Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Haiku Found Thawing In The Snow


The River Angry


"It's just a matter of time now."

I was peering through my binoculars from my secret upstream perch overlooking the river. If only everyone could see this, I sighed. I do not have the words to fully translate what my eyes see.

The angry swell was ripping up bushes and washing away foundations from trees from the expanding river banks. To be in its way was death. Downstream, disaster awaits the comfortable village on its shores. I tried to tell them but that only made me their enemy.

"We HATE you! Don't ever come here again!"

I hastily retreated ahead of thrown rocks. They thought I was being judgmental of their ways. What I said and what they heard were two different things. I had no idea of the contentious debates into which they had fallen. I simply came from upstream to warn them. They thought that meant they were idiots and fools for living where they were.

"Only if you stay!" I replied. Boy, did that piss them off.

As I watch the merciless rush of water devour everything that stands in its way, I feel a fear I've never known before. This is a power that answers to no one. The grey jostling waves smash with unrelenting fury, unstoppable and blind. These waters do not care about the clever and eloquent political arguments made for staying in its path. They are not sensitive to people's feelings or egos or careers. Time for Nature to have Her say.


"Do you want my child to die?" This woman held up her baby to my face, accusing me of wishing its death. In her mind, there was no other way to live other than where she lived. She gave me all of their systemic reasons why she couldn't move. But what amazed me the most was that she ascribed to me the power to change the flow of the river, as if I were determining its course. Didn't she realize that if I wanted her dead I'd simply have stayed upstream and said nothing?

Later, I found out their secret dream guilt. The reason the river was overflowing was because of the villagers. They put their trash in the river's tributaries which cause it to dam up. As long as the makeshift dam held they were seemingly fine. Before they knew to fully fear their own behavior they had even sent engineers to examine the dam to see if they were in any danger.

When reports of their possible demise came, that's when the situation turned political (The most important fact in politics, of course, is that facts don't matter.) The arguments had grown more acrimonious over time so when I showed up to tell them the dam had burst I walked right into a bear trap. But I was not there to argue. Even so, I was denounced by their shaman headman.

"We are children of our god. Our god loves us and wishes us a long life. That's why we were given this river! Damn any who say otherwise! Damn those who say this is not a holy river! Damn those who say this is not a river of life!"


But what's that got to do with them fucking it up? If they thought it was so holy, why did they put trash in it? Instead of fixing it they just became experts at arguing about how they shouldn't have to fix it. But the river can't hear those arguments, not one drop of water will be swayed. That woman and her baby will die blaming me. Even now, if they were just to admit their sins they could be saved.

But they let fear be their master, for they knew they were sowing their own doom even if they refused to admit it. Jaded jackals rose to power, enriching themselves as they declared those who said they need to clean up their trash were their true enemies. Their system they called village-ism was blessed by their god and they should have faith in that god. "Listen to what our god says!"

To do that they need only listen to the destruction I heard below. I'd heard a few brave souls had left for the desert amid much scorn and abuse. The villagers wished death upon them and did everything they could to make that happen. The villagers called it justice to destroy the deserters. But true justice is raging below, getting closer and closer every second.


Such a simple situation in reality: make a mess, clean it up, and live. Don't, you die. Their village-ism was blessed only in their minds. In their final days delusion took over as the river's reality became harder to deny. Holy technology will save the day, diverting the river's path so that they need never change their ways! So even as they as they were forced to admit on some level the river swell was coming, they still refused to admit its consequence. But I won't be there to see it.

I'm returning to my home far away. I do relish the picture in my mind of the shaman headman being washed away by a giant wave, his diabolical deeds gone forever. What has been set in motion cannot be stopped now. They waited too long. The desert survivors will return to build on the truth, winning reality instead of winning arguments.



Saturday, February 18, 2017

Incident At Utsune Bridge


Why do we do it? Where does the madness come from? Is there hidden madness in everyone?

There. Down at the bottom on the south end. I dare not step there. It is a black hole that swallows whole. It is where my life ended.

The echoes of that night have not faded. Seven years ago, time stopped. I eat, I (barely) sleep, I carry out my duties as samurai. But I have not recovered. Crippled in a single blinding moment of madness.

