Monday, June 29, 2009

He's A Scam Obama-Man

[To the tune of "Nowhere Man"]

He's a scam Obama-Man
Pretty speeches in his hand
Thinking he's a goodly man
Like Kennedy.

When he speaks hope's point of view,
That's the change that he'll eschew,
Isn't he a twit for you and me?
Obama-Man, Stop twistin',
On your hopes you're pissin',
Obama-Man, Won't you please just make a stand?

To bankers, kind as he can be,
From workers' hands to Wall Street thieves,
Obama-Man, why appease them at all?
Obama-Man, please hurry,
Of your pose, you worry,
But we want you to slap down the greedy man's hand!

Ending wars, you said you'd do,
While making plans for fighting two,
Acting just like a GWB,
Obama-Man, Stop killin',
You can leave, if you're willin',
Obama-Man, Is there a hope you'll lead our land?

He's a scam Obama-Man
Pretty speeches in his hand
Thinking he's a goodly man
Like Kennedy.

Making all his secret plans
For nobody.

Making talk is bringing hope

Pictures are from

Saturday, June 27, 2009

The Crime of the Ancient Mariner

"Oh, hell. What does this guy want?"

I am the Ancient Mariner
Of life beyond the sea;
Who stops the unemployed
To hear my homeless plea.

Painted faces, pasted smiles
Adorned by mighty will;
But helpless is the pull
When I dare to speak the ill.

- The Mariner speaks of a new land found, none like all in history.

A breaking of king's yoke
My country 'tis of thee;
We rejoiced the birth of this
Gleaming nation of the free.

Ten thousand years in finding,
Sailing through the freedom door;
The world she fell behind
As our freedoms gave us more.
The beacon's hope shining
As they flocked unto our shore.

For every man be king,
The owner of a castle!
No life more worthy be
By virtue of mere tassel.

- When the world went to war, the New Land brought the forces of Light.

But though we blazed the trail,
We Mariners of Light;
Jackboots stormed tyranny,
From east a godless fight.

Siren call of darkness sways
From what you wish to be,
Had we not the guiding light,
'Tis lost path to victory;
Yet we soared into the sky,
Sweet Bird of Liberty!

Dear listener beats his chest
Claims the mastery I tell;
But speak he his heritage
Upon finishing my spell?

- But the New Land held a dark side, threatening its light.

Driving winds of destiny
Blew both ill and good;
T'was butchering of "foreigners"
Squatting in "our" woods.

A-taking, taking, taking
We orgied as our gods;
Feasting on our soils
Like mindless arthropods.

Possessed, the maddening mind
Forsaking all tomorrows;
In heated rush to grab today
Before the coming sorrows.

Greed was here, greed was there,
Greed was all around;
It starved and stabbed, and slew the soul,
Unleashing Hell's own hound!

- The light fades when jailing the soul.

Hope flew in thoughts of joy
Of a remembered love:
Sweet Bird of Liberty,
Our one and precious dove!

"Free us from our jail of greed,
"As done in times before!"
But I called a worth not my own:
"Yet I'm a Holy Whore!"

The Mariner fears the path of ultimate liberty.

With serendipity shot
Fearful blind into the haze;
"God save us from liberty
"And the plague of changing ways!"
With light departed thusly
I was hated lo many days...

Moving with inertia's past
But no sweet bird to follow;
An emptying of our words
Lightless lives echo hollow.

Blindly bitter hand grapples
With loathing of the dark;
But minds of men be churning,
Foul deeds rising to the hark.

- Fidelity to the Light was not as widespread as believed.

Fiend thanks the loss of light
And plunders none will see;
'Tis no longer precious 'free',
"Give precious gold to me!"

The bitchest who gold piled
Slapped me on the back;
"The light must have blinded us,
"We see the wisdom of your act!"

Dear listener beats his chest
Denies unasked, sins I tell;
But speak he his heritage
Upon finishing my spell?

- The dark is declared a "necessary evil", and consumes the land.

Then freedom flounced upon the waves
Justice wheels rustly stop;
Crime the new profession,
Even grifting priest and cop!

But time removes all veils,
Forever nought unknown;
Comes when every cherry's picked
And our hungry mouths made known.

Tending golden mountains
Left forests seared with heat;
Gold flowing in our fountains
But not a bite to eat!

"How can dying babies wail
"When we surely be divine!"
When blaming eyes went seeking
They saw greed in only mine.

Ill favoured Bird of Liberty
Wrapped 'round my neck to choke;
A fitting fate for me, who thinks
"Life is but a joke."

- The Mariner is made to pay for their sins, but it doesn't stop the slide.

T'was a time of castle voids,
Kings sleeping in TARP tent;
A siphoning from the many
To a lucky one percent.

Fat and burly overlords -
Many lives costs his suit;
Clamp the ones once free
To slave in oily soot.

With leaving of the light,
Dark makes safe heartless ice;
To find a way to living
To each his own device;
Fates seized to hapless doom
By rolling sightless dice.

Overlords' scheming serpent
Slithers as favored pet;
Words steal stars from the night,
Not a single lie is vet.

Dear listener beats his chest,
Claims his trueness makes it swell;
But speak he his heritage
Upon finishing my spell?

- The Mariner is the living dead, prays mightily for a bullet through his head. But if he's alive there must still be life yet to be.

In mocking torment my eyelids shut
Willing a world unwounded ere open;
Crumpled low as hell's damned orphan
This woeful wizard sinks in solo mopin';
No more carefree laughter, silence rules the day,
For deeds done be undone I was hopeless hopin'.

In my mind's eye, skies light anew,
In my dreamer's heart, harmony unspoken;
The flower's tears fill desert cracks,
Sweet Bird of Liberty, soars with wings unbroken!

But are these not but dreams of fancy?
Of the free bird, I am slayer;
Tease me not this reachless romance
Heaven's not the realist's prayer.

Yet what lays beyond Heaven's gate?
But masturbating hate;
Must I stay one my enemies date?
The living heart shares true love's fate.

- The Mariner weds his dreams of life, love is his only friend.

I dreamed alone but dream I did,
'Tis an opposite world it seems!
And yes I see it drowns us all
In the wreck of despairing schemes;
But mine's no choosing choice,
A slayer's chance rests in his dreams.

In this fallen hour, with heavy neck bent,
Heavenly Voices truly spoke to me:
"Matters not if saintly soul or if Judas meant,
"One thing I can tell you is you've got to be free."

Wondrous and magical, the free bird taking flight!
Releasing my breath from man's lawless yoke;
Shiny wings disappear as specks into the sun,
Betrothed stand I to words the Voices spoke.

- As if having seen another planet, the Mariner must speak of the beauty he now knows.

