Wednesday, August 30, 2006

"How Do Thine Eyes See?"

Thugs and ogres came breaking through in the darkest of night. Rape lust raged fire in their hearts and fevered the brain. There was but one word and that word was "Kill!". The fire forever hunted fresh fuel and the more innocent the spirit dragged to conflagration, the higher the flames. Faces red with joy laughed as this innocent being recoiled in terror. For this was a sanctioned rape; a legal rape; even - some said- a necessary rape. "You're coming with us! You're charged with Failing to Agree in the First Degree."

The High Lords of the order served their gods well; bearing fruits of death. T'was a foul taste to stomach but faith must be maintained in the order. Some maintained it into death. Others served the same gods as the High Lords and bore the bitter fruit in treacherous defiance. But for many the taste became too ill to suffer and faith in these High Lords eroded. Even so, these was a sort who'd consume the deadly fruits if only the taste were of a more appetizing sort.

A firing squad of questions faced the captured dreamer. The bodies were separate but the mind was one. Behind them: mindless thugs, reveling in evil deemed holy. The Grand Inquisitor fired first, followed by the rest of the chambers:

"Speak truly, sir, for the truth is mine own; mine enemy."

"We are here to cast our sins upon you!"

"The worst time to say we're wrong is when we are!"

"We've not learned our lesson yet."

"How should we treat a dog that bites the feeding hand?

"The rebel yell fires doom's desire!"

"Come, and sing our victory song!"

Then, in unison: "Tell us why you declare the sky blue when the truth has decreed it black!"

A question unexpected. Had they not eyes in their head? "I say it because I see it?"

"See it? See it? Tell us: how is it you see thusly?"

Again, a question unexpected. "With mine eyes?"

The beauty of the Inquisition was to always know the answer before any was given. "'With thine eyes' he says! A soul placed above all others. Tell us, oh great soul, how do thine eyes see?"

Thus came the realization: t'was in playing the game was the losing.

The game of truth: a witch's haunt. Ere the truth will out, a vanity's rule of infamy, a fool's talk signifying nothing. Deeds in the dark deliver the doer's death at dawn's day. Best put the kingdom up for sale.

The Grand Inquisitor tired of his fool's errand but was stubborn in his path. "A foolish man to be so tethered to the truth." The pained smile of one whose time is short. "Destroy him. Justice cannot be served in a bent man's house."

Monday, August 28, 2006

"An ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own..."

"God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as
marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else
will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster."

As I sit here in the alley on a blessedly cool night, I'm ringed with delight and despair. The dumpster, the bolted door, the grease stained steps are my friends. They judge me not. The world passes by with nary a thought my way - such is my blanket. The pungent breeze wards off the interloper. Out there are the battles for the wealth of the world. My dreams went out with yesterday's trash.

My invisiblity is my protection. Here, I answer to no one. The claws of the world have no hold on me. It's a serenity that can't be bought, only found. I hear screeching voices and slamming car doors in the distance. Puppets on a string. You can never fully understand the insanity of it all until you've detached the strings and seen things from the other side. The end game has already been decided and yet we fight to keep the loss. Losers.

I had always thought money could bring me freedom, but now I see I was wrong. Show me a liar and I'll show you a prisoner. I need only obey the laws of Nature and with that comes the dreams and joys and light forever sought by Man. My thoughts are free, my feelings rejoicing and my soul has taken flight. My freedom is here and now. Yes! Yes! Me at last! Me at last! Thank God almighty, I'm me at last!

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Fizbot Fun

With a slogan of "Keep Dallas Pretentious", we certainly have our share of local fizbots. Ross Perot has to be the biggest fizboter around here. The guy is a maniac! When I was working in computer tape libraries, I heard all about the way EDS (Perot's company) ran their tape room. Requiring tape operators to wear suits like it was a goddam wedding reception (it's the equivalent of suiting janitors). They said ol' H. Ross himself liked to come down and watch all the tape monkeys scurry around all nice and pretty. Prick.

