best way to get things done and getting all worked up thinking it's life and death. Then later I reflect how petty and meaningless the incident was and just how far off track my life has gone.

It's a funny thing not knowing who you are. You're always watching and looking to perhaps see yourself in others. It drives me crazy! "Is that me? Is that me?" "Could I write like that?" "Can I run a business?" "Can I do what that guy is doing?" Always wondering. The byproduct of a shattered identity. I spot easily my fellow shattered souls. Some are even considered successes in their field but I see the trapped look in their eyes. To no one must they speak of their true dreams.

Yet our Maker knows the truth of us.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006



when the day is dying and the sun's rays grow dim;
sitting under polluted masses of steel and concrete tinged a hasty black;
listening overhead to the rythmic thumping;
as cars unobtainable pursue their passions;
while helpless grass wilts brown from unrelenting heat;
and debris continues its march to God only knows;
in a world that's already decided where it wants to go;
and you know you could die and pass into the wind with nary a sigh;
and though you can see them they never see you;
when the words of others all turn to gibberish;
till sound turns to silence;
and you realize time comes when death knocks at your door;
and you wonder if you were ever here at all;
thoughts of pyrrhic victories drift through your open mind;
remembering the hands you longed to touch but never dared;
and you let in a little feeling to bring the cleansing tears;
you see the world around you but the world is never yours...
sometimes, you are truly alone.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Homeless Man Solves Middle East Crisis!

Around the globe echoed the same lament: "We should have listened to him earlier."

"Harry Homeless, the runaway winner of the Nobel Peace prize, was his typical humble self upon receiving the award. "Gosh, somebody had to do it. We had to save the children and small animals." It all began with his now famous "Give Peace a Chance" campaign. Repeating over and over the great John Lennon's anthem, he was able to garner world wide attention. This campaign - which can only be described as genius - effectively destroyed the terrorist movement and ended the era of asshole talk radio.

The turning point was a simple interview with a rabid right wing nut of that time. We go back now to that famous incident:

"It's just stupid going around saying "peace" all the time. You're making a fool of yourself. Sometimes you've got to have war!"

"Oh, you only chide me because I'm right. It's must be hell defending an immoral position like that."

"I have no problem defending my position! I know I'm right. I have no problems whatsoever!"

"Look, pal, anyone as uptight as you definitely has problems. Be free, talk about it. Maybe we can pull that corncob out your ass. Wouldn't that feel better?"

"There's only one problem I got and it's-"

"Wait, wait, that doesn't make any sense. Here in the script-"

"There's no script!"

"Yeah, right here where one minute you say you have no problems then the next minute you say I am your problem. See? That doesn't resolve."

"Then I wasn't going to say you were my problem-"

"So it's people like me..."

"No, not that either."

"Then it's my thinking you hate!"

"No, uh-"

"Oh, I see. You don't like the way I breathe or walk or fart! That's it, isn't it! You don't think I have the right to fart!"

"Of course, you have the right to fart. I mean-"

"So you think I should fart!"

"Of course not-"

"I knew it. A fart hater! Fuck you, I'm going to fart!"
Soon signs were posted all across the Middle East declaring, "Fuck you, I'm going to fart!" Both Jew and Arab and Muslim and Christian walked hand in hand, united in their right to bear flatulence. Terrorist organizations were outraged.

"Stop this! You people are crazy! You must hate each other!"

"Fuck you, we're going to fart!"

"No, no! We're melting! Stop! This is terror to us!"
But the only reply was a communal emission of bodily gas, sending the would-be terrorists into heartfelt pleas for forgiveness. The hate movement in the United States also subsided in a blanket of shame. Strangers began spontaneously hugging one another proudly proclaiming, "I gave peace a chance." Thank God for Harry Homeless, he saved us all from God knows what hell. And now, in accordance with the Zatoichi Principle, it's up to all of us to carry on his work. Peace is our love."

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Boys Will Be Boys... Bombs Will Be Bombs

Is there anything more fatal than the human ego? We just always gotta believe we're the good guys. So we build bombs and other goodies to blow up the "bad guys". Then, ya know, we gotta find a reason to use them. "Five hundred years ago your ancestor spit on my ancestor!" "You look at me funny I kill your ass!" "Hey, nice oil!" The reasons are really immaterial, just so long as we get to kick some ass!

Here's the strange, twisted tale to date as I see it: See, you had some Darkies move into Whitie's neighborhood. Now, no matter what Darkie might do, Whitie ain't NEVER gonna be right wit dat. Problem is, them there Darkies all know karate and shit and every time Whitie tries to kick them out they gets their white asses beat! It even got to the point where some of the Whities was given up da ghost.