It is winter now but was a warm, late summer night then. The night of the Ebisu Feast. Umada village was decorated with lanterns, the merchants were selling their dolls and everyone came out to enjoy the vibrant life in the air. Osayo came out too, the silk merchant's daughter. I'd had my eye on her the last couple of months.

It's easy for a samurai not to fear death. A woman is another matter. We had exchanged words and I even allowed myself a little familiarity with her. But that's as far I went. I couldn't pull the trigger and confess I needed her. If only we still live in a time of war I could have proved myself to her. But as an ordinary man I could not approach her.

Why do I torture myself? Why come back here? What is it I hope to accomplish? The bridge that has haunted my dreams for so many years is not lessened by this visit. No, it still bears silent witness to a madman.


Like everyone, I'd had my share of sake that night. Osaya was such a prize that every day I waited was a danger to me for her to be swept away. It's true the merchants are the lowest class and we samurai reign at the top. Part of me believed that and part of me thought it meant nothing. She was funny and intelligent and would easily see through a fraud like me who is nothing without his status. Three times I made her laugh and I still count those as treasures of my life.

I will never be able to make her laugh again.

I secretly stalked her at the festival, following her wonderful visage, trying to work up the drunken courage to touch her hand. And then I saw it, the fatal embrace. He was handsome, a man from outside the village, and he too had the light of intelligence in his eyes same as she. How was I to compete?

Immediately they separated from the crowd, wanting to talk and be alone. I looked around but this bothered no one but me. They headed for scenic Utsune bridge. So it was true. I was to spend my life alone, a coward.

If only I had left it at that.

My inner voice screamed at me to stop. "But I have to know!" That was a lie. I just couldn't mind my own business. How can a coward live with himself? He must make others' business his own to feel alive; a poacher.

Her face in the bright moonlight was happy. Oh, how I ached to give her that happiness! To mean something to her would mean everything. They stopped on the bridge, watching the sweet flowing water below gurgle in the evening warmth. The longer they stayed, the more I boiled.

She would go home with him, giving him her body in the night. Worse, he'd take up all her time, robbing me of even the few morsels I did get. I felt I had nothing to lose. I determined a logic of my own making. Remove him and I still had a chance.

The visions in my head were mocking me and my impotence. To see another with her so easy and free, lacking any fear...I could not stand it. I must act!

I tore from the trees with sword drawn. They both stared at me in frozen wonder, only realizing too late my intentions. With a single slice I chopped him down. I looked at Osaya, half-proud of my deed. I had acted!



"You!"

That was all she said before running off. Then I realized I'd lost her forever. I went home that night and burned down my house. Conflagration in the deep of the night.

The next day I found out it was her brother I had killed. It has been said that whether a man does good or evil it begins in his imagination. I was contemptuous. "What matters a person's imagination? That's not reality!" What a way to find out I was deadly wrong.

I am ronin now, wandering as a hired sword. Some fools admire me as I walk this black path. Umada village died too and is now a town of lonesome weeds. I wondered if my bad karma had infested the place, my dark deed bringing ruin to all. So many questions I cannot answer.

Osaya said nothing. To my knowledge she's told no one of my murder. As a samurai I can kill at will if I feel justified but this clearly was not. She could have made a lot of trouble for me. But being the person she was, she did not. I will die in distant awe of her. I do not begrudge the man who is worthy of her now. I can see that can never be me.

If only I had been honest! People speak of senseless tragedies, they happen all the time. But I do not get angry like others do when they occur, I get sad. I do killings now to make my life worse, punishing myself, serving bad men. How can I not believe I'm a bad man too?

Why did I damage the life I wanted to bring joy to more than any other?

Today it is winter. Tomorrow it will be winter too.



Friday, February 17, 2017

That Which Can't Be Told


Innocence. It's the most important part of childhood (yet God guarantees nothing). The longer you can keep it the better off you are. Mine ended one day throwing rocks into a swelling pond after a few rainy days. When other boys threw their rocks in, vast ripples were made and, hell, watching the waves was half the fun of throwing in the rocks. But mine simply sank with no ripples at all.

"Whoa, how did you do that?"

