"It's what people know about themselves that makes them afraid."
I'm patched up but I doubt ever to be whole again. I suspect...this is the beginning of the end. Dark, bitter moments still haunt me, aching for death. It's been a devastating experience. To think I engendered that much hate in another human being for my existence - that she would send actual assassins to eliminate me and my ill-favored feelings forever - it puts a new light on the falseness of my ways. I mean, I knew I was a creep, but this...
"Everybody is nobody without somebody."
A thousand thoughts and snippets of writing and rehashed conversations with Debby stream relentlessly through my mind in a literal fever. A fatal turn can come at any second; gurgling sounds in my stomach a defeating reminder. I fear the night, that's when the demons come out to play. The days of pretense are gone. My wife will be forever fucked by a left-wing banker even if he never knows her like I do. Who can live with such a thing?
"Moral on the moon "But back in the worldly fray "Does evil once more."
I don't know what it is about me and dishonesty. Seems I'm addicted to it. A trait I inherited from my father. Lies are a forever wall between you and paradise. You can convince the whole world of all your lies and yet your doom remains inescapable. I have to sit here and wait for all you moron fuckers to figure that out. But I don't think I can survive until you do. The buzzards are flying overhead, waiting for me to make one final slip, hoping I'll give up at last. One thing is for sure: there is no safety that comes from without.
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A Useless Me
I could build a mountain And still not see the sea; I could fill an ocean - With my ship no place to be.
A thousand million starving I'd feed every living day; But my heart would still be yearning To find a loving way.
I could dream an English castle And delight you as a wizard! Yes, all these useful deeds Leave me yet the mental lizard.
I ask my knowing Maker, "How many fields do You need sown?" But my Maker's feeling fine With no fields of His own.
Kindness shown to others Can be quite fulfilling, But a life lived for others Is so very chilling.
They praise me for my acts - Say I'm a holy nation; But I've not shared my love - Life's true foundation.
So what's the use of me - Whose love has not been taken? Life is a futility When your love's forsaken.
P.S. To the guy in Orlando, I have an IP tracker. Just in case you think you're being clever.
Blood under the sun. Oh dear God, it finally happened. Knifed by Debby's assassin in the late afternoon light. He stabbed me and kept right on walking; shanked like a rat in prison. Dear God, what do I do now? I'm all alone, hiding in the abandoned corner of a smelly alley...and bleeding.
What have I done? Here lies the sum total of my life. I don't really count after all. A fear is inside me I've never felt before. I clutch my stomach with one hand, scribble shakily with the other and my head leans against a wall of grimy bricks. I don't think anyone on the face of the earth is as lonely as I am right now.
It's strange watching yourself die. Time slows to a crawl, clinging to every last precious moment. Foolish hopes and desperate dreams finally fade to oblivion. You are what you are. I brought nothing to this planet and I leave with nothing. I'm not expecting my Maker to forgive me. I don't think this was the plan. Dear God, I don't want to die.
Life, love and living were always meant for others. But the sky and the moon and flowers were mine. Now, as I look to the sky, I see even that no longer belongs to me. You bastards take everything, don't you?
Oh, please, could you stop bleeding. My hand can't stop the flow of life out of me. Who but I dies like this? I can't even afford the expense of tears; my futureless ways exposed at last. They'll find me here and throw me and my notebook into the dustbin of forgotten history. Can I truly say I don't deserve it?
I needed Debby and I finally forced her to put an end to my pathetic pleas. Sooner or later my emotional crimes had to catch up with me. Jilted lovers join the French Foreign Legion and die forlornly in desert battles under false names. There's no hiding in the end. Dreams are meant to be - reject them at your own risk.
I keep staring at this wadded up piece of trash. At this point, just to spend a few more precious moments with it seems the most vital thing in the world. We're both fully useless now and discarded. But unlike me, I can see at some point in time the wrapper served a useful purpose. Whereas I've been wandering this lost globe never believing a word I've said.
"By their fruits ye shall know them." -Jesus Christ
There's a new hatchet job book out on John Lennon (shame on HuffPo for giving it free advertising!) A lot of it is retread crap, much of which John spoke about openly. "John Lennon: Jealous and cruel!" screamed the headline. I guess the jackass author is counting on no one remembering Lennon actually wrote a song called "Jealous Guy" and how he often interlaced his lyrics with his struggle to get past his own insecurities. God damn you bastards for picking on a soul so helpless with the truth.
