The little things just build and build and build and build until finally...you break. Then you find yourself in a lower level of hell and you pray once again for death but death does not come.
I was determined to process the stuff that's eating at me, twisting my guts into knots and stringing me out like a wired up addict. Hysterics all around. So I got comfortable and did my best to shut off my raging brain.
It's all this shit and garbage I see and hear every day, seeping in like a thousand points of fright.
...always trying to hide in movies. Not working anymore...
I dreamed of a film of the kind I always hate but am bombarded by. They keep coming at you, driving you down. "Oh, you gotta see this!" No, I fucking don't! I don't gotta see it and stop telling me I'm a lesser person if I don't! Jesus, will you people get off my back! Fuuuuck!
One specific name was mentioned: Lindsey Lohan. Another one of those annoying gaggle of celebs sucking on a bottle of death whom I really didn't want to see. Yeah, yeah, she's talented - whatever. Leave me alone with all this shit I 'have' to check out. "But she's so amazing in this!"
God, what a beating.
So what happens but I catch a clip of this 'must see' film on TV. It's set in the Middle East so it can be like Hip and Relevant, you know. "We're here to say something about the times, man. We're gonna show it like it is." Man, freaking spare me. But the first scene was of Lindsey as a peasant girl gathering stuff up. We see her from behind and she has a very high slit up her homemade skirt showing off gorgeous, smoking hot legs and part of her ass. She just radiates sex. I was completely taken in. "I see why she got such rave reviews. Wow, she is hot!" So I gave in on that part.
And I did see these really hot pictures of her on the net a few days ago.
But then came the hell part. The hero of the film was generic-good-looking-guy actor, maybe DiCraprio or of his ilk. He sees Lindsey and he too is swept away by the sight of her. It cuts to a scene of Lindsey swinging in a chair and telling a peasant boy, "I want you to fuck me." That's when Mr. Perfect decides he has to have her. It just so happens, of course, he's in this village doing Important Work, he's young, rich, and edgy looking, he's Somebody and has unlimited freedom to do whatever he wants. And get whatever he wants.
How does one get to that point??
But that's what I have to fucking compete against. Live up to that or be nothing. I'm so sick of these people with perfect lives who never make a mistake, never go off course. The world really is their oyster. Naturally he sweeps Lindsey off her feet and takes her to a very expensive restaurant on a balcony and I got so disgusted I stopped the dream.
But the hell kept on.
When I woke, my whole body was in flames and my eyes literally burned. I was so fed up with my life I couldn't move, catatonic with fear. It was like I'd had an emotional stroke. All my will to live stripped away - I stayed motionless for a very long time.
Our position in Iraq is a seeming quagmire. On this most people agree. We like to say it's a damned-if-we-do and damned-if-we-don't situation. Pick your poison, so to speak. And while all these statements seem reasonable and moderate, they are in fact complete and total horseshit.
What is acceptable to admit being true has no bearing on anything other than to point to a state of mind. The truth is we committed an egregious and outrageous act of evil with our invasion. Every man, woman and child in this country knows that but we seem to think that by not admitting it we somehow make it less true. On any given day you can hear very grave, brain-dead commentary on the dangers of admitting we're wrong. But you see, these people are merely talking about their own personal lives - the dangers they fear of admitting they are wrong. All roads lead back to love.
The reality is the drama on the outside is merely a playing out of the drama on the inside.
There are Unspoken, Burning Questions on the minds of every American: Do we really need to change? Are there really consequences for evil if we sin in the name of God? Can we just stay the way we are and not go further down the drain? We manifested our doubts by an act of doubtless wrongness. Our invasion expresses the problem of our own capitalist quagmire: in order for us to keep our system going we must feed it ever increasing doses of greed - and that is an inescapable fatal flaw. But we hope otherwise.
We hope we can shout down the truth. We hope we can manipulate the truth. We hope no harm can come to us if we silence the truth. We hope that our Creator doesn't know the truth of life - or the truth of us.
Thoughts While Lying on a Cot Covered by a State Issued Blanket
My nightly prayer: Dear god, "Fuck you, too." Sincerely, Harry
On women scorned: In the game of life women are dealt a royal flush while men are dealt merely a pair. Many women find it romantic or heroic or even moral to fold the hand God has given them and let the guy win. But after doing this, the guy always leaves in search of another pot to win. For the woman who just sacrificed everything it's the same as being burned alive and her fury has no end. But really, she got what she asked for: to be used. It's not romantic nor heroic and especially not moral to not play out your God-given hand. It's just plain ol' irresponsible.
My life-draining labors: "See, Harry, I knew you could do it. I bet you surprised yourself!" "Actually, it makes me want to put a bullet through my head."
Meeting my Maker: God asked: "Why didn't you believe in Me?" "You know, I was just gonna ask You that question."
