Monday, December 29, 2008

New Year's Naked Run

Hey, gang! Gather up the kiddies and Fido and Fluffy cuz I got a heartwarming tale of family fun for you! It's all about my most memorable New Years! One year, bored with the usual routine of jetting to Switzerland to ski the Alps, I decided to absorb the local nightlife as I deigned to mingle with the little people. I was very pleasantly surprised to see we have some really hot honeys right here in the good ol' USA and (wink, wink! nudge, nudge!) decided to deal with that in the usual way: public masturbation.

It's a bit of a hike, but within my sphere of roaming is a conglomeration of restaurants, a movie theater and shops that always proves to be a lively spot. I've blogged before how once I was frozen by the delicious smells of life when coming out of a movie and I just stood at the railing ensconced in an olfactory cocoon of vicarious vivaciousness. As I inhaled the lives of others I painfully remembered how beautiful life can be. That bittersweet moment pulls me back there on a regular basis and when deciding on a place where to spend what turned out to be a fairly warm New Years, this was the spot.

But apparently, I can't stand to have anything good in my life and anytime I return now I relive the shame of that night.

Like I said, there were all sorts of babes out that night - unbelievable babes dressed to the nines. I'm usually of two minds on this: one to be near them and another to avoid the frustration. But that night I wanted to see them and ogle them and secretly fawn over their long, tan legs. A thousand years of frustration could be released with one of those fine lassies - and my heart would hate no more. Eventually my volcanic passions overwhelmed me, screaming out for life. Helpless, I gave in to the single greatest crime any homeless person can commit: I wanted to live.

An unleased retail space in one corner of the complex has stairs and a walkway leading to the upper floors. Underneath that is a dark area perfect to hide in at night. It's also between the shopping area and parking garage so there's lots of traffic passing by. I picked out three very hot girls with short skirts and exposed midriffs that brought you to your knees. How much is a poor guy to take? I unleashed my desires and clothing in naked homage but it's when I saw them heading to the parking garage that I lost all control.

"Should I do it? Should I do it?" my fevered brain pressed over and over. Bedazzled by their beauty, I broke. "I'll do it!" But what would be my story? I know, the direct approach. I'll run in front of them naked chanting, "Spank me! Spank me!" Yeah, they'll love that. Can you just imagine being bent over those bare, hot legs and getting my ass slapped?? Sweet Jesus in heaven! Half excited and half terrified, I timed my run perfectly for my hoped-for menage-a-quatre, only half-looking at my targets, pretending not to see them.

And then: nothing.

Not a word, not a shriek, not even a groan of contempt. Motherfucker, I knew I was invisible to you folks but I didn't know it was literal! Did they somehow not see me at all? Impossible! I still needed to run back to my clothes but I'd lost the nerve to pass them again. Son-of-a-bitch! What a mind fuck. What a burn. Now I'm twice as frustrated as before. There's just no pleasing them - ever. A thousand tons of guilt weighed on me as I stealthed my way back to my clothes and slinked away.

Sex in the homeless community is an upside down mirror of sex in real life. We just don't have your advantages of disguise. My lust is exposed - and fearlessly derided - for all to see. Your lust comes out in unwanted babies. Rape of homeless women is a common occurence. It's unreported because they figure either no one will listen or they don't count anyway. But also playing into it is that like the suburban housewife they still believe being used for sex is the same thing as being useful. My, my - what a fucked up world we live in, Mrs. Robinson.

See? We homeless know all your secret desires and true colors - no wonder you fear and loathe us so much.

P.S. This is the kind of stuff you write when the guy in the cot next to you keeps fucking farting all goddam night.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

There Are No Economic Problems, Only Moral Solutions

I saw a posting by Arianna Huffington (whom I love) on Huffington Post calling for the death of laissez faire capitalism. She joins a chorus of other voices with similar calls for a nice tight regulation of our greed. But don't not nobody see what wrong wit dat picture: "See, it's not the sin that's wrong, it's the lack of sin regulation!" With enlightenment such as this, we have no future.

Let me put this another way, if you have a law that prevents children from working in coal mines, that's fine. But if the only reason children are not working in coal mines is because of said law, then that society is dead man walking - big time. Laws don't save souls but only a soul can save the law. America has always been about rape - it's our favorite pastime. But there's no doubt we have taken it to new and shameless heights in this century. We turned our back on the suffering we inflicted on the Iraqis with our rape of them, but the same forces that unleashed that evil are the same ones reaching into your pocketbook now. I call that funny!

Millions of Iraqi families were forced to flee for their lives and live in the squalor of refugee camps:

"Well, they're not pretty, I've got to tell you that, Tony. It's not a nice thing to see. These were people who used to live comfortable, normal lives, if you'd like...

