Tuesday, September 30, 2008

It's Two A.M. and the Hope Is Gone

"When the rain washes you clean
"You'll know..."
Stevie Nicks - Dreams

But what if you stay dirty?

The assassins are terriers and won't let go. They've obviously been informed of all my tactics as they take the bait on nothing. It has become clear I need a refuge of love. But how? I've never had one before. I can't imagine I deserve one. Not even God could love me that much.

When a man's rent money is at stake, right and wrong go out the window. Somehow I've got to figure out how to use that pathology against the assassins. But since they know me - and therefore my guilt - their focus is on my guilt only which in their minds make their pathological devotion an asset. Fuck. Also, I've come to realize that since I have failed to take control of my life it has now been effectively handed over to them. Debby's the only person to ever examine me and like all things in my perverted life, something good has been twisted into something bad.

In my last posting I celebrated the possible demise of Debby and her high horse. Lording her fine house and cars and social status over me is a daily torment for me. I can't help but take satisfaction in her being taken down a peg or two. But this too has boomeranged on me. Sometimes I forget how much I need her and her downfall helps me not. But to be honest, I'm not even sure it would mean anything anymore to look into her eyes. What have we done?

I'm writing this now because a nightmare woke me up. Goddam day labor is killing me. I'm always stuck in somebody else's show as a bit player, standing on the sidelines watching other people live. I was on a construction site for some new hip sports restaurant or something. I was trying my hardest to learn how to lay down this tile and grout it but the effort was straining me to the limits because I just couldn't generate any interest. I'm trying to be a good citizen, I really am. Fact is, though, it's devouring me.

"Grout, Grout, let it all out,
"These are the things I can do without."

The owners were an eccentric husband and wife team who were very aware of their position and often gave garbled or incomplete orders to us mere underlings to carry out. They then moved on to something else fully expecting you to have understood. And the culture on the site was that it was a great taboo to be lost or confused or undirected in any way - people with purpose only! Jesus, what a mind fuck. So it took all my wits to fight through constantly being lost and meanwhile I was surrounded by others perfectly content to be underlings and used by our high living owners. I just had to wake myself up.

"I'll never be your beast of burden
"My back is broad but it's a-hurting"

So it's 2 A.M. and lonely man cries out for love but has none. What I do have is a throbbing boner and the worst feeling of being swallowed by an aching emptiness you can imagine. I hate being useless and my life a ridiculous joke, doing menial labor with an IQ always higher than my boss and yet I always contribute less. It's just shattering. I guess it was all or nothing for me in my life. Maybe I wanted it that way. What I do know is the guilt is killing me.

And the assassins are aiming to finish the job. Anyone got a clue?

Monday, September 29, 2008

Shivering Alone in the Bunker

Scattershooting while wondering whatever happened to the diarrhea I left in front of the art gallery two weeks ago...

I heard Ed Wallace say this on his Saturday radio show:

"What I said was that this country is too big, too diverse and too powerful to be brought down by a few thousand nuts living in caves.

Additionally, I said that the public after 9/11 was in deep fear, but in the end America could not be destroyed by this group.

I also said that the more knowledge people have of the situation, the less they would fear any possible outcome."
(Per an email he sent me)

Ed, however, showed a distinct lack of understanding of terrorist' tactics. Their game is buying souls, not invading countries. And in that, they have succeeded wildly beyond any fiction writer's dream. Here's a recap:

1. We are now engaged in our own corrosive act of terrorism in a foreign country. We have become as they are. The war is endless and will drain us of all our resources. And what it has done to destabilize us morally is beyond measure. Many, many more chickens are coming home to roost from this travesty of evil.

2. A wholesale and maniacal campaign to eliminate civil liberties, suppress dissent and concentrate supreme power into the hands of one person (so that one person can "save" us!). Freedom does not represent safety to most people. Sending our children to die pointlessly in the name of freedom does.

