R.I.P. Mr. Bond

"Do you expect me to talk?" "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!" -Goldfinger

On the playground, when it came to picking teams, he was picked first. When a Decision had to be made, they all looked to him. He was a leader but had no gang. No one resented his straight A's because he was no teacher's pet. A natural outlaw who made his own rules, he lived in a different world than his peers.

The Coolest Kid in School often had scrapes with the small-minded Authorities, who felt him a natural threat. But as water seeks its own level, so sought he. A master criminal was certainly one path open to him but he needed more, a sense of well-being. The decision was his own: a servant he would be.


The further he went down that path, the more obvious it became he had made the right decision. To use his talents and skills for merely his own ends would have destroyed him. But even though having chosen to serve, in the end, he would do nothing he himself did not agree with.

In the circles of the elite, agent 007 was at home. He often saw himself in others - had he taken a less noble road. That is what gave him his edge. He swam among the sharks not looking for smaller fish to devour as they did, but to devour the sharks themselves. It was a life most could not even imagine. As he passed through this world those who came in contact with him saw a glimpse into a fantasy life of who was in their eyes a superman.


But now Bond is dead, crucified on the altar of self-loathing. We didn't like the way he made us feel, that somehow we were inadequate. So he's been reborn as a bad-ass, cut down to size, and many are applauding the new turn towards "reality". Self-assurance has been replaced with self-doubt, cockiness with mean-spiritedness, sauveness to dourness. The loser as a winner. No wonder so many hail this film.

One thing the Bond films have always been is a flag in the wind of the times. In that sense, this new film is right on the money. It's the hate-radio version of Bond. No one wants to be seen as a wussy Good Guy, we want a terrorist fighting for us. A thug in a tux for a hero. How appealing it is to think your evil can be useful instead of a hindrance. Even the massive cynicism the film was made with is a reflection of these self-annihilating times, where fun is replaced with a good dose of cruelty for your own good. Thanks, but I'm already way over my "cruel reality" quotient - assholes.

And trust me, it's a poor bet wagering the terrorists will win. The only way they can win is for us to become them.

"Loose Change" - A Fable Is Born

There has been much local wringing of hands and breathless consternation over Mark Cuban's decision to distribute a documentary film called "Loose Change", which has the tag line: "An exploration of the viewpoint that the September 11, 2001 attacks were planned by the United States government." Funny, huh? Oops! Sorry, not supposed to laugh. This is Serious Business.

To all my brain-dead friends with their panties in a wad over this: chill. This is the moral equivalent of a "world is flat" film. The makers of such a film may think they are disproving and maybe even disparaging the "world is round" believers but what is in actuality happening? Such filmmakers brand themselves morons and would never again be able to make any sort of claim of credibility outside of possibly Fox news. People think Cuban is aiding and abetting the makers of "Loose Change". Truth is, he's mocking them.

More accurately, his position is to let these directors make their own bed and then lie in it. Praise or ridicule - the choice is yours, he says. Mark Cuban may be the Jed Clampett of the internet but he's smart enough not to claim to be the Arbiter of Truth (outside of NBA foul calls). However, there is no shortage of those will gladly take that title. And they are fools. Who do you trust to censor what you see?

One movie that influenced me for a lifetime was that of the Nazi march in Skokie, Illinois that was defended by the ACLU. And the lawyer who defended their right was Jewish. I will die a supporter of the ACLU, they who understand the importance of free speech as a cornerstone of liberty. The irony is that those who opposed the march were the true fascists.


But what is truly fascinating here is witnessing the birth of an urban legend, a modern fable. The Good Book says the truth is within us, so on some level we all know what’s going on, even if we are not always completely honest with ourselves – or others. While there have been many assertions of our “honorable intentions” in engaging the Iraqi war and of how a President of the United States would never do anything as dishonorable as leading us falsely into harm’s way, no one truly believes we’ve been told the truth. And nature abhors a vacuum.

So into the void steps one and all with a spin job to sell. Some more crazy than others. Point is, there is an emotional truth here – a feeling we have not been told all the facts. The Da Vinci Code was the same thing. Give us a good story to fill the gaps and we’ll eat it up. What we are really saying when we buy into such things is that we are not satisfied with the explanations we have been given, which is what gives these wacky theories their staying power. But the seduction is that these Appealing Lies used to fill the void are far easier to take than the actual truth - and that's always a loss.

Debby's Song

You, Debby, are true greatness. You know dreams others will only call myth. In some ways, I hold more respect for you than anyone else I've ever met. Yes, I know you don't think I hold you in high regard, but I do. It's your choices I despise, the way you've decided to treat yourself.

When you die, there will be much talk of what a gracious person you were. "Debby was such a good girl!" How you always did what was expected of you. The wife, the mother, the dutiful church-goer, ah yes, that Debby was perfect! It's the thought of disapproval that rules your life. Because you don’t have your own approval. That is your cross to overcome but never will. They will sing your praises but they don't know you like I do.

I know your secret dreams - and your secret lies. Yours will be a life unlived but only you will know it. And over the years as your soul dies and you become all the things you hate but end up defending, you will have no one to turn to. No one you can tell your problems because that would admit you're living a lie. So remember this in your moment of despair, it was your choice. Your mocking words come back to haunt you: "Life is what you make it."

You didn't hurt me with the things you said. Most of that was me manipulating you in my delusional thinking. No, the time you hurt me was long ago when you said, "I do". You just couldn't resist the bribe. And even though it was not what you had dreamed you found a perverse thrill in the acceptance. "Who am I to ask for more? What makes me so deserving of dreams? After all, I'm just a girl." Through your self-martyrdom, your humiliation became institutionalized and therefore made holy. How exciting.

Each dawn of dishonesty brings a new low. "Success" deepens the despair. You finally got things just the way you wanted: to be yourself is a "sin", is to lose everything. So the Holy Lie must be kept - for the kid's sake, for God's sake, for your sake. May no one knock on your door? Is your heart closed forever? Yes, Debby, you do deserve more. Will you accept it? Can I?

People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one,
And we've only just begun.
Think I'm gonna have a son.
He will be like she and me, as free as a dove,
Conceived in love.
Sun is gonna shine above.

And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.