"Now, that has about 800 people living in an area, try to imagine this, the size of two soccer fields. Most of the housing there is just tents, a dusty landscape, sewage in the street, but in many ways it showcases the pessimism of those there, because they're starting to build there more permanent homes out of bricks they're making themselves. It's -- the kids that are there, they don't go to school. They try to amuse themselves playing marbles. Some of them just literally staring blankly into an increasingly bleak future."

Who cared when it happened to them? Haha! Now we get to see what it feels like when you're thrown from your comfy home into the street - and people half a world away are cheering it or are indifferent. Man, don't come whining to me about the horror of watching your child starve - you just haven't been paying attention. That was your decision - not God's or the President's or anyone else's.

From a numbers perspective, our economic problems are insolvable. There are some studies and a couple of documentaries that hint at this, but only I have the balls to come right out and say it. (And such is the genius of God, you find a homeless voice unworthy!) What's going to happen if we stay possessed by our numbers is a long, wavelike slide into hell. Every time the wave goes up we say, "See? Everything is fine!" even though the highpoint of this wave is always lower than the last. And when we are on an obvious slide like now, there's all sorts of screeching for change but nothing really happens. Through thick and thin we remain steadfast in our belief these numbers must determine if we live or die.

But it's all hogwash, you silly, simple sots. The "need" for money is only in our heads.

The argument for moneyism is simply that there is "no other way". You gotta force lazy-ass, rotten, no-good people into labor or nothing will get done! (Tell me again whose nature is made in the image of God? Cognitive dissonance - it beats the fuck out of thinking!) We've lived so long off the poisoned fruit of communal blackmail we accept the rule of money as an axiom of life itself: there is no choice to do but what we do. And thusly we've adopted the false credo that winners deserve winning and losers deserve losing. That's why no one listens when your ox is gored.

I saw a TV show about renovating a house where a girl was sent off as a prank to the hardware store to find a part that does not exist. The contractor made up some name of a fictional object to get her out of his hair. It was funny as hell as they cut to the store with the girl and three employees looking for something they would never find. I'll be having that same laugh watching you hopeless morons struggling to make greed work. Put on your Sunday suits with your respectable haircuts and pontificate all you want how we need to be more responsible to our greed - all fury and bluster signifying nothing.

So if you want to save the economy, then save your soul and dispel the lies of numbers into the wind. True, there's no guarantee it will save the immediate lives of you and your children but on the other hand, what else you gonna do? It's not like you have a choice. (I know what you're thinking (I say in my best Thomas Magnum voice-over). "Oh, Harry, you're so naive, so unpragmatic, so unrealistic! Thing's just have to be the way they are. You need to grow up and face facts. Why, if we changed things now the world would go to hell!")

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Mortification and Sarcasm

Before I made my appearance on the Letterman show I was asked if I could tell a funny story about myself to which I thought, "Oh goody! I get to be homeless and funny." But my verbal reply was to merely squirm and say, "Oh, sure." I guess my act wasn't very good because the assistant kept staring at me as if waiting for my real answer. But I had no more words for her and finally she left. Why does everything have to be so hard?

Racking my brain as I scanned my desperate life of despair, I remembered one story that might work. Of course, it involved a moment of my humiliation - most stories about me derailed existence do. It happened back in technical school. (The thought of an actual college terrified me and, frankly, disinterested me.) I wasn't serious about it. But who could I tell? I was there because I had nothing better to do.

Staying in my three bedroom dorm was Harley and Russell. Harley and I were hanging out in a mutual friend's dorm room when he started telling this grand adventure tale he'd had. I thought it was all bullshit so I started mocking him and calling him Indiana Bert (Bert was his middle name). And the more he told, the more I mocked, coming up with a line of Indiana Bert dolls to sell, along with the famous suppository version ("Gives new meaning to the word 'shithead'!"). I was on a roll that night and Harley was caught somewhat flatfooted by my stampede - but that's not because Harley was witless.

I had highly enjoyed my needling of Harley when the next day Harley made his counter attack. Whenever I walked into the living room of our dorm, he'd boo me. At first as I was furious and was going to jump his shit but when I actually saw him doing it I wanted to laugh. He had his hands cupped around his mouth and he had a big ol' grin on his face while booing. It was completely disarming and I had a hard time coming up with my own counter attack because I couldn't get mad at him. So naturally he kept doing it - which led to complications.

I was very good at computer programming at school - as long as I didn't mind killing myself to do it. But the pressure was enormous since the tuition was on my parent's ticket and my life had no meaning. One weekend the despair got so bad I attempted suicide by taking a bottle of sleeping pills. To my eternal regret it failed, obviously. So when I could I traveled back home and came back on Sunday to avoid the alone time.

