Sarcasm Alley

A Purchased Life

2012-01-27T23:55:00.000-08:00

When Thomas Elkin got his wildly inflated, otherworldly yearly bonus, first call he made was to his favorite hooker - $3,000 a night, sheets included. Next, he called his mother, thrilled with his worldly success. Lastly, he called a woman who would no longer talk to him, getting her voice mail as always. If only she could see me now! On an orb spinning in darkness, he bowed down to his well-financed image, hoping the illusion to be true.

Amanda Wittenberg dutifully ran the family shop. Inherited wealth protected her from any economic storm. She carried within her a list of her favorite restaurants, favorite cities, and even favorite closets of clothes. Male suitors were many, never far behind. She had everything and did everything, as expected. Life's perfection lacked only one missing piece: doing what she really wanted. How to give up the proven for the unproven?

Sydney Hallison has a pocketful of answers! If the world suddenly became absent of pestering questions and perilous dilemmas she would die of agonizing atrophy. For each answer she presented to a searching soul, she awarded herself a gold star. "I am most excellent and special!" she'd often proclaim with a certain smile. Across the glorious globe only one person did she refuse to be there for: herself. Ukrainian bitch.

Sherry Hodges faked another orgasm on this cold winter's night. "You were just fantastic, honey!" She stayed home to pursue her dream of writing. Just imagine such a fantastical career! Once writing, new exciting worlds opened up shedding light in darkly held corners. Her marriage, her children's dreams, her parents' approval, her nosy friends - each and every one was presented in a disturbingly new way. Carefully, she made sure never to write an honest word, thus avoiding any chance of damaging conflict - and any chance of possible success.

The right honorable Senator Oscar Tibbs was the first elected black man from his state. Blessed with pleasing looks and engaging charm, he championed the ideals of the dead Martin Luther King. His campaign to be liked was a runaway success, role model and hero he be in the adoring eyes of his constituents. Yet never did he himself believe it true, trolling for prostitutes of degradation in homeless city nights. His campaign slogan: "We need only to believe to win!"

Lance Finster knew how to get the girls. And not just any girls, but fantasy girls of unearthly delight! He labored as a carpet cleaner on a lark but gathering envy was his true paycheck in life. In the tri-state area of his domain he knew of no other who could match his trophy case of ecstasy dream life. Yes, he could be anything he wanted to be - just so long as he didn't have to be anything.

Perry Heinsom hated the only job he could ever hold. He dreamed of a tropical island where only he would live. Once there he'd never lift a finger in anger again, never having to lie. In time, he planned to purchase his paradise even as his job consumed him, his health and his relationships. But he remained undaunted in the race to create his own personal empire - and then sit upon its throne in sickly silent splendor.

I Saw One Of Those "Must See" Films

2012-01-22T12:14:00.000-08:00

There's an eternal naiveté about war and it's one that inhabits most its proponents who most claim to know its dangers. As all the world truly is a stage, those with war in their souls must sell that war and thusly turn a blind eye to the true reality of its futility and useless wreckage. That is why even after all this time we still hear (and trust) the chant, "War is hope! Peace is doom!" But there is no ultimate profit to the illusion.

America has a unique war fetish. One day we were walking along and saw a bully beating someone up. We stopped the bully and felt really good about ourselves. Then we saw someone who was thinking of being a bully and so we beat that person up too. Then we someone who looked like a bully to our eyes and so we beat him up too. Until finally, slowly, we became the bully - but in our minds are still doing the Lord's work. That's the illusion of war.

America, of course, is not unique in her self-deception and stupidity about war. Like any drug, the longer you take it the more it corrupts you until you become the very thing you're fighting. You have no choice but to become that to which you give all your energy. And that's how Israel took the "role of the Nazis" in her early 80's siege of Lebanon as described in the animated documentary "Waltz With Bashir".

It has been described as an anti-war film. It is not. It is a pro-truth film, one intent on fact finding. It is the truth that is anti-war. The film's director was a participant in the Lebanon siege but has suppressed his memories of it. Like James Clavell in "King Rat", he must visit the past in order to keep his future. He seeks out his comrades in arms, retracing the descent that led to the Sabra and Shatila massacre.

Here's an abridged Wiki on the event:

The Sabra and Shatila massacre took place in the Sabra and Shatila Palestinian refugee camps in Beirut, Lebanon between September 16 and September 18, 1982, during the Lebanese civil war. Palestinian and Lebanese civilians were massacred in the camps by Christian Lebanese Phalangists while the camp was surrounded by the Israel Defense Force. In that period of time, Israel was at war with the PLO in Lebanon. Israeli forces occupied Beirut, controlled the entrances to the refugee camps of Palestinians and controlled the entrance to the city. The exact number of victims is disputed, from 700–800 to 3,500 (depending on the source).

Israeli forces enabled the entrance of the Christian Phalangist militia to the refugee camps by firing illuminating flares over the camps. The Phalangists were enraged by the assasination of Lebanese Christian president-elect Bashir Gemayel. The forces were under the direct command of Elie Hobeika, who later became a long-serving Member of the Parliament of Lebanon and, in the 1990s, a Lebanese cabinet minister.

Lebanon or Aushwitz?

Janet Lee Stevens, an American journalist, later wrote to her husband, Dr. Franklin Lamb:

"I saw dead women in their houses with their skirts up to their waists and their legs spread apart; dozens of young men shot after being lined up against an alley wall; children with their throats slit, a pregnant woman with her stomach chopped open, her eyes still wide open, her blackened face silently screaming in horror; countless babies and toddlers who had been stabbed or ripped apart and who had been thrown into garbage piles."

In 1982, an independent commission chaired by Sean MacBride concluded that the Israeli authorities or forces were, directly or indirectly, responsible. The Israeli government established the Kahan Commission to investigate, and in early 1983 it found that Israeli military personnel were aware that a massacre was in progress without taking serious steps to stop it. Therefore it regarded Israel as having indirect responsibility. The commission held Ariel Sharon personally responsible for having disregarded the prospect of acts of bloodshed by the Phalangists against the population of the refugee camps and not preventing their entry.

Families lined up against the walls and shot in cold blood. Genocide deja vu. And the director was one of those shooting the flares into the murderous night of screams to enable the slaughter. All the more shocking when he reveals his ancestors were in Auschwitz, another place of genocide. With this he must make peace.

There are no Jews, no Christians, no Islamists, no atheists or agnostics, no blacks, no whites, no Germans, no Americans, no anything - it's sheer hogwash made up in our heads to make our wars seem justified. We are each merely a soul in need of love, nothing more, nothing less. But rare are those who believe that, because to do so means we kill for no reason.

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Apocalypse Now, And Then (Photo Journey Mind Trip)

2012-01-17T21:33:00.000-08:00

We wander here day after day

I don't remember the Before Times, when things was all green. Wasn't even born. Like all the babies now I didn't get a name till I was five, showing I could live that long. My name is Whisper In The Wind. Getting that was my real birth. Before that I was just "Blonde Girl 12".

Even these few trees got us excited

We had to hack our way through

We felt something different about these trees...

...like they were warning us

But one still reached for the sky

We hear wild tales of the Before Times. But us young ones aren't so sure about them. Some say they had so much food they even threw it away. Imagine! No person could ever do such a thing. But no denying they also put so much poison in the air, land and water it killed off the planet. I wouldn't of thought anyone could ever do that either. But we live it every day.

It's like the land was angry here

Another day getting late as we wander the wastelands

We reached a thicket we thought was a dead end.
Some took it as a sign to go back.
Others said it was a test for going forward.

In the Before Times the world was ruled by witches and demons. The witches cast spells on their minds making them believe crazy stuff like if you throw away your food that means you have enough to never run out. And if anyone didn't believe like they was supposed to, the demons come to torture you and take your food away. What scary times those must have been.

We went through the thicket, to pass the test.
A road! We found a road!

Our hearts were beating. What ruins might we find?

The path turned green, even the sun got shinier.
Anything green makes us happy.
The thicket was a test after all.

All we do is wander, no place to go. In the cities they hide in the old structures. But if you sleep they take the shoes off your feet. So we stick to the country to find a place that's not been found. I was made leader of our group but I have no way to guide. I whisper here in my journal but who will ever read it?

Them birds was watching us but we
was glad just to see animal life.

Then the trees cleared away and we saw this.
We all stopped, looking to each other.
Look at the stumps. Is the water poison?

Sure looked dead up close

Used to be even the seasons was different. The Old Ones messed with the forces of Nature and wrecked even the weather! We wait for rain that never comes and the soil is all drained to where food won't grow anymore. I'm really thinking they never knew how good they had it. When their magic liquids ran out that made the whole world move in hours and not days, they just starved to death before any food could get to them anyway.

We went around the edges hoping to find more

The rocks got bigger, then we started seeing trees - green trees!

So much water! Have we found a Staying Place??

We came across a big water pond. I'm sitting under a table shelter looking out. Feel like I'm sitting in the past, ghosts all around me. But it's quiet here. I wonder how many of us humans are left. My group is together but lonely. Sometimes someone hums a song passed down from the Old Days and I wonder why they died, it's so beautiful. I'm crying now.

I don't ever want to leave this spot

The Old Ones came here to play. Did they ever think
people like us would use them for shelter?

I have a bad feeling. Don't know why.

A new way is coming out, none of the old ways can stay. Can we survive long enough to see its end? Nature puts the world back in order. Voices of mistrust hide from it and die off. But us, we're learning to trust our nature and know the reality of love. I feel if I didn't have to worry about food I could explode with all the life building in me. Others are feeling the same. We are ready to live as one!

The trees melted into sand. I remembered hearing stories...

...something about dimensions overlapping

I was being pulled forward, to an answer in the wind

I felt like we were sliding, slipping into distortion

The world was used up, tore apart and shattered like glass. The spells had them thinking they was civilized people, makers of life, not death. But all they left us was tears. Too late they find out the lie of the witches' spells. Like always when times got bad people went to the witches for answers. One day they couldn't keep their masks on anymore and people found out everything was gone forever. The witches and demons just laughed at people falling for their tricks.

Around the corner I find the water's source

Dark waters...

I look back to see if the sun is still there.
How did the waters up ahead get so dark??

I keep going, driven, pushed along.
Things look different back here.
Is this one of those dimension portals?

The view is so distorted...

The spells are fading, our eyes opening wide. We walk out of the fog at last. I wish we hadn't had to go through all the hells we have. Love was waiting on us all along. War has left my heart, I surrender to peace, let that take me where it will. Our dreams of life wash us clean. In the meantime, we will wander and forage, living as one, adding others as we go along. It's all I've ever known.

At last, the sun! But the colors are wrong...

I look back in horror. I did pass through a portal! What kind of world have I entered?

The sun fades and the colors change

In ancient Mordor do I walk

How can anything survive in a place so barren?

I try to run back to the sun but the
world tilts, throwing me backward.

Then the sun went black. I screamed, but it
was as a whisper in the wind.

I'm trapped in the anti-world, a land mine left by the Old Ones.
How long must we pay for their debts? Is life still possible?

--------------------------------

"I Got That Bitch Strung Out!"

2012-01-12T09:46:00.000-08:00

Another member of the master race

"I got that bitch strung out," smartly bragged Rich. The rest of the boys in the racquetball locker room gazed upon him in curious awe. Rich has an answer for everything it seems.

Rich Rollendelli always got what he wanted. Engineer by trade, executive by design, black hearted pirate by nature, he had the formula for living well. Here was one person who never wanted the world to change. From his finely crafted Italian leather shoes to his superbly tailored pinstriped suit to his carefully coiffed hair in sleek trim, Rollendelli knew exactly how he wanted his life to be. "Find the formula!" his unspoken motto.

Beyond his tried and true motto he had no philosophy. He hated protesters and despised voices calling for change. Rollendelli was an untouched general in the class war and any thought of his ever being disturbed brought out the cruel and ruthless underbelly to his sleek facade. Life was great having the world figured out! Immersed in carnal pleasures, only "radicals" find fault with his self-ordained lifestyle. If others resent his cash and comfort let them do the same as he did. It's out there for the taking, he rationalized.

The one place where his formula had failed was in his marriage. Oh, Rollendelli still knew what he wanted alright: someone sexy, unquestioning, very presentable and a loyal companion. He found all those attributes wrapped in the delightful package of Abigail and he wooed her heavily with his imported car and imported soul. She too had her List For Life and thus a marriage contract was born. Each thought the bargain most clever. With their Lists now checked off, the winner's life for them!

A marriage sealed with a Mercedes

But without the ability to change course or adapt, their marriage was like a ship with a stuck rudder. Even if starting out on the correct path, storms come to jar it off course - adjustments must be made. But they married as people already perfect, no adjustments needed! Choppy waters ahead.

"I got that bitch strung out." The statement came in reply to how Rich kept his marriage together. After reaching forty he'd become more stern in his outlook - and most likely more unbearable to live with. The locker room served as a quasi-confessional and as long as none of the guys had to marry any of the other assholes no one pretty much cared how anyone conducted his life. Rich went on to explain his statement.

"I got her addicted - just like I knew she would be behind all that holier than thou church shit. Trust me, guys, it's ALWAYS about the money. You think any of our wives is gonna marry the night janitor??" Chuckles ensued. "Hell fucking no! You reel them in with the money but they love to pretend it's something "wonderful and true"! Let them prance around and be miss high-and-mighty strutting about like the queen of the ball. Mine does Christian rituals to fix it in her head but it's me that's got a hold of her chains and I'm not letting go."

Ain't we dandy!

Rich touched a nerve with his dissertation.

"Mine's not much better. She spends a fucking fortune on makeup alone. What a rip-off! Who is she trying to impress? The Spic gardener? I think she'd rather shop than eat! Getting packages in the mail all the time. Self-help garbage, crap for the shelves. She's a real head case. Just gimme the fucking, honey, and everything else will be OK. OK?"

"Ha! Mine clips coupons! I kid you not. We spend $16,000 remodeling the kitchen and she cuts these little 75 cent fuckers out of the paper with these tiny scissors I just want to rip right outta her hand! Jesus, you'd think we were on minimum wage the way she acts. "You never know!" she says. Like we're going to be broke tomorrow. She just stays in this sleepy world of hers never knowing what in the hell is going on!"

To Rollendelli, their complaints only re-enforced his theory. He let out a bombshell to lure them further in. "She left me once." Interested eyes turned to Rich. "No shit. She ran back to mommy and daddy in Ohio. She thought she had found true love with some fucker she met at work. That's back when she still thought life is a movie. But what you really want, bitch, is what you choose! Fool yourself but don't be fooling me!"

How every woman sees her marriage

"So what happened? How did you get her back?" inquiring minds wanted to know.

"She came running back crying and shit just like I knew she would, scared to make it on her own. The guy had no money! For a while I had to put up with talk of her "dreams" and the "meaning of life" but the more I heard that shit the more I bought her stuff until she finally shut up. Let me tell ya, her only "dreams" are in a jewelry store! She's got a heart made of diamond."

"Thank God for that!" concurred the guys.

"Now, she's so terrified at the thought of ever facing the real world again you can't get her to talk about her "romantic dream". I hear her bitter voice sometimes when she's talking to her friends and I love it! The bitch has been educated! She sucks so hard on that money tit she comes crawling like an addict. It's beautiful, I tell you, just beautiful! No way that bitch is ever leaving again."

"Hey, Rich, I bet that money ain't all she's sucking on!" Everyone comfortably laughed and cleaned up, men secure in their place in the world. Never once had it occurred to them life could be any more than what it is. Why even endure such a painful thought? Because if life really is a dream, they were life's losers bound to the world - and thus bound to its ultimate fate.

Or as the night janitor who overheard them put it: "What a bunch of assholes!"

A Camp With A View!

2012-01-09T20:57:00.000-08:00

There I am fourth from the left with my
cool new haircut and FREE pajamas!

Hi, everyone! My family and me got sent to the Unemployment Camp! They said it will make me a better person. Gosh, thanks President Adolph, I really appreciate that.

They say if you work hard your whole life and do just
like they tell you, you just might get a jelly donut!

First off, I'd like to thank this great society of ours for the FREE train ride we got to get here! It was really cool and we got to pee out the side and nobody could say nothing about it!

Thank goodness for the soldiers of the world!

These people in uniforms came and said we wasn't good enough for our house anymore but even if we do suck as people they are still gonna give us a FREE place to live! Some families just have to roam the streets and die but not us! We're doing like we was told and that's why we get the reward. Trust the system everyone!

Me with all my new friends!

But I know what you guys want! You want views of our cool new camp! Get ready to get all jealousy! Maybe we ain't good enough for jobs but least we can do is come here so people won't have to see or hear us. No wonder I hear people saying that folks just might WANT to be unemployed!

I love the smell of the delousing station in the morning!

Looks like they don't plan on letting
us starve with big ovens like that!

I drew this myself! This guy said something wrong, something 'bout
wanting "a living wage", so they had to beat his ungrateful butt!

In other countries I hear they are really mean to people what go no jobs. They don't even let them see a doctor or let them have medicine! Who could do such a thing and still live with themselves? But here they are always talking about how they are "going to take care of us" and the medicine is so good they say it's experimental.

One day I hope we are good family again with jobs. We all want to do our share and I don't understand why people get so angry when we ask to work. There's tons that needs to be doing in the world so why can't we do it? No one will answer me! It would just be crazy and more crazy if they don't let people work and then tell them they have to die 'cause of it. Who could do such a thing? This what they mean by "Final Solution"?

Now go to the edge of the universe and see how silly we really are

Interview With An Assassin

2011-12-31T22:15:00.000-08:00

"You people!"

Her eyes were incredulous, shattered glass. Trembling lips searched the lone face before her in her drab, eastern bloc apartment. To find one's self so helpless, so vulnerable to a careening world, a leaf who suffers whims of the wind. Where is justice and order in that?

"I'm sorry." He hung his square head downward, struggling to face her firing squad of piercing questions. But it had come to him like a flash, as real as the burning sun, that he must do this to stay alive. In the nick of time it was, living on life support. Best just to spit it out.

"They were killed...I killed them...because they were going to reveal the truth of our operations. If it ever became known what we had done to betray your people...to betray the democracy we claim to stand for...we'd lose our moral standing in the world."

The assassin was finding the words as he spoke them, groping his way blindly home, only seeing the way ahead as words of truth shown forth like headlights in the dark. The more he struggled to get home, the more he realized how lost he was. The man shivered in explanation.

"You people..."

She's right. They told me lies - lies I wanted to believe. What price will I pay? In no man's land I am.

"Your parents were - are - heroes. It may be only you and who I know this. But I have to feel in time..."

The emptiness finally swallowed him up.

"You people. You let yourself be used. You do things without feelings. And for what? What is it that justify that? What is "interest" that need take human lives? Monsters!"

Yes, vampires do exist

Sobriety had come to the assassin but his pushers wanted him back - dead. When he'd made his contract with the men of power they were all smiles and handshakes but having broken it their true faces revealed themselves like lighted masks in warped funhouse mirrors. Out of the grave a hand rises, the memory of his first steps into the graveyard: he'd been running. Running from himself and into the grip of grateful bastards.

Part of him wanted to let them catch him and duly shoot him down. After learning to destroy life, for what does an assassin live? The girl was right. Does a monster settle down to a home and family? He was on a different journey now, far different than his trips to the killing fields. This time, the bullet seeks him out.

The Slavic girl with black filled eyes and glossless blonde hair clenched her stomach in pain. She didn't want revenge - maybe that would come later. Or maybe her revenge was as simple as what she most wanted at this moment in time, more than anything in her life: for him to understand the damage he'd done. In this time of silence, boulders of dread assaulted the former assassin.

Listen, and understand

"Do you know who my father was?" Her accented English had calmed into stable clarity. Here it comes, he thought. "He was friend. Not freedom fighter, not bad man, not even political. You kill my mother and my father and part of me die, left in dark hole no one think about. I not understand that, do you?"

The mute assassin knew to say anything in reply was lethal. Part of him still clung to the idea he understood the why of his actions - or had pretended to - or...

"I understand killing to preserve life. This I thought much of. You see, if I kill you that night that would preserve life. But these men who give orders, their lives mean nothing without dogs like you, dogs who come running to the whistle. Of course, they tell you it for good cause, no?"

She baited the trap, waiting for him to fall into insincerity. His rejection of the past must be total and absolute. He ran away from who he was, letting souls without hope define him in their own image. His eyes looked up to hers accepting what judgement may come of his wasted time. No, there had been no good cause.

"Good! Now you live with it, assassin man. Man who tear apart families. How long it take me to make this right? But this of you I ask: today you tell me truth. You stand with mother and father. This you continue to do?"

At last, the assassin wept. How could she forgive him? To say he stood with her murdered parents to the man who staged a ghastly murder-suicide of "corrupt" Easterners. Yes, this was healing - but for what? Had he any future left? Or had he only the future he'd left his victims? He must find who he is.

"I don't know..." whispered the lost voice.

"Good answer!"

Wiping his eyes he saw her smiling face. Was she mocking him? Mocking the anguish she surely wanted him to endure? No, it was genuine. She was her parent's child.

In training they'd removed from his heart the fear of death. But what he'd once believed liberated him shackled him to his present chair. Fear. Questions. Confusion. Demons of self-loathing shouting him down. Dare he stand now? Dare he do the most courageous act of his life? Dare he do what he wanted for himself?

Ready to fall if not supported, the man stood up, reaching his arms out to her in supplication. He'd understand if his hope went unanswered. But she rushed to him in equal desire, hate so obviously pointless. Holding on for dear life, the two embraced in a hug more passionate than most kisses. Life! Let there be life!

And this is how governments fall and people stand tall.

The Dream Is Over

2011-12-28T23:38:00.000-08:00

Suicide Pact

Climate summit negotiators fiddle while the world prepares to starve.

Wednesday, 21 December 2011 10:13 Gwynne Dyer

The Durban climate summit that ended earlier this month was proclaimed a great success. The chairwoman told delegates: “We have concluded this meeting with [a plan] to save one planet for the future of our children and our grandchildren to come. We have made history.”

Don’t be fooled. It was an almost total failure.

This time, the rapidly developing country that put up the greatest resistance to a binding global deal was India. (In 2009 and 2010, it was China.) The chief Indian delegate held out against any legally enforceable treaty through three long days of nonstop negotiations. In the end, she agreed that an eventual deal would have “legal force” — but it would not be “legally binding.”

Lawyers get rich arguing over phrases like these, but that is for the future. The question now is, given what the Indian government already knows, how could it possibly have taken that position?

Three years ago, while I was interviewing the director of a New Delhi think tank, she dropped a bomb into the conversation. Her institute had been asked by the World Bank to figure out how much food production India would lose when the average global temperature had increased by two degrees Centigrade, she said — and the answer was 25 percent.

This study, like similar ones that the bank commissioned in other major countries, has never been published, presumably because the governments of those countries pressured the bank to keep the numbers secret. But the Indian government undoubtedly knows the truth.

A 25 percent loss of food production would be an almost measureless calamity for India, which now produces just enough food to feed its 1.1 billion people. If the population rises by the forecast quarter-billion in the next 20 years, while its food production falls by 25 percent due to global warming, half a billion Indians will starve. The country will not be able to buy its way out of the crisis by importing food, because many other nations will be experiencing similar falls in production, and grain prices will go through the roof. So India should be moving heaven and earth to stop the average global temperature from rising by two degrees. But it isn’t.

Like almost every other country, India has signed a declaration that the warming must never exceed two degrees, but in practice the government acts as though it has all the time in the world. Maybe it just can’t visualize that grim future. Or maybe it is just too attached to the principle that the “old rich” countries must pay for the damage they have done.

That would be just, since the old rich countries emitted around 80 percent of the human-made greenhouse gases now in the atmosphere. But if only those countries act, then the average global temperature still soars and Indians still starve.

Most developed countries do not face similar losses in food production at that temperature threshold, for they are farther from the equator. Their position is merely selfish and short-sighted; India’s is suicidal.

Over the past 15 years of climate negotiations, there has been a steady decline in the seriousness of the response. The Kyoto Protocol in 1997 committed the developed countries to stabilize their emissions and then cut them by an average of six percent by 2012. Developing countries were exempt from any controls, because they were not then emitting very much. Deeper emission cuts were to come in a second phase of Kyoto, beginning in 2012.

Based on what we knew then, it was a cautious but rational response. In the meantime, however, developing countries’ emissions have grown so fast that China now produces much more greenhouse gas than the United States. Global emissions are not in decline — last year, they grew by six percent.

So what was the response at Durban? The 1997 Kyoto targets for developed countries will be maintained for another five years (with no further cuts), and developing countries will still not accept any legal restraints on their emissions. Then everyone will sign some more ambitious deal by 2015 — and the new targets will acquire “legal force” by 2020.