"No short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of Tricky Dicky Is gonna mother hubbard soft soap me With just a pocketful of hope." -John Lennon
As I've noted before, small minds see a small world and any life can be reduced to tabloid garbage. Take that Jesus guy for example: mouthing off to his elders as a child (to priests, no less!), creating a one man riot in our institutions, rebuking the holy scripture (what do you mean I can't do an eye for an eye??) and died a convicted criminal! Methinks this guy cries out for an expose! (But, of course, the author would only be exposing himself).
I know what Deep Throat said to Woodward: "Follow the money." And that's certainly a good barometer to untangling the greed in human hearts. But it doesn't untangle the Why. Why do we get into these messes in the first place? Well, as any good con man can tell you, the greatest human desire is to feel good about oneself. So I ask you, punk, do you? Do you feel good about yourself?
Con men predators are only interested in those who say "Yes". In fact, the more resounding the "Yes" the better. Those who stay silent are those who truly feel good about themselves, having no need to answer. Those who say "No" are too self-aware of their weaknesses and thus are dangerous to con (but not impossible, certainly). But the Yes People are ripe for the picking, having proven a state of denial. And it is in the denial of human hearts where the con man vampire lives. But my, my - what a shitty home!
Pity the Yes People. These grieving souls have lost their own lives and must feed off the lives off others. Over and over and over again this little drama of fending off death gets played out on a daily basis. Always, always when you look to move forward in your life, a Yes Person's voice will be present begging you not to. In a mockery of true life, you may choose to build a pseudo-bond with that voice and heed its words. But we all know the resentment that brings and the inevitable desire to sever the ties that bind. And until those ties are severed, we suffer.
Hard to feel good about yourself when your choices suffer your soul. That's when you hear the religion of man. Each loser brings his own religion, his own rationale on why he's the good guy. The more infected he becomes with these lies, the sicker the soul. This makes a person mighty touchy when you disregard the religion of his feel-good lies! We all know the desire to kill when an unwanted truth surfaces. Imagine no religion. Imagine everyone telling the truth.
But all this shit has to manifest itself some way until we decide to own up. There's a documentary coming out called I.O.U.S.A. and it asserts we as a nation owe 56 trillion dollars. It lays out solutions to fix this so we can avoid a catastrophic and epic disaster. But those "solutions" are nonsense to create a false hope for our false ways. This debt will never be repaid. We want to destroy our economic system so we can finally be free of it. We must move forward to the time without money. We do this because we want to live.
Secretly, the entire time I wrote my book I did it with one thing in mind: getting Debby back. I don't give a rat's ass about society and its bullshit, I just wanted her. And there's a line in the book where I confess that as the Debby character says, "This may be a satire to you but to me it's a love story." Love is the driving force behind every life, as water is to a man parched in the desert. So if you really want to know what's going on, follow the love. It's where the survivors will be.
Debby (in all sincerity): "You deserve love!" Tim (in all sincerity): "Really? That's great! Because it's you I love!" Debby: "Oh wait. You don't deserve love after all."
For what was real Can no longer be; And what was hoped Washed out to sea.
The choices of life And the choices of death; Are determined by The taking of breath.
I told the world (and maybe myself), There's a future for me Inside of my hell.
But nature sees not Man's foolish lies, The man who's not breathing - He always dies.
"Dear Debby, There's a thousand things I want to tell you but what's the point? You already know them. I loved you before I met you - I always knew you were out there. Meeting you changed my life and the course of my life. And let it be known it was for the better. But I missed you to death. You can choose whether or not to believe that - but choose well."
No day is an exception. At noon when the sun is nigh, three booming knocks pound upon my cell door and in comes the beast. The beast is eyeless so that it may never see the devastation it wreaks - and then perhaps gain a soul. Never must the beast change for many are those who benefit from the use of it. Both slave and enslaver, it is said no one can stand against him.
With the unrepentant force of one who knows not what one does, the monster swings his club wildly within my cell. Some blows hit and some not - but the terror is always high. The beast has ears but understands no language. What it does hear is the satisfying sound of human wailing - a wailing it knows is necessary but knows not why. So my words are lost. As another piece of hope dies and another pound of flesh taken, the monster recites its phonetic words of misery: "I am the sin of the world," and takes leave to visit the next cell. Such is the way to my daily bread.