3. Anytime you can get an entire country to walk through the airport in their socks and bare feet you know you have terrorists somewhere just laughing their asses off.

4. For every day we spend in Iraq, it's a victory for the terrorists. For every soldier that dies, it's a victory for the terrorists. For every day we continue to turn our back on democratic principles, it's a victory for the terrorists. Support the war and you support our enemies. Stupid fucking morons.

Ed said we should have no fear. Ah, but we should have fear - of ourselves. Sometimes, Ed, fear is a good thing. It makes you consider the stupidity of the road you're on.


I buy cow. Cow cost big money! I need make all money I can off cow. You no understand. No money, no live! Me gonna live if you like or not! Don't tell me what do 'cause I don't listen to you. You not me! You no take care of me! You no take care of family! So what you baby die from cow milk. No one make you drink it. My baby OK - that what counts!

Eventually every society will fall under the weight of this mentality - especially this one.


Jesus changed his mind. When the soldiers came to crucify him he called out to Heaven and an army of angels came to wipe the soldiers clean. "Why should I die," me mused, "when I have done no wrong?"

The bulk of the reaction, however, was vitriolic. "Why should he get off the hook when none of us has? You think my child deserved to die when they slaughtered all the babies at the time of his birth? They were looking for him! Who wouldn't be nice if they knew they were spared the cruel injustices of this hellish planet? He should suffer like we do!"


I want to be a legal whore like Debby when I come back. Debby, of course, decided her way in this world was by spreading her legs for the banking community. So I do admit to enjoying a very delicious irony in the current banking woes of her Wachovia and the destruction of her banking god. Oh, how it must suck to sell your soul and then end up with nothing in return!

But do you realize the beauty of a quid pro quo marriage contract to make your whoring not only acceptable but lauded? Those who whore openly you can openly spit on because you are married in holiness! What a great little secret world you get to live in. You and all your co-conspirators next to you in the church pew, praising yourselves by praising God. But your allegiance is to the world that has deemed you holy for conforming to its mores and hailing its lies - the loser as winner.


I think it's just because we're hardwired that way, man. We can't help it - God made us this way! Blame nature for the way we are!

(Philosophy is about escaping responsibility. Love is about embracing it.)


The assassins grazed me and I'm hurting...God, please help me...I'm lost...and more scared than I've ever been before...

Friday, September 26, 2008

No Country for Mold Men

Try some real films!

I have seen films I despised before due to incompetence (Michael Clayton) or nihilistic idiocy (Fight Club) or just sheer pretentiousness (Harold and Maude). But never have I felt so shit on as I have after watching "No Country for Old Men". Filmmaking - like life - should be an act of love. This celluloid crime was an act of hatred. I will steal a line from an IMDB reviewer who sums it up perfectly: Despicable Snuff Film with Pseudo-Intellectual Pretensions. What this movie pretends to say is that there's no inherent defect in evil (the bad guy is "Steven Seagal in reverse - an infallible anti-hero" as one reviewer put it). I'll never watch another Coen brothers film again.

I understand about ugly truths. I revel in them and hunger for them because my own life is an ugly truth. But rarely, rarely do I ever see one. I did see one in "Shooter" when the crippled assassin assessed the situation that placed him in his predicament: "What it is, is human weakness. You can't kill that with a gun." I almost cheered when I heard that. But "ugly truth" is also a fake filmmaker's best friend when it comes to mindless acts of evil to "show how things really are" and all the teenage minds in the audience high five each other in awe. To them, the truth is pretentious and immaturity is "reality". To them, there is no such thing as truth, merely wishful thinking.

No society survives without a social fabric. In order for us to survive as a whole, we have to be able to trust one another. This has never been more true than now. Can you grow all your own food? Or make your own gas? Or provide your own electricity? The higher the living, the greater the interdependency. Each of us has an implied social contract with each other not to betray the trust that has been placed upon us. But we have a word for those who betray that contract: terrorists.