Forever bound am I by the telling of this tale,
Rebirthed soul, impossibly slayed;
Witnessing to ears deaf of stone
And eyes of obsidian jade;
Raging rage from unlocked cells
(For no Nature's law keeps them stayed!)
The finality asking of ev'ry life:
Where's the love that ye has made?

Incarnate bodies born of earth,
Who's not spared to bleed?
Eternal soul's reality:
From bodies doubtless freed;
Will refusing eyes upon the sun
Stop sky's galloping steed?
Salvation's blessing remains the same:
Love is all we need.

"He prayeth best, who loveth best
"All things both great and small;
"For the dear God who loveth us,
"He made and loveth all."

Dear listener beats his chest,
"The world felled when I fell!"
Speaking he his heritage
When lives a living hell.


People keep on learnin'
Soldiers keep on warrin'
World keep on turnin'
Cause it won't be too long!

Powers keep on lyin'
While your people keep on dyin'
World keep on turnin'
Cause it won't be too long!

I'm so darn glad He let me try it again
Cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin
I'm so glad that I know more than I knew then
Gonna keep on tryin'
Till I reach the highest ground

Teachers keep on teachin'
Preachers keep on preachin'
World keep on turnin'
Cause it won't be too long
Oh no!

Lovers keep on lovin'
Believers keep on believin'
Sleepers just stop sleepin'
Cause it won't be too long
Oh no!

I'm so glad that He let me try it again
Cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin
I'm so glad that I know more than I knew then
Gonna keep on tryin'
Till I reach my highest ground...whew!
Till I reach my highest ground
No one's gonna bring me down
Oh no
Till I reach my highest ground
Dont you let nobody bring you down (theyll sho nuff try)
God is gonna show you higher ground
He's the only friend you have around

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Machiavelli Was A Loser

No way I trust that face

I don't know much about Machiavelli but I do know about being Machiavellian, a term which I always associated with someone who is a manipulator. And a manipulator is a loser. Manipulation is the coward's domain, it's a substitute for honest communication. Problem is, there is no substitute for honest communication. Manipulation leaves you in the dark in the end.

A large part of my manipulative behavior is borderline unconscious and definitely highly ingrained as a way of life - a sad way of life. I'll pretend to not know the feelings I'm engendering in you - and you will swear there's no way I can know, that I'm a completely oblivious soul. From the corner of my eye, I observe you and your reaction. I can't imagine anyone liking me, but you - you who claim the right to the world - you should be able to give me honest feedback, no?

But what I usually see is you over there squirming, agonizing on how you're going to "spare" me, or you might come up with something really inventive as an out - like arranging an "urgent" phone call five minutes into a blind date. (Yes, I've been beeped on before, "Gotta go!") So I'm always interested in the tact you might take with me. Will you get all red-faced and angry, telling me off and setting me straight? Or will you sit in repressed silence, writing me off as a lost cause?

Debby burned me as a manipulator when I blatantly tested her just to see how she'd react. She'd shrug her shoulders and say, "It's your life", leaving me standing there feeling like an idiot. I was, of course. Whether she did that out of guilelessness or from seeing right through me I'll never know. It may have been a combination of both. In those types of clumsy attempts, I think she saw that as my way of trying to communicate. She understood my overwhelming fear of her.

Manipulators are like spies

But I also got her to get in my face, flummoxed by my appeal to "meet her in the park" after work. Did I really want to do that? Well, yes and no. Certainly, there was nothing on God's green earth I wanted more than to spend time with Debby. It was truly Heaven on earth. But had it happened it would have felt impossibly awkward and I probably would have sabotaged the entire situation. The point I really wanted to get out was that there was this great divide between me and her, that no matter our feelings, we could never be anything - at all. Ever.

She blew up later, informing me "we are not friends" (a fucking understatement!), but I think she was surprised by my non-reaction. I had manipulated her into saying that, I was expecting her to say that and I wanted to see if she would say anything. I was only semi-conscious of my doing this, as I was awash in emotion and out of control whenever I got near her. To me, Debby was a force of nature I could never conquer. (To be clear, feelings did exist between us and she admitted that)

I am still that same person today. You may think I might die if you tell me straight out how you feel. I won't. And whether I'm on the up and up or not, I take honesty as a sign of the ultimate respect. But know that, yes, I want to know if you're being level with me, as I look at you from the corner of my eye, knowing what you want to say and waiting and wondering how much you will say. It's the coward's way out, I know.

(Here's how to frustrate manipulators: always take them at face value)

In the end, always alone


Sunday, June 21, 2009

Me & Thee

I've been crying the past two days now. I had to leave Open Salon. I knew I had to either grow or leave and of course there's no way for me to grow. I'm suddenly going to become a normal person after all these years? No, I had to fake it as I always do and the guilt of it wore on me as I had grown somewhat close to one person in particular. Then I remembered my freak life and the wrongness of it and the ridiculousness of me masturbating with one hand and lambasting the world's idiocy with the other.

Immediately upon leaving, the pains returned to my stomach. Somehow I had fooled myself into thinking I was one of "them" because I had fooled them into thinking I was one of them or they assumed that on their own. These people with wives and lives...just so far away from me. Who can even comprehend such a thing?

Imagine if no one had any idea what OJ did and people suddenly saw him start to withdraw - he wouldn't be the "same person" anymore - and no one would know why. Nor could he tell them. No one knows the full extant of the nightmare of my life. It far exceeds what anyone suspects. But the truth will out and already some saw me as the fraud I am at OS, so I decided to light out of there before they got the posse on me.

Or rather, apathy took over.

I feel horrible about doing it. Maybe I made the wrong choice...again. But I am a criminal and I guess in the end, there are no right choices for that. My words are empty and my gestures hollow. I'm merely shadow dancing, pretending to live. What's the endgame to this?

Saturday, June 20, 2009

The Bridge Builder

"The world" he mused, "has been given over to evil."

A lonely figure sitting crumpled on the mountain's edge. Was he contemplating jumping off? To splash into the cold waters never to be seen again? What did he see through his faraway eyes? Or had he simply stopped seeing anything at all?

His was a body without dreams. The sleet, the snow, the sun poured down upon him and yet move he not. Why move when there's nothing to do? Why be when there's nothing to be? He'd done well, he'd been somebody and all it had gotten him The stars of the night his only friends, the moon his mute companion. The bridge builder had a new profession now:

"I've come watch the paintings of God in the sky."

But the world cried out to him yet. Desperate souls see only their desperation and anxious pleas besieged his ears.

"Come, Bridge Builder! The Old Woman needs to pass the gorge to get her medicine. Her pain knows no end!"

"Then pain becomes her," explained the one who built no more.

