Hope (illusions of)

False hope, that’s what I’ve been living on. Doing this blog and its commentaries has gotten me hopes up, giving me an inexplicable sense of excitement and unfounded optimism. Had I been able to publish my book and make my film – no mean feats in any lifetime – maybe all my babbling on here would have some relevance. I was writing as if I were a celebrity blogger, that everyone should read it because of who I am. A sad plan of self-deception.

I can no longer feed myself this lie. I feel closer to death now than I ever have. I was broken a few nights ago. Something weighed on my soul so heavily that I was eventually forced to face it. So what was it that drove me to the edge of insanity? I needed a talk with Debby. A simple conversation. I deny, deny, deny – but in the end, I really can’t do without her. This is a source of much of my mental and emotional anguish. What hope have I of reaching her?

I thought if I spoke words of truth on my blog it would matter. Who knows if I have or not. I’m pretty scared myself and that can lead to self-serving comments. I used to think how vile it was when I read of the so-called nobles of yore mocking the idea of democracy and a rule by the common people. They are too stupid, they said, too unintelligent. Not that those fat pigs were speaking out of anything but self-interest, but perhaps they were right. I remember the story of the great Greek hero Thermisticles, who alone among all the Greeks faced the fact the mighty Persian empire was coming back to destroy them when all others had no interest in preparation. But what do you do when no one accepts the truth?


In Thermisticles’ case, he lied. He told the stupid masses something they would believe: of how a neighboring island was preparing to attack, thus he was able convince his countrymen to use the new found wealth from a silver mine to build war ships. Now there’s a case of political leadership. (Unfortunately, every lying politician since then has claimed to be doing it for the common good also). The path for me too is to create something that sells. (“Listen, Steve, a message from home!”)

I have a link to Flavia Colgan’s page here on my blog and I would sincerely give my eye teeth to meet her. She is an amazing person who makes me feel good just listening to her speak. She too has hope in the truth of life – but it’s through a filter of politics. As if souls can be saved if we elect the right people. It’s true that over the past seven years, America has chosen to destroy herself. There is no Thermisticles to save the Great Unwashed this time, political pollution bringing only poison. I wonder what Flavia’s life would be like were she to face that fact.

I’m not saying there's no hope. There is hope - in life (though not for the ways of the world). For me it was with Debby. When I imagine life with her, all the problems of the world fade away into nothingness. I could see Eternal Life with her. Once you have that, the fate of your body doesn’t seem so significant. Love truly is all we need after all.

Decembers of Despair

It's no coincidence I started this blog in a December. It is by far my worst month of the year. I don't know why it is that way, I just know that it always happens. Who knows, in this perverted life of mine maybe what would have been my favorite time of year is now my worst. December of two years ago I was going out of my mind with rage and frustration and I've been venting ever since. This year is no better.

It could be that something happens in this month that allows me to move closer to reality. That, of course, means facing my life and all of its (and my) inadequacies. Meeting Debby forced this upon me also. It's in these moments I can truly see the Hell I've created for myself. At the end of "Platoon", the Sheen character kills the tormented (and tormenter) Berenger character. But when Sheen talked of that scene, he said his character didn't think of it as killing him, he thought of it as releasing him. That's how I view my death.

I feel left behind, a man who through pride or attitude or whatever stayed behind when others moved on. Now I'm terrified by what I've done. I touched on this before when I felt surrounded by ice. Now I see myself lost in a desert, knees huddled to my chin in a relentless blowing wind of sand and scorn. A solitary soul who now clearly sees the mistakes of his ways - yet does not move. I have no defense for this.

My dreams exhaust me, continual nightmares of the day, going something like this:

I'm in Pier 1, a store that was exotic to me in my youth when I visited it with my parents, only now I'm in there as a homeless loser and I'm looking for something to eat. The clerks have to explain to me there's nothing to eat there and I say I know that only I don't because I don't know what I know. Customers peer at me through the corner of their eyes and whisper: "He's stupid!", "A crazy man!", "Make him go away." I keep wandering around the store a bit - feeling all eyes on me - so I can pretend I came in for something other than food, as if I were really going to buy something. I ask myself, "Do they know? Do they know I'm a fraud, that I can't buy anything? Oh Jesus, get me out of here. I've fucked up again!"

I wake up gritting my teeth and my jaw's sore from tension. It's actually a relief to find out it's only a dream - and yet I still feel trapped in the feeling. Dear God, release me.

I don't have the powers to express the desperation I feel when my mind goes black and I look around the desert in endless solitude knowing that even if I scream until the end of time, no one will hear. This makes it hard to sleep in the desert night. My bones are tired, more tired than they've ever been. When I shut my eyes to rest, I find hell, and when I open them again, I find hell there too.

Arm Flapping, Inc.

Each of us exists in a vortex between our own personal reality and Reality itself. When these two realities are in conflict, we have war. When conflict is absent, we have harmony. Luckily, harmony is what everyone says their reality is! But even if conflict does exist, for a time, even that can seem as harmony.


If a man jumps off a cliff and flaps his arms, he can - for a time - claim to be flying. And it's during this time before reality (literally) hits curious things can be observed! Two groups of people are drawn to such a person. First are the Blind Loyalists, "friends" of the Arm Flapper who cheer him on: "Don't listen to the naysayers, the defeatists and the small-minded men who say it can't be done! You showed them all you can fly!" Next are the Morality Posers. "We have come not to speak ill of this man, to judge him not and any idea of interference is off the table!" Thus did they hope to be seen in the right.


But the true tragedy was none admitted "Flying Man" wore a parachute - not even the flyer himself. So taken was he with the idea he could fly, the moron rejected any thought of opening his chute. He was falling to greatness, rewriting history on what was and was not possible! He was, quite simply, a god. This drove his Blind Loyalists into a frenzy, cheering him to "stay the course!" After a lifetime of losing, the Arm Flapper gloried in success beyond his wildest dreams.


The Morality Posers congratulated themselves for not engaging in such tomfoolery and proudly proclaimed how they had no ill will to destroy the Flapper's dream. But searing anguish did it cause when others insisted the Falling Man use his chute! Bitter rage and howling wails rained down upon these Insisters of Reality from the Flapper and his ilk in such fury that their venom could not be mistaken: to criticize is to declare total war. Upon hearing this, the Posers - self-styled patrons of peace - dutifully held their tongues.