It was on one of those Sundays returning to my dorm when disaster struck. I was carrying in my little TV I lugged back and forth and about 20 paces behind me was my emotionally estranged stepfather bringing my suitcase. My stepfather was a human being I truly loathed - as he did himself. My dorm was on the second floor and sitting on the bottom rung of the steps was my roommate Russell who suddenly got a bright idea when he saw me. He thought he'd start booing me as Harley had been.

The courtyard between the dormitories was large and public so Russell's booing me was inconvenient at best. What was worse would be trying to explain to my quickly approaching stepfather why I was being booed by my roommate. ("See, it's not real. It's just a game. Uh...") So I was ready to freaking murder Russell - especially after he decided he'd call Harley down to join in the fun. "Boo! Boo! Harley! Harley!" he'd cry out to the second floor. I was mortified but furious and decided to retaliate without compunction.

It was after about the third or fourth time Russell called up with his sequence of booing and calls to Harley that I let fly with all the sarcasm and contempt I could muster: "What's that? Your mating call to Harley?" My voice was so sharp you could a razor with it. Better yet, a huge burst of laughter came from across the courtyard. Unbeknownst to me, the "gang" had been watching the entire drama unfold and delighted in my putdown of Russell, who visibly shrank and spoke no more.

Computer school was a hell for me, drowning in a sea of numbers as I prostituted my mind for desires not my own. My only survival skill was to summon all my wits to disguise my glaring social failings. I surprised even myself sometimes with my repartee but in the end, lying in bed at night, I knew the futureless life that lay ahead of me.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

The Final Argument

"Look, you sorry fuck, I know what the truth is. Everyone around me knows it too and they all agree with me. It's been voted on for Christ's sake. You want to tell me everyone is wrong and you're right? You want to tell me my whole life has been a fraud when I've had a very successful career and am loved by millions? No, my friend, calling me a liar is the same as calling all who are righteous liars - and that simply cannot be.

"This is simply a political witch hunt. The problem with people like you is you serve your own personal agenda over the truth! You make stuff up to make you feel better. It's such an obvious self-deception - your'e not fooling anyone. What are you, twelve? Do you plan on living the rest of your life like this, like some overgrown brat constantly whining about not getting your own way? Yes, the truth hurts and you're just going to have to live with it: I'm right and you're wrong!

"No one needs your bullshit. I don't know how you got that idea in your head but it sure is stuck in there like a possessed monkey or something. Clearly, you have much to learn and when you grow up, hey, come back and maybe I'll let you speak. In the meantime, your actions simply aren't tolerable to me and civilized folk and I'm going to have to completely cut you out of my life. That is my decision and I have the power of many."

And then God Laughed, "While it's true that only you can know the truth of yourself, it's not true that only you can know truth itself - a seemingly subtle but fatal distinction. But I do have to admit I find your cheekiness highly entertaining! However, I don't recommend that kind of behavior where you are going. It just makes things worse."

And with that, God pulled the lever opening the trap door to darkness forever.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

I'm Optimistic! Are You?

[Ac·count·a·bil·i·ty] n. Accountability is a concept in ethics with several meanings. It is often used synonymously with such concepts as responsibility,answerability, enforcement, blameworthiness, liability and other terms associated with the expectation of account-giving. As an aspect of governance, it has been central to discussions related to problems in both the public and private (corporation) worlds.

FUCK accountability. I'm sick of hearing that word! All of the sudden I hear nobody's accountable: Presidents, residents, loaners, groaners, hippies, yuppies, bloggers, loggers - no one is being accountable! And you know what I say to that? Big fucking deal, Pilgrim!

All you preachers and reachers sticking your nose in my bidness, griping about my dishonesty because looking at my life is easier than looking at your own, I's gots news for you: I dont need no stinkin' truth, OK? I don't needs no negativity-mongers comin' 'round because I already gots all the facts I need. I'm a fucking optimist because truth is on my side. There's a very simple way to measure the truth: if you want to hear it, then it's the truth.

So with that in mind, here's my top 10 list of reasons why I'm optimistic - and therefore an all around great guy.

I'm optimistic that

...we need not serve the truth of what we're doing
...greed cures all ills
...we can survive ANY wrong we do
...destabilizing other countries won't destabilize us
...dreams are optional
...we can always push our problems onto tomorrow
...if we kill enough people we'll only have friends left
...God will come from the sky to save us
...we don't need our environment to survive will never work

This guy is optimistic too:

"I'm optimistic I'm going to
fuck you and get away with it!"

Since when did optimist and realist become opposites??

Friday, December 19, 2008

My Parallel Universe

The following is a very important public announcement:

I can't explain, only describe...