By that time, annual global emissions will probably be at least twice what they were in 1997 — and the two-degree barrier will be visible only in the rearview mirror. The outcome at Durban could have been even worse — a complete abandonment of the concept of legal obligations to restrict emissions — but it was very, very bad.

Gwynne Dyer is a London-based journalist whose articles are published in 45 countries.

It didn't surprise me to see that the author of this article is foreign. In America - on both the left and the right - facts are fitted to make "our guy" look good. The real deadlock is in people seeking political power, not just political office. Thus as we are busy pointing fingers on who is to blame and who gets to steer the ship, no one stops it from sinking. The supporters of whichever captain is at the helm won't allow any talk of an unfavorable reality.

Wallow in whatever rationalization suits you, bottom line is watching our children die from decisions we have made is a fate that is far, far worse than mere death. That truly is eternal hell. Not only will we have made our own lives empty but those who depend on us as well. I just don't understand how any parent plans to endure that.

People who speak the truth aren't out to "destroy" anyone, they are out to preserve life. Those who have made their bed with lies destroy themselves: the truth will out in all cases. Attack the motives of the truthtellers all you want, you'll be no less dead in the end - and look like a moron to boot. Only where there is love is there hope. Thank God.

The "New Normal" Ain't So Normal!

2011-12-27T21:05:00.000-08:00

A message from one of the "greatest generation":

[The Nazis were at the height of their power, the furnaces burning night and day in godless savagery. Never in history had the phrase "Hell on earth" more aptly described such a hopeless, hideous horror than time in the death camps. No soul who passed through left unmarked after hearing the silent screams filling the night air in deafening shrills.]

"They do this right out in the open, in the middle of the vast gravel pits where thousands labored in slavery. They shoot, they kill, they massacre, they destroy. They marched us fresh prisoners directly by a group of Jewish schoolgirls they had standing at attention as if it were some sort of school function. I don't think the girls realized what was about to happen nor could even imagine such pointless evil in the world. It's as much about the holy state betraying their trust as anything else. In an instant of gunfire it was over.

"I couldn't stop the feeling of helpless outrage. But that's what they wanted. I ran through my options but my only choice was to join the dead. I considered lunging for a guard's gun to get myself shot and out of this hell but I feared a fate worse than death if I failed. What gall! I thought. The Germans want everyone to see the new world order and desensitize us to the massacre of the Jews, that if any man had a heart left it would bleed to death.

"What sort of horror under the sun is this? Does not even God weep? One girl was left alive. I came to realize she was the betrayer, the pied piper who drew them in. The distant sniper shot meant for her missed and came close to a male prisoner. Boiling over, grasping at anything, I pointed out the missed shot to the little German runt leading us, convincing myself the stray shot was meant for the worker. He halted the column in anger. It wasn't much, but in this small action I found some satisfaction; something, anything to prove they weren't so mighty and invincible."

"The runt that guided us on those first steps into the inferno took an instant dislike to me - and I to him. I wanted to throttle the bastard, his life secrets obvious to me. Recognizing me as an instinctive threat, he too raged in his heart to see me dead. But because I had recognized him like no one else he bonded with me in forced relief of his own killing torment.

"In an oblique way as possible, I intimated the doom to come, that their German ways had a shelf life due to expire. The dedicated dwarf had mulled over this question before - as I had hoped. But he was living in a dreamland, where death can be chosen but Life received. Never had I seen anyone so proud as when he gave this answer to me:

""The truth? The truth is merely a toy for philosophers and children. Muse on it all you want, it means nothing. Torture yourself as you please. But it is we who control the truth, who deem what color the sky. If tomorrow we declare the sky green then everyone shall agree and labor as if that were true. Do you understand now? Your 'objective' truth has no meaning. It's our truth that counts.""

"And that's how these strange characters such as the mealy midget came to power. The longer the charade the more bizarre the creatures who come to light. In normal times these men scurry and hide in shame, not daring to show the face of their decay. But in the day of the pervert they glory in their rot and commitment to ruin. These were men needing help and healing, walking wounded warped into freak shows as the "new normal". But their future was gone."

***

It's been decades since I've felt that feeling, and now that shock and awe has returned in dark echoes of piercing despair. That same sick, sinking feeling as the world turns upside down, where liars and perverts rule the day.

I heard the phrase again - "the new normal" - and that triggered these experiences I had long hoped buried forever. A female newscaster was blathering on about our world as it is as the new normal: out of work, out of homes, out of luck. Endless war profiteering, predatory commodity profiteering, and slave trading of the masses. The ship is sinking, no one is fixing the hole and the dead souls who rule the day say everything but the hole is causing our problems. Good to see Jew baiting still works.

But tomorrow is eaten up by today's perfidy. At some point no tomorrows will be left and both the guilty and the innocent will be trapped in a global concentration camp. Many in power know this is happening and what is to come of continuing our ways. But they have found their lies go unchallenged, that they may poach like vampires blood money from those without voice - just like in the camps all those years ago; beasts walking proud as Nazi terrorists back in the day.

It's all part of the "new normal".

Corporate killers live in luxury unearned, chewing on the carcasses of their victims like camp guards robbing the dead. Their only concern is to keep the free ride going. They justify the killing passionately and authoritatively, eschewing all reason, claiming their victims are the ones looking for a free ride and if they had been allowed to live it would mean the destruction of us all. It is, of course, of themselves of which they so knowingly speak. They deceive openly and publicly without fear each and every day.

It's all part of the "new normal".

It's the same look I saw in the camp: eyes drained of hope as they were forced to live out the inner lives of the Nazi losers. Today no soldier can free us from this hell of hells. I did not fight for this to happen! We won the war but lost the peace, giving away freedom on a fool's hope. Entire families tossed into the street, assassinated in broad daylight all over again. The desensitization campaign is working, quelling outrage with fear and dissent. We step over the dying and the homeless just as Germans stepped over the dead Jews. And still the greedy way is praised in the face of massive and growing suffering.

It's all part of the "new normal".

There are some who consider it magmanimous and open-minded to speak well of evil. There are those who are two-faced, chastising the evildoers in word but are complicit in deed. But the longer a truth goes unfaced, the more absurd life becomes. By your absurdity they shall know ye. Is it life that we serve? What if it's true that this death we mandate is in no way necessary? Once we believed just as strongly we must burn witches to stay alive. One day, the madness of serving illusion, enslaving the poor, destroying dreams and casting lives into pits without pity will be seen as just as mad.

"In giving freedom to the slave, we assure freedom to the free -- honorable alike in what we give, and what we preserve. We shall nobly save, or meanly lose, the last best, hope of earth."

Abraham Lincoln

Right and wrong do not come in half measures. Fixing only part of the hole in a ship is the same as doing nothing at all. There is nothing normal about what is going on. In this world war, who are the freedom fighters? It is the meek, who seek to become neither master nor slave. It is the noble, who let no lie pass from their lips though they be cast out. It is the faithful, who create bonds of love in a world hellbent on shredding them. No one "needs" to be denied a living. No one "needs" to be removed from their home and family. And no one "needs" to call this normal.

What this truly is, is INSANE!

Silver Bells In Downtown Dallas (Photo/Video)

2011-12-23T20:33:00.000-08:00

My fourth grade teacher was in a festive mood as we neared the Christmas holidays so she put on a record of Christmas carols for us. I'm not sure if such things are allowed nowadays since everyone is so sensitive to every word said, sung, thought or implied - no matter how innocent. Those without innocence cannot see it in others. But thank God times were not so complicated back then.

"Silver Bells" was my teacher's favorite song, one that literally moved her to tears, causing her to leave the room in emotion. I thought that was both funny and ridiculous - and it set my evil mind to work. When I saw her trying to re-enter the room, I set the record back to "Silver Bells" to run her out once again. I've never had any use for useless authority figures.

But since that time I too have cried over "Silver Bells" and Christmas time in the city. I can't put my finger on it, but somewhere in the song's simple joy the music bespeaks an innocent heart and I can almost see the smile with which it was written. Beauty in its purest form. I never liked my fourth grade teacher, but I don't hold her in so much contempt now.

Famous Neiman Marcus tubes for children to crawl through.

I was hoping for a white Christmas, but looking at the forecast I had to settle for a wet Christmas if anything. I was not alone in photographing the city lights that night. Cameras were flashing all around me and I was even asked a couple of times to take pictures of smiles with scenic backgrounds. In between that I was also accosted a few times from some folks needing a helping hand. (But at no time of the year do I bring my wallet out into the open. Liberal guilt is for yuppies. Donate to a shelter if you want to help.)

I wish I had gotten more of a Christmas vibe walking the streets of downtown Dallas. The few I did meet were cool but there just wasn't the hustle and bustle needed to make things come alive. It was sort of like putting a Christmas tree up in the basement. To keep myself in the spirit I kept humming "Silver Bells", imagining times now lost of carefree shoppers and wide-eyed children filled with anticipation. Christmas spirit is on life support, choked by the ugly reality we've made.

Wet seats await bus passengers across from the ritzy Adolphus hotel.

Aching to hear the song once more, I set it to video. Sadly, no version I came across lives up to the version in my head. The singers keep getting in the way! But I hope I can give a couple of extra heartbeats to the shredded fabric of Christmas spirit in this the 21st century of war, famine and greed.

[Insert generic holiday greeting here]!

Yes! You CAN Fly!

2011-12-18T15:39:00.000-08:00

Sorry, Mr Bond. The world found a way to live
without you kicking the shit out of people.

"We're saved! We're saved!"

"What? What's that you're saying?"

"Oh, we're saved at last! I knew it would happen. I just knew it!"

"Saved how?

"Haven't you heard? We can fly!"

"Fly?? No way!"

"Way! It's a new technology!"

"I always said technology would bail us out!"

"Right, but no one would listen. Some people just have no faith! And no more stupid talk about the environment!"

"All those people thought the world was going to end. Bet they feel silly now!"

"I can't wait to start flying!"

"Me neither!"

"So what do we have to do to get started?"

"Just go over to the government flying station and give them all the money you got. It's easy to find, it's sponsored by Exxon with a giant electric sign. Do that and you're ready to go!"

The lines were long and the crowd buzzing with happy excitement. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.

"Oh, thank God they figured this out. I never wanted to say anything but all the pollution we were causing was going to kill us for sure!"

"Yes, I feel like I can talk about it too now. We must have been insane! What were we thinking?"

"But how you know this even gonna work?"

"The President said so! He said it's our patriotic duty to start flying everywhere we go!"

"The President! Oh, my! Well, I don't know about you but I'm ready to serve my country and jump right off that cliff!"

"Me too! I'll show you what a good person I am!"

But on a hill beyond the cliff stood a prophet without profit. He warned of the doom brought by lies and the conceit of man. The crowd was irritated by his words.

"Damn liberal lies! They always want to ruin everything, that's what it is."

"You know, I always try to keep an open mind but I'm sick and tired of all this talk about so-called responsibility. Finally, something good has happened and these losers just can't accept it!"

"It's because he hates the President! That's why he's saying it! I hate political people!"

When news of the prophet's words hit the President's ears, he was livid. "He's upsetting the people! It's my job to make the people happy and we cannot have this one man destroy our country. He must be stopped! Call Terrorist Team Six to take him out. I'm one bad ass ninja!"

In due course, the men with guns accomplished their mission, gloating over their bullets' deed.

"Haha! There you go!" spat one terrorist. "Now he's a good American!"

The crowd rejoiced at the news of the prophet's death. "Truth, justice and liberty win in the end! Our way of life shall endure!"

One by one, young and old, man, woman and child lined up at the flying station to get their Super High Tech wings to "free them from the bondage of oil". Unreleased anger vented from long sealed mouths deriding the "old ways" and "old days" before love's technology finally saved their souls. Who needs a heart when one can have a chip? And one by one a smiling jokester heaved the patriots off the cliff.

But flapping though they may be, they seemed just to keep falling towards their doom in spite of all the governmental promise and common wisdom to the contrary.

"We must not be doing something right," queried one falling body to another.

"Don't worry, if this many people are doing it, it can't be wrong! Flap harder!"

"I don't know about you, but I trust the President and I KNOW he's a good man who wouldn't let us down. If anyone dies it's their own fault!"

But of course, they all died. Back in the Exxon corporate offices, the laughter was loud and hard. "What fools! I love it! We don't even have to kill them ourselves - they volunteer for it!"

"And thank God for that useful idiot of a President. All he cares about is if they die happy! What a glorious Pied Piper he turned out to be."

"Yup, one of our own people could have never fooled so many sheeple. Now we can keep everything for ourselves. It's profit over prophets, baby!"

CODA: In the end, there was no honor among thieves as the survivors consumed their lives in a stubborn refusal to change. Ten thousand years later a space archeologist discovered the dead planet and wondered why a people who had everything could die off without a trace.

Trespasser

2011-12-13T23:33:00.000-08:00

Once, we flew together

The minute I saw the oversized, blazingly white new pickup in her driveway my heart sank into the sidewalk. "No, no, no..." Involuntarily, I kept walking into the propeller blades of doom. But I dare not cry in the Saturday morn sun, not on the day when rejoicing masses embrace their two day parole. I dare not crumple and die. Who drives this mechanical monster so boldly parked in hers the most precious real estate of all?

The kind who can step up to her plate.

My feet refused to move further. I stuck my hands inside my jacket on this brisk Autumn day. But the real cold came from inside. End of the road at last, discarded like an outgrown toy. Suddenly I had nowhere to go. I don't belong in this neck of the woods anymore; from invited visitor to trespasser.

But I knew this day was coming.

She'd been hurt - grasping and clawing at the universe in confusion. The bloody divorce flipped her world upside down, dumping her into a dark hole, questioning who she really was. How shattering the sky when the universe grants your wish and your wish brings heartache for the ages.

We were both left on the scrap heap of countless souls wandering aimlessly in the forest of endless trees of sameness. For me, this is my final destination, a place long known. For her, a new and unnerving ordeal. Emotional injuries engender shivering shock too. She'd rebooted into safe mode, the spice of life gone. She clung to me to tell her it would be alright. I clung to her to carry me out of the woods.

Our communication link was the game of Othello. "A minute to learn a lifetime to master." Being such an easy distraction, we forgot our troubles as I taught her basic strategy and rules. I am an expert in the game and she enjoyed relying on me to carry the load for a while. I was most happy to do it!

Trick is to end up with more of your color than your opponent.
Black has actually won this game using a "stoner" move.

In real life she was far outside my social circle, she of ultimate class without even trying. The game was my ticket into her world. During her time as a prisoner of doubt, the camaraderie was a vital support beam to give her shelter until she could rebuild her house. Each day I saw in her the acceptance of lessons to be learned. Maybe our Othello games were a metaphor for that.

Sometimes I'd back off on my game a bit - subtly so she wouldn't notice. That gave her a fighting chance, her mind fully concentrating on the board, her unadmitted pride dying to beat the "superior" player. This focusing of energies allowed life to slip in the back door without her noticing. Life truly is what happens while you're busy making other plans.

God, was I proud of that.

I couldn't do the "other things" with her. Some took her out to eat, to dance and drink, to local socials and other small kisses of life. I imagined what it might be like for myself to take her to a movie but we just did not fit together like that. Maybe neither of us wanted to face the other was not as we dreamed. But I knew I wanted far more than just a board game - but exactly what?

Yes, I noticed the fine shape of her brown legs stemming from below her robe she sometimes wore answering the door. I just wanted to fall into her. Her warm brown eyes were like fireplaces on a winter night, a wholly delectable woman! No, her charms were too much to be unattended for long. But again, I couldn't picture me as the man for the job. Not that I didn't want to apply.

Then time will tell just who fell
And who’s been left behind,
When you go your way and I go mine.

Time was running out in great panic for me to make my move to stay in her life. Dreams of separation assaulted me, the Day of Revelation nigh. She'd be moving on and I left behind. What card had I left to play? The endless forest would come to claim me once more. God truly is a jealous God, ruthless in the need for love.

Now that day had come. A carload of screaming girls drives passed me as I scream inside my head. Inside her inner sanctum the white truck driver be, no doubt enjoying her irresistible charms, her golden smile and dancing laughter. Fruits forbidden to me. I wanted to believe I was imagining it all, just to march across the street and knock on her doors as always. But something told me that truck had been there long before I got there - like all night before.

At last she stepped back into the saddle.

What a frightful feeling to be sentenced to walk back to the scrap heap. No lawyerly tricks could save me from this judgement. Back I go! Back to where the birds pluck at your eyes if you dare fall asleep. Back to where when you die only contempt is shown for your carcass. I looked down at the now meaningless board game tucked under my arm and laughed in mirthless mockery. May as well throw it on the scrap heap too.

No, I don't belong in this neck of the woods anymore. I walk in foreign country. Making the stilted, bitter march back my small, desolate pad, I tried to be happy for her. But I could not. That's how I knew I was not a real man - and only a real man would do for her. I couldn't get passed thinking of my own needs and how I wasn't nearly done getting what I wanted from her - or what I wanted to give to her. Shit! All over now! Shutting the door to the castle wall the tears let fly at last.

My old friend suicide came swooping back in, delighted to see my return to ill health as it gripped my heart with its barren, lifeless claws. I ripped the phone out of the wall and buried my face in failure's sobbing pillow. How many more times? Why is it I always keep missing the answer? Why does success seem as far as the stars? I think too much of me when I should think less and I think less of me when I should think more.

Ah, well, too late now anyway, right?

I could hear the accusing voices awaiting me. "You're just feeling sorry for yourself." "Get up and do something! Make something of your life!" "Grow up and stop having so many feelings. The world is a dark and abandoned place." I moved nary an inch, covering my head with a blanket to protect me from invisible wasps.

Flying solo again, naturally

Later, I dared to check the Caller ID. She had called three times wondering where I was! But wait, she was gracious like that, don't take it personally. I don't want to intrude on her flowering life. Fucking beats Othello any day of the week. I know which one I would choose! Best take it on the chin and go down for the count. Then I saw this email:

Harry, where were you today? You didn't call or leave a message. Please respond the minute you read this so I know you're OK. It may be just as well you didn't make it. I had a pipe break in the middle of the night and had to call a plumber who took hours fixing it. Spent all day getting the house back in shape. Your not showing up made it even worse!

Please, please clue me in when you get this. I can't let anything happen to you before I beat you straight up! (You thought I didn't notice when you take it easy on me). Hope all is well.

Sher

Socialism For Dummies

2011-12-12T18:38:00.000-08:00

Lots of people like to get all fancy-ass intellectual about definitions of words and phrases. Those people are always wrong. Remember, intellectual spelled backwards is lautcelletni - don't sound so smart now, do it!? Bottom line is instead of putting words in people's mouths listen to what they be saying.

Socialism to the widest swath of good people means this: "Taking hard earned money out of my pocket and giving it to someone who ain't deserving of it."

No wonder it's such a hot button word! This definition is then naturally compared to our pure religion of capitalism where "everyone pulls his weight". It's all about people being responsible you see. Yessir, there's nothing capitalists love more than responsibility! Right?

For the sake of argument, let's say all these things are TRUE! We can't let loafers and thieves take all our money, can we? Why, anyone caught doing that would be strung up and hung out to dry in a heartbeat in this honest, hard-working country of ours. You socialists better not show your face in these parts, no sir!

Easy to tell who the good guys are in an

honest society: they got all the money!

Then I got all confused by my God-fearing, capitalism-loving, advocates of personal responsibility when I read this headline right on the front page of the morning paper:

Rise of commodity speculators helps fuel soaring cotton prices

Now, every good capitalist I know swears up and down and six times to Sunday that the free market is the only way to go! The free market is God talking, they says. Hell, who am I to doubt God?? See, when people want stuff real bad in the free markets prices go up and when folks don't want it so bad no more prices go down. That's what all them smart folks call natural fairness.

But this here article says something different going on!

Pension funds and Wall Street banks are pouring money into futures for cotton, oil, natural gas, wheat, coffee and other commodities. Such financial speculation, weather and demand helped drive the price of cotton to a record $2.17 a pound March 7.

Before peaking, cotton prices rose by more than 140 percent in less than 18 months.

Some analysts say this speculative money from investors who will never take delivery of cotton is distorting the futures market, driving up cotton prices and thus raising prices for apparel retailers and consumers.

My capitalist friends say, "Give them food now
and they'll be wanting handouts for life!"

Don't know about you but that sounds like socialism to me! Them lazy-ass investors taking money right out of the wallets of every decent man, woman and child in this country! You can't just make prices be what you want them to be just to suit your own selfish interests, no sir! You gotta think of the greater good!

Just how did these deadbeats and parasites get a foothold in the Greatest System On The Face Of The Earth? I don't understand it! How could anyone even dare when they just got to know the minute a righteous American hears about this their sorry ass is toast!

A McClatchy investigation found that an increase in cotton prices has corresponded with the changing composition of the futures market, where speculators hold more contracts than do growers, producers, buyers and users of commodities.

"What happens is the markets become unreliable and therefore unusable" for growers and buyers, said Commodity Futures Trading Commissioner Bart Chilton, whose agency regulates commodity futures. "It's the same thing with cotton, same in energy. If you look at the volatility in the markets, there are not many of them that have sort of been stable."

Sifting through commission data, McClatchy found that total outstanding futures contracts grew by about 80 percent from 1990 to 2010. That's big growth in such markets.

Moreover, the number of contracts doubled between 2004 and 2010. This parallels the time when institutional investors began to play seriously in commodity markets, aided by popular commodity indexes developed by the Goldman Sachs investment bank and the disgraced financial giant American International Group.

Lord-a-mighty! They been doing it for years! Those scoundrels! Good thing those McClatchy folks dug up these cockroaches so we all can bring them to justice. We'll execute them Texas style! Hard labor for life - that'll show 'em for trying to get out of work! Let's see how they like them apples!

I know this stuff may sound harsh to you folks, but trust me, it's the only thing these kind of people can understand! People getting hurt out there and us God-fearing Americans are gonna do something about it!

The huge increase in the price of cotton is also hurting manufacturers. Ralph Lauren and Levi Strauss say profits have dropped because they can't pass along cotton prices to consumers in this economy.

Speculators are resisting change.

Late Friday, two huge financial industry groups sued the commodity commission to halt proposed limits on how many futures contracts speculators can hold.

What are them boys thinking? They gonna sue to stay on their lazy asses doing nothing 'cept taking other people's money? Oh boy, they got an education coming their way! This is the land of hard work and pulling yourself up by the boot straps! No free rides here, sonny boy.

I almost feel sorry for those fools when they find out we's honest folk in this country, not a nation of selfish crooks and thieves thinking only about themselves where bad people can get away with anything.

French Films I Love

2011-12-10T18:08:00.000-08:00

From the classic A Man And A Woman

It's amazing I still have this reaction after all the great French films I've seen, but every time I hear the phrase "French film" I still cringe as I equate that notion as being like French food: too runny, snobby and effete for my tastes.

But people often forget the darker, Jacobin side of France and her at times wholly ruthless nature. French prisons have long been a deep stain on the French character with the sort of sanctioned psychotic barbarity too repulsive to repeat here. And I'm not talking the distant past either. So don't go around thinking the French are all wine and fluffy soufflés. They can be some nasty characters!

It may surprise some people then that the French can be masters at the hard boiled crime drama, a genre to which I am partial. 2004's District B13 is a prime example of French cinema flying off the screen, with its electric use of free running Parkour to a cynical look at both policeman and politicians. The police are usually portrayed as methodical and plodding but effective in this genre. Sometimes we see the romantic ending, sometimes we don't.

Jean-Pierre Melville was the master of French crime drama. He explored the underworld with a keen eye and let the chips fall where they may. If you're like me and you love Paris in the 50's and 60's with her seemingly always wet streets, smoky bars and ever-present trench coats then Melville is right up your alley. The sheer atmosphere of his films is enough to draw me in.

Un Flic (Dirty Money, 1972) has one of the most unforgettable openings to a film ever conceived. The coastal bank robbery staged during ultra-high winds that surely must be emanating from hell itself lends an eerie, edgy tone of madness to the event that causes the viewer to squirm and wonder just what one has gotten himself into.

The film also stars two great French mainstays of crime and action: the handsome, dashing Alain Delon and the suave and savvy Yves Montad. If you see one of those guy in a film, be sure to look it over. If they are both in it, just go watch!

Ladies man, action star, cop or criminal - Alain could do it all

Yves Montand always played
a man to be reckoned with

In Le Samouraï (1967), Alain plays a cop who slowly tightens the net on a professional assassin in a long, slow spiral downward for the hit man. As we explore the life of the hunter and hunted, we're conflicted on who to root for as we get to know each man. That's what I love about Melville, things are rarely black and white.

Le Doulos (The Finger Man, 1962) involves a film with a recently released convict, his illegal plans, and a police informer in their midst. It is as Melville describes a film where "all characters are two-faced, all characters are false". Yet another film where as the plot unfolds so do the characters' true natures.

