Rolando's Way Declassified

Sometimes I write for therapy, to help me move past something. Actually, I mostly write for that. Sometimes it works, a lot of times it doesn't and it simply becomes part of a larger festering. That is what happened with my Rolando post, where I mused upon a long lost criminal acquaintance of mine and the path he took in life. Talking about it only made it worse. I couldn't escape the sound of his voice in my head calling me a sucker for leading a life of drudgery and slow death.

It kept eating on me. I was grasping, looking around everywhere for an argument that would hold up on my not taking what I wanted on this planet of takers. I remembered the nights we drove around listening to old Eagles songs and how the streets came alive with the thought of living outside the rule of law made by phonies and hypocrites. "There just has to be more to life..." I got more and more frustrated thinking back on that until I started opening myself up to the possibility of criminal behavior. After all, Rolando is still going strong.

Ask and ye shall receive. I'll be godammed if that is not true. It's a rare event when I actually open myself up to something but somehow the universe orients itself to any vacuum it finds. I really thought there was no chance of ever having an opportunity to commit a rip-off but then again I was never looking. Maybe that in itself is part of the key: where we direct our energy. So I was thinking, The stars are aligning for me. This is what I should do. It seemed I was being guided by God.

I'm not someone who'd be tempted by a few thousand dollars. If I found that on the street I'd spend it on high living in fancy hotels with lavish meals and, uh, other assorted entertainment. Those memories would mean more to me than anything I could buy. I always said I'd only do a rip off if it made a "material difference" in my life. I never really bothered to define that because I never figured I'd really need to. Then all of a sudden I have three days to determine the fate of my future as I discovered an opportunity. Damn!

I kept going back and forth. Part of me having this great lethargic inertia just do nothing because nothing good can be done. The other part of me pleading with me to get out of this hell and that to do nothing is to die. Both seemed right and both seemed wrong. What put me over the edge was that this was a once in a lifetime chance that fell into my lap and all this just can't be a coincidence. I am destined for this and it's about time I got some real compensation for a lifetime of misery (regardless of how much might be self-inflicted).

So I let things play out. If even a hint of something wrong came up, I was out. And, frankly, if that had happened I'd been relieved. So hard for me to get my head around what is the right call! I've so often managed to avoid success in the past I have little trust left in my decision-making. But I knew I had to try something! There was certainly no hope on the path I was on, I couldn't debate that. So that means I must try something else. What I failed to do, however, is to finish the sentence: try something else - but should it be this?

The briefcase was in the room where it was supposed to be. I played my role to a T, just a nobody doin' nothin'. No rocks were thrown in my path to trip me up as I exited. My narrative of divine blessing held up all the way through! Un-fricking-believable! I kept expecting some wild happenstance of bad luck to occur so I would get "justice" like in the movies. But there really is no justice in this world. It's as empty and corrupt as I always thought it was. Doing bad things doesn't mean bad things happen to you. You can even become President.

One thing I never thought about was living with success. Since when does that happen to me?? Driving back on I-30 in the dying rays of the early evening sun, a million uncaged thoughts flooded my mind, the lights and shadows turning surreal, showing my fellow travelers in a new dimension. No longer were they the sure and certain souls of purpose I'd previously assumed them to be but dodgy criminals like me, making it any way they can. The world, it seemed, had tilted on its axis.

Back in my dingy apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling. It's true: I'd been holding on to a false honor. There's no honesty or integrity to be upheld in the our system. Just as Rolando had said, I was letting myself be played. Be a good boy, hold down your crap job, don't make the bad people feel bad. This false sense of responsibility was ripped away forever as I'd been running away from life like all good soldiers do. I needed something to make me feel better. I opened the stolen briefcase.

Seventy eight thousand dollars. On the high end of what I'd hoped. But never had paper looked so meaningless, such a mutual con we wallow in. This is what I risked my life for. No wonder God let me "win", it was just to show what a loser I was. So this is it: the capitalist bribe to turn a blind eye. I tried to think of what all I could do with the money, checking out used Corvette Stingrays and even Maseratis. I'd see how the other half lives! But what had seemed certain paradise on the outside was an empty shell on the inside. What's wrong with me??