Last night in my sleep I started making my film. Spielberg was there, supporting me - reminding me of Jewish blessings - but mostly remaining wisely silent, watching me gain my sea legs, grasping what needed to be done. He let me vent my insecurities but he told me of a neat little trick to use. "You're not really making a film. It's just pretend." That took all the pressure off me and my mind opened up and I was like, "Oh, yeah, now I know what I wanted to do." I had a vision in my head of what I wanted the scene to be and that's what I would construct.

But of course, I don't have dreams, I have nightmares.

My "parents" showed up and they had fatally suffocating ideas on how the film should be. They reminded me I was in a Star Wars film as a child so I should do well as a filmmaker. I was too ashamed to tell them one had nothing to do with the other. Also, if I was in a film, I wanted to know why I wasn't paid for my part and how I sure could use that money now. Aren't all actors rich? But the truth is I was never in a movie.

But the theme of my dream was all things are out of reach.

"I'm not ready. I'm not ready." I kept telling everyone that over and over. No one would respond. My film, my beautiful film, the film to change all films to follow - was compelling me and driving me no matter what. This glorious act of love dragged me through the streets naked, dirty and crying, exposed as a perfidious loser for all to see. No one could help.

I ended up wandering around other films being shot and I watched in pained jealousy. I saw a funny South Park scene and after the enjoyment faded away, so did I. I resorted back to the despair of hanging out with those to whom I am opaque. They know not the dreams I'd destroyed so maybe I would find acceptance there. Problem was, though: they know not my dreams.

Some homeless people will ramble incessantly of their previous lives (sometimes their previous lies). What they're really talking about is the echo of shattered dreams hounding them in their head, the disconnect between where they are and where they need to be. The soul takes no prisoners. The definition of Hell is watching others live out your dreams of love and the flames burn most when you realize your unique dream can only be brought forth by you.

Wafting spring sweet smells,
Inspire desires in my cell;
Life's promises lost.

If O.J. were to confess his crimes, he'd be a free man. But no one believes my crimes because they can't see the dead bodies. Marooned on the moon, exiled by the shame of my choices, I see no sound stages here. No cameras, no fervor of life, not a whisper of hope. And no audience wants to come here anyway. You can change what is to be but you can't change what's meant to be. I'm a disaster - and you can't make a film without it being about yourself. But we all must carry on the charade, mustn't we?

Alright, Mr. Spielberg, I'm ready for my close-up.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

A Clean Pig

He was the "Numbers Guy" - a man with no organic skills but a master of manipulation - and everyone loved him, for he kept their money safe and prosperous. His beloved keyboard kingdom - now hailed around the world - shielded him from inconvenient realities. For it was the evil in the world that he made work for him. And evil, of course, is the one thing we can always count on to exist. It's the safest bet of all - and the Numbers Guy only made good bets.

That tingling, almost giggling feeling, running up his spine and exploding inside was an addiction greater than any physical drug. They slapped him on the back and hailed him as wizard. He lectured others on his formulas and his insights into artifice. It was beautiful, like having sex with the world. And like the ancient alchemists who claimed to turn lead into gold, this medieval man also lured myth into reality: he'd found usefulness for his evil. It was a high like no other.

Yet he was a Clean Pig, a noble pig. As lesser pigs wallowed in the muck, his piggery remained pristine. Charities, the arts, reformist politicians - all were beneficiaries of his enlightened ways. While his cohorts engaged in sordid dealings - sucking blood from the lives of others - the Clean Pig remained outside it all, showering blessings down from his hilltop mansion (as he too benefited from the rapacious plundering). His starched white shirts and shiny black shoes made him presentable to all. And thus the pig was not a pig.

"How do you do it? How do you beat the world?" asked his Worshipful Wife. "I'm way too stupid to be like you." He grinned in bed, marveling at the power of his magic formula: make your evil clean! Money, morality, matrimony - all the hallmarks of a good soul were his. Silently, he scoffed at the losers he read about in the paper scrambling for their lives, too naive of the world to be a pig like he. And the dirty pigs who choked on their own filth were equally stupid. Every pig needs mud - even the Clean Pig - but you can't just wallow in it! "Everyone's a moron but me."

Worldly woe brings laughter to worldly pigs. For precious pigs must never suffer the despair of the unwashed masses. For if one cannot aspire to be a pig, what is left to live for? But how much longer can the Age of Pigs last? Theirs is not a sustainable slope. As the world evolves into love, the pigs will embark on their inexorable slide into the dustbin of history. If we are to survive, then the time must come when we face the fact we cannot live as pigs or let pigs live among us. Not even clean ones.

Did I Win Or Did I Sin?

It's not uncommon to be picked up by some ad hoc truck to go do day labor and then have the employer never pay. They figure, "What can you do? Haha!" Who can you complain to? How can you exact any retribution at all? Their calculations tell them you can't. Most of the time it's too far away for you to even get back there even if you remember the way. So that, they figure, gives them a license to rape.