My current haiku: The dry, withered twig With no blossoms left to give Hangs on to the tree Overheard:"No one's gonna believe a word he says until he's dead." "Yup, tain't no other way of provin' you're tellin' the truth." "An' then it'll all be taboo."
Learning from history: One man swallowed poison, got sick, and swore never to do it again. Another man swallowed poison, got sick, but then declared himself immune by his surviving. So he kept on taking it until he died. My current lyric: "He tried pretending "A dance is just a dance - "But I see "He's dancing his way back to me!"
Today's truth: They say resisting (money, power, sex, war, fill-in-the-blank) is useless. I hear it every day all day long from wannabe cynics and sightless prophets but the truth is love always wins in the end. Bet your life on it - because it already is! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
"I wasn't born a worm," said the Worm, "but I became one as quick as I could."
The Worm hated legitimacy. Legitimate people with their legitimate lives - he despised them all with a burning passion. To the Worm these people were forever mocking his worm existence - mocking him by merely being. So the Worm's twisted dream was for him to be declared the legitimate one and for him to lord over them. In this way the Worm hoped to achieve the impossible: to not be a worm though having chosen to be one.
The Worm never believed anyone could love a worm. That fact, however, did not stop his need for love or his drive to seek it. It drove him into a hellish life of isolation and perversion. The Worm was lucky, though, because he was a privileged worm, his feet never to touch reality. Without the salvation of responsibility, the Worm was able to stay in his warped cocoon. This made the Worm very, very loyal to his enabling world of disconnected reality.
Deeper and deeper went the Worm into his sphere of Unreality, drugged and drunken, seeking to brand souls as his had been. But even though he was forever bailed out of his wickedness, the Worm could find no relief: he was still a worm. The tormented humanity left in him could stand no more, the road to excess finally caused this insect of inebriation to snap. So he did the one thing left for him to do: declare himself holy.
Joining the group of Declared Holy allowed the Worm to abandon all truth at last. All the glory of God was now his. He may still be a worm but now he was a worm for God. And that meant the one thing the Worm wanted most: to be loved. The false friends and worm lovers who gave him the approval he so dearly craved earned his ever lasting fear - just as they had planned. They formed an unholy alliance and set out to take over the world.
The Worm's ambition for power was as limitless as his need for the true love he could never have. "I'm just a worm, haha!" joked the candidate as he wormed his way into the lives of others. And while some were shocked and disgusted and dismayed and appalled and horrified and outraged an actual worm was running for office, many others fell under his spell. This greatly encouraged the Worm - and his twisted hopes of ruling the world incredibly came to be.
But getting what he thought he wanted was the Worm's worst nightmare. What was he really - even with all the misplaced love shown him - but still a worm? The Worm hid in his hole, waiting for the inevitable day he would be exposed for the fraud he was. Even his privileged life could not save him now. But something else did. War came to the land and the Worm knew the frightened sheep would rally around him for guidance. A miracle such as this could only be a sign from God. This gave the Worm a daring even he had never dreamed of in all his perverted fantasies.
He spoke to the mindless masses: "Attacked we is and war we be at! Your President me will lead blindly you! Fall divided house if me trust not! Win me will! Win me will!" Despite the shockingly bad grammar and graphic ineptitude of communicating, hearty cheers greeted the Worm's words. Too great was the belief that a failure to support their leader would lead to a failure in the holiest of all endeavors: war. With thumping heart, the Worm continued, "Confidence with say I: We are a nation of worms! Worm is your ruler! Worm is the winner! Worms we all must be!" It was the goriest moment of depravity in the life of the Worm.
The Age of the Worm blasted full speed ahead. A worm agenda was instituted at all levels of governing and a relentless campaign declared: "Be a worm or the enemy wins!" This made worminess patriotic, bring out the worst in the souls across the land. With uninhibited glee the Worm watched the "legitimate ones" debase and erode themselves - and any who didn't were declared traitors. And having once drawn them down into a wormhole hell of existence, the Worm knew how very, very difficult it was to climb back out again. "Let's see these so-called 'good people' repent their way out of the vice-like predicament I got them in now!" (he spoke much more clearly when not having to mask his evil).
Groaning and wails of torment rang louder throughout the land the longer the worm agenda continued - which was music to the worm's ears. He loved feigning heartfelt sympathy for their pain while secretly loving it. The Worm rampaged destruction across the country while sowing the seeds for further destruction long after he was gone. His thirst for revenge was insatiable - and sanctioned by God. Yet even with spiraling despair and agonizing deaths, the Worm stood Unrebuked - just as he had planned. This Purveyor of Pestilence infected his foolish followers with a chokehold he knew they could never escape: the Worm would never be blamed for their miseries because they would never blame themselves.