Jerry Jones has certainly made a fizbot of the Cowboys. It's been fascinating to watch his transformations as it takes over his life. But the fizboter du jour is certainly Mark Cuban, the internet billionaire, our very own
Jed Clampett. Now, there's lots to admire in Mark's fresh and original thinking, but he's fizbot all the way. He's the man on the white horse who's always got The Answer. This makes him a magnet for every kind of kooky scheme and harebrained proposal you can imagine. So into this crowded herd I jumped in with my stalking horse.

A life long schemer, Cuban's fizbot worship has entered the theater of the absurd:
"It's a sweatshop here and we're proud of it." Who needs money when there's the glory of serving on such a wonderful plantation? The credo is simple and untethered: Be successful at being successful. Do whatever it takes. Assimilate to the Borg. Scary, huh?

I came across a posting of Cuban's on how best to get his attention. He said an email with a link is best so that's what I used. My role: Someone who seriously wants money (well, OK, got me there) but yet is afraid of rejection. The fear brings a defensive posture yet I'm still trying to sell my idea. Somehow, I also have to be blind to the insanity of turning over control of $200,000,000 to a homeless man! Reality is, of course, to gig his ass.

Dear Mark,

I guess in order to "get" you must first "give". So I give you this: Who is more free of money, the billionaire or the homeless man? Time will come when the money concept will go the way of witch burning and freedom will be redefined once more. And before you're tempted to lecture me on the virtues of capitalism (yawn), bear in mind I was a WSJ subscriber and stock owner at 17. I would probably end up adding points to your argument you had missed. But who wants to stay 17 in the head forever??
[This part had me laughing the most, dissing his fizbot and acting ignorant of his backgound]

But as money is the currently agreed upon vehicle of commerce, it is that of which I shall converse (it always comes back to money, doesn’t it? :) ). My idea is posted here:

No kid seeing that castle keep could resist the urge to explore it. Blimp shots during Cowboy games would not be able to resist it either. If our local Cabela’s can pull in millions of visitors a year, so easily could The Japans. So what would you get for your $200,000,000? The profits for one, of course. One hell of a “making of” documentary on the Discovery Channel. And most importantly, a permanent memorial to be forever cherished. What you wouldn’t get is any creative control (ouch! deal breaker!). This ain’t no commercial enterprise. It’s a work of art. To put it in a sports perspective, it’s the players who are artists fans pay to see the most. The right way is the only way.
[Here I make psuedo-logical points just so I can work in a shot at his creative tastes (see
The Benefactor)]

Regardless, I have amused myself with this e-mail. It will probably get lost between penis enlargement and online medications ads. Who knows, maybe I’ll make a posting of this. It might be funny. Cheers. [What a smug ass I am!]

This was an idiotic thing to do, I admit. But sometimes I just can't help myself.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Good Times

"Does anybody really know what time it is?
"Does anybody really care?
"If so, I can't imagine why;
"We've all got time enough to cry."


"Hey, pal, you got the time?"

The bus station was crowded with people pressed for time. A man with a watch responded: "Yes, it's noon, exactly."

A man on the bench took umbrage. "That ain't what my watch says! You sayin' your watch better'n mine??"

Disagreement came from all quarters. "Tain't what mine says neither, you racist bastard!"

"He's one of them high and mighty know-it-alls that's just always got to be right!"

Like a sweeping plague of fever, the argument infected and consumed the terminal. Later, after the riot squad and SWAT team left, somebody asked the time. No one answered.


A slow rollin' machine made its intentions unmistakable with decibels to spare:

"Yo, I say 'Fuck God!'
"Don'tch ya know!
"Cuz when I pimp yo ass
"I'm God, ya know!"

An unarmed soul staring at the passing vehicle was accosted by three youths. "Hey, fool! Where's yo Glock?"

"I carry no firearms, sir."

"What? You got nothin'?? C'mon, nigga, you at least's got have a sling shot or somethin'!" The three youths cackled among themselves. "Don'tcha understands nothin'?? Either you pimpin' da bitch or you is da bitch!"

At that moment, two rival factions gathered at opposite ends of the street. It was the famous Cripples and Bloodied gangs. On one side the Crips rolled in on their wheelchairs, holding shotguns between their paralyzed legs. On the other side, the Bloods slowly limped up, aiming their 9mm's as they peeked through their bandages. Gunfire was exchanged and everyone lost.