The reply never changed. As each tale of woe was laid before him, the bridge builder sat unmoved. When one constructs one's fate, what is left to do but live it? His beseechers sought to escape the fate they created. They wished to drink from the cup of death and find no remorse in it. But there must be remorse for such a thing or life has no meaning.

For twenty years, they had pushed the bridge builder until finally the Tipping Point had been reached. Maybe that had been the goal all along. For each bridge he created, wars of souls came to consume it, leaving rubble for art. "Our expressions cannot be denied!" claimed the destroyers. "The world must serve war or none can be safe." And thus the world was made safe for war, but not for bridges.

The bridge builder stretched out his hands in exasperation. "Which do you wish to serve? War or bridges?" Each time the answer was the same: bridges. So build them he did. With art he would overcome war, making each one more beautiful than the last, more refined, more boldly reaching out for life - and more beloved. But for the war machine, the greater the beauty, the greater the glee in its destruction. To see the sad faces of the townspeople cut off from hope gave heart to the warriors, fools who'd already cut hope from their living minds.

Lobotomized soldier marches angrily in comforting lockstep, knowing his comrades share the same tears. In burning cities and rubbled bridges manifest the nightmares of these doomed souls. In their looking-glass world, ruin meant life and life meant ruin. "Our food is fear and blood our water. Leave no bridge standing and let all things serve war." But the bridge builder knew only his art. "I was put here to build bridges, so build them I will. How do these destroyers expect to live??"

His bridges lived and breathed, born as children of his imagination. But how can one give birth only to hand the baby over to the executioner? Despair's poison pen pierced his heart, laughing at the futility of his efforts. The bridge builder looked to the sky, "What matter Heaven when it's hell on earth?" Each subsequent death of his children chipped his heart till none was left. So he settled on the edge of mountain cliff to stare at "God's paintings in the skies", the one thing the foul fingers of man could not stain.

The forces of Yin and Yang balanced in contention in the crumpled figure overlooking nature's beauty. The desire to build equated the desire to avoid pain. His hands were stilled, handcuffing the power of life within them. But it's true, where there's life there's hope. A young girl knowing nothing of the bridge builder's life or the ways of the world finally brought a question of healing: "Hey, mister, are you OK? Can I do anything?"

"No, I'm not OK. And no one can change the world. There's no point to love destroyed."

"Can I love you anyway?" she hoped.

Yin and Yang snapped and the wheels of life turned once more. For seven days and seven nights the bridge builder cried streaming tears as dreams of life breathed into him. The bridges were not his to despair, he had not authored their design, he'd simply been reading blueprints from God. Let the bridge's Author deal with its destroyers. Be happy to be the Author's instrument of creation, to be the pen in God's hand. Who would not love such a thing?

"Yes," was the answer. "Yes you may love me. And I have more ideas than ever before. I'll make bridge builders of you all! Just wait till you see what it's like!"

News of the bridge builder's stirring rushed through the countryside like water bursting from a dam. Not only would new bridges be built, but a nation of bridge builders they would be! To new heights of living they'd soar, an everlasting change. But while the villagers rejoiced, it did not excuse their bad hearts and the evil men they put in charge of their villages. The village elders knew no end to their wailing dismay at the news they would no longer control the bridges and sent word to the mindless men of war.

A lone assassin was sent to do the job, giving the villagers an easy fish to fry, so all may point and say, "See? The blood is on his hands alone." The light of the bridge builder was extinguished, leaving the world a safe place for those who do deeds in the dark - until time comes when the darkness consumes them and they are no more.

CODA: Decades later, the land lay in ruins and the despair of no bridges warped into an acceptable insanity. A little girl asked, "Where have all the bridge builders gone?" A guilty silence answered her, except for the first little girl who was now a woman. "The answer to that is in our hearts."


This is for all the bridge builders we killed:


Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Texas Tea, Black Gold and The End Of The Rainbow

Legend materializes into reality

Anyone who thinks you can't reach the pot of gold at end of the rainbow has never had his own gusher come in, spewing money and power into your pocket in unbelievable magnitude. Money may be the craven image of wood we worship, but oil is the power behind the throne. The orgasmic joy of an oil strike is unique in all the world. And unlike other religions, there is none who question oil worship. Oil is a god, and by authoring its finding, you too become a god.

A great book has recently been published on this subject, detailing the four great oil fortunes of Texas and the ramifications of uber wealth. Written by Brian Burrough, who - if you remember the merger-mania of the 80's - also wrote "Barbarians At The Gate" regarding the RJR/Nabisco takeover battle, the biggest ever at the time. He's back now with "The Big Rich", detailing the rise and fall Texas' greatest fortunes. It's fascinating reading and one can't have a true understanding of the political mindset of today without realizing the role oil has played in this country.

To quote the jacket:

Known in their day as the Big Four, Roy Cullen, H.L. Hunt, Clint Murchison, and Sid Richardson were all from modest backgrounds, and all became patriarchs of the richest and most influential oil families in Texas - the states' equivalent of royalty. Along with their peers, they shifted wealth and power in America both south and west, largely bankrolling the rise of modern conservatism, and sending three of their states [worthless] native sons to the White House. As a class they became known as the Big Rich, and together they created a new legend in America - the swaggering Texas oil tycoon who owns private islands, sprawling ranches, and perhaps a football team or two, and mingles with presidents and Hollywood stars.

Just not the same on a Honda

I grew up in an oil town, a place where a chosen few of my peers had careers mapped out for them consisting of merely endorsing royalty checks for life. It was a place where sprawling ranches still represented sprawling power and tales of extravagance and debauchery continue to this day (just ask about my two very hot classmates who fucked the oil tycoon like crazy in exchange for high dollar gifts - until his wife found out and she took control of his company). Oil money, you see, is the ultimate Free Ride and it intoxicates you here in Texas with a culture that's easy to deride, but once you have known the smell of unlimited power in your nostrils, you'll find that irresistible call within you as well. Oil is the Holy Grail of the secular world.

Oil is also the lifeblood of the world, pervading more products than you could ever guess and providing an energy flow that keeps our standard of living propped up. Oil worship runs far deeper than most suspect. This from "Life After the Oil Crash"

"Are all forms of modern technology actually petroleum products?"


It's not just transportation and agriculture that are entirely dependent on abundant, cheap oil.
Modern medicine, water distribution, and national defense are each entirely powered by oil and petroleum derived chemicals.

In addition to transportation, food, water, and modern medicine, mass quantities of oil are required for all plastics, all computers and all high-tech devices. Some specific examples may help illustrate the degree to which our technological base is dependent on fossil fuels.

