Random Thoughtlessness

God says to follow love - but does not fund it. We are expected to give our all in that pursuit - yet get nothing to survive in return.

I'll be damned, God is a Republican after all.

How does a dishonorable person sit at a table of honorable people and not be Judas? Both leaving and staying seem a betrayal. My outlaw ways have done me in. But in their eyes I see they assumed better of me.

Fuck, I'm fucked.

Outside, they love me for my lies and hate me for my truths. Inside, I hate me for my lies and love me for my truths. But in the end, my dick is killing me.

All wars are just extensions of men's dicks killing them.

I met this woman who bar hops for sex in secret from her relatives. She seduces ex-Mossad agents with her long, luscious legs but has creeping doubts on her ability to decide who to marry. She will wholly dedicate herself to her family when the time comes. But does she know she must dedicate herself to her own life first to be the mother she wishes to be? Power in all forms corrupts.

A sniper guy told me of his taking out an NVA general in a secret (i.e. illegal) mission in Cambodia. He said eight maybe ten guys in the world could have made that shot. High winds separate the best from the merely great, he explained. I think when he shot his rifle it was the only time he felt alive: when taking lives and above the law. He held up his empty glass and looked at me through the distorting curves. The sniper had no interest in reality unfiltered. Maybe he feared to find he'd killed for no reason.

I saw the President take a dump on the White House lawn right in front of God and everybody. This happened on my way to church to buy a big screen TV. He asked the reporters following him if his shit stunk (and if they wanted to be at the next White House briefing). Headlines the next day blared, "President's shit does not stink!" This was considered a great political victory for him. Several supporters swore his shit smelled like sweet flowers - thinking that clever! His detractors said his whole body stinks like shit - thinking that clever! The debate rages on but no one knows why.

The rest of us live with the reality of the stinky shit.

After listening to the bar-hopping sex lady, I told her how I like to masturbate to the fantasy of being Britney Spear's hot tub sex slave with her gorgeous foot pushing down on my head. She stopped talking to me after that. She thought I would be blind to her reaction. What happens if she finds out I was not?

This aging slut walks by, 45 going on 25. Her low cut jeans reveal forming age spots but she's nervously oblivious to it (and takes drugs for that). If she can just lie to herself one more day, that's all she asks. I overhear her talking to a friend. "A husband is the LAST thing I want! Never again!" I think she will be very lonely in the nursing home.

I've been making movies on the computer. But when I'd play the finished product they'd start stuttering near the end. I was like, "Fuck! Damn! Shit! Hell! All this goddam work and the file is corrupt! Motherfucker!" Panicked, I replicated it in another format. Same fucking thing! I'm pulling my hair out, not understanding why it runs fine in preview but the final result craps out. I spend precious cash looking for better editing software. Same fucking thing! I got no way to troubleshoot this shit. God and his sniper rifle tag me once again.

Though wounded, I fought on. Finally I find out the PC software that plays movies is what's crappy, not the actual movie file itself. Runs just fine on YouTube. So there are two lessons here: 1. Don't always believe God is out to get you and 2. Life is a mind fuck.

Random Sunday Video: Serenity From The Ashes

I was at the TV section of Walmart on April 19, 1993. There across multiple screens I and a few other gatherers watched in shock as the Branch Davidian compound went up in flames. It had been an amazing standoff but after the four ATF officers got killed I had a hard time imagining a nonviolent ending. To this day I do not believe the government has told the whole truth though I do not care to speculate what that truth may be. I'll let those that know carry it on their heads.

What I did know was that the compound was bulldozed and all the trace evidence destroyed. I'm sure a plausible reason was given for that, there always is. But to me in my mind, the site remained smoldering for many years and needed to be put to rest for healing. Hasn't been until the last couple of years that I have wanted to visit and each time I have there is one thing I noticed that jumped out at me: peaceful serenity.

It literally took an effort for me to leave on this late Sunday afternoon. The wind was still, the birds tweeted softly and the shadows were friendly. I did not want to leave that oasis in the world! The land I decided needed to rest invited me to rest. I had to share this for everyone to see. I patched together this video for your entertainment and to hopefully let you experience a taste of what I did. I have a feeling I'll be going back on that peaceful road.

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Random Sunday Video: Going To Temple

Many are those who say they don't believe in God - but do. Many are those who say they believe in God - but don't. And that is why I never listen to what people say! I just watch what they do. I see on what they place the most importance. Undeniable is the drive in every human to serve something outside of himself, something bigger than he is, something to die for. You're going to pick something, may as well pick wisely.

I realize that in order to go along to get along I too must conform to the values and mores of my fellow man - no matter how mad or delusional. I reasoned to myself: that which we suffer for the most must be the greatest god in all the land! In the olden days we had kings and the king would take all our stuff for himself. Men in priestly robes would declare that God's will - and then they wanted all our shit too. Today, it's different.

Or is it?

Who are the new kings who plunder at will? Who are the new priests we dare not question? What omnipotent purpose do we allow to control our lives and fates? Seek and ye shall find!