Seems as though, a month ago, I was Beta-Chi,
Never got high.
Oh, I was a sorry guy.
And now, I smile and face the girl that shares my name.
Now I'm through with the game.
This boy will never be the same.

(Chorus)

Pisces, Virgo rising is a very good sign,
Strong and kind,
And the little boy is mine.
Now I see a family where the once was none.
Now we've just begun.
Yeah, we're gonna fly to the sun.

(Chorus)

Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup.
Drink it up.
Love her and she'll bring you luck.
And if you find she helps your mind, better take her home.
Don't you live alone.
Try to earn what lovers own.

And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.

The Alpha Centauri Outpost, a Planet Possessed

After returning from my visit to the human's destroyed and decayed Alpha Centauri outpost, I was intrigued to learn more. I came across these photos in the archives. Shot during the planet's decline, you can already see the ever-present clouds of industrial waste that had been churned into the sky. The clouds had not yet reached the final stage of the murky, gurgling brown they were to become but one can feel the ominous doom they portend.

The discarded plant pictured here was typical of what would one day cover the entire landscape. Once the resources had been used up in a particular area, the parasitic humans moved on to another and then another until finally nothing was left. In their wake they left a trail of rust and rot, the polluters never looking back. Once deemed useless, the machinery was abandoned as testament to their disdain of a place no longer valued. Little did they realize they too would share the same fate.


I tried to imagine myself in there during the days of its operations, walking through dusty hallways and vapor filled rooms. I can see the metal frame desks coated in industrial ash, encased in surroundings with only the bare minimum of creature comforts. The mentality was one of disposability and expediency. What a feeling it must have been for these vampires of nature. Declaring themselves gods and riding the wave of a delusional claim of divinity. They must have thought they had triumphed over Nature itself.

In papers found among the corpses, it is recorded they were covered with rows and rows of numbers. Strangely, there were “good” numbers and “bad” numbers, things they labeled “profits” and “losses” respectively. But these were not profits and losses of the minerals they mined, but of this imaginary concept called “money”. I myself have studied this greatly but I’m still not sure I fully grasp the idea. I’ll see if I can explain.


Apparently, money was some sort of rating system of the items on the planet. It was like some inscrutable game to gain the most items with the highest ratings. The ratings would fluctuate according to desirability and scarcity. So real was this game to them they would murder one another to achieve the highest rating and even passed laws stating no one could live without a money rating. Sheer insanity. None of this imaginary money ever gave them one more bite to eat or one more gasp of air.

I’m not sure we will ever know what possessed the humans to go off on such a tangent – other than the fact they themselves must have been possessed. What drove them to invent the money game and so cruelly enforce its worship, enslaving themselves to an illusion they called savior? What source of unhappiness had caused such a self-destructive streak conflagrating into total annihilation? I shudder to imagine the final days of madness in the ever-increasing agony of serving their money god. Truly, a planet possessed.




Read the diary written during the outpost's final days

Good Bloggie

Homeless Man Farts and Is Slapped by College Girl

In less entertaining news...

Today, I'll be good a blogger. One who "engages his readers in a debate" because my readers "don't know the truth" and it is for me to enlighten them. At least, that's what some moron from BlogCritics proposed to me. He was just oh so market savvy and his belief was that making people think or having them draw their own conclusions is a fatal flaw. I contend the truth is the opposite. Think the earth is flat? Fine by me. I don't give a fuck what you think. You will reap the benefits or sorrows of your beliefs. I know I sure as fucking hell have.


The biggest problem in America is the obvious one: our faith in greed. Oh, I know you're probably moaning and saying it can't be that, that's so yesterday to blame everything on greed. "Yeah", you say, "greed's a problem but there's just so many more pressing problems." Well, let my love open the door. I propose all our more "pressing problems" are the results of our trust in greed. Our poverty, our rampant violence, the dissolution of the family, the lovely war in Iraq - all fruits of our faith. Life becomes intolerable when your society is based upon a lie.

I hear complaints about eroding morals - from those whose morals are eroding. So is religion the answer? Religion, in effect, is your faith in that which you believe will save you. Which makes capitalism the most prevelant religion in America. Who the hell ever says Love will save us in a practical way? Religion means whatever you want it to mean. Don't blame religion on God.

This war is a war of selfishness, thus believers in it claim it to be one of faith. They will tell you their faith is in God, what they won't tell you is that their god is greed. They will tell you, "I got mine. Go get yours." And that is their idea of responsibility. That attitude not only gives them the "right" to tell you to fuck off but it also nicely makes the claim they have done well and been righteous.


Some general came out with his impassioned public cry that homosexuality is immoral and wrong. Let's follow the logic here. So if two guys (or two girls) decide to go off in the back room and boink each other it's a mortal sin. But if heterosexual guys go on a terrorist crusade, take a giant knife and rip a hole in the Middle East unleashing chaos and death on women and children, rip the fabric of civilization and destabilize the world, now that's moral. Just ask him.

The man who reads nothing at all is better educated than the man who reads nothing but newspapers.
-Thomas Jefferson
As I've said before, most people are for this war. Support is low because we are losing. Were we getting our way, we'd be all for it. Greed sells. But it would still be just as immoral and devastating for us in the long run. Newspapers bring us facts but rarely the truth. One can be "well-read", recite all the news, repeat all the opinions and still know nothing. The only way to know the truth is to read the human heart.

So what do I see in our alleged President?

I see a proud loser, someone who lies to himself, is wildly delusional and self-corrupted, someone so eaten up with insecurities it fuels a desperate lust for power. God sent us this agent of evil to test us. Try reading that in a newspaper. "I only see the good in others," you nobly declare in a fit of willful ignorance. Who gives a fuck what you would "like" to believe? If you don't see the truth of others how can you ever help them?

So if you want to debate me, go ahead. I'm going to go do something more meaningful, like masturbate.

A Guilty Man

As he lay back on the psychiatric couch, he let out the usual sigh. Yes, it was pointless, but no, you just can’t do nothing. “Much gnashing of teeth,’ – that’s what the Bible said was in store for those who live in limbo. The commitment-less, the fence sitters waiting for a never-to-appear sign, the desperate runners from reality. It was they who populated the void called limbo. The inhabitants of this inhospitable space took solace in their freedom from hell and yet wailed at the lack of heaven. Unspoken was the knowledge the time would come for eviction.