The watching youths felt vindicated. "See, man? Dat's what the world is all about."


Good afternoon, folks! This is Hate Radio AM, where it's "Be me or be wrong!" My, my, what a day it's been! First, a liberal started a riot in a bus station by forcing his agenda on his fellow travelers. When will these liberals learn? Always dividing us and fomenting dissent. We've got to get these people, eradicate them from the face of the earth!

In other news, two large groups of non-whites engaged in massive gangland style killings - again. I'm telling ya, folks: if you ain't white, you ain't right! How many times do we have to keep reading about such outrageousness? We need to arm our policemen with every gun, tank and chopper we can find to eradicate these people from the face of the earth!

Now, my friends, we all know how the lying media will try to spin these stories. They will try to pass off that poor little liberal as a victim who only made an innocent remark. And they'll whine about those poor little sharecroppers having no future in this great country of ours. Lucky for you, I'm here to give you the straight truth! This world is going to hell! And all the troublemakers need to be eradicated from the face of the earth!


"Does anybody really know what time it is?
"Does anybody really care?
"If so, I can't imagine why;
"We've all got time enough to die."

Thursday, August 24, 2006

The Fizbot Formula

Ah, to have a precious fizbot! Rare is the man who can resist his very own fizbot, a bountiful benefactor, his own Horn of Plenty. Once a man finds this golden goose, he forever rejoices in victory and asks the world to celebrate along with him. “Isn’t this great!” he cheers. For his fizbot is his god. Worship a man's fizbot and he will welcome you with open arms.

So what is a fizbot? It is that which saves you. A janitorial company owner once heavily recruited me to serve his fizbot, telling me how I could share in its fruits if I did its bidding. Many small business owners make a fizbot of their company. But even something like a credit rating can be made a fizbot. I’ll never forget the phone conversation I had with a girl who refused me a credit card because of my lack of a rating. I wasn’t a bad risk but that rating was her god – her provider – and she could see only to serve it.

Nothing makes fizbot followers angrier than to show disrespect for their god. You become the enemy. Conversely, they adore fellow worshippers. In Being There, Chauncey is welcomed by the billionaire he befriends because the billionaire believes Chauncey to be the ideal person: a business owner. They worship the same fizbot and nothing is more comforting than to share that. America is the land of fizbots and attaining one even implies a certain morality in a person.

It's understandable to see a person have a loyalty to that which frees him from the bondage of money. They find a formula for success and spend the rest of their lives either trying to re-create it (the pet rock guy never had a second act) or perpetually feeding it (hallowed be thy Walmart), hoping somehow to relive the euphoria of the initial emancipation. The reality is the fizbot worshipper ends up stuck in a sort of twilight zone he can never leave, for it is his fizbot – he believes – that saves him.


another boner at 4 AM...more silent screams...please let me go, please let me body is all twisted, stomach in knots...God in Heaven says: where’s your family, your friends, your fucking...god of the world says: where’s your money, your power, your guns...I can satisfy neither...both pound at me until I just can’t feel anymore...I have zero interest in this life...I watch words drift out my mouth as those of’s all so mind is elsewhere...a heart drowning in grief...a soul starving for salvation...too many days of empty deeds and binding lies...the future is what?...I am a destroyer and a rampage never ends...and I don’t know why...let me die...let me die...

Monday, August 21, 2006

Portrait of the Artist as a Prophet

"What a horrid, horrid man!"

Her hair was blue, her eyes were grey and her heart was black. She was sailing aboard the finest seagoing vessel ever built. And her precious party - the party that never ended - had been interrupted by one of those people.

A consoling man sauntered over. "It's the lower class, my sweets. They're simply so envious of us. They can't stand our success."

"But to say for us to come below and labor! Where do such creatures come from?"

"Class warfare, my dear. It's as ancient as the pyramids. There are always those looking to destroy the social order."

"That may be. But to say such things about our lovely ship! The nerve!"

"Nevermind the naysayers. It's their own failures they speak of. We are doing what's right. No need to change. It's all good."