But Reality - with a THUD a thousand feet below - made all this moot. No longer was there any right or wrong, traitors or patriots, sane or insane - there was only That Which Was: an irreversible Reality of doom. For in his (allowed) grab for ultimate power, the Flapper held secret the place he'd stored the summer harvest. That was his personal laughing legacy as his people watched the cold of winter slowly sap the warmth from their days. And in the frigid winds of cold starvation, no longer was harmony proclaimed.


Reality trumps all Man's claims of self-righteousness.

The Ice Always Comes

In wintry light
With crisis nigh;
I walk among
A wintry cry.

Heavy ice breaks
Each branch and leaf;
Revealing nature's
Inner grief.

A sea of trees
To navigate;
With broken limbs
To investigate.

Skying trunks once
Tall and proud;
Newly sheared of
Healthy shroud.

Overnight came
Winter's wrath;
An unsuspected
Icy bath.

Living trees reveal
Eternal souls;
Now most stand broken
Though some stayed whole.

My frigid hand sifts
Through devestation;
Laid bare before me
All prevarication.

In summer's sun
When all was well;
Who did suspect
This coming hell?


Who had inner eyes
To see inner rot?
Was bark's veneer
All nature wrought?

But when the times
Turned cold and colder;
And mosses dried
Upon the boulder;

Dreams of greenery
Disappeared;
Relentless ice brought
Fates most feared.

Piled limbs and brittle trunks
Stretch across the miles;
Rare the tree both firm and free
Who'd survived this icy trial.

Such doom and wreckage
Reeked of blunder;
God's nature beauty
Ripped asunder.

Ancient children
These holy trees;
No more to feel
Spring's warm breeze.

I burned the branches
Of no tomorrow;
Raging against
The needless sorrow.

Raising my eyes to the sky:
"From where did this hell come?"
T'was then I did remember:
The ice, it always comes.

Sith Lords Among Us

The cool thing about being a Sith Lord is you can rule over the people and the Imperial Congress and yet no one can see you as you truly are! People know evil is coming from somewhere, they just can't seem to put their finger on it. Listen to even those who rail against our President's policies, rarely do they connect the evil to him. It's always "bad advisors", the intelligence agencies, his sidekick Darth Cheney pushing him into it or the ever handy absolution: it's OK because he "truly believes this stuff." Bakana!

As Robert Tucker writes of the original Sith Lord of Darkness:

"Thus Stalin contrived to train his sights on the party leadership even while presenting himself as a force for moderation in the party purge, to identify himself with the simple people against the bigwigs, and to imply that the enemies were many even as he cited statistics on how few Trotskyists there really were, or had been, in the party. Just as he unloaded his responsibility for the miscarriage of collectivization on the grassroots collectivizers, so he unloaded his responsibility for much of the party purging of recent years on the "certain comrades" who had carried out his directives for the 1935-36 checkup and exchange - and now were being charged with abetting the Trotskyists wreckers by what they had done.

As they left the Kremlin after Stalin gave the concluding speech on 5 March, the plenum’s last day, some of the many doomed Central Committee members may have reflected that they had witnessed a performance by one of history’s grand masters of political guile, whose capacity for evil knew no bound."


The authorities were searching for enemies of the people. But such was Stalin's skill at tapping the inner lie, those arrested convinced themselves "they must be keeping this from comrade Stalin". A hidden, root evil had infested itself into the Soviet government and Soviet society and it had to be purged. In essence, they were searching for Stalin: a witch hunt being directed by a witch. Can you imagine the personal paranoia of such a mind??

Just as Stalin was able to disassociate himself from the purges he was driving, the same mind bending process is going on here. And through this process, all crimes are confessed. In a speech today, our Sith Lord was projecting himself when he said Iran needed to "come clean" regarding their desire for nuclear weapons. But the darkness goes far deeper than that. The "World War III" talk, the mushroom cloud reference in the State of the Union, etc. - the madman with the nukes is him! Those are his desires! Our President speaks so knowingly of the evil present because it's his own.


So as you listen to him continually accuse others of his crimes ("teenager with a credit card")- just as Stalin did a thousand times over - replace the word "they" in his speeches with the word "I" and the Sith Lord will be unmasked. As a twisted child, this Devotee of Darkness found great pleasure in blowing up frogs with firecrackers. Mark my words, sooner or later this enemy of the people will do a press conference with a "The world is my frog" T-shirt on. The truth ALWAYS wills out.

Putin Is a Pussy

What, me a dork?
Let's lay to rest this whole Soviet strongman myth - or the myth of any dictator as anything but a loser. They're all a bunch of pussies. The drive for power comes from insecurity. Ever see Jesus with a posse? Despot weasels know respect for them can come only from the barrel of a gun. Once that's assured, they then prance around like, "Oh, the people love me! Hear that lack of dissent!"

Russia has always had a culture of a police state. In the times of the Tsars, it was their wet dream to be called a "People's Tsar", holding absolute power but being such just and noble souls they were beloved by all - as long as the oprichniki backed it up. Until they became so beloved the monarchy was violently overthrown and the entire Tsarist family assassinated. Ah, the poor fools who seek power!

Stalin too sought to be a "People's Tsar", his legendary insecurity costing the lives of tens of millions of his countrymen. I don't think there's any way to comprehend the human toll of that monster's reign of terror. After his death, Stalin's purges and maniacal ways were publicly rebuked. He is now regarded as one of the most pathetic men in history. Ah, the poor fools who seek power!

Now, Pussy Putin wants to be the current Soviet weak man. His minions scurry around trying to make everyone believe he is loved and worthy of love. Of course, if Putin himself believed it true he wouldn't be engaging in desperate tactics of repression. Why doesn't he just get on TV and cry? His is a feeble soul clinging to a past that never existed. The inevitable march to democracy will leave him in the dust while valiant men such as Gary Kasparov will be hailed as heroes. Ah, the poor fools who seek power!


Monty Python's Flying Circus - The Lumberjack Song

For Whom Does the Whistle Blow?