And that caused much gnashing of teeth.

He had picked a female psychiatrist just to have the company of a woman. “Paul,” she lamented, “you look even more emaciated today. It’s distressing to see.”

“Get off my back, will ya.” When he wanted to, his blue eyes were piercing and bore holes into any but the most solid of souls. His therapist received such a glare now.

“It’s your life, Paul.” It was Stock Reply Number 5, best she could do with those laser-like eyes drilling into her. “Live it as you wish.” The lasers turned away but moments like these left her feeling a complete fraud. Paul gave her those pauses more than any other patient and thus she dreaded him. But if on the other hand she could conquer him, it would legitimize her life to new heights.

Stymied once more, she gazed upon this enigma who seemed to slouch even while lying down. “You must understand, Paul,” – repeat the name, people love to hear their name even if it’s forced – “how upsetting it is for others to see anyone waste away. Now I’m not saying you should live your life for other people but no one wants to see you dead.”

“Fat lot you know.” Her constant use of his name grated on him. Later, he would think: why can’t I just tell her that? The answer: because then she would know something that really bothered him – and that would give her power.


“Do you know that today marks exactly one year since you’ve been coming here?” Wait for the no reply. “And I can’t see we’ve made much progress.” He wanted to snap back that perhaps the reason for that was because she sucks as a therapist, but he wasn’t ready to break away just yet. Endure the abuse. “It’s frustrating to see you never keep on weight. You said it started when you inherited the millions of dollars from your father but we’ve determined it’s not the money stopping you from eating. You said the feeling started as a small child when you decided you hated your father but should never tell him. You said keeping quiet was for the greater good. You said you had special abilities and didn’t have the needs of ordinary people, that you could “make sacrifices others could not.” Yet you also say it was a death trip, cutting you off from a normal life of friends and relationships.”

Paul too wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery. The Starving Millionaire who felt too guilty to eat. He would sit at the table like a prisoner behind bars with his food on the other side. Eat it and be branded a criminal. Ignore it and die. He oscillated between the two like a perpetual motion pendulum. Alternately he binged on food, gained weight and was hailed by his therapist, but that was like holding his breath and in his inevitable gasping for air he would free fall back to weightlessness. It had to stop. It had to not stop.

And that caused much gnashing of teeth.

Seeing no challenge, his therapist continued. “You said it just didn’t “feel right”, you eating like that when others had nothing. What right had you to something that others did not-“

“That’s right, lady, what makes me so goddam special??”

She didn’t look up, feeling his eyes already. “- and yet you also say you know your death would serve no purpose, and a purpose is what you seek-”

“If I do what I want, I’m a fucking criminal!”

She reiterated her analysis: ”Guilt drives you, guilt driven from a life not lived. Your death trip was in reality an ego trip to place you above others. Now you feel that in order to make any claim to morality you have to keep on making the sacrifices you always have. That if you ever used your abilities for yourself, you were some sort of selfish monster who deserved nothing – not even to eat.”


“I guess that about sums it up,” he snapped. She gave space for his torment. “I can know in my head it’s OK to do what I want, but I just can’t. I can’t defend it or explain it. I’m paralyzed by guilt for a crime I do not know. It’s a complete mind fuck!” He snorted in disgust and pride. “You know what I did? I play this anonymous little game on the computer called Reversi to kill time. I ran into this one guy about the same skill level as me - and I’m very good. I beat him two games in row 33-31, close as you can get without tying.” He looked over to see if she was paying attention. She actually was. “So I could just feel this guy on the other end saying, “I know I can beat him, he’s just getting lucky.” You could sense the frustration so I had this idea. For the third game I used a bot – a program that shows where to move. It was beautiful. The bot didn’t make any obviously great moves into the mid-game, they looked very average and he had to be thinking he was still in the game. But when we got to the end game, the horror became clear and he got wiped out. That’s when I left.”

Rarely did she see him look over to her for approval. It’s an opening, she thought, a chance to conquer. “So what did you hope to accomplish with that?”

“A mind fuck! I made him doubt his skills. I made him question his reality. I made him wonder just who the fuck he is!”

The words hung in the air like a prosecutor’s accusation. He had damned himself. She looked away in silent victory. Amusingly, she mused over replying “And just who the fuck are you?” Never did she curse and it would shock him. Secretly she thought he used such words in the hopes of annoying her. It did, but that could never be admitted – it would give him power.

“Perhaps,” she seemingly ventured, “we should ask that question of you?” No reply, of course, he was trapped. “Maybe all this death trip, ego talk is a cover up. Maybe you just don’t want to face your true self so you can keep on believing you’ve got all these “special abilities”, this Hidden Talent I keep hearing you talk about. Maybe that’s the source of all your guilt.”


The patient no longer slouched into the couch but sunk into it. What had he ever done that was special – except for maybe the extraordinary way in which he had screwed up his life. Yeah, he truly had nothing to offer. Just a big bag of wind. What kind of person is too guilty to even eat?? Maybe that was it all along. He had merely been clinging to the one thing that gave him value: self denial. Admit you’re a schmuck and get on with your life at last.

The Broken Man stood up slouching greater than ever. The Conqueror was soothing and gracious now that she had victory. At last she had proved herself a healer as she had to so many other patients. Broken Man noticed her extra kindness and dutifully acknowledged it. As he stopped at the front desk to pay, he was almost too ashamed to face the receptionist. I’m a Liar and a Fraud – that had to be written on his forehead.

But the girl was blessedly unwitting as she confirmed his next appointment. “OK, I gotcha down: 2 o’clock, next Tuesday for Mr. Paul Newman.”

And he exited with much gnashing of teeth.

Random Thoughts While Sitting On Campus And Listening To The Radio

"Why??" the man pleads. "Why can't I just keep doing what I did before? I don't understand." "Because, moron, you spent all your money. There's none left. You can't sit on your ass anymore. You have to work now or you'll starve!" "But I never had to before! If I didn't have to before, I don't have to now. And that's all the thinking I'm going to do!"