A drunken voice cheered: "Now there's a good man! It's not the message, deary, it's the messenger. He's spinning the facts to fit his agenda."

The blue haired woman's granddaughter came running up. "Nana, is it true what that man said? What did he mean, 'You can be a fool for a while but not forever'? Are we really sinking?"

"Of course not, darling. His ship may be sinking, not ours."

"But aren't we all in the same boat?"

"No, he's in his own boat. Don't listen to that dreadful man. He was just trying to trick us. He thought he could stop our party with his untruths."

"Why would he want to do that?"

"Because he's a loser who can't face reality."

Down in the engine room futile pumps toiled against the rising water. The foreman saw his messenger return. "Well, what did they say?"

"I told them - and they still don't know."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, it was weird. When I told them there's a hole in the ship they took it all personal, like I was saying there's somethin' wrong with them."

"Bloody idiots! I could fix this if I had some help."

"I don't think they liked me interrupting their party - even though I was telling them a way to save it. Don't think you should have sent a loser like me."

"I don't care if I send a bleedin' chipmunk, they bloody well better listen!"

With all hope gone, the men scampered into the lifeboats, jeered and mocked by the upper decks.

"Run away, fools! You won't find a better ship than this one! HAHAHA!"

"Oh ye of little faith. You should have more faith in your Maker, He wants us to have a good life. But God has no mercy for the stiff-necked and hard of hearing!"

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Some people don't know when they have it good! Ingrates!"

As the lifeboats drifted away, they could only imagine the final, tragic moments of those aboard the great ship, screeching for help after it was too late.

Sunday, August 20, 2006


The day was hot under the blistering sun and the man climbing up the steps stopped momentarily - but not from the heat. Goose bumps stood out on both his arms. The journey to Japan had been long in the planning. At last, he was nearing the final destination. As if approaching a hurricane, the gusts of feelings grew stronger with every step. With such torrents swimming in his head, time and space grew faint...

Azuchi castle. Destroyed over 400 years ago but still alive in him. In passing the countryside, tears had swelled in his eyes. This precious land so long removed from him. The smells, the vibes, the ancient echoes of deeds now forgotten rushed back into his veins. His composure crumbled under the storm of emotions and he spent several days just wandering the footpaths and staring into the sky, haunted by dreams of old.

The land took him back; remembering his footsteps of yore, it welcomed him home. "Ah so ka, I'm Japanese once more." They named it differently now but to him it would always be Owari, the place where it all began. A small, inconsequential province rising up to conquer all of Japan. The fear and excitement filled his nostrils from across the centuries. Oda Nobunaga lives!

"Nobunaga was a fireball who was cunning and highly intelligent (his mercurial personality was his downfall as he was later assassinated by one of own his own generals who feared he had fallen into disfavor with his ruthless liege lord). The Sengoku era was a battle of wits as much as a military one. When the reins of power were handed over to Nobunaga as a teenager, he feigned the role of a spoiled child who did nothing but use his military men for hunting parties.

In reality, the ‘hunting parties’ were used to secretly practice maneuvers. Appearing to be no threat to the surrounding domains, he was thus able to buy time to strengthen himself before revealing his true face. Fearlessly, his first battle was that of his 2,500 men against an army of 20,000. The larger army stormed through the Oda territory taking castles and laughing at the ease of their conquest. Resting and reveling in victory, storm clouds brought a driving rain as the invaders prepared for lunch. But out of the rain came the Oda army, attacking the invaders’ headquarters and cutting off the head of their lord, causing such confusion that the entire 20,000 fled."

The decision to fight had been glorious. No other man could have done it. No other man had his destiny. But drinking from the cup of glory had blinded him. He had to do more than just honor the sword. He knew that - he just wouldn't admit that. After conquering half of Japan and primed to conquer the rest, Oda was cut down. But this was Owari, recalling times of the more innocent beginning...

The more steps he climbed, the more aware he became. The trees and wind and sky were timeless now. Time itself ceased as a dimension. Ecstasy and heartbreak mingled in equal proportions. His precious castle gone; no monument to his magnificent achievements. He could have had it all: ruler of Japan and a dynasty for the ages.