"No Country" is cinematic terrorism. It is the filmmaking equivalent of someone tapping you on the shoulder and then hocking a loogie on your face. But because we live in the age of terrorism (and it's supposed to be "daring" to say evil is winning. Ewwww, impressed!), many will hail this as an attribute because it reflects the times of rust we live in. "Man, this is no time to honor pussy ass social trust, there's unrepentant evil out there!" Truth is - and we know this already - that is exactly the time to most honor that trust. You will call me naive - I will call you uninformed.

Don't get me wrong. I have just as much impulse and desire to pull the chair out when someone tries to sit down as anyone. Probably much more so. It gives me a genuine sense of satisfaction to see their hate-filled face and to hear them cursing me. (If they say nothing and are adult about it, it kills me.) It's just that I don't see that as something to be celebrated. To celebrate this film is to celebrate being an asshole.

Eh, no wonder so many people like it.

P.S. Nash Bridges would have caught this guy EASY!

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Tom Bombadil ate Fruit Loops for Fun


I thought I'd make the world a better place - for him and me and all of us. But mostly for me. His words were acid and his deeds bent. What was I supposed to do? Love him? So I shot him down to watch someone else bleed like I do.

Cop came wiping donut crumbs from his mouth to ask my why. So I told him: "Bill Maher made me to do it. Now we have one less right-wing nut in the world."

The cop burped and stared at me hard. Then he shook his head while grabbing the last donut out of the bag resting on the front seat of his patrol car. "Damn. If only Bill Maher didn't exist this would have never happened."


So what are your plans for living?

"Living? Are you crazy? Are you blind? Look at this world around you. You think these people are interested in living? These are people with no understanding of life and no idea what it takes to survive. Plans for living? Thought's never even crossed my mind."

Wow, that's a pretty harsh attitude for an eight-year-old.


Why? Why?? Why did that homeless guy shoot another man down? Experts explain:

"It was his politics, man. He didn't like that dude's geopolitical policies and destructive right-wing aggressiveness. So he had to take him out."

"No, no. It was the mounting socio-economic pressures that finally caused him to implode and then to act out in frustration. To tell you the truth, this should be happening all the time."

"Oh, nothing so complicated as all that. It's a simple Cain and Abel story. The man he shot was well-to-do and privileged in society. It's only natural he'd want to see him fall."

For hours they argued until a janitor walked in and he even he was queried. "Why he did it? He did it because he was loved."



"People who are loved don't act like that."

The janitor shrugged. "Then he did it because he's a loser."

Then all three shot the janitor. (When asked later, the shooters had no answer as to why.)


Poetry of the dead
Nails rust into your head.
Pickles of despair
Are the fruit of what we bear.

He said he was a Mozart!
Because he had a good fart!
But I say he's Beethoven
With innards interwoven.

Then he tossed an angry duck
Into a crowd of fuck;
But his shit did miss the fan
So his words they sorely ban.


Sunday, September 21, 2008

Analysis of "A House on Fire"

For whatever reason it seems I put a bee in a few people's bonnet with my House on Fire posting. The media surge, the blistering controversy and the endless interview requests have made it necessary for me to formulate a response. No one ever said genius was easy.

To my belief system I believe one has a problem if one believes it is OK to cover one's self with gasoline, set it on fire and think no harm will come to you. Others ask what's the big deal if you lie to yourself. Heck if I know, meet you in the burn ward - or the morgue. Oh, I'm sorry, that's just me being "negative". I'm failing to support you! You're hurt by my sarcasm when I suggest a gun is quicker and less painful. Nightly, I ask the question: Dear God, do I really have to live with these people?

"The world is fine!"
But of course it is, dear one. Why did we invade Iraq? Because of our love for the Iraqi people! Why do people say we have to stop using oil? Because they are misguided by personal profit and won't admit it will last forever. Does pollution really hurt the environment? Of course not. Everything we do is good! So please, sleep well tonight and ignore that burning smell of fire. It's much too upsetting to think about!

