Monday, August 30, 2010

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

Amélie, Amélie,
Stay away from me;
I have a secret
You must not see.

I put my taps on
My shoes shiny blue;
To win those precious
Smiles from you.

Your smiles were gifts
Like Christmas Day morn;
A flower in heaven
From earthly ground born.

But life uprooted
Has been my demise;
My eyelids lowering
Lest I see with my eyes.

I lie in burnt sand,
Crazed vultures above;
Who cares what I feel
If it's without love?

In the Oasis' water
A reflection of me;
A paradise place
Meant for honesty.

A wandering soul
Hears me cry to the moon;
She laughed as I slobbered
And acted the loon.

"Ignorant wise man
"Who makes life pathetic!"
Then I rejoiced she
Was not sympathetic.

The old desert sun
Turns my skin brittle;
Hearing Oasis life
I die just a little.

Short is my breath
Acting the act;
What happens when
They know this fact?

In cold, deserted night
Demons unleashed free;
Feeding on souls who
Lie helplessly.

From healing Oasis
I'm blessedly banned;
To further prevent
Death from my hand.

My prisoner within
Who poisoned the well;
To keep from reflecting
Waters that tell.

Amélie, Amélie,
Stay away from me;
I have a dark secret:
My secret is me.


Friday, August 27, 2010

Beck And Robespierre: Two Weepy Bitches

"Look at the bugger; it’s not enough for him to be master, he has to be God."
--Jacques-Alexis Thuriot after having watched Robespierre descend from a manmade mountain
during the Festival for the Supreme Being

I'll admit I don't know much about Glenn Beck, aka the Weepy Bitch. But I've gotten enough of a (foul) whiff of the Bitch to know he plays on pure emotion. Oftentimes we don't act in our best interest, damaging our lives, and we have two choices at that point: take responsibility or evade it. Beck plays to the latter crowd. By convoluting fact and fiction, by twisting reality into a permanent victimhood, he's able to leave a perpetual finger pointing at all times.

In essence: "I hate people who think! All they want to do is make everyone else feel inferior! Who says thinking is so necessary anyway? Thought police and fascists, that's who! Taking away our liberty to not think! Oh, the humanity!"

Now, we've all played the weepy bitch before. But making a religion out of it is something else. Still, Beck cannot escape the universal law: you are what you protest. He is a witch-burning witch and if you want to know what he thinks of himself, you need only listen to his accusations. After all, when one is a traitor to one's country, the best defense is a campaign of relentless accusations of others' (alleged) treason.

From Robespierre's Report on the Principles of Political Morality, February 5, 1794:

If virtue be the spring of a popular government in times of peace, the spring of that government during a revolution is virtue combined with terror: virtue, without which terror is destructive; terror, without which virtue is impotent. Terror is only justice prompt, severe and inflexible; it is then an emanation of virtue; it is less a distinct principle than a natural consequence of the general principle of democracy, applied to the most pressing wants of the country. ... The government in a revolution is the despotism of liberty against tyranny.

Backward thinking is not new. In the same way we (allegedly) hope to wipe out terrorists by killing all who we label as such, Robespierre perfected the fine art of hysteria long before Weepy Bitch. Anyone who "threatened" the revolution, the holiest of holies, should be executed in virtuous terror, argued the would-be God. Purity is proven by the death of those you disdain. Luckily, Beck cannot send victims to the National Razor like the original weepy bitch, but all who sell the lie of false enemies do harm.

(Of course, we have sold ourselves this lie on a national level, predator drones being the new guillotines, the new "justice prompt, severe and inflexible".)

The Festival for the Supreme Being was Robespierre's downfall as "multiple sources state that Robespierre came down the mountain in a way that resembled Moses as the leader of the people." And many thought "he was attempting to create a new religion with himself as its god." Robespierre had gotten so full of himself - after having literally gotten away with murder for years - he did come to think of himself as God. That's the conclusion all frauds come to eventually. It's nature's way of purging.

And now we have another would-be Moses descending from the mountain, staged to piggyback on the meaning of a true man of integrity: Martin Luther King. And this is where I get rightly pissed. Instead of these weepy bitches engaging in a Stalinesque rewriting of history for our children, they should be made to read Dr. King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" and learn something about true justice to "restore honor" (the stated purpose of the Weepy Bitch rally).

I do realize the greatest religion in America today is wishful thinking (which makes sense for a civilization in its twilight stage). The oil spill is gone like magic! The economy is getting better without new jobs! We can kill everyone who hates us and be safe! The list goes on and on and on. And during such times high priests of the popular creed will rise up to be praised. Robespierre was defrocked and executed, ending France's mock revolution. I can only hope we do the same.

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God — having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them.
2 Timothy 3:1-5


Thursday, August 26, 2010

"He Was Just A Slave"

"Is this the one?" Her aristocratic nose turned upward in her inspection.

"Yes, that's him," he confirmed in amusement, leaning idly against the wall. As master of the house - and the richest man in Rome - he enjoyed bringing pleasure to his guests.

"Not much to him, is there?" Her eyes were programmed for disdain, yet she wondered why she fought it for the petite personage standing before her. Insecurity pressed her into contempt. "No wonder he didn't join the other slaves in revolt. What could this weakling possibly have to offer?" Then she turned her back on him as if that proved her point.

"He says there's no need to fight. That one day I'm just going to let him go free and I quote: 'of my own free will', unquote."

"Really? How amusingly absurd!" It bothered her that his statement lessened her confidence rather than encouraged it. "Not only is he a coward but it seems mentally impaired. I'm surprised he's of any service to you at all!"

"He has his uses," assured the master, not wanting to seem the fool.


No one wanted to seem the fool anymore, not after Spartacus and his slave uprising had rocked the empire. Upon pain of death no Roman would admit the permanent dent Spartacus had made on their self-image, yanking from under them the false leg of superiority. Still, they struggled to maintain the precious lie, but the price had gone up. And tomorrow didn't look any better. Even for he, Crassus, the general who finally squashed the revolt.

But the Slave was no coward and found himself dismayed when Spartacus and his burgeoning forces came through, gathering slaves on a path to eventual doom. The Thracian gladiator inspired his followers with impossible dreams and it was true many would have joined him even if they knew it meant eventual death. But for thousands it meant only the cruel fate of crucifixion as Rome sought to reassert her authority and self-esteem. Neither ever fully recovered.

Looting in vengeance and turning the knife back on their tormenters were the rebellious slaves, and the Slave was urged to join the fight as the winds of revolt swept through. "You owe them nothing! Come with us and be free!"

"It's true I owe them nothing - but I owe myself. And freedom is not what will come of this. It must come from our masters."

"Are you crazy? To hell with them! They're never going to free you! Death is what they deserve and death is what we shall give them!"

The Slave was sold from a land beyond the farthest reaches of the empire, and never had he felt more foreign than at this moment, belonging to no group on earth but his own. But that was enough.

"You cannot defeat their power with power. That is their game and this republic their empire. No one man rules over them to be killed, to cut the head off the snake. But that day is coming and their decline will be irreversible."

"Idiot! This is not the time for philosophy but for action! The day is ours to rule!"

"I agree, it is no time for philosophy, but reality, and that is of what I speak."

"Suit yourself! I'm not wasting any more time with you! I've waited years for this moment and I'm taking it!"

The Slave remembered the scene well, branded into his memory with the background of noisy chaos and burning buildings searing his senses. Like a passing storm the revolt moved on with news of distant success over the next few months and then, a final defeat. Now no one respected the Slave who stayed. He was no freedom fighter; a man without heart. Who were these frail beings from the the far east? A people not worth conquering. A people without courage.

