I'm A Racist, I Swear!

"Look here, ol' Harry's got a secret!"

"No I don't!" I declared in a preemptive strike.

It was the gang of usual suspects: Larry the Loser, Beer Gut Gary, Redneck Randy, and me. You may ask why I would hang out with them but the real question is why would anyone hang out with me. So here - as in my fucking job - I am stuck.

I'd left the monthly receipt out from my ACLU donation on my chest of drawers and since the only bathroom in my tiny abode is in my bedroom it was left to the scrutiny of unscrupulous eyes. Even as a spy, it's too much for me to be able to hide everything little thing every fricking time. So there I was, caught by Redneck Randy as he presented the blasphemous evidence to the kangaroos.

"Thirty-five dollars! To the ACLU. Always figured ya for a librul pussy, Harry!"

"Nigger lover!" spurted Gary - after fully swallowing his gulp of beer.

Larry didn't want to feel left out as he hated everyone - especially those named Larry. "You're not fooling anyone, Harry, on what you are!"

In this this twisted gang everyone's got your back - with a knife in it. "Hey, guys, I hate niggers, spics, chinks, commies, and lefties too! See? I just said nigger, that proves I'm a racist just like y'all."

"Sayin' it once don't prove nothin'. Ya gotta say it all the time - and mean it."

"Yeah! This ain't Twitter shit! One slip doesn't mean anything if you can't back it up."

"You're a real hypocrite claiming to be a racist, Harry!"

Boy howdy, there I was sitting there like chum in the water with these foul faced sharks circling around certain of a meal to come. Yes, I was scared, but I knew it was because they live in dire fear.

"Look, guys, I say nigger all the time. You've seen me when I get cut off in traffic. I always call them a nigger! And I know all the other names too: porch monkey, jigaboo, coon - " Under pressure of the moment my mind went blank and I was forced to grab my "fit in" list out of the back pocket of my jeans. "- Oh ya, and 'gator bait' and 'moon cricket'!"

"I always liked 'moon cricket'," beamed Randy.

"I'm sorry, but the fact you had to get a list out is highly offensive to me." Gary folded his arms in a huff across his beer belly - after grabbing a fresh can.

"We're not stupid like you think, Harry. We know a racist when we see one and you're just not one."

"Nothing pisses me off more than finding

a black man in a klan outfit!!"

"Dammit, I'm just like everyone else! I'll go cut up a pillowcase, write KKK on it, and spend rest of the evening wearing it. How's that for ya."

"We don't want no fakers in the klan."

"You got no credentials. When's the last time you even joked about burning a cross on a lawn??"

"We're people of integrity, Harry. You can't con us with a little black face or empty slurs."

Great. Now they have integrity. When it comes to being assholes they get on their high horse. Rest of the time they slink around like the cowardly snakes they are, never standing up to anyone. For some reason, I always seem to embolden people around me. I really hate that.

"You guys must not have seen my Twitter account. They're calling me racist and homophobe and even sexist too! I swear, I make nuanced points all the time and they hate me for it."

"Them idiot fuckers say that about everyone! Don't mean a damn thing."

"Twitter is for people got nothing better to do than call people names. They full of ideas no one got any sense of."

"Really, Harry! Getting called racist on Twitter is the best defense you can provide? I had a woman on Twitter call my cat a racist. You'll have to do better than that."

"Shit, don't know what to say. Maybe we could go nigger knocking later?"

"Nah, man, I think we better leave."

"I want to drink my beer someplace where I'm wanted."

"I remember seeing you eat watermelon few weeks back too. We're outta here."

"Hey, what's with this 'cancel culture' move? You're acting like a bunch of lefties now!"

That halted them in their tracks, forcing the cruelty of questioning thought upon them. Can I be called a liberal for this?? Anything but that, Lord! Hating on them is all I got!

The three of them slowly, reluctantly, sat back down, as a dog would after having been scolded. Their furrowed brows felt compelled to speak.

"OK, Harry, but you need to watch yourself. Donating just doesn't sit well with me."

"You're gonna end up wearing feathers in a gay pride parade someday if we don't reel you in."

"We don't want to catch you showing signs of self-respect again, Harry. We need to know we can trust you."

"Don't worry," I sighed, realizing I'd just kept three idiots in my living room just to keep from being alone. "No danger of that."

"What do know about that? Ol' Harry here is a soldier."

Kennedy Quietly Died In The Kitchen Tonight

Get the book!

It happened with an unexpected sigh. She wasn't doing anything different from what she'd always done - never deviating from her lifelong formula for a successful life - when the bottom fell out. She hesitated as if in reply to the observing universe, then continued cleaning the pot from tonight's party. Guests were still in the living room but this was her ritual to have a clean kitchen after serving the meal. Then she'd rejoin all shiny and new.