Making Everyone Jesus

So I pull into Albertsons with a repressed mind scared out of my wits buck naked in this huge oversized cargo van with giant windows on all sides and I'm right in front of the store with its long wide row of full length plate glass windows but I don't think about that as I get out of the van and run to this hidden spot between a square brick pillar and some vending machines and it's there I stand to go pee but then I realize I can't do that because it will take too long and someone's bound to see my naked ass and just because I think it's OK to be naked I will be crucified by people who believe they will never get into heaven unless they crucify me so it's life and death on all sides as I try to wriggle my way back to the car unseen but to do that I have to go back in front of the plate glass windows where all the shoppers and employees are and I start to wonder if I've been already seen anyway since I decided not to look when I got out of the van because I so badly wanted to believe I could be naked keeping my eyes shut and not facing up to anything so that's when waves and waves of panic and constricting fear strangle and wrangle me paralyzing me in my dilemma to get back inside the van with the huge windows where I might be seen anyway but I find myself telling myself all over again "Don't worry about the windows no one can see you" just like when I left the van but to make things worse on the other side of the pillar is this famous guy who cannot communicate except with his "hand with only three bones in it" which is what the 60 Minutes guy said when he interviewed him as the guy showed him how he has overcome everything to be successful against all odds and here I am who was born with everything and then some standing naked in the Albertsons parking lot dying of shame and I'm thinking it's moments like this why I can't have any friends or lovers and once again I catch myself praying for instant death then there's another famous guy next to the first one who's writing down all these huge numbers interspersed with letters and he claims he's writing the formula for life which I think is all bullshit but he got interviewed on 60 Minutes too and I'm thinking at least well he's famous and can live well and is revered even though he's full of shit and I have to ask myself would I want to be successful even if in reality it wasn't true and I feared I might say yes because anything beats standing naked in front of a busy grocery store needing to pee and sure enough here come some people headed to the front door from the lot trapping me where I am and as I peek through the large store window I see a large red headed woman working in the meat department and I can tell she's a "no nonsense" type of person meaning she never thinks just acts and if she sees me it will be a swift and certain death as she imagines telling all her friends at church how she put down a pervert and saved the world just like Jesus and I realized I was making everyone in the store Jesus as I saw this pair of good ol' boys who would love to capture me and be hero to all the nooky in the store so they could "prove" how moral and hateful they are of naked men so they could get naked later on with the women they hoped to impress and even though my van is only a few cars away it seems like a thousand miles and I can't take it anymore having a heart attack dying naked in the daylight on black asphalt and finally I'm known at last to everyone but only as "the guy who died naked alone outside"

Sara Smile

"You don’t understand," she asserted. "It’s complicated and you have no idea what my life is really like."

“You mean those secret self-doubts you never talk about to anyone that make you question your massive self-confidence and lead you to think your "image" is oh-so-necessary and vital when in reality if you would open up you’d find you’re fine and don’t need it but you’re afraid to do that because that would mean a loss of control and your mistakes would be out there for all to see and everyone would find out for real if you’ve got what it takes or not?”

Sara is someone you could put in a burlap bag and she’d still be dressed to the nines. She carries that much class. But she had come to a crossroads in her life: keep her art alive or keep her image alive. So here she was explaining to me over lunch why she no longer paints. She thought her pain was special, unique in all the world! How fucking quaint. Yes, Sara, you are the first and only person to suffer from self-doubt, I could not possibly know about such things.

Art is a never-ending path, scary and deflating yet holding the promise of ultimate truth and beauty. And it can be like punching holes in the wind: what’s the point of even trying? All I can say is we are bound to search for that which is its own reward. Some are only willing to sing in the dark. Some are only willing to masquerade in the light. So much easier to be Oz behind the curtain, pulling the levers of manipulation, fooling the discontented people – and fooling yourself into perceiving a benefit.

Sara owned a shop where she sold dead items for dead money and walking away from that was too much too ask. She felt guilty that the only time she felt alive was when she painted. She made no money from it, ergo it was not a responsible thing. Or so she tried to convince herself. Her true secret doubts were not about the worth of her paintings but about the worth of her life without them. Painting’s passion pulled her away from the safety of the shop; pulled her into life.

As a compromise Sara tried painting without passion, the best of both worlds she reasoned, to paint without being pulled away. But the reactions to those paintings were minimal and apathetic. To an artist, apathy is far more fatal than hate. That’s when she found herself in a position never before in her life: at the choosing crossroads. Having reached it she took the path of self-pity’s least resistance, telling herself that the reaction from her passionless paintings proved she had no worth as a painter. Like all of us, Sara sought an argument that no one can debate.

But I knew more than what I said to Sara, seeing the obvious joy she got from her first burst of paintings and the discovery of the magic of creating life. No one else gave it much thought when she quit and she was glad to pass it off as a mere dalliance of which stopping meant no consequence. But she didn’t fool me. As much as she tried to feed herself her “inarguable argument” that her life belonged in the shop, I saw now the consuming emptiness in her eyes, pleading to escape.

Sara looked up from her artsy sandwich to see my face with an expression that could only be described as saying, “Well??” I tried not to laugh as she recognized the futility of arguing with me. I saw the wheels turning in her head: Should I use my shop argument on him? What excuse can I give that he will buy? How can I get out of this with my image intact? But her image meant nothing to me. Only she did. (Though I sweated blood I wasn’t handling all this like a jackass – as is my wont.)

Sara’s mind had come full circle: she started to say “You don’t understand” all over again but the obvious lameness of it prevented her. She merely mumbled, “Yeah, well…” and lowered her eyes back to her plate, daring me to pursue her. I was too scared for that. Who knew what inner vases I might break in my clumsiness? Ah, to be more sure of myself! I started out strong but ended the coward. Maybe there was nothing more I could do anyway?

All I know is that evening in the shop as the late rays of the winter sun peeked through the store window as Sara turned the sign to “Closed” she was free-falling in a seemingly bottomless well; no apparent way out. I knew her brow was wrinkled in concern finding stupidities in her life she’d never experienced before. Dare she paint again? Even now, after betraying it and having doubtlessly angering the art gods? What worth repentance?

But Sara I’ve already seen you - your generosity, your warmth, your wonderful sense of family. So smile Sara smile. It’s true your image hides the true you – but having seen the true you this I can say: you are love. Love that made my heart sing to the heavens, giving me life like I hadn’t known in years. All the world should know that beauty. And though flowers pulled may not be replanted, eager seeds await in your hand for life’s pursuit anew.

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