It's funny but I heard a couple of infamous Dallas radio rednecks discussing "the homeless" a couple of days ago. Truth is, the entire conversation was focused merely on panhandlers but their semantics viewed the two words as interchangeable. "Homeless", of course, is a term that encompasses women, children, disabled veterans and other victims of our presumptive "perfect society". But what was funny was by the time the conversation ended, the logic of their perverted minds had them describing the homeless to be "users". "They are just using us!" proclaimed one in righteous fury.

What a disconnected soul. Calling homeless people users is like a rapist claiming to be used by his victim. Conservatives truly do have dark minds. My solace comes in knowing they lace their words with their own destruction. My angst comes from the immediate suffering such vile commentary enables along with the fact their self-destruction robs us of what possible gifts they have to offer. It's a no-win situation that won't be realized as such until it's too late for everyone. Such are the beasts who surround me.

Knowing this, I am usually very careful who I work for and I put them through an internal vetting process before I put myself at their mercy. Their hard earned reputation is that of being guilty until proven innocent. Those without an established reputation I usually let my colleagues check out first before I commit myself. There are earmarks for both the good and bad kind of employers and it gets to the point where you can pretty much size up who's gonna rip you off. But the truth is, you never really can tell - and I forgot that.

I still say something doesn't add up about the guy, he seemed an established fellow. Bragging about his concealed weapon license certainly sent up a few red flags and his Christian bumper stickers were another warning sign. But I wanted some quick money and like anyone I tire of mistrusting all the time. Plus the work was in an area I was familiar with - a freaking perfect storm. Bottom line is, ol' Buzzcut Bob stiffed us and I got burned like I haven't been in a long time - which really put me in a spot.

My co-workers were mostly nonplussed by the scam and just sort of looked at it as the price of existence. A few made me smile as they exploded in foul mouthed anger but I knew once they erupted it was over for them. But I couldn't get past it. Part of me said let it go, another part kept picturing this guy ripping people off over and over with smirking impunity. This guys needs to be fucked, make him think twice about his dastardly deeds. After several days of going back and forth, I finally decided some people need to be reminded that when you play games, sooner or later you lose.

My account is still active with an online I service I used to track info on Debby. One thing it offers is a license place search and that's how I found fuckhead's address, which I saw to be within walking distance of a bus line. Yes, it would be a pain to get there and God knows what I would find when I did, but if things didn't look right, then what the hell, at least I tried and I could walk away knowing the fates had deemed it not to be. Turns out, though, the set up was near perfect.

I spent quite a while casing the neighborhood and I saw where I could approach the house and disappear from it quickly. It had been dark a couple of hours and I saw the notorious truck smugly parked in the street, scoffing at its houseless victims. I did a final check walking past the house one way and coming the back the other way to ensure it was all clear. I'd done all I could do so I decided to make my move. Purposefully, I walked up to a street side tire and slit the side with my box cutter. It was far easier than I expected it to be, so I did another. An then another - and then another after that. I wanted him to get the message that it would have been cheaper to pay us than to replace the tires.

I have to admit I was pretty damn nervous as I scampered onto my escape route and I'm sure I looked like the guilty figure I was. But I had counted on needing that anonymity and I made it back to the bus stop without the fickle finger of fate tripping me up. I had a lot of mixed emotions on the ride back - none of them good or satisfactory. It was a nasty business and engaging in that kind of behavior left me feeling raw and empty. I'd done this on the bet it was the thing I most could live with, but then I remembered my own axiom: it's not how you bet your life, it's if you bet your life that matters. Betting is not fun.

But I don't like getting fucked.

Some kid on the bus had the basketball game on his radio and I imagined Redneck Rip-off watching it also, cheering and rejoicing in the victory, enjoying the privileges of polite society and a sanctified home. And I wondered if he'd get that terrible feeling of separation that I live with when he came outside and saw his truck - when he found out he's not so much a part of society as he thought. How would he explain how his truck was singled out? Hey, bud, you didn't do anything to piss anyone off, did ya? Of course he'd answer "no", but the minute he does that he's no longer one of genteel folk but a committed predator. Yes, it's a good bet that most losers won't stand up for themselves but when they do remember one thing: we've got nothing to lose.

So did I win or did I sin? My deed left me feeling foul and dirty and if I had the good life with Debby I wouldn't stoop to such a thing - I wouldn't waste my time. But as a lost loner, the call to vengeance was too loud and I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is without that in my ears - not that I'm sleeping well now, peering over my shoulder half-expecting an angry truck to arrive. Monsters don't learn lessons, they just react. Now I have to live with a beast gunning for me even if I am the only one who knows it. I've told no one of my crusade.