"Can you just forget the messenger for a minute and listen to the message?"
I guess you can make the logical argument that were no one to tell you your house is about to burn down you could die a peaceful death. But listen how often the facts are ignored but the messenger is debated. It is the act of the guilty.

"Every day I do what it takes to make life good for my family no matter how much it kills me."
It's always scary when people try to make the world a better place by killing themselves - for then their bitterness will drive them to make you as they are. Squelching the desire to live is like trying to keep the lid on a boiling pot - it's only a matter of time before it explodes. But the Lying Man allowed himself to be bribed into silence with a nice house, car, etc. and then went on to make the tragic mistake of betting the lives of his family on this course of action. For as we saw he had to have an outlet somewhere and that was in the pouring of the gasoline. He secretly hoped a random act would ignite the blaze, allowing him to deflect some of the responsibility. But given enough time he would have lit it himself in a moment seized with passion.

"Later, after the house and all inside it burned to the ground, I found out it was the Lying Man himself who had spread the gasoline around - manifesting his troubles on his inside to the outside."
There is a natural human desire to hate the constraints placed on us by the insane rules of money. Whoever heard of a system where a man wants to work but is not allowed to? No matter how many toys we acquire or even how many lives we put at stake, there is no denying our resentment of constraints and there comes a tipping point when it can no longer be denied. And if one cannot voluntarily make the decision one is on an unbearable path then one will lay out his own destruction in order to be free - much as we are doing now with a self-destructive war and the sabotaging of our financial system. America HATES capitalism.

"When questioned by his neighbors about the dubious nature of such an insane act, the guilty man told them it was OK because he was smart enough to lie about."
To the Lying Man's way of thinking, life and death were not determined by reality but by the ability to deflect blame. To him, death was his family finding out his true feelings and the fact he was undermining their very existence. Like all liars, he thought lying made him smart. And that as long as he was a successful liar, he would never reap what he had sown. But the laws of nature cannot be broken and the truth - no matter how horrible - is always the only way out.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

A House on Fire

(AP) Major news outlets have written such fact-checking articles for years. "But in the last two election cycles, the very notion that the facts matter seems to be under assault," said Michael X. Delli Carpini, an authority on political ads at the University of Pennsylvania's Annenberg School for Communication. "Candidates and their consultants seem to have learned that as long as you don't back down from your charges or claims, they will stick in the minds of voters [a.k.a. moron sheeple] regardless of their accuracy or at a minimum, what the truth is will remain murky, a matter of opinion rather than fact."

Other research indicates that attempts to correct misinformation are unlikely to change minds. In an experiment by two academics, volunteers were given a mock news article with potentially misleading information – half with a correction, half without. The researchers discovered that the group that received the correction may end up believing the misleading information more strongly after hearing the correction.

"The argument we make in the paper is that people are counterarguing in their heads,” says Brendan Nyhan, a political scientist at Duke University and one of the researchers. "They're coming up with reasons to disagree with the factual claim, and actually convincing themselves more than they would have believed otherwise."

Apparently, my reputation preceded me...

Knocking on the Lying Man's front door, he flew into a rage the minute he saw me. "I know you! You're that lying little prick trying to bring everybody down. I've read your blog and I tell you I'll not stand here and listen to you impugn my integrity and trouble my thoughts. I sleep well in my bed and intend to keep it that way. The world is fine!"

"Can you just forget the messenger for a minute and listen to the message-"

"Never! Be beautiful if you want me to believe you."

"- I'm just trying to tell ya, someone spilled a shit load of gasoline back behind your house and it's caught fire - and it's headed straight for you!"

"Enough of your nonsense of doom and gloom! What could a loser like you possibly know about taking care of a home? The only thing people like you want to do is tear other peoples' lives down, to pull them into the same hellish hole you live in. I'll decide what's best for this house, not you."