Le Deuxieme Souffle (1966) tells the tale of an escaped criminal as he tries to reach final freedom by returning to a normal life but his true struggle to be free is from within more than from without.

But Bob le Flambeur (Bob the gambler, 1956) is easily my favorite among all of Melville's films. Bob is a man married to Lady Luck and the fortunes and famines that brings to his life is to him simply the price of doing business. But we all know the odds are against him in the end as he uses his criminal endeavors to support his cherished hobby. Watch the film for an ending only Lady Luck could engineer!

But Melville wasn't the only one to master the art of crime film and seedy underworlds. Rififi (1955) is a hoot and a half! The great 20 minute heist scene is done without speaking a word - but I bet you don't realize that until you think about it later! Again, the atmosphere of the night clubs and the ingenuity of the thieves is just marvelous to behold. I dare you not to root for them!

Le Trou (1960) - a film Melville called one of the greatest French films ever made - involves a complex prison break detailed after a real life event. Three of the members of the break were used as consultants on the film to provide meticulous realism. The tension is palpable all the way through.

Pépé le Moko (1937) is a rollicking film about a gangster hiding in Algiers' casbah. Starring the great Jean Gabin - who could play a gangster as well as anyone - it's an early film-noir before the genre became formalized. He's a clever fugitive on the run eluding police, but he finds love and for that he needs true freedom. Will his past prevent that?

Le Quai des Brumes (Port of Shadows, 1938) finds Gabin drifting through a seaside town as a lost and lonely soul. As atmospheric as it sounds, there's not much romance in this smoke as we watch him scrap his way along.

Gabin also starred in Touchez Pas au Grisbi (Don't Touch the Loot, 1954). He's a criminal trying to retire after a massively successful robbery but like a gunfighter whose reputation everyone wants to steal, so does a crime boss want to squeeze the money Gabin lifted. A delightful battle of wits ensues.

For more in the gritty, smoky world of French crime, I also loved:

Melodie en Sous-Sol (Any Number Can Win, 1963) Gabin as the veteran and Delon as the young turk, as Gabin's character looks to pull one last job to set up his retirement.

Le Cercle Rouge (The Red Circle, 1970) In French writer-director Jean-Pierre Melville's crime noir classic, a brooding thief named Corey (Alain Delon) and a fearless career criminal named Vogel (Gian Maria Volonte) team up with cop-turned-goon Jansen (Yves Montand) for a hot heist while a straight cop (André Bourvil) stalks them.

Pickpocket (1959) Acclaimed French director Robert Bresson helms this stylized black-and-white drama following the trials of a Paris pickpocket named Michel (Martin LaSalle), a thief who grows so successful at his craft that he worries his luck will run out.

I also recommend Bressons's films Mouchette (1967), the tragic life of a teenage girl. Diary of a Country Priest of a young priest in over his head trying to lead his flock. And A Man Escaped (1951), of a WWII prisoner determined to escape the Nazis.

WWII also inspired Melville's L'Armée des Ombres (Army of Shadows, 1969), a story of the French Resistance during Nazi occupied France. Would you rat on your fellow conspirators if your daughter's life hung in the balance if you did not? Those were the sort of situations faced by the French Underground. It's nerve wracking to the end.

What many people don't know is that the son of Auguste Renoir, Jean, became a filmmaker in his own right and Renoir's Grand Illusion (1937) is one for the ages. Two men (Gabin as one) who outside of war would be close and respected friends find themselves forced to do their "duty" inside of war to destroy the other. Why? Because there is no reason why. It's all a grand illusion. In war, the true enemy is the war. No one dares explore these themes anymore.

Remade by Akira Kurosawa, Les Bas-fonds (The Lower Depths, 1938), another Renior film, explores life in French slums with a various cast of characters struggling in their daily lives to survive. Compare both films to see the difference in attitude between the two filmmakers' takes on the Gorky play.

No mention of French films can be done without mentioning Gérard Depardieu. Yes, I've called him Gérard Diaper-doo before with his lack of American success but don't let that take away from the powerhouse performances he is able to command. One viewing of Jean de Florette (1986) should be enough to convince anyone of Depardieu's greatness. The plot reads as a simple one but is deceptive as to how much the films draws you in to feel its pain. Its sequel, Manon of the Spring, is also a must-see event.

Although remade by Richard Gere, The Return of Martin Guerre is made far better with Depardieu's engaging personality. The fact that it's based on a true story only adds to the haunting nature of the mystery of just who is Martin Guerre.

As Danton, Depardieu brought the historical character to life in a way no book ever could, a living breathing man making a stand during turbulent times only to be washed away by the wave of insanity of the first French Revolution. From comedy to history, Depardieu's legacy in French film is hard to match.

Blue (1993). White (1994). Red (1994). "Three Colors: Blue is the first part of Kieslowski's trilogy on France's national motto: Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity". When I stumbled across the Three Colors trilogy I had no idea what I was in for. It's personal, it's French, it's modern, it's universal. Immerse yourself in this deep, fine wine of films and come out feeling both exhausted and refreshed.

My affection for the 400 Blows knows no bounds and is easily one of the best films - of any country - ever made as a soaring Truffaut instilled every ounce of his heart and soul into his first feature film, highlighting the spiritual struggles of his life to find his place in a world most unkind and distrusting of artistic beings such as he. Volumes have been said of this and rightly so. But Truffaut also wrote a female version of this film, not made until after his death.

The Little Thief (1988) is the story of a lively teenage girl in constant trouble and is seemingly on a path towards self-destruction as her yearning for life does not mesh with the rules and order of the world around her. The ending is uplifting and magical and restores faith in the universe, the perfect bookend to the 400 Blows.

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OK, so my list was pretty gangster heavy but there's nothing else like the black and white Paris of yesteryear and I'd give anything to roam those streets and immerse myself in a romantic time that could not last. France is very proud and protective of its film industry, reluctant to let Hollywood overrun her with its big budgets and copious output. In 1989 a directive was implemented to institute quotas to limit the number of America films shown in French theaters and TV. I think that's silly. The films of France can stand on their own!

I Crashed Baseball's Winter Meetings! (Photos)

2011-12-08T00:43:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the MLB Winter Meetings, Texas style!

I'd made a mental note that Major League Baseball was coming to Dallas for its winter meetings and I wondered just what I could see. So I grabbed my fake press pass and video equipment and decided to crash their party and see what mischief I could get into. Frankly, I didn't have my hopes up. And I half expected to get run off.

Baseball is known for its snot nosed, pampered players and I feared the business of baseball might be much the same. But, man, it wasn't like that at all! I never really got a feeling of snootiness from anyone. In fact, I felt a feeling of openness and generosity in the air, like you could approach anyone anytime as long as your were cool. Still, I had a nervous edge to me the whole time I walked around poking my nose into anything and everything.

I'd always known the winter meetings were a get together of baseball's general managers, agents and the assorted player, and that it was a time for wheeling and dealing. But there were a couple of sidelines I did not know about. One was the hiring of baseball personnel, for everything from the front office to broadcasting to scouting and handling media events. I guess I always figured they put an ad in the paper like everyone else.

A baseball trade show was also on the premises but I could not get into it since I am not associated with a "sports related" enterprise. Should have worn my Yankee cap!

The Hilton Anatole just west of downtown Dallas

It's an expensive joint

The hotel has Chinese accents all around the place -
of which I highly approve!

Chairman Mao's offical portrait as reflected in the night glass
(channeling bbd)

The feeling was positively electric and I highly recommend any baseball fan to attend if they get the chance. It's held in a different city each year. According to what I was told it was last in Dallas in 2000 and before that 1982. So if it comes to your town, grab the chance while you can!

I kept hearing various baseball phrases (mostly forgotten) as I walked around:

"I think he should be in the hall of fame!"

"They're worried about their bullpen when they should be worried about their starting pitching."

Everyone had baseball on the brain!

The full schedule

The atrium area is huge but is just one part
of the larger complex that is the Anatole

This diagram gives an idea of the immensity of the hotel.
It's the perfect place for just such an event.

All the big shots were there - and I got my fair share. It truly takes a sincere dedication of time and energy to relentlessly wander for hours looking to see who is where and when. It almost takes a two man operation - plus the moral support of a cohort goes a long ways in shoring up the nerves. Gawkers like me stood out a mile among the suits and celebs. Everyone looks so busy it's hard not to feel like you might be pestering them.

I stopped ESPN's "baseball guru" Tim Kurkjian
for a photo and a handshake

Ken Rosenthal knows all things baseball

Tom Verducci. I shook his hand for his very fine Yankee books

Legendary Peter Gammons at the NESN desk

Very busy Yankee General Manager Brian Cashman stops for a quick pic.

Ad hoc job interviews were happening all over the place. You could easily spot the open but private tête à têtes. The job seekers needed to buy a badge for proper access ($200!) and were called by cell phone when their time came. I listened in on one and it sounded like a Hollywood audition. "If you don't hear from me in three days I'm probably not going to call you." These poor schmucks were just dying to get into baseball. You could see it in their eyes!

Want to get into Major League Baseball? Winter Meetings is your chance!

Man on the right just finished an interview
for scouting for the Tampa Bay Rays

A lot of business was conducted here, too

Naturally, this is a huge media event. Everyone wants to be the hotshot who breaks the big story first. I also saw much camaraderie as colleagues who hadn't met in a long while greeted one another with a handshake and a smile. Seemed like one, giant fraternity assembling for both business and pleasure. Professionalism was the order of the day. But the more successful you were the more you dressed down. It's the eager young turks who have to impress!

Yankee Entertainment and Sports (YES) network guys. I swear I
don't remember them looking at me when I took this photo.

Karl Ravich, ex-Red Sox Manager Terry Francona, and ex-player John Kruk.
Sportscenter is the holy grail of sports broadcasting.

Looking at the ESPN desk from above

The MLB Network was by far the best place to be to spot
baseball celebs. Everyone there was completely cool to boot.

Part of the control room set up for the MLB Network

Of course, there's much more going on than just what you see on TV. It takes an entire technical support crew to pull off a show. Again, even the crews were most gracious, chatting with the fans, being helpful. At the MLB Network desk, fans were even posing for pics sitting behind the desk like the hosts. One thing I didn't know is that most of the technical crews are local people and it's only directors and such the networks bring in.

No viewer ever knew the whole show was done between two elephants

One of the camera men for ESPN's desk

Peeking into a YES Network's camera

Overall, it was a damn fine experience! By the third day I was walking through the atrium as bored and blasé as any regular participant. They say NASCAR is fan friendly but I was pleasantly surprised to find baseball just as welcoming. There was only a smattering of fans there but if they knew what they were missing it would have been a different story. So if you are a baseball fan and the winter meetings come to your town, I have just one word of advice: GO!

Click here to see the entire set

Joanna, I Love You

2011-12-04T22:05:00.000-08:00

[She's gone from my life now but I think of her almost every day. I'm a lesser person for her absence. Time has come to pick up the pieces and go home - but home is lost when the heart is broken.]

Everyone was in love with Joanna - including me. She was the rarest of women, the kind men want but do not begrudge never having. She is a fantasy, yes, but a fantasy understood it needs to be earned and deserved. That sort of respect was part of her earthly appeal. But maybe the best way to describe Joanna was by the wake she left, just as one can tell the size and shape of a ship by the wake it leaves in the water. There were occasions where I had the privilege to travel in that wake and I felt as if I followed an angel among the clouds.

I met her in her time of great pain, she was a young widow battling to resume her life. She had taken the attitude of, "Life goes on, no time for self-pity" because she knew that was the correct path to take but like any human she still harbored feelings of resentment and anger over her loss. You had to dig deep to find it but that thorn punctured her with doubt. How to trust again? I also knew the man who could pull that thorn would be the next lucky soul to have her heart. All of us guys in love with her knew it was our job to be honest with ourselves on whether or not we were that man.

In each of us a voice whispering, "If only..."

Joanna was a drinker by sport but in this time of anguish it served a dual purpose to relieve her from the daily misery of the struggle to regain herself. It was like watching someone learning to swim: you know you can't do it for them but you live and die with every stroke, naturally rooting for them. But Joanna had one helluva cheering section. Accompanying her to a bar that served as a favorite haunt of hers I felt I traveled with a touring rock star.

First evidence I had of that was the minute we walked in the door, the bartender lit up at the sight of her, greeting her not in a way of professional courtesy, but of actual delight, not bothering to hide his open affection. He was older, tall stocky and bald, a hulking presence reflecting a mountain of stability. He was the kind of guy you'd want in a fight - but it verbal or physical - but still retained the qualities of a lamb. I immediately liked the guy.

To Joanna, I was part pet and part something else, I'm not exactly sure what. We'd met in a book store where we found our interests and passions crossing as happens only a few times in life. In that narrow confine we soared and I kept hearing that excited little voice saying, "Is it true? Is it true?" Sometimes even friendship can be like falling in love. We had these amazing discussions, the kind you can only have with someone to whom you don't have to "explain" everything. I was walking around with this feeling of wanting to shout, "Hey, guess who I just met!"

But like a prisoner who befriends a soul through his jailhouse window, I could see no way to be a part of her life. The price of past mistakes, of running away when the right one comes along. Life in jail is generally spent dulling your senses, waiting for the nightmare to end, but meeting Joanna put the taste for life back in my mouth and suddenly my cell became an unbearable hell and long dormant feelings of suicide tolled my name once more. But time with Joanna was like a weekend pass from that torment.

Sitting with her in the bar I realized I was in a place of privilege, in the seat everyone wished to sit. I felt special and honored even while part of me secretly fretted over actually deserving such a place. Peter, the mountain man bartender was especially nice to me, as if to say, "Any friend of Joanna's is a friend of mine." Having her seal of approval carried a lot of weight. And I also felt that same sense of protection Peter had for her spilling over on to me, knowing if I came to harm it would hurt Joanna. Therefore, that was just something that could never be.

What a swirl of emotion I had as she shared this part of her world with me! My insecurities kept pestering me, asking me how I'd feel at that moment sitting in the bar without Joanna and the implicit blessing that came with it. I'd be just another loser slob lost in the world, of that I had no doubt. I might get the professional nod from Peter as I asked for a quick drink, but certainly not the level of instant friendship I had now. It was a wonderful, intoxicating feeling of its own but I also felt the pressure of living up to one being granted so many unproven accolades.

Most every man has his primal lust to deal with and Joanna was a subject to arouse those passions in the most extreme of ways. Many women are packaged well only to reveal a nasty surprise when their mouths open. But despite her long-legged charms, Joanna sucked you in with her personality. Had you never laid eyes on her, the feelings of want just as strong and passionate, like finding a cave of warmth in a freezing winter. Highly aware of my own urges and desires, what truly caused me to marvel was watching the way men put their lust in check around Joanna. (And if they didn't it was understood Peter would give a quick education on why one should.)

Also like any animal I felt an intense competition with my fellow males. Peter was the gold standard but the drop off was rapid from there. I raged with jealousy anytime a rival stopped to speak with her, catching up on lives I knew I could never have from my prison cell. But just like the men who put their sexual lust in check around her, I too had to swallow my instinct to lash out and cage her for me and me alone. Dare I believe the voice she somehow magically felt the same joy I do in her presence? Turns out, all life depends on facing the answer to that question.

Joanna had her obligations to the many souls who requested her time, leaving my observant eye to scan the bar and evaluate my ersatz companions. One pathetic beast caught my eye here at the watering hole, despising him instantly, resenting the fact he obviously was trying to escape life and its responsibilities one cold drink at a time. His slouched demeanor and whiny tone made me wish great white hunter would come along and shoot him right out of his misery, the fucking cripple. Then I realized the true source of my anger: that's me without Joanna.

But under her spell of love, new enticing thoughts entered my mind as never before. I pictured myself speaking with the crippled beast, letting him know we shared common woes in this world, creating a bond of brotherhood instead of arrows of antipathy. The withering creature would straighten up when he saw I understood his pain; I'd almost be his Joanna. I gazed upon her as she spoke with a passing friend, admiring her tower of strength rubbing off on me. I wondered if I could ever be the strong and generous person I just imagined myself to be - the strong and generous person Joanna actually was.

Luckily I was able to draw her back into the world of books and literature and I realized I filled a need for her in that regard. I also knew that regardless of the attributes of anyone else in the bar, only I could fulfill this need. Only later only did I come to realize she was actually a bit intimidated by my literary abilities. I always assumed: I'm a prisoner, I have nothing to offer anyone, when the weekend is over I have to go back to jail, useless to all. What need has the world of an imprisoned poet?

People talk of pointless politics and mandated morality to make the world a better place. But in this smoky room I saw in the presence of Joanna's heart every soul striving to put his best foot forward as if it were a matter of life and death. War, money, hate - the whole fucking world - seemed so irrelevant and laughably stupid when around her. Anything and everything centered around love and her sense of family as the obvious point to life and existence. No one wants to admit to leading a life of unfulfilled hunger - until a steak dinner is set before them, and then the facade drops in undeniable desire. That was the effect of Joanna

I only merited one other visit to Joanna's world, this time to her house as we stopped by to pick up a particular book. When she mentioned it was at her house I wondered if she'd trust me to know where she lived, me being a criminal and all. Plus, it would be one more glorious, thrilling sumptuous feast of seeing inside her life and her domain. The moment I walked in her townhouse I felt "home", wanting to curl up on the couch and never leave. I don't think I'll ever forget that overwhelming pull the rest of my weary, wandering life.

I hold too much fear from self-knowledge now to ever tread in her home again but I often mentally wander back. You can keep all the mansions of the world, hers was the "in" place to be with her quick wit and dazzling smile. As I think back on it I may have even blushed like a child as my nervous hands stretched out to embrace this wonderland of warmth. How could I ever tell her I wished to spend the rest of my life there? I was both living and dying at the same time.

With the massive perspective shift created from the wake of the SS Joanna, the question of, "Who am I?" pops up over and over. When Jesus spoke of separating the wheat from the chaff this is surely what he meant as this tortuous question does just that. Once love breathes on you, you just have to know. Like so many stuck shivering out in the cold I ran away, unable to face my fears and hopes. I tore Joanna out of my life in a false recognition of myself and now I only wish to blow away like a dry autumn leaf. But I still remember my time up on the tree of life and the beautiful, exploding sun of Joanna.

The Truth Is Liberal

2011-12-02T17:20:00.000-08:00

"Everything is the opposite of what it seems."

If I go into a room of a hundred people and ask how many of them can give me an objective answer to a question, ninety-nine of those people will raise their hand. In other words, only one person answers me objectively. It's the people who claim objectivity who don't have it and the people who don't claim it who do. For there's no man so unreasonable as a man who decides himself always reasonable. The truth can never be found without an open mind.

Ideology - like politics - is religion by any other name. It's a belief about reality that is not bound to reality. That's why I call it idiotology - and we're knee deep in it here in Texas, especially in the rich, cloistered town of Southlake (named by Forbes in 2008 as the most affluent neighborhood in the country). Rednecks and money, a lethal combination.

But what happens if you stop drinking the kool-aid? What happens if you question the cult? Southlake resident Kim Davis found the answer to that when she decided to dig deeper into the city's plan to allow "frac drilling" for gas wells into the Barnett Shale deposit underneath their million dollar enclaves. At first she thought nothing of it, having already signed up herself.

It's a common tactic the drillers use to get homeowners to sign. "We're going to drill whether you sign or not so you might as well get some cash out of it." I've seen this happen first hand and it's about as cheesy and obvious as it sounds. Lucky for them they are dealing with unsophisticated rednecks. Money is rarely a sign of intelligence. Along with Tommy Lee Jones billboards exhorting everyone to "get behind" the Barnett Shale, the drillers run roughshod over most resistance.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the derrick, Kim and her husband came across the documentary Gasland which detailed the hazards of drilling, including the ability to set one's tap water on fire with a cigarette lighter. At first, this died-in-the-wool Republican refused to believe her lying eyes. "I thought it had to have some sort of liberal agenda," she claimed. Brainwashed much?

Then reality called - literally. Kim was informed that 1,200 feet from her house a 3 acre pad site was planned for 21 wellheads. Suddenly, her idiotology didn't mean so much to her since the part of her still connected to reality realized she could be blown sky high along with some serious health hazards to her air and water.

Who wouldn't want this 1,200 feet from their home?

"I read about Dish, Texas," she says, referring to the heavily drilled North Texas town that renamed itself for free satellite TV. The town's mayor fled because of health concerns he blamed on natural gas drilling. "And in Flower Mound [just north of Southlake] they have a cancer cluster, but no one could prove it was because of the gas companies. I read about kids, and they had drilling sites next to schools, and the kids were having nosebleeds when they practiced outside for band."

She also read a study commissioned by the City of Southlake to evaluate the potential danger posed by a battery of ethanol, gasoline and diesel tanks just a few hundred feet from the proposed pad site, where land would be graded and a layer of gravel would be laid down. Her heart sank when she saw a satellite photo of the proposed site: Her home was within one of the concentric rings of a dispersion model predicting the spread of combustible gas in the event of a blowout.

Soon, she was a part of the liberal agenda - the truth! As the justice of the universe dictates she became victim of her own vice. The shoe is on the other foot!

Now she was losing sleep, though it seemed for a time like she was the only one. She phoned a friend and wept. It was like nobody in Southlake knew what was going on, and if they did, they didn't seem to care. Or worse, she thought, they wanted the drilling.

"You find out that there are people whose kids your kids go to school with, and they're for it. There's just not enough information out there to decide if it's safe or not safe, so why would you take a chance with my family?" she says. "Whose child has to get sick?"

Mrs. Davis got a taste of being driven into the wilderness, of what it's like to be libeled "unreasonable" when being the voice of reason, and of direct threats to her well-being. Welcome to Liberal World, Kim! You're supposed to drink the kool-aid, not question what's in it! Only the truth can win, but we live in a world where the truth - and those who speak it - are demonized. Go ask Alice what that's like.

After writing an email detailing her concerns was forwarded around the community, "missives in support of drilling began piling up in her inbox." Later she received a phone call telling her she would "regret" her efforts to stop drilling. But she refused to deny her motherly instincts and lobbied the city council that children + gas wells is a bad combination and due restrictions need to be implemented.

In a backwards mirror reflection of Kim Davis we have Zena Rucker, a self-described environmentally conscious person. She recycles, she composts, has a solar array capable of powering her home, was a flower child protester during Vietnam and was Tarrant County Democratic chair for years. So which side is this octogenarian on? Why naturally she's for the drilling!

You cannot question me!

By sheer coincidence, Rucker is one of the largest landowners with 75 acres in very pricey Southlake. She has a lot to gain (in her mind) by drilling. But what does she end up saying? Garbage like, "[The companies] are making drilling as safe as they can make it," (Want to bet your life on it? Because you are!), and "They're very self-obsessed people [in Southlake]." (Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!)

See what happens when you close your eyes and declare yourself Jesus?

In the end, the city council placed such onerous restrictions on drilling that the drillers packed up their rigs and left in a huff, sending out a Machiavellian letter detailing their cruel victimization as they try to "lead the path toward U.S. energy independence." Such noble heroes! An endeavor so noble they won't even disclose the chemicals used in the fracking process.

So what do we have in the end? Everything the opposite of what it is! A mother campaigning against environmental disaster but not because she's (God forbid) an environmentalist. And a flower child fighting for the system. And a highly Republican city doing the environmentally correct thing - but only because they have the money to be able to. Such a confusing world!

But for her freedom fighting efforts, Kim Davis did come out ahead, realizing her true best interest is opening her mind:

"I used to get really angry when I'd listen to politics and I'd be like 'These liberals!'" she says. "And I always went into whatever it was from a political standpoint, whether it was the budget or tax cuts. I really looked at it in black and white, and now I'm looking at it all differently. I'm not so quick to judge something. I want to take time to research it."

The Eerie Trees Of Caddo Lake

2011-11-28T20:19:00.000-08:00

Some trees are as much as 400 years old

Caddo Lake could be described as less a lake than a permanent flood. Its formation was caused by the "Great Raft", a 100 mile log jam of the Red River. Exactly how or what caused the log jam has not been proven but the native Caddo Indians claimed it was from an earthquake in 1812. And while there are many areas of it like a traditional lake, much of the 25,400 acres it covers are like Venetian waterways through a forest.

And that's damn cool!

First, let me backtrack. A few years ago I attended a lecture by the Eagles' Don Henley, who grew up in the Caddo area, about preserving Caddo Lake from destructive development and keeping it in its natural state. Henley co-founded the Caddo Lake Institute, a self-described "non-profit scientific and educational organization with the mission of protecting the ecological, cultural and economic integrity of Caddo Lake, its associated wetlands, and surrounding plant and wildlife habitats." Henley was charming and persuasive in his presentment but what got me was the promotional video he showed of the lake, a lake like I'd never seen before!