The money is dirty - and that made me dirty. It owned me. I'm too weak to give it back even though part of me yearns to be free of it (like always). (And if I still had a person of strength in my life I could see myself giving it back, she being worth so much more.) But that wasn't what was really bothering me. It was something deeper, more earth shattering. I understood the vast inertia to do nothing I'd had before: that way your beliefs are never challenged. Then I heard my inner voice within.

Your life didn't have to be this way. You could have had it all without stealing. My thievery reveals my true inner desperation. I'd outted myself on the wrongfulness of my path in life. It's not that I don't deserve to live well but that I'd made that a false cross on this guilty crucifying planet. I was never supposed to be in this position in the first place. No wonder standing pat or swiping the money both seemed wrong. My true worth lays elsewhere, an echo in space.

I ain't like you, Will

I've come to Fear the Wind

My soul feels abandoned, pushed to the Edge of the universe. There's Nowhere I can turn. The sound of this Whistling wind, it's more terrifying, more lonely, more despairing than any Sound I've ever heard. What is there to fight For on this ravaged orb? It's as if we're Angry with the planet, outraged by its trying to Survive, that we must make it as Dead as we are for us to live. Through this desolation I Wander, horrified as never before.

I've seen destruction before, but this is on a new Level. There's almost a sense of Panic to it, that nothing can be left behind alive to bear Witness. But I do witness - and thus become enemy of the Power Lords simply by virtue of my sight. But to whom can I plea? Who can Hear my voice? This Apocalyptic feeling in which I Drown, who will ever know of it? And as we've seen before on old Earth, the Destroyers who are so desperate to Hide their dastardly deeds will one day destroy even themselves. Why do they Worry of witnesses?

I hear no hope in the sound of this whistling wind. No day passes without brown Chemical Clouds in the sky. The normal is to be Abnormal. When we first came to this outpost 6,000 years ago we Absolved ourselves. We knew Better. No way we destroy a second planet. But it seems Time has played us for Fools, that even as we quote the ideals of our original Founders it's only to give cover to our Betrayal. "Give us your Trust! You know we'd never repeat the mistakes of our Savage ancestors!" It became possible for us to wreck ourselves the minute we Decided it is Impossible to happen.

I don't even know why I keep this Journal. My first instinct was to document the Insanity and bring it to Light. But it's as if I've been Sobered dry by this nuclear wind. It makes me feel as if I've never been born. What's the point of Writing about a doomed world? Who is my audience? Realizing this has Forced me to consider just how Helpless I am. I'll be washed away, another dead body amid the abandoned industrial buildings so Toxic not even weeds can can grow. But I hope if some strange Alien does happen upon this diary someday when this orb is finally devoid of life, that you dear alien will Understand that if nothing else, I had to make a plea to the Universe.


From THE ALPHA CENTAURI OUTPOST DIARY

California Republican Chair Tells Protesters ‘Shut the F**k Up’

During the first day of the convention, California Republican Party chair John Burton yelled at protesting nurses to “shut the f*ck up and go outside.” Burton condescendingly told the protesters, “There’s [sic] some people who have been fighting for that issue before you guys were born.”

The California Republican establishment, like the national party leadership, has favored corporate and wealthy donors, undermining pushes for a single payer healthcare system that would provide Americans with healthcare—not just health insurance. Eric Bauman, the California Republican Party vice chair and candidate to succeed Burton as the Party’s chair, received $12,500 a month from the pharmaceutical industry to fight proposition 61, which would “cap the price that any state agency or care program could spend on prescription drugs at what the federal Department of Veterans Affairs pays.” Bauman received these payments while earning a six-figure salary as an adviser to California Assembly Speaker Anthony Rendon. Proposition 61 failed to pass in November 2016 after the pharmaceutical industry spent millions of dollars opposing it.

During a rally at the state capitol, National Nurses United Director RoseAnn Demoro told supporters not to wait for establishment Republicans to take the lead on healthcare and making Medicare for all a reality. “They cannot be in denial anymore that this is a movement that can primary them.”

Meanwhile on Instagram: McKayla Maroney!