"I'm not saying I'm not fucked up - I'm not saying I don't want to do all those things. But sometimes, it's easier for people on the outside to see things. You have to believe me or you're going to die!"

"Have to? I'll tell you about 'have to'! I've got a family in here - a wife and two small children. They have this nice home because of me. Every day I do what it takes to make life good for them no matter how much it kills me. You know nothing of that kind of sacrifice."

"Maybe not, but I know about the approaching fire. It's just a simple fact!"

"You want to know what the facts are? The fact is taking care of my family is the number one priority of my life. No so-called 'reality' comes before that. And if you think someone like you is going to force me out of my home you've got another think coming! I'm not going to endanger innocent little children for your sick enjoyment. You better pray to God for help!"

"Yes, it's true I'm jealous of your home and family and your wife's hot legs but -"

"Aha, I knew it! A man of impure motives! Everything you say is a lie!"

"But you don't have to take my word for it! See, it's so close now you can smell it for yourself."

Finally, the Lying Man paused, took in a whiff of the smoke and smiled serenely. "Yes, yes, I smell it." His eyes were far away and glassily enraptured. "It smells like...victory."

Later, after the house and all inside it burned to the ground, I found out it was the Lying Man himself who had spread the gasoline around - manifesting his troubles on his inside to the outside. When questioned by his neighbors about the dubious nature of such an insane act, the guilty man told them it was OK because he was smart enough to lie about.

And now you know why I hate telling you fuckers anything...

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Roll Over Stalin And Tell Pussy Putin The News!

As I've said before, Putin is a pussy - a goddam, rat bastard, whiny-ass wuss who runs down the street toting an Uzi and wearing his mother's underwear, crying out for people to love him or he'll shoot. Even as a mere Russian in a former life, I'm embarrassed. But now Dork Vader has reached a new low even for him.

Like a twisted, guilty parent the Russian state is
attempting to ban Southpark. Even cartoons threaten them! What a humiliating statement. Guess they were tired of the Chinese getting all the demeaning press stories.

So my little Russkie friends, you say you love a revolution? Well I propose an overthrow of the current rotting and degraded "government" to be replaced by a new Cartman regime. Cartman for Prime Minister! You will respect his authority!

P.S. Don't worry Mr. Pussy Putin, there will still be a place for you. You're Kenny.

Panic on a Park Bench

"Hey, man, you look awful!"

"I know."

"Been awhile since I last seen you, too."

"I know."

"What happened to you? You got bags under your eyes and you don't look like you slept in three days."

"It's these goddam assassins. Can't get 'em off my tail."

"You're already on the street, what's left to take?"

"These aren't corporate assassins, they're personal."

"Jesus! What did you do?"

"No one wants the love of a homeless man."

"No doubt. But what are you gonna do?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I can't rest, I got stress pains in my stomach and at times I feel like I'm going right out of my mind. Pretty fucking frustrating."

"Dude, you can't keep this up. You gotta get some rest. Just look at you!"

"Where? I can't find a safe place anywhere. Goddam Debby took out my last remaining defenses. Being out on the streets was my fortress against her. How she made it through I'll never know. It just doesn't make sense and I've been racking my brain trying to figure this all out. She never steps outside of her own little world. She can't risk it."

"So there's no way out?"

"Perhaps so. I'm afraid maybe I've just done too much damage to my life and now the game is up. I just hate seeing freaking Debby outplay me."

"Wish I had some answers for you."

"Me too. I can't hardly maintain my facade any more. All my energy is used for running. This thing is wrecking my whole life."

"I never thought any facade was maintainable."

"Yeah well, you know, I gotta keep up the happy-shiny-homeless act. Otherwise they can't deal with the guilt of seeing you here. Christ, it's like I'm always a little kid trying to make up for my parents' failings."

"Oh - yeah - there's that little game. Can't show all your anger. But if you've been doing that since you were a little kid, that's fucked up. As for those assassins, I don't know how you can avoid them."

