Goodbye Cruel World

I’m shutting her down. I’m exhausted. My heart hurts. The daily toll of survival is more than I can handle. Fuckers. Don’t worry, world, you don’t need me. Everything you’re doing is just fine. Nothing bad will happen. The trick is not to look. Just as you didn’t see 9/11 coming nor will you see anything else. Good luck in the afterlife. Remember, fooling others (or yourself) won’t save you from God.

Haiku Highway to Hell

Troubled times run deep,
Precarious ships perched on
Waves of violence.

Spirit wars kill souls;
The pure heart mocked and hunted;
Witness signs of hell.

Lying rage disease;
Viral bullets piercing skin;
War machine glory.

Barbarian rule;
Tortured minds running amok;
God’s word perverted.

Guns prod unwilling;
Machete men wanting more;
Die now, die later.

Illusion breeds fire;
Stringing up the innocent;
Criminal crowned king.

Cruel beat pounds faster;
Billions bent in slaving toil;
Their god has no eyes.

Talking zombies stare;
As pain dies, so does the dream;
Preach love is the way.

Oasis poisoned;
Deserts devour watered lands;
The last flower dies.

Branches of love cry,
“What is the point of living?”
Pruning hour draws nigh.

Flower Power wins;
Swords and soldiers nevermore;
Dead Men Walking die.

Pssst! I Got Their Playbook!

Sometimes there's nothing scarier than a janitor with a brain. He'll pick you apart and expose you from the inside. The problem with professional liars is they always have a blind spot: they think lying makes them smart. It's an inescapable Achilles heel. Using this blind spot ("Yessah, boss! You's is real smart, boss! Can I's clean yo trash?"), I was able to infiltrate the offices of our country's greatest enemy. Yup, they're pretty dumb at the White House.

No one wants to think bad things of their Daddy-President. But the truth shall set us - and him - free. My job was to find the proof of prevarication. Most people would not know of its existence, but Big Lie campaigns like this White House has instituted need a playbook, a way to keep all conspirators on the same page. Strangely enough I found it right out in the open, on the desk in the Oval Office. Spirits have been sagging around here lately so I guess they were using it for a come-to-Satan meeting for the troops.

As I started reading it I smirked and nodded my head as I recognized some of my very own tactics:

The primary rules are: never allow the public to cool off; never admit a fault or wrong; never concede that there may be some good in your enemy; never leave room for alternatives; never accept blame; concentrate on one enemy at a time and blame him for everything that goes wrong; people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it.

The cover read: "Playbook for Pimping da People." I was absolutely giddy as I made my way out the building with the evidence. At last I could prove to the world what I had known for so long! These traitors would be exposed once and for all and the dark cloud of deception lifted. Remove the tumor and start the healing. But then I remembered: no one's interested in the truth. They just believe what they want. So I threw the playbook into the river and watched it float downstream. Anyone who wants to know the truth can know it already. No wonder they left it out...

America is Dead - Long Live America!

As Ceasar triumphantly paraded through the streets of Rome, the crowds cheered wildly. I wonder who among them knew they cheered their own death? For this was the beginning of the end, when the Romans turned their backs on the democratic principles that had made them mighty. In America today, we too believe we are invincible. It is our death warrant.

If a see a man on the road to Damascus, then I say, "He is on the road to Damascus." It does not mean he is in Damascus, but simply on that path. What is the point of saying he is on the road to elsewhere? People have said I am doom and gloom in my outlook, but again, why say something other than what I see? We are on the path to self destruction. My saying this is the only gift I have to offer.

Tonight I saw a film on war profiteering in Iraq. I saw the sobbing families as they bitterly spoke how corporations had put profits before the lives of their loved ones. Well, honey, welcome to America, where if you ain't a capitalist, you're a communist. Where are the tears for the homeless who die from the cold, or the uninsured refused medical care or the children of the houseless? Profits are put before people everyday. The mistake is in falsely calling ourselves good.

One of the surviving men spoke of his trusting the corporation because it was a "Fortune 500 company." How he wanted to "do good" and "serve his country". But the wrongness of this war of greed and the wrongness of profits over people is out there for us to see every day. See it and survive. See yourself as love - that's your fucking job.

What is the world but a collection of souls? And thus, in the end, our souls determine our fate. Souls are saved with love. And what have we built on love? So kiss your ass goodbye. It didn't have to be this way.

(Stings like a bitch, don't it.)

The Dichotomy of Me

The waiting teacup
Fearing the touch of the tea
Never gets its fill.
A teacup that never fulfills its purpose...

So what am I blogging for? My words are empty. I'm jacking off on Mars. A dying man rails against the world because it is...dying. Topic of the day is a senator man trying to boink teenage boys. I can say nothing. I'm morally bankrupt myself. I see the feeding herds rush to devour the scandal, never once stopping to think of fixing themselves.

There are two things you can do in life: what God put you here to do - or not. I cannot believe things were meant to be so wrong for me. And yet they are. There's an old skit I saw of a poetic man who prostituted his talents merely to beg for money. "May I borrow four pound and two?" A Robert Frost who didn't take the road less traveled. A life misdirected.

I want to sing my song to the world and heal it. I also want the world to die, die, die. I don't fear people finding out I hate this world. They hate it too. I fear them finding out I've lost everything: my heart, my soul, my life, my dreams and my Debby - your worst nightmare come true. And that yet in all this I still find moments of happiness in life. Life has more to offer than you think.

After all, I did get to meet Debby, and that girl could sing!

Seeping mystery;
Pitiless time is God's thief-
Wow, helluva moon!

Where's Debby?

Oh, dear Jesus, my wife is married to another man because I was not a man. I can't live without Debby. How can this be? I'm needing her and needing her and she doesn't come. One word, Debby. Just one word would change my life. I have humiliated myself, walking around covered in piss. Part of me seeks that. In shame I run from her, in need I run to her.

There's a story in Japan of a farmer's wife taken by bandits. She is used by them. When the husband sneaks in to the bandit's camp with attacking samurai, she sees him. The husband is ripped in two as he looks upon her surrounded by all the sleeping men. Should he pick honor or life? For her, the answer is simple. She runs back into the burning hut and ends her life of shame. Tragedy all around. Unlike me, they had committed no sin. But I know the feelings of both.

In anger I see her as Pharaoh's wife; the whore of Babylon. When it fades, I see her as just another lost soul trying to survive in this world. I can't want to live and not want her. As I rinse away the horrors of the day it all comes back to me at night. This is unbearable. I've got to rest. When I free myself from my web of lies, when I can finally stop running and find some peace, the first question always asked is: Where's Debby?

Lord Byron, The Greatness is Gone

Byron Nelson, one of the legends in the sport of golf has passed away. But to focus on just his golf game is to get only part of the story. Memorial after memorial about him speaks of what a great person he was and an ambassador for golf. Byron was not one of those people who was kind and nice to others because he'd gotten all the things he'd wanted but turned foul when things went against him. He had a genuine aura of goodness that made all who came in contact with him feel good also.

Had I not lived here I probably would have never picked up on the vibe of his greatness. I never met the man but I feel his loss. To have a kind word for everyone I meet is also a goal of mine. I truly wish - oh wait a sec, this asshole is bothering me...Is that right, pal? Well, you don't smell so great yourself, motherfucker!...Up yours, too, prick. Fuck I hate people! - anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I consider Lord Byron a role model for me and hope to one day bring the same sort of good feeling to the world he did.