But they could not have been more wrong.

Many were those who took the easy way out, joining the rebellion despite their qualms and misgivings, fearing most what would be said of them. Even when under the most vile of leadership, rare is the soldier who refuses to participate in war. Easier to risk death than be made outcast. War is nothing more than a conspiracy of the silenced doubts of men. But the Slave stood his ground though he be branded traitor and a cowardly person, contemptible in the eyes of others. He had the courage to resist.


The aristocratic lady, having heard of this oddity, had come to inspect him for herself. She too felt the psychic wound of the self-justification for slavery vanishing for having suffered defeat at the hands of their "inferiors" and she hoped in meeting one so feckless as the Slave the gnawing doubts unleashed by Spartacus could be quashed, the genie put back in the bottle. But the Slave gave her no such satisfaction and in a strange way she felt he as master of the situation instead of the other way around. That, of course, could not be reality.

"Drop your robe. I wish to see the size of a coward's penis."

The Slave did so without shame or pleasure, annoying the lady to no end. She made remarks she considered appropriately disparaging and bade him to cover up attesting she cared only to see the bodies of real men. The Slave's master, a Roman general, was more wary in his tactics. He knew he could have the Slave's neck at any moment and yet, he knew he would never allow it. At least not until he understood who this Slave was. The conquering general refused to accept his current understanding.

He remembered their lasting conversation of the sword...

"You know what makes the Roman soldier the greatest in the world, Slave? It's not just our superior training, or our visionary commanders - keep your eye on young Caesar! - nor our ingenious engineering. Yes, those are factors, but they are mere byproducts. It is our belief that makes us strongest. It's he who believes the most who wins the most. Our noble Republic government is worth a thousand legions. Our opponents are savage, brutal, clever, even fanatical warriors - but for what do they fight? An inferior way of life, lacking in understanding and sophistication. We don't just conquer but we liberate, introducing them to the Roman way, a better way!

"What do you think of that?"

Do you feel my power?

The Slave felt the raging energy of the general. It was true, the light of the world - such as it was - shined on Rome and that was her edge. She would bend, she would ebb and flow, but she would never break as long as she held the light. The Slave too saw that light and knew that here in Rome he was at the center of the world and he felt a vibrancy in the city unlike anywhere else. But savagery has its limitations.

"It is said - since you ask my unworthy opinion - that if one must live by the sword then one has already lost."

The commander let out a repressed smile. "Words of old women and feeble men!" he dismissed with a wave of the arm.

"As you wish."

Damn him! He constantly defeats me with his surrender. Argue, you fool! Don't leave me to my own words. "Haven't you understood anything I've said? I tell you the secrets of an empire! It is by the sword man lives, not by pretty words. Just look at you! You wield no sword, you become a slave. What kind of argument is that?"

"I'm sorry, but my opinions can only be my own."

"Speak! I'm not afraid of your words!" bluffed the Roman, who was indeed afraid, more afraid than he had been on any battlefield, for the worth of his life was at stake.

"Yes, I am a slave to Rome - as Rome is to her sword. There is no freedom for either of us. You speak of an empire but your empire rots from within."

"How dare you! We grow stronger every day!"

"If you wish me into silence..."

"Go ahead. You amuse me."

The Slave's voice drew deep and piercing, reaching into the soul of the Roman - and every living being. "You speak of a glorious future when I stand here before you a slave. But who is the captive here? Are you not indebted to me? Does not one chain one's own heart to make another a slave?"

The general was of two minds: one outraged, the other rejoicing. He'd risen through the ranks by his pursuit of the recognition of truth, to be able to read his enemy's mind and forestall his tactics. Nothing in the universe gave him more pleasure than that, it justified his conquests - and his lusts. But he was at a crossroads: to continue his pursuit of truth or turn his back on it and keep his approved lusts. This damnable slave - of all the luck to get one like him! - brought this internal war to light, the kind of war no commander can afford.

"Pity my ignorance, but how does one free oneself without a sword? Kill me and you may have your freedom! Or does actual freedom mean so little to you?" At that moment, the general was willing to give his life to see the Slave throw his away.

"Killing you does not benefit me though I may say there are times when I wish it. But I want neither you nor a sword as my master."

"Then all life is useless! You'll remain a slave forever and die! How can you ever plan to be free, tell me that!"

"You will simply let me go, of your own free will. You will see it's to your benefit."

Yes! Yes! I can feel it in my heart. What a glorious freedom that would be, just to let it all go! By the gods I'd love to take that final step. Truth IS freedom! But can I do this and live? Can I ever explain letting myself go? Would I still be seen as a loyal Roman? Truth's freedom leads me away from Rome and there I would die - but if I die what use is the truth? So the reality is...I must disregard the truth.

But once having been exposed there's no unknowing. "Wishful thinking!" scoffed the general. "You may go now." Yes, deep within, the general knew the wishful thinking was his, and he lived a secret torment ever since that conversation.


He'd brought in the aristocrat woman - someone who'd never harbored any thoughts of freeing a slave - as reinforcements, as someone untainted with moral struggles. Little did he suspect her equally flailing feeling of the ice melting under feet. But now having met the Slave, her sharp nose aimed squarely at his defeat at all costs.

"He has his uses, you say? Come closer," she beckoned though it was she who had stepped away. "Tell me what are your uses so we can all know what makes you so special."

"Only a free man knows his true usefulness."

"Did you hear that, Crassus? He wants to be a free man! But when he had the chance he did not take it. What are we to think of a person like that? Methinks a liar he be."

"I have seen no such chance, my lady."

"I bet!" The general was disappointed as he monitered the confrontation. She fared no better against this human stonewall than he. "Perhaps he'd be more useful in a brothel, Crassus. See what good his high talk does there! Do you think you have the talent for it?"

"Certainly you have the power to place my life where you wish, just as I have the power to end it." The Slave's voice was serenity itself, untouched by the world, living life on its own terms. The Slave never saw a reason to turn his back on the truth. Gradually it dawned upon the two captors it was they, as ones bound to the world, who were talking to a free man. Could they openly speak their minds and retain their lofty positions? Were they not caught in the ever-tangling web of politics, corruption and deceit?

But what truly galled the pair was the Slave knowing this. Neither could escape the feeling of hot coals incessantly burning their souls. The first instinct was to kill him. But then the Slave would live forever in victory. No, they must defeat him with words first, to prove that no man may be uncorrupt in this world. The general and the lady exchanged glances in communication of this.

The commander tried a new tactic. "And what if you were made Roman? What then of our corruption?"

"I graciously accept your offer. It is most kind."

Trapped. Certainly Crassus had the power to do it, but with what public justification? What had a mere slave done to earn the prestige of citizenship? These questions the general could not answer and his all important reputation would be damaged in the Senate. Damn this little man!

"I get it," maneuvered the lady. "The minute you get a chance at Roman power you jump all over it. You're no better than the rest of us!" The pair both prayed he'd take the bait and have their burning coals removed.

"With freedom I would speak my peace as any free man should. As I'm sure you do. I know what the human desire is: and that is to be free. One can never be free while enslaving another. Releasing me is born of your wisdom. I bear no grudge for weaknesses we all share."

The captive pair were as ones swayed by beautiful music to soothe the savage beast. To free the slave would be like pulling a long-festering thorn from their sides. Oh, how they ached to do it! No, don't! Be strong! Be strong! Don't give in to what you want! And humiliation won the day, the brave Roman Centurion and the proud, superior aristocrat refused to give in, weak to the end. The glowing coals burning and burning and burning...