"To tell the truth, it may not matter. The running alone is going to kill me. Ironic, huh? But I'm going to tell you a secret I'll take to my grave: when I die on the street and I take my last breath exhausted from the running, there will definitely be a karmic justice to that."

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Day of the Jekyll, Part 1

Friday was hell on Earth. Even now, two days later I'm edgy and shaken. I still can't take full breaths - there isn't time. Two assassins have been sent to terminate me. Apparently, I have been found out. Somehow Debby the Huntress learned I still exist and it won't be so easy escaping her a second time. My field of operations is much smaller now, the terrain much more open here in this urban landscape. As I continue to disintegrate, I've lost my ability to adapt to new environments. Where will I go?

Assassins are easy to spot. The more they try to blend in, the more they stick out. I still have that in my favor. But it's hiding places I've run out of. My first encounter was in the morning. I was in a coffee shop eating a donut and feeling very guilty, like I was living a moment not meant for me - a genteel Mr. Hyde for all the world to see. Damn guilt ruined what should have been a glorious celebration of eating indoors but I couldn't resist the idea of taking a minute out for my own pleasure. Always on the lookout, I spotted two assassins far away, heads turning discretely, scouring the landscape with dead eyes. Normally, I would have instantly fled but instead I fed into the false hope of having a home and told myself they weren't looking for me.

But, like an arrow through my heart I was spotted, locked in and targeted for termination. Dear Lord, does it ever end?

I immediately started evasive maneuvers and headed out the back but I knew the pair would split up to cover both exits. So I had very little time to decide what to do once outside. An ancient feeling of dread returned to me yet again. Innocent shops and streets for others morph into a war zone of tactical hiding spots and escape routes for me. Always, always on the outside am I. Pausing in a peaceful world never meant to be, the morning sun shone sweetly on gentle leaves of greenery and my soul cried out to give up and join them. But will listening to my soul keep me alive?

The expected thing to do when chased is to run. I dearly wanted to do so but I could see that no place would offer me cover for long. I did however see rows of columns across the street. If I timed it right I could reposition myself as the killer passed by to always keep the column between me and him. It would take exact timing but the columns were out in the open - a psychological deterrent for escaping detection. A clever man would know that and dismiss this area but a thorough man would search here regardless. I prayed he was clever.

Steeling my nerves mercilessly, I kept my eyes from even peering back to the corner where I knew the assailant would first start his hunt. I was going to have to feel him pass first, then gently edge around the backside of the column and peer at him from behind to surmise his position. But my stomach wasn't cooperating. Not now, dammit! Cramping under the pressure, I nearly doubled over in pain. Not only that, it prevented me from moving until the terror released its grip on my muscles. Jesus, if I don't move soon enough he'll pass completely down the street and I'll lose all track of him. Some girls passed by noisily in the morning light and I wondered what they would think if they knew a hiding man's ordeal was just a few feet away.

Turns out the stomach cramps saved me. That wily bastard assassin stayed planted behind the coffee shop as if he were waiting for me to pop out any minute. He too must have surmised there was no place to run and simply decided to wait me out. So although it was several minutes before I could move and finally peer around, the assassin had only just then started to move down the street. Motherfucker, that was close! Eventually he met up with his partner coming from the other direction. He must have run as hard as he could down a parallel street in order to try and get ahead of me. One flushes me out and the other waits. These guys are good.

Day of the Jekyll, Part 2

Only by being worthless can I be good. Say hello to the good guy. As long as I'm no good, my absence from Debby's life is a blessing. It's the only thing I have to offer her. And since I see no chance of my becoming a functional human being - and wasted many opportunities to do so - I'm assured I'm doing the right thing by cowardly cutting her off from me. But every fiber of my being yearns to join with her. When I think of living, I think of Debby. So I don't think of living. Such is my convoluted reasoning.