But dem Whities in da hoods wasn't down wit dat. So they took the car of one of them pussy pacifist neighbors, rammed it into Darkie's house and ran like hell. Ooooh, Darkie was some pissed off boys! They couldn't find who done drove dat car so they wents to tearing up the house the car came from. Better 'n' nothin', they figgers. But now you got them pacifist neighbors mad as a hornet and everyone pointing at Darkie saying what assholes they is. Funny, huh!

There's a lot of hand wringing going on about those fun loving boys in the Middle East. Think I ought to go over and chant "Give Peace a Chance"? (Would love to if only to listen to all the "outrage" over my "misguided" efforts. Man, would that be funny!) Well, it's not like we were on the path to world peace before all this started. Didn't they know papers got signed saying everything would be OK? Oh yeah, papers mean nothing. What's in the human heart means everything.

I hear talk of "assessing blame" and "inappropriate action" and which side is right and which side is wrong and a bunch of other hooey. Does anyone really think problems are being solved by these killings? Truth is there are only two sides involved here: those who want war and those who want peace. Pick your poison but remember:
We can work it out!

Saturday, July 15, 2006

The Female Predator

She was smokin' hot and every guy in the hotel bar knew it - including Bitter Man. Bitter Man watched her sexy ass and dreamed of her smooth, toned legs. He got all twisted up inside aching for her. All the boys were toys to her, she always got her way. The Female Predator. She cared not what went on in the men around her, that was their problem.

Bitter Man went to his room of anguish - bitter he had to once more visit it. He cursed God and all things in the universe. "Just once I wish I could hurt God like he hurts me! Make his goddam ass need a woman!" There was death and then there was this. Powerless and hopeless, he bent another time in the unbearable agony of his need. Boiling in the flames of hell, he seethed with rage at his very existence. What had Man done to be so cruelly crippled?

Glaring at the girl who checked him out of the hotel, Bitter Man fumed his way to the car. He understood the serial killers who attacked women. It was a futile attempt to get back at Life. He understood the barbarity of war was to mimic the barbarity of men's needs. There would be no peace till he was six feet under. Why did God hate him so?

Predator Woman rejoiced at the sound of the approaching car. She had swerved to avoid a wreck, run the car into a ditch, had her heel break off as she stepped out and slid to the edge of a small cliff where she now hung by the roots of a small bush. Little did she know her luck was about to get worse.

Bitter Man pulled over in curiousity - then he saw her. Excitement filled his nostrils as he recognized the perfume and golden head of hair. For the first time ever he had a sense of power over one of them. His instinct was to help, his bitterness declined. She always got what she wanted. He grinned a delicious grin.

"Not many people come down this road."

"I know. Pull me up already."

"I dunno. I'm kind of enjoying this."

"What are you? Some kind of sicko?? Help me up!"

Yes, he had her in torment at last. Bitter Man wished it could last forever. Predator Woman was shocked at male disobedience. Incredulous, she listened to his dissertation.

"You know, all those woman protesting Playboy have it all wrong. Playboy takes advantage of men, not women. It's like that everywhere: how we're supposed to feel so sorry for you and sacrifice ourselves for you. I've never seen a woman beg before. This is really quite interesting." He squatted to take a closer look.

"You want me to beg, I'll beg. OK?"

"Oh, begging won't help. It never has me. My dick hasn't felt a woman's leg in 25 years."

"Well, don't take it out on me! For God's sake that's not my fault. That's completely unfair!"

"Oh, yes, it's totally unfair needing someone." He still made no move.

"Well, so...are you going to help me or not??"

"No, I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. Your are going to hang on with all your might until you can resist no more. A feeling I know well. Then you will fall - not far enough to kill you - but enough to hurt you and perhaps cripple you for life. Another feeling I know well. And all the time this is going on one question will keep running over and over in your mind: Why? Why is this happening to me?"

Bitter Man could see the venom building in her eyes. He knew her response long before she spoke it for he had posed that question a thousand countless times already. Such a sweet victory and yet still no satisfaction. He was almost bored with her predictability.

"I know why this is happenening to me. It's because some asshole is too bitter to be a man and help a woman he can't fuck! Well, I hope you never have another woman the rest of your life!"

Bitter Man started walking back to his car. "You sound so bitter!" he laughed. That's when she started pleading. He knew it would come to this: hatred one minute, begging the next. How beautiful it was to hear all his inner torment played out by his tormenter. As one with a lifetime of such experiences, he went on to verbally manipulate her between rage and begging and bribery and despair. Finally, she broke.