You thought my writing was racist. Well, OK, I am a racist. And a sexist and an age-ist and a hate-ist and a love-ist and a war-ist and a peace-ist and a reeses pieces-ist. I'm all the 'ists'. So now what? Fucker.
"My love for you's just not the same
And my heart, and my heart
And my heart can't stand the strain
And my love, and my love
And my love won't stand the pain"
I love that song. I picture Queen Padme singing it and dancing to Vader who stoically stands unmoved. Maybe a whole Broadway musical on their relationship. The intellectual basis is there, despite Lucas' execution of it.

Remember that sign on the highway. God, I was out in the boonies that time! It was afternoon and sunny. "Cooper Lake Cooper" it read. "Cooper Cooper!" I laughed. I imagined a character named Cooper Cooper, first and last names both the same. And it so scarred him he felt he always had to get it out of the way any time he met someone. "Cooper Cooper's the name! My friends call me...Cooper!" For some reason I gave him an Australian accent. And since he's forced so hard to sell himself all the time he becomes a salesman. But doesn't really want to be.

Check out that chick. Jesus Christ she's smokin' hot! Never known anything but luxury her whole life. Her feet ain't ever gonna touch the ground. God I wish I had the nerve to go over and sit next to her. Then I'd ask: "Mind if I fart?"

I don't know which is worse: them thinking I'm dumb or them finding out I'm smart. How many more times am I going to have that thought in my lifetime?

Man, the feel of the campus is getting to me. I can feel its vibrancy and hopes and fears and energy. What a world. Debby knew all this, not me. I wonder what it was like for her. I miss her to my core
.
"Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind"
Christ, what timing. I'm getting goose bumps and my eyes are tearing. Put your head down and casually wipe your eyes. No one's looking. God I hate it when my childhood feelings come rushing back. There's no time for life.

Oh, good. They're arguing politics. Parroting politics is more like it, there's no thought in their words. But you can see the roots of what they'll become. Don't take my greed away, he says.

Man, if I do make it - if I ever did get out of here alive - I'll break the backs of every single one of them, I swear to God.

...so these are some of the things that run through your mind waiting on the goddam truck to pick you up stranded at a university construction site...it's like sitting on a hotplate and I can say nothing to no one...it's times like this I feel the shame and emptiness the most...please dear God, don't let Debby see this

The Perfect Spy

Rain never depresses me. The night is cool and moonless and I hear the midnight whistle of the train. The whistle is lonely and filled with sorrow. I wonder what sins it has committed. But this is a good moment for me. When the world shuts itself in, I come out. Yes, dear world, you have me in your invisible prison but even you need rest from your wicked labors.

Debby has seen me naked but none else. But for her to expose me she would have to also expose herself. I am anonymity itself; unknowable. When people see you in my position - when things are plainly dire – they always want to know why. What are the pitfalls to avoid? But I have given up trying to explain. Mostly because I don’t understand myself.

“Even when you tell the truth, you lie…you are the perfect spy.” This was said to Magnus Pym in John Le Carre’s “A Perfect Spy”. Pym had been a role player all his life, never himself; a rootless feather in the wind. So naturally he was drawn to the “secret world” where meaning would be given to his Disingenuousness. But as his talents are used, he also uses them – a double agent to the world. Aching for a morality a liar can never have, he finds he has betrayed himself with no way out. For the true cause of his life was to be himself – as it is with every life…

The rain has stopped. Damn. I can barely hear the train now as it wails into the night. My friends have left - my identity changes. Now I’m the outcast loner, abandoned on a doomed planet. Standing outside of it all, I spy on you. You never hear my voice but I hear you respond to my accusations. TV, radio, the village square – everywhere. Constantly protesting your innocence, claiming victory in your life and assuming God’s blessing. These are the things you see when you’re a spy.

The Magic War

(To the tune of The Who's "Magic Bus")

THE MAGIC WAR!

Every day I'm clapping my hands (Cheer for the Magic War)
We'll save the world in Iraqi sands (Thank you, Magic War)
Good guys will kill all the evil men (Pray for the Magic War)
'Cause if you win it's never a sin (God loves the Magic War)

No casualties will you ever see (It's safe, the Magic War)
Our valiant troops march happily (It's fun, the Magic War)
Only a traitor would cause a fuss (Lie about the Magic War)
Vilely demanding, "Listen to us!" (Blind to the Magic War)

Nooooooooo!

Not a cent we'll have to pay (It's free, the Magic War)
Spreading freedom brings oil our way (Dollars from the Magic War)

I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (Let's vote to have it!)
Making us safer every day
Sorry if you're in our way
Children's bodies so unsightly
But we know freedom's untidy

Magic War, Magic War, Magic War...

I say, now we've got our Magic War (Yeehaw! A Magic War)
Send more troops to settle the score (Bombs away! Magic War)
We get to keep our way of life (A comfy Magic War)
Worshipping God's holy knife (Die for the Magic War)

I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ...

Every day we feed our lust (Loot for the Magic War)
What we liberate, we turn to dust (Whore for the Magic War)

Writing Letters Never Meaning to Send

I've seen the end of mankind and can tell no one. It interrupts too many people's plans. So what is one to do? Whistle past the graveyard like the rest of my fellow inmates? Vigorously blog against it? Get rich and say, "Fuck the world!"? I know not the answer.

The question defeats me. How does one rejoice on a sinking Titanic? I see the point of nothing. Futility is one hell of a de-motivator. Should I blog or beer? Increasingly the answer is beer. I find myself just sitting, staring at the early evening shadows, my entire life an historical lie, an event that never happened. I just thought I existed.

I could stay in this moment forever, suspended between heaven and hell - all the world an historical lie, a place that never existed. I would be alone to commune with God and my Maker would speak freely to me. "This world gives me nothing," I would say. "It's hard to build a bridge that no one will cross." God said he would love to cross it. And I cried.

Nowhere Man sits in blind sorrow. "Who have I made things good for?" I can't let them in the door. Here, let me show you my world. I've destroyed it so that I may live in meaningless despair and humiliation. And then they say, "Prove it!" in order to hide their own sins. Madness all. May God destroy all those who bring debate to the truth. I just want to be held.

Fairy Tales of the Damned

It was easy to see how she got here - if not so easy to see how to get out. That little voice hissing inside her: Why be alone if you don't have to be? Being alone meant learning to walk on your own, exposing your decisions, growing up. She could always do those things later. Trust God to sort it out. If her Maker ever wanted her to be alone, then she would surely accept it when the time came. She was God fearing and would do the right thing - just not now. Not till it was proven she was wrong. Her answer to being together forever was: "I do".