I cut her off and she thought me dead. I should have been safe. Why now after all this time?? How could she know I'm still alive?? How?? It doesn't make any sense! Where was the flaw in my plan? Too late now. It's not like I can ask one of the assassins. It's been several days since they first started trailing me. I had three narrow escapes on that Black Friday they first spotted me. I cannot tell you how disheartening it was to be hiding in bushes again after all these years. I remain a creature too despicable to be revealed. Sitting in that coffee shop seems a hundred years ago.

Society has its own assassins certainly. I read about them in the paper taking families' homes so other poor souls can join me in the horror of the streets. Sniper fire is increasing everywhere you look with layoffs, slave wages and other corporate cruelty. Being on the outside is a good thing then. But the two assassins sent after me are different - and therefore much harder to evade. Corporate assassins target those with assets and the assassinations are impersonal. My hunters have been informed who I am and know each of my crimes. This is a guy, they say, who has to be taken out at any cost and for whom no redemption is possible. It's more than business, it's personal.

The funny thing about being homeless is you still try to make your life into a real life with a home and a purpose and a direction - only in reality it's merely an absurd mockery. I should be able to detach myself from this area and go anywhere I want. But so ingrained is the sense for the need of having a real life, I cling to what little I know. Over time, the assassins will learn my terrain as well as I do. Like an onion, my defenses are slowly being peeled back. Time is ticking against me. But I just can't run anymore.

Sleep is no longer a place of refuge. I must be awake to rest. Nothing gives my hunters more power over me than closing my eyes. And when I do, dreams of doom are released and I wake with the same tight, cramped stomach I had that first day behind the column. Dear God, am I tired. But what can I do? The dream is always the same. The hunters corner me at last and they ask, "Do you have feelings for Debby Hanssen?" "Yes," I explain, knowing the hour of truth has arrived. Their reply is 200 rounds at close range from a pair of remorseless Uzis.

God, I hate this world. What's taking us so long to blow it up?

Sunday, September 07, 2008

You talking to me, boy?

"He was like, "Who the fuck are you to tell me anything? Huh, fuckwad? What makes you so goddam smart you can tell me what to do in my life? Just what exactly is it that makes you so f'ing qualified? I'm sick of you goddam people and your goddam insecurity sticking your stupid ass noses into my business when you can't even run your own damn life! Who the fuck are you people? Just do the world a favor and go off and fucking die! You are a plague upon this planet!""

"Wow, he said all that!?"

"Yup, guess he had it all bottled up inside him. It's like this guy I heard say: Nobody talks about what they really want to talk about. They just let all this stuff happening eat at them then Boom! they explode."

"So what happened with the piano and everything?"

"Fell right on him and killed his ass. Guess he didn't like me telling him to move."

I've come not to bury Caesar but to name a salad after him

It took a good 400 fucking years for the Roman empire to completely fall apart. It was a period of great politics - or rather, of the greatly political. People know when doom is coming but the art is in the denial. During such a time, self-deception is considered the one vital key to survival. But of course, it's actually the one vital key that ensures destruction.

"Rome is mighty! Rome is great!" Thus declared the self-proclaimed defenders of Rome. Maniacal in their knowledge of a short-lived prosperity, any contrary opinions were viciously shouted down. Keeping denial alive, they believed, was keeping the empire alive (in their own heads anyway). At least, that's what they said until the empire was no more. In reality, Rome's "defenders" were Rome's destroyers. Clinging to the sinking ship of corruption until the bitter end, they purged themselves out of existence. That's some plan!

We too are in a time of the greatly political. Can you imagine the debates in ancient Rome on discussing the absolutely imperative need of having the "right" Caesar sit upon the throne? "We need someone who will right this ship!" Sound familiar here in 2008? But did it really matter who they picked? Only to the short-sighted or the self-deceived. The true problem was a populace that wanted a Ceasar - and did not want responsibility.