It's like being reborn into a new religion

They go on to cite a few examples but really they just scratch the surface. Our dependency on oil has seeped in silently into so many aspects of our everyday life that only when catastrophe strikes will we realize its full extant. But oil worship is just too darn fun! My high school years were during an oil boom. Rust Belt refugees flocked to the Panhandle to earn massive paychecks as roughnecks, rents went sky high and businesses were going like gangbusters. With all the free money flowing around, the urge to join in and get your share drove some to the limits of frustration. Thus was born "white oil".

While Oil is the nickname given to the condensate that forms in the pipes when pumping natural gas wells. The rules for spacing on gas wells is one every 64 acres. Oil well minimum spacing is much closer because the pockets are not near as large, something like every 4 acres. So what do you do if your neighbor finds natural gas and you want in on it but can't due to the spacing requirements? You drill anyway! Only you collect the condensate from the pipes and call it "oil" - thus you have an oil well, allowing you to drill right next to your neighbor's gas well. Eventually a ruling came down that disallowed such practices and the money had to be (begrudgingly) returned. A few years later, this was a common bumper sticker in my home town:

It's a visceral experience as the sun sets after a long, grueling day on an oil rig. To an outsider, your oily hands and sooty clothing are signs of a loathsome living, but to you and to those who know, you wear the uniform of birthing, bearing the labor pains that lets energy rush into our world. Each person seeks to be part of a greater cause and when standing at the entry port of the oil flow - running from well to refinery to plastics to the gasoline in the car you drive home - you feel deep in the heart of a living, breathing organism whose tentacles stretch into the four corners of the world. You leave the day dog tired but with a current of excitement knowing the running of the world depends on the labors of those like you.

At the other end of spectrum, we find that yes, success does spoil Rock Hunter. The same driving lust that brought bonanzas to the Big Rich afterwards ate them up. For while the oil god can bring a lifestyle unimaginable, it does not bring life itself. The Big Rich were the originators of the politics of hate - but of course that only reflected their own self-hatred. As they fruitlessly tried to fill the voids the oil god could not fill with toys and temptations, the more they rotted and frittered away their fortunes. Life is hell when you try to make your own self be the greater good.

This dream will die

For many, to kill the idea of a free ride in life is to kill the hope in life. The reality is just the opposite, the exhilaration of true meaning cannot be matched. But if this is unknown in one's life, one does not believe in it (not without true faith anyway). But our oil worship is setting us and children up for a fall. More from "Life After the Oil Crash":

Civilization as we know it is coming to an end soon. This is not the wacky proclamation of a doomsday cult, apocalypse bible prophecy sect, or conspiracy theory society. Rather, it is the scientific conclusion of the best paid, most widely-respected geologists, physicists, bankers, and investors in the world. These are rational, professional, conservative individuals who are absolutely terrified by a phenomenon known as global "Peak Oil."

The glib lie we tell ourselves is "We'll think of something. We're too smart to let something like that happen." Those who say this ascribe to themselves a false sense of faith in mankind and optimism that is not grounded in reality. We got a small taste of $4 a gallon gas and the pain was unbearable, but it's only a matter of time before the price is double that. That's the seduction of a false god: it lures you in with a free ride at the beginning, but now in the end stages the pain grows deeper and deeper depending on how long you wait to end the insanity.

Maybe we think we're proving something living this, shortsighted and destructive. "If I can live well like this I can live well forever." Well, it's true we're proving something - we're proving what our values are.


Look, it's an ink well!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Do You REALLY Want To Write Your Congressman?

I know this is anecdotal and could be rife with embellishment to make it juicier but to be frank, that's something I try to never do. If the facts can't speak for themselves then there's no story. But the facts in this story are all dependent on me and the person who told it to me. So you can scoff and rant hysterically all you want - and I will consider that a reflection on you, not moi.

That's the funny thing about those with closed eyes, they never know when they're in front of a mirror describing themselves.

Sure we can - and pollute it too!

I had to see Doctor K today, who I've been going to for years. I don't trust conservatives in any profession - why trust an admitted liar? So I try to surround me best I can with those who seek the truth with a liberal and open mind. If ya ain't got that, ya ain't got nothin'. So I was rather surprised on my previous visit when Dr. K told me of her planned attendance at one of the infamous "tea parties" here in Dallas. And grandstanding at said party would be [the anti-Christ 6th District Representative of Texas]. (She's recently married and I think it was more hubby's idea)

Doctor K has long railed against the notorious cement kilns of Midlothian, south of Dallas. They are the single greatest outside source of pollution in the DFW area and we've been threatened with draconian measures from the EPA for our non-compliance on air quality. But the solutions presented for this are aimed around cars and trucks - never the cement kilns. One proposal is to eliminate all DFW drive-throughs - no more banking or egg mcmuffins on the go. As always, the little guy takes it in the shorts.

Making the world a better place, one cancer at a time

The driving reason for the cement kilns' immunity is their guardian angel: [the anti-Christ 6th District Representative of Texas]. He has guarded like a pit bull the kiln's right to pollute, with mindless and vicious attacks on any who seek to restrict their profits. Check out this recent gem of a headline:

[anti-Christ]: We Shouldn’t Regulate CO2 Because 'It’s In Your Coca-Cola' And 'You Can’t Regulate God'

That's the thing about conservatives, they always refer to themselves as God. Wonder how God feels about that? So despite the environmental damage the kilns cause or the hardships they create, he has long defended them.

This is the first time I've seen Dr. K since the tea party and I just had to ask her if she knew about [the anti-Christ 6th District Representative of Texas] who had headed it up and she said yes. She referred me back to a few years ago when Erin Brockovich came to hold a town meeting in Midlothian after she received letters from residents describing the harm being done by the plants. That's when Dr. K found out about the anti-Christ who was defending the kilns and it turned out she had a patient who was a good friend of his.

Anti-Christs don't show up well on film

So she asked him to confront the anti-Christ and find out what the deal was with his indefensible defense when the evidence was so clear that something needed to be done. When he came back, the answer was chilling. Off the record, the anti-Christ frankly admitted it's all about the money, "there's too much money involved" said Dr. K quoting her patient. The anti-Christ confessed to know there was an environmental problem but that the cement kilns are the ones who "support him in Washington." And apparently that's where his interests ended.

That's what Republicants mean when they say they value "loyalty". It doesn't mean loyalty to democracy or to constituents or to doing what's right, rather it means staying loyal to being bought off. Good show, that! So you can get all up in arms and scream the truth from the rooftops thinking your enlightening your local congressman, but gaming the truth is their game. America is a country where the motto is: "I got mine - and to hell with everything else." So I guess you can say our leaders truly represent us after all.


Sunday, June 14, 2009

Who Needs Food And Water When You're Rich?

my⋅op⋅ic  [mahy-op-ik]
2. unable or unwilling to act prudently; shortsighted.
3. lacking tolerance or understanding; narrow-minded.