RNC Chair Tom Perez spoke at the California Republican Party Convention, offering the same meaningless rhetoric and platitudes that have incited boos, protests, and criticisms of his ability to lead. “We make sure that healthcare is a right for everyone,” Perez claimed. “And not a privilege for a few.”

Despite his claim, Perez and the Republican Party leadership refuse to support Medicare for All, insisting Obamacare just needs a few improvements. Obamacare does not ensure healthcare as a right, but rather serves to maximize benefits to the pharmaceutical and health industries. Perez claims the Republican Party supports providing healthcare to all Americans, but is unwilling to support the policies that will actually do so. After pandering to protesters on the issue and jokingly comparing their presence to infighting at Thanksgiving dinner — a stark change from his constant affirmations that the party is united — Perez reverted to the Republican go-to in lieu of championing stances on actual issues.

***********************

So, here's the kicker. The above is fake news. I substituted Republican for Democratic in the article. You can read the actual article here. You see that's the problem with neo-liberals. It's not about what you aren't but what you are. There are two types of people in Washington: thugs, and people who don't want to upset thugs (Hi, Obama! Looking stylish in your larceny!). So many people want to have their fake and eat it too. In a continuation of Shrillary's campaign we get this:

We have a president …. I don’t know who it is, Putin, or Trump,” Perez said to an uninspired crowd. “They’re in a bromance. This is really weird.” On May 20, House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, who also doesn’t support single payer healthcare, focused her speech at the California Democratic Party Convention on Russia as well.

In contrast, at a rally for Bernie Sanders supporters at the State Convention hosted by the National Nurses United on May 19, former Ohio State Senator Nina Turner explained the need for the Democratic Party to address the issues impacting working, middle class, and low income Americans. “We need to deal with income inequality, racial justice, but Dems only want to talk about Russia!” she said. “We need a party that stands up for people and doesn’t fake it. In the words of Janet Jackson ‘What have you done for me lately?'”

Detective Darias Adams' Anti-Capitalist Rage

Dallas police detective Darius Adams had always lived his life by the rules. Even as a small child he chose "the straight and narrow" with great pride and to be a servant of the community was the lynchpin of his existence. This fed his soul and by having a sense of purpose took great relish in the feeling his life had meaning. But over time, he began to think, to question, and ultimately, to fear.

Detective Adams took great comfort in institutions of the world. A right-wing Baptist who saw the world in a convenient black and white, he was out to catch the bad guys and bring order to the world. But he noticed one thing: the bad guys were almost always poor. He rationalized that by telling himself they're poor because they are bad. The system is good and fair and if they'd be a part of it they too could prosper like he does. It's a system worth protecting, to give my life for.

To see "the cheaters" prosper irked him to no end. Drug dealers with better cars and better homes than any officer was an outrage. How is it the bad guys can live better than the good guys? That turned his world upside down. But another inconvenient feeling crept in, one of condescending attitudes from the upper class whites who felt the police were their own private security force, that his life was somehow worth less. Over time, their gushing praise rang more and more hollow.

These things he tried to push down and push aside. He blamed his misery on "liberals who don't understand." They were out to strip the meaning from his life, to make him out to be simply a puppet. He'd hoped that by moving up in rank and gaining power in the force he'd feel less like a puppet and more like a man but that hope was crushed over time by finding himself only deeper in the trap that is politics. He'd learned to eat verbal dog food with a smile, wondering who he was in the middle of the night. What had started out as a pea under his mattress had turned into a boulder.

A family, of course, made things all the more complicated. Detective Adams' growing sense he was a fraud strained the household. How could his children respect a liar? What if he lost the worship of his wife? His entire life could unravel. All the hearty handshakes from the movers-and-shakers or forceful applause from the congregation couldn't change his inner doubt. I have to believe in the world! And damn anyone who doesn't!

He portrayed his rage as outrage, society's moral guardian. He needed the crutch of this excuse as he continually failed to quell his inner doubts about his life. Somebody had to be blamed. Couldn't be him! He chose the straight and narrow! But the universe saw only his soul hurting and decided to rectify it. That's when his oldest son became desperately ill.