An innocent question from an innocent time. Later, we all "grow up" to become judgmental and righteous over anything different, but as kids we're more open-minded (and therefor more intelligent). But I said I couldn't explain it even after I duplicated it several times. As I began to think about it, though, I became ashamed and concerned about something I couldn't explain. For days afterwards I'd throw rocks on my own but never a ripple was made. How the fuck does one explain defying the laws of physics??

So, I never threw rocks again in the sight of others. Most of the time it didn't bother me but it always lingered in the back of my mind that I'd have to avoid natural bodies of water. I refused a scouting trip to go camping because I knew it was by a lake. There wasn't a soul alive I could tell why. I started to separate myself from others, the shame snowballing in secret consternation. It was the beginning of the running.

Who could I have a relationship with? I'd have to lie. If she ever discovered my secret, then what? Would she have the absolute faith it would take to believe there was nothing wrong with me despite this inexplicable phenomena? No, that's too much to expect. I'd get my heart broken for sure. I stopped doing any outside activities to lay the groundwork for not being an "outdoor person". I kept obsessing on how to not be discovered until it became a full time job.

Forever forbidden. Un-fucking-believable.

Every once in a while I'd hike out on my own and try a few rocks. The wrenching emotions as I'd trek up to the water like Charlie brown with the football. This time will be different! It just has to be! But, of course, hope is forbidden. I cursed God and prayed for God to die so I'd be free of this prison because who else could cause this to happen? Who in human history has ever been cursed as I am? I decided I had a right to be angry with God - until I realized that mattered not. Nothing would change my situation, right or wrong.

I even tried going to a counselor because that's what you're expected to do even though I had no faith in it whatsoever. She kept thinking - insisting - that I was speaking metaphorically. Worst part was when I said I could prove it to her I chickened out. I really didn't want anyone else to know my secret with certainty. So that flamed out. Then I started a blog.

My readers were like the counselor, thinking I was speaking metaphorically. By this time I'd learned what to expect and could manipulate them. Everyone read their own shit into what I wrote, as if looking into a mirror. How could anyone possibly suspect I was telling the absolute truth? I found out a lot about people that way, but I never found an answer. God damn.

In the evening time, I sit alone in the dark. I see the point of nothing. Eating and not eating are the same. I can say words of truth that literally no one can understand. And because I fear to remove all doubt by demonstrating proof, no one will ever know of my dilemma. At this point, I'd have to show the whole world, become freak of the year, and be branded in infamy for all time. It's such a trivial thing in so many ways yet so horrific in its nature and consequence.


I will die without knowing. And I do know I'd be crucified if found out by the wider world. People are savages and attack what they don't understand (because what they do understand about themselves is bad). I'd be called a con artist or a trickster, deceiving everyone with my ripple-less rocks. I can just imagine the phony "scientific" explanations offered because science is a religion trusted by the angry masses. In a way, I understand. It's no fun being confounded. The only thing that makes sense to me is that if Jesus were to return I know I could tell him without fear or hesitation - and maybe even get an explanation.

But lacking that I'm stuck in solitary confinement for life. I feel rage, overflowing and out-of-control. It's a constant battle not to let the despair overwhelm me. I have no choice but to operate on faith as I must live with something no human can quantify, you damn dirty apes. I'm sure somewhere in the universe there's an explanation, one that is beyond science and our puny understanding. With our morbid outlook on life I even wonder if my curse is actually a gift in disguise, something beyond our power to reason yet can still be appreciated.

So now I've told you without really telling you. I'm writing a script where you unknowingly recite lines per my intent. You'll walk away vaguely unsatisfied but won't be able to get to the bottom of it. The only way it could possibly make sense would be to accept I'm telling the actual truth. But that can't be! you'll say to yourself as I have you join in my perpetual frustration and conundrum. It's a sad game nobody wins that we are compelled to play. My only solace is in knowing revelation will have its day in all things and then everyone will know and understand. I live dependent on the kindness of the universe.


Crashing The (Sociopath) Pearly Gates

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?
- Romans 9:21


He fired up his Maserati with the satisfied grin he always felt at the sound of its throaty exhaust. He luxuriated in the fine Italian leather as he watched a homeless man push a grocery cart in the rain. He'd just picked up his tailor made shirt from Ripley Shirts and was heading back to his upscale townhouse in the latest Dallas development.

"It's good to be me!"