It was easy to see how he got here - if not so easy to see how to get out. He was a master at illusion and in the artifice of the world he found success. Why say no to greed if greed makes the world work? Was the world a bad place? Trust God to sort it out. If he were in the wrong, God would take his success away, but he could face that. He simply chose not to at this time. When offered the brass ring, his answer was: "I'll take it."

Loathing was the instant reaction when he and she met. Each smelled the other's weakness and recognized the stench: a stupid fool with a false sense of godliness. Their mutual contempt assured each transgressor of he/she's moral integrity. I would never fall for a fraud like that! And thus the seduction began. He bribed her with a life of endless companionship, sailing through troubled waters on a ship of romance. She pretended a moral struggle of which the only outcome must be a righteous one. We are virtuous, each decided, for the one who hates me now approves me.

And thus a fairy tale was born. “When I first met your father, I did not love him,” she sold to her daughter. “You have to be friends first and let it grow into love. That’s what happened to me. I was open to love and God sent me the one meant for me. I was so stupid I didn’t even know to like him at first! But God worked on my heart and turned me toward him so I might see the light. Now all my dreams of love have come true!”

Father colluded with his son. “Every man is a cripple and needs a woman to survive. But women are holy and pure and you cannot have one without being a rightly soul yourself. Your mother would never have agreed to marry me otherwise. God gave me this woman so I could perform the responsible deeds I need to in this world. By these things I know the path I follow is the true one.”

*******************************************************
It was easy to see how they got here - if not so easy to see how to get out. It was a country made safe by war so war must be the answer. When the ugly reality of the world intruded upon wishful thinking, the thought of living without it was intolerable. Their leader cried War! and a lying nation followed. The good life must never be threatened. Why say no to the good life? Was war wrong? Trust God to sort it out. One day the path of peace would be chosen - just not today.

And thus a fairy tale was born. The leader spoke with a knowing smirk of approval. "This is a good and righteous war – one that God himself has told me to wage. We are spreading freedom and democracy. We fight the good fight and those killed are those who must be butchered. Those tortured are those who must be tormented. And the freedoms we abridge are freedoms that must be interrupted. We cannot let our enemies prevail or we will become murderous, tormenting enslavers as they are!”

He and she watched with adoring eyes. They worshipped a leader who was pure in heart, a person of integrity – just as each of them was.

How To Make a Terrorist Happy

Angry with the moon;
Man shaking fist in the night,
Searching for lost dreams.
I hate me. I hate you. I hate my whole fucking, miserable life! And it's your evil that's to blame. I'm gonna get you, world. I'm gonna get you good! Soon, I will be your god. I'll be the one making the rules and you will be living in slavery, not me. This misery is unbearable, I can't stand to carry it alone. I've got to win at any cost.

Where is relief in hell? How can I keep feeding the monster that devours me? I need fresh pieces of life to chew and spit into the flames. The need is eternal. Feed me more! Feed me more! My only respite from the burning is sucking the life from you. Make me happy, world, feed me your lives. Turn away from the truth!

I scour your lives for bites to live on. I hear you say, "We are at war!" and I say, Yes! Yes!, always believe that! Never turn away from war! We will get you if you do. Mobilize your army, build your war machine, take pride in it. That like no other brings me hope for victory. It is chaos that brings me power. Please, please, keep war alive.

Shoot blindly, for one may be your enemy. Excellent! Kill them all! You think you can win but you cannot. The enemy is you! But you love your war machine too much too ever let it go. So eager you are to call it good and holy. If I ever see you lose your taste for war, I will bring it back, my sheep. I will keep you blindly maiming and killing in mad fear. I know where you live. Keep hate alive.

The panic in your hearts brings joy to my panic-filled sorrow. My minions spread fear and outrage within you. They hide as patriots, always assuring you of safety. Hehehe. I see them shove my diet of hysteria down your throats. Not all swallow but the hysterical voice is hard to drown out. They preach that you must defeat "the enemy". My precious fools, your outrage is my best friend. Keep fear alive.

It's the living of life I hate the most. I still see too many carefree souls and that singes me to insufferable torment! No! No! I was not a fool to throw those things away! Shut up, you! Shut the goddam hell up! I'm burning! I'm burning alive! Please stop! Dear God, I'm begging you, please stop...

You all think you're better than me because your life is so much better. Well, that's about to change. You too will live in fear and torment, never knowing when pain might strike. Fuck all your happiness. Your agony is my ecstasy. I'm not going to be alone in this. Your hearts will turn black also. And if I wanna keep winning I need only keep sinning. This is my chokehold on the world -

Hey, wait! Where you going? Come back! Don't ignore me! Don't leave me to myself! Leaving means I won! I broke your will to fight, coward! Listen to what I want! Fight me! Fight me forever! I'll keep coming until you do! ...Peace is my only fear.

A Walk in the Perverbian Park

     Harry threw down the last, empty beer bottle. But nothing ever stopped the eternal gnawing. He wondered how such misery would affect his health. And that made him worry even more. Safe in his secret retreat where he always took his bottles - drinking without privacy defeated the purpose - he stared once more at the perpetual stream of travelers on the city sidewalk.
     The gap between him and them on the outside was no more than 30 feet. The gap on the inside was infinite. Harry had known since his first conscious thoughts: "I'm fucked! There's no place for me in this world. No one's going to take the time to understand what I need, who I am. These people are like selfish teenagers - thinking they know everything - they've got it all figured out. And change is out of the question." No, those people on the sidewalk didn't really exist. They belonged to another planet.
     "Get thee to a monastery," he whispered as he softly drifted away from this world into another...