The next day the Slave was killed "in an immediate fashion". While the freeing of a slave might be questioned, the killing of one was not. But the couple's failure lived on, mocking them for their refusal, shaming them as it caged them. They succumbed to whoredom, begging for degradation, asking to literally be spat upon by their fellow beasts who were all too happy to comply. Crassus tried saving himself on the battlefield, taking increasingly risky chances until finally he was defeated and killed at the Battle of Carrhae. The aristocrat lady's face turned fey and bizarre, her eyes arching as if in permanent terror. As her beauty passed, she drowned in despondancy and found herself hung by her own hand.

In the great invincible rule of the Roman empire, no one did as one pleased. And thus her heart became hollow and her soul emptied of all treasures.


In the year that came be known as 71 B.C. a slave was buried with no marker, his given name long forgotten: Gandhi.

From the anthology: The Many Lives of Mahatma Gandhi


Saturday, August 21, 2010

Oh, Come On, Not ALL Rape Is Bad!

Oh, baby! I got a funny joke for you!

Maybe it's me delivery, but my pick-up lines at bars just ain't working for me. I see me a long pair of stems and I says to her, "Boy, I'd sure love to rape them on a regular basis!" Then she goes off and slaps me! You don't want to meet Mr. Woody? Or suppose she got her a real nice ass. "Hey, honey, I'd sure love to hump that rump! Don't bend over for the cocktail napkin!" Then they get all self-righteous like they on Oprah or something. It doesn't even help when I try to smooth it over. "Hey, it's not really sex. I just want to see that look on your face!" That's usually when I gets me a free drink - dripping off my face.

Am I missing something here? That last line I got from Richard Pryor speaking right up on stage. Whole audience thought it was big time funny! And that "don't bend over" line gets lots of laughs when I hear people say that too. But like I said, it must be way I is sayin' it. Oh, I know when I hear them lines they talking about prison rape, but ain't all rape funny? Is there some sort of rule nobody's telling me? Maybe I should try, "Hi, honey, I'd sure like to rape you in prison!" Yeah, that should work.

Now I know there are some touchy-feely, pussy-ass liberals out there calling me insensitive and shit, but guess what? I got the Attorney General of the United States on my side! That's right, a real life authority figure! And his boss is that commie lefty Obama-man so don't lecture me on no right-wing conspiritols! For once a Democrap gets it right! He thinks ya'll are just as full of shit as I do. I'm tough on crime!

I got a log you can hug!

Seems back in 2003 they passed this dumbass law saying some group of know-it-alls needed to get together and decide if prison rape was a bad thing or not. Hell, I coulda done told them right off! But six years later these high faluting perfessers or whatever come and say yeah, that rapin' is bad. Yup, had me shakin' my head too. Hey, morons, they in prison for a reason! Then they spout off how about these "reforms" gotta happen by last June and even pass a law sayin' so!

But my boy Eric has got my back! He says to them Congressers with a straight face how he has "regret" he can't put no reforms in but, hey guys, he's working fast as he can - hahahaha! You tell 'em Eric! They need to go back to their ivory towers and coddle some prisoners. Them prisoners may not all be guilty, be they all sure does deserved to be raped. Otherwise they just want to go right back in for the easy life. Hello! It's not supposed to be fun, folks!

Best part is he got them pussy liberals all riled up. They figure there's only about 60,000 rapes a year - but that's not real rapin' anyway. What? You gonna give them counseling or something? I read once how a lowlife here in Texas got raped and went whining to a prison guard, but that guard just laughed in his face - just like he should! Thank God for Texas and real justice! I hope he told him, "Don't bend over for the soap!" Maybe I should get me a prison guard to come to the bar with me so he show me how to say it funny like.

I really want to hear 'bout you bein' raped!

But anyways this one guy says Eric holdin' out like he is "is asking for time so that another 60,000 can be raped." Hell, yeah! You so worried you can go give them murderers and rapists a hug. Me? I want justice! Listen to this hear high-minded talk:

"When you look at the political spectrum that's represented at the podium here this morning, you realize that there is something very fundamental at stake here, a question of the most fundamental human dignity, human rights and constitutional rights," Winter said.

Hey, lady, they're PRISONERS ya moron! They ain't got no dignity comin' to 'em! Am I the only what got any sense? Even some fake Christians want to get in on the act:

What makes this such an important issue for conservative evangelical Christians? "We believe in law and order," Duke said. "We expect law and order everywhere." There's also the matter of moral failing. Our leaders "have failed to fulfill the responsibilities that have been entrusted to them," Duke said.

Try readin' the Bible sometime, asshole. Eye for a eye! But my boy Eric set them straight!

"When I speak to wardens, when I speak to people who run local jails, when I speak to people who run state facilities, they look at me and they say 'Eric, how are we supposed to do this?' If we are going to segregate people, build new facilities, do training, how are we supposed to do this? And that is what we are trying to work out, ways in which we can follow the dictates of the statute and do something that is going to be meaningful, not something that is simply going to be a show thing, something that is going to have a measurable impact."

At least somebody gets it!

These nuts actually want to spend money to stop the rapin'! What fer? That's the craziest thing I ever heard of! I'm like the last person what got any common sense! How you gonna train them guards not to laugh? It just ain't human to ask them not to be like that. These reformers are just making trouble and actin' like animals! But funny part is when I hear them right-thinkin' lefties saying, "Get off Obama's back! He can't fix everything at once!" I'm right there with ya, pal! Down with troublemakers! Up with rapin'!

But until I get all this rapin' stuff like totally figured out, guess I'll just have to go back to my old line: "You sure got some purty lips!"

Monday, August 16, 2010

A Back Pocket Love

The last two years had been tough, really tough. Pushed to the brink of darkness, to stare into the abyss of bad karma, had scared the living daylights out of her. Two years that aged her like ten. Like a speeding bullet of pain and death whizzing perilously by, she dodged the day of judgement. She had not known if her present day of breath was even to be.

Greed like a dark virus had infested the land and she waited on pins and needles to hear both the prognosis - and worse - the cure. She and her banking husband were dependent on the greed to maintain not only a luxuriously accustomed life but also the priceless approval it purchased. Bound and helpless in desire to keep riding the wave of false fortune, they never bothered to learn to swim were the wave to finally come crashing down.

So please, dear Lord, don't let the wave crash. I promise I'll learn to swim. This time I mean it. I've never been so scared in my life!

Unfortunately, greed was made to live another day - upping the inevitable price - buying her time to rot, as was her way. Over the years she had molted, from a butterfly to a colorless moth. She told herself it was OK, she still had her back pocket love to bail her out, her secret ace in the hole. This was her get-out-of-jail-free card to play, to bring back all the colors she'd lost. And now, having narrowly missed the whistling bullet of doom, she dreamed of her Maker's love once more.

No, no! Only go UP!

"He said I was his Fantasy Girl." She surprised herself, still blushing even after all these years. By now his love had become a whitewashed myth. "He wrote a book for me. In the end he said it was all about reaching out for me and my love." She cocked her head. "It was..." Emotion interrupted her. Had she screwed up her life as badly as she suddenly realized?

"He sounds like a dream," confirmed her friend. "I wonder what happened to him. You know, if he really needs you..."

No! He couldn't have needed me! Maybe wanted, but not needed. I was needed in my marriage. He ended up...oh, my...if he's alone, dreaming of me...what have I done? Has my whole life been a fraud? Is that what I'm to find on judgement day? That's just too horrible to face!