Earlier that month he and a few friends waited outside a known gay bar, looking for a victim. They laughed as they beat and kicked him with unrestrained glee under the cover of darkness. A sleepless neighbor called the police but when the cop arrived he simply said, "Let me know when you guys are done and I'll pretend to chase you. Get that fucking faggot!"

He grinned as always: "It's good to be me!"

He visits his office during the day where a room of cold callers have lists of elderly seniors to cheat and swindle. They are bonused not just on the amount taken but also the percentage of a person's wealth, to leave them in the most dire circumstance possible. The fact he was able to do this day after day, destroying lives at will, validated his every crooked deed (especially as he helped vote a fellow sociopath victoriously into office!).

"It's good to be me!"

With the proceeds of his scam office he opened a car repair shop. He only hired mechanics who followed his edict: "Fix what's broken, but break something else while in there!" Many customers swore by his work - they just had bad car luck! If anyone dare badmouth him, he used a sociopathic (redundant?) lawyer to sue them into silence.

"It's good to be me!"

But as his Maserati raced along on this rainy day speeding insanely out of control, he passed on to the next world in a fireball of death.


Seeing St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he was defiant. "I'm not going to let you fuck me! It's kill or be killed. That's the way it is. You don't like it then go fix it, you cocksucking asshole son-a-bitch!"

"Actually, my records show you have been sucking cock while beating others who in engage in that behavior in order to hide your own actions."

"I got what you can suck! That's all fake news! Has it not been written: Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use?"

"I do not know what's fake, I only have the truth before me because why have anything else?"

"Because the truth is for losers! Go ahead and send me to hell. I don't need you to lecture me on why I can't pass through the gates."

"But you can pass through. Anyone can."

"Bullshit! What kind of scam are you running here? Even I can't figure it out."

"No scam. Why wouldn't we want as many as possible to enter the kingdom of Heaven?"

"Because some people are total unredeemable assholes! So I know there's no way!"

"Way!"

"I know this is a trick. You're trying to fuck me because that's what everyone does. I make the wrong decision and I'm screwed for all fucking eternity!"

"That's a fact, Jack! But it's easy! Just choose what you want."

The sociopath was confused, disoriented, looking around for a clue but found none. "OK, smart guy. I'll prove you a liar and pass through. Nobody gets what they want!"

Once on the other side, he looked back at Peter. "I don't get it. You're letting me in. You can't do that. You can't let just anyone in. Aren't we to be judged?"

"Only by yourself, if you want. Paradise is yours for the asking!"

"Well, damn. I sure do feel like a jerk now...and a loser...and an asshole..."

"That's right - and you will for all fucking eternity."


Sunday, February 12, 2017

Manson and Bannon Secret Texts


Hey, Charlie, what's up? Killed anyone lately?

Can't. Got denied parole again. Once the press
is out to get you, you're screwed!

Don't I know it! Luckily, President Nero has the guts to take them on.

About damn time!!!

Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, who did that cool swastika tattoo on your forehead?

Guy from the Satanic Sanctum on Sunset Strip. Ask for Lucifer.

Thanks! Just imagine how that will drive liberals crazy!

Those know-it-alls! Nothing I love more than pissing them off.

Me too!! I don't care if the whole country burns down so long as I can annoy those fuckers along the way. Nero is really bummed he can't nominate you for a cabinet post.

Give it time! All libtards want to do is create fake news using facts.

Morons! Facts don't matter. Never have. It's *beliefs* we have to control.

Been doing that for years.

I know! It's our primary duty to create as much Muslim hysteria as possible so the sheep won't notice how we're ripping them off.

Brilliant! My second choice was to be a Wall Street trader. I really regret my
choices now. Just think of how many more I could have killed with poverty
than a knife!!

There's still plenty of shearing left to do even with the most imbalanced distribution of wealth here in the Western world. Thank you, Obama, for protecting our greedy ways from the liberals!

"Praise be to Satan who gives me my power."

I'm loving your campaign. You got them believing the guy
mowing their lawn is the source of all their problems!!

That's only the beginning. We have to keep upping the Muslim ante in order to maintain the distraction. I've put out lots of smokescreens on my "philosophy" but really the goal is same as always: to make the world safe for assholes.

Amen to that! You going to start a war?!?