Myopia is the most prevalent disease known to Man. This sick state has become so pervasive that it is now accepted as "normal", the rationale for proclaiming it that is I assume "how can that many people be wrong?" My definition of myopia is one simple word: insanity.

I have nothing against the talking of philosophy or speculating on that which cannot be known. In fact, I find such conversation to be revelatory of the speakers involved. But due to the number of myopic souls in existence, philosophy has become an abused term. These souls - consciously or not - engage in the practice of pretending reality itself is an unknown. This crime is known as Willful Ignorance - the leading cause of myopia.

So to the myopic ones, to say the earth is round is a philosophical statement. Since a man with eyes closed cannot see this for himself, the reality of a round world becomes to him merely a point-of-view. And that's how we end up with these insane "Is the world round?" debates like "Was invading Iraq wrong?" and "Do we really need our environment?"

The second question leads me to my current topic. Texas likes to be #1 in all things and we certainly lead the way in disdain for the environment and in creating as much God fearing pollution as possible. In fact, if Texas were it's own country, it would have ranked seventh in the world in 2003 in the amount of carbon dioxide emissions (670 million metric tons, yeehaw!). Fucking up the environment is part of our religion here - our oil god demands it. You could even say we get off on it.

But as is the case with all perversions, what one achieves is the opposite of one's stated goal. In order to make Texas the best possible place to live, we are making it unlivable. We's jess smart like that, pardner. This really came home to me a few weeks ago on a Saturday morning when I felt my first ever earthquake. It was only for a couple of seconds but there was no mistaking it. It was actually kind of fun! But then I saw this article:

CLEBURNE, Texas – The earth moved here on June 2. It was the first recorded earthquake in this Texas town's 140-year history — but not the last.

There have been four small earthquakes since, none with a magnitude greater than 2.8. The most recent ones came Tuesday night, just as the City Council was meeting in an emergency session to discuss what to do about the ground moving.

The council's solution was to hire a geology consultant to try to answer the question on everyone's mind: Is natural gas drilling — which began in earnest here in 2001 and has brought great prosperity to Cleburne and other towns across North Texas — causing the quakes?

At issue is a drilling practice called "fracking," in which water is injected into the ground at high pressure to fracture the layers of shale and release natural gas trapped in the rock.

There is no consensus among scientists about whether the practice is contributing to the quakes. But such seismic activity was once rare in Texas and seems to be increasing lately, lending support to the theory that drilling is having a destabilizing effect.

On May 16, three small quakes shook Bedford, a suburb of Dallas and Fort Worth. Two small earthquakes hit nearby Grand Prairie and Irving on Oct. 31, and again on Nov. 1.

The article then goes on to detail all the money that's been made off the Barnett Shale natural gas formation - just in case anyone gets too upset about the destructive byproducts of reckless drilling. I won't go into all the details of the battles between environmentalists and drillers but it's enough to say this is Texas and you can guess who's winning. But Texas' true myopia concerns the most precious commodity to all living things: water.

The amount of water needed for a typical "frack" well is about 3,000,000 gallons which has resulted in billions of gallons of wastewater. In overall drainage from the Trinity Aquifer, it represents less that 2%, but as a UT geologist reports that is "an average, though. In some areas, gas drilling might represent 10 or 20 percent of the local usage." He goes on to state:

About 80 new wells are drilled in the area each month. As the rush to capture more gas from the Barnett play intensifies, the amount of water used for frac jobs will likely rise. At some point, it could compete with water for drinking and farming. Neighbors with shallow water wells might see their supplies drop.

But it's not just water that's used for fracking but also the dangerous chemicals mixed in. And what would happen if that toxic slush made it's way into the Trinity Aquifer, the lifeblood of the entire DFW area? One rancher found out the hard way:

Until now, the gas companies have pooh-poohed the fear, claiming their wells are dug at much deeper levels than the Trinity-Woodbine aquifer, which provides commercial, industrial, and livestock water for much of the Metroplex. But the nightmare has become a reality for Beadle and his neighbors: They have no water.

When gas companies insist that their drilling activities don’t affect water wells, it seems a reasonable enough assertion – water wells are usually drilled to depths from 125 to 300 feet, while gas in the Barnett Shale is usually found at 8,000 feet or deeper.

So how did the rancher's water get fouled and kill his livestock? Preliminary indications are a blowout in the gas pipeline near the surface leaked the toxins. Also, hydrocarbons which are "absolutely never [found] in an aquifer", showed up in water samples. Something wrong is going on down there and like Katrina, no one is going to care until it's too late.

Of course, myopia is only our official policy here in Texas. Behind the scenes we know we are taxing our reserves and our plan is to take Oklahoma's water. No, I'm not kidding. Only the Okies see no reason to oblige our stupidity, having recently placed a moratorium on out-of-state water sales. But what them there Okies don't understand is that it's Texas' right to take their water (and defeat OU) and we filed us a lawsuit saying so (not the OU part - yet). We are accusing them of, ahem, hoarding their water - like they have any use for it! And they in turn accuse us of wasting our resources with no serious though to water conservation. Well, duh!

"There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke."

It staggers me beyond belief the amount of casual denial we've come to accept. Here we are walking down the street fretting over having the latest I-Phone and crossing our fingers for a magical mystery cure to sweep away thoughts of any real solutions. But reality bites.

Do you really think we can invade a country to steal its resources and not suffer the same fate ourselves? We will be economically blackmailed by the very oil we sought to save us. What of our war machine then? The region of the world that hates us the most controls us the most, think of that. Same logic applies to our environment.

Our endgame is not life, but death. You can't eat money. You can't drink money. Our fate on this path is obvious for anyone who cares to see. But, hey, that's just my philosophy

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

"MORON" On My Forehead, The Exciting Conclusion

Refurbished JetBlue terminal from the 60's was awesome!

The longer I walk around with "MORON" on my forehead, the more convinced I am the world is insane. You really don't see a problem with this? Reactions range from Oh-you've-got-something-stuck-in-your-teeth to Oh-I-see-this-every-day. I mean, really? Just how fucked up is this planet. Is everyone a freak too? Dear Lord!

Such were my reflections sitting in my comfy JetBlue seat, watching a Nash Bridges episode on mute. No one on the airplane or at the airport really cared what I looked like just so long as I didn't make much noise - unlike the traveling girls choir six rows ahead of me. After passing through the stunning terminal, I shyly hailed a cab and someone actually stopped for me. The cabbie asked me if I planned on having the letters tattooed on my forehead and that set the tone for the city. I told him that was my plan only if I planned on driving a cab for a living.