"Who knows about these things. I was married. You never really know what someone really feels." But you do know. "What can I do about it now, right?"

"What do you think would happen if you called him?" Her friend had been strong for her, saying words she dare not utter.

"Oh, I couldn't do that! Could I?" Please talk me into it!

"Of course you can! He might be living every day for that phone call. Maybe you'd change his life!" Her friend played her role well.

"Don't be silly! He's probably long forgotten me."

"You never forget a Fantasy Girl, the girl of your dreams. A girl you wrote a book about! Come on, girl, you know I'm right!"

Yes! Yes! Please let it be true! God let me slide on the greed - something I thought would never happen - so maybe He saved me for my back pocket love. After all, I promised to learn to swim! Time to cash in my ticket?

Her girlfriend continued: "Let's call him! You only live once! It might change your life too!"

Yes, it might end it. I might not really have anything left in my back pocket after all. But she’d had been gifted this time, this window of opportunity, and deep in her heart she knew one day that window would close for good and she'd be left with nothing but her lies and selfish religion; back to the gaping abyss that nearly swallowed her alive. Anything was better than that.

"Oh, I don't know..." She was talking herself into it and her friend let her. "I mean, what would I say? I'd just make a fool of myself."

"He sent you a whole book! Did you say anything then? Think how he felt about that."

"He didn't expect me to respond. He knew..." He knew what? That I was living a lie. I can't let anyone know that. Not even God. Most of all God! But this is the time to do something different. And dare I say it even to the wind? I think he still wants me. We were two kindred spirits. We completed each other. We just could never be.

Her silence was too long. Maybe she was changing her mind. "Look, just say what ya want. Time for calling is only going to get worse. Let's do it right now!" Her friend was a romantic, wanting to see a storybook ending in real life.

"Now!?" Can I please? "No, not now! I've got things to do!"

"Like what? You said you know what city he lives in - "

" - maybe he's moved - "

"So let's track him down once and for all. Time to make a move, girl! What's it going to hurt?"

My eternal heart, that's what."Well, if you think so..."

"I do!"

Her heart pounded with an ancient electricity. Yes, this is the right thing to do! When was the last time I felt this excited? Oh, if only all life could be like this! He hadn't moved, they found out. His number was listed, no obstacle remained but her pulsing fear. Shit!

"I can't believe I'm doing this!" She laced her words with doubt but her feelings wanted to cry out, thanking the gods for making this happen. Life was love with me, he said. I must honor that! This will even the books for keeping him in my back pocket for all this time. Oh my God! It's ringing! Maybe he won't be home! Please don't/do be!

"Hello." He sounds dead. Because he needed me and never had me? No, I'm imagining things. Could just be a bad day at work or something. A thousand things, but not a useless existence without me? Oh hush, listen to yourself. He might have ten girlfriends. That wouldn't add up, though...

"Hello??" Answer before it's too late!

"Hello? Is this Harry?" What a stupid thing to say! But I gotta make sure, don't I? Can't spill my guts out to just anybody. It's him. I can feel it! I feel so alive!

"Who's this?"

"It's me, Debby. I...wanted to call." Lamers! I'm talking like I'm back in high school.

"Debby? Really?" He doesn't hate me! "I can't believe this! You drunk or something?"

He's still the same, got that sharp wit. I don't want to get cut by it! It may never heal. Is he actually saying I shouldn’t have called? I must keep a positive mental attitude. "No, " she winced. "I was thinking about you...I wanted to talk." That's better. More honest. This is so hard - but so right.

"Talk? Aren't you still married with two kids?"

Damn him! This is no time for facts! He's talking like one of those reforming liberals. "Yes,'s OK. I'm alone. We can talk all we want." Weak! It's like you need permission to talk. He won't go for that.

He chuckled softly. "You're not my friend. Why'd I want to hang out with your whored-out ass?"

She froze in immortal terror. You fool! You big-headed fool! You took him for granted. And you're nothing now. Nothing anyone would want. Now he knows I have no colors, I'm not what I used to be. Oh, you idiot! How could you have showed yourself like this? The one thing I swore I'd never do. And he's right. We should be friends first, like we were back when we dreamed in each other's eyes. What's going to happen to me now?

The sound of the disgusted dial tone made her feel as if she was spinning end over end through outer space untethered from all she held dear. Wasted. My whole life's been wasted. Can't be! Don't let them know. You've got children.

"What's he saying? Tell me!"

How do I hide this, the lowest moment of my life? I had chance after chance over the years to break free. There's no forgiving me now. Not after this. Then she fainted.

He stared at the recently disconnected phone. What an asshole to call me like that! Like I'm her private toy. Was a time that phone call would have saved my life. But I'm nothing now anyway, no life left in me, the colors all drained out. I thought we were a love story for the ages. How can I escape the black abyss now?


Sunday, August 15, 2010

The Ninja and The Gaijin: Honor Before Life

The Ninja arrived at his destination on foot. His movements effortless, slipping through the air as a leaf blown by the wind. And whoever notices a blowing leaf? It made it no easier he walked the streets of noisy Westerners with their lazy eyes and self-absorbed conversations, for even they could have a Moment of Awareness - and that was dangerous. The Ninja didn't like the soft glow of the manufactured veneer; he recognized this neighborhood of young professionals same as anywhere in the world. Its inhabitants always had their eyes on the future, for the future was theirs.

Except for one - the one for whom he searched.

The bored, drifting leaf passed by its intended observation of the tony redwood condos but even he felt an inner disturbance when he first caught glimpse of the Japanese banner flapping in the wind, emblazoned with the Fūrin Kazan of the ancient Takeda clan that no longer existed. A storm was coming, the sky grey and angry, announcing its impending wrath with slapping gusts and whipping winds. It was in these twilight times when everyone else scurried in hasty evasion did the Ninja find invisibility most easily attained. Most of his kills had been committed during storms.

But seeing the banner had changed everything. The wind no longer an ally but a spy. A wind from centuries past breathing life to this warrior's creed the flag proudly bore: "Swift as the Wind, Silent as a Forest, Fierce as Fire, Immovable as a Mountain." The Ninja sensed the kami spirit in the swift-moving air, swift as the glorious Takeda cavalry who rode in the notorious Era of Warring States when the central government had collapsed, with decades of ensuing warfare in the struggle for power. But why? How did a kami come to breathe life into this banner of a barbarian Westerner in a barbarian country? A country that didn't even exist at the time of the Takeda.

But made sense. Naturally his target would have a Japanese connection for his removal to be necessary. Yes, he could see it now. The Westerner was not in accordance with Japanese purity, a floating weed upon the water blocking the intended path of the ripples of greater destiny. Now the Ninja hated the man and his deed sanctioned as an act of sacrament, of maintaining Japanese order and wa. Order, always order. He liked these answers, quelling the mental ricochets the first sight of the banner had shot out. And yet...

Reconnaissance was the trickiest part of any assignment, where he took the greatest chances - so to minimize the chances later on. Most likely an alarm would sound after 30 or 60 seconds but that was a lifetime to the Ninja, allowing him to absorb his target with thousands of sensitive antenna gathering information at the speed of light. Once completed, the Ninja had an insurmountable edge of inside intelligence - even if the tripped alarm gave warning of the impending doom to his target. But what did that matter when he cannot be stopped?