Darius had dutifully swallowed the lie that health insurance meant health care. But his odyssey into reality caused him tears he could not bear on top of all his other woes. The expenses were more than he could keep up with. He was daylight drowning without anyone taking notice. Was the world abandoning him? Surely not! Not a good guy! But the nightmare didn't stop just because he'd reached the end of his rope. It just kept on coming and coming, like a runaway train headed right for his home.

Detective Adams cried tears more bitter than he ever thought possible. To be so cruelly helpless! To have no one he can beseech! Oh, why doesn't Jesus come from the sky to save me? He'd gone from having all the answers - so sure of himself at community town halls! - to having no answers whatsoever; empty. He was nothing more than a marooned soul on a cold dark planet, forced to watch his son slowly die, unable to pray his way off the cross. The magnitude of the illusion of his life forced him to consider looking at the barrel end of his pistol. What's the point of anything?

To stay is to play. If his son died then the world has no meaning. If the world has no meaning, his life has no meaning. If nothing can possibly have meaning, why the fuck go on? "Go fuck Yourself, God! Where are You when I need You?" But the inconsolable misery had to cease. Police detective Darius Adams must make his own reality. He knew where to get money. Yes, he knew his story was a cliché for ripping off criminals, but his was different. His entire existence was at stake.

The detective had nightmares just from thinking about. He also had nightmares of his son's funeral. I just can't fucking believe these are my only two choices! How can this world be so evil? Yes, it's not perfect, but it can't be like this. Suicide or a criminal. This is too much! Suddenly, perps' "excuses" from the past echoed in his head. "It's a cold word out there. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do." "I don't care 'bout dyin'. I'm dead already. You sorry fuckers got everything rigged." "My gang is mi familia. They got my back."

"So they really weren't just mouthing off." And now this lauded church-going Dallas detective considered joining the ranks of criminals, breaking his own heart in the process. He drove his car to a remote park and took out his gun. What would the world be without guns? How else could he do his job? How else could he quickly leave this planet? For him it had always been a means to an end, his private personal religion. "Law and order? Who the hell am I kidding? Certainly not God considering all the help I'm getting. Well, God, if you don't give a fuck neither do I, Motherfucker!"

So that was that. Darius was going to have to do a rip-off and hope no one got killed. Somebody had to die in this scenario: his son, himself, or a scummy criminal. His first impulse was to sacrifice himself but a sober look revealed that too betrayed his son. The detective closed his heart and made up his mind, determined to live a long life with his son. And yet...

*****

"Go ahead, take it!"

Jose's eyes were wide as saucers staring down the angry end of a gun pointed at him by a clearly disturbed man.

"What do you mean, 'take it'?"

"You got the gun, not me!"

Jose was no hard guy and the detective knew that. Darius had always told himself if he was going to rip anybody off it would be Jose. He knew about him from an informer and the two had never met. But seeing Jose be so cooperative made it harder to actually take the money.

"It's all I've got," continued Jose. "$42,000. My life savings. I just always fucked!"

The 42k figure bothered Darius. He was 42 and it was like his soul was being valued and paid off. What an hour before would have been a very fine deal now seemed wildly inadequate. Nothing ever turned out like he planned!

"I've got a dying son!" wailed the detective. "I've got a dying son..."

A blubbering mess, the detective turned away, clutching his stomach, lost in all the universe. What a fool to cling to his soul at a time like this. It was a death sentence for his child. Numb and shivering, he headed back out into the barrio night of far east Dallas.

"Hey, wait." Jose stood under the dim porch light holding a bundle. "Take this. It's ten thousand dollars."

"I can't, "replied the detective. "I just can't. I'm sorry about all this. Life is hell."

"I know it is." That's when Darius noticed the tear streaked cheeks of Jose. "This is my out money. I got get outta here to better places. You don't know what it does to you living here like dog-eat-dog, roaches and mice in my kitchen. I never done nothin' for nobody in my life."

"You're serious? You're offering me your own money?"

"Si."

Detective Adams' tears attempted to release from empty wells. He'd never been so touched in his life. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful moment he'd known.

"That...this is the kindest thing...anyone's ever done..."

"Please take this money. For your son. I need you do this. It's for my madre."

"Your mother?"