"Oda-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!" The wail was bone chilling. "You fucked up!"

Godliness 101

Der Perfessor was in:
Today, class, we will concentrate on cleaning up the sad state of modern music. I was driving the other day with my two young, darling children and I was struck by the extreme negativity and vulgarity of a nearby vehicle. The lyrics blaring out of this vehicle literally said:
"Shout! Shout! Shout! Shout at the devil!" Now I ask you: are these the words we want to expose to our children?

We must instill morality! Drive it into them, pound it into them, instill it any way we can. Our very future depends upon this. So I have come up with three solutions to this particular lyric as an example of what can be done:
  1. Shout out the devil.
  2. Run from the devil.
  3. Shout at the savior.
Any one of these three sends a more positive message to our young ones. The last one is my favorite as it places their minds upon our savior. If we can focus their minds correctly and turn their hearts to God, we can turn this world into the place God intended. Isn't that some good news!

I have come across many, many more examples of vulgarity to be cleaned up. The assignment for today is to take out the vulgarity and take back our kids! From my sanctimonious search I have created what I'm sure is just a fractional list of items to be fixed. I'm sure you'll find the first item amusing as there truly is an album entitled "Highway to Hell". "Highway to Hope" is my suggestion but feel free to come up with your own. I'll be quite excited to see your slogans!

The professor twinged as Timmy the Twit raised his hand. "Yes, Timmy the Twit."

"Are you for real??"

"Quite real, Twit. I can not underestimate to you the value of the messages we send to our children! It's imperative we show them the way."

"Oh - so what kind of message does being a self-righteous hypocrite send them?"

Friday, August 18, 2006

Better Dead Than Red

"If a man hasn't discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live."
-Martin Luther King

Never thought I would be longing for the good ol' days of the Red scare. The Commies were coming to take away our rights, our freedoms and worst of all, our goodies. "Better dead than Red!" was the rallying cry. We were a nation of Thomas Paines. Alas, we have shriveled into a nation of cowards. "Better Red than dead!" is the cry now. And they call themselves patriots.

With the latest plot upon our airplanes, once again the terrorists are laughing themselves silly as we chase our tails. "No, grandma, you can't bring your shampoo on the plane. We might all die!" Toothpaste and lotion and cream, oh my! It's hard to be hysterical and look smart. But, ya know, all the security and scrutiny and whatnot is sort of exciting. We could die at any moment! Eh, cheaper than a roller coaster.

"My Daddy is a good daddy." No one wants to believe their daddy is a Commie. "Surveille me! Surveille me!" We are like the know-it-all kid in class, raising his hand to be picked for approval. I heard a fear monger on TV proclaiming either we give up our civil rights or planes will be crashing everywhere. See? Civil rights are the enemy, not the terrorists. I'm surrounded by Commie traitors.

"We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools."
-Martin Luther King

I'm betting on the fool's fate for us. Yet the way we are made is to want to live as brothers. But everyone tells me we can't do as we want. Too impractical. And I'm just so naive not to understand that they say in their sophisticated adult voice feeling proud of their alleged understanding of the world. Dolts. What's going on now is impractical. Living as brothers is not.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

An Offer You Can't Refuse

When such a person hears the words of this oath, he invokes a blessing on himself and therefore thinks, "I will be safe, even though I persist in going my own way." This will bring disaster on the watered land as well as the dry. The Lord will never be willing to forgive him; his wrath and zeal will burn against that man.
-Moses; Deuteronomy 29:19-20
Hey, Jude, don't make it bad,
Take a sad song and make it better

We are the engineers of our own destruction. But it doesn't have to be that way, does it? I put this to you, a sort of written rorschach test: The world has the means and resources to feed itself, so why don't we?

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

A Man of Gold

The Man of Gold was out of gold. Lying vexed on his back on the floor of his secret mine, shockwaves of reality reverberated within. His heaving chest belied the growing panic. The idea of no more gold was just...unthinkable - and yet it was. Oh, he knew things would come to this one day - just not this day.