Yes, God told me to.

That answer always sells!

First we'll tell them they have a choice between Christian fascism or Islamic fascism. Some fringe elements will argue for no fascism but we'll call them idealists so no one will listen. Once the suckers take the bait on that we can REALLY ram our Satanic agenda down their throat.

Oh, that's hot! You busy later?

You can see it working already. NO ONE wants to admit we have Nero fiddling while Rome burns in charge. Congress is shaking in their boots at our ruthless power grab. We all know how much conservatives hate Christ in reality. They'll be terrified to go against *anything* done in the name of Jesus.

Think you could send me a pic with your shirt off?? lol

These are glorious times! We're going to make America hate again! We're going to lead them by the nose and expose them for the weak bitch whores that they are! I pray to Hitler's soul each night for continued success. I'm calling this the Fourth Reich.

Just so you know, prison sex really is HAWT!

Yes, it's about time we hooked up. I need someone to practice secret Nazi rituals with.

I'm your guy for that! I know all of Hitler's favorite positions (wink, wink)

I can't wait till the press reports on it!!! Will explode their liberal heads!

That's not all that will explode!

I've been waiting for this my whole life. AT LAST, the truth has no meaning. God is our whore and Jesus is our bitch.

Great! bring them along too!


Sunday, February 05, 2017

Ronnie On The Run

White Rock 7

"Is this all there is?"

Ronnie was morose, which was unusual for him but then again I hadn't come across him in ages. I never have any place to go so I wander to various parks or sit by White Rock Lake and dream of the riches it would take to build a Japanese house on its shores. And that's where I saw Ronnie, a former co-worker with whom I once shared the pits of hell. They say war is bonding but that's nothing compared to janitorial work. At least you know a war is going to end at some point.

"Is this all my life is going to be? Endless drudgery until I die? You tell me, Harry. I always used to believe there was more. I thought it was a fact."

Part of me was laughing on the inside as I thought of the Scarface dinner speech that starts out the same way. But Ronnie had always been a happy-go-lucky guy. Granted, I had my concerns he might one day get burned on that because the world was not the place he thought it to be, but I had hoped for the best. Turns out that burn must have come as his life eventually emptied out in the struggle to survive.

"I guess I was waiting on something. I figured it was there just around the corner, then life would be complete. But it's not. It's just the same old shit, day after day, your body starts breaking down, the hell you go through is only rewarded by even more pain and suffering."

I suppressed another inward smile as I listened to a discovery I had made long ago. I have no idea how to make love work so I had nothing to say. Looking out over the soothing waters at the carefree birds made for a very contrasting backdrop for our sad souls.



Back in the day, Ronnie and I shared the same train home in the wee hours of the morning after work. Ronnie on occasion could really crack me up like when he did his best Springsteen impersonation of Bruce's flying elbows dancing. "Look at me! I'm dancing in the DART!" [Dallas Area Rapid Transit]. That's how I always wanted to remember him, was in that moment. And now he's another broken toy on the scrap heap of life.

"God really hates poor people. He's just like everyone else. All He cares about is the rent. Don't have it? Then go fuck yourself, you don't have anything to offer as a person."

Ronnie is one of the invisible people, the kind you only see as a punchline in a movie at most. We don't know how people like him survive nor do we want to face the nightmarish quagmire of the working poor whom we shaft with relentless fury and conviction. Don't feel sorry for the suffering to come, dear ones, know that you've earned it a thousand times over, that the people you made invisible were not invisible to their Maker.

I only had a lame joke to offer. "Don't worry. I know Jesus was kidding when he said blessed are the poor."

All I could really say was my life is no better, that he wasn't alone. But I know what empty solace that is. We were both waiting to die while yuppie joggers passed by with their purebred dogs and high dollar strollers, ringed by nine figure houses destined to be swept away by the tsunami of human misery that rises every day.

"Well," I sighed. "If you find an answer, be sure to let me know!" On that I wasn't joking.


As one who's always lived in the cracks of society, in the back alleys and hidden corners from which to spy, you naturally find others on the run for various reasons (though the one most offered is relationships gone sour). I am constantly searching for rest. Anything good in my life I destroy because I cling to it too hard.