"We started dancing "And love put us into a groove "As soon as we started to move "The music played"
I try to be a good guy But I'm not Who invented this need for love? There's a rage inside me A rage that can crucify a savior "We started dancing "And love put us into a groove "But now he's with somebody new "What does love want me to do?" My false face shows happiness My true face shows hell One is the force of my will The other a force of nature There is no triumph for the will "Let the music play "He won't get away "This groove he can't ignore "He won't leave you anymore" "First do no harm," I say But my desire is to destroy To destroy it all So I can be free Free to love.
"He tried pretending "A dance is just a dance "But I see "He's dancing his way back to me"
"Have you ever heard the story of the One?" he asked me, leaning over his chair.
In a fit of frustration, I'd been staying lately in cheap hotels to live the "good life". But I came to realize it was an illusory waste, not really giving me what I want. So back to the shelter I went to make a more prudent use of my dollars. I don't blame myself for the hotel thing because I had to get it out of my system. Had I not done it the idea would still be eating on me to try it. In the end I found my true home in my lowlife existence.
Which sort of left me with a more open outlook, more accepting of things.
So here I am back in the shelter and I feel these eyes on me. Like I mentioned before, I've been watching "Nash Bridges" who has this character named Angel with some sort of psychic connection to the universe and seems to know things about people before even meeting them. And it was Angel's eyes I'd been feeling on me for the past half hour. Actually, I just thought there was something different about this guy so I filled in the empty space with a TV character for fun.
But that feeling shot through the roof when he spoke to me.
"One what?" I asked defensively. "Last time I heard there was one born every minute." I was trying to clue him in that whatever bullshit he had to sell, I wasn't buying. And believe you me, if you want bullshit stories, come to a homeless shelter. You got guys here in permanent con man mode with fantastically real sounding stories to rip your heart out. But most of the time it's a Rashamon story absolving themselves of any complicity.
So I really didn't want to hear this guy's stupid ass story about "the One" - except for the fact I did.
"The One," repeated 'Angel', sounding as if I should understand. "There's One out there that determines the fate of the world. He doesn't know it - he has no way of even possibly conceiving of it - yet his fate is our fate."
Angel's words did nothing but stomp on my ever-so-fragile nerves. "That's just stupid! Everyone determines their own fucking fate."
"And you have determined this should be your fate?" he frowned, gesturing to my hopeless surroundings.
"Yeah, well...I hate this fucking world."
"The One is unknown to us - cannot ever be known - and yet how we treat him decides if the world lives or dies. God made him completely dependent on his fellow man. He has a direct connection with our Maker. The One is God's weathervane of our souls."
I stared at him unrealizing I was staring, waiting for him to continue. I felt a sadness for this One, knowing what he must be going through. I pictured him wandering destitute, hand out, asking for help - and receiving none. Of all the jobs to be assigned on this godforsaken world, that would be the last one I'd want.
Angel continued: "The world will never see any obvious value in the One outside of what it ascribes to the preciousness of any soul. It takes a blind faith to keep him alive, to blindly take care of everyone regardless. If we fail to value every life, then he slips through the cracks and our fate is sealed."
"Well, no society is going to take care of everyone."
"I would call that a tragic decision. Who do they decide should not be taken care of?"
Well, I certainly knew the answer to that! Angel's story was building me up, making me feel important. I've had flashes of those feelings before when volunteers handed food out with cheer and no thought of judgment of who we were. It always made me think, "Hey...maybe I do count.' But I never dared to believe it. And I was always deeply ashamed my life was so extremely vicarious.
"Well, dude," I admitted, "I gotta say I like your story. It's total bullshit, but I like it. What's funny is if everyone believed it, the whole fucking world would change! We'd all be thinking we have to take care of everyone in order to survive. God, that'd be funny! It'd be like a total reversal of the way things are now."
"The truth will set us free."
"I've probably said that a million times. But heck, man, if you can't prove your story somehow, no one's gonna believe it. Talk about an inconvenient truth!"
"I can think of nothing more inconvenient than death. I do not seek to prove my story true because I already know it to be so. In time, it will be proven so and if our fate is foul we'll cry out, "If we'd only known!" But if you ask me, we already know."
That's when I stared at him a second time, this time wondering just who the fuck this guy is. Had he been reading me, seeing some weakness? More was going on here than I could see but I just couldn't quite put my finger on it. I hate things I can't get to the bottom of so I asked Angel dead on: "So why tell me this story?"
Then Angel's entire demeanor changed, relaxing, pulling away from me and locking his hands behind his head in an air of satisfaction. That made me want to slap him! Did this fucker put something over on me? Dammit, I have to know! Instead, all I see is this Cheshire grin staring back at me with the simple reply of, "Why not?"