I made a mental note to make that trip someday but I felt it was probably too far for a day trip and thus would require planning. Instead, I finally got tired of waiting and decided no matter what kind of effort it took, I would make the hike out there and back in a day regardless. Now I'm kicking myself I didn't go earlier.

The dotted line you see down the center is the Texas/Louisiana border. I just barely explored one tiny fraction of the far west Texas' side but I plan on exploring as much as I can over time. So take this as just step one in a longer journey. My first trip was to the State Park, a great place for camping out and fishing or just enjoying the peaceful scenery. It has a hiking trail I hope to traverse and document at some point. And there's also a boat dock for the lucky ones who can set out on the lake at their own leisure.

Family fishing at the State Park

After checking out the State Park, I blindly headed down the road uncertain where I would wind up - and Uncertain is exactly where I ended up! The city of Uncertain (don't know how it got that name) sits right at the lake's edge with a motley assortment of cabins, habitats and signs for lake tours, most of whom are out of operation. I did find one tour operator, the Graceful Ghost, still going strong and I vowed I'd come back.

State Park Road

The woman running the tour office did warn me of one thing though: the drought and record breaking heat of last summer. They had a devastating effect on the lake, even to the point of forcing their large tour boat to change its route because their usual path had become too shallow. Unfortunately, the long term forecast for rain doesn't look much better. Oh why-oh-why did I wait??

So while it may look all blue and watery on the map, from the tour dock of Uncertain it looks like this:

What a bizarre journey through the waterways that would be! But until I could actually go out on the water, I had settle for imagining the weird, wonderful sights of Lake Caddo. Here are a few of the pics from my recon trip:

Park road leading in

Just oversized waterways until you
can get on the main lake area

Caddo Lake is set in the largest Cypress forest in the world.
On land they don't seem so haunting.

Countless stubs waiting to stab you like pungee sticks

In the water, the trees take on a ghostly air

A close up of the hanging matter

Canoes were available in this area
if one is so inclined

Ghostly reflections

View from the tour dock. I don't know if the orange
area out there was land or marsh or what

Now if all this has you jonesing to head out on the lake, it did me too! Next weekend I made my way back, taking a powerboat tour I thought might be able to get into the more inaccessible areas damaged by the drought. Listening to my tour guide, the damage was far more severe than I expected. Still, it was a tantalizing taste of the lake forest in my way too short tour.

Tour calling card

Heading out!

Into the murk...

The "Greys" closed in on us

Like entering another world

Under normal conditions, this entire area would be under water

Reaching the dark heart

Eventually we reach some more open water

Moody waters

The sun never made it all the way through

The return to civilization. Most of these
abodes are for weekenders.

I had to say goodbye to my ghostly friends,
but do not fear. I shall return!

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Into The Night

2011-11-25T23:10:00.000-08:00

Winged creature both
Clawed and craven;
Black eyes as sharp
As the wicked raven.

In hovering sky
Its form shows clear;
Foraging hunter
Seeks living fear.

Its dreams are bold
Of Mankind's doom;
Fill hearts with hate
For the ancient rune.

Battlefield earth
Leaves wounds untended;
Creature swoops in
Where love's pretended.

Picks clean my bones
Snapping the tendon;
Scratching my brain
Beyond the mendin'.

Angel words cloak
Its bite of death;
Deceived souls hail
Its every breath.

"Are you hurting, child?
"Does no one help?"
"My bite will save you
"If you do not yelp!"

Razorblade tooth rips
Soft human flesh;
Vampire betrayal
As death and life mesh.

"Hope is the enemy!
"Death is your friend!
"Bite unto others
"For life without end!"

Factory poison
Chokes nurturing air;
Winged creatures
Pick green forests bare.

In mirthless victory
Sainted blood stains;
Who hears love's voice
When truth's held in chains?

Winds of twisted times
Spin friendly word;
As foes speak kindly
Of cherished lies heard.

Into the night
I cry out for Thee!
Alas, no one is left
To set me free.

Do I Have To Fix Everything??

2011-11-20T18:01:00.000-08:00

A nation turns its lonely eyes to you, Oda Nobunaga!

Clearly, God is going to do nothing. If justice is to be done it must be allowed to happen all by ourselves. But how can justice happen when everyone is corrupt? Well, folks, that's when we have to take a step backwards in order to take a step forward, meaning what we need is a Japanese warlord of absolute power: me! Don't worry about me becoming corrupt: I'm already there.

We have many wishful thinkers in this world, they are like feathers in the wind. I use them as a gauge of denial, knowing that the more they whine the more on target a proposal is likely to be. They merely want someone to believe in since they've chosen not to believe in themselves. And they shall determine their ultimate fate by how stubborn their desire to continue lying. Sweet!

But those are the lucky ones. For others there will be death without option. If they are honest with themselves, they will go gladly and willingly, realizing it is for the greater good of society as well as for their own good. The architects of doom will face their fate in broad daylight for all to see. You may think I'm being too harsh here but then I would ask: how much cancer do you want left in you?

First off, we need some people dead as a door nail. Just as was done to Jesus, we will cast lots to see who must die in the financial industry. Investment house CEOs - along with a healthy number of traders - will be forced to roll dice in a game of chance. Roll the wrong number and you die! These lovely creatures have long professed a fascination with gambling - when other lives were at stake. Why deny them now?

The traders who lose their bets will be summarily shot. For the CEOs - who always demand more! - we'll revive the old Japanese practice of burying them up to their neck until dead. Fun! Fun! Fun! We'll walk right past them in the public park without giving a second glance - just like we do the homeless today. If someone doesn't like this ugly sight we know they'll just shrug their shoulders and say, "Nothing I can do about it!" Ain't sheeple grand!

Currently, there is a dearth of workers for the mining industry. I will solve that by ordering the surviving traders into the dark pits for life. At least they'll earn a living wage if they work hard. Those who refuse will suffer the fate of the CEO's. One has to wonder how many of them will complain of an "interfering government" once they've learned how many safety regulations have been stripped away! HAHAHAHAHA! Good luck boys.

The bonus in this job is keeping your life!

For the surviving CEOs a variety of menial labor jobs at minimum wage will be offered. Look twice now, that new janitor may look familiar! Or, hey, look who's picking cotton! Or maybe that old chairman of the board wants to know if you want fries with that Whopper! All their assets will be seized and they shall work these jobs until death. No fat pension for you, bitch! And don't forget to keep voting Republican! It's in your "best interest".

And what of our useless President? I shall give him the job for which he has shown such a great aptitude: White House houseboy. Mr. Stepin Fetchet seems to enjoy that role so much for the bankers why not make him a happy boy? No spine required! But as far as his Wall Street advisors go, they will be hung on the White House lawn. Afterwards their bodies will be held in state at the Capitol entrance with a sign noting, "This is what happens to liars, thieves and crooks". People tend to have short memories, you know.

For those who complain on the harshness of the measures required to cauterize our wounds, I simply say those who defend death, disaster and destruction will be banned from our soil for life. There's simply no time left for talk like that. Hope you enjoy eating Chinese dog!

As far as the new group who come in to take the places of the dead and displaced, only one thought will be on their mind: "I sure don't want to fuck anybody over!" The fundamental tenet of capitalism is that one must be blackmailed into doing good. We'll see just how long everyone wants to bite into that bitter bit. By the time I'm done ramming their own garbage down their throats, it will be a world clamoring for socialism!

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Further info for you special ed people:

Alan Greenspan: The Grinch who stole everything!

Used to be they called him "The Wizard". Now we know him as the Dumbest Man On The Face Of The Earth. Way to go, Greenie!

WHITE HOUSE ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, the recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Pres. GEORGE W. BUSH: Alan Greenspan is one of the most admired and influential economists in our nation's history.

DAVID WESSEL, Author, In Fed We Trust: More than one story was written about Alan Greenspan as "the wizard," the man behind the curtain, the Wizard of Oz. Everybody hung on every word [he said].

ARTHUR LEVITT, SEC Chairman, 1993-'01: Alan was a great wizard. No one understood what he said, but he said it in such a way that everybody bought it.

Eh, it's easier than thinking. Shame so many people confuse the word intellect with intelligence. Unless of course you believe being an absolute amoral self-deceived sociopath is smart! (Hi, Newt!) In that case, just keep following that pied piper off a cliff. There's plenty of people willing to take you there! As for Greenie's fate: first thing I'd have him do is enter "Cocksuckers Anonymous". "Hi, I'm Alan Greenspan and I'm a cocksucker." Priceless!

AYN RAND: I am opposed to all forms of control. I am for an absolute laissez-faire, free, unregulated economy. Let me put it briefly. I am for the separation of state and economics.

Those damn pesky child labor laws are ruining this country! Don't see China fucking themselves by keeping 12 years olds out of the coal mines, making the little brats useful. Black lung for all! What's more democratic than that?

JOE NOCERA, The New York Times: Greenspan is a disciple [of Ayn Rand]. She is the great champion of government as a destructive force that just gets in the way.

NARRATOR: Greenspan talked about Rand in his autobiography.

[Alan Greenspan, The Age of Turbulence: "Ayn Rand became a stabilizing force in my life. It hadn't taken long for us to have a meeting of the minds - mostly my mind meeting hers."]

Pretty bold statement there! A meeting of the minds between two people without a mind! So they want to play hardball, eh? Fuck everyone and leave them to die? If these two are allowed to thrive it doesn't make much of a case for the natural selection theory.

Brooksley Born, chair of the regulatory CFTC agency tried to tell everyone long ago [circa 1996] what would happen with unregulated derivatives.

But all these "smart" men knew better - especially Greenie!

JOE NOCERA: [Greenspan] said something to the effect that, "Well, Brooksley, we're never going to agree on fraud." And she said, "Well, what do you mean?" And he said, "`You probably think there should be rules against it." And she said, "Well, yes, I do." He said, you know, "I think the market will figure it out and take care of the fraudsters."

Well, of course Greenie is pro-fraud being one himself. He and his buddies walked around seeing themselves as economic Aryans intent on purifying heresy eminating from the lower order of beings. It was a giant, mutual dick sucking fest where they walked around with cum covered faces congratulating one another on getting off. I'm telling you, rare is the soul that makes it out of high school.

NARRATOR: In 1993, Bankers Trust, one of the largest banks in the country at the time, had sold derivatives to Procter & Gamble.

JOE NOCERA: Procter & Gamble sued Bankers Trust, claiming that they had been sold products that they didn't really understand and that blew up in their face.

NARRATOR: The lawsuit set the stage for a stunning revelation. Bankers Trust employees took advantage of the fact that derivatives were too complicated to understand.

TIMOTHY O'BRIEN: It opened a window onto what was really going on in the derivatives market.

NARRATOR: As part of the case, Procter & Gamble discovered secret audiotape recordings of telephone calls among Bankers Trust brokers.

KELLY HOLLAND: There was one employee who described the business as a "wet dream." A Bankers Trust employee said, "We set them up."

TIMOTHY O'BRIEN: They had taped phone calls from people inside Bankers Trust who were sort of chuckling, saying, "Ha, ha, these idiots really think that this is in their best interests, but ha, ha, it's not. We're probably going to end up cleaning their clocks on these contracts."

Going to have a hard time hearing you laugh in those coal mines, you funny brokers you! Brooksley wanted to reel in the trading which at that time in the mid 90's represented a market value of 27 trillion. But that was before she faced the Axis of Evil Free Marketers: Greenspan, Geithner, Summers and Rubin.

NARRATOR: But at Treasury, things were about to change. The carefully calibrated inner tranquility was being disturbed by a small tremor. It quickly made its way up to Robert Rubin. Brooksley Born was contemplating the regulation of OTC derivatives.

JOE NOCERA: The pushback is visceral and immediate, and that's one of the striking things about this.

NARRATOR: This was a job for [thug] Larry Summers.

MICHAEL GREENBERGER: I walk into Brooksley's office one day, the blood has drained from her face. She's hanging up the telephone. She says to me, "That was Larry Summers."

RON SUSKIND: Larry basically reads her the riot act. He more or less tells her, my understanding, is that, "You don't get it."

MICHAEL GREENBERGER: He says, "You're going to cause the worst financial crisis since the end of World War II," that he has, my memory is, 13 bankers in his office who informed him of this. Stop right away. No more.

This perhaps is the greatest case of self-projection in human history! One of the very architects of "the worst financial crisis since the end of World War II" blames it on the one who's trying to prevent it! Clearly, he was looking into a mirror while speaking.

MICHAEL GREENBERGER: Each of the principals in turn that is to say, Rubin, Greenspan and Levitt take their shot at telling Brooksley that she shouldn't do what she's doing.

JOE NOCERA: Rubin says to her, "You don't have the legal authority to do this."

MICHAEL GREENBERGER: And Brooksley said, "Well, that's interesting. That's the first time I've ever heard that. All my lawyers at the CFTC have assured me that we have the exclusive jurisdiction to do this."

ROGER LOWENSTEIN: Rubin was condescending toward her. He said he would get his lawyer in the department to help her understand the laws better, or something like that.

But since she did have the law on her side, the unholy alliance then sought to change the laws. Sham hearings were held right away.

JOE NOCERA: She just gets pummeled on Capital Hill.

Sen. PHIL GRAMM (R), Texas (1975-'02): I see no evidence whatsoever to suggest that this is a troubled market, that fraud is rampant in this market.

LARRY SUMMERS, Dep. Treasury Secretary: The release has cast a shadow of regulatory uncertainty over a thriving market.

ARTHUR LEVITT: The CFTC's action has and will bring, I believe, significant disruption to this important global market.

ALAN GREENSPAN: Regulation that serves no useful purpose hinders the efficiency of markets to enlarge.

Ah yes, the plantation owners always speak out so forcefully and adamantly on the need for continued slavery. "There's money to be made as long as you don't interfere!" And nobody wanted to look the fool questioning men "who had a great deal of faith in their own intellects." As for sweetheart Gramm, he's soon to be the "bottom boy" in a gay house of prostitution - as much as I hate to give a job I know he'll enjoy.

We must get to Wall Street before they ruin everything!

Holy corruption, Batman, I wonder how all this turned out after they squashed all potential regulation??

NARRATOR: By 2007, the OTC derivatives market had grown to $595 trillion. That's $595 trillion.

NEWSCASTER: Stocks shot higher, giving the Dow its best day in almost...

NARRATOR: The hands-off approach seemed to be working. Wall Street had bet heavily on the real estate boom.

NEWSCASTER: The economy expanded at a robust 4.3 percent annual rate.

NARRATOR: Those derivatives were at the heart of that strategy.

JOE NOCERA: You have derivatives insuring derivatives which are based on derivatives. It's an almost an Alice in Wonderland kind of profitability.

TIMOTHY O'BRIEN: What, in fact, you essentially had was a big, creaking time bomb that needed some sort of event to disrupt all the assumptions everyone had.

Boy, did that bomb go off alright, blowing up lives around the world! Gee, I bet everyone was mad when that happened, right? Right??

NARRATOR: And the others? Robert Rubin left government to join top management at CitiBank. The taxpayers have pledged more than $100 billion to keep Citi afloat. Rubin's former deputies, Larry Summers and Timothy Geithner, have become President Barack Obama's chief financial advisers.

Neither Rubin nor his former deputy, Larry Summers, would speak with FRONTLINE about what happened to Brooksley Born. And Rubin's other top deputy, Gary Gensler, now holds Brooksley Born's former post at the CFTC. It still lacks authority to regulate OTC derivatives.

Alan Greenspan retired from the Federal Reserve just before the crisis hit in 2006.

But politicians (who I will require to dress in clown suits and makeup) looking for cover hauled Greenie back for a hearing. Like other famous Republicans Britney and Perry, he just said: "Oops!"

Rep. HENRY WAXMAN (D), California: [October 23, 2008] You have been a staunch advocate for letting markets regulate themselves. And my question for you is simple. Were you wrong?

ALAN GREENSPAN: Yes. I found a flaw, but I've been very distressed by that fact.

Rep. HENRY WAXMAN: You found a flaw in the reality.

ALAN GREENSPAN: Flaw in the model that I perceived is the critical functioning structure that defines how the world works, so to speak.

Rep. HENRY WAXMAN: In other words, you found that your view of the world, your ideology, was not right.

ALAN GREENSPAN: Precisely. No, that's precisely the reason I was shocked because I've been going for 40 years or more with very considerable evidence that it was working exceptionally well.

Very considerable evidence??? My, what a skilled liar you are! So smart you is! Tell me, are you "distressed" enough to give back all your ill gotten gains? But he'll have plenty of time to think about that as I take all his assets and put him in an unregulated nursing home for dementia to spend his final days. Some dummies are just too dangerous to be left free.

The final upshot: nothing has changed. No one wants to challenge the the free market religion. We're in a more dangerous position than ever, lying to ourselves more than ever, sowing the seeds of doom while whistling past our graveyard. Do we really want to contend this is the ONLY way to live? Remember, you're betting your life on it!

Watch The Warning on PBS. See more from FRONTLINE.

Her Pain Is Gone Now

2011-11-19T22:02:00.000-08:00

"I'm feeling much better. Thank you." Her thin lips showed an appropriate smile. Her pain is gone now.

Those "moments" - times of intense pain squeezing her mind into compressed agony - had gone away, marooned on an island lost to the world. Now she sailed on the ship SS Serenity, eager for passengers to climb aboard. Floating, sailing, drifting - no more high seas of drama or raging storms of unquantifiable torment. She was a vessel of calm waters leaving nary a wake.

The "Church Incident" had triggered her downfall. Of all the places to have a meltdown! But perhaps because it was the one place she felt she could least afford to show her true face that also made it the flashpoint of her dire unhappiness. Suddenly, she resented everything, right in the middle of choir practice. Her voice turned cross and vexed with the announcement of her condemnation of re-rehearsing a song she felt they sang well enough already. At the time, she saw nothing wrong with her behavior. She was speaking honestly in her mind.

But the world values the mask, and despises the face beneath.

The "moments" came at the most unlikeliest of times: cutting lettuce while preparing dinner for the family, waiting in the school parking lot to pick up her youngest, even chatting on the phone in the middle of idle conversation. It was as if the minute she allowed herself to breathe the anguish came flooding in. She once had read of another who spoke of the unexpected happening while busy making other plans, but that was of a songwriter speaking of moments of inspiration. Was this all the result of a long, lost path not chosen?

Illicit toe sucking in public!
Stop them before it ends society!

It was exactly that thought that had preyed on her on the drive into Wednesday night choir practice and her resulting branding of infamy. Like a stilt carrying too much weight, she snapped, voicing her thoughts aloud in unvarnished emotion. She was unsparing in her sharp criticism of the organist's iron hand and in the heat of the moment felt no shame in airing her displeasure. It was if a ghost from her childhood had come alive and reached out for life. Ironically, many silent heads nodded in approval - and yet no one stood to defend her frankness.

As soon as she realized she'd done the unthinkable - tarnishing her image - she excused herself immediately leaving the room. Her racing mind panicked in the church basement lavatory. She stared at the faded white of the sink and its rusty stains dripping down from the faucet. What a vile and despicable thing that sink! The church has plenty of money. Why don't they change it out? Why don't they ever change anything at all? Everything just stays the same no matter what!

But it was that lack of change what had driven her to the church to begin with; safety from questions.

Like a torpedoed ship, damage control swung into full operation. She was pleasantly and gratefully surprised at the few who publicly professed sympathy and understanding for her. And those few also loved the rising in the stock of their image. But far more common were the pursed lips of those whose lies had yet to be exposed, they who maintained decorum and responsibility. To them she was an outlaw, an agent of chaos, a punk rocker refusing to conform. Condemnation was her just and holy dessert - if the accusers were to keep their lives allegedly holy anyway.

Grasping and flailing she needed a defensible defense - and here's where modern science came to her rescue. No longer was she at fault, her body made her do it. It was lacking chemicals that only an American pharmaceutical company could provide. She pitied those of yesteryear whose unhappiness was both unnamed and undoctored. She forced this face-saving explanation down her throat and carried on with a quiet, quivering lower lip. Her husband glowed at having help "fix" her with his scientific suggestion.

She worked quite hard on her act, telling the tale of illness discovered and cure found. "I was blind but now I see," she cooed. She spoke of how the Incident was actually a Blessing In Disguise, God speaking to her in infinite wisdom. It became the most prized possession in her life: her Success Story. And she used it like a force field against all possible criticism, both real and imagined. Putting effort into this new face became the new moral purpose to her life.

Used to be, she worried about everything to the point she could no longer function. Now the almighty functioning was back. Who could argue with that?? At her feet the family cat cried in pain on the kitchen floor but that too no longer pierced her heart as it once had. Yes, nothing could shatter the mirror-like stillness of her waters - neither life nor death. From flesh and blood she metamorphosed into crystal and glass, forever running from the hammer of life. The pain was gone now - just like all her feeling.

She Wants A Job

2011-11-13T23:16:00.000-08:00

They moved across the country to San Francisco to "start over" and "turn the page". Her husband had been swallowed up in the banking malaise following the 2008 financial crash. His bank got caught up in the preceding bubble fever and suddenly he found himself knee deep in "loss recovery" issues, enough to last a lifetime. He had to get out. Union Bank was the answer for him.

In her eyes, her husband was purifying himself, escaping the dirty money of "scandalous banks". His life had purpose, power and priority. She'd always been the dutifully gullible "good girl" - a moniker she greatly cherished - and swallowed every lie ever told her. She'd been used as a wife, a daughter and yes, even as a mother of two children recently flown from the nest. That's when the slow, unpluggable drip of panic began.

She felt caught in the raging river current of life headed for a cliff. Her eyes could only get wider as she was pulled to her fate by Nature's unreasoning and unhearing force. Given pause for the first time in her life, she realized the anger in her decisions, of how she furiously and fanatically shut out any word of self-worth - and therefore any inconvenient need that might need to be addressed. (A faithful leftist, she insisted everyone need watch "An Inconvenient Truth" to attain salvation. But it was her truths that needed hearing.)

"Help me!"

The good girl had gotten her college degree in useless English, but pretending to have a career had proven too much, instead settling into the role of dutiful housewife after a few meaningless receptionist jobs. Now, after twenty years of age and fifty pounds of fat she wanted a job. It would prove her first peek into the door of reality since the day she said, "I do."

She didn't realize her husband's "purification" was a complete sham, that the business of money is always dirty. She only knew she felt left behind now she lacked the distractions and vicariousness of her day-to-day motherly duties. The demons won't allow her to sit idly at home! Pitchforks in hand, they laughed as they pushed her into the pit of her own making.

Publishing her meager and humiliating résumé online continued her long tradition of falseness of desire. What truly puzzled - and deeply perturbed - her was the fact that doing this "good thing" only increased her guilt, not lessened it as she had supposed. First there's the guilt of doing nothing and now there's the guilt of doing something! Dear God, have You no mercy? She recalled the words she read of a child molester who told the police he "just wanted to die."

"No, no...don't let that be me. It can't be!"

"Keep your hands off me you damned, dirty hippies!"

The demons hunted her in ruthless and obliging disdain. So she obliged them by this walk of denigration. She had her argument down pat: getting a job could only be a good thing. She had to feel useful after a lifetime of rot. What she refused to admit - at any and all costs - was that she had rotted. People who make righteous decisions don't end up mired in swamps of misery. The trick was to pretend she'd been on the mark all along, get a job based on that assumption and come out smelling like a rose.

But how can a weed smell like a rose?

Lying had always worked before. But that had been with her firmly at the reins, veering off any course that brought her into the light of day. Putting herself at the mercy of the cold, objective eye of the marketplace was another story. Twenty years ago she had a svelte figure and the energy and blind optimism of youth. Those charms were long gone. But to be good and dutiful she must pretend otherwise.

With a secret hatred of his own career, her husband faithfully encouraged her even as his own inner business eye told him she had no chance and she'd only be making a fool of herself. Without admitting that to himself, that was exactly what he wanted. What better way to make her more dependent on him? And he could push her off the cliff all in the name of helping her! He too suspected what would happen if she finally threw off her demons: The End. "They’re going to laugh in her face and she'll coming running back to me. Same old story since the day I broke her. Don't you ever again think you're too good for me, bitch!"

"Ain't such hot stuff now, eh bitch?"

Just as the wars of the world increased, also escalated her battles within. She hated pretending she had any self-belief. The postings, the interviews with employment agencies, the reporting back to her husband afterwards crucified her in torment and yet she could not say a word. Her human voice told her to stop. Stop hurting yourself. Stop pretending. Stop bending yourself to the breaking point. But as always the same hound of fear reared its gnarling teeth, freezing her: what explanation could she defend? Stopping now she'd sound a lazy, selfish, pathetic loser.

Her husband noticed the dark circles under eyes in the early morning sun. "Honey, look, if this job search is causing you this much stress you can just quit," urged the sincere and caring spouse.