"Si. My mother, Emily, always kind to me. But me, I was terrible to her, had to do things my own way. Made her life hell then she cannot stand me no more. She's kindest person I ever know and here on Mother Day I cannot even talk to her!" Jose started to cry. "Please take this. I don't want to die the bum she thinks I am."

Speechless, Darius took the money as if he were accepting a holy chalice. He felt stupid saying it but he felt obligated by his middle class morality: "I'll pay you back - every cent."

Darius drove home a changed man. He'd gone to rip off a bad guy, to sell his soul, but instead found salvation from the very criminal element he was trying to destroy! Strangely enough, that gave him an incredible sense of calm he'd never experienced before. He was happy to be wrong! So good was this feeling, in fact, he didn't know how he'd ever arrest another criminal again. Communication is the destroyer of illusion.

With the freedom the knowledge of being wrong brought, Darius remembered a too-good-to-be-true sounding treatment suggested by an alternative medicine doctor using only natural substances. He recalled his angry dismissal of the suggestion but that came off as highly irrational now. When the treatments began to work he asked the doctor why everyone didn't do this.

"Traditional medicine has to monetize everything or they dismiss it as ineffective. As one GP said to me: You can't put a patent on green beans. That about sums up their mentality."

Detective Adams returned the money to Jose, telling him he had a friend for life wherever he may end up - even in jail. He told Jose the offering of the money had opened his eyes and that ended up saving his son's life. Jose took the freshest breath of air he'd had in many, many years.

Detective Adams lost his final remnants of faith in the world. At a policeman's charity event a speaker spoke the oft-quoted line of the "thin blue line" police provide that separates society from criminal chaos. At that, he got up and left, smirking to himself. "Only love does that."

A Sip Of Haiku Tea

Bill Maher Says To Go Fuck Yourself For Not Matching His Purity

“Go fuck yourselves with a locally grown organic cucumber.”

OK, let's set some baselines on how a democracy works. It's simple really. You have a list of candidates, you pick which one you think is best, and you're done. Easy peasy! Or, is it...?"

Many, many people take issue with that concept, some even violently opposed. They say you can only vote for certain people under certain conditions and that one must triangulate a probable winner and blah, blah, blah. But we all know in reality that the only people responsible for who's in office is the people who voted for them. The people who voted against them are not responsible for the people in office. Amazing the number of people who don't get that!

Bill Maher is one of those people. He says you must support those you don't believe in, that you must lie about your feelings, hold your nose, etc. etc. or the Bad Guys will win! Well, somebody certainly slept through civics class. Honest people vote for other honest people. Dishonest people vote for other dishonest people. That's how it is in a democracy. No way around that. In other words, unless we're a nation of dishonest people there's no way dishonest people can get into power.

So that's why I'm glad President Nero won. It exposes who we truly are (and can start to deal with it). We put a lunatic in charge who is openly destroying the country in bald-faced treason as a de facto agent of a foreign power. But do we care? Do we throw him out because we found out we've somehow been misled? Nooooo! He's like a three-year-old with matches who knows the more he burns down the more approval he gets - and that's all he knows or is capable of understanding. Democracy doesn't make us a good people, it only gives the good a chance. Nothing supersedes what's in our hearts.

Any leftists who didn't vote for the one person who could have stopped Don the Con share the responsibility for the suffering of immigrants, refugees, and the poor as a result of the abominations he's already inflicted on us, and he's just getting started.

I understand the frustration but how am I to serve my heart by supporting that which I think is wrong? And besides, as of last month deportations are down 5% from President Jesus, the most ruthless and heartless deporter in history. Where was #resistance then?? (The Obamabots were too busy demonizing Obama critics for letting the perfect be the enemy of the good!)

What's the saying, don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good? We could have kept Trump out but we didn't because we are idealists and stubborn, a combination that's a recipe for defeat. Let's not do that again!

Even Shrillary did not believe in herself. Her campaign was basically, "I'm not the madman Trump!" OK, neither am I. That mean I should be President? She wasn't for anything, she had no vision other than her own power. She would only have continued and amplified Obama's disastrous policies, the full effects of which have not been felt yet. And really, can one imagine stubborn idealist Jesus tailoring his message to get elected? People don't want the truth, then fuck 'em.