It has been deemed that only through the beast may food come. No man, no woman, no child upon this earth may eat without the monster's approval. Its blackmailing behavior forces goodness from mankind, they say, so that we may live well and free. Belief in the beast's necessity is the binding ring of darkness; an artifice of hope. Hell, it is said, is for children and dreamers. Upon these precepts lays our foundation.
Though it's true you may refuse the beast entry it's the slow death of starvation as the only alternative. Each day I struggle with the choice and pray to get out. In here, there is no greater crime than wanting to live. This punishment of sanity drives many souls to madness. But the manmade metal that surrounds me has been perfected through the eons to recreate the hardness of men's hearts. Looking out through the bars of my tiny window I can see in the distance hundreds of signs of the times, one of which unflinchingly declares: Only The Hard Survive!
When the monster is elsewhere, the snakes come in. One snake brought with him the religion of man to save me. "You are hurting, my son," he soothingly slithered, "and I seek to take your pain away. I ask you, do you not believe in God?" "Of course not!" "But you must, my son, you must! Your eternal soul depends upon it. Believe truly in your heart that God loves you and freedom shall be yours!" Like a dope peddler was this snake who called itself holy, selling me the drug of Wishful Thinking. I was about to reply when the three knocks of the beast thundered upon my door causing the snake to bolt upright and say, "See? Here is God now!" And it slithered back through its hole.
All snakes are the same, carrying a message of love for the beast. One snake said it was my responsibility to love the monster because all our great achievements were due to him. Do I want to destroy the world? Another spoke of a club of beast lovers ("Republicans" he said) who worshiped the beast and spoke of its power to crush any enemies. And yet another came with a bribe saying all my beatings would end (but still not leave my cell) so long as I swore to ignore the beatings of others. One even said I lied about having pain from the beatings! Every snake had a lie of its own to share but one thing they did each repeat: that they were once as I was.
They say I'm stupid not to go along with the ways of monsters. The world belongs to the beast so only a fool defies it! The soulless signs, the sly snakes and the seductive sinners plead for me to become as they are. But all this consternation is based upon the illusion the beast will always be. Only for a time can it exist and when it's gone the order of the world will reverse and whoever is most human wins.
That is why every morning when I wake up, I look at the world around me and I say: "Fuck you, world."
"No, but they wounded me. Not sure if I'll recover."
"Why not go to that clinic you've gone to before?"
"What, and tell them how I got shot by personal assassins? Might as well just write 'Loser' on my forehead for them to find out someone hates me this much."
"That won't stop them from helping you."
"No, but it stops me from going there."
"So what have you been doing to stay alive?"
"Burning bridges."
"You told me once that's exactly what got you into this mess, that you cut yourself off from anyone who could help you."
"I know - but I figure if I keep on doing it that means I'm right."
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I've been watching this whole bailout thing with some fascination. Talk about a contrived mess. Of course, no one mentions the million pound (and growing) elephant in the room: that money does not exist. Instead, we run around breathlessly about how helpless we are without it. Lions and tigers and bear markets - oh my! "Needing money" is a sheer canard.
Using money as a measuring stick for worth is perfectly fine. Withholding food, shelter and medical care because of it makes us what we are: backward, retarded savages. And have you ever seen a backward, retarded savage with a future? "First time for everything," I hear you say. "Going down the toilet," I say.
Each day 20,000 times the sum total of energy needed on this planet is radiated to us from the sun. So why don't we harness it? Because - we say - money won't let us! It's just "not practical" to survive. Dumb ol' me just doesn't understand how the whole world will fall apart without our money god. Hey, look around you, have I got news for you...
Greed is not good (just felt like I had to say that). There's a very linear line from the rejected ideals of the 60's to the Me Decade of the 70's to the Greed is Good 80's into the institutionalization of greed in the 90's to the rampant open larceny and profiteering of these the Ought's. So it's no wonder when confronted with this "crisis" the only option we find palatable is a greed based one. Keep trying it enough times and maybe it will work, eh? Keep false hope alive!
Unheard are the discarded voices declaring this massive thievery won't work. I saw an article comparing the bailout vote to the treacherous vote for invading Iraq. How true that is. And at some point in the future we'll feign shock it didn't work out as [allegedly] planned, we'll repeat the same "If we only we had listened to so-and-so..." phrases and then find ourselves in the same type of lose-lose situation we are in Iraq. Pride goeth before what again??
Sacrificing yourself on the altar of something is the traditional human way of declaring something holy. Truth is, it just makes you dead.