He'd slyly used the word "quit" to trap her regardless of her answer. Either she had to admit she was a quitter who was nothing without him or she had to carry on the unsustainable beating of the hunt. As expected, she said she was doing fine and eager to find that right job. He hugged her and smirked his way to work. Devastated by her own betrayal, she spat at herself when seeing her image in the bathroom mirror - and then hurriedly wiped it off. She coughed in exhaustion as she sunk to the floor.

In her core she knew her life had meaning and purpose. She'd never doubted that and it had carried her through her youth like the stars in the sky. She never bothered to define it, she'd know it when she saw it. Not only that, it would be a flower among flowers, sparkling with beauty that shines across the universe. Everyone would see it and be proud she had nurtured such a glowing gift. She dreamed of the accolades without end but she wouldn't do it for the praise. She'd do it to fulfill her contract with life.

How much does this job pay?

But to say now she wanted "something dreamy, something artsy, something timeless" like when she was a bright eyed teenager was a step too far too reach. Eyes would roll and if anything were said it would be for her to "grow up" - knowing what they really meant was to "give up". She couldn't go forward, she couldn't go back. What a horrible, horrible mess she'd made of her life. If only anyone knew! If only anyone could know.

[A job could have at least given her some tangential feeling of usefulness, she remembered that from before. But she'd been far too starved over the years for that to work now. Furthermore, she completely refused to admit her resentment against her husband whose industry had created the dire circumstances for employment she now faced. Being forced to expose her hidden life was her worst nightmare - especially to eyes young and fearless like she once had. Nobody wanted her.

At last, the humiliating silence broke her. She was useless shit. There had been a time when she had orgasmed when called a useless shit - and harvest time had come. How very bitter its taste. She'd been hiding for all these years. Why stop now? But her illusions of hope had disappeared like gold dust in a high wind. How could she ever gather it back? The prison door of fear clanged shut, her decades long crime spree come to an end.]

Feeling Good About Texas Innocence

2011-11-10T01:37:00.000-08:00

The Innocence Project of Texas is dedicated to overturning wrongful convictions and securing freedom for men and women wrongfully imprisoned for crimes that they did not commit. Our organization, which is comprised of devoted volunteers, students and experienced legal advocates, constantly strives to provide hope and reconciliation for those lost in a broken criminal justice system. We also seek to educate students, citizens and public officials on why wrongful convictions occur and how they can be prevented. By working together with the common goal of aiding those who have lost their freedom to wrongful convictions, we ultimately assist in seeing that true justice is served.

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Last Thursday I had the chance to attend the Innocence Project Of Texas (IPOT) annual conference in (luckily) downtown Dallas. I debated going, not sure what I was going to run into. I mean, a roomful of lawyers and young Turks and highbrow legal talk could be a tad intimidating and I didn't want to feel like I was crashing the party. After all, I really had nothing to offer as far as legal strategy or knowing the finer points of the latest court rulings.

So that put me in a bit of a spot, forcing me to put what intelligence I might have on the line if I were to contribute anything and I've spent a lifetime playing things close to the vest. To say I have problems opening up is an understatement of epic proportions. It's like the time I tried to set up a session with a dominatrix and I told her my safe word was "blancmange", but she had such trouble getting her head wrapped around the word we ended up arguing and the session never took place. See, I have a certain genius for self-sabotage.

I can't say I didn't fully escape my syndrome that evening but I'm still very glad I went.

Entering the lobby of the hotel hosting the event what do I see but my old partner in crime Jeff Blackburn animatedly discussing legal crap with a bunch of dark suited kids looking like they were ready to tear up the world with all their eager smartness. My initial reaction: "Seems I'm going to be crashing this party after all!" But another voice told me just to go with the flow and wait until Jeff was alone to introduce myself after 25 years.

Jeff Blackburn, Chief Counsel

Jeff Blackburn handles criminal defense and civil rights cases throughout Texas. He also represents the wrongfully convicted. In 2009, he represented the family of Tim Cole, a young man falsely accused of rape who died in prison, and got the first posthumous exoneration in Texas. He also represented 38 people falsely convicted in the infamous Tulia drug bust, eventually obtaining full pardons and civil damages. He is the founder of and chief counsel to the Innocence Project of Texas. He was named criminal defense lawyer of the year by the State Bar of Texas for 2002/2003. He has received the Frank Spurlock award, the Henry B. Gonzales award, and the Maury Maverick award for his civil rights work. He is Board Certified in Criminal Law by the Texas Board of Legal Specialization.

After about 10 minutes my chance came.

"Jeff Blackburn, I bet you don't remember me." I extended my hand with a nervous smile.

We shook hands with him looking directly at me. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Amarillo, 1986. You remember Glen Parkey running for mayor, campaign vandalism - "

"Oh, it's you!" Jeff's face lit up and I have to admit that felt mighty good. He had read my posting about him and loved it. He talked a little bit about the article, ending with, "And you know the best part about it?" That's when we both spoke in unison: "That it was true!" He wanted to step outside for a quick smoke so he pointed me in the direction where the meeting was to take place and I awkwardly made my way downstairs.

There were several round tables covered in white tablecloths set up around a podium. I was alone in the room. I was like, "Fuck, where can I sit and not stick out?" In situations like these my natural tendency is to find a spot where I can observe and quantify, not caring to interact. But I did not want to engage in such bad behavior on this occasion. This is a cause near and dear to my heart.

I'm active in IPOT and two other prison related organizations. I'm a legal moron and don't intend to be anything other than that but this is a passion of mine and I'm deeply interested in what is and can be done. Also, people with far more positive attitudes than mine are attacking the problems of social justice in our penal systems so I mostly keep my mouth shut, listen, and learn.

An elderly woman with her husband and another female friend sat down at my table. I'd brought a weekly paper to read to kill time but she accosted me anyway, perhaps sensing my feeling of being out of place.

"Are you a lawyer?"

No, but I have watched Perry Mason on TV! That's what I felt like saying anyway upon being immediately busted. "No, 'fraid not," I eeked out with failed smile.

"Oh, neither am I." I could have kissed her! "But my husband is." Argh.

But really, I was grateful to her for breaking the ice and we began to talk about our common interest in IPOT and related endeavors and I started feeling good about my presence there. But inside I still had a tug of war in trying to open up. Our conversation was interrupted by Jeff taking the microphone to start things off.

The main thing Jeff wanted to stress was the legal strategy IPOT wanted to take, that yes, they still wanted to take up individual cases but with the reality that even individual cases can take up huge amounts of resources, a smarter approach would be to set legal precedents that lay the groundwork for releasing dozens or hundreds or possibly even thousands of people wrongly convicted over the years.

I agreed wholeheartedly (for what it's worth) and was pretty excited about that idea. Not only does this serve a greater number of people but it also stops the bleeding, where authorities literally use dogs to sniff out one's guilt or innocence and base incarceration upon that "evidence" (it's scary here, folks). Bringing law enforcement out of the dark ages would be a huge step here in Tejas.

Following speakers talked about various other aspects of IPOT, of the number of student organizations involved, etc., and I was duly impressed all around. I really enjoyed hearing Scott Henson who runs the widely read Grits For Breakfast blog which tracks all things Texas justice (or what passes for it). We'd exchanged emails a few times and he even did a posting on my posting about Jeff!

One very moving moment for me was listening to Cory Sessions, the brother of Tim Cole who was falsely convicted using rigged evidence from the police and died in prison before he could be cleared. This isn't philosophy we're talking about here, folks, but real lives and real consequences. Shooing away skeptics who believed nothing could be done to change Texas' railroading of justice (cough), Cory told the story of his personal efforts to lobby for reform. Thus, the Tim Cole Act was born:

The Texas Senate passed legislation to exonerate Tim Cole. The Texas House of Representatives bill passed through committee and then the full house. After that, it went to Governor Rick Perry to be signed into law. Another bill, named after Cole, was passed by the legislature and sent to the governor on May 11, 2009. It made those who are falsely convicted of a crime eligible for $80,000 for each year of incarceration and provide them with free college tuition.

The bill also established the Timothy Cole Advisory Panel on Wrongful Convictions. A panel set up to study the causes of wrongful convictions and to devise ways of preventing them is to report to the Texas governor no later than 2011. While Rick Perry stated he wanted to issue a pardon, he felt that he was not legally able to do so. However, on January 7, 2010, Texas Attorney General Greg Abbott issued an opinion which cleared the way for the governor to pardon Cole.

On March 2, 2010, Governor Rick Perry granted Timothy Cole the state's first posthumous pardon.

In a bit of rare and delicious irony, it may be because of the fact the track record in Texas is so over the top bad the embarrassment enables reforms to be enacted that might not seem so necessary in more moderate states. What this allows us to do is set the foundation that can then be used to pave the way for clearing other bad laws off the books around the country.

That's right, precedents for justice coming from Texas! That's the power of people who care, fight the good fight and keep shining the (mostly unwanted) light of truth into dark holes. I was really damn proud to be in that room.

After the conference ended, I was too shy to acknowledge the lady at the table who had befriended me and I'm still kicking myself for it. I lost that tug of war. Instead, I immediately ran off to talk to Scott (aka Grits). He told me an interesting tale about the Texas ACLU and it's fall from grace from when he had been part of it.

The organization was doing yeoman’s work in enacting reform legislation that shocked me in its efficiency. Turns out Grits was a huge part of that, telling me about his approach of reaching out to the ruling conservatives and showing them how these changes were in their best interests even though oftentimes law enforcement was wanting to cling to their old and thuggy ways. Finding that commonality is a tough thing to do in someone you otherwise oppose but it has the advantage of being based upon truth and reality.

When he told me this I thought it was the obvious tack to take.

However, regardless of actual results, the more dogmatic and fanatical elements of the Texas ACLU got Grits canned because he was working with the enemy instead of pointing fingers at the enemy. Freaking morons. Like a Bolshevik purge, all other effective leaders were rushed out and now everyone asks what happened to the clout of the ACLU in Texas. Let this be a lesson that left or right, one need always keep an open mind.

I then spoke a few more words with Jeff, laughing a little bit more over the Amarillo exploits and my telling him how I'd tracked him over the years in a few of the more famous cases. But in the back of my mind, something was bugging me something fierce, even distracting me during our conversation. But I couldn't get to the bottom of it as we shook hands once more before departing.

I think anyone who reads my blog would know I've pretty well established my bone fides as a misanthrope. So let me you it's with no small measure I say I didn't see one jerk the whole time I was in the room (of about 30 people). These weren't political fanatics (Hi Texas ACLU!), but rather people of passion and conviction and I got good vibes from everyone I came across. Fucking amazing. When I walked out onto the street afterwards I was walking on air, on a great high and feeling inspired to do more, wanting to tell the world what I just experienced.

Yes, there are times I too say let's just blow up this damn state of ours and start over. But out of the tears of sorrow sometimes come the flowers of life that make tomorrow a better day. Praise be to the gardeners.

(Oh, and the thing bugging me with Blackburn during our final conversation: I forgot to ask about his Japanese sword collection I'd heard about! DAMN!!!!!!!!! Oh well, maybe next year. When it comes to discussing my beloved Japans, I can't get enough!)

A Letter Of Hate, 1886

2011-11-09T01:31:00.000-08:00

"So it's you, the whore of Babylon. You who opens her legs not for love but for earthly profit and the security of brick houses. You who sells her dreams for a nickel and social homage. My one wish is to stick a knife in God and gut him like the pig you are for making me need you.

"What did I do but build monuments of despair, trading quarterly profits for a soul. Now I've wrecked even my business as I did not have you to believe in me. I burned it to the ground, every last cent of worth destroyed in the ashes of hopelessness. Yet you carry on as if the sun and the moon and stars do not exist. It's for strangers' love unmet you live.

"Letters of love I wrote you both sent and unsent. Where were you? If love is not your name then I send this letter of hate. I said I'd wait a lifetime and the prophecy has come true. As true lovers walk hand in hand exchanging vows, we live in armed camps of opposition defending our deaths. You sent assassins in the night to keep word of my love from getting through. I was left to wrestle devils in the darkness as you climaxed in ecstasy.

"Day by day the weight of the world wore me to the bone, breaking my will. I crawled like a dog through the streets looking for scraps of love to survive. When a bone would break, it healed back twisted and bent, never the same. You were never there to help, never a friend. I was left to wolves in love's clothing hounding me in my moments of greatest pain when I needed the greatest rest. Would you rather the wild-eyed animals had eaten me alive?

"Just as you swallowed the poison of your lover's lies you left me to drink foul waters of the world. How I fought back the thirst that drove me to such bitter intake! How I prayed for death each time my lips touched the odorous rivers of discontent filling my nostrils with repulsion. In the daylight I dare not even move lest my breath give me away to your bombs of silence and arrows of fire. How is it you came to believe my death could solve your problems?

"Only your presence makes me whole and complete. How can half a man ever win a race? In your eyes I saw the ages of time past and present. Mountains turned to molehills as clouds called out our name to climb aboard and gaze upon the heavens as dreamers do. And then we'd say: What of a world that does not serve love!

"Do not the angels weep at our lost oneness? Do not malcontents drive slanderous wedges to hold us to their fate? Have not our lives washed up on the shores of shipwrecked adventurers? Has not the light passed from your heart even as you must tip your hat in ruthless courtesy? Have you found treasure equal to our fortune of feelings? Remember walking in the sand as the stars envied our brilliance? Oh that a small smile escapes me even in rough seas such as this...

"As I leave this earthly hell I wonder of you still. As blessings turn to curses and day passes into night the echoes of our laughter fade to black. Surely, it was the laughter that was real, not this fantasy pose to please the camera's unwavering lens. To whom can we explain the explosion of our love if never having experienced such joy? Some say such is not even possible! But you shall get your wish as the secret dies with me here in the bottom of this damp and ancient well lost since the time of Hebrew slaves.

"What fate shall you grant me upon learning my final utterance was your forbidden name? I shall not even write it lest it brand me a fool for the ages. So it is pride gets the last laugh. But I remember your face - defying the gods of worldly cruelty to the end. I die with my arms outstretched, my heart cracking and longing tears burning into the floor. And now with my final breath, I say your name in grace. Goodbye, and fare thee well in God's mercy."

Joseph Lloyd Wright, Jr., 1886. Both morally and financially bankrupt, written with a literal rope around his neck who promptly kicked the chair out from underneath to hang himself in finality.

Why Should I?

2011-11-08T00:53:00.000-08:00

"Why should I?"

She looked longingly at the phone in a completely silent house. Her husband Joe had gone off to another out of town seminar, both the kids were tied up with school activities and she was left free as a bird - something she both craved and avoided. The feeling reminded of her when she was a teenager coming home from school before her parents got back from work. What a wonderful window of freedom that was! The safety of a home but none of the chains.

She'd been having a lot of teenage feelings lately, making her wonder who she was. She had no doubt as to why: it was her coworker Robert. The more she talked with him the more she wanted to talk with him. The vacuums in her life were at last gratefully and joyously fulfilled. But like any vacuum finally exposed, the air is drawn into it in an uncontrollable fashion. And she too was reeling out of control, old desires enflamed anew.

But was it real? Were her feelings real? Was life real? The only thing she knew for sure was real was her marriage contract; signed, sealed and delivered - just as she was. Could she really be the person she felt she was when she was around him? "How would he react if I call him? Would he be as excited as I am? Is this his fantasy too? I so want to live!"

But why do what she wanted? She'd built her life on not doing what she wanted - in the hopes that guaranteed her having what she wanted. But is life's promise true? At this point in her life that seemed pretty farfetched, the daydreams of children. And yet...she sat frozen by the phone, nervous and excited, hesitating because she was lost. What an incredible feeling! As if her entire life depended on making that one call; every fear, hope and dream wrapped up into one.

But why risk it? Why risk her marriage and family? Why risk anything when you have everything? If she could have things her way, she'd stay in this moment forever, sitting in one world while on the edge of another. But the second world slipped away with every passing tick. Deep inside she buried the voice of the question that bothered her the most: What's the risk of not calling?

--------------------------------

The knock at the hotel door sprang his heart to life. Anticipation, expectation, ejaculation - he had it all planned. Sweet release, thank God Almighty! The fantasies boiling inside him for so many years had finally come to a head. His burning imagination had been stifled and suffocated as he browsed through ad after ad of women without sexual prejudice. The secret compartments he kept from his wife kept his marriage aloft but they were also retaining water, sinking his ship. This situation must be addressed!

Walking on air, he answered the door and the beauty did not disappoint. Briefly he thought about all the Bible passages on adultery to which he had been so proud to proclaim fidelity. But he'd always wanted a Latina girl and her picture struck him like a thunderbolt. He rationalized he was doing it for the benefit of his marriage, that if he could satisfy himself with her he'd not have to look for it with his wife anymore. Yeah, that's the story!

She smiled with her flowing black hair tossed provocatively to one side. From top to bottom he saw nothing but elation. And then she spoke. "Hello, Joe. I hear you've been a bad boy." Yes, she's perfect! She understands! No long drawn out conversations reasoning out the whys and wherefores that could drain him of desire. She accepted him as he was, right then and there. Suddenly, his wife seemed like an ogre of the worst sort, dark and judgemental, waiting with a bloody axe lest he step a foot out of line.

The Latina humiliated and punished him to perfect arousal, making a full confession of his life. Though aching to do so, he didn't want to climax and end the experience. If he could have things his way, he'd stay in that room with her forever, exalting in one world while living in another. But soon he'd drop from this high orbit and painfully crash back to earth with melted wings. If only life could be lived!

Afterwards, she finished the service with her newbie client so clearly aching for a parting conversation. She'd heard a thousand variations of it over the years. Stupid men trapped in lies of false morality and undeserved social status. She wondered what would happen if somehow magically the view from her little corner of the world could be made known to everyone. How would anyone be able to keep up their lies then?

She knew that was the true reason her profession was outlawed. She read on her client's face the dawning of realization he'd stepped outside the lines of both the law and proper public behavior. And that it felt good. She could see part of him still resisting, trying not to get sucked into this new way of life that filled his aching, empty voids. She began with asking the standard question without trying to look bored - though she was - and not be bored by the answer - though she would be.

"Tell my wife? What are you, nuts? You don't understand, she's very rigid. She can't do anything her parents don't approve of. Could you imagine trying to talk about my being spanked in front of her parents!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would now I think about it! How liberating! Could you imagine the look on their faces!"

"Then do it."

"No, no. I couldn't do that to them. They'd probably have a heart attack or something. I just gotta keep it all inside and not let anybody know. You're a godsend. You're not like them. God, I admire you."

Yeah, yeah. She'd heard it all before. None of these losers ever wants to fess up. She'd bet a month's salary his wife would love every minute of spanking his ass raw and putting him in the corner. Who are these people who always have to pretend to be perfect? It had taken him over 40 years to finally reach out. But he had a long, long way to go.

"So what are you going to do? Wait until another seminar comes before you can live?"

"No, I can see now I won't be able to wait that long. I'll need to see someone when I get back home."

"You realize of course sooner or later your wife will find out. You should go ahead and tell her what you want."

"Why should I? She could never be like you. She's a dead fish without hope of changing."

The woman of the world suspected otherwise. "You'd better hope you're right. Otherwise you're throwing away your life for no reason."

--------------------------------

"Honey," asked the wife of her famous husband, "whatever happened with that horrible report of the boy raped in the stadium locker room shower?"

He didn't bother to look up from the paper. Why should he for a matter dealt with and long dismissed from his mind? "Oh, I'm sure it was dealt with in the proper manner after I reported it."

"You mean you didn't follow up on it?"

"Why should I?"

The elderly woman paused, trained by a lifetime of spousal worship. She wanted to believe his soothing words - she meant to believe his assuring words - but deep inside the gears spit their teeth, snapping her well oiled machinery running to perfection for so many decades. Why now? How could this happen after all this time? Had she spent her whole life running away?

***

College football is mixture of fervent religion and high powered business. Mixing the two together creates a toxic cocktail that seduces both the heart and the mind. With its holy facade cherished and beloved by so many, it can very easily be sold as something it is not: a pure endeavor. The imagery of the noble college athlete is a powerful one: a good and hearty soul who uses his physical prowess to benefit his intellectual capabilities thanks to a college benefactor creating a win/win scenario for everyone.

Well, it's lovely to think so anyway.

The truth is, everyone uses and gets used in a system rife with corruption. The Big Lie is one's athletic graduation rate signifies a moral indicator of one's fidelity to truth and honesty. Do that, and you cannot be questioned in a world of hypocrites. Better yet, you then don't need to share revenues (to make an honest game of it) with the athletes you mercilessly exploit with busy game, practice and conditioning schedules. No, like a tape worm left unchecked, the lie lives on inside hollowing out all who let it live.

***

As a legendary college football coach, his graduation rate far exceeded the norm, proving his integrity towards winning. He was not a sellout looking for game day victories above all else but rather one who kept his bearings and perspective in line. As proof the system worked, he was often pointed to as an example of all that's right in the world of collegiate sports. See? One can maintain one's integrity and still win!

And he too fell in love with - and became possessed by - this same manufactured image.

As time passed, to be called the "moral man" pressured him further down the road of living up to this image regardless of cost. Then one day, this 84 year old man after a lifetime of praise found himself ripped of his false face as he tried to float by on the support of hardliners holding on to his old image.

After hearing of his assistant coach raping a ten year old boy, he chose to close his eyes. After maintaining his image by reporting the molestation to the university administration, he quickly retired the affair in his mind in the secret hopes the administrators also would hold faith with keeping the moral image alive. His bet paid off. The story was stifled and kept in house with no outside reporting. Whew!

Two Penn State officials, Senior Vice President Gary Schultz and Athletic Director Tim Curley, surrendered on charges that they failed to alert police to the complaint about [alleged child rapist] Sandusky.

Schultz and Curley are also charged with lying to the state grand jury that indicted Sandusky. Both stepped down from their posts Sunday, Curley taking a temporary leave and Schultz retiring. They appeared Monday in a Harrisburg courtroom, where a judge set bail at $75,000.

State police Commissioner Frank Noonan said that although [Penn State coach] Paterno may have met his legal requirement to report suspected abuse by Sandusky, “somebody has to question about what I would consider the moral requirements for a human being that knows of sexual things that are taking place with a child.”

He added: “I think you have the moral responsibility, anyone. Not whether you’re a football coach or a university president or the guy sweeping the building. I think you have a moral responsibility to call us.”

----------------------------------------

It's never easy facing the truth. But the truth is still love.

A Short History Of Now (To Educate Tea Partiers)

2011-11-06T20:03:00.000-08:00

As I've said before, I love the bitterness the Occupy movement causes in both the left and the right. Burned out Sixties protesters hate it because it reminds them of their failure to cause any substantial change. Establishment folks (left, right and middle) hate any sort of uncontrollable activity because that always has the potential to reflect poorly on them having giving up on the idea of change. And naturally the people out there committing the crimes don't want that pointed out no matter how much those crimes might be condoned by the greater population.

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world!

Moments into a speech before volunteers here Wednesday evening, [true consumer advocate] Elizabeth Warren was interrupted by a Tea Party supporter who hurled a gender-based epithet at the Senate candidate. The man, who said he'd been unemployed since February 2010, objected to Warren's expressed affiliation with the frustrations of Occupy Wall Street, and argued that the Tea Party has been protesting Wall Street excess for longer than the nascent global movement.

...Speaking in a packed VFW hall, Warren went on to address his question about her association with Occupy Wall Street. "I've been protesting what's been going on on Wall Street for a very long time," she said, but added that the movement has its own independent agenda and will proceed along its own course.

"Yeah, so has the Tea Party," the man said, before losing his cool.

"Well, if you're the intellectual creator of that so-called party," he said, "you're a socialist whore. I don't want anything to do with you." The crowd shouted him down as he added that Warren's "boss," presumably referring to the president, was "foreign-born." He then attempted to storm out through a side door. Finding it locked, he retreated out the back of the VFW hall instead.

Now that's a conflicted soul! (And there's nothing worse than storming off into a locked door! HAHAHA!)

But let's see if we can untangle that soul, shall we? (I'll keep it simple considering our intended recipient)

First off we have two major political parties in this country:

Republicans: Their job is to loot the country down to its last nickel. With a vastly bloated military budget reaching its limit these wild-eyed boys are now salivating at getting their hands on the massive social security funds and drain them dry too.

Democrats: Their job is to appease and enable the Republicans, thus allowing themselves to appear innocent, above it all, and fighting the good fight. It's also their job to take the blame for the Republicans' crimes.

Since 1980 without aberration, this behavior has been the one constant in this country. But like with any addiction, one has to up the dosage to get the same high. Whoever thought we'd be looking back at the Savings and Loan scandal of the late 80's with the warm and fuzzy sigh of spilt milk? Heck, that's a day's crime on Wall Street nowadays. But let us cut to the current century.