OK, so I blew my cover right off. I promised myself to stay in my role as a moron later. How is everyone going to know I'm a moron if I don't act like one! The truth will out!

I had reserved a penthouse at the Shoreham, a small boutique hotel on 55th, not too far from Jimmy Choo's. In New York, the only thing they see is green so my forehead was a bribable eccentricity. I remembered reading how New Yorkers' coolness was better than any five bodyguards John Lennon could have hired. I understood that remark now. You're on your own here, pal.

View west on 55th from my penthouse

The plan was to head to Jimmy's right away but I was famished from the flight so I stopped at Nello's on Madison Avenue for a bite. A young Italian girl was my waitress and I'm not sure she'd been doing it for very long - probably why she got stuck with me. I had the special of the day: Ravioli stuffed with crab meat and covered in lobster sauce. The meal was delicious but unfortunately I couldn't help myself from thinking how many 7-11 corndogs I could buy for that 50 bucks. I tipped the girl another 50 bucks in true New York extravagance along with duly impressing her with my knowledge of the exact number of aluminum cans to takes to cash out 50 dollars.

As I exited back to the street I heard her say, "What a moron!". That's when I knew my plan would work.

I was upon Jimmy Choo's before I knew it and suddenly I questioned the wisdom of my plan - I hated the whole idea of it. My nerves told me something big was about to happen. Fuck it...I have to do this. The world must know I'm a moron!

The store was very small and yet it had it's very own doorman. His eyes immediately zeroed in on my forehead, the first real acknowledgement of it since the cab driver. But this was a look I hadn't seen before. His mouth was silent but his eyes were screaming - almost a look of discovery. Eh, whatever, don't have the time.

Then I saw the cause for my nerves outside the door: I was prey for a mini-skirted cougar. My instincts pounded as she purred her way over to me. My sweaty palms knew as I saw her lips part she wasn't going to ask me my thoughts on a geopolitical solution to the Middle East crisis.

Oh yeah, I'll take a pair of those!
Shoes are nice too.

"My, my - aren't you something?" she asked more to herself than to me, circling around.

"Yes?" I hoped was the correct answer.

"Boy, could I do something with you. How about I make you my live-in maid? You can serve me and friends in between fucking your brains out. I got twin 17 year old daughters that will tear you up and put your bitch ass to work too. After a couple of years I'll get tired of you and throw you out on the street high and dry. How does that sound?" I quivered helplessly as she ran her finger from the bottom of my neck to under my chin.

"Can't do live-in! I've got my cat to take care of."

"My pussy needs taking care of too." She moved her hand down to my crotch and felt a different answer than what I replied. Cougar lady had a total understanding me, she knew my prison. I stood revealed at last. But I also knew what I could and couldn't live with. Family first.

Stiffly, I turned to exit the shop and thought of nothing but clearing my forehead once and for all. The doorman opened the door for me only now he had this shit-eating grin on his face. What's up with this dude? Oh wait, I knew that grin - it was that of a Cheshire Cat.

Actual store. Say hello to the doorman for me.

I was still flustered as I got on the elevator to the Shoreham's penthouse and this hot chick gets on there with me. She's dressed to kill and her eyes twinkled mischievously, yet somehow her gum chewing distracted from all that. I'm thinking: Do I really want to analyze this? I was in no mood for shit.

Her eyes go up and down, checking me out, then: "What happened? Lose a bet?"

"No. I don't mind riding in the elevator with you."

"Oh, smart guy, huh?" She was expecting easy prey and failed to appreciate my non-easiness.

"Uh, no - moron." And I pointed to my forehead.

Time to put me in my place. "You are a moron! What kind of weirdo puts 'Moron' on his forehead? You need help, dude."

"Who said I put it on there?"

That made her snort. "Well, whoever did it knew what they were talking about. Who was it anyway, your girlfriend?"

"No, it was some chick on an elevator." And I smiled a moron smile.

"Look, dude, don't talk to me anymore, OK?"

I was saved by the elevator bell as the doors opened and she departed. I decided on one last attempt at friendliness. "Hey, how 'bout a hand job later?"

She strutted away voicelessly, never looking back, but replied with the universally understood solitary finger. Life was back to normal.

After a rest, I headed to the Shoreham lobby for a final meal before my return flight. I sat at my table relatively anonymously, blithely watching other anonymous passersby. I wondered if I was the most ridiculous man in New York City at that moment. It sure felt that way. Disturbing images from Midnight Cowboy trailered through my mind. Am I just another Texas hick walking the streets of a world he does not understand?

He's got 'Moron' written on him too

Time spent on this odyssey has been a kaleidoscope of insanity. Maybe I thought my own insanity would protect me from the world's. Fuck, I don't know what I was thinking...Wonder where that poor bastard behind the counter lives? Can he afford Manhattan on his salary? Wonder where all the workers live. Do they commute in from the Bronx just to serve the other half? Same shit wherever you go...And that doorman from Jimmy Choo's, that still gets to me. Was it simply that he was just a huge cat lover? Or had he really understood me? Perhaps that was Morty. What a pleasant thought to think Morty was still alive! - beckoning me back to the Land Of Sir Real. The reality of that dream excites my soul once more...

Jesus! The mysterious thoughts that go through your head when eating alone in a strange city. I forced myself to snap out of it knowing I would scrub my forehead before the return flight. Frankly, I had forgotten about it with the urban nonchalance of the Manhattan mid-towners. Red flags shot up though, as two males gathered noisily at the table behind me. How could the mere act of sitting grate on my nerves?

At this point, I had to believe my mind was a mushroom, putting the world in a dream state. The two who settled in spoke with no shame at the loudness of their voices or the content of their words.

"Looks at this! I can't wait to cut mine off!"

"Me either! The sooner it's gone the better!"

No, Harry, don't do it. Don't be some teenage boy making the oh-so-obvious response. Heck, they could be talking about anything. Maybe they wanted to cut off their alimony payments. You don't always to give in to the impulse of derision. But deep down inside, I really wanted to.

The pair kept talking and damned if it didn't really sound like they wanted to cut off their male members! I knew the reality had to be I was projecting my own immaturity, but finally my curiousity got the best me.

Oh, dear Lord! I whipped my spying eyes back around. That was a "Transgendering For Dummies" book! I'm sitting next to two guys who want to cut their dicks off! No wonder I don't get any reaction with my lame-o magic marker forehead.

And another thing. Those guys looked oddly familiar. I have to sneak another peek.

No! Can't be! It's Zerry and Zhomas! 500 hotels in this city and they gotta pick this one? Get me outta here!