I saw in the paper where the trains that pass by where I usually sleep will be silenced. They're gonna put in some new technology or something that allows them to not need to blow their lonesome nighttime whistle. This is like a friend leaving me. That whistle gives me comfort in the night. It drops soothing water onto my parched lips.

I'm listening to it right now and I can hear the distant rumbling of the passing cars. I may not be in Folsom prison, but a prisoner I be. Much as I would love to hop aboard that train and flee from my life, I know I would only find myself in the same hell all over again. What meager support system I have built up here I cannot abandon. If anyone knew what little I am truly living for, they would only laugh - or maybe cry.

Please don't leave, my fellow warrior of the night. We each travel a solitary journey through darkness. As I hear your midnight wail, I want to stay in that moment of bonding forever. Your treasured call is a friendly wave to the world. Only those who know me from afar are my friends.

---

The King Is Corrupt! Long Live the King!

At last, the Truth Seeker had proof the King was a fraud. He’d tapped into the hidden frequency used by the monarch’s Secret Army to carry out their nefarious tasks. With incontrovertible evidence he could tear off the mask of the monarchy and reveal its true, wicked nature. As the world had grown dark, the Truth Seeker was set to boldly blast a shining light.

All the King’s men had been in on it. These masters of illusion and manipulators of men convinced the masses to declare the King who brought disaster to their kingdom to be a "good man". The monarchists had portrayed themselves as defenders of the castle, keepers of all that is right and were relentless in their claim as the only ones fit for such roles. Any opposition was violently attacked in word and in deed and many saw this strong renunciation as proof of righteousness.

But these illusionists knew mere lies would not be enough. To bring disaster and call it victory required more than sheer propaganda. It required a willing populace to engage in its own self-deception. “Do you want a strong leader? Do you want to follow a good man?” “Yes!” they replied and thusly did they believe the King to be so. “Are we not a good people? Are we not godly in all our efforts?” “Yes!” they replied and thusly did they believe themselves so. “Do you not want to win? Are we not on the path to victory?” “Yes, we are!” they replied and thusly did they believe. Doom was imminent.

The Truth Seeker was going to change all that. On his recordings was the King’s own voice ordering bombs to be placed under the kingdom’s foundations, followed by a wholesale looting of its riches and a plan for the king and his men to escape to a new kingdom to live in decadent splendor for the rest of their days. The plot was diabolical in its conception and ruthless in its inception. This King so hailed by the public was in reality its worst nightmare, a true enemy of the state.

For the Truth Seeker, the journey for truth had been lonely and frustrating. Penetrating the miasma of lies had left him groping blindly for answers and confidence in his beliefs was slipping. If the monarchists were so evil, why couldn’t he find the evidence? Was he a truth seeker or simply a malcontent? But the Truth Seeker stayed the course until the fog of war cleared and he was able to see both them and himself in true light.


But the glare of truth was too much for the eyes of the kingdom. Friends and allies of the Truth Seeker who had supported his journey were of a different mind once they learned its destination had been reached. They informed the King of his betrayal but the ruler merely laughed. “Excellent! This ensures all my plans! I’ll have my blind shock troops ready for the traitor once the crowd turns on his wretched soul.” The informants left confused by the King’s plan, but the King understood one thing about the world they did not: that the Truth Seeker was going to commit the greatest sin of all: he was not going to tell the people what they wanted to hear.

The Truth Seeker called a meeting of both high and low throughout the land. He showed his evidence, played the recordings and gave details on how he got them. But the King had planted his men in the audience who then shouted "Fraud!" and "Usurper!" at the Truth Seeker. And comfortably closed minds found facts to be irrelevant in the face of such a cruel reality: "Our King would not do such a thing! Never will we call him evil!" And still others, stillborn in greed, hailed the monarch's madness and hoped to share it.

For saying "By his fruits ye shall know him", the Truth Seeker was branded an enemy of the state by the raging crowd. In his hopes to set the people free from a cruel tyrant, the people became the cruel tyrant. The Truth Seeker had triggered the release of their own self-hate and by crushing its mirror they hoped to crush their reality. As he was dragged off to his highly sought execution, the Truth Seeker asked 'Why?' of his former friends.

“It’s all about winners and losers, man. And we want to be with the winners.”


POSTSCRIPT: The King's plan worked to perfection. Amidst the dead and wounded from the planted bombs, the King and his cabal looted the kingdom, living the rest of their days in luxury, never to see justice in this world. Devestated and impoverished, those left in the kingdom faced starvation and misery for the rest of their lives. For some, this was a chance to come clean, but many remained bitter.

"The King was evil! He destroyed us all! The Truth Seeker was wrong. Truth doesn't set you free, it ruins your life! Truth is the enemy!"

"You fucking moron," rebuked one who had come clean. "You have it all backwards. This is what happens when make yourself an enemy of the truth. We didn't save our future when we killed the Truth Seeker, we forsook it. We are in this hell for one simple reason: we chose it."

POST POSTSCRIPT: Centuries later, historians played the What If? game on the downfall of the kingdom. What if the Truth Seeker had not been betrayed? What if the King's men had not been in the crowd? What if the Truth Seeker had presented his evidence in a more effective way? But questions such as these are only asked by the self-deceived. For when the kingdom turned corrupt, all roads afterwards led to doom.

The Coming Impression

The world as it exists is a product of our collective soul. Without an understanding of that, there is no broad understanding of wars, economics, politics, etc. So I look for people who have an understanding of life first, then I listen to whatever area of specialty they are concerned with. Usually, I can gleam a nugget of truth from that. With this in mind, I found the following to be illuminating:

NEWSWEEK: You say we're in a new Gilded Age. What do you mean?
Paul Krugman: We are in a Second Gilded Age. The first continued right up until the Depression. Pretax and pre-transfer-income inequality in 2005 was exactly the same as it was in the 1920s. And a lot of [the hallmarks] are the same: the giant private philanthropies (which mitigates economic inequality by giving away fortunes), the exhibitionist display of wealth and, of course, the malefactors of great wealth insisting that they're doing great things for us all.

Krugman has an understanding of how morality plays into economics and his statement helped me to coalesce a lot of nagging thoughts I've been having. People like to reduce economics to a numbers game, but remember, the value of money exists solely in our head. Lose your head and you lose your money. And clearly, we have lost our head.