In the year of our Lord 2000 A.D. we put an anti-Christ into office to lead this once great country of ours. This Greed Nazi had only lust in his soiled, fruitless heart for pillaging and plunder. But while most people were only noticing the rape of Iraq for its resources, reality was this same sort of pillaging was going on here on our own shores for our resources. Greed, folks, has no ethics or friends, only past, present and future victims.

As always, doom came gift wrapped in sweet lies. In an effort claiming to want to "make everyone a homeowner", a subtle but large scale operation was kicked off to squeeze the entire net worth out of the middle class like a teenager's fresh zit. And where would all that money go? Why to the top, of course. Ultimately, it's economic law that money always flows up (A law never mentioned, or is disputed, by the swindlers, i.e. if someone disputes this you know they are a swindler!)

In a previous post I went over leveraging, how something as little as 5 dollars can control 100 dollars worth of investments. In this scenario a person can increase his profits twenty fold - and conversely increase his losses by the same factor. Leveraging has been around forever and is a common and standard practice. The example I just gave is a 20:1 leverage. Investment banks at the time of the housing bubble were operating at a 30:1 ratio.

As a Japanese warlord, I would pass a law that if someone caused harm and later claimed they were "only trying to help", I would have their tongue cut out. Bad enough you fucked me but then you have to lie about it? But so began the great housing bubble of the 2000's. A supposedly grand gesture to engender homeownership (who could be against that?) but what was in reality a scheme of such galling and evil proportions no one would believe it could actually happen (sort of like concentration camps of yore).

First, a huge and easy supply of cheap money was provided. This was the fuel for the fire. Like crack cocaine, this money was offered out by dealers looking to prey on the weak minded - of which there are many (did I mention we willingly put an anti-Christ into office?) Regardless of how the addicts' lives may end up, the dealer gets his profits up front with his commission on the mortgage loan. And then for being so successful for lining up victims he gets a big bonus! Money was just exploding through the system.

But as the mortgage brokers were congratulating themselves for flying first class, investment bankers were congratulating themselves on buying the plane. Knowing the massive money supply pumped into the system would create a bubble for a period of time, the bankers made hundreds of billions through their leveraging scam - with the potential for trillions more. With everyone able to "afford" a home now (loans handed out regardless of the ability to pay them back), home prices went up, the average person's net worth went up, loans increased, and the stage was set for a giant crash.

Myopia is the grease that turns the gears in this scheme. The homeowner only sees his value increasing, the broker only sees his fees increasing, the bankers only see the market going up and up. What this willful ignorance provides is the ability to later claim to be "Shocked! Shocked!" when it all comes crashing down. "Gosh darn, whoever could have foreseen this happening?"

Well, the fuckers who engineered it did. Our current economic disaster is no accident. And yet, no one goes to jail because so few among us are actually innocent - that's the beauty of mass seduction.

When the bubble burst we had two choices to stabilize the banking industry: give all our resources to the banks or give all our resources to the homeowners to make good on their loans. Once committed, there is no going back. Unfortunately, we made the wrong decision and the die is cast no matter what moves are made now. Toxic derivative bets exceed the entire world GDP many times over. Ain't leveraging grand??

Politicians are like magicians: they profit from misdirection. When Joe Homeowner woke up and found himself under water with no hope, pols know that guy is going to be angry, most likely irresponsible, and looking for blood. Republican elites knew all along about the housing bubble (Just as Bin Laden knew the 9/11 hijackers were on a suicide mission but not all the lowly hijackers did) and thus were prepared to deflect blame at the first possible opportunity. Dear God, what would they do without the Democrats?

Getting back to our angry tea partier, whose group started out protesting the banking bailouts, this man should be standing and applauding Elizabeth Warren who has done more and advocated more to reel in banks than anyone else in government. If only our President shared her convictions. But being the sucker that he is, being "broadminded" and "practical" and reaching across the table to the Greed Nazis, he listened to his Wall Street cronies who told him: badmouth the banks all you want but give them all the money!

But since this a man alleged to be on the left, he is susceptible to being labeled a "socialist", a 21st century communist vampire. The term ‘socialist’ to many people's minds means "Someone's going to take all my shit and give it to someone else for nothing!" The tea partier in the above story believes this narrative (for whatever reason) and thus concludes that since all his shit is gone it must have been taken by the socialists!

The reality is we have suffered from socialism of just that very description. Corporate socialism has taken - and continues to take - from one group to another while giving nothing in return. In criminal parlance that's called robbery. In the bent and twisted minds of our current belief system, it's called a necessity. The art of the lie that keeps this bleeding endlessly is to blame the folks who want to end it, to say that is the end of our American way.

Ah, how the fat cats do love and sponsor the tea partiers! They are like blind attack dogs taking down the evildoers' just accusers. It's like in Soviet Russia when victims of the purges would write Daddy Stalin to save them when in fact he was the man behind them pogroms. (When you see the Koch brothers, think of Stalin with an equally evil twin.) But now we see the difference between the Occupy movement and the tea party.

Keeping with the Soviet parallel, one can either be misguided by Daddy Stalin or one can see through Daddy Stalin. The deceived suffering masses blamed the purge victims for their ails just as we (unbelievably) blame the poor for ours. But how different would Russian history have been had the people woken up and Mussolini'd Stalin's ass? (They wouldn't be stuck with the highest suicide rate in the world for one thing). Our parallel would be for us to have the banks de-leverage themselves and pay back all the money even if it takes untold decades to do so, putting them in virtual permanent poverty. Sweet!

The Occupiers correctly see the only way out of our mess is through social justice. Justice is the cornerstone of any society and without it a nation unequivocally fails and rots to the core (Hi ancient Rome!). But the tea partiers are angry because they want to have their greed and eat too. Unfortunately, in the long run, that's an either/or situation - something we are about to find out in the most cruel, scarring, and unforgettable way in human history.

Want to know who's fucking you? You're fucking you if you don't stand for justice.

My Brilliant Second Career: DISH WASHER!

2011-11-02T22:49:00.000-07:00

The great thing about our great American system is the gifted and talented cream always rises to the top and the lazy scum head to the bottom. All I got to say to that is: Hi, folks! It's me, scum!

In a free market, it's
all about your assets.

There's a reason we see Kim Kardashian living large and little folks sweating away in unnamed slavery until the merciful release of death. And that can only be because we worship truth and integrity above all. The invisible hand of capitalism unerringly guides our lives to a place of justice and equity without fail. In other words: if you're suffering it's because you DESERVE to suffer!

At least, that's what us good and responsible folk think.

If you get fucked, fired or fried, don't you be bitching! Go off in a corner and die nice and quiet like you should. If you was supposed to be livin' you WOULD be livin'! If you be dying it's because you SUPPOSED to be dying! Everyone start thinking they got the right to live no matter what the whole damn system goes to crap! Lincoln was wrong to take those chains off them slaves. He was an anarchist!

I hereby free you to earn minimum wage!

Good news here in the trenches, folks, is most people is good people and they don't mind dying for the greater good. God bless their diseased bodies and minds!

Now, used to be I was a so-called brilliant journalist before I saw the light of redemption. Ever since I was little I was told what a great writer I was. Boy, were they ever dumb! Before I knew any better I went out and became a star reporter and wrote about the Mayor running his company in an illegal manner by claiming his workers as independent contractors when in reality they were employees (this tactic saves companies large amounts of money). I got awards and everything for that.

Boy, am I laughing at those award folks now. They be all mixed up!

Next thing I know the editor calls me into his office and rightly FIRES my ass. Being without wisdom I asserted, "But I only printed the truth!" But the editor was guided by the hand of God (and the Mayor), replying, "Exactly! People don't want to hear the truth! We're here to make a profit, you moron!" Stubborn youth that I was I barked back, "I'm going to tell everyone you fired me for telling the truth!" "Go ahead!" he laughs. "It's the truth. No one wants to hear that shit!"

I'll tell you the truth as soon
as I'm through making it up.

Mr. Editor was so very right. Once word got out I was a truth-teller no one would hire me, a profit-killer. I felt just awful for my wayward and derelict ways. How was I contributing to the unquestionable greater good of corporate profits? Scum! Scum, I am!

Then someone told me I was free! That I live in the Land Of The Free! That all my poverty and lack of shelter was a blessing allowing me to finally pursue my passions. That's how things work in the Home of the Brave (If You Can Afford To Eat). Since I was obviously deluded by my passion for the truth I realized I must pursue what must be my true passions instead and thusly take my rightful place in society.

So I sat at home Googling pictures of Russian tennis stars and masturbating to my heart's content. I created a new resume as the professional masturbator that I was, ready to accept any and all offers of compensation. I thought to myself, "So that's why they call these Money Shots!" I have to admit at that point I felt a tad sheepish at not giving the system its due in making the world a better place for each and every one of us.

We've both been working on our forehand

But apparently, I aimed too high as the marketplace once again spoke in its unfailing wisdom. This career also was to be denied. Wandering cold, windy streets in my thin ragged jacket, coughing snot and musing upon whether or not the DART trains travel fast enough to induce death, I was saved as all good people are who accept shit. A fine Dallas Republican stopped his BMW and exercised the beauty of market forces, telling me: "Here you worthless fuck! Lick my car clean for a dollar!"

Halleluiah! I was reborn! A washer I be. Despite the fact I was picking bugs out of my teeth for days, I was deliriously happy to have at last found my place. I even called into Rush Limbo and he called my tale a "great American success story." Me! A success at last! Look, Ma! You gonna be proud, yes you is!

Soon, I started climbing the corporate ladder of success, scaling the heights from car licking to dish washing - indoors! Hard not to brag here (hate to engender jealousy among you NON-yuppies) but I've now fully arrived working for a MAJOR American corporation. Each morning my whole body just tingles as I put on my Official Denny's apron. THIS is what I call living!

The neighbors were suitably impressed as I
glowingly sauntered past with my mop bucket.

I hope you realize it's not my own horn I'm tooting here, but the greatness of the American system of rewarding honesty and hard work that has allowed me to come so far. First off, I'll have you know I'm not just a dishwasher. At Denny's my responsibilities are many. The whole kitchen must be cleaned from floor to ceiling, along with hauling in supplies from the trucks, bussing tables and most of all cleaning the bathrooms in a timely manner. As any executive can tell you, people of great import are required to wear many hats - mine just all happen to be paper.

But I don't want to gloss over any ugly realities. I had to work HARD to get where I am today. Industrial dish washing is not like loading up the washer at home, no sir! It's a constant barrage of dishes stacking up higher and higher as you shove them through nonstop hour after hour in escaping steam. Pedro, my mentor, laughed when he saw my scrawny white ass, thinking I could never make it in this rough and tumble world of scraping half eaten Grand Slams. But I showed him what I was made of!

And that's why this boy is living large! I can hardly repress the smile I feel every time I defecate indoors, remembering old times in the park having to squat and shoo away curious dogs. Renting 525 sq ft of matted carpet, I roam this single room like the king I am. And it only costs half my salary! That's the reward of hard work, folks.

Partying hard at Casa de Harry!

And benefits? Oh yeah, baby! The shop manager told me all about our great dental plan and handed me right off a FREE toothbrush. Whenever the roach guy comes to spray my place I always point out this grand freebie to him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk (He pretends not to be impressed. Loser.)

All I got to say is: Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! Was lost but now I'm found. I realize some people still sadly play the fool. You should hear Jim, the overnight dish washer, always complaining and moaning, thinking he's a history teacher just because he did that for 25 years. God gave us talents, each and every one of us, and I for one am most grateful to be putting mine to good use!

Blue Angels 2011

2011-11-01T01:38:00.000-07:00

They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.

I can't stand the military. There, I said it. Any situation or person who demands I not think I simply have no use for and is a threat to my survival. Don't put your own limitations onto me. I ask you: is there any endeavor of mankind that isn't ultimately about either his desire for love or insecurity thereof? I think not.

Training for war

That said, I always get along with military people better than with the average civilian. People without self-awareness are reckless by nature but military training forces you to face yourself to a certain degree as opposed to the plastic princess without a clue. So when I go to an event of military worship, I'm generally uneasy with a lot of conflicted feelings.

On one hand I want to meet and greet with every military person there, scratch their surface and find out their story. True, I know how every story ends but hearing of the journey is a hunger I can never fully sate. On the other hand, the whole "Hooray for our side" bit makes me wince unbearably. We're all in this together, folks. Pretending otherwise is suicide. The Age of War has passed and yet we stubbornly refuse to let go.

Ah well, that sort of self elimination is Nature's way to purification.

Hawk Trainer

But when it comes to doing something with a high level of skill, there's always a moral component to that. Become out of touch with reality at 600 knots in close formation and you will make the news - and not in a good way. I'm interested in almost anyone who's a master at their craft. So despite the blind worship of a military air show, I love the professionalism on display along with, yes, the trinkets of war that explore the human mind.

"When I was 19, I did a guy in Laos from a thousand yards out. It was a rifle shot in high wind. Maybe eight or even ten guys in the world could have made that shot."

Martin Riggs, "Lethal Weapon"

I have a mountain of air show photos from over the years but I wanted to wait until I got some Blue Angel footage to start posting. Little did I know how hard that would be! Shooting while standing on a rickety chair in a gusty high wind with planes flying by at 1,000 mph across the sun on maximum zoom took some precision of my own. I easily lost over 50% of what I shot due to shakiness and, uh, putting my hand in front of the lens to shield me from the sun. Ouch!

Yes, it was VERY loud

Some air shows are more about vintage planes and I love those too. The Alliance show is more about modern aviation with American Airlines and Fed Ex having their commercial aircraft open for tours. It's a unique opportunity to see inside these beasts.

But of course, the big draw is the Blue Angels show and all that it entails. Here's a short Wiki on them:

The United States Navy's Navy Flight Demonstration Squadron, popularly known as the Blue Angels, was formed in 1946 and is currently the oldest formal flying aerobatic team. The squadron's six demonstration pilots currently fly the F/A-18 Hornet in more than 70 shows at 34 locations throughout the United States each year, where they still employ many of the same practices and techniques used in their aerial displays in 1946. Since their inception, the "Blues" have flown a variety of different aircraft types for more than 427 million spectators worldwide.

Here's a few shots I captured:

Click here to see the whole set

But the main thing I came for was the video. I don't know enough about tripods if they have the range to move up and down as necessary for capturing this kind of footage. Maybe I'll do some research and find out for next year. Until then, enjoy what I did get!

When The World Is Not Enough

2011-10-31T03:53:00.000-07:00

[She'd reached the end of her rope. As a teenage girl she'd made her Checklist for Life, a list of all the things she needed in order to thrive and survive. But even having checked off every item on the list it made no difference for she had gotten them dishonestly. Old, fat, ugly and unwantable, she found herself trapped in a home and a life with a man she did not love - never loved - but had loved only the things he could give her.]

"...when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness.
So I got that goin' for me, which is nice."
Carl from "Caddyshack"

She rolled over on the plushly carpeted floor, one arm outstretched as if grasping onto the last few moments of life. Her eyes started to blur as she slipped from one world to the next. On the night stand an empty pill bottle betrayed her final despair. She was all out of love.

"You're too hard, God. You just don't understand...this planet is a hellhole, full of miserable people and miserable lives just waiting to pounce on you and tear you down...they never stop, get me out of here!...where can I go?...I had to do it...these things of mine...I needed these things to survive!...I had no choice...my children...I couldn't not have children, right or wrong...I got everything I said I wanted...these things...my marriage, my house...I don't get it...they aren't enough...I guess I wasn't as smart as I thought I was."

Then she passed into the Light.

***

"Am I going to hell?" was her first question.

"There is no hell, there is no heaven. There's only the love you make," replied the angel.

"Oh my."

Without knowing how she knew to do so, she followed the angel to the Cloud Of Light.

The angel showed no signs of judgement or scorn or approval, speaking thusly: "We shall see two versions of your life: the one you led and the one if life embraced - the one meant for you."

Immediately she wished to defend herself but again an unspoken knowledge kept her in quiet futility.

A projection on the cloud began as the pair watched her bright birth. Life started out well for her as she climbed the social latter of the living. A star among her peers yet all the while hiding a secret doubt. The angel asked the homecoming queen about this shadow - and she knew no lie was possible.

"It's hard to say, really. I felt undeserving, that maybe I wasn't really committed to anything. Wasn't really committed to myself I should say. I just had these dreams. Everyone else, they had some idea of a direction for their life, but me...well, all I knew were these wonderful dreams of living. I wanted to show the whole world how beautiful life could be!"

"Dreamers have the highest calling - and the highest duty."

In college, the shadow deepened. She watched as the voices of doubt won the battle for her confidence. She edged away from the light she so fervently espoused previously. The angel said nothing but...

"You don't understand. I had to go to college. There was nothing else for me to do. I couldn't be a writer or something definite like my classmates. My parents were teachers! How could I explain I wasn't ready to go, that I needed to find myself first? Everyone had such a high opinion of me, I wasn't going to lose that! All those expectations were just so...overwhelming. Maybe my dreams were just dreams, I thought."

She started to cry tears she kept invisible in the carnal world. "What a fool I was! No one can live my life for me! I was always living to make everyone else happy. I told myself I was strong to keep my feelings inside. But that was weak and cowardly. I was so sure the truth was never enough. I broke faith. The preacher doused me in water and said I was saved. But I never was."

She knew what was coming next. "Must we continue?"

"No, as you wish."

Three earth years later, she knew she must know. "Please continue."

She had forgotten that in college her gravest thoughts of suicide had come to seed. This isn't me. I have no future in a lie. It's obvious as the day I have no way to live! The suffocating role-play humiliated her in despair, pretending success in school was same as success in life. She could care less what her grades were outside the approval they brought. All she knew was she wanted out.

But like any bill to pay, the longer she waited the higher the price.

On the Cloud of Light dark events from the past are as visible as the blue sky. So very openly she watched as the voices of doubt called an enemy of her dreams into her life. "No, don't trust him!" She relived the first initial repulsion, the instinctive loathing by the remnants of her confidence. He was nothing but a parasitic twerp looking to suck the life out of her. He needed that to justify his own voices of doubt. He'd never had any dreams of his own.

Gradually, the truth within began to twist. "I need you..." he whispered in her ear. "I love your dreams..." he cooed. "I'll give you the world..." he hopefully bribed. It was direction she missed from her life and direction he would provide. Only now she watched wide-eyed in horror as the shadow couple walked hand in hand down the wrong path in mutual contempt of her dreams!

"No, no! You don't have to do that!" She turned towards the angel. "It's so obvious now. Why didn't you tell me? Why let me walk down the wrong path? None of this is what I wanted. How could I believe it was actually OK to do what I want? It never mattered what I wanted down there. They would attack me for being selfish if I followed my own path. I had no protection!"

She sat in stone for another six months. "It was because I feared I was too selfish that I never did what I wanted. I didn't want to face myself. Once I started running, I couldn't stop. But I always tried to be objective about my life."

"Yes, we know."

It was her objectivity that brought her true love into her life two years into her marriage. She'd been crying out for hope and secretly embraced her dreams once more - but only because she had such an iron grip on her marriage she never feared she'd be without its crutch. The Cloud of Light made all her actions so obvious she wondered how she'd ever managed to fool herself.

"Now I'll show you the life you could have had with your soulmate. Shall I free you of your guilt?"

"Which guilt? ...oh that guilt..."

"We knew you had needs. We put them there. Wealth is not a sin for you. Neither is family and children. Without such things you would have died. It was the only way to keep your dreams alive."

"Exactly! I was saying that for years! No one ever understood. Was nothing to do with selfishness. I needed these things like I needed air to breathe. What a relief to find out I was not lying."

"But it only works if you marry your true love. Had you done so your wealth would have been one thousand fold your husband's ill gotten gains. As a couple you'd have been a shining beacon of light in the world - just as you always dreamed. You would have taught your children openness and honesty instead of darkness and deceit. All the things of life you needed would have been provided in overflowing abundance. And most of all your dreams would have come to life. You'd have been a free person just as you always wished."

"But there is no freedom!"

"And now for the life of your soulmate, alone and abandoned - "

"No, dont!"

She protested but did not stop the projection is his sorrowed voice. "Where are you? I'm so lost without you. You are all my dreams and fantasies come true!"

"This is unbearable! Stop it! Stop it now!"

"I'll never be anything without you. Life has no meaning. Just endless emptiness and wandering."

"Shut him up! He'll ruin everything! Shut his damn mouth or I swear I'll do it for you!"

"I'm missing you literally to death. Just one word from you could change my life. I have no future!"

"Kill him! Kill him DEAD! Don't ever let another word out of his damn mouth! Do you hear me? KILLLL HIMMMM!"

After witnessing the Conversation That Must Never Be Heard, she now lived in a time of Revelation, and she fell from the cloud sobbing. "I'm a murderer! I'm a murderer!"

For twenty years she cried as red stains appeared on her hands. She'd turned her back on the love of her life, never believing he could provide her with her Checklist for Life. Even as she so often wished for him to love her, the idea he needed her was a state secret to be suppressed at costs. To be revealed as a murderer after all she'd built simply unacceptable. Her life had been thrown away, wasted. As long as no one knew of the other path she'd hear no reproach in the world.

To her continued horror she saw the fate of her son. Like his banker father, he had seen only the seemingly direct approach to success. Looking for the easy way he signed on as a security agent for an oil company in the Middle East. What skills in life he could not sell, he cared for not. But in his pursuit of "winning" he'd been gunned down by friendly fire. His life too had been thrown away, he'd been taught well.

How to have faith? How to trust life? She had to get her precious things or she'd die. But now she knew she need get her things only through love or she'd die anyway. Everything she hated about feeling trapped she passed on to her children. Even so, had she merely confided in them, they might have bypassed her errors in life. But the lure of appearing responsible and honest prevented that. What's ever the point of lying?

What is point of the world believing you're successful when you're not? Where's the benefit? So she could keep her things? Well, she lost her things anyway! Why had she ever walked away from her dreams? So she'd never have to fear looking like a fool? But how foolish her dead poisoned body must have looked when discovered by a shocked and horrified family? All the universe had laid waiting before her.

How simple to see now: life is love.

Slowly, she ascended back to the cloud. "May I please go back?"

"Yes, only those who request it ever go. But of course your memory will be wiped clean of all this so that you may be reborn."

"I have to make amends. I can't live with this. This is hell! I won't forsake my dreams this time!"

"I understand your words. But know this: that's what you said last time."

Occupy Servants' Quarters: The Rich Strike Back!

2011-10-26T03:06:00.000-07:00

In a "turnabout is fair play" move, millionaires and billionaires across the country are staging catered "sit ins" in their servants' quarters, protesting workers' rights and other cumbersome burdens the "mainstream media refuses to cover", says one Arnold S. of California. "Fuck one maid and you'd think the world had come to an end! Bad enough we have to put up with paying the socialist mandated minimum wage! Oh, the humanity!"

"Tell the maid: I'll be back!"

Many are recalling their lost youth as Hippie protesters in the 60's. "It's so thrilling to recapture our lost idealism. I have goosebumps all over me. It's been over 40 years since I've stood for something and I have to tell you it feels good!" said one protester, referring to herself only as "Goldbeam" ("Used to be Moonbeam!"). "People ask us all the time what we want. The answer is simple: more!" Goldbeam later led the protesters in a chant of, "All we are saying, is give greed a chance!"

Dreaming of future BMWs

Some of the more militant millionaires have taken to the streets, outraged over being forced to view "unsightly homeless shelters" from the back of their limousines, picketing with signs saying, "Guilt is for losers!", "Let me eat (your) cake!" and "Kiss my Maserati!" There were also reports of protesters locking arms to prevent a homeless man from entering his cardboard box. "Why aren't you serving us champagne, you bum!" Police arrested the homeless man for disturbing the peace.

Uncivil rights count too!

"What the poor don't understand are the burdens of the rich," lamented Donald T. of New York. "They say we lost all their money in a game of casino-like betting and that is true. But we can't have everyone being rich! We need delusional working slaves thinking they're free, and fighting for our right to be rich. That's what makes this country great and we will fight to keep it that way! And besides they can always get their money back in the rigged casinos we set up for them. The best ones rhyme with the word 'dump'!"

"I'm a job creator. It takes four different people
just to keep my comb-over in place."

--------------------------------------------------------------

In More News Of The World!

Chasing Bicyclists: The Sport Of Kings

District Attorney: LAW ONLY APPLIES TO THE POOR

In July 2010, Martin Joel Erzinger, a hedge fund manager for extremely wealthy investors at Morgan Stanley Smith Barney, was driving his car near Vail, Colorado, when he hit a bicyclist from behind and then sped away. The Vail Daily reported that the victim, Steven Milo, suffered "spinal cord injuries, bleeding from his brain and damage to his knee and scapula," which left him facing multiple surgeries. The newspaper's account of the incident makes clear that Erzinger should have been prosecuted for this incident.