The Ninja entered the property with his mind blank, walking passed the security gate after a tightly skirted woman as if he had done so a thousand times before. He picked the lock and entered when the beeping control panel of the alarm started the countdown. A katana! But not sharpened. A warlord's helmet. A deep green silk kimono with blood red lining lay carelessly draped over a chair. A simple wooden flute. High end electronics. A sense of Zen and sanctuary. Time!


The Gaijin got the call on his cell phone alerting him to the alarm. He rushed home from the office to find nothing disturbed, even his deadbolt still locked. Damn inconvenience, he muttered in his mind. Nothing was moved or altered in any way - but then he noticed the helmet. The helmet had been picked up by chance - or so he thought at the time. The two were drawn to one another, connected across the ages in present re-unification. And he knew at that moment the helmet had entered someone's consciousness for it was the treasure he most wished to share.

But no invitation could be made for its appreciation. The Gaijin never spoke of the imagery in his flashing dreams; watching Japanese films, struck by grassy hilltops and outposts along the eternal Tokaido road resurrecting memories as real as any object his fleshed hands could grasp. To the outside world his Japanese collection bespoke a curious fetish that some mused he took too far in his indulgence. But to him it was a reconnection, putting things back in their place. Order, always order. But an order he no longer needed.

On one hand the Gaijin was happy to have attained another fan of the brass and steel helmet that exposed his soul. How does one share the inexplicable? But he knew it meant danger for someone to have recognized it while in subterfuge. This break-in was a precursor. But why warn him? Why let him know he was in danger at all? Was this a form of Eastern arrogance? Or was he being arrogant in assuming so much? If he'd had his way, above all else he yearned to speak with the man who absorbed his helmet in precious awareness. He wanted to talk of the olden days so close to his heart when banners such as the one on his balcony flew in living anger.


As the Ninja departed, he became nothing once more. He did not try to be anything or not try to be anything. There was simply nothing to notice. Even he held no interest in himself, the helpless leaf blown back down the street. But he knew he was holding his breath against the pounding questions breeching the gateway to his mind's castle. He hurried as quickly as he could to unleash the torment where human eyes never bothered. But the Ninja knew even that was not enough to keep from disrupting the cosmic web that connects all living spirits. But he had a job to do and risks are part of the pact he lived by.

An unsharpened sword? Kuso! A man not worthy of any blade! A man of dishonor and disrespect. Against all codes is this gaijin! He must die. Even if I were not paid he must die. And to add insult he displays an Oda helmet! Ruthless and cunning, the great Oda would stomp this cockroach like the dirty bug he is. Oh yes, this worm must be squashed and I think of all my killings in this one I'll be the most artful. I'll write a death poem, committing myself fully. I'll create terror that even a barbarian can understand and before he dies he'll learn the true meaning of bushido. Hai!

A Western assassin spends his time learning the outside of a job, tracking the physical. But the Eastern assassin trains from within, meditating on the right time and place, allowing the answer to arrive in doubtless vision. The act must be done in perfect harmony. The more harmonious, knew the Ninja, the greater the art and the fewer the clues. For what clues exist when all is in harmony and nothing odd protrudes for the eye to see? Of course, a knowing eye could notice the harmony, realize it's not an accident, and find a clue in that. But most plodding detectives chalked it up to bad luck.


A Zen rock garden...its wavy lines in conjunction with the immovable boulders...neither resisting nor giving way...a place of purity

The Gaijin smirked. "Maybe it's Itikawa!" he laughed. "He's sent a ninja to assassinate me! That's who went through my house." The more he thought about it, the more it tickled him. Imagine getting Iti's goat so badly! To have such power over one's enemy is sweet indeed. Even hate can be turned into the strings of a puppet. The Gaijin never knew what might pop into his head when he traveled to the zen garden of his mind, but rarely did it disappoint.

The Ninja also saw clearly the garden as his eyes closed in search for the perfect moment of opportunity...when the tides of his target's awareness would be at his lowest...all the imagery of the condo sorted itself into psychological pieces, a profile emerging...I must put away my prejudices to obtain absolute clarity - and I dearly want clarity for this one!...but why is it a clouding fog stubbornly lingers in one corner...that could be my own doom in that fog...or wait, it could be...

Exciting conclusion in Part 2!


Saturday, August 14, 2010

The Garden I've Seen

I don't understand
The garden I've seen;
With pulled up flowers
And its dirt unclean.

Petals scattered like
A sweet smile bloodied;
What desperate hand
Makes living roots bare?

Was tending beauty
The gardener's demise?
Fearing failure's lust
Did make him unwise?

A blind soul could see
The hours he labored;
With blossoming joy
And angels smiling.

I imagine now
What once a true love;
Undone by madness
Of a tear stained face.

This gardener now roams
Down old country roads;
Tiring are his days -
His flowers were home.

I heard his hands yet
Bear the stillborn soil;
Warning to others
Of God's flowers bespoiled.


Thursday, August 12, 2010

Anti-Christ Welcomes The Troops!

Someone asked me if I'm a Republican.
I said, "No. I like people."

Know how to tell an anti-Christ from a Christian? Christians don't betray their country. They don't take the name of God in vain and declare war in Her name. Christians don't molest the land, air and water. They also realize people are real but profits are fiction. Anti-Christs worship a false god but like any good saboteur they declare themselves as one of us, one of the good guys. It's up to us to decide the truth - or pay a dear, dear price.

And pay we are. And if you think the final bill has come due we haven't even made a down payment. No one who is for our wars is for America. I know that sounds harsh but no one is unable to know the truth in their heart. Any junkie will tell you his next hit is what's in his best interest. And if you agree with him you are not for him either. But I know what it is to fear the truth. And so we go on with our charades and polite pretense of thanking the drug dealer for enabling our addicted ways.

Socially acceptable lies are the most cruel of all. "He's not addicted to heroin. He's just waiting to start living!" That spares the addict's feelings - if not his life. I'll let you decide which is more important. One lie I constantly hear is that our troops are "heroes". Certainly, it is pleasant to think so. And to say they are not heroes sounds judgemental. But the saving truth is, to call them "heroes" is judgemental as well. Reality is they are both victims and victimizers.

I realize I will take flack for that statement in this life. But that speaks more of you than of me.

So what does it mean to be called "hero"? It means if you don't feel good about your role in the war, you're not one of the good guys. Ultimately, it means we don't want to know you. We don't want to hear any feelings of self-doubt. Most of all, we don't want your confession of sin. We like our wars holy and pure. There's a direct line between the war cheerleaders and rising military suicides and mental illness. Cheering war is a great way to turn your back on our returning veterans. So who's the traitor now, wise guys?

So I was sickened when I saw this article:

A planeload of troops returning from war duty got a special treat this week: A personal welcome home from the former commander-in-chief.

Former President George W. Bush and wife Laura greeted the troops when they disembarked Wednesday at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport.

The visit was part of an event put on by the Super Bowl host committee's SLANT 45 education and community service initiative. The former president and first lady are honorary committee co-chairs, staying mostly behind the scenes.

The Bushes, however, were hands-on participants on Wednesday, meeting the Collin County Patriots youth football team at the airport to help the Welcome Home a Hero program greet troops.

Diane Ratley, a Flower Mound resident who regularly volunteers to welcome troops, said Bush greeted and had his picture taken with each of the roughly 120-145 troops as they came down the greeting line.

"That was wonderful to watch," Ratley said. "Numerous soldiers stopped and saluted President Bush and he saluted them in return. They were all just thrilled to get to shake his hand."