"I can't solve your problems for you. Can't you understand that? You just have to help yourself. No one can do it for you. There's nothing more I can say."

"I feel your frustration. You see someone in a postion to help you and they do nothing. Of course, I could take your money and walk away laughing. I've certainly seen that done often enough. 'Stupid man. Silly man.' they would say. But this stupid man is too pathetic to help you." He started his car's engine. "Feel as you wish but nothing can change that." And then he drove off.

Waves of anger and tears oscillated within her to where she resigned herself to numbness. Looking up at the darkening sky, feeling her grip slipping and pondering a painful fate creeping upon her she wondered: why does God hate me so?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

A Soldier's Battle

O'DONNELL: Welcome back to HARDBALL. An army officer is facing serious charges for not deploying to Iraq with his Fort Lewis, Washington, combat team. Lieutenant Ehren Watada believes the war in Iraq is illegal and is refusing to go, but he is willing to serve in Afghanistan or elsewhere. If convicted, he could face almost eight years in prison.

I actually got to see this entire segment on TV. It was frustrating to watch the Lieutenant's father speak in moral terms and his counterpart speak in legal terms. I don't think either heard the other. One thing's for sure: if you've sold your soul to the army, you damn well better not ask for it back.

This is an amazing story to me. In a way, he's the bravest soldier in the army. Risking years in prison, he takes a stand many others wish they had the courage and conviction to make. The man arguing against him was the usually plainspeaking Iraqi veteran Paul Hackett, an outspoken critic of the war. But he did not have the courage of Lieutenant Watada during his tour of combat and was now bitter. Nothing worse than saying something can't be done and then watch somebody do it. Yes, you can refuse to go.

Hackett's reasoning didn't hold water:

"I would suggest that [Lt. Watada's] voice and his opinions would be far more valid and heard across America if he served his soldiers and led them in Iraq, and came back and, if he still felt that way, chose to speak out against the war."

Huh? That's like saying you can't speak out against murder unless you've done it, that way you have more credibility.

In regards to Lt. Watada criticizing the President:
"I have been far more outspoken and critical of the president of the United States, using far more incendiary language than that, but not while wearing the uniform, not in my capacity as a serviceman and certainly not on active duty."

Hackett said a soldier had no right to pick and choose which wars he would fight in. Reality is, you can't pick and choose when you have a soul. Waiting till you're out of uniform to speak is chickenshit. This President is a traitor. Silence is unpatriotic.

"He's made the decision not only to join the military, but also to be publicly critical of the president, which is his right. But like Henry David Thoreau, when you make that decision, you have to take the punishment and there's no ambiguity within the culture of the military that when you cross that line, you‘re going to be punished."

At the very beginning, the Lieutenant's father said his son is willing to go to jail. Hackett is talking as if Watada thinks he's going to go free. Lt. Watada's message is this: "It's better to go to jail than to kill wrongly". What Hackett heard is this: "You're saying I killed wrongly!" Now you see why Hackett was so passionate in his response.

The flip reply to all this is to say that to defend Watada is to not understand the military and how it needs to work. Oh, I understand alright - crystal. But think of this: what if Hitler's army had refused to heed him? Or Saddam's? What if they had followed their conscience? (I know, I know, we can't have everyone quit being soldiers because then the world would have no armies and we wouldn't be safe. Hey, wait a minute...)

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

The Inner Idiot

Sitting back, alone in his space, the man had time to reflect.

Yes! Yes! I did it! I conned them all! Only a true person can lie and get away with it. It's my integrity that allows this to happen. Yeah, that's it. All those people talking bad about me...what do they know? I'm a success. Yes, yes, I'm a success no matter what they say. I've got others serving me and lauding me and kissing my ass. It's the greatest feeling ever. I can never get enough. If only they knew! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

How far can I go?? They want me to lie. It makes them feel good to see a liar like they are succeed. Maybe I can do anything. Wouldn't that be great! Just do whatever I want. Only a righteous man can do that. The ultimate proof God loves me. The ultimate proof I'm on the right path. I am an instrument of God.

This proves I have a soul. This proves I'm right about everything. I'm really shit but I don't have to change. Only losers have to change. I can stay being shit forever. I'm a winner!
The voice on the intercom interrupted. "Mr. President, it's time for your press conference."

The inner idiot was gleeful. Walk tall and proud like the greatest man ever. They'll never know the difference. Heeheehee!