I remember in the 80s there was a whole slew of books on the Coming Economic Disaster Just Around the Corner. This continued into the 90's but the doomsayers have vanished from consciousness. But they were only seeing the seeds of disaster, failing to account for the time needed to grow. The beauty of an economic disaster is that it can never happen unless we believe it can never happen. That's when you know you've lost your head.


Look at things now: National debt has doubled from 3 to 6 trillion, trade deficits and our national deficit are at nightmare proportions; the number of jobs remains high but the number of people earning a living wage is decreasing and we have the highest concentration of wealth (the richest 1% of Americans own more than the bottom 90% of Americans) among any western country. And in Iraq, war profiteering runs rampant as greed has become institutionalized. Basically, we are in a free-for-all.

You hears whispers of trouble now, but the stock market is still high and all the talking heads paint a mostly rosy picture, but the fatal error lies in that we have finally lulled ourselves to sleep. We are insane and out of control with our spending and yet nothing bad is happening! So maybe we don't need our head after all. Cool! Let's see where making an enemy of responsibility gets us!

Not that I'll be crying when you join me in the street. But here's the basic human truth to this all: Everyone - every man, woman and child, rich or poor - wants to be free of money. It's the inevitable, unstoppable direction of the human soul. For we are human, and in order to have a future, all things inhuman must be purged.

I Ate Lunch at Sonic Today!

Sometimes, it's the little moments you remember the most. When I took my foray into Florida all those years ago, I signed up with a temp company to do odd jobs. There was a hardware store that needed help taking down shelves and whatnot as part of its remodeling effort. As usual on jobs like these, there was a cast of assorted characters: a teacher doing summer work, college kids, people in transition for one reason or another and also just losers like me. I wasn't on my way anywhere beyond that job.

Anyway, I got to talking with this college guy and we hit it off pretty well. I don't remember any details about him other than having a good feeling. So he asks me to come along with him to Pizza Hut for lunch. Even back then eating out was a huge no-no for me. Five bucks at a grocery store goes a looong way further than one freaking meal at a fast food joint. But for him, in his life, it was no big deal and I was deeply ashamed to admit it was not the same for me. And I also didn't want to seem rude by rebuffing a simple invitation to lunch.

As we walked over, I was in a world of hurt. I felt trapped and was cursing myself for spending money unnecessarily. Eating out every day was and is a lifestyle far beyond my means. But I decided to bluff my way through it. I ordered a personal pan pizza which I had never had before but always wanted to try. And even though I felt like a trespasser in a world in which I did not belong, I started to enjoy myself. I ended up having a great time and to this day a personal pan pizza gives me good vibes.

Maybe that was a glimpse of what my life could have been.


Today, I had a similar experience. I always get along well with construction workers. I remember on a roofing job how almost everyone smoked a joint on their breaks. It's just a free and easy feeling I get. So I again violated my rule and hopped in a pick up truck with a regular worker from the site and headed to Sonic. The weather was perfect as we sat there, with the wind and the sun on my face and an Eagles tune on the radio, I suddenly took flight. For a few bittersweet moments of borrowed time, life once more was filled with endless possibilities and dreams and the beauty of living was undeniable.

Maybe that too was a glimpse of what my life could have been...instead of a lifetime spent hiding in shame.

And God asked "Why?"

In a place that held no time, it was time for a harvest. The Maker of all spoke:

“The planet Earth I made with such joy, go and tell me if it has chosen life or death. Let us bring her into the fold.”

In literally no time, the angels gave their report. “It is suffering we’ve found.”

“Suffering? How can that be? I gave them all they need to be happy and joyous.”

“Although truly there is enough food for all, many are starving.”

“But why?”

“Also, they decided to put poison into there air, water and land.”

“But why?”

“They also kill one another fighting over their resources.”

“But why?”

“They have even built devices to destroy their world.”

“But why?”

“And they choose not see themselves as responsible for their planet.”

“But why?”

“These are things we’ve seen. When asked if they were ready to receive the Bliss of Heaven, they said, 'Yes!'”

“But why?”

The Huntress

I’m trapped in the forest, lost in a place where I don’t know how to survive. There’s a smell of fear in the air - and it’s mine. My gritted teeth and nervous hands panic their way through the brush. But I’m only moving aimlessly, never getting anywhere. But I have to do something – anything –to avoid the Huntress. If only I could leave these silent sentinels of the woods.

“Kill him! He’s worthless!” Those were the last words I heard her say. I’ve been on the run ever since then but never been able to shake her. Her fury knows no end and is relentless in its pursuit. I am a disease to her, a tumor to be removed. Living with me is not an option and with maniacal jealousy does the Huntress guard her life. No thing, no person, nor even a truth can she tolerate to come between her and her wishes. This I knew from her final speech.

“You are useless! You are no kind of man and your life is nothing but shit! Just look at what you’ve made of it! You think I want shit like that for my life? You are a loser who’s never done anyone any good. How have you earned the right to live? All you are is a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe and I mean to scrape your annoying ass off of me! There is no excuse for a worm like you.”

I’ve been melting into fear ever since. I ran into the forest to find escape but escape had already left. For when I ran away, the Huntress’ resolve hardened into my death warrant. She began talking to others – the Haters – as I knew she would and they too joined the hunt for the Worthless One. So that’s how I find myself, slashing through the woods in terror, imagining the Huntress’ bow taking aim at me from behind every tree. But even if I can hide from her, I cannot hide from myself.

Slowly, I’m disintegrating. My face, my hair, my spindly legs are rotting. Won’t be much left of me soon and the witch will have my carcass to gloat over. In that, I am resigned. I just don’t want her or her minions to be in on the kill, to have to hear her last few words stab me and shred my remaining soul. It’s true I don’t measure up to her - or anyone. And her condemnation is completely unbearable to me. I am Shame’s slave.

I’d heard of a place perfect for hiding, thinking there I could find rest and peace and buy more time from the Huntress. To my dismay, I found only her and her minions glaring at me in raging contempt. The hunted beast was trapped at last. “How did you know?” I involuntarily asked. “Because I know you, loser,” sneered back the Huntress. Indeed, it was the knowing of me that doomed me. But I had to let someone know of me. Maybe that’s the Achilles Heel of each of us. So they shot me down and spat on my dead being as they passed. Only the Huntress paused with a second thought.