No one wants to feel his or her life is wasted. We all want a pat on the back, there's already enough pain to go around. But certainly, by our fruits we shall be known and that speaks for itself. But if you are a deceiver and an evildoer and the warmonger who puts teenagers in harm's way what possible fate on earth could be worse than to be rejected by your troops? No, the warmonger needs to feel the love and feel safe in his masquerade. The troops loved Hitler, he was their biggest champion. Gee, I wonder why.

Luckily - and naturally not reported by the Texas' press - I was able to listen in and hear some of the actual conversations that took place.

Sure enough, the first soldier walked in disturbed and filled with the agony of haunting, unspoken memories. But surely the Great War Booster (GWB) would understand his pain.

"Sir, I'm glad to defend my country, I truly am. I'm just not sure we are accomplishing anything. I mean..."

"Don't hurt your head with thoughts! I never do! Hehehe." GWB used his standard, bouncing bobblehead fake laughter of pseudo-deprecation. "But I want you to know you've done a great job and I won't listen to any liberal traitor who says otherwise! What you're doing has been a huge hamburger helper to our great nation!"

"You sound so confident. Thanks! But how can you be so sure?"

"Have you seen Exxon's and Halliburton’s latest quarterlies?? They're making a fortune! You truly are helping maintenance the American way of life! Do you have any plans now that you're back home on the range?"

"Well," he drawled, "if I really did just spend the last year of my life killing people for nothing more than oil and corporate profits I think I'll just go ahead and kill myself to make up for it."

You'll be fine! Get over it or you're not a hero!

Some TV cameras were coming over and the anti-Christ gave a hasty thumbs up to the soldier as he walked away.

The woman in the photo came up next, very excited to meet her accuser. "It's such a thrill to meet you! Thank you for keeping us safe with your great decisions and passion for freedom. Wait till Mom hears about this!"

"I thank you and God thanks you. It was the Big Guy in the Sky who really made the decision. No need to thank me, His humble servant. And of course you know God is perfect and never makes a bad decision!"

"I thank the Lord every day. My Mom does too. We put all our faith in Him. I do hope sometime soon God says we can end these wars."

"Like Rummy said, 'Freedom isn't free'! Good thing we can soak them taxpayers with those cost plus contracts, hehehe. We can spend all we want on the militaristical and nobody can do a thing to stop it. Pretty good deal, huh? Hehehe!"

The woman slowly pulled her hand out of his. "My Momma got her Medicaid cut and now has to go around without a hearing aide like she had for years. Spending all that money ain't no joke. You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"Uh, well, hehe, free bells will be ringing," uttered the platitude challenged money grubber.

What difference does it make to the dead,
the orphans and the homeless, whether the mad destruction
is wrought under the name of totalitarianism
or the holy name of liberty or democracy?

But the last guy was straight out pissed at the sight of the GWB.

"Fuck off, you lying son-of-a-bitch! I'm on to you and I hope you rot in hell!"

The anti-Christ - try as he might not to - visibly jumped, as if a bullet had gone clean through. "I'm sorry you feel that way, son. Tell me, are you a Christian?"

"Not your kind of Christian!"

"Ah, that explainates it. Maybe one day you will be. I'll pray for you!"

"You know, you may be able to get away with this shit in the here and now, surrounding yourself with people just as corrupt as you are, telling yourself good is evil and vice-versa, making a religion out of money and calling it God in your speeches, thinking you're clever with your lies and being seen like this is good PR for a soul refusing to come clean but in the end, the truth will out. And then, at that time, you'll find out the only true friends you ever had were the ones who told you you were fucking up."

The warmonger raised his hand for the cameras, saying, "Thank you for being my friend! The troops love on me! I knew they would!"

And then he ran away squealing like a girl as his wife chewed out the press for being mean to him.


Which is scarier? To be shot in a war, or to be shot for not supporting war?

Who says this anymore?

Sunday, August 08, 2010

Great Gazoo And I Search For Mythical Money!

Ya'll remember the Great Gazoo don't ya, space alien friend of the Flintstones? Gazoo returned to his home planet of Zetox after the series cancellation but upon hearing some "weird stories" about us decided to come back to check things out. Since only those who believe in him can see him I was the only person with whom he could talk and right away he starts peppering me with questions.

"Mad earthling! Why do you do the things you do!?"

"That's kind of a broad question there, Gazoo. I mean, I could give you some karmic theories and thoughts on man's desperate search for love and the price of illusion. Other than that, I'm fine, how are you?"

"You have no time for small talk! You have not even the slightest understanding of nature and how to survive! You are very far off course, more than you know!"

"Don't get all worked up, man. Don't they have any doobage in outer space? Jesus, dude, if I got to fly around in some kick ass spaceship and not have to hold down some godawful dead-end job I'd be pretty damn happy!" I proved my point by taking another bong hit and thanking the god of hydroponics.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! I care more about this planet than you do! You must not destroy yourselves!"

"Fuck man, you wanna save the world, more power to ya! I'm right behind you!" Of course, way I felt then he could have said he was going to blow up the Panama Canal and I'd of said "more power" to that too.

"Excellent news! That's the spirit! Let's be on our way. I shall zap you into a fellow Zetoxite - "

"Oh, hey man, don't be injecting any of that crazy Hollywood junk in my face!"

"-and we'll get to the bottom of your wayward ways!"

That's when Gazoo pulled this ray gun out and turned me into an invisible, flying little green man too. Next thing I know we're over the Gulf of Mexico even though this miniature space fiend refuses to stop for a bag of Cheetos along the way. Are we the only planet that gets the munchies?

It's not like we made it unsafe on purpose. Oh, wait...

"Look! See! You poke holes in your planet to release toxins that pollute your water!"

"No, man, we use that oil to put in cars so we can release toxins into the air, not the water!"

"You call that a good thing?"

"Fucking A! My Maserati does 185!"

"Even if I did concede to such earthly madness, I know your hole poking could be done in a way where leaks like this won't happen."

Little man was starting to get on my nerves. Cotton mouth didn't help either. "Yeah, well, them dudes didn't want to spend the money on that shit. You know, you go worrying about all this shit it ain't good for your health."

"Money? Please explain that concept."

Aw, shit. I so don't need this. So I said, "Aw, shit. I so don't need this."

"You must explain to re-attain your human form!"

Everybody wants to run my damn life! "Money, you know, moolah, cash, dinero. It's how we buy shit so we can live."

"Explain how it's more important than your air, land and water. I'm not seeing how that could be!"

"It just is, man, Nobody thinks about it. It's just the way things gotta be. Even Commies got money. It's just like getting laid, you gotta do it whether you like it or not." Gazoo just floats in the sky with a puzzled look, then starts laughing his green ass off. "You think that's funny?"

"Yes, you very funny! Please give this space alien a break and tell the truth of money concept."

"Dude, I did!" I snapped. Not my fault his dumb ass don't get it. And I'm getting tired of looking at these oily birds.

Gazoo stopped laughing. "Can you show me the money?"

"If I had money I really would have a Maserati, live in a high rise condo and wouldn't waste my time jacking off on a stupid blog. I don't stay stoned because I'm happy!"

"I can see this money illusion makes you very touchy. But I can take us anywhere we want to go."

Anywhere? I hastily cleared the fog from my head. "Well, there's place called a mint back near where I eke out my miserable life. We could see lots of money there."

"Excellent! Off we go!"

Actual Fort Worth mint. You can even take a tour - for money.

Yeah, baby! Meeting this alien is best thing ever happened to this boy! Gonna fly right out of that mint with some big time bucks! What does he care what I take?