Who knows, maybe I really was an instrument of God and a taste of retribution and rape served as medicine for the violator’s soul. All I really know is what I have to live with - and that's a life alone.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

A Tilting of the World

Edgar Cayce said the end of the world would come about by a tilting of the world's axis by a few degrees. It doesn't sound like a lot, but a few degree change in the angle of our rotation would pretty much wipe us out. And if I remember right, there's actual physical evidence right now that points towards this happening. One little flick from the hand of God and all that was will be no more.

Unemployment is also like that, one small change in direction and suddenly doom destroys your destiny. The world spins out of control and you ride along as its helpless, hapless passenger, wondering how one can stop the earth from spinning. You can't, of course. You just die.

As your perspective shifts, your foundations shift also. Dreams dissolve into nightmares. Cherished hopes morph into an aching echo. The very idea of reality falls into question. The freefall into darkness suffocates you with fear. Had you not been holding onto something real all along??

And so the inside reverts to the outside. You're kicked out of the club of the thriving and surviving. Physically, your presence has not changed. But the conversations don't include you anymore. Who cares for the voice that's no longer a part of the productive? The wall of communal guilt cannot be breached as the survivors silently suspect society. No one, after all, truly believes our well being depends on a system that prevents willing souls from work. Yes indeed, your body is still there - but you are not.

Drifting further into space, farther and farther away from the mother ship, the universal freeze ices your heart. Safely removed from our sight, we in the mother ship celebrate our fortune and argue over which funny movie to see next. We comfort ourselves with lies of your demise: "They can make it if they want to...Where there's a will there's a way!...I bet they don't really want to work anyway." Floating in the great void, with pounding heart, you read the lips of soundless voices through the windows and know your fate is on your own.

"What can I do?" Can I learn a sport and have it made? Will God save me by the lottery? How come no one on sitcoms is unemployed? Why is it so easy for everyone else to have a job? These suit people on the streets, they walk with a purpose. That used to be me! Funny, I never noticed us aimless wanderers before. I'll never be able to walk the streets the same way again. Is not reality true from all angles?"

Numbers in our head. I see headlines with "realities" that exist nowhere but in our heads and those numbers possess us. We stop making cars yet we still need to drive. The farmers can't farm yet we still need to eat. Dreams are not pragmatic but a living hell is? We are defiant in our defense of death. But these numbers in our heads won't save us. If we all had a mutual amnesia, we'd be back to work tomorrow.

More News of the World

Le Femme are chiding me mightily after my appearance on Oprah, which of course, is amusing me to no end. You go, girls! Let me have it! Only it ain't me you're protesting - rather it's your own sense of irresponsibility. And it's always music to my ears to hear someone finally admit that (which is why you never hear a word from Debby on anything - she's hip to this game). For those who missed it, it went something like this:

HH: I don't want to say you're anti-male on this show but I saw a woman come on here and describe men as subhuman when compared to women - probably because of all our destructive behavior. To which I can only say it sure says a lot about you when you call us evil one moment and spread your legs for us the next. But if you want to take the whole "subhuman" argument logically, then it's women who are subhuman because they have no human needs. It's men who disintegrate when alone. It's men who have needs outside themselves. It's women who don't need sex."

[Audience uproar. Me with shit eating grin]

Oprah: Oh really? That's quite a statement. So tell me why you don't think women like sex - or is it women just don't like sex with you?"

[Wild applause from audience. Me still with shit eating grin. In fact, I'm chuckling.]

HH: That's funny - you completely agree with me!

Oprah: I really don't think I'm agreeing with you at all.

HH: People never do. [To audience] Did anyone else catch it? Did you see what she said?

[Nervous murmurs from the crowd]

Oprah: I guess you'll have to enlighten us to what I said.

HH: OK. Lets have this conversation again, only this time we'll change the subject to water. "I don't think women need water."

Oprah: Well, that's completely absurd. Of course women need water, just like men do.

HH: See? See? You did it again. Nobody sees the difference do they? [I'm smirking like a total jack ass at this point]. You switched the words. When I said women don't need sex, you responded with: Why don't women like sex? When I said women don't need water, you responded: Why don't women need water? When you believe it's a need, you respond with that same word, when you believed it was just a desire, you again responded likewise.

Oprah: I see.

HH: That's the big communication gap. Maybe 5 percent of women truly understand men. And thank dear God Jesus in heaven for them! But the rest just think men really like sex because that what it is for them: a desire. Sex for men is like food. Sex for women is like dessert. You can live without one but not the other. Women confuse what they want - what they like - with what they need. And then automatically assume men are doing the same thing. And where illusions go, trouble follows.