I wish I knew what it was.

When the devil came to town

There once was two towns: one filled with goodness and the other filled with good intentions. And into each of these towns the devil sent an evil man. But after announcing his refusal to repent and yet also his refusal to leave, each city passed a death sentence for the evil man to keep their fair burgs godly. To which the evil men responded with a sly speech given to them by the devil:

"Kill me and you become me! Murderous butchers, all! Are you really so sure of yourself? Can't you live for me just a little? Have you tried living with me? I have been sent here to test you! Guard jealously your goodness! For what are you without that but as salt without its saltiness?"

The town of goodness found no merit in the evil man's words and killed him ruthlessly. The town of good intentions however had a change of heart. "We must do good and not be a killer like this man. Live and let live, we say! Let us speak well of him and bring out what is best in him - and in this way show ourselves good. Goodness shall always triumph in the end. In this, who can doubt our intentions?" That night, the evil man poisoned the town's well and destroyed the village.

"The opposite of good is good intentions" - Asian proverb.
The trick, you see, is to get you to lie to yourself. Once that's done, you're toast. Telling yourself you're doing it for a good reason, well, that only makes the evil man laugh.

The Revolutions of Useful Idiots

As I posted before, I’ve been reading a fantastic book on the Russian Revolution, “A People’s Tragedy”, by Orlando Figes. In it he completely outlines the root causes of the revolution and lays bare the mechanics of Lenin’s rise to power and instituting of a totalitarian regime. It states that Lenin ate, slept and drank the revolution, making it his complete life - often to the point of breakdown. His single-minded dedication to politics gave him an edge over any of his political rivals. Today here in America, we see another single-minded monster paralleling the legendary Commie.

Let’s call it the Revolution of 9/11. The political seizure of power by the administration was swift and sure of itself. Just as Lenin, they usurped power, polarized opinion by taking extreme positions and played on the fears of the people. The “With us or against us” attitude is excellent for creating a hardcore base of defenders (Useful Idiots) searching for purpose for their useless lives. In times of peace, fanatical positions are seen as absurd, but once extremists have been given a society’s blessing, it’s only a matter of time before they are running the whole show. It’s an attitude of, “If they feel so passionately about it, those Nazis must be right.”



In times of chaos, the true soul of a nation is revealed (everybody’s silent when things are going well). The most valuable asset of a con man is the ability to read the human soul, to know its strengths and, more importantly, where it’s corrupt. Russia’s self-deception was in its belief it was creating a Grand Society of equality. They were on a mission from God – and this is what Lenin hid behind. Thusly, all the murder and mutilation and terrorizing done along the way was OK because it “served the greater good”. The Russian atrocities were unspeakable. But who among them would admit their path was false as they rampantly committed such (Lenin encouraged) crimes?

Our blind spot is in believing we’re always the Good Guys in any situation – that it is not possible for us to be on the wrong side of any war. Knowing we’ll never admit we’re wrong, our war criminal President has leveraged this into carte blanche authority to wage any war he sees fit. And he has even as much said he’s a on a mission from God. This extreme position allows him to sow fear among the weak (“Better not dispute him – he may be right!”) and brand opponents as weak (“They don’t want to defend us!”). The only way to stop it is to come clean and admit we’re in the wrong. How many people you know wanna do that?? (No wonder the chimp is always smirking)

The last parallel I noticed between Lenin and our own President was an attitude of complete contempt. This, of course, stems from their own self-loathing. But the con man has one distinct “advantage”: he lives no real life (ergo, the self-hatred). With nothing to lose, he is able to admit to himself he is a total fraud and thusly he totally despises anyone foolish enough to follow him. How amusing it is to hear the Useful Idiots so passionately defend your policies of destruction! “Kill your dreams as I killed mine!” the dictator mocks. All politics is a reflection of your personal life.


We have placed our soldiers in an impossible position: asking them to wage an immoral war and to die and destroy for no reason. In the preface to Orlando Figes’ book, he mistakenly states that a people do not always get the government they deserve. But when a people turn their back on the truth, only disaster can follow. Useless idiots always get what they deserve – and their foulness poisons the water for us all.

Writing With One Hand Clapping

"There are stars in the Southern sky
"And if ever you decide
"You should go
"There is a taste of time sweetened honey
"Down the Seven Bridges Road"
One thing I hate about this blog is I feel it gives off a false impression. Like, I’m sane or something. Writing here is like writing in the center of a hurricane. I have to put out all thoughts of what’s around me, what my future – immediate or long term – might bring and then find the drive and passion and energy to get my inspirations to this page. A lot doesn’t make it, lost in the whirlwinds of this world. Funny part is, it may be that only by traveling to the nether world of my imagination that I stay alive.

"Somewhere in the distance I hear the bells ring
"Darkness settles on the town as the children start to sing.
"And the lady 'cross the street, she shuts out the night
"There's a cast of thousands waiting as she turns out the light."
So yeah, you’re seeing me here at my most lucid. Other times I’m so angry I could kill, so lonely I could die and so paralyzed with despair I literally cannot move a bone of my body. Sometimes my imagination rescues me and I dream of films or art or blog posts to create, most of which never makes the light of day. Instead, I feed off it to make it through the crisis time. Once I start to move again, it’s lost. I’ve messed up my personal life so badly I’ve become a vampire to my own art.

"I dont know how this whole business started
"Of you thinking that I had been untrue;
"But if you think that we’d be better parted
"It's gonna hurt me but I’ll break away from you."
So please appreciate the massive amount of energy and willpower it takes to bring you these sort of sideways peeks into my particular genius. Had I made my film and book, it would all be different, my words would be seen in a different light (that sounds so self-serving, doesn't it!). Instead, in trying to break the world’s heart, I broke my own. Here you can read the remnants of a shattered soul for as long as I can hold out. All I have to do is write with one hand clapping, one heart pining and one life waiting.

Oh, and don’t forget to write a fucking witty bird comment to top it all off.