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

On The Right Side

A man had tried to interfere in the ways of the righteous, but they put him in his place. The angry crowd was still abuzz about the interloper.

"The gall of that man. Just who did he think he was to judge us."

"We're the good guys. We're the ones doing God's work. The man was perverse!"

"Godless is the word. The absolute definition of liberalism: bleeding heart, protecting the bad guys, never thinking about the greater good."

"Well this is one case where good triumphed over evil!" Many high fives were exchanged. "I think we sent a message today about the value of defending what's right. Terror is the only thing scum like him understands."

"Funny part is that self-righteous bastard thought he could stop us just by saying: 'Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone'. Talk about self-deceived. Bet he thought twice after he got about fifty rocks thrown at his sorry ass!" Much laughter followed.

"I don't think we'll be seeing the likes of him again. Not after what we did. Hopefully this will make people wake up and see the light. You just can't let everyone go around committing crimes! Are we the only ones with a brain?"

"I admit I was stupid like him when I was young but age brings wisdom and now I'm conservative like a smart man should be. Shame that Jesus guy had to learn the hard way but his death will serve as a good example as to what kind of behavior will be tolerated. I feel much better about our future after today."

"Hey, what was that last word he said? I couldn't quite make it out."

"'Shameless' was the word. At least in the end we helped him to realize what he was."

Monday, July 10, 2006

My Biggest Mistake

My biggest mistake was when I was a child and I decided to never show my feelings or admit I had any at all. I did this knowing any social life then would not be possible.

My second biggest mistake was getting out of the car when I was 17. I was in the garage with the door closed and the car running. Had I shown myself mercy then and died, I could have saved myself a lifetime of suffering. I stopped the engine on blind faith - a faith badly misplaced.

Death is my only friend now. Certainly none of you can be. Grant me mercy, God, it's been time to go for a long, long time.

Saturday, July 08, 2006


Georges Danton (1759-1794) was a French revolutionary and a colleague of the notorious Robespierre, the man who instituted the infamous Reign of Terror. The stated purpose of the Reign of Terror was to snuff out (literally) all traitors to the revolution. But in the end, even Danton fell victim.

We like to make Polish jokes in this country but the truth is the Polish are as rabid about freedom as we are. They were the first to
weaken and then break the communist yoke of Russia. Polish filmmaker Andrzej Wajda was run out of his homeland for making films deemed too disrespectful to the communist regime. It was during his stay in France he filmed Danton, a timeless essay on the pursuit of freedom.

The French Revolution was supposed to be about the people freeing themselves from the tyranny of an unjust monarch, but it failed. Why? Because in the final analysis it wasn't about freedom after all. There are two types of people who fight the tyrant: those who wish to bring freedom and those who seek to become the tyrant. It was the latter group that prevailed in the first French Revolution, causing the movement to implode.

"You will show my head to the people, it is worth seeing."
-Final words of Danton

It was on the orders of his onetime compatriot Robespierre that Danton was tried and executed. All politics are an extension of one's own life. Danton was a gregarious sort with a capacity to enjoy life. A man who grants himself freedom seeks it for others. Robespierre on the other hand was a self-serving asshole and implemented policies reflecting as much. So much for political principle.

These situations exist even to this day. The anti-war movement is a good example. There are some who join it because they don't want a family member killed, some who simply think war is wrong and some only against the war as long as we're losing it. Both the Iraqi and the French Revolution toppled unjust dicatators, but as history has shown us, the right thing done for the wrong reason inevitably ends up in disaster.

All You Need is Love

Now, can that be a serious statement? I mean, come on! Just love? I asked my fellow Texans what all a man needs and they came up with this list:

  • Beer
  • Shotgun
  • Nooky
  • Truck
  • Football
  • More Beer

Do you see wimpy ass love anywhere on that list? Ain't no real man worried about that. And even if he wuz, it sure as shootin' ain't gonna be all he needs! Try taking out a terrorist with love! Take a look at what them unrealistic, pansy ass, commie pinko pie-in-the-sky dreamers sez:

Love, love, love.
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy.

There's nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It's easy.

All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
Love, love, love.

There's nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.

All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
All you need is love (all together now)
All you need is love (everybody)
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.

Of course, the kicker is no one who doesn't believe that will see the kingdom of Heaven. (God is love, but you knew that)

The Copper Mines

"Joshua? We thought you dead."

"In the copper mines of Geber, the living are dead."

Joshua woke with a start. In his dream, giant cockroach beings in the thousands preyed upon human flesh. For years the humans had tried to stamp out the cockroaches but now the roaches had grown strong and they wanted their revenge. Humans were taken, dragged among them and eaten alive. But waking from this nightmare wasn't much better - for the mines were a place that ate men's souls.