She said it was her convenience to believe I was doing fine. Never did I trust her again.


"Thank you, sir. May I please have another sip of Kool Aid?"

I caught a little bit of Lou Dobb's CNN show. I don't know what it's called, "Crabfire" or something like that. Anyway, they had some woman on there who lost her job. She has five kids. Her husband lost his job months ago. They moved in with her mom. Her mom's house is being foreclosed upon and the sheriff has notified them of the final date for occupancy. To which I can only say: Hey lady, wait till you see the shelter! Welcome to my hell!

Again I ask: what kind of system prevents people from working who want to? Do we need less cars now than a year ago? Or less food? Or less anything (excluding Britney)?? It's all a gigantic childish farce. Every human being has an irresistible urge to serve something greater than himself. This is all part of our charade of pretending money is more important than we are. As I've said before: there's nothing more dangerous than being conviction-less. Still think serving love is optional? Then come join me and the lady with five squalling brats at the shelter! Fuckers...


Show me a conservative...and I'll show you a freak.


The Fried Piper

I could do a poem on this but I'm too tired. I saw a headline on some psycho Blackwater lunatics being charged with throwing grenades at unarmed Iraqis - nothing unusual there except the evildoers got charged. Which leads me to the great Evildoer Leader himself: our 43rd President. And while I do think it would be hilarious to no end to see some Islamic justice done to those Blackwater traitors (cut their hands off!), I couldn't help but conjure up a vision of our Fried Piper President leading these rats astray.

There's no doubting the skill and maniacal devotion of the Piper's call of deeming evil to be good. Eighty percent of the country heard this call and responded, "Hell, yeah!" Hell indeed, mein kampfs. But while some have revolted from the Piper's path, others went whole hog - and the Piper loves this! For he ensured his own well-being before embarking on his road to perdition but the poor fools who followed - haha! - he gets to watch you roast for his sins. Sort of reminds me of how the other Notorious Terrorist bragged after 9/11 that some of the perpetrators didn't even know they were on a suicide mission.

The same voices of evil and love have been with us since the beginning of time. These voices rise and fall according to the people around them.

Monday, December 08, 2008

Veni Vidi Vici, A Love Poem

Veni Vidi Vici

A Love Poem by Julius Caesar

Hail I, mighty Caesar
Hero of the world!
I silence crying babies
And weep the old man's girl!

See the hollow losers
Seeking ecstasy;
But love is for us winners
Receiving sextacy!

No war is unholy
As I lick the feet of glory;
Bare breasted mothers run
To find their true love whorey.

The eyes of jealous husbands
Watch and masturbate;
Do not fear their rape:
It's themselves they most hate!

It amazes even me,
This worshipped, golden shlong;
Love is for the taker,
Love is for the strong.

Simple-minded soldiers
Tell tales of lovely woe;
But only of conquering
Do I wish to know.

T'was once a darling lass -
She cared not for my path;
"Rulers make bad lovers" -
The world since feels my wrath!

...I cherish not
Your loving hopes.
...Pyrrhic dreams
Of daily soaps.

I love my lusty living
Soaring ever higher!
Burning fame's fortune
Keeps my soul a-fire!

Gods of divinity
Perched me where I am:
Every woman's man
And every man's woman

"Wow, Beav, that was really good!"
"Gee, thanks Wally."

Sunday, December 07, 2008

The Loser's Meal

They said it couldn't be done. Not for a man like me. Not for someone in my position. Not only that, something like this wasn't meant for a soul such as mine. And yet, it happened: I lived like they do.

My attire - both inside and outside - was impeccable. I glided into the restaurant - this place reserved only for whom fortune favored - and with one eye in the mirror I watched myself go by. The eating alone bit was difficult but I knew if I showed no qualms then no qualms would come to be. When one belongs, one merely takes one's place - it's expected. And thus, brilliantly, a homeless man arrived to expectedly take his place among the allegedly high and mighty.

It had been days in the making. Before I made my entrance I was going to need to move my mind to a better neighborhood. The zip code I joined was of the well-to-do professional. I could never fake having Old Money and besides, I saw those people as useless. My internal character was daring, scaring me to even think it. I was a hot, young writer - I had "it" - and everyone knew it. "Listen to this guy, he's got something." Most of all, I knew it too for my talent was no lie. Lord, does it feel better when you have something to bring to the table!

I didn't have to be super-famous but rather a star among my own colleagues, a man of respect. My air reeked of a bright, soaring future. My clothes were meticulously prepared and sealed in my rental storage unit. And while it's true that during these preparations a little voice was chiding me for my efforts, I merely smirked and put it down to jealously. This victory was going to be my own and not an ill-favored thing. Both the gods of earth's hell and God in heaven would taste the bitterness of my defiance. Sweet!