The False Parsing of History

“The right thing done for the wrong reason still ends in catastrophe.”
- Me, as I watched the statue of Saddam being pulled down after the invasion.
Through the virtual library of Half Price Books (buy a book, read it, sell it back and get another!) I’m reading a detailed account of the Russian Revolution of 1917, from its root causes to its shifts in movements along the way to the final implosion into authoritarian rule. The book is truly an enjoyable and fascinating read and it’s clear the author did his research with an open mind and critical eye to the facts. But what he does lack is perspective, and for whatever reason that usually seems to be the case with most historians. Here’s a passage where it’s most evident:

“Yet the course of history is full of unexpected turns that can only be explained by the actions of great leaders. This is particularly so in the case of revolutions, when the tide of events can be so easily turned. The October [1917] seizure of power is a good example: few historical events in the modern era better illustrate the decisive effect of an individual on the course of history. Without Lenin’s intervention it would probably never had happened at all – and the history of the twentieth century would have been very different.”

Completely, utterly and patently false – but it makes for a dramatic read. I’m not a believer in fatalism or that events are predetermined in any way that makes free thinking irrelevant, but I do believe the motives behind a movement’s actions will come to light regardless of any decisions made along the way with those same motives. People love to look into events of the past and play the “If only…” game. E.g.: If only Hitler had kept bombing the English airfields instead of switching to the cities he could have taken England and perhaps put himself in such a strong position as to be virtually unbeatable. It’s myopic observations such as these that leave out the fact Hitler was a psychotic madman bent on the destruction of both himself and his country. “The outcome of WWII was determined before it began”. (Harry Homeless, The Art of Warts)

Choose the form!
1917 Russia was the same way. It was (is?) a childish country begging for an authority figure to worship in awe. The only question was what form their demise would take. There was never any hope or chance of democracy. Previously, I talked of the Danton Principle: that there are two kinds of fighters against a king: those who fight for freedom from the king and those who fight to be the king. Both fighters use the same slogans, but it is the motives of the movement as a whole that give rise to the individuals who will come to power. There were monarchist voices at critical times of the American Revolution, but no one remembers them now just as no one remembers the voices of democracy in revolutionary Russia.

Historians will be saying the same thing about our occupation of Iraq. It’s started already with the recent mini furor over the decision to disband the Iraqi army and what a devastating effect it had on creating an insurgency. I’m sure there will be other fingers pointed at the endless string of stupid and self-serving decisions we’ve made along the way. But the whole thing never had any hope of succeeding. We went there to rape them and plunder them, not to help them. You can’t make good decisions on helping people when you don’t have good intent to begin with!
 
All this parsing of history is not really an attempt to get at the truth, it’s an attempt to parse responsibility from one’s motives, that somehow good things can come of ill will. Amazing how much philosophy and other bullshit is an attempt to portray just that false hope! For morality is the only true form of intelligence.

O.J. Should Have Gotten the Chair

But not for double homicide. But just so we can all be spared the endless fake outrage of the white man over his every perceived transgression. “OJ Farts While Playing Golf. Club Members Riot”. Next time you see a white man on TV talking about O.J., just put it on mute and watch how red his face turns with anger. From the look on his face you’d think O.J. had just fucked his wife with his big, black dick.

And since everybody propagates their motives as being the same as God’s own, I just had to ask one of the “outraged”: Why so much anger against The Juice? Why was I not surprised when the answer I got was the root of the white man’s rage was due to his “love of justice”. Now that’s just goddam funny! You sure you wanna go with that? Love of justice, huh? Let’s just take a closer look at that (after I stop laughing).

For a detailed expose of the white man's love of justice, try watching “The Trials of Darryl Hunt”. Never heard of him? How can that be? We love justice so much! An outrage like this just has to be known across the land! But since there actually may not be some justice lovers out there (shocking!) let us recount the facts of what happened:

In 1984, Deborah Sykes, a young white newspaper reporter, was assaulted, raped, sodomized and stabbed to death just blocks from where she worked in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Though no physical evidence implicated him, Darryl Hunt, a 19-year-old black man, was ultimately convicted of the crime and sentenced to life in prison.

At this point, we insert the usual excuses of “People make mistakes”, “I’m sure they were honest devotees of the truth”, etc, etc. Whatever.

Six months after this brutal crime, another woman was attacked with the same M.O. but she was able to fend off her attacker. Police, however, convinced her not to follow through on a complaint. Because if she had, it would have exposed their wrongful arrest of Darryl Hunt since her attacker was the true criminal in Hunt's case. Prosecutors continued the deceit in court when they used the eyewitness testimony of a former KKK member and an obvious plea to ignore the lack of physical evidence and to concentrate only on the viciousness of the black on white attack. These were not “honest mistakes” but cold, hard decisions to lie and then frame an innocent man.

Fortunately, true justice lovers persevered over the next twenty years to exonerate Darryl Hunt and he was awarded 1.65 million dollars in compensation for his wrongful conviction. So where’s the outrage? Where are all the hard feelings against the police, the prosecutors and the justice system who knowingly fucked this guy? We should be hounding their every step and wailing in moral outrage over the good and free life they lead when these same people denied such a life to another.

Yeah, I know what you sorry fucks are gonna say. Christ, you’re predictable! “That Darryl Hunt guy, he musta dun sumpthin’. Did’ncha say he was black?” “Hey man, you got the facts all wrong! I know so cuz I don’t believe any of that!” “Even if it is true, that’s just one isolated case in a million.” Sorta like O.J.? If only being a redneck cocksucker could be made illegal…

Some will actually admit defeat though when presented with the facts. “Oh yeah, that makes me mad too,” they calmly proclaim. “Now if we can only get that O.J. fucker!!”