I thought about Ronnie in the ensuing days. I knew he was on the tipping point, his frustration boiling over for a meaningful life. Is meaning even possible in the here and now on a dying planet? The amount of misplaced faith is so staggering that it's become the norm. And what of true faith? It's more maligned and persecuted every day. That adds up to oblivion - yet we're still obligated to do the right thing.

The election of Nero has lowered us a great step downward. Don't be fooled by protests to close the barn door after the horse is out. All those victories will be pyrrhic. The descent remains the same. The election's true destructive nature is in how it leads people out of the everyday flow of their lives as a madman fiddles after starting fires for others to put out. But fighting Nero won't solve any problems because Nero is not the solution. There's a reason why dishonest people are in charge.

After finding an object in Nero in which he could direct his anger and energy, Ronnie cracked, at last. He's all into the "resistance" and other political activities that can give his life direction without having to look at himself - the perpetual holy grail of mankind. Deeper and deeper he went, wallowing in it, immersing himself until no light could get in.

Saving the environment

One doesn't want to suspect the worst or believe one has to live with those who are so out of control their mess could overflow into one's own life. But not facing that means you get into a Smart car with Ronnie even though all your instincts tell you not to. He's all excited now that his life has "meaning", telling me about hypermiling (as part of his "new heightened awareness") as I joke about all the extra weight his anti-Nero stickers are adding to the car.

Then it happens. The true level of his disconnection to reality is revealed right there under the morning winter sun. It pains me even to recount it.

We're heading down a long hill. "I always try to take this hill. You can coast past that light at the bottom all the way to the next one. Just have to time it."

"Dude, that light's turned red!"

"I know. But we're hypermiling, just have to time it." Like that's any sort of fucking explanation!

And sure enough we clip a pickup. The redneck driver is incensed to say the least.

"What the hell you doin'? Have you lost your ever-lovin' mind!" Even under ordinary circumstances I could see Ronnie and this fellow would not get along.

"I'm hypermiling. It saves gas and the environment. And see that pink license plate holder? That means I'm curing cancer!" Oh, boy.

"That don't give you the right to wreck my truck, you imbecile!"

"Saving the environment is important! I'm part of the resistance!" I literally debate if I should start running away even though I'm a direct witness to the accident. Ronnie has disconnected far more than I wanted to realize. This is my punishment for not facing that.

"Well, can you resist being an idiot! Because that's what you are!"

"Your big truck using up gas is an idiot! Where do you think that's gonna get us when all the gas is gone?"

"None of your damn business. You're one of them libtards screwing up the world and I gotta pay for it!"

"No, you are screwing up the world because you can't see anything past your own personal interests!"

I have to let go. If someone gets killed, so be it. I don't have the strength to step in between those two. Each person played into the other's stereotype of what they believed the world to be. Eventually the cops showed up and I had to grimace my way through a statement. But my mind is a thousand miles away as I watch the cop draw on his intersection diagram of how the cars collided. I wonder how much Ronnie is in me, how much have I gone over the edge. It scares the hell out of me.


Thursday, February 02, 2017

Unconfessed


Tragedy was for other people. She was of the blessed life, one percent of the global one percent, insulated from the woes and worries of - let's face it - the morally inferior. She grew up in Christian schools and maintained her Christian heritage. She had - she deemed - a superior belief. Oh, there were other believers to be found, but she had that extra special edge that exempted her from ordinary concerns.

The longer her bliss continued, the more sure she was it was truly deserved. Watching the nightly news of mass starvation, bombed out cities, unspeakable atrocities, and uncertain futures, she contrasted that with her perch among the swank San Francisco mountains, justifying her easy life as a gift from God. She longed for the day for the last of her nagging Doubt to leave and depart, she to be forever ensconced 100% in the belief she had achieved purity and to never need fear the world.

It's hard to say if the two events coincided perfectly or if one triggered the other, but she felt she had finally achieved that state of nirvana - right as she got the news that wrecked her life irrevocably. Her daughter, her oldest child going to college on the east coast, had been shot dead. The shock of it was unreal, a cruel prank that cannot be true for someone like her. She would never see her daughter again. Into the abyss she fell.