     When Harry awoke, it was to a different Sky. Bright and colorful with neon clouds and psychedelic sun. His instinctive reaction was to rejoice. Something about this said "home". But then slowly it dawned on him where he was: the Alley. Sarcasm Alley, where no civil word was ever heard. The were no streets or building fronts or any way out at all. Just alley upon alley. Escape only a myth. An unseen voice raged in hysteria. 
     "Find the bums! Burn them alive! Kill them - kill them before they ruin everything!" 
     Luckily, Harry the bum had heard that all before and knew the answer.
     Go where they won't go. They always leave an opening if it means their dirt will show. So into the sewer he went. The journey was not pleasant but Harry had gritted his teeth through many a like experience before. That ability was one of the few arrows in his quiver. His gamble paid off when he saw the level of waste rise dramatically. "Must be getting close to civilization."
     Harry popped his head out of a manhole cover and when he did -
     "Why, hello there!" A smiling man with a head two times too small and feet two times too large proffered a neatly manicured hand to help Harry up.
     Harry was in the condition he hated most: unpresentable. Soiled and reeking, he was loath to reveal himself. "I'm really pretty nasty," apologized Harry.
     "Oh, pshaw! I take no notice of that. Then I would have to take notice of me!"
      "Well, I don't think I can count on everyone not to notice."
     "Sure you can! We live for the illusion and the hope that it brings! I have a name for me and you may call me Notta Freak."
     Harry took the freak's hand.
     Once again noticing the strange, beautiful presence of the Sky, Harry asked, "Where am I? What is this world?"
     "Excellent questions of the Land of Sir Real!" responded Notta. "You're in Perverbia, where all things are perfect. It's a world of our very own making. You'll fit in too just as long as you're perfect - and I can see that you are!"
     Christ, one more fucking world where I gotta lie.

     Looking around, Harry found himself in an oasis wonderland park, dreaming the greens of summer and all the world a sunny day. People dancing, people laughing. A man selling ice cream, way beneath the deep, suburban sky. The man with the head two times too small noticed the glint in Harry's eye.
     "Welcome to our dream!" he proclaimed, "look at the wondrous life we lead - a sure sign of our morality, no?"
     "No," mutters Harry, having seen wondrous lives before.
     Only one thing didn't look so perfect: a towering dam loomed over the entire celebration. "That dam is huge! Is it safe to put your park so close?"
     "Perfectly safe! It is proven by the fact we have done it."
     "But, dude, it's a freaking monster."
      "We put all our imperfections in behind it. It's what keeps things good! All we have to do is keep building it higher - like we've always done."
     "Thing is, you can't keep building something higher forever!"
     "Ah, how little you think of our technology. We have a strategy for the facts: and that is to deny them."
      "But it looks so rickety. Damn thing looks like it could collapse at any moment."
      "Traitorist! Shut thy mouth! Don't you know that criticism can cause it to fall??" Freak's eyes sharply rebuked the dumbfounded traitor. "Now let us say a prayer to Sir Real. Oh, Heavenly Maker, please forgive this sinner for rebuking your laws of nature and life and for speaking ill of your most holy damn. Praise be to me, amen."
     "That Sir Real must be one helluva guy."
     "Oh, he is! He is!"
     "Must be if he's going to make you safe when you choose not be."
     "Our faith is complete and close minded!"
      That had an oddly familiar ring to Harry. "And you really think that's gonna work??"
     "Dear sir, the evidence is here before you!" Notta gestured to the laughing, carefree people in the Park of Denial. Harry was formulating an answer when interrupted by a Curious Being.
     The pleading eyes of a Shattered Soul accosted them. “No time…” he gravely spoke, “is a good time...for goodbye.” His shirt read “RESIDENT” and attached to his back were the faux wings of an angel. Seeing no hope, his eyes pressed on in an eternal search for salvation. “On with their heads! On with their heads, I say!”
     “He’s considered perfect??” scoffed Harry.
     “Good eye!” congratulated Freak. “He once was Resident and he removed many heads he shouldn’t have.”

                                             "Support your local Resident"

     “A Resident?”
     “Yes, every few years we put a man in a house to be Resident, to decide reality for us.”
     "But you just admitted he's not perfect! How could you let him do your thinking?"
     "Oh, I might say he's not perfect, but I would never admit it. We think only good things of our Residents. Otherwise we would be in a lot of trouble!"
     Harry thought he spotted a fatal flaw in the reasoning. “How can you possibly think good things of a guy like that? Killing people he shouldn’t have, doesn't that make him some sort of psychopath!"
     “Indeed it does! But we would never say such a thing."
     “Why the fuck not?"
     “Why because it's true of course."
     “But your pretense won't make him perfect."
     “Oh, all of our Residents are perfect – as long as you agree with them. But why should I think a thought that does not please me?”
     Harry’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
     Passing by were two diamond-studded dog collars, each attached to the most fashionable of leashes, and were sported by two nubile teenage nymphs. Their giggling came within earshot.
     "This is so awesome! No boy will be able to resist us with these collars!"
     "They'll be standing in line to yank our leashes! I so cannot wait to be humiliated!"
     "Football God called me last night and I asked him if he truly loved me and he said yes, he loves using me!"
     "You be ballin', girrl! Mom told me if we're good girls and keep our collars on, we can grow up to be Stepped On wives just like she is!"

                                              "Shhh, Mommy's a whore."

     Mercifully passing out of earshot, Harry reflected how far away he was from ever being able to waste life again. Notta Freak's eyes followed the nymphs' low rise jeans until they were out of sight.
     Continuing their stroll, Harry could see a stage filled with people costumed with the same angelic wings worn by the Resident. A Fiery Soul among them was preaching: “Man is evil! Evil I tell you! We are made in the image of Sir Real, it’s in our nature to sin! Repent my ways or suffer! Hell awaits you all with nasty, sharp, pointy teeth!” Harry mulled where he had heard that before…
     “But there is hope, friends, for I have The Answer. If love is what you wish, you must believe as I do. Put on the wings of my religion and approval will be thine. But beware! - and this is the best part - those who do not believe as us, we get to kill!" Spontaneous applause and whistles erupted at the thought of universal appeal. Harry even heard one cheer from far away. He swiveled his head to see the clapping ex-Resident with a halo of hate. The salesman continued his bribe. "Try it and see! Love is such a beautiful thing. Sir Real loves us all! Life is but a dream...”
     The parade of pleasant platitudes was interrupted by a most ungracious plea for assistance. In the perfect park of Perverbia, nothing was more despised than an unsightly cry for help. Children were present for God’s sake!
     Harry went to investigate but Notta latched onto his arm. “Don’t let some loser freak ruin your day. People get what they deserve!”
     Harry rarely believed people got what they deserved and rushed to find a man sinking in a pit of quicksand. He was confused by the four burly men apparently standing guard over the pit. As Harry moved closer a burly arm rejected him.
     “Back off, mate!” barked the first man, followed by the other three literally yapping like dogs.
     “OK, well, you help that guy then.”
     “’That guy’ as you call him, is a friend of mine. A very good friend of mine. He don’t need nothing from you! And don't you be denigratin' him!” This too was followed by yapping.
     “Dude, the guy needs help! What the fuck is your problem?”