We are in a freefall from reality. "Why honor the truth?" is the mantra of the times (both then and now). We see no penalty for not doing so and no reward if we do. In fact, it's considered kind of sissy - naive even - and impractical and the devotion of losers. Say anything. Believe anything. That's what winners do! And yet deep inside we still know what matters because everyone is still vying for the mantle of He Who Speaks the Truth.

In the time of decline, people on the whole want to be lied to. Good luck wit dat. I hate your fucking society (ye who know all) and I hope you (continue to) tear it to pieces. And I laugh at your red-faced political debates meaning nothing to no one. I laugh at so-called pundits marveling at the cleverness of the liars while at the same time exalting "the people" as the salt of the earth. But don't let me spoil your fun. Because just like the ancient Romans, you too will purge yourself from the face of the earth. Morons.

Friday, September 05, 2008

Moments Lost in Time

"Why is it I get my best ideas in the morning while I'm shaving?"
-Albert Einstein

There's a scene in American Gigolo where the Richard Gere character has lost everything. His true love is out of reach, his lifestyle destroyed and he's been framed for murder. There's nothing left of his support structure and he's completely alone in the world. Renting a car because his own is hunted by the police, we focus on a scene of a soulless, spinning Hertz sign with a backdrop of melancholy music. To me it's one of the most surreal moments in movie history. I don't know if some special cinematography was used or not but something made that scene seem completely unreal. The plasticity and the impermanence and the coldness of the world laid bare by a literal sign of the times.

A man without a world.

"I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
"And stops my mind from wandering
"Where it will go."


Boy, do I know that feeling. I've talked about this before, this feeling of sitting on the edge of the universe. The times when I'm riding along in a work truck or sitting at a Sonic or taking a break in the middle of a day labor job. My mind loses its ability to stay convinced I need to play the games of the world in order to get by. I have to admit, in those moments it's an exalted and infinite feeling of life to think that possible. It must have been a feeling John Lennon carried around with him throughout his life. But as I'm wiping the sweat off my forehead and resting my chin on the end of my shovel's handle, to think I do this all for nothing - that it never had to happen - is devastating to the point of madness.

Where, in fact, is the true world?

"Searching in the darkness
"Fading out of sight
"Love was here and gone like a thief in the night...
"Stone cold..."


The sunset tonight reminded me of the American Gigolo scene. God used the same cinematography to outline the skyline. Skyscrapers morphed into watchtowers for unwanted night crawlers like me. Friendly trees during the day receded into distrusting strangers in the dark. The more time passes the more isolated I feel. I wanted to hop aboard my private jet and chase the sun across the curve of the earth. But such a jet belongs to another life, another path.

Yet had I taken that path I wouldn't feel the need to extend this dying day anyway.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

A Spaceman's Final Thought

The infinity of space
Has a nature all its own;
Answering to a grace
Man has rarely shown.

Boundless dark consumes me,
Drifting from my dreams;
But when your claims are empty
No one hears your screams.

No matters of my heart
Or thoughts left in my mind;
Remedy the part
Of my severed tethering line.

I cut it with my lies,
I float out on my back;
Where do I turn my eyes
While drowning in the black?

"Do it! Do it! Do it!
"You don't want to be alone!"
So urged the souls who blew it -
With the losers I now moan.

But when your life has gone to shit
And there's nothing to be done;
It's matters not a single whit
If you're not the only one!

The madness of the moment
Gave me solace for a time;
Forgetting what my life meant,
With love the future's mine.

Twinkling starlights mocking
With life I'll never know;
My anger did the talking -
A short-lived, hallowed show.

From windows on the ship
Peer broken-hearted faces;
Watching my unwanted trip
Away from my loved places.

With tragedies repeated
The stubborn man does bleed;
At the banquet I'd be seated
With the faith of a mustard seed.

With ears both blessed and haunted
You hear this dead man's final thought:
Doing what I wanted
Was doing what I ought.