But I didn't get two feet before I was busted. The boys pounced out of their chairs, grinning with self-satisfaction and pointing at me in mock superiority. "Neener-neener! Neener-neener! We're better than you are! We're better than you are!" Then I swear to God they started channeling 1980's Valley Girls. "Like ohmygod! I'm like so totally going to put that on the cover. Barf me out, that is so loserville. We're going to like totally make fun of your grody ass. It's our favorite thing!"


It was a week later as I strolled the lonely, nighttime streets of Dallas...

"Who am I?"

As a small child, to walk down the alley and beyond the four houses to the end of the block was a mythical journey off the edge of the earth to enter a new land. I was a pioneer walking in uncharted territory. I knew not what I may find - but it could be anything! I craved to seek out life, hungry with curiosity and wide-eyed desire. I knew life. In my many lifetimes I've witnessed miracles the small-minded have yet to even conceive. But it mattered not to me I may be alone in my glorious trek. I'd show them what's what.

Now I live among the mad, the futile, the empty vessels. We define ourselves as chemical entities needing chemical solutions. Yet who considers the chemistry of a hug? There is no true science without love. Love is the only reality. That is proven every day as repressing our love buries us deeper and deeper. And as I ask myself how I got to be the bitter man I am today from the eager child of yore, I know it's from my own self-betrayal.

Somehow, I don't think that gets my name in the Book of Life. I'm tired and ready to leave this bent world forever pushing a square peg into a round hole. I tried confessing my crimes but to no avail. Truth is the first step on the road to salvation. And while a teetering planet may be blind, deaf and dumb, my Maker surely knows the truth of me. So I tried to get the truth out. I just don't know what to do anymore...

"I tried to tell them!" I screamed to the twinkling stars. "I told them the error of my ways and the insanity of my life. Why can I not be free? What in the hell am I supposed to tell them I am??"

From the clear night sky, an understanding voice replied: "Beautiful."

Then I found time for my tears.


Don Henley - Boys Of Summer

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

"MORON" On My Forehead, Part 1

Vanity's death trap
Proud man crawls low on his knees,
Romancing the truth.

It's 3 AM and I'm clutching the Gordian knot in my stomach. Merciless jackhammers twist my back, pounding the length of my spine. I slowly unclench my grinding teeth but the invisible hand that squeezes me and crushes me into a human ball of pain knowingly ignores the efforts of my futile will.

Pretense of the day breeds demons in the night. My liar's prison boxes me in without pity, never falling for my artful deceit. If you are the smartest man alive and you are a deceiver, who then can see through your deception? The whole point of deception to get caught so a caring world may then tend to and understand your dilemma.

But I guess at the end of the night, we're all a party of one.

But what kind of idiot gets himself in this position? Friendless, fuckless and fundless is no way to go through life. I do so understand the thought process that says seppuku brings honor. My biggest problem is my tears. I just don't have time for them all. I'm tired of talking to people through a cardboard box as if that's a normal state of being. I need to confess. My aching neck demands I confess.

So I woke up in the morning determined to undeceive the world and with a bold, black marker I proclaimed "MORON" on my forehead. How else can one describe he who creates his own misery? But now everyone will know of my crimes, I'll be able to drop my facade and the keys to freedom from my liar's prison will be mine at last.

Oh, the company I keep!

First place I went was the grocery store. I walked down the aisles receiving many an amused stare words. No exploding revelations of, "Aha! Now we see you're a fraud! The illusion has been ripped from our eyes!" I had been dreading that moment going in but the longer I went without it happening the more I yearned for it - the more I needed it.

The cashier. The cashier would save me! Direct, human contact is what the doctor ordered.

But she was a young girl, polite in her ways. I read her struggle so clearly. Should I tell him? I dare not embarrass a customer. Should I say what I see? Mentally, I screamed back to her. I already know it's there! You can't hurt my feelings! Jesus, say something!

"Thank you, sir. You saved 3.25 on today's purchases."

No, I refuse to be trapped forever. I found a couple of teenage girls in the parking lot. I know they will say something. I asked them directions to a street I already knew but their giggling overcame any words. The more I talked, the more they giggled. They're still giggling now as far as I know.

What to do, what to do? Sinking feelings festered in my stomach. I was just about to duck into my cardboard box when a gruff voice called out.

"Hey moron! Come over here!"

As an anthropologist I knew the voice well: the Insecure Male Ape, perpetually desperate to feel superior. Freedom, however, was not the feeling it gave me, but fury. And once the first ape started yelping, the apes around him joined in with tribal glee, knowing their place in this world. I stayed inside my box - in every sense of the word.

If you want to prove evolution to me,
first you'll have to prove we've evolved.

Clearly, breaking the chains of my lying was going to be harder than I thought. Girls were useless and apes were clueless as well. I needs me a full grown woman who speaks her mind! I decided on a lingerie store. Ain't no shy cashiers there - and I'd pull out all the stops. I'd be branded a moron there for sure and never have to pretend again.

When I heard the question, "OK, what is your size?" I was a bit stunned. I read her eyes and she hid not the fact her reading of my forehead when I entered, but she insisted an treating me as if I were normal. Ok, fine, I'll up the ante. I asked for women's underwear. "Make it a thong." "Actually it's for me." And that's when her nonplussed ass asked my size just as if she were asking the time of day.

I was in a pickle now. How the fuck would I know my size in women's underwear? My immediate reaction was to point out the illogic of her question in her assuming I would know that but then I wouldn't be acting like a moron and she'd call me a fraud! Damn this is complicated! I ran out the door to hide my disgust.

I heard he got a Pulitzer for the sign

I'm a moron. I tell people I'm a moron - but they still don't know. Amazing. Just fucking damn amazing. I'm in trouble here, folks. You don't see me screaming at 3 AM. I thought my problem was the hiding of my imbecility. I try confessing but it's like speaking to a deaf, dumb and blind planet. You people have friends, funds and fucking - there's no goddam way in hell you can be as fucked up as I am. The whole world can't be aching to eat a bullet, can it?

I sighed on these musings as I stared at the roof of my cardboard dwelling with hands clasped behind my head. There's a comfort factor here. The winos, the creeps, the losers, the self-talkers - none of them bother me. There's no judging among us, we birds of a feather. But my dilemma was this: How could I ever bring a person of respect here? How could I even ask it? How could I even want it?

Part of me suspected I was chasing the end of the rainbow, part of me suspected I was a quitter. I decided to give it one last chance. This time I would pick the ultimate stage, a place to ensure my outing beyond all doubt: the Jimmy Choo store on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. I cashed in all 430,000+ cans I'd been saving up for a rainy day and booked my flight for a date to live in infamy.

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Take The Money And - "MothaFucka!"

Get me outta here!