SLUT on the Butt

     She hadn’t felt this kind of excitement since she was a teenager. “Illicit but moral” was how she had sold herself on the idea. Step by step she watched herself to see if she would actually go through with it. First was the internet posting, safe and anonymous. “Bad girl needs punishment”. The thought of being tied up with a paddle smacking her bare butt was driving her to the breaking point. She had to face her frustration for a forbidden fantasy.
     “Is this my beginning or is this the end?” she wondered to herself as she undressed in the hotel room. Maybe she was opening the door to a whole new type of freedom she’d never had before, an outlet for these forbidden fantasies that could actually help her to appear more secure in her daily life. Tucked away in a hotel room far from her home she could face her torment and control it. What an incredibly appealing thought!
     As she neatly placed the clothes on the chair she recounted for the thousandth time the chain of emails between her and her punisher. Not just any paddling would do, it would have to come from someone who understood. He would see her as she truly was, punish her to make it better and give her freedom from the lies sapping her soul. Her punisher had seemed to read her mind: that he knew of bad girls such as her and knew exactly what they needed – and deserved. Such was the person she need to show up.
     The bad girl got into position for her punishment: face down, nude with her head stuffed into a pillow. It was dark in the room as she had very carefully closed the drapes for secrecy. She could feel her heart pounding with excitement, imagining the pleasure the sight of her nude body would bring. At last she could drop the pretense! God help her if he was late, she just might burst in the meantime.
     Then came the knock on the door.


     Shaking, the woman as a little girl ran to the door, slipped the room key underneath and hurried back into proper position. It was at that moment she knew she had made the right decision. It was like losing her virginity all over again. Her body trembled as she awaited his reaction.
     “Goood. Good girl. I think this will go well. I truly think I can make you the good girl you want to be.”
     She wanted to scream out, “God yes!” but instead gave out a very enthusiastic, “Thank you, sir!”
     “Are you ready for the final preparations?”
     “Yes, sir, I am completely ready.”
     She heard him unzip a bag and tingled in anticipation as he first grabbed her feet and then her hands, cuffing each of them in cold, hard steel. Obediently – and sure to please – she stayed stretched out as he took the chain and pulled it taut under the bed, making her completely immobile. Anything that happened now could not be her fault as she was entirely helpless. It was exactly the position she wanted to be in.
     He was authoritive: “As I told you before, first I want to talk. I need to find out exactly why you’ve been a bad girl and what we should do about it.”
     If only she could get her husband to say those words! Most of the other responses to her ad talked only of how they would paddle her and make her beg. But he was different, he wanted to explore her and release her cravings. She would confess all.
     “Are you married?”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “Where is your husband now? Won’t he see the marks?”
     “He’s on a business trip all this week.”
     “To where? What does he do?”
     “He’s a bank vice-president and he’s overseeing the opening of a new regional center.” This is perfect! It’s just like I’m tied up for interrogation and I have to answer or I get punished!
     “It sounds like you are very proud of him.”
     “I am, sir! He gives speeches in the industry and is highly respected.” She was afraid she sounded too much like a brochure there.
     “But what about you? What do you do?”
     “I stay home now and help the children.”
     “What about before? You had a career?”
     “Not really. When we were first married I just worked as a receptionist. Once he moved up in the bank and the kids were born I started staying home.”
     “Didn’t you go to college though?”
     “Yes…”
     “So you are pretty much useless in the real world, aren’t you?”
     A secret thought revealed. “Yes, sir.”
     “I mean, anyone can be a nanny and raise children. Are they of school age?”
     “Yes, but I’m still quite busy with all their activities.”
     “I see. Let me ask you. Where would you be without your husband? Could you keep your house?”
     “No. There’s no way I could do that. It’s a large house.”
     “You have a maid?”
     “Yes, we hired a Hispanic lady to help me clean. She’s not full time,” she added defensively.
     “I bet it feels good to be the lady of the house, doesn’t it? Living in a fine neighborhood and never feeling the pain of poverty.”
     That had always been a secret little guilt but her punisher let her confess all. “Yes, I have to admit it does feel good. When the maid pulls her old car up in the driveway I’m always glad I’ll never have to drive a car like that again.”
     “That’s a normal human reaction, isn’t it?”
     “Yes, who wouldn’t want to drive a nice car? But I’ve driven crappy cars before and I know I can handle it.”
     There was a pause and she wondered what he was thinking.
     “Where did you meet your husband?”
     “At bible college.”
     “Have you ever lived on your own?”
     Another secret guilt. “No, sir.”
     “Was it love at first sight?”
     “No, I actually didn’t even like him at first.” She loved recounting her own myth of their love. “But then I grew to love him and we make a great team.”
     “You’ve never loved another?”
     Now it was her turn to pause. No way was she going to confess her true crime, of the feelings she ran away from. Those must remain dead and buried at any cost. What importance had they now? Fuck him if he thought she’d talk about her personal shit. “No, sir. I’ve been only with my husband.”
     “And I take it you’re a person of religion?”
     “Yes, sir. We go to church every week and are very serious about it. I clean and iron the linen for the altar.”
     “You really do want to be a good girl, don’t you?”
     “Yes, sir, I do!”
     “Shame you don’t measure up.” The jolt soothed her and she felt her body relax. She was ready to do anything for him now. The bondage of the chains freed her from the bondage of her spirit. He knew this as he continued. “Let me ask you something, have you ever been secretly excited? Say when your husband has his friends or business partners over and they discuss important affairs, do you feel silently stupid?”
     “Yes, I do. I’m just a girl.”
     “When you see a man put down a woman, does that also secretly excite you?”
     “Yes, it does. There’s a movie where the hero puts down this slut girl by saying, ‘I can’t believe you still eat with that mouth.’ I think of that all the time and pretend he’s saying that to me.”
     “Do you have fantasies about giving oral sex?”
     “God, yes. I want to put on a French maid uniform with my bare butt sticking out and serve my husband and his friends. They would order me around to serve them drinks and everything then I would have to get on my knees in front of each of them and give them head.” She could scarcely believe the words came out of her mouth. She was catching herself talking like a little girl but it as if she were a different character.