The tyranny of the morning whistle sounded dread in every miner's heart. But this planet was a mining colony. Don't want to mine? Get off the planet. The workers were considered free men, for you see, if you didn't like your job in one mine, you could simply mine in another. A slave by any other name.

Work was God. It was holy and unquestionable. God help the man who spoke against work. To even speak out against the conditions of work was heresy. Of all things known and unknown, it could be assured work was good. They clung to that precept, built their worth and their lives around it and were fanatical in its defense - most especially the ones who did no work.

The walk to the mine was as walking through an ancient battlefield. The land was stripped of all vegetation, shards of stumps the only reminders of life once existing. Corpses, some still dying, could be seen strewn in the distance. The worst were the Cripples, the great lepers of the Geber world. Men too deformed to work - some only in the mind. They probably got hurt on purpose it was supposed. There is no good reason to defy the Work God. A few sympathetic miners threw them scraps of food.

Sadist Guards ran the mines. They watched the faces of the miners coming in, enjoying the hollowed out looks, the expressions of terror, or those too defeated to even see. These faces were the Sadist Guards' dreams. They fed off the horror in the miner's lives knowing that to rebuke the Guards was the same as rebuking the Work God. With glee they handed out their punishment. If the Sadist Guards could bring a worker to tears, they high-fived one another in victory.

Every day was the same and every tomorrow. No one cared who you were, they already knew. Dreams turned to screams. Your mind remained locked into the work by the ever present fear of becoming a Cripple. No thoughts of having a life. Some men were so broken they got off on their own death. If you chose to actually look up, you could see the Sadist Guards honored as keepers of the Great Society. And above them were the Fat Rats, beings that only took from others, calling themselves Men of God.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Osaka Castle

I heard a story once about David Marshall Williams, inventor of the carbine rifle. He was imprisoned (rightly or wrongly) for moonshining and the death of a federal officer. Supposedly at one point he was punished in one of those infamous sweat boxes, like the one used in Cool Hand Luke. These boxes are at best draining and at worst, lethal. But the story goes that "Carbine" Williams came out unscathed. Why? Because the whole time in there his mind was preoccupied on inventing his new, revolutionary rifle.

I do not expect to leave my prison alive. Too many mistakes, too wounding to overcome, have left me with all the hope of a lottery ticket. But I remember the story of Carbine Williams and how to endure. In the Poseiden Adventure the passengers had to make their way to the hull of the boat. How they would get out after that, who knew. It was a journey of blind faith - as is my endurance.

So to keep my mind from going insane (or at least to slow it) I have Osaka castle. There is a piece of land in Arlington that I have seen. About 900 acres or so, it's across the street from the city dump and is bordered on the north by ugly industrial facilities. It's low lying land with permanent ponds of standing water. Just miserable. But I have a vision. The Japans!

Osaka castle was
Toyotomi Hideyoshi's grand fortress. As the most powerful man in Japan, he wanted an impregnable haven in what was the most violent time of Japanese history. Able to garrison tens of thousands of troops, surrounded by moats and a maze of walls, Hideyoshi succeeded. Were it not for the imported cannons, it would have never been defeated. And it is this castle I propose to build here in the heart of the DFW metroplex.

The water is not a problem because it will be used to feed the moat and run through the Japanese gardens. The castle itself will be isolated and all things in its compound will be exactly as in 16th century Japan. Its authenticity is what feeds all the other sections of The Japans complex. In full armor, samurai will parade daily through the castle grounds. It will be a step back in time, as if looking through a window 500 years ago.

To the east will be gardens complete with re-creations of famous temples and even ruins. To the north will be the hotel featuring traditional Japanese service (a maid for every room!). Beside it will be the retail district. Near the street will be an open area with a permanent stage for performances and festivals. This will be free of an entry charge. A Samurai Cinema to show Japanese films will also have free entry.

The spot does have problems. A high, ancient style stone wall will surround the entire complex to isolate it from traffic. The ugly industrial sites to the north will be hidden by very well disguised parking garages (you would have to be told they were garages). But the flip side is that the ancient castles were the center of town life and this too would be dead center of all activity.

Each Monday morning the complex would be closed, ostensibly for maintenance but in reality so I could walk the grounds undisturbed and
imagine myself back in a different time and space. I've thought of the armor I would display in the hotel lobby, the books to sell, the films to show, even the Samurai Bike I would commission from the American Chopper guys. Hey, bud, can you spare $200,000,000?