My God! Will they notice the change in me?

Having happened, it wasn't as unexpected as she'd hoped. Part of her knew. Over the years, too many weights had been added to her burdens. Now, at last, she moved no more. She'd be a laughingstock, a fool for the ages, a sloth mocked by children with light in their eyes. The choke-hold on her heart extinguished the last hope of her unspoken dreams.

What happens now? she pretended not to know.

Outside of the hesitation, Kennedy had shown no outward sign of the devastating event that had just occurred. Do what you always do. Pray no one catches on. She asked God for help in hiding her truth.

Entering the living room to the assembled group it was if she were looking through a two-way mirror: she could see them but they could not see her. It terrified her to think this would be life from now on, viewing the world through a shaded window, skewing reality's perception. An earnest discussion was going on but she only wished to cry out for help.

You're supposed to be happy! What are you going to do: Tell them you've been lying all this time?

She sat down on the sofa as she expected a normal person would. She had trouble assimilating the words being spoken around her, as if she were a leaf stuck in a river who couldn't keep up. Her interest was elsewhere. She cursed God for not answering her prayer even as Heaven, facing an irreparable loss, wailed its concern for her.

Dear God, you don't expect me to break down and scream right here in front of everyone do you?? That's too much to ask! When the answer came back in the affirmative she decided that was the devil trying to trick her.

Kennedy forced herself out of her reverie. Who the hell cares what they're talking about. Some crap showing on TV. The world's going to do what the world's going to do. Get over it!

Kassidy was livid. "Cops are out of control! They flat our murdered that guy. Choked right to death  in front of God and everybody. Unbelievable"

Scenes of protests flashed across the screen as open rage erupted across the nation. To Kennedy, it seemed as if everyone's dreams had suddenly died. She saw people crying out for help in hopeless drowning terror. All she knew for sure was she needed a hug. Instead, she hoped for someone on whom to blame her woes.

"They should all just shut up! None of that protesting does any good. Nothing's going to change. Only God can bring justice."

Karl, her husband, along with Kassidy and her husband KC, vehemently disagreed in a cacophony of backlash she did not care to hear - so she didn't. She retorted in equal conviction.

"You don't know all the facts! of me. Give that cop and me a chance to speak. Maybe things aren't what you think. You don't know what you don't know about me."

The debate continued with facts Kennedy felt irrelevant. She just hated the sound of people speaking so confidently of their position, like a judge's voice passing sentence. She too was upset in the extreme - she just couldn't tell anyone why.

That night in bed, she felt a tail growing from the small of her back. This frightened Kennedy more than Hell's fury and Heaven's wrath combined. She pushed it back in with the force of her hand, choking back the fears, holding back the years, lost in an unmapped wilderness. And this is how she slept for the rest of life, her mind disintegrating, begging for rest - and the world to be quiet.

Through The iPhone Looking Glass

It had been an unenjoyable evening with my parents. The long walk back from the restaurant did not help. The visiting city didn't turn out to be near as interesting as I hoped. There was just nowhere for me to go. Defeated, I prayed I'd find safe haven back in my hotel room. Instead, I was dropped directly into the fires of Hell.

I was still collecting my thoughts when my Mom, my stepfather, and a hotel employee burst through the door. My Mom started in right away.

"How could you do such a thing?"

My stepfather was red-faced and livid, smoke coming from the large ears of his narrow head. He lived for these moments. "What's wrong with you!" He never meant that as a question, only an accusation; the only words he knew.

The hotel guy, the designated observer, scared me the most. He had that Official Hotel Look with his burgundy vest, trimmed hair, and square face. In one hand he had handcuffs and the other an electric chair. What the fuck is going on here? They can't mean to fucking kill me - can they?

"What are you even talking about??"

"I saw you take that cowboy hat with the Yankee logo from that woman. You just walked right out of there!"

"What's wrong with you!" chimed in my stepfather, ever more smoke rising.

In my head I tried to imagine what possible scenario could have caused this misunderstanding. I'd met and seen no one since I left the meal with my parents. There's no way my mother could have "seen" anything to even be confused by. Worst part was, this didn't feel like a misunderstanding. It felt like a courtroom conviction from a trial that had already been held.

"What woman? What are you talking about? Is this like something from the hotel gift shop? Only thing Yankee tonight was on the Fact App I showed you on your iPhone, for your theme."

"This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated. No more, ever again." She gave the nod to the hotel guy to strap me in.

"Wait, goddamit, wait!"

"Do you hear this? Do hear the kind of language I have to put up with?"

"What's wrong with you!"