     “But of course, you have never done any of this.”
     “No, sir. Not even with my husband. He forbids it as unholy.”
     “What of your parents? Are they in approval of your life and marriage?”
     “Oh yes, sir. I have always been the good girl in the family. I was homecoming queen and cheerleader. In their eyes I’m an angel.”
     The voice turned suddenly sterner. “So they don’t know you fantasize about being a slut?”
     This was her first real feeling of fear. Had she told too much? She did not know. The cup of freedom was too tempting not to sip.
     “No, they do not.”
     “Then you should be punished for such a lie, yes?”
     “Yes, sir.”
     She was curiously happy to be at last facing her punishment. With these first few swats behind her, she would be that much closer to redemption - and release.
     But he did not swat her. “I have here a black marker. And in large letters on your buttocks I shall write the word “SLUT”. Afterwards, you shall thank me. Understood?”
     “Yes, sir.”
     Such joy did she feel as the lines of the letters were stroked across her bottom. She wished the whole world could see her now, free of all the facades and the weight of always having to be perfect. Here I am world! See me as I truly am!
     When she thanked him, she truly meant it. She wished she could lie there forever, unchained and honest but still not committing the mortal sin of adultery. She wasn’t like those dirty women who have affairs and end up on TV talk shows hanging out their dirty laundry for all to see! What possesses those women to do that? She would get no diseases or worry about an unwanted pregnancy or who the father was. With this outlet she could receive her punishment and become clean once again.
     “There are many institutions set up in our society to insure moral goodness and proper behavior. Are you aware of this?”
     “Yes, sir, I am.”
     “The police, the justice system, our churches – all these things have been set up to help us to become better people. Do you believe that?”
     “Yes, sir, I truly do. I believe in doing what I’m told. I believe they are sent by God to do God’s work. I am a most conservative person, sir, and I proudly hand my life over to them in their wisdom.”
     “As you do me?”
     This was it, the final ecstasy! She would surrender totally and without reserve, worshipping his firm hand and resolve. After this she would be clean and no one would know the difference. Each time she strayed from the path he would come to set her right and never would she have to lie again. Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it too??
     “Yes, sir. Do as you see fit! Thy will be done!”


     As he got up from the bed, she imagined what she must look like in his eyes. Not an inch could she move and the rebel jezebel was branded with SLUT on her butt! Spank me, daddy. Spank me hard! I’m not the good little girl you think I am. Release me from this prison and I’ll be the good girl everyone wants me to be – and demands that I be.
     “First I need to put this tape over your mouth. You may cry out and we don’t want any interlopers in here do we?”
     This was the real deal now. “No sir, we don’t.”
     After taping her, he walked over to the window and opened wide the curtains. “You know what you are? You are what's known as a Conservative Christain Cunt - a whore for God! In the bible you say you love so much, it speaks of all things coming to light. It’s inevitable, it says. I wonder, did you somehow think you were going to escape that?”
     Her mind short-circuited with panic. What does he mean? Why is he opening that curtain? What in God’s name is he going to do?
     “The last woman I did this with was a career woman. Highly successful too. I wonder if it’s any solace to you that a successful career woman had the same feelings as you. Her guilt came from suppressing her maternal desires.” He stopped to peer at her. “I speak of her in the past tense because six months afterwards she committed suicide. I suppose she didn't believe God already knew the truth.”
     Suddenly, she felt sick. All her instincts told her to get clothed and get out – now! But it was too late, dear God, it was too late!
     He bent down and placed a small recorder on the nightstand so she could see it. “Yes, I recorded our little talk. It will happen like this: I’m going to take the drivers license out of your bag and place it in the small of your back. Then I will take several instant photos and leave them beside the recording. This is what the housekeeper will find when she comes in here tomorrow morning. I wonder if she’ll be an “Hispanic lady” like your maid.”
     The tape was effective in muffling her screams. Vainly she tried to move but the cuffs only cut her in exasperation.
     “This poor, foreign housekeeper will undoubtedly be unnerved at the sight of a wealthy, domestic white woman tied naked to a bed. By the way, those cuffs are police caliber and she won’t able to release you even if she wanted to. No, she’ll have to go and get help. Probably the hotel management, men in suits staring at your deliciously bare behind. Your fantasy come true at last!”
     She stopped wiggling as despair numbed her mind. “You will listen as they talk about you and decide how they should proceed on freeing you. Talk about getting to feel silently stupid! Are you turned on yet?” Her stomach merely churned. “Since you won’t be able to dress with the cuffs on, they eventually will have to turn the matter over to the police. Meanwhile, news of your dilemma will spread like wildfire among the housekeepers and other hotel staff. How many bellboys wouldn’t kill to see you now!”
     Tears flowed down her cheek. “The police – your heroes doing God’s work – will continue in your humiliation – all in the name of God, of course. They will confiscate the pictures and tape recording, a report will be on file for the rest of your life and beyond, and every male officer in the city is going to get an eyeful of your ass! But I’m sure that doesn’t bother you! I can only imagine what will go through your mind the next time you’re pulled over!”
     Nightmare. That was the word for it. This cannot be happening. He cannot be serious! Please get me out of here! I swear to God I’ll never be true again!
     He let her twist and turn until finally the pain cut too deep. The walls were closing in and escape drew further away. “Humiliation you wanted, humiliation you got! One of these pictures I’ll keep and send to your pastor. He needs to know of your troubles and I’m sure his holy soul will forget the image of SLUT on your butt as he’s counseling you. Never will you hear his giggle or the whispers of your forgiving fellow worshippers, I’m sure.”
     Now she was all tears and fears. “Of course, a copy of the police report – complete with a transcript of the tape – will need to be sent to your mommy and daddy. They need to know angel has lost her wings and her fine life isn’t the dream she has led them to believe.
     “What will all those people think? From your maid to the cop on the street, from your husband to all your known family – what are you going to do when you can’t lie to them anymore? What’s going to happen after the divorce and you have to live on your own on a receptionist’s salary? Who knows, maybe your maid has a car she can sell you. The real problem is going to be getting the judge to give you access to your children when you’re obviously such an immoral woman. The police are going to give him some hellacious pictures to gawk at!”
     Overwhelmed, stunned with grief and regret, she remained limp as he committed his final act. Sitting nude atop her butt, he climaxed on her back. “You’re one hot woman!” he yelled but never had she felt so unsexy. She had been a willing object all her life, a being who chose to count her feelings as less worthy than others'. With the years of corruption, her rot had become the driving force of her life.


     Now it was gone in one hellish afternoon. All the carefully crafted veneer, the religious shrouding, the glee of a self-proclaimed superior life – vanished into the light. Every fiber of her being she’d devoted to keeping her lies alive – her lies were moral, they kept all the good things she wanted in her life. But in the end, truth is never cheated.