How did this happen? Simple. I shot her daughter. At one point I had climbed the San Fran mountain to get my perch to make the kill on the mother, but then I thought what she really needed was to suffer as I suffer. As any parent knows, a bullet to their child hurts a thousand times worse than any bullet the parent may receive. And since it was apparently a random killing without motive, that made it virtually untraceable for the police. Interview all the people you want, suckers, you'll never find a clue. I knew the mystery of that would only drive the knife deeper in her.


I was supposed to have been buried along with her feelings for me. I admit I went along with it in my own hopeless despair. But once in the coffin it triggered feelings to live. But how was I going to live without her? I roamed the world a half-person unsatisfied with anything and everything. Until finally - inevitably - satisfaction became my only pursuit. How many times did I lie awake at night thinking, "If I could hurt her, I would."

As one who is crippled and dependent on the world, I feel the times a-changin'. If you're miserable it's somebody's else's fault. And while I know it's true there's always someone fucking you or trying to fuck you, this is something different. It's about a loveless life and finding a reason that doesn't point back to you. Somebody has to pay, you damn dirty ape! It's been happening for years and years now, we the unhappy taking revenge (and even getting elected). Afterwards, they always ask why you kill but they'd literally rather die than hear the true answer.

I have to admit I did think about what story I'd tell for my motivation if caught. Anything but unrequited love would do. I couldn't really think of a good political or religious excuse. Above all, I wanted to remain unconfessed. But you can't just keep it all inside. You can't say you bombed a marathon because no one loves you. In the end I decided I'd have to think of a scapegoat later. Maybe I could take something out of the paper when the time came.


What I love most is she lost her "faith". She walked as a shattered being, hollow-eyed and medicated. How could God have let her down like that? Every time she asked that question, her hell got a little harsher. The depths of her lifelong self-deception was a revelation of a greater doom than she ever feared. She had believed God was of this world, refusing to face there's only as much God in this world as we let in. Last time I checked that was pretty microscopic. She never did come to grips that the Doubt she so eagerly sought to rid from her life was, in fact, the remnant of God inside her.

I'd taken away everything she could cling to or hide behind. Her faith gone, her daughter gone, her lies gone. It was a condition I knew well as one buried alive: no way out. Welcome to my nightmare! At last I had a connection to her as love so cruelly demands right or wrong. I thought I could choose my feelings, that I was their master. Turns out it's the other way around. Like her, I tried to destroy my feelings only to have them erupt stronger than ever. Goddam, life is hard.

So did I take satisfaction in my deed? When I thought of what I'd done, my head fills with black helpless terror day or night. When I thought of her misery and frustration and hopelessness, I was like a vampire feeding off her. Nothing could hurt me more now than for her to die. Then I'd only be left with the spreading terror in my mind...

To put a final nail in the coffin, I sent a note saying her other child, a son, was next. By doing that I had done worse than kill him. She'd be looking over her shoulder the rest of her days, wondering when the time would come. She had never believed in letting go - true faith - in the first place. Now she'll really choke herself to death. But the best part was I knew she could show that note to no one. If she did, then her daughter's death could be traced back to something she did, and no longer be held completely blameless. In her mind, if nobody knows something, it isn't true. She will die unconfessed and therefor unrepentant.


That final shot killed her heart. She can curse and demonize me all she wants but it changes nothing. Funny thing is now she feels she's the unluckiest person in the world. If only she hadn't met me she'd never have feelings to bury, she falsely assumes. If you want to keep breathing, bitch, you're going to have to eat shit each and every day from now on. As time passes the deeper the realization that it's never going to change, like walking in snow that gets higher and higher yet stopping means certain death.

It's easy to see the tragedy looking back. You know it's wrong at the time but you never think that lying about your feelings can have such devastating consequences. In the heat of the moment, you wonder if it even means anything at all, one's feelings considered so inconsequential in this mad, mad world. But yes, it is a matter of life and death to be honest, just like that little voice was telling me all along.

It's a shame it came to this for both of us. Scariest part is I can see it happening everywhere. I want to yell out to them to stop lying, that I know the tragedy that is coming. But who would listen to a murderer? I guess we'll all have to learn the hard way; lying, killing and raping until there's nothing left. The currents of our feelings cannot be fought nor dammed. Whether we like where they may lead us or not, we have no choice but to confess. As I know now too late: whomever confesses the most, wins.