Committing a hit-and-run is a felony in Colorado, and leaving the scene of a crime constitutes a felony as well. Nevertheless, the district attorney, Mark Hurlbert, announced that Erzinger would be charged only with a misdemeanor, which carries no jail time. Hurlbert's explanation for not charging Erzinger with any felonies was blunt: "Felony convictions have some pretty serious job implications for someone in Mr. Erzinger's profession."

In other words, Erzinger engages in such vital activity that charging him with a felony would be wrong because it might seriously disrupt his work: managing the money of multimillionaires and billionaires. According to Worth magazine, Erzinger "oversees over $1 billion in assets for ultra high net worth individuals, their families and foundations." If he were charged with a felony, he would be required to report that fact to licensing agencies; a felony conviction could result in his fund manager license being rescinded. Apparently, as far as the district attorney was concerned, it would be terribly unfair to subject someone like Erzinger to the risk of damaging his career, though presumably someone with less to lose could -- and would -- be charged as a felon without any such worries.

Yes, folks, justice may be blind but she can still see green!

***********************************

Taking customer service into his own hands

WHEN YOUR BANKER IS A CRIP!

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The Federal Bureau of Investigation on Friday estimated there are some 1.4 million gang members in the United States and they are turning to white collar crimes as more lucrative enterprises.

Gangs like the Bloods and the Crips are engaging in crimes, such as identity theft, counterfeiting, selling stolen goods and even bank, credit card and mortgage fraud, said a new FBI gangs threat assessment.

"We've seen it, but we've seen them doing it even more now and we attribute to the fact that the likelihood of being caught is less, the sentences once you are caught are less, and the actual monetary gain is much higher," said Diedre Butler, a unit chief at the National Gang Intelligence Center.

See? The youth of the today aren't stupid. They're listening to us VERY well!

*************************************

Finding the perfect pumpkin!

WARMONGERS HATE HOT SEX

If you had to guess what attire would be appropriate for a pumpkin patch, booty shorts probably wouldn't fall under that category.

Poor Courtney Stodden -- the 17-year-old teen bride of 51-year-old Doug Hutchison, just didn't get the memo on what's appropriate to wear .... pretty much anywhere.

It turned out Courtney wasn't kicked off of Facebook for being too sexy, but Stodden and her husband were booted from a pumpkin patch in the Santa Clarita Valley this weekend, reports RadarOnline.

But it wasn't just Courtney's denim booty shorts and cleavage-baring shirt that was too much for fellow pumpkin patch visitors. The couple made quite the scene with Courtney jumping into Doug's arms, straddling him provocatively, and making out in front of families who were just trying to spend the day finding a perfect pumpkin.

Assassinating "bad guys" and innocent civilians around the world: MORAL. People expressing sexuality: EVIL! Show me someone who's for the wars and I guarantee you I'll show you a sexual deviant. The two go hand in hand.

Click below for some more Hot Legs!

"Margin Call" (Film Review And Commentary)

2011-10-23T23:05:00.000-07:00

Margin Call is set in 2008 right on the brink of the financial collapse, the effects of which we still suffer from today and will for years to come. It details a firm's obliviousness to its perilous financial state until a whiz kid trader (a literal rocket scientist from MIT) finishes formulating an equation started by a recently fired employee. What he finds is the firm is upside down in its holdings to the point its possible liabilities exceed its worth. Ouch!

For an understanding of this we'll use the commodities market model which is where the term "margin call" comes from. In a margin situation you are able leverage your money many folds over in a high risk/high reward gamble by not having to pay full price for what you purchase. For an example, one can purchase an oil contract worth $100,000 for only $5,000, which gives you a 20 to 1 leverage rate. So just imagine if you could rig a situation - however temporary - where the prices went only up. The profits would be staggering!

If oil is, say, $100 a barrel at purchase time and then goes up to $105, that's a five thousand dollar profit, doubling your initial investment! Obviously, if you had paid full price for the contract you would have made only a measly 5% profit. What wants that? The downside is if oil drops from 100 to 90, you just lost $10,000, wiping out your initial 5,000 plus putting you another 5,000 in the hole. When that happens that's when you get a "margin call" to cover your losses. Scary, huh?

Well, it's scary if you're playing with your own money. Investment firms play with the public's money so why give a shit? If you think that's outrageous don't forget both Bush and Obama (and any future President) couldn't bend over quick enough to bail out the banks - on their terms. You're kidding yourself if you think anyone is out there standing up for you.

Anyway, that's the premise of leveraging and is the simple version of how these firms were able to sink themselves so easily and massively as mortgages sank in value on very highly leveraged commodities that had made huge profits on the way up. So it's a premise of the film that the Firm (as its referred to in nameless fashion throughout) has no idea it's holding more losses than it can sustain. That's debatable point number one: Did the investment banks know they were actually trading worthless mortgages before the bubble burst?

Regardless, the Firm does find out and its answer to this problem reveals its true character: sell the worthless commodities before everyone else finds out they're worthless. Since the mortgages were repackaged and re-layered to the point no one knew their exact value, they were sort of a black box to be pawned off to let the unlucky buyer get the ugly surprise later on. Even if pawning off their losses onto other companies then sinks them, the Firm is OK with that. Survival at all costs, baby.

I read one positive review and one negative review. The negative review called the film "lifeless" and I agree. It takes place over 24 hours as the Firm goes into crisis mode once its doom becomes evident and the characters work throughout the night and into the next morning. Very claustrophobic. Both reviews called it a story of human weakness. The negative one claims the film was trying to illicit sympathy for the players while the other claimed it was a film with no good guys in it. I agree with the latter interpretation.

I rooted for everyone's demise. But I also realize 95% of the people placed in their situation would have acted just the same. Oh sure, some had reservations about their dastardly deeds of outright swindling but in the end no one could answer the question: what other way is there? Over and over the phrase "no choice" is repeated as it's applied to various individual situations leading to a totality of "no choices" as if on a runaway train.

At various times we hear the rationalizations of the traders as they speak of their unwarranted rewards but I don't know how much of the attitude reflected is accurate. I mean, I'm sure there's some sort of rationalization going on - there has to be - but if they displayed the same thought processes as real life traders I don't know. One thing did ring true on "fucking the public", about how people like to play all innocent and look the other way just as long as they get what they want. The trader explained that's how his greed profits from their greed. Hear, hear.

We pretend otherwise but money is the name of the game, the bottom line of our entire structured system. We pretend it's not our fault, that Nature will not allow any other way, "no choice". I hear fools complain of how corporations are dedicated to profits over people. But have we not agreed as a society that's the way it has to be? We have to make the dollar our god just as the ancients made stone statues and wooden idols. Yes, we're just as dumb as we've ever been.

In the search for an answer, one must first eliminate everything that is not an answer. How twisted is a mind that says there's "benefits" to polluting our environment. Yet, we say it every day: "It costs too much to do right." But as long as we are more concerned with artificial monetary costs than we are human costs, as long we continue to pretend to not face the answer, our situation will continue to decline and we'll all act innocent and surprised by our demise - by the very things we've mandated!

500 Questions

2011-10-22T22:50:00.000-07:00

Spending all my time on the streets I come across quite a few unusual situations. I'll never forget that wedding rehearsal gone awry with the bride and groom having it out on the sidewalk in front of the fancy hotel whose ballroom they'd rented. Abject failure that I am in relationships I must admit seeing that brought me quite a bit of joy.

Of course, another thing I do while walking along is talent scouting. Plenty of hot, leggy women around here in Dallas and I do oh so appreciate those women kind enough to display their wares for public consumption. If only I could return the favor! So I see this self-involved chick furiously texting on her smart phone in front of one of those very upscale nouveau riche loft places. She had this long, silky blonde hair nicely contrasting with her well-arranged black outfit - a dynamite package! And she smoked too! Always a sign of low self-esteem in a woman. Sweeeet!

My mind was racing on how I could somehow introduce her to my penis. Hell, if I just got any part of her time I'd be happy, she was so unreachable. Try as I might not to, I'm always self-conscious of my street clothes and my semi-vagabond look I just can't hide. You can put me in a tailored suit and I'd still feel the same. It was obvious she was a woman floating down life on a river of perpetual affluence and easy male attention. It's with those kind of women with whom I have the greatest barrier - and peril.

So that put me in quite a pickle as I struggled to speak out to her when I noticed an extremely heavy piano hanging several stories above her head on a hoist where the rope was beginning to fray. But it seems I have this huge credibility problem whenever I speak the truth. Lie all day and I get along with people just fine. But try and speak honestly and out come the knives! Quite frankly, this has cowed me into cowardly silence. Not wanting to get yelled at, I searched in vain for a valid voice. Unfortunately, once again my sound trumped my words as I stammered out news of her precarious position, daring to interrupt her day.

I winced at the all too common reaction.

"Piano? What piano? What color is it? How many keys, eh? You don't know how many keys then you're lying! Is it in tune or out of tune, do you even know that? What is its height and weight? Where was it made? Who owns it? How can you prove it even exists? Is it just a figment of your imagination? You're a dreamer out of touch with reality. Don't bring your negative philosophy bullshit religion to me. I know math. I know science. REAL things, not somebody's magical wishful thinking. That's called being a person of reason. You have suspended critical thinking just like everyone else. Do you know the frictional coefficient of gravity on an orb of this size? You don't, do you? You're just a fucking idiot wasting my time -"

Yes, I am an idiot. Regardless, I was pretty sure I wasn't wasting her time in this scenario. It really is true there are none so blind as those who think they see the whole picture but see only a fraction. "If you would just look up from your phone for just one second - "

"Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you? Invading my personal space because you got no life of your own. Fuck off and die, loser. How about that for an answer? Stupid men are always coming on to me. I see right through you, you're not fooling anyone! Men are pigs! Sex is all you can think about. Why should I listen to some horny toad pervert? I'm a knockout and I know it. But you just can't get passed that to see my inner beauty. Men are, like, soooo shallow. And it's obvious you're not even successful. How much money do you make wearing crappy clothes like that? What makes you think I could want someone like you? Problem with men is they need to grow the fuck up and listen to what people are telling them - "

By this time the rope had snapped, starting the piano's descent. That's when I realized I'd have to employ the wisdom of Themistocles and deceive her for her own good. "Hey, look, up there! A 50 percent off Gucci handbag sale!" As if yanked by a string, her head shot upwards to face her fate - a fate that could still be avoided if she moved instantly without speaking.

"Oh, my God! There's a piano falling on me! You little fucking twerp, why didn't you tell me? You made this happen, didn't you? If you hadn't been standing over there distracting me with your patheticness that piano would not be falling! There's just no living with you people! You're so damn busy projecting your own phobias and insecurities on to everyone else you don't realize it's not me who has the problem but you! You ever think of trying a little self-examination in your life? Might do you some good. Not going to kill you, you know! Sorry for the sarcasm but you people just get under my skin. I have a life. Put some objective thought into your head! Stop trying to fix others and fix yourself. Then you will be more like I am!"

"But you're dead." Her crushed and mangled body never heard those words. Come to think of it, she didn't hear any of the rest of them either.

Alas, this isn't the first time I've seen a piano fall on someone's head. What to do?

I IZ SMART! I GOTS 53 CENT!

2011-10-20T18:55:00.000-07:00

Hooooray for 53 Centers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

REED AND WEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See peeples? Yous got a box then yous gotta home! Doant lissen to dumm libatrds alwayz wining! Bee a winner like me!!!

------------------------------------------------------------------

"He who mocks the poor shows contempt for their Maker."
- Proverbs

I've been around the block more times than I can count. By rights I should have perished long ago. There are times when I look back and wonder how I ever survived. Surely, I lived as the birds, provided for by the ways of Nature.

I've been stranded - friendless, near broke and alone - sweltering on a hot summer day with a crap car broken down as I frantically looked around for the kindness of strangers so that I may cling to life in this world. I remember looking up to a sun I thought meant to kill me; that this was a pain that inhabits the air - there's no escaping it. I also remember asking to die. Somehow I scraped by but it was not by my own doing.

I've experienced first hand life under the thumb of predators and their proxies. I realized I was lied to about doing "honest work" to get an honest deal. People who push "hard work" are merely people trying to play on guilt. What I have found when you get to the bottom of things is everyone inherently wants to do good work and be useful. All our rules of blackmail are unnecessary chains we place upon ourselves. In the age that is to come - the Age Of Living - all those rules will be dead and gone forever!

Pity those who say "I got mine - go fuck yourself". They will be left behind as we inevitably move towards light and life. These fools call 'Life' death and therefore do not choose it. Treat them as you would someone who's about to drink from a glass of poison, where you would naturally say, "Stop! Don't do it!" If they are proud of their defiance they will be defiantly dead. Lament the loss of a soul who could have added another sparkle to the universe.

"One thing I can tell you is you've got to be free."

You can't "win" by withdrawing from the system or even by profiting from it if the system is unjust. We'll all lose in the end (We're in the finger pointing stage now, where truth is "objectively" considered just another point of view!) Everyone wishes to be free of the burdens of money. The deceived say, "We must trust in human greed" but if you really want to win, trust in the human spirit. All of human history in essence is about our unstoppable desire to live. It's just a matter of time.

Bonnie & Clyde Days 2011 (Photo/Video)

2011-10-18T22:16:00.000-07:00

Pilot Point is located less than an hour's drive to the northeast of Dallas. On October 8, the city held its second annual Bonnie and Clyde day festival. I missed last year's so I was very anxious to not miss this one. I also saw on a provisional schedule author Jeff Guinn was scheduled to appear in the afternoon. Jeff's book on Bonnie and Clyde (along with a history channel special) is what sparked my interest in the dastardly duo.

Believe it or not, there's still some hard feelings towards our bank robbing bandits. Descendants of those who'd had unpleasant encounters with the couple tend to hold a grudge. Also, it's still strictly verboten to show any condoning of the pair's behavior especially now that we've been educated the only good thievery is done through a hedge fund and not through direct stick ups. (Every time you fill up your tank with gas you're being robbed. If you only knew!)

But Pilot Point has brushed aside those concerns and embraced its outlaw heritage however tenuous it might be in reality. Clyde committed no robberies in the town in real life (though he meant to) but the 1967 film most certainly staged a robbery here. With rumors the couple often passed through the town it was enough for Pilot Point to declare a day of celebration and use the couple's celebrity to draw visitors to town.

The Pilot Point area is horse country pure and simple. The gentle hills and small towns occupying them draw you in like a soft breeze, making you wish you could stay forever. One fellow told me his wife holds corporate retreats just down the highway. Uninitiated clients turn their nose up at first at the prospect of a boring time in the country. But once visited, they can't wait to get back to the relaxing atmosphere and nature's serenity.

Though some modified more than others, many of the buildings in the town's classic town square are the same as when Bonnie and Clyde peered upon them in the early 30's. One has to wonder what they're reaction would be to a day celebrated in their name. I think they would very much like it and revel in the attention. But really, it was about more than just them, it was about the times they lived in.

Booths lined all four corners of the square, hawking everything from old fashioned sodas to pet blankets and art prints. In the bank (now an art gallery) robbed in the movie, the UNT Television Department staged their own robbery complete with cops and guns, chasing cars and lingering smoke in the air. But before all the fireworks a parade ran throughout the square, the kind you're only going to see in a rural small town.

I thought the turnout was very good though the numbers did thin out by the middle of the afternoon. Jeff Guinn was not able to make an appearance after all as he was out promoting his new book. But there certainly was much to take in during the course of the day, even hearing the story of a hitchhiking boy picked up by Bonnie who revealed a BAR gun covered in her lap. Overall it was a blast and I definitely plan to attend next year. Be at the square or be square!

Below are a few photo essays (I made up my own stories):

The Robbery!

Unsuspecting customers enter the bank!

A paper boy sees cops only as potential customers

But "the Laws" aren't going to tolerate any tomfoolery!

The bank's been robbed ! They're getting away!

Copper's aimin' to stop them cold!

Police are in a high speed pursuit, but alas, Clyde's Ford V8 was just too quick.

A "G-Man" from the fledgling FBI is on the scene. He's the only one authorized to track Bonnie and Clyde from state to state.

Characters:

Man in orange co-emceed the event.

Tough guys for tough times.

Film actress looking very much the part hanging out in the UNT film control tent.

A prison break was staged

Wish I had gotten a better shot of the depression era boys as they were clearly the most charming of all.

Town Square:

Straight out of central casting for old time barber shops!

Don't make doors like this anymore.

Close up of the sign.

The bank before filming

Eve mural on the side of the bank

Old fashioned cafe.

And just in case you had any doubts we were in horse country:

Click here to view the entire set.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Here's the entire parade. The two girls with the professional camera sitting just below me are UNT students. It's highly recommended to watch this and the next one on full screen.

Here's the robbery of the bank:

Occupy Dallas: Updates, Outrage and Video

2011-10-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

On October 6th I joined the Occupy Dallas protesters in the march to the Federal Reserve Bank. Since that time they have remained camped out at Pioneer Park in downtown Dallas near the convention center. They are feuding with the city of Dallas for the right to remain as the City requires the protestors to post a $1,000,000 bond.

The Dallas Observer, an alternative (i.e. honest) weekly paper, posted a blog on the march which sparked 241 comments. I admit my reaction to the movement was lukewarm at first but seeing the bitter consternation it engendered in conservatives tipped the scales completely for me. I thought I'd share a few of the more choice engagements:

I haven't really been able to figure out what the organizers of "Occupy Wall Street" are protesting against and what they are asking be done. To hear some of those interviewed, it's just a bunch of folks with too much time on their hands complaining about everything they can think of with no real objectives.

Darren Schmits and 21 more liked this

This is about exhaustion. People who are tired of watching the vast majority of the country waste away. People who are tired of privatized profits and socialized losses. This about the top 1% of the population controlling nearly 40% of its wealth, while the bottom rungs have less than 1%. This is about corruption and the influence of money at every level of government, in both parties, in all places. There are many, many voices in this movement: leftists, liberals, tea partiers, libertarians, labor unions, anarchists, independents, black, white, latino, old, young, working class, middle class, etc. The call for accountability is being made. Once those in power hear that, then we can begin to make our demands, each one of us, and map out a future for everyone.

drklassen and 33 more liked this

***

What a waste of time on a beautiful fall day in Dallas.

Go to the fair, ride the ferris wheel and eat a corny dog.

You'll feel better right away.

Darren Schmits and 8 more liked this

***

Lol! You could get a job and earn $ you know. I'm an actual taxpayer, with a job, and i don't owe you communist wannabes anything. Btw, don't forget...The top 10% of wage earners pay 50% of taxes...The bottom 47%? Not one cent...

Andy Nold and 5 more liked this

You want to prove your claim that the bottom 47% pay no taxes? Remember, "taxes" includes sales taxes, property taxes, gas taxes, payroll taxes, and a wide range of taxes beyond income taxes.

I ask because you won't be able to actually back that statement up with proof, seeing as how it isn't true.

drklassen and 6 more liked this

I love it when people throw out that figure.

Yes, the bottom don't pay a cent in income tax - why? BECAUSE THEY"RE POOR! You don't pay an income tax if your under the poverty line!

Taxes on food, water, property, gas, clothes and other purchases? They pay those. Social Security? Yeah, they pay that, too.

And that top 50% you're in love with? The trust-fund babies pay 15% in taxes and never work a day.

drklassen and 11 more liked this

***

Want the rich to pay more taxes and suddenly you're a dirty hippie; want an American-born President to produce a birth certificate and you're grass-roots democracy in action. And they say the media is liberal.

Jay Hawk and 18 more liked this

***

The new slogan of American culture: Hate anyone who has a better idea and/or better work ethic than you. I mean, how dare anyone think that they deserve more pay and a better quality of life just because they try a lot harder in life overall and take full responsibility for themselves! The nerve!

Mister_Mean liked this

***

get a job

connielowe1 and 15 more liked this

I don't you noticed but after the financial institutions ruined our economy with out of control irresponsible practices and malfeasance and other companies shipped jobs overseas in the pursuit of higher corporate profits there aren't that many jobs left.

Coleman and 20 more liked this

If you cant get a job your not a very good worker or are afraid to work or your skills are outdated and you need to seek retraining

pak152 and 4 more liked this

***

Sad, but not unexpected, to see some of the comments here.

Yes, there's not a lot of coherence in this movement or its goals right now. The thing is brand new. Coherence will emerge. Right now, there are thousands of people spouting off tens of thousands of agenda points. It'll get more clear.

If you don't get the gist of it by now, try this: http://bit.ly/nmr004

Douglas Rushkoff tried to help make this thing a little more understandable: http://bit.ly/mS5q1p I think he did a pretty good job.

Educate yourselves. Doesn't it worry you that so much of our nation's wealth is concentrated in the hands of so few? If it doesn't worry you, please help me understand why it doesn't.

John2247 and 12 more liked this

-------------------------------------

Personally, I think it's too late to protest. Rare is the soul who trusts nature over money. As long as money has ultimate say in our society then doom is inevitable and inescapable. It's not the job of money to provide justice or even to provide our survival - we just pretend it is, a grand collusion to one day be defrocked. We let money decide everything for us, even who lives and who dies. As John Lennon said, it's not about what you're against, it's what you're for that counts.

But those who truly hate social justice, who despair of living for anything but greed, who find an open mind the most terrifying of all human conditions, are rightly mortified by these protests. All movements start with breaking the silence about the abuse. Those who fear they'll be left behind lash out and defame those who've broken away to a new and better future.

To me, I don't really care about the specifics of this movement. What it's really about is the human spirit. As we slowly, oh so tentatively embrace our humanity and learn to trust it, as money worship goes the way of witch burning and all other superstitions, a new dawn will emerge for those willing to accept it. When that time comes, these gods who live in ivory towers of steel and glass will see their confines for what they truly are: a prison.

Here's my video of the march on the Fed:

Occupy Dallas! (Photo Essay)

2011-10-08T23:36:00.000-07:00

Capitalism, next to war, is the most naive of all human endeavors. It's a system set up to reward greed. And as I heard one person say, capitalism is a way of harnessing human selfishness for the greater good. And so-called human reason says we can trust that to always benefit us. You know, because greedy people will never fuck you.

Well, it's certainly pleasant to think so.

Those of us who live in the real world know differently. The idea of "regulating" greed is as about as idiotic as the idea of "regulating" murder (war by any other name). Sooner of later the dam always bursts. And while we argue about whether or not we should stick our fingers in the dam, we do so while ignoring the bigger picture that the dam is going to burst regardless as long as we allow the greed to keep flowing.

But I also know most people won't believe that until the dam actually breaks. As Moses said, "People will think, 'I am safe, even though I persist in going my own way.' This will bring disaster on the watered land as well as the dry." The truth is we've created a life in the shadow of a dam that's going to break. Everyone knows that, no one admits it!

"Oh, we have a plan for the facts: we plan to deny them!"

The human comedy is a pretty goddam funny thing if the consequences weren't so tragic. So let us come down from the mountain to see the ripples of human movement up close, where the friction of discourse comes to bear and souls brought to light. Yet even in tragedy there is beauty, because in the end we find the goal of all human efforts is to obtain love. And that's when we'll realize it's love we can trust - and nothing else.

The leaking of the dam is becoming more and more undeniable. Lies are crumbling under their own weight and the desperation to keep them alive only increases their outrageousness. Listen to this idiot of a Presidential candidate (that could only happen in a dying country):

Speaking to the Wall Street Journal, Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain said the demonstrators are coming across as "anti-capitalism." [No shit, Sherlock] The former CEO of Godfather's Pizza said the Occupy Wall Street protesters are trying to distract the country from President Obama's "failed policies."

"Don't blame Wall Street, don't blame the big banks, if you don't have a job and you're not rich, blame yourself!" Cain said. "It is not a person's fault because they succeeded, it is a person's fault if they failed. And so this is why I don't understand these demonstrations and what is it that they're looking for."

Riddle me this, fat man. How many of your pizza making employees did you pay enough to get rich, you disingenuous jackass? And exactly how much money would you have made without them? The answer to both those questions is zero - same as your IQ. If we lived in a reality based society this man would be in a mental institution for delusional thinking, getting the help he so clearly needs.

And it would be provided through socialistic means.

Most people don't know there was actually a faction of liberal democratic progressives in the Russian parliament during the power struggles of the 1917 revolution. The people rejected those voices, embracing instead those who would institute policies that resulted in the starvation of tens of millions. Finally, a few decades of untold suffering later, they start to think, "Gee, democracy may not be so bad after all." Any democracy in the West could have told them this was going to happen.

It will be the same thing with greed.

With these thoughts in mind, I traveled down to Pike's Park just outside of downtown Dallas to see this ripple that hoped to become a wave. First thing I noticed was a massive police presence. From paddy wagons to plastic cuffs to a command center and a helicopter, they came prepared to keep order in our society at all costs.

Shame they don't have that same attitude towards the banksters.