Weaving in and out of reality, he imagined his lack of a future. He had bribed them all. Wife, kids, community, the world. They loved him for his gold. It was so much easier than facing himself. One little nugget and their faces would light up with joy. He never got that look on his own. Now, after all these years, time came to face the mirror.

"Who will love me now?" Riding high on the gold, the good times had been many. All his defeciencies bought and paid for. He lost all interest in who he was - so had everyone else. So hard to stop running once started. Seduced by the gold, he became the seducer. "What sort of monster am I now?"

Preaching words echoed back to him, declaring a man's worth couldn't be determined by his gold. The seething hatred rushed in once more at the memory of the preacher's proclamation. So obvious now who the true enemy was...oh, to reverse time and go back and do what he wanted.

The beautiful lie was gone...rooms empty of laughter...howling winds of hell...faded dreams of love...a thousand tears never cried...a thousand words never spoken...his bleeding soul...dispassionate eyes watched his hand reach for his death gun..."Fuck you too, God"

But on this day the angels rejoiced. Ding, dong, the lie was dead! And they sang to him this song:

"You know its been a long, long road,
"Since I packed up and left on my own.
"And I can carry a heavy load,
"Just trying get back to her heart.
"Find your way back.
"Find your way back to her heart."

And thus he started the long journey back, the years of gold a waste.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Fisher of Mens' Souls

"Playing with human lives - gambling with human lives - as if you thought yourself to be a God."
Nurse Ratched, speaking of her own sins in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"

It took awhile afore I trusted my eyes. I didn't see 'em at first - didn't want to. But the mores I focused in on 'em, the clearer they gots be. And they was everywheres! "How can this be?" I wonders to meself. "I cants be the only one seeing this, but thar aint no one else actin' like they sees a thing!" So I goes ups to one real careful like and touches it to see if it for real.

"Hey you!" the Man says. "Stop that! And don't you ever fucking do that again! You hear me, boy?"

I's heard him. I's heard him real good - the asshole. But I gots my answer. Theys hard to see but if ya look you's can see 'em: fishing lines, all stuck up into people. Stuck in there good too with them little tiny hooks. And like the Man said, you's don't wanna touch one of 'em cuz it hurts them bad when ya do! But it's when I started seeing such things that alls my troubles started.

Well, naturallys I's don't want no hooks in me. An' iffen ya ask me, I don't think no man woman or chil' ever born has wanted them things in 'em! Tain't natural! I knows this for a fact. So I starts rippin' out all them hooks and got them lines offa me and it felt good. It felt likes a man breathin' again and walkin' again like a man should. It what God intended for us all, I knows. Shoot me dead, won't change me mind!

But then all them people what still got them lines in 'em got riled up at me sumpthin' fierce! "What you doing, boy? Who do you think you are?" They all's saying I gots to put them lines back in. But I was thinkin' like, Who does you think YOU is tryin' to put them lines in me! That there is what's we's call gall! These peoples is plum outta their minds and that's what they calls normal.

That's when they starts takin' all my stuff, sayin' I don't deserves no car, no house, no clothes, not even a scrap of food! Them's some mighty righteous people that, sayin's this is how they makes things work and God's will and a whole bunch of crap not worth repeatin'. They calls me "traitor" and "destroyer", sayin's I'm gonna kill this good thing they gots goin'. Little ol' me's gonna do all that. That tells ya sumthin, don't it?

I sher am feelin' awful alone after that. Ever'one gives me the evil eye when they sees me on account I got no stuff. They figgers I must got no hooks in me and starts to hatin' me. They's all in on it! I's just wanna cut all them lines I see and sets folks free like I is, then we could be happy. They's ain't gonna survive with all them lines in 'em. Time comes when they gonna be ripped to shreds. But they figgers it the other ways around!

Then I do finds this other that got no hooks in him! I asks him about that 'n' he tells me he how he got down in his head real bad and couldn't take them lines in him no more. But then he tells me he wants to get his head right so he can take havin' them lines back in him again and gets his house 'n' car back. I shakes ma head. I run across these other folks sayin's they's wants to help, tellin' me they's can "fix me" so I wants them hooks back up in me. They sez I'm sick. I just shakes ma head.