"I didn't do anything. Who are you? Are you some type of imposters!"

When I said that my mother's face turned different shades of colors. He hair too, going from blonde to orange, like an orangutan. It was the only logical explanation I could think of. Only one thing felt for certain: a desire to kill me.

"We know you're guilty. We talked to Emily. We know what you did."

They played the trump card. I crouched down and cowered behind the bed as my mother went off.

"Why did you do that to her? What kind of person are you! What would the neighbors say if they found out?"

"I was afraid! I was afraid of her - afraid of me. I knew it was wrong..."

"Are you telling us you don't feel guilty?"

"What's wrong with you!"

Guilt? I'm a billionaire in guilt, a global leader. I can't possibly deny guilt - even though I had nothing to do with this whole supposedly stolen cowboy hat fiction they concocted as a ruse for the hotel executioner. In what I thought would be a stroke of luck I remembered the Fact App.

"Look, see here on the Fact App. It shows everywhere I've been tonight. There's no woman, no nothing. Just me walking back here."

That really set off my Mom who was screaming at this point. "This isn't about facts! We're not here for facts!"

"What's wrong with you!"

I couldn't believe my crestfallen ears. This can't be who my parents are. Irrational, fact-hating, out-of-control blaming homicidal maniacs. My head was spinning as I stayed crouched behind the fig leaf of protection provided by the bed. Then in an instant, things became crystal clear.

"My God! You're Trump supporters!"

All three started yelling at me at the top of their lungs, exposing the conspiracy. "Who are you to say anything!" "What's wrong with you!" "We know you're guilty! We know all about Emily, you sick bastard!" "This has gone on long enough! Can you say to us you're not guilty!"

The room drew quiet, like a hurricane had passed through and one is viewing the devastation in stark disbelief. I knew my time was up and I had to pay for their sins. Each of their chests heaved in unison, bloodthirsty, ready for the kill. I realized during that miserable dinner tonight I'd done a much reviled Innocent Thing in showing the Fact App, thinking they'd appreciate it and be delighted with its use. But my Emily betrayal can not be denied.

"Yes, I'm guilty."

Like hellhounds released from a cage I was strapped in to the electric chair and fried to death before their wide open eyes absorbing every moment as if they knew they were witnessing their own fatal future to come. As my spirit left my body I saw my Mom sip a celebratory cocktail.

"Thank God we got the son-of-a-bitch before anyone found out I can't operate an iPhone."

I Live In The Sky

Angry judge with gavel hand
In his fury did demand:
"Homeless fucker tell me why
"You say you live in the sky."

"Your honor meaning disrespect,
"In you treason I detect!
"You have the power and the might,
"But not the love to make you right."

"Yes, I was a high school loser
"But I got me a slick judge cruiser!
"In this world they call me winner
"I pity the god who calls me sinner."

"These false things you find pleasin'
"Justify what you call reason;
"But you will have to give them up
"If you want love to lift you up."

"Listen, beggar, at my feet
"My victory is your defeat;
"Do not suffer my contempt!
"Ruling you makes me content."

"You may rule hell's last domain
"But what has future is the sane.
"Be careful of the life you claim
"In the end, your love sustains."

"Philosophy, your last resort!
"And by your words I suffer tort!
"In these robes a holy whore -
"Better that than living poor!"

"You sit on bench a piggish cow
"Accusing me both here and now;
"But of your debts I cannot pay
"And in this case you have no say."

"I'll not be damned in my court room!
"I'll see to it you're sentenced doom!
"We're not here for my confession -
"That's not required by my profession."

"If your job's your life but life's your job
"Then tell me from which one you rob.
"It's true I live in poverty -
"But you see my soul is free."

"I don't care if I do or die;
"I'll not leave you in the sky!
"I make my final stubborn stand:
"On this day, God's will be damned."

At this, the court reporter leaned over to the bailiff and whispered:
"Sheesh, all this from asking his address..."

ERROR 16; UNDEFINED

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SHUTDOWN; SYS FAILURE; TERMINAL

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Computers are just a series of light switches
commanded by code

I Can't Breathe (Video)

From a combination of personal and found media, and of, course, a song which I could never do justice.

I's Saving Da World!

Harry trynna be famous like me!

"Hey, Harry, I gots me a blog now jess like you has!"

"That's very special of you."

"An' guess what! I's saving da world jess like you!"

"Good deal. I was ready for the world to die anyway."

"Dat right! We gonna pull it off together. Guess wot I done did do??"

"Lord, punish me more."

"First thing I does, I puts this thing at top sayin' 'Wash Yo Hands!'"

"You're a real lifesaver."

"Dat's da fact, jack! And dat not all. Next I puts up a thing saying, "Stay da fuck home!" How dat for being responsible!"