I've heard some folks openly wonder just what are these people protesting. Or to put it another way, they're asking: "Why aren't these people happy getting fucked?" Gee, boss, I jess dotn't knows the ansser to that. Then with the same air of unanswerable mystery they ponder just what could these protesters possibly want. Uh, to not be fucked? (Just a wild guess there)

Though laced on the edges with some anger and frustration, the vibe at Occupy Dallas was a positive one. Non-violence and cooperation with the police were wisely stressed. The protesters were laughing and enjoying themselves. It seemed well organized and focused and if there was any grumbling there I didn't hear it.

Free provisions were made available

As often happens with the homeless, we like to show the most "deserving" ones to tell the story of that tragedy. But even the biggest asshole in the world deserves a home (Hi, Mr. Bush!) And I also read where the Occupy protesters were asked to dress in business casual so that they too could be "sold" better. Now you see why political people are never any fun.

Thank God the protestors didn't listen to that horse crap.

The planned walk from the park down to the Federal Reserve building was without even the hint of incident. The police cordoned off the streets to allow a quick and easy procession. A few cars honked in sympathy to the cause and before you know it we were at the Fed giving The Man what for!

A few watchers from on high

The arrival was pretty anti-climatic. Chants were started and signs flashed to the passing traffic. Dallas is not a protest city. There was no real outbreak of civil rights marches in the sixties. Instead, city leaders bought off the black preachers and it remains that way to this day (some even think that's their right!). So I can imagine this protest - however feckless its results might be - raised the hackles of many loser Dallasites who saw it.

I also have video from the event but that will take a few more days to process and post. The whole experience was exhausting and draining. Even though I wore my (fake) press pass to differentiate myself, the idea of being the object of so many eyeballs and the police can be a bit nerve-wracking. The protesters, however, fed off that energy and with it came alive.

Click here to see the full set

"He Was Just One Person"

2011-10-05T16:24:00.000-07:00

And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.

At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection and went into the holy city and appeared to many people.

When the [asshole Roman] centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!”

********************

The shaded man walked into the bar with a face withdrawn from the sun. Around him stood an invisible barrier between him and every living creature; he was on the earth, but not of it. His heart pumped cold, disinterested blood and his manic mind was that of two hands slipping from the edge of reality, the weight of even his own body too much to bear. Through forlorn prison bars from within peered the man's eyes, marooned as one on a far distant planet unknown in the cosmos. In his soul a bleeding blackness consuming the hope of seeking hope.

The bartender felt the shiver of the man in his bones. "I swear this has got to be the spookiest day of my life." It ran through everyone this dreaded blackness, but so gripping was its fear few were those with innocence to name it. A cruel breach of faith, a connection lost to living life, a feeling of being hurled into a dark pit with only one's own strength to ever escape. Many darting eyes had staggered into the room this day looking for a drugged release.

But the shaded man, he was something different. His punctured sorrow ran deeper and stronger, his intelligence more tragic in its knowing, his iron cage of despair indestructible. Any other day the bartender might have challenged him, maybe even attacked a wretched soul such as this but today he merely watched in silenced trance as the man motioned for a decanter - a full one.

Still in the trance the barkeep handed it over and a noisy coin was flipped in return. Instinctively the bar man knew not to touch it, that the price of accepting it was higher than the price of refusing it. He backed away from the bar and sat on his stool mulling the vast curious guilt sweeping him into a lesser future he had not dreamed might become him.

The shaded man took his carafe but sipped it not. What was the point? He had nowhere left to run, the clock of doom ticking in his head. He knew this day was the worst in human history, marking every soul from then until the end of time. He'd exchanged flowers of love for weeds of anger. Too late he breathed his fate.

I must die, he told himself. I'll have them kill me in righteous anger like the pig that I am. He swayed in rhythmic rocking as the thought swirled within his soul. How can I ever escape? There's not enough time in eternity...

"I killed a man," he spoke for all to hear.

The man hoped a swift and furious beating would send him to his grave with the wrath of those who knew his sin. But on this day, even if one were so inclined, none lifted a finger or even an arched brow. Instead, a burly man replied while staring into his drink.

"I killed a man too in '68. A Roman I had to bury in the desert. Knifing that animal was a satisfaction I cannot describe. There's worse things to do than killing a man."

"Not when he's innocent," confessed the shaded man.

"That's a different matter," agreed the burly man, relieved for this sliver of distraction. "But how do you know he was innocent."

"I know, I know. I knew this man as a brother. We dreamed together of a world that can be. A world lost to me now forever."

The conversation sucked the air out of the room. A viral panic attacked the shaded man. How could he make them understand? Pleeeease help!

"How did you kill him?" inquired a murderer in the room.

"I betrayed him," came the grateful reply. "I pointed him out to the butchers. I told myself they were good men. Maybe not the best men but never killers. I told myself I could later claim 'I thought them good' and make the argument I'd been an honest soul who'd been swindled and still retain acceptance. What I didn't count on was that I knew. I know the truth. I knew those men were men of dead hearts."

"But if you didn't touch him you didn't kill him. Those bad men did."

"The priests didn't know what they were doing. If there's one thing I can tell you though I know it will be lost on your ears is that these men will be killing you for centuries to come. They'll hide behind holy relics and call it the wrath of God but if you believe that they will butcher you in the worst ways possible. Do not fall into the same trap I did. Do not believe honoring them is honoring life."

But the guilty in the room felt beholden to the men who claimed holiness - even upon pain of death. And the liars in the room knew they could never betray mutual liars without revealing themselves. And those seeking approval could never tear down idols of the world they knew they could be bought with a coin. So like the shaded man said, his words were lost on their ears. But a particularly wicked man retorted in kind.

"Maybe a rat like you shouldn't be so quick to judge. Maybe those men knew what they were doing with an understanding beyond your own. Who are you to speak of the temple priests who go all the way back to the times of Moses?"

Even drowning in pain a smirk forced itself on the shaded man's face. He'd seen this trick a thousand times: call the other man a dog then accuse him of your own sins. He could ask his accuser who was he to speak ill of him. He could mock the shaky ground upon which he stood and tell him no man who can satisfy a woman who speaks as he does. Or he could ask him of his tithing, knowing a bitter soul does not share.

Suddenly he understood the silence of Jesus before Pilate. The accuser knows he lies, it's his job to admit it. No one else can do it for him. But this too was a bitter root, having found truth and peace too late.

"Well!" fumed the wicked accuser. "What do you say? I'm talking to you!" His heart on fire, he slung back his chair, stormed over and raised his hand to strike the head of the shaded man with a stroke of death. But failing to see his victim move or defend himself in any way his arm remained paralyzed in mid air. In his raging heart he screamed for the shaded man to fight back, to justify the stroke of death. Suddenly he became self-conscious, feeling the eyes watching him in guileless wonder.

The shaded man sat in a hurricane's eye of peace within the storm of his soul. The man with his arm above him had not really spoken to him. He had spoken to himself - argued with himself, wrestled with himself. He was beyond reason.

Desperate to save face, the accusing man declared, "Eh, you're not worth the effort!" and scurried out of the room.

Now all eyes moved to the shaded man. Who was he? There was something special about him. This man had walked down paths unknown to their lives. He had news of the "other side" of life. Perhaps even news that could save them. Dare they believe such a thing or was that mere fantasy?

Seeing him in this new light, a younger soul spoke up. "So why did you betray him?" Seeing he'd gotten the man's attention the man-child added as way of explanation: "You said he was your brother."

A brother, yes. But I too clever by half. "I thought he was going to get us killed! The way he was talking - you have to understand no one was going to accept his words in the end."

A thirsty man butted in. "His words were that powerful?"

Oh God, how do I make them understand? If only he'd been a nobody or an untrue person. "Yes, words that walked on water. Words without preconception or malice. But words that reflected the ugliness of man - even if spoken so that man may drink from the pure well and not the poisoned."

"Who would want to drink from a poisoned well??" rebuked the young man, guilty in the reflection.

"Men who see profit in it."

"That's just nuts."

"Ever lie to a girl to get sex?"

"But that's different!" Then the boy spoke no more, stung by his admission.

The wine reached through the shaded man's veil. "It's over for me. I thought since his love would destroy me I might live by destroying him. Only after the betrayal did I realize his love could never harm me, he was innocent in all ways. My future is gone, I punctured the life boat of survival. You see, I knew everything, but understood nothing. It's obvious to me now I intended to betray him all along."

No one in the room knew what the shaded man spoke of, but each felt an understanding - a terrifying understanding. It was like their inner souls had been split wide open and the man had taken them into dark caves they hoped never to face. Wandering those caves, not knowing the way out or even if a way out existed, draws in ancient horror to the soul, as if one is looking up to the surface of water but cannot reach it, drowning in panic.

Though he knew his words inadequate and false even before he spoke them, the grip of choking silence had to be broken. A sensitive soul walked over to the shaded man, putting his hand on the shady man's shoulder, speaking in supplication. "He was just one person."

Hearing this, the shaded man almost fell out of his chair, repelled by the man's words. As if a thousand angry wolves had spotted him and chosen him as their meal, the shaded man fled the bar and all human contact, holing up in a cave outside of town. "Nobody understands what has happened or what I did. It could take a hundred lifetimes for them to realize the gravity of the situation. I'm alone. I'm all alone and can tell no one of my crime. 'Just one person'! What madness!" In this moment, the shaded soul was too afraid even to cry, lest his tears betray him.

***

Three very long days later the cave dweller dared the light. Left adrift in the ocean he begged for a lifeline, any lifeline. Then he seemingly found one as he reached the edge of town: a soul who could understand.

"Peter!"

"Judas!"

"What happened? You look so lost and confused."

"I've done a terrible thing right before the eyes who loved me most. Three times in the night I denied Jesus to save my life. How can I ever live with myself? The test came and I failed! He said for us to hate our lives, but I failed. I stand before you an incomplete man. You have no idea how I ache to redeem myself. Of this pain I fear I'll never be free. Some disciple I am."

Judas took his first breaths since news of Jesus' death. He was not alone in the world after all. Was hope to be had after all? "Peter, I must tell you something. If you wish never to see me again I understand. But even that is better than no one knowing."

"What? What is it?"

"It was I who betrayed our master. I feared we'd all meet his fate. You know my gift is to see into the hearts of men. I blamed Jesus for the malice I saw and in my madness betrayed him. Like you, what I did cannot be undone. Oh, what I would not give to have the unburdened soul of those around me! I search and search but can find not even a speck of forgiveness."

"But you must! You must find a way to forgive yourself!"

"Jesus would never want that. Not now. It's Nature's justice I suffer and no one can help with that, not even him. You know that!"

"Jesus wants only life. You know that too."

A small doubtful flickering shone deep in the eyes of Judas. He saw himself embraced by Jesus, tears flowing at last. He'd give himself up, turn over his life, never questioning love again. A rising peace calmed Judas and as his dawning eyes reached up to look into the smile of Peter, he found a sliver of hope between the waves of pain. In this moment he wished to reside forever.

Then a buzzing crowd, excited and frenetic burst onto the two men with news that could not be contained. "He's back! Miracle of miracles! He's back! I've never felt so alive in my life. Do you hear me? He's back!!"

"Who, man? Who is back?" Peter asked with equal intrigue.

"Jesus! He rose from the dead! Can you believe it!" Then the crier ran off to find the next uninformed soul.

Peter and Judas instantly understood and in that moment even felt a little foolish for not seeing this coming. Their reactions, however, were quite polar.

"Yes! Yes!" exclaimed Peter.

"No! No!" exclaimed Judas.

As Peter started off in the direction of the excitement, he noticed Judas taking the opposite direction. "Judas, come! We're saved. Thank the heavens! Come make your peace."

But the mute Judas could not speak. His fantasy of repentance and love he believed to be just that: a fantasy. He wished to give in, to go run with Peter to once again feel the light of the world, a feeling of grace and eternity no man can deny. But the pride of Judas made him his own judge, still thinking himself smarter, picturing Jesus rebuking him for all to see, making him a forever outcast in this life and the next. The angry, hungry wolves had returned and their victim ran for his life.

When Peter returned, three times Jesus asked him if Peter loved him and three times Peter replied yes. This healed Peter, committing himself to a love beyond his life, freeing him from the bondage of his denial. But with the absent Judas - and his look of absolute fear - still on his mind, Peter asked of Judas' fate.

Jesus replied: "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?"

***

Judas never heard those words. In a vacant field he lifted his arms to the sky, then fell to his knees. Were he ever to see this field again he'd not forget it, knowing these his last few moments on precious earth. Suddenly, the infinity of a flower blossomed in his mind. He wished to run back to town to discover the miracle laying hidden right before the daily eyes of man. Trust nature, he wished to say. Trust nature and all will be fine and inviolate - the dream we all dream. But in the eyes of man that's just a fantasy.

"Love is not meant for me! This is a far, far better thing I do. Jesus should not have to suffer my presence. I'm doing him a favor. I'm doing the world a favor. I hope my name is forever mocked and scorned. 'He was a man without courage or faith.' Oh, dear God!"

Judas released his grip, falling into his self fury and the strangling noose. But of the Twelve it was he who was the greatest dreamer, who knew of the day when the lion and lamb would lay together. This made the heart of Judas sing like no other's, but this song he did not share.

Tearing Down Their "Eiffel Tower"

2011-10-03T16:25:00.000-07:00

"To us, this is like tearing down the Eiffel Tower for some rust."
-Wellington, TX Resident

Span above site of 1933 crash by Bonnie, Clyde faces demolition

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow roared into Collingsworth County history in 1933 when their Ford coupe plunged off a washed-out bridge embankment north of Wellington.

That moment will be remembered at 11 a.m. Saturday in Pioneer Park, where the Collingsworth County Museum is scheduled to host a celebration to commemorate the site of the bridge, slated for demolition. The event will be followed by a barbecue luncheon at noon, and visitors will gather on the bridge for a final photograph at 1 p.m., said Doris Stallings, a museum official.

The historic truss bridge, built in 1939 and located about 6 miles north of Wellington on U.S. Highway 83, will be demolished this fall.

Having come across this headline I knew I had to make one last visit to this bridge which had become a quasi-friend to me in my Bonnie and Clyde trek. Built in 1939 - years after Clyde's infamous barreling full speed down Highway 83 into a washed out gorge - the bridge fell into disrepair and now has reached such a state that TxDOT has decided it must be destroyed. A Facebook page and a petition signed by thousands as part of an organized effort to save it was to no avail. Money wins again.

Historical marker used to be south of the bridge and on the other side.

Driving like a madman I was able to reach the ceremony about 45 minutes after it started. I found the spot where the historical marker had been moved and I joined in the crowd who was now lining up for BBQ sandwiches. I heard a group of high school kids were taking video interviews of everyone who had a memory of the bridge and would then post it on the school web page. There was a definite sadness - and frustration - in the air. I too shared those feelings though I'm sure to a lesser degree.

The vans were used to shuttle everyone to the bridge later on.

I wandered off to the concrete pillars that represented where the original bridge had been, the bridge that was washed out as the Barrow gang came flying through. The Pritchard family gave a helping hand to the outlaws because it was understood then that in times like that we all have to hang together.

Before leaving, Clyde Barrow thumbed through a roll of bills and offered to pay “for all the trouble we’ve been to you.”

Sam Pritchard replied, “No, if a man can’t help another man, things are in pretty bad shape,” according to the county’s official history.

Concrete support of original bridge.

There were no sympathetic feelings for Bonnie and Clyde. One person simply describing them as "mean people". Gladys Cartwright, who had her finger shot off during the Pritchard's encounter with the gang, continued to live in the area for years and would "tell her story to anyone who asked." She died a few years ago. You can read the full story on my Bonnie and Clyde page.

I found massive rust on the bridge both above and below, in some places it had eaten right through. I don't know the year it was shut down but I imagine it was some time ago. Even so, I would have to think that tearing it down will be quite a task with its sturdy construction. One has to wonder why it was not maintained.

After being shuttled over, we poured out onto the bridge for one last exploration and experience. A heard at least one woman say she had never been on it before. (One normally has to stop off the highway and walk through cones to get on it) One good old boy told how his trailer got loose when he rumbled onto the bridge too hard and the trailer ricocheted from side to side until finally it blocked the bridge entirely. Some of the older folks were especially anxious to climb aboard one last time.

I was fascinated by the interconnecting struts and their crisscrossing shadows. We see a lot of truss bridges used for railroads in these parts but most are not as intricate as this one. I found a certain sort of extra elegance in this one as I imagined it with a fresh coat of paint and rust free. If anyone has a spare two mil, you certainly could become a hero in Wellington if you refurbished it.

But there was no denying the rot and rust spreading like a disease over her body. It was because a giant chunk out fell out in the road she was shut down. Makes one wonder about Texas's bridge inspection policy - or lack thereof. If estimates are true, over 22 trillion dollars worth of infrastructure repairs are needed across the country. Amazing how people still speak of us as a wealthy nation, clinging to a past that no longer exists.

Hastily made repair to the hole

Rust chips flaking off of their own accord

God only knows the purpose of that PVC pipe

I was able to educate one woman on the history of Clyde Barrow and the unspeakable brutality he endured in prison. While she said she did not condone his subsequent actions she also said "no one should have to go through that." I just wanted to make the point Clyde was a societal creation and she seemed to get that. I'm always campaigning for prison reform in my own way.

The locals gathered for a last official photo. Everyone I met was very kind, very laid back - and very conservative. We tend to pigeonhole people by their political beliefs, forgetting we are all ignorant in one way or the other. Don't get me wrong, I felt very out of place there even have grown up not far from Wellington. But I know there's another side to these people even as I had to listen to one fellow badmouth the "tree huggers and environmentalists" who were "ruining the country."

I know to God's ears I've said things just as idiotic.

One last longing look

I made my way back under the bridge to Pioneer Park

As I drove away I kept picturing the stunned, desperate creatures of Bonnie and Clyde climbing the hill to the Pritchard's house. If you're not on the right path then life becomes merely one mishap after another as you slowly degrade. Hell's gate opened up and forever seared the land where I had just walked.

Our current depression is a far angrier one than the Great Depression. It's meaner, more short-tempered, more violent in its nature; a final hardening of the heart. I wonder how many millions will fall through hell's gate this time around. The biggest tragedy, of course, is that none of it has to happen. How strange it was that visiting the past was so much like living in the present.

Click here to see the entire collection

The bridge video from my original Bonnie and Clyde page:

The Secret Lives Of Gods

2011-09-19T22:41:00.000-07:00

"Hi, ma! I'm home!"

"I was wrong, John," my Mom yelled back to my stepfather in the living room. "We don't have a kid after all."

I was lying half naked on the closet floor trying to conceal myself and get my clothes back on before my secret life came to light. I had tried to sneak back in the house, get dressed and pretend fake normalcy as per the usual hell. But somehow my Mom knew I was in the closet and furiously slid the clothes hangers down to reveal the end of my life.

It wasn't the first time I'd done this, just the first time I'd been caught. I'd been outside naked, sexually starved, dying to be free. I just couldn't hold it in with nothing of my own to hold on to. The day was sunny, warm and bright - a day for others, for the living. The sun did not shine for me, viewing it as someone does on film: there but not here.

I wandered everywhere in search of girls to let "catch" me naked. I'd then agree to be their sex slave in exchange for them not telling anyone I was walking around naked. That was the plan anyway. But I was having no luck.

I remember spotting Mr. Martin on a pay phone, curiously standing in the corner shadow of the old phone building, completely wrapped up in his conversation, dead yellow grass all around from the long, summer drought. I wondered if he was talking to Her, the woman of his lifelong love affair. Pete Martin was famous for two reasons: He was a friend of President Kennedy and l'amour of Maria Cruz, famous rock singer.

Story had it Kennedy had spotted Maria on a trip to South America and told Mr. Martin of this amazing woman. This was long before Maria had become famous. I love her balls out music, so culturally rare for an Hispanic woman. In her songs she documented her affair with Mr. Martin: their great nights, distant love, with no strings attached. People talked about Pete Martin stories a lot. And I here I was 17 and sneaking past him in broad daylight through some city park oak trees.

Thank God he was too wrapped up in his own life to notice mine. I trust only the ones who have a life, everyone else just wants to interfere, agents of destruction, self-unaware blind predators. There's really no in between. I'd once passed Mr. Martin on his way to our town's only night club. I remember the cologne but more importantly the exotic air of otherworldliness as he went to no doubt trip the night fantastic. Seeing him drive that deep blue Corvette around town was to see a god on earth.

Someone saw my naked ass and reported me to the police. I was never really sure who. I had knew I had to get back home and resume the lie before I was caught. Up the street was the Marcy house. I couldn't believe I was so lucky as to have the two legendary hottest twin girls in school living that close to me. When I would see one of them driving down the street at lunch I'd step on the front porch naked to get the mail. Oops! Didn't see you coming! Like my weenie?

They could have prevented Hitler from starting WWII

I was thinking about the lucky guys who got to fuck them, their lives saved by the smooth, shapely legs and firm, supple breasts of these sexual superstars. I'd heard how they liked to sneak out at night for illegal rendezvous with grateful, panting boys, hearts beating fast into the night, exploring the treasures of life. Neither of the girls' cars was there as I slinked by. For some reason I was glad of that.

Slowly around the bend I saw a cop car rolling along searching the cracks and bushes, eager to feel morally superior while paying their rent. What a high that must be. This forced me to cut through the backyard of Mr. Conner. Unfortunately, his car was home since he was retired. Mr. Conner in my eyes was just as famous as Mr. Martin. His daughter was an exotic dream, blonde and deeply tanned, living the life of a goddess. I'd seen her a couple times when she'd come to visit. But I never lusted after her.

Conner lived for years in the Middle East where he was highly esteemed among the Arabs which was amazing because he hated custom and ceremony with a vengeance. But he had such a charming personality the Arabs viewed his disdain as delightfully spunky and they made allowances for him they would for few others. They really love Texans in Arabia. But also many a sheik had his eye on his nubile daughter.

In the Mideast women are looked upon as property. As the story goes, Mr. Conner had famously decreed his daughter a "free woman, her own person to do as she sees fit no matter what." That disappointed many a lusty heart hoping to collar her, done in complete social approval. What a scary society over there, I always imagined. It also cost Conner a two billion dollar oil contract and his job. I wonder what the Arabs would think if they saw me now. This had no social approval anywhere. But my immediate concern was if Mr. Conner was looking out his back yard window.

I never found out.

I waited for the cop car to pass on by, giving me a chance to get back in the window to my room. The sliding closet doors were open but I had not left them like that. My parents had been searching for me. I could feel the seething anger of them hearing the police report, of wondering how to explain it to their friends. That's when I sneaked back into my room only to be found in the closet. I was so mortified I ran away for two days, living in a barn at the edge of town.

--------------------------------

I was sitting in a police interview room, my mother just outside sitting on a bench. The floor was linoleum and there was a wide gap between the bottom of the heavy wooden door and the tile floor. Basically the room was an echo chamber, meaning my Mom could hear every word even with the door closed. Knowing this, I gave answers for her to hear, not the cop. That's the problem being the smartest person in the room: they think they're manipulating you but you're manipulating them. In the end: no actual communication.

Politics starts where life ends. We all had to go back to pretending I was normal so everyone could save face and not have to answer any hard questions. Life with my stepfather was hell, he an unknown criminal. It was like watching George Bush get elected. How can you people not see?? At no time in my life have I ever thought the world was anything but a farce. I joined the farce, pretending to have no feelings to make everyone happy. I knew that was a death sentence but where's a future here anyway?

Mr. Martin's affair with Maria also eventually died as she moved on to wed an avant-garde artist. Without commitment they could not keep their love alive. He ended up broken, alone and drunk - and I here I thought he had the world by the tail, living the perfect life.

What works at 20 doesn't work at 40

The Darcy girls had an infamous sex affair with an extremely rich oil man who lavished expensive presents on them as he lived out the fantasies of a lifetime. When his secret life came to light, his wife demanded a controlling interest in his company or face divorce. He lost the company and the girls ended up working boring retail jobs in obscurity. [Author's note: I'd still fuck you!]

Mr. Conner's daughter had a glorious white wedding and marriage, a blossoming woman. Though she was stunning to see, she was so much more, a woman in every sense; I had no jealousy of her. He'd stood to gain quite a worldly profit had he turned his daughter over to the Arabs, but he gained a true profit instead. I'd kill to have been able to look that guy in the eye. He died a happy man.

As for me, having never found a home I roam the streets to this day, molting in the continual prison of shame. I embrace the brethren I find here. All the best liars wear upstanding suits I've found. Take away their suits and they're just naked assholes too. Where's it going to end? I'm only free in a place where wounds are allowed to show, outsiders not welcome. Some people have skeletons in their closet - I am the skeleton in the closet.

But I know in the end, everyone comes to where the free air is.

Leading the god life!