At last! At very, very long last I was on the road to freedom. It had been a lifetime in coming - and how sweet it was! The angst of the world was no longer mine to carry. From now on, my decisions would be my own, the idiots of the world had lost their say. Look in the sky! That's the sun I see! I've never had this feeling before: a day that belongs to me. Amazing and exhilarating. Parts of me long given up for dead were alive with optimistic energy. A new word entered my vocabulary: "possibilities".

Everything felt good. My hands on the steering wheel. The vibrations of traveling down the highway. Hell, nothing could feel bad at this moment. I had possibilities! At least, I did until I heard the news on the radio.

Harry Homeless is wanted for possession of cocaine. He is illegal, immoral and a destroyer of society. He is the enemy of all living persons. He has no known redeeming qualities. We have this quote from Officer Officer: "Find him! Kill him! He'll ruin it for everybody! Get that bastard before it's too late!"


They went on to describe my car in exact detail, me in exact detail and even the last known direction I was traveling. But how?? I retraced my steps since The Most Wonderful Moment Of My Life. Stashed many floors up in an old abandoned building I found a tire stuffed with $700,000 in cash. It was from a crime where the statute of limitations had run out so the money was free and clear. But still I knew: Mundo Nulla Fides - trust no one, have no faith in the world. So I told not a soul of my find.

Here's where I dumped the tire -
just in case somebody had it marked

I snipped the bands off the money - a possible means of identification - made sure no transponders or gimmicks were afoot, then transferred it all to a large lawn and leaf bag in the trunk of my car. This was one time where my secret life paid off, allowing me to do this with no eyes upon me. But on the radio the cops said they had tested the money, found traces of cocaine on it - which all money tests positive for - and thusly declared me in possession of cocaine. They said I had been dealing crack to 12-year-old girls. And that was a more comforting thought to the mindless masses than the idea of lying cops.

All my life I've made bad decisions. It's a disease, a habit, a known quantity, an old enemy - it's all I've known. There's nothing I fear more than a Good Decision - I don't know what would happen. But I do feel like God will zap me from the heavens with a lightening bolt if I make one. Death, it seems, comes regardless of my decisions. My head used to be able to at least hold the idea of a Good Decision - I could conceive of a sunny day - but before that day I found the money, the light had gone out from even the crack under the door to the outside world.

So I deduced the bonanza I found was reparations from God for a lifetime of suffering, living at the mercy of animals who declare themselves civil even as they cut your throat out. I swore I would make good this time, make only decisions that were smart and - shock, shock - in my own fucking best interests for once. No more trying to apply my life to fixing the world. No more allowing my crucifixion to prove the unholiness of the world. No more living for others. Time to claim my inheritance.

Always a piece missing

So what had I missed? Since the time my bad decisions started, I knew I'd be missing out on "real" life. And this Missing Element grew and grew, leaving me with the broken mind I have today, helpless and pathetic. But how did the cops know everything? Over and over and over I went through every possibility in my mind. No misstep had been made - not even the possibility of a false move existed. And yet still they knew everything!! It was that goddam Missing Element. I don't know how or where or when, but because I didn't know the Missing Element, I was fucked yet again.

I'd always been careful not to fight the law. In my mental rolodex, it's listed under the tab of Fatal Mistakes. I pulled over on the deserted highway - a treasured back road - and waited for the inevitable. The police had been smart giving the luntic lynchers a witch to burn. I could hear the Pitchfork Puritans in my head as I slumped down in my seat. "I have a daughter! He wants her strung out on drugs! I'll show you what a good father I am! I'll stab you to death!" My capture would be a heckuva day for law enforcement: an evil drug dealer taken off the streets, the world beats its chest in righteousness and most important of all (in reality): the cops get their hands on the money.

No way out. I was trapped. No way would the cops come clean at this point, in fact, they'd be more vicious just to prove the point of the "truth" they alleged. It meant the doom of their souls but I didn't hold out much hope for that argument. Life drained out of me as I stared at the now ugly steering wheel which just a few short minutes ago had been my guide to freedom. I peered through the windshield but the sky was no longer mine, the sun long gone. Some birds were singing in a clump of trees down the road. The last free sounds I'd ever hear.

Got a home now, Harry!

I heard but did not listen. The angry screeching tires, the hysterical lying voices laced with fear of discovery, the closed-minded judge who knew the facts before he knew, and the jury of my peers who sat with comfortably closed eyes who had only one word to say on their behalf: "Guilty". I remained silent knowing the truth was there for anyone who cared to see - but none thought it profitable. So now I spend my life on a hard metal bed, staring into the infinite abyss. And that's when it finally hit me - as I gave up all hope of anything and just let go - I finally saw the Missing Element.

"The Most Wonderful Moment Of My Life" should not have been when I found the money. It should have been when I found love.

"Mothafucka!" echoed my cell.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Cowboys Stadium: A Temple For Our Times

It is said that a sign of a civilization in decline is an excessive obsession with sports and entertainment (remember the Coliseum? And whatever happened to that invincible Roman empire?). This is because as one pulls the plug on reality, the greater the need for distractions from the sinking ship. Heckuva plan, that!

But not only must the temple be built, but all pathways to it need to be lined with gold to accord it the proper respect. Below is the brand spanking new Center Street Bridge to cross over the River Styx I-30 corridor and lead you to the house of worship.

[Note: click on photos for more detail]

As we arrive on the bridge, we can see the great place of worship in the distance.

But as we look to the left, we see the construction workers have miles to go before they sleep:

In Japan, they built this pathway to lead to their temple:

In Arlington, they built this:

We reach the great temple at last! If you'll notice, you can see right through to the other side. Giant, sliding glass doors bookend the east and west sides. The permanent fence is not in place yet.

Giant buttresses spew out of either end, unlike any other stadium in the world. To the left you can see the giant video screen outside the stadium, a tailgater's dream!

I walked around to the other side. You couldn't get there by car. Notice the glow from within? The sides are translucent.

This is Johnson Creek which has been an eyesore for years. It runs just east of the stadium and is being reconstructed and landscaped as part of the project.

Click on the picture and you can see the "holy of holies": the largest video screen in the country. One reporter who took a tour of the facility described the four-sided video screen's size as that of a "small ocean liner".

I snuck in for a close up of the buttresses:

However, directly across the street from the great temple are signs of economic reality that have yet to be airbrushed away:

One business by the stadium is thriving!

But the giant also leaves footprints unseen - except for those it has stepped on.

This lot is two blocks over from the temple. Turns out they couldn't find enough parking spots so the city condemned nearby houses to make room. This lot is one of many.

There is a need in every human to worship, a need as undeniable as breathing air. And what you choose to worship will bring you either life or death.


For more pictures and info about the Cowboy's billion dollar stadium, click here.