Gazoo was confused. "All I see are piles of paper. Show me where this money is that's more important than even your environment."

"Dude, the paper is the money. You can get food, clothing, houses, cars and even girl's bodies with that stuff! Awesome, eh? We should take some and that way I could show you."

Gazoo had that puzzled look again. "If this not a joke, your planet has no future. You say you truly believe it's necessary for survival?"

"Hell yeah! Really no substitute like showing you, though. Since I ain't got my own we'll need to take some from here. A million or so should get us through the day."

"In our invisible Zetoxite form, we can handle no material objects."

"Aw, shit! That means no Cheetos too! This is a freaking nightmare! You wanna know more try Googling a wiki post. I'm outta here!"

"But can you tell me what happens when an earthling has none of this paper? Is it not true he survives just as well? I tell you this paper is not necessary to live!"

"Hey man, this ain't space station lollipop here. No one gonna give you shit if you don't got money! No shoes, no fucking, no health, no nothin'! Them's the rules and that's just the way it is, Mr. Spaceman."

"I feel compelled to inform you that requiring this paper will only bring death to your planet."

"Yeah, well, it's what we call civilization. Lots of people live good by it; most don't, and I'm one of them."

"Why not make your own paper and attain all the goods you need that way?"

"It's another rule that you're not supposed to do that. If they catch you they take away your freedom."

"Such savagery to take your illusion so seriously! I see now if you are willing to condemn your fellow earthlings over this paper - God knows why - that you would then condemn your environment as well. A most disturbing and tragic string of logic. Do you not realize you could just share your resources equally and thus create a thriving and vibrant planet free of doom?"


My mind kept wandering

"It's beautiful! You'll grow like flowers-"

"Look Gazoo, I'm tired and no matter how much we yap about it nothing's gonna change, OK? It is what it is. Nobody wants to share their shit so we came up with this."

"You act as if there's a choice involved!"

"Right, there ain't no choice. It's 'get money or die'. "

"No, I mean you act as if not sharing is an option for living. Otherwise you will suffer a long and arduous death, waging wars for that which should be shared and clutching at one another's throats as your children die."

"That's the plan..."

"But how to you plan to deal with this madness?"

"Easy. We just pretend it's not happening and if we can make ourselves believe that everything will be fine."

Gazoo looked really sad. Dumb bastard really wanted us to live. "How strange of you to worship this god of wood as savior. And when the dying time comes will you call out to this god to save you? Help will not come. Would you not wish to avoid the unbearable suffering?"

"Nah, man, we got our minds made up. If we don't kill people for money then it's like it has no real value after all."

Gazoo zapped me with his gun and I was in human form back under the I-45 bridge again choking in the heat wave. But he was all in a dither now. "I must report this back on my home planet. You were set to join the federation, but now I'm not so sure you will even be around. Remember: follow the light!"

"Sure thing," I nodded, knowing that everyone who follows the light gets shot. But for some inexplicable reason, a flash of hope passed before me, the first in a long, long time.

Obama As Bogeyman

My old friend Ed Wallace titled his weekly piece in the Star-Telegram as "Bias", and he did so because of the number of emails he receives complaining about bias in the news - which would mean something if they were from people actually connected to reality. So Ed decided to focus on an article published in American Thinker [which means it's probably just the opposite] written by William Tate. Tate did an analysis of a 45 page report by the Inspector General's office that assessed how the Auto Task Force conducted itself with the GM and Chrysler bankruptcies. The title of Tate's article: "Race Played Role in Obama Car Dealer Closures".

Yup, the Darkie's gonna get you Whitey for all those generations spent on the plantation! That's a claim that plays well among the willfully ignorant, especially in the 80 percent of the 1,300 most rural counties of America where Obama lost the vote in 2008. [Conservatives seek only what sells, not what's true.] Tate goes on to point out: "Ultimately, close to half of all of the GM dealerships identified for termination were in rural areas." Ergo, Obama was getting those rural rednecks back for not voting for him! [Conservatives suspect such tactics, of course, because those are their own].

I'll let Ed take it from here:

True, the report shows that GM closed many of its rural dealerships. But they were stores selling fewer than 50 cars a year and not showing real strength in wholesale parts operations - meaning their service business was also lagging. In the end, GM decided to keep open just nine of the 394 rural dealerships slated to close for lack of volume.

However, the most telling line of the entire report puts to shame all that Tate has incorrectly concluded on this matter. The line, on page 11, reads, "SIGTARP found that the Auto Team was not involved in determining which dealerships to close." (Italics mine. - EW)

There you have it. Obama and his task force did not choose any dealership to close; executives at GM and Chrysler did it all.

So, if the Auto Task Force did not hand-pick which stores to terminate, then there was no payback for rural areas, no payback against Republican dealers and no racism involved. In fact, anyone who followed that story when it first broke, or knew how GM and Chrysler were selecting the dealerships to close, knew that party politics were not a factor at all.

I buy Italian anyway

So Tate's entire article is a blatant lie, one which could have been easily fact-checked by anyone who had bothered to read the IG's report, like Ed did. But like almost all news, it's the first impression that's lingers most, not the correction posted the next day. Propagandists know this so the goal becomes to get the story out the door, enflame the masses, and watch the truth go up in smoke. Ah, if only those poor pitiful bastards knew the same fate awaits them.

Ed goes on to further analyze the IG report and falsities of the article but what he does not do is ask the far more disturbing question: Why did Tate ever think he could get away with this in the first place? You see, there always have been and always will be liars who live among us willing to say anything if they see - rightly or wrongly - a benefit in it for themselves. It's not whether liars exist or not is the problem, it's when they are listened to is the problem.

Hitler did not invent anti-Semitism. It was rampant in Germany and openly deemed a socially acceptable concept long before his rise to power. He merely tapped into that lie as a means of gaining control. But what do you think now when you hear someone propagate Zionist conspiracy theories of Jews controlling the world and other crap like that? We think the person is a nut, deluded, and needing of mental help - a description that applies to Hitler as well. The difference between an ensuing holocaust and a "get thee to an asylum" statement is how seriously we take the lie.

I started this holocaust...

So when I see the liars among us getting bolder and bolder, I know we're in trouble.

It used to be when one's face was covered in crumbs and one's fingers smudged with chocolate one did not declare to one's mother, "I have no idea who ate the last cookie." There was a certain fear factor of not being believed and a painful accountability sure to follow. But the Last Cookie Eaters brazenly strut around today not bothering to clean their face or wash their hands of evidence to their crimes. No, they merely attack the accuser. "Who are you to question me, Mom?"

And America, a nation of mommies literally horrified of bare breasts, swear words and bad hair days, does not want that question to be asked of her. So just as the remaining few still holding faith in the truth brand the liars as outlaws, so must we must we brand those who enable them as outlaws as well; those who stand idly by in the hopes of being spared the liar's venom, of having the demonization turned back on them. Tell me, America, what is it you know about yourself that makes you fear that so?

As far as Obama goes, he truly represents us as a people: decry those who do evil but do nothing to stop them. And that's why he ran the strongest campaign, he knew we wanted the status quo kept but done in the name of change, to admit no wrongdoing and not wipe the crumbs of war, greed and untruths from our faces. But lies are like parasites, once they take hold it's either you or them, there's no living with them. It's no act of kindness to let the lie live, it's suicide.

And that is what America has become: a nation of perverts, living in a bubble growing larger every day, praying to our gods it does not pop like we know it will - as all bubbles must. As a politicial pervert, Obama sees political reality as the true reality, and reality itself - the welfare of people - as unrealizable fantasy. Our wars are good and our killings just. Our economic system is good and its suffering just. We need change nothing, no course to correct. Those statements are the true fantasy. And for those not on the receiving end of it, it's just a big fucking yuck.