                                                      "No relation to CCC."

     “Problem is there is no problem – just troublemakers like you! How dare you speak of my friend like that! You don’t know him, only we know him!” The yapping of the other three turned into a deeper woofing.
     Harry sensed the menace but troopered on. “So you’re just gonna let the guy die to prove me wrong??”
     “He’s not dying, he’s fine! He’s a good man and a fine fellow. A person of the utmost character. Nothing you say can shake my faith. We are a man’s best friend!” A low growling confirmed the man’s sentiment.
     A sudden idea popped into Harry’s head. Seeing a large stick nearby, he picked it up and whistled. “Here, boy, fetch!” He then tossed it as far as he could into the branches of a towering tree. The four men barked excitedly and ran off. Harry reached down to the give the man in the quicksand a hand out.
     “Oh no!” rebuked Quicksand Man, “Please, don’t give me help?”
     “Why the fuck not?” asked an annoyed Harry.
      “If they ever find out I need help, no one will ever love me. I’m fine, trust me. You have to believe my words and not my life.”
     “That’s just crazy! You will die in there!”
      “Then they will love me forever.” Sinking, Quicksand Man settled into a thousand yard stare and Harry saw the futility of his faith. Notta came up behind him.
     “I told ya people get what they deserve!”
     A newspaper boy came waving excitedly through the park. “Read all about it! Square Peg resolution passed! Read all the news fit to be read!”
     “Excellent proceedings that!” effused Freak. “Success is just around the corner!”
     Harry perused the gushing article of how Sinataurs at Silly Hall had reached a compromise on deciding if a square peg could fit in a round hole. The Perverbian dam had round holes needing repair but only square pegs were economical to produce. Opinions blustered and debate raged on this, The Issue Of Their Times.

                                     "Reality hinges on their every word"

     Some called it insane to try, some called it insane not to. Some called themselves optimistic and others pessimistic yet still open to trying. Fingers were pointed, names were called and fear was put up for sale. But all agreed that only in such manner politic could things be resolved. The passed resolution on Fitting a Square Peg in a Round Hole read: “It would be nice if it were true.”
     Harry threw down the paper. “I’d know more by not reading it.”
     Notta Freak took umbrage at Harry’s lack of civil concern. “How can you say such a thing? Fixing that dam is the most important issue of our time and if we can do it using square pegs it means we can keep our worldly world the way it is. It means we don’t have to change. It means we really are good. It means we can finally fulfill our ultimate dream: to choose death but receive life.” Notta gazed into the Sky with holy reverence .
     His gaze was interrupted by the charred screams of a family with clothing ablaze. “The Gas Man cometh!” warned the mother. “The Gas Man cometh!” With that, it was every man for himself.
     “Holy smokes!” yiked Harry. “That fucker’s insane!” Harry joined the mad scramble for safety as a small, beaming fellow with flame thrower attached scorched a swath of destruction in gleeful ecstasy.
     “Hey, world!” he called out. “I’m coming to fire you!”

                                                                  "You're fired!"

     Bent and burdened, the Gas Man slowly passed through. But even with his slow gate there still were the crippled, the incapacitated and the depressed who could not clear out of his path. For them, it was a charring experience. All eyes watched in thankful horror, knowing their lives were spared only by the grace of Sir Real. But as the Gas Man passed out of view, so did all thoughts of him and the celebration resumed as before.
     Harry outraged to Notta. “What the fuck was that all about? I can’t believe you people let that guy run around! Kill that son-of-a-bitch! If you won’t, I will!”
     Freak was nonchalant. “Try to kill him and we’ll kill you!”
     Harry snorted at what had to be a morbid joke. “Kill me? Thank me is more like it.”
     “No, kill you we would. The Gas Man gives us jobs to live on and sometimes fire us he must. We cannot do without him.”
     “But he goes around torching people alive!!”
     “On a percentage basis, it’s really meaningless. And besides, you saw the people he got. It’s the Unproductive Ones. Do they really deserve to live?”
     “Well, I guess not,” mocked Harry. “Surely, there’s no better way to run a world.”
     “Now you’re catching on!” agreed Freak sincerely.
     A Man of Permanent Smile then affably approached Harry and recited thusly:

“I have a conundrum,
“Making me feel so dumb-dumb:
“So what do you do
“When you know what to do?”

      Harry brain-locked again trying to respond but before he could get a word out, Smile Man interrupted. “It’s all good, friend. I’m a happy-happy man!” And he went on in search of another soul not to answer.
      "And who was that pop tart?"
     "Why that was Mr. Veneer, his house has the nicest facade in all the land!"
      "So he has the nicest house, huh? Have you seen it?"
     "No one has."
     "Then how do you freaking know it's the nicest?" popped off a short-fused Harry.
     "Why it must be," informed Notta to the ignorant child. "Anyone who can devote that much to his facade must have one dandy of a home." Notta was impressed. “What a truly, madly, deeply happy fellow!”
     “You really believe that??”
     “He said so. Have you not ears? Even my tiny ones heard him – proving they are normal!”
     “Just how did you get that way, Notta?”
     “Goo goo gajoob, Harry! I may be a freak but I’m a happy freak! But it all started with a girl. I should have used my head, instead I used my feet – and ran away.” The eyes turned inward, the veil lifting. “Biggest mistake of my life. Don’t know what I’m going to do now. I’m dying, it’s all so hopeless…”
     Then Notta Freak caught himself, realizing he had admitted an Ugly Thing – even though that with those words of truth, his head enlarged one size back to normal and his feet shrunk one size too. He forced a failed smile. “Sorry about that,” he winced. “That was wrong of me. Truth is the enemy of us all, neh?”
     Notta’s head and feet resumed their previous status.
     “Oh, I get it, “surmised Harry. “Take a sad song and make it sadder.”
     “It’s the only way,” sighed Freak.
     The cheerful voice of an Earnest Girl called out to them. “Hey guys! Come sign the petition! Do your part to save the world!”
     “What’s the petition for?” inquired Harry as he and Notta approached a booth filled with comely, topless women.
     Reading his mind, Earnest Girl gave Harry a wink. “Pretty smart, huh? We’re using the power of sex to save the land of Sir Real!”
     “You're not saving me yet,” hoped Harry, “but what is this petition for?”
     “If you sign the petition, it means you care. Then we can use that to force the people who don’t care into caring. It’s all about using our power for good.”