I have to admit, sitting at the finely laid table, despite my graceful entry and interaction with the waitress, I still held gnawing doubts as to the wisdom of ignoring the little voice. But I'm tired of hearing about all the things I don't deserve. Fuck you assholes! I deserve good things too. You sorry fucks are no better than me. I'm not fooled for a minute! You just think I can't see through you. I found out long ago, it's you who cannot see your reality - it's the one thing I can afford that you cannot.

I researched the menu online so I already knew what I wanted. My confident order was that of one who'd eaten here many times before. Mere routine. This is my world, honey. Heck, my act was so good even I started to wonder who I really am. I truly had slipped into this new skin and perhaps I found a part of me I never knew I had. "Maybe I really do have something?" If only I really was this person. If only I really did bring something to the table.

Surprised at my own easiness, my nerves dissipating completely for the moment, it got me to thinking. At first I was giggling. "How do you like me now, world? Eat it, you fuckers! I'm having everything you said I couldn't have! Like you deserve any more than I! Drop dead, bitches, turns out you don't know so much after all." I craved this. I want this meal every night and if I could get my hands on enough money, my victory would be permanent and irrevocable. Money is their hallmark of success.

But God has not lead me to money. Yet, neither has God delivered me from evil. For that, I cry out each day, to be lifted from the torments of the earth. But I have a pet theory about my conundrum. God knows I'm going to be faithful to whatever delivers me from this hell. It's a simple human condition. If money does it, I'll be faithful to money. If love does it, I'll be faithful to love. Because whatever delivers me is whatever I'll know truly works. And despite pretense to the contrary, every soul makes his choices based on two things: what it truly knows and faith. Problem is, both love and money require things I cannot provide.

My steak was served in full and glorious splendor. I had wondered if God were going to extract His revenge by fouling my food. But once again, I had victory as I savored every delicious bite - even though I still chewed on the thoughts of how I never wanted to be delivered from evil by just money and yet still could not ask to not be delivered. Yet with every passing morsel I laughed louder at my opponents seated around me. I mocked them and their exclusionary ways - ways that I defeated! Haha! "Fuck man, I'm doing this again. Money well worth gambled. It's not often I can give the finger to every god in the universe. At last, an outlet for my anger, for my living - if only a very occasional one."

I tipped generously - as every winner does - and even brazenly stopped in the bathroom on my way out. Bathrooms are a special place to the homeless, we use them as retreats and every homeless person instantly sizes up every one he enters. I tried to fight that - I was not homeless that night - but I was alone and I decided what the fuck. Look at that marble sink. The place was spotless and filled with air freshener. Just imagine if this were my own personal, private domain! I know, I know - true winners would not have gone through this thought process but I couldn't help indulging myself. I lingered a few moments before bracing myself to the return to my life of the public restrooms I normally endure.

I saw myself with a rare smile in the mirror as I washed my hands and exited. My calculations of defiance had been perfect and not one thing was to be found to quibble with on this near-magical evening. Next time, it would be magic because I had found a spot at last. And then it happened. "Dear God, Jesus!" I ducked back into the hallway leading to the bathrooms. "Dear God, don't let anyone see me now!" Shattered, sickened and destroyed, my body physically shook. And naturally some older businessman passes me by and I have to put up a failed smile for him. My facade has only seconds to remain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I should have known! You fucking idiot, moron fraud!"

Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe guilt has me imagining things. Safely after the couple was escorted to their table, I asked the hostess out of burning curiosity and fear: "That couple looks familiar to me. Do you know their name?" "Oh yes, that's Mr. and Mrs. Hanssen," - then the knife stuck in further - "They eat here quite often. Do you wish to sit with them?" I managed a "No, thank you," and took my pounding heart out the door and didn't stop walking until I found a nice, safe alley, back where I belonged; the restaurant now one more shameful stain on my resume.

The meal I pretended as routine, was routine for her. My stolen moment of victory was an everyday occurrence for her. Her life required no pretence. Who would want to pretend anyway? There is no defying the gods. Why do I keep searching for that as the answer?? Debby had done things right. I just hate admitting it. It truly, truly sticks in my craw. I looked down at my hand in the shadows and it was shaking. I wanted all the world to see me as a winner. But from somewhere up in the heavens, they could look down and see a scared, lonely man trembling in a half-lit alley, hoping to fool the world.

Post Script: Later, I realized my mistake. It was lingering in the bathroom that got me. Yes, I was alone and no one could possibly know I'd dropped my facade, but had I not spent those few extra moments, I'd have never crossed paths with the Perfect Pair and their royal procession. My illusion would have remained intact. But this is what happens when your "success" exists only in the minds of others. Once again, I sabotage my own efforts. But then again, illusion is so overrated.