...and I'm continuing it!

So is Obama the bogeyman? Why yes, he is. We each are responsible for rising someone so feckless to power, for protecting our lies. By failing to repudiate war, we lay the groundwork for more war. By failing to repudiate greed, we lay the groundwork for more inequality. And when time comes to pay the piper and finally feel the inescapable pain we have so richly sown, you'll get no fucking sympathy from me. Nobody said you had to believe a lie.

Saturday, August 07, 2010

People Of Incite

No, no, I completely agree with you.
You see things just like they are.
Let me know how things work out for you!

You ever see that movie "Maria Full Of Grace"? It's about this girl smuggling heroin in her stomach. So you see she wasn't full of grace AT ALL. It was heroin! These people are calling heroin a GOOD THING! That's just SICK! Fucking Hollywood! Word!


What do you mean my moustache looks like Hitler's? How dare you compare me to that monster! Some of my best friends are Jewish you racist son-a-bitch! I hope they put you in a concentration camp for calling me Hitler! I see right through you! Word!


I think all the people who go around bitching need to shut the fuck up! They're just pissed the world isn't the way they want it and then they go around telling everyone else how to act and even what to speak! The nerve! So shut the fuck up if you're not going say what I want! Word!


You just said a Bible quote! So you believe in priests molesting children, hating gays, burning people at the stake and a mythical space god! You're a total jerk for shoving your beliefs on everybody else! The Bible's all fairy tales and you better believe that! Word!


There is no truth, motherfucker! It's just you and your own personal fucking agenda making shit up to fit your biased point-of-view hoping that will somehow make you a good person! There is no objective truth that can be known! And that's the truth! Word!


What I can't stand is people that are naive and think everything should be all lovey-dovey. We gotta have war or we're doomed! There's bad people out there we have to fight - but I'm not one of them! We'll never be safe if we don't kill people! And I'm not just saying this because of the war that rages within me. Word!


Did I tell you about the militant peace protesters' march I saw the other day? Those guys mean business! They had all these great signs and chanted lovely slogans and made all sorts of insightful points how we need peace before it's too late. Then some guy on the sidewalk shouted out how he was for the war and they shot him.

The truth will bear itself out in the end.


Thursday, August 05, 2010

Man...An Ancient Race

"So it's come down to this, has it?" Frank stared at the gargoyle smile, neither smiling nor scowling, looking him in the eye with unexplained expectancy, a life on hold. Eyes hard as rails, forged from deep, grey stones pounded mercilessly by the clanging hammers of dead hearts. In this part of the country, explanations were hard to come by, like water from a rock. "It always does," concluded the gunman, heaving a sigh of relief; his greatest fear in facing a man uncorrupted.

" ancient race." Grey Eyes spoke just loud enough to be heard - or not heard - it mattered little. He spoke to the sky.

Frank wondered: Have I gone too far? He remembered sitting behind the Rich Man's desk feeling like a king of old, wallowing in the eternal lust of power. Rich Man asked the gunman how it felt. "Feels just like holding a gun," he marveled, running his hands along the edge of the smooth mahogany. "Only much more powerful." Thievery was one of many occupations listed on Frank's resume and the few seconds spent on the Rich Man's throne opened his eyes to the vast horizons of the plunder of the pen.

But the crown of decision sat uneasily on his head. More to shooting than just aiming straight. Man can't hit his target with his stomach in a knot - and Frank never had a tight gut. That was his advantage over the dead men he'd left behind. No, Frank was not a builder of empires, just a very useful tool. He needed the simple rules of the bullet. Games without rules left him naked and exposed as a baby.

Frank was sure he knew himself

Well, it's not like I've been beat by a man yet. Don't see why this one should be any different. But Grey Eyes was different - and Frank knew it. In the hard wasteland of killing, the steady hand won out. Frank had seen many faces of death. Men too scared to fight back, men too dumb not to run, men who wanted the glory of the kill without learning the skill. Just wantin' to kill, that's not enough. But the face before him now was a demon's mask with angel's eyes.

Grey Eyes had killed before; his other face of granite and ash. Some killers - most killers - plunged into the thrill of it, an adrenaline shot for the emerging Frankenstein. Going down that road put them out of the norm, out of sync, twisting life into warped and distorted images. Tightrope walkers don't dare become bored. And staying alert means finding another kill. But Grey Eyes killed only striking snakes, preserving life. He took pleasure in the preservation - and that was his advantage.

Frank's truest enemy was guilt. Guilt muddles the mind, causes hesitation to slow the killing hand. It's easy to pull the trigger on a bad man, giving him his just desserts. The weak get what they deserved too. But a killer who didn't need the killing. What was he like? Aren't you a cripple too? Gotta be! We all are. Them bullets don't just kill the other guy, they take a piece of you too. I bet you're no different than all the rest of us. Frank bet his life on it.

The Whore of New Orleans. The smoke of her eyes disarmed Frank of any gun not of his birth. Like diseased creatures stricken with desire, men flocked to her in helpless agony. Cloaks of deceit flung to the ground as pleading arms stretched out for a taste of her nurturing nectar. Once enflamed, words imprisoned in the dark stillness of night released their cry and she knew well the hidden voices of men. Like a beaten dog of the desert, she walked with wary steps at the sight of oncoming leggings.

Pressing her husband's killer against her lips she belched her weaknesses in open contempt. She could have caged them, owned them, left them to damage her organs. But she freed them right in front of Frank's hazing eyes leaving him to realize her death was his death, his bullets useless as his rotted love. She knew he'd come to rape her, to call her whore, to pray at her temple with a psalm of depravity. But in the facing of it she took away his pleasure. A whore no more.

Still, Frank need his raping, to show all the world the plight of his soul. He demanded her worldly possessions in lieu of her body. Having suffered the humiliation of marrying his gun, Frank crusaded his rifled religion with an evangelist's fervor. And like any religious zealot, he bore contempt on creeds of a differing stripe. Most importantly he craved the conquests as sacrifices to his god, to prove he'd not thrown his life away in vain. All he need do was win - every time.

Frank had had his chance to kill his competitor, had him cold and surrounded. But in flinty recognition Grey Eyes flashed Knowledge Of The Unknown and for Frank nothing blazed more preciously in his torment. "Don't punch him in the mouth," he ordered his men. "He needs to talk, and talk plenty." But Frank must first ride out if he were to grab onto the brass ring of his blossoming business career - but after having taken care of the confused plans of his heart, he'd wring the truth from behind those grey eyes and perhaps learn the secret to his freedom.

Didn't look like Frank was going to get that talk now. "Who are you?" he demanded of Grey Eyes. No, there was no backing down now but he'd lost his advantage. The only way to find out who this man was was to draw his gun. And yet...why this childlike need to talk? He fought back the urge, to fight two opponents was lethal. No, no need for words. I can kill him like always. Man that can be shot got no right to live no how. I'm gonna draw, simple as that. My head's clear enough. Now!

Man, an ancient race...modern in his methods, clichéd in his waiting to be proven true, men wanting to be proven liars...what's left to be done with nothing new under the sun?...time to return where it started, innocent children safe in Nature's hands...the rising sun mourns the forever folly of soil drained barren by weeds...someday avenging angels swoop in to save the flowers before it's too late...high and wide will be the mounds of pulled weeds as the angels lament, " ancient race."