So what I's don't get is why folks thinks them lines is good for 'em?? Preachin' man goes on about how them God's lines, sayin's they's holy. He makes 'em feel better cuz their conscience is tellin' 'em sumthin' diff'rent. They tells me they gots their money line 'n' insurance line 'n' gun line 'n' law line 'n' so many other lines they just be inventin' alls the time. Sayin's they cants live without them lines and iffen them hooks tears 'em up, tis the way God meants for us to be. But I already knows the truth is just the opposite.

Then I figgers, them lines they gotta leads somewhere. Someone's trickin' all these folks, makin' 'em do likes they told or tellin' em they's gonna get them hooks ripped out and their flesh right along with it! So I's finds me a rich fella - he's gots like a hunnerd lines in him - an' I starts followin' 'em till I sees they all starts leadin' to the same spot. There's this hole in da ground an' you gots more lines leadin' down there than yous can count in ten lifetimes.

So I's jumps down dis hole to sees what I could find. That's when I understands.

"Oh, it's you."

This is my small homage to Ken Kesey's masterpiece.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Portrait of the Artist as a Fucker

There was a bitter man, sitting on a bitter bench, on a bitter day. His scribbling mind scribed scribbling words, hunched over his scribbling pad. And from his poison pen flowed poison ink into this dreamy world, not hearing the songs surrounding him.

"The sun is up,
"The sky is blue,
"It's beautiful,
"And so are you."

He saw them. Hand holding, faces laughing, eyes dancing with joy. All with shiny bright futures, exploring the wonderland only two can share. He heard the excited talk of dreams and hopes and ambitions. Things he would never see. "Bastards!" he sulked. "I hate you all!" But no one listened at all.

"Let me be there in your morning;
"Let me be there in your night;
"Let me change whatever's wrong and make it right."

Empires of industry gleaned from on high. Fancy cars with fancy women with an appetite for more. Business was their god and it let them die well. Raggedy man envied their ways. "Destroyers!" he pronounced. "You have no soul!" But no one listened at all.

"Think I'll spend eternity in the city,
"Let the carbon and monoxide choke my thoughts away,
"And pretty bodies help dissolve the memories,
"But they can never be what she was to me."

The nightmare planet raged on. Soon the Beast would control all - and it would be called good. The System was breaking down but the System would not change. Fear infested eyes knew they were alone. "Fuckers!" he complained. "Don't you ever learn? We're going to lose everything!" But no one listened at all - not even himself.

"Nowhere man, don't worry,
"Take your time, don't hurry,
"Leave it all till somebody else lends you a hand."

Tuesday, August 01, 2006


"I believe the results of focusing our attention and energy on teaching children to read and having an education system that's responsive to the child and to the parents, as opposed to mired in a system that refuses to change, will make America what we want it to be — a more literate country and a hopefuller country."
actual quote by the sitting President

One of my favorite all time movies is "Being There", Peter Sellers final great masterpiece. A slow witted man spends his entire life in an estate garden, tending his chores and watching TV. One day the estate's owner dies and Chance the gardener is thrust out into the world. But since all he knows of life is his former garden, he answers questions about the world with references to gardening. These are taken to be metaphorical gems of genius and soon Chance is whisked into the limelight as a man whose viewpoints are eagerly sought.

Made in 1979, the film was a harbinger of the coming dark tide of conservatism and its worship of self-serving ideals. No one sees Chance for who he is because no one sees themselves for whom they are. Chance never seeks to deceive. When he tells them he can't read it's brushed aside with, "Of course you can't! No one has the time!" After achieving celebrity status, who or what Chance is no longer is relevant. If Chance is a fool then we all are - therefore he can't be.

The film ends with the conservative power brokers discussing who would best suit them as the next candidate for President. All agree: Chance the gardener. Of course, all this is a satire of something too absurd to happen in "real life." Or is it? No person who uses the word "hopefuller" should ever be placed in a position of public trust. And just as with Chance, his defenders brush aside such remarks by creating a fantasy world of their own making. These fantasies will come back to haunt us in horrifyingly tragic ways. Don't believe me? Good, because I - like the President - am content to let history be my judge.