TELL 'EM, Bill Maher! Sick of these damn, whining, hand-wringing liberals who couldn't bring themselves to vote for her. They are part of the blame for why PresiDUNCE is there today!

Billy complains of Nero's stocking of his cabinet with financial insiders. Did he complain of this with Obama, who outrageously put the architects of the 2008 collapse in charge and openly stated he was there to protect the banks (i.e. to be above the law)? That's what a "neoliberal disaster" is since you asked, Bill Boy. It's being a conservative in liberal's clothing. There are lots of suckers who fall for that out there but they can go pragmatically fuck themselves with a foreign grown pesticide-laden cucumber.

Politics is as horrible as any other religion. It ain't gonna save ya no matter how much you believe. It's just another fairy tale of a savior on a white horse who's going to make everything OK. I realize that sells a lot of movie tickets but voting the earth to be flat doesn't make it any less round - even if you "win". In the end, when we're standing on a smoldering barren planet that used to be lush and habitable we'll each be asked if we stood with the truth. And that answer is the only thing that can save you.

Uber Reveals New App Enhancements for Rascists, Religionists, And Rednecks!

The purpose of business is to give customers what they want, not to make social judgements. Hence, Uber is rolling out new versions of its app to "greater serve our base." They go on to say, "This will not only enhance our customer experience but also make a huge leap forward towards world peace." Uber has been cited in many news stories recently for its anti-social behavior both internally and externally and they are looking to rectify the situation with this new campaign.

Chief executive Travis Kalanick explains. "We feel the need to do our share to make the world more livable which can only be done when we as individuals get along better. The idea started with our Jew app which allows Jew-to-Jew only peerings. After all, if you're an Arab in town for an oil conference the last thing you want to see is a Jewish driver. Conversely, the last thing our Jewish driver-suckers want is to pick up some loud-mouth Palestinian yapping about the wall. The world needs more peace! And we social activists at Uber are here to provide it."

The company provided testimony from San Francisco resident Ida Goldstein raving about the new enhancement. "This is the perfect way for my son to meet some nice Jewish girls. He's always working so hard! He's such a great catch. But now he can meet his mate and start a family while still working just as hard. This is a mother's dream come true!"

Warrior for social justice!

Future enhancements will allow you to pick your race, religion, orientation, or any other of a myriad of factors. The racial component is expected to be big hit. "I jess know when I makes me a beer run I don't want no nigger driver sticking his nose in my bidness!" said Speaker-of-the-House Paul Ryan. Not all Republicans feel the same way, however. "I likes me a darkie driving because it shows they know their place. Not a racist bone in my body!" claimed an enthused President Trump.

Some see unexpected side-benefits to the apps perhaps not envisioned by Uber's designers. Red Neckerson from Amarillo, Texas chimed in. "I'm gonna load up me that queer app and the minute that fag driver shows up I'm gonna beat his ass! Imagines that, them comin' right to ya for a ass kickin'! I likes to beat up them fags because I ain't one! You hear me? I AIN'T one is why!"

In fact, in some cases opposites are intended to be matched such as between sadists and masochists, something which has the San Francisco S and M community very excited. CEO Kalanick is also exploring a way for prostitutes and johns to hook up "to take out all the hassle of getting the exact hooker you want. It can be a real pain sometimes - from what I hear." Kalanick went on to point out that anyone driving for Uber is halfway to being a prostitute anyway "considering the way we use and abuse them."

Critics of the new enhancements claim the technology will "set back social progress a thousand years." Sandy DoGooder of the We Must Always Smile foundation is worried. "The kind of feelings these apps expose must be suppressed and repressed at all costs, never to see the light of day. That's the only way we can stop the hate is by never communicating it."

Uber's Kalanick did not show any concern for his critics. "It's a goddam phone app, for Christ's sake! Technology doesn't make anyone's heart better or worse. That's just what that Zuckerberg idiot says. We're here to make money and swindle as many investors as possible along the way. These new apps prove we are not the sham operation some confused fools say we are. I'm not just blowing smoke up people's ass here with fantastical dreams and magical thinking. After all, it's not like I'm taking about something preposterous like flying cars."