"I'll have to start addressing you as 'Mahatma'."

"See wot you mean how great it feel sendin' out powerful messages to the peoples. Doin' the Lord's work we is!"

"Somebody certainly needs to."

"Now I's on a roll! So I puts up "Don't be racialist!" on there too. So by-dammit I be licking these racialist problems ev'ryone yappin' an' protestin' about!"

"I'm sure you're in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize."

"I aughts to be! Dis most fun I ever done had. I be tryin' new shit just like real folks does! Looks at me, I be woke! We gonna shake up da world!"

"Don't get your hopes up there, buddy boy. Nobody - and I mean nobody - reads the stuff I put out. See, there's millions of blogs out there, almost impossible to get noticed. It's good that you do this for own self, but don't expect anything to happen."

"Nah, man, dat's wot I been wantin' to tell ya! I has like actual million hits on it. It done gone virus! Peeps sayin' how great I is doin' what I doin', sayin' right thing, bein' all responsible an' shit. An', hell, I thought it be hard doing actual writin' but there ain't nuttin to it!"

"Well, uh, I...a million hits, eh? From mindless sloganeering?"

"Yes, suh! Got interviewin' line up an' everything. People wants to hear wot I gots to say! I shoulda done this years ago! How long you been doin' it, Harry?"

"Not sure, escapes me at the moment."

"Like fifteen year, ya'll tol' me afore!"

"Something like that..."

"Dang, it great bein' social responsibull. Nuttin' to it, really, I's still same asshole ever was. Thanks, Harry, y'all teached me everythin' I need 'bout dis - accept for da part 'bout not gettin' read."

"Glad I helped prick your social conscience. Good to know my life has purpose, after all. The future is saved."

"Ya got dat, right! I gots all sorts of stuff to save now. "Don't be killin whales!" is next. I feelin' da power!"

"Life sure has a sick sense of humor. Have a nice day, Mr. Trump."

Divorced Again, Naturally

Everywhere she went, she wasn't there. Her voice was not her own, but a recording from years past. Her body went through the motions of living as her spirit moved out. The sun had become a curious onlooker to her life, she noticed in the corner of her eye. Distracted by dead dreams, sorrow her final celebration. These were a few of her horrific things.

"The smell - that new car smell - it smells like...victory!"

Her nephew was showing off his recently purchased American dream. She could barely remember the last time an inanimate object gave her that kind of excitement. She emitted the expected words from the midst of her grieving slumber, even congratulating herself afterwards on her acting job. Had she been honest as she wished to be, she'd have told him the car had no meaning just like everything else in this world.

Worst of all, she discovered her divorce a bigger failure than her marriage. Freedom from "that man" had made her realize her prison was her own. She raged at the face in the mirror for having got her in this impossible position of falsified blame. The detached deviltry of her bridge burning left her at sea with no land in sight. Which way do you row your boat when every direction looks the same?

Had she followed the vein of honesty she cried out for, she'd write "FOOL" on her forehead every morn for all the world to see. "I lied, I died" would be imprinted on her shirt. She would stand in front of her house, holding a sign saying "My injustice is my own!", protesting her life. She was rapidly using up her capital reserves paying rent due on her soul. Oh, to be free of pretending!

One stray morning she was busy dressing herself, forgetting who she was, experiencing an innocent moment, a painful reminder of what she'd lost. She felt she swam in an ocean of shame as others passed by in ships of joy. A few ships exhorted her to come aboard but that would mean even greater pretending, so she floated away wherever the salt water currents took her. She trusted anyone's decisions more than her own, giving self-righteous fools power over her love.

Her greatest fear was her ex would grow and mature, not staying faithful to their sordid contract of co-dependence. Only if he stayed as pathetic as she could her divorce be declared a success. Living in the shadow of irreversible disaster gnawed at her day and night, waking her in pounding fear in the middle of the fright. "What have I done to my life? It keeps getting worse!" Childhood photos stabbed her heart.

Her "plan" had been no plan at all. Just another waste of time, a political stance to appease the masses. She looked at the son and decided that was not for her. Who could believe in her now, the house-frau cow? "God will have to fix me." Which duly increased her bitterness regardless of how many "God is Great!" signs she plastered around the house.

Another sunset for the ages glowed over the ocean waters behind her house. She studied the sky to read God's mood. Surely her life wasn't meant to end up this way. Yet she didn't see another path. At long last she was forced to face to lie is to die. Too late, she wrote a poem on the beach.

I sit on the shore

A Florida whore,

Magic in the waves.

An ancient dream

This does seem,

With one foot in the grave.

Returning home

I'm left alone,

In a place no one stays.