     Notta Freak hated his name and was reluctant to sign. “We gotta use our real name?”
     “Of course! This is no game!” Both Harry and Notta folded their arms in dismay. “C’mon guys! It’s easier than saving your soul!”
     Notta signed immediately. Harry drifted away homelessly.

     The old feelings were coming back. Freedom. Where’s freedom? Harry was drowning, gasping for air. Keep heading to the light, no matter where it leads you. It’s the only hope. What a frustrating world! A place where everything could be so beautiful. Then Harry purged as he always did when his world clashed with the outer one.

I wish I could live,
But I need to eat!
I live in a world
Where I must compete!

They said they did know me
Before knowing my name!
And if things do go wrong
I am surely to blame!

From the beginning
It’s been understood:
To be like others
Is to do as you should.

     Then came a man with the look of a dream in his eye, eager to make his revelation.
     “Look at this! Just look at this!” Harry and Notta stared down at the hands of a man lovingly holding a piece of tree bark. “Isn’t it magnificent!” Harry didn’t even try to fight the brain-lock. “With this I can rule the world!”
     But Harry just had to fight back, regardless of the futility. “Look, dude, it’s a piece of frickin' wood, there’s tons of it everywhere. It means nothing, it’s worth nothing!”
     Bark Man was worse than his bite. “You speak only of my life. But I have a nightmare! Where one day a man is not judged by the content of his character, but by the amount of wood he has! And when that day comes I’ll be free at last! Thank Sir Real Almighty, free at last!  All I have to do is cut this wood into little slices and imprint them with ink!”
     And with that, for Harry, it became all too real.

     Space and time froze. Comatose, Harry saw the carefree faces and innocent laughter of the children, he saw old friends re-uniting and impassioned lovers wrestle as one. The trees and Sky and sun all showed their approval of this and Harry wanted to crawl into that little world forever. Both beauty and barbarity reveling under the sun.
      The eyes of the impotent figure of Harry mutely observed the former Resident still decrying “On with their heads!” as he hopefully placed heads of cabbage on scarecrows. Quicksand Man backed away from yet another held out hand. And the cracks in the Perverbian dam fueled the growing, unspoken rage of a dying dream. A pressure cooker of denial eating away their souls with the obsessed mania of clutching onto a stove of ever increasing heat. Innocence dying as painful reality seeped into their park. There’s a future to this?

     Harry was startled by the cat that woke him. It was purring and rubbing against him. The love was much appreciated by its fellow homeless being. “Thank you for waking me,” purred Harry. “I was stuck in a nightmare world of impossible people with vain hopes and twisted dreams steamrolling their way to destruction.” As he scratched the ears of the appreciative kitty, Harry sighed. “Nothing left to do but love.”

     And in the distance, Harry heard the song of a long, forgotten dream rise once more...

 

A Persecution of Sanity

Oh, God, I pray to You. I ask You to save me but You have not ears. And You are my Final Appeal. Have I wronged You so much more than others for You to ignore me this way? Are my sins so much greater that I must suffer so? You give no answer! And You leave me to myself.

They say the only way to fix things - to keeps things good - is to kill me. That will prove them holy in their eyes. And they believe themselves godly. I can't believe this is happening to me! It's unreal and real at the same time. I get the perfect picture of my fellow man now: persecuters of sanity. They seek to solve their problems through me - through my dying. Hulking monsters spew flaming rhetoric against me, hell's demons posing as men of God - and no one says the Word. 'Burn the witch!' is all they can say. 'Burn the evil witch!'

But if God does not hear me, maybe they are right. Does not my Savior see them stacking the wood like blind, little gnomes in a play? Does He not smell the foul breath of the watchers who clamor for my death like barking seals? Is Justice so blind that the cruel deed of this day can go unchallenged as if it were the dark of night? All ears are deaf no matter how loudly I scream. Monsters rule this world. They're easy to spot. They're the ones who tell you God rules.

Maybe if I had done better with Tim, this wouldn't have happened. I ran away from him like a silly little girl. It seems so long ago now, lifetimes ago. Those feelings I feared to face. Is that what's come to haunt me now? Do they see my sins of failure and thus judge death upon me? Is that what's going on? I can't figure this in my head! There's only one answer I get: it's not me who's the problem.

My time is short now...the animals are sneering at the smell of blood...maybe I should confess unholiness to suck them deeper into their lies...look at the beasts! feeding off my terror, inhaling it, excited by fear...thank you, God, now I shall forsake you too!

"Fuck you! Fuck all you bastard motherfuckers! Lying, fucking pieces of shit! Damn you to hell! Damn you to fucking goddam hell and take this whole shit fucked world with you! Insane! Every single one of you is sheer, fucking insane! What gets into to you people?? How the fuck do you think this is going to make anything better, you moron pieces of shit? So die! Drown in your own goddam poison! The fate you've given me I now curse you with. And all your lives and all your deeds will be meaningless until the end of time! Unless you admit how you wrong me, you will never be free!"

Rainy Woods Call Me Home

It's beautiful in the woods and the rain - and the cares of the world are washed away.
And you don’t know what year it is.
When you’ve lost the sounds of civilization you can hear the voice of God.
And I was welcomed.
It’s cold and damp but it’s a home of my own making. If I choose peace, then peace becomes me.
And the wars of others are left to others.
They tell me my jobs are many: to labor, to war, to support the sinners as they whore. But my job is one: to fix myself.
As is everyone’s.
My refuge is only temporary. The sin of the many outweighs the good of the few. But the rules of nature cannot be questioned. Soon, no refuge will be left on this planet.
I don’t know what that means.
The world is out of control. My life is out of control. All I want to do is stay in this little patch of woods forever. All of the universe is here. And its love speaks to me.
Asking me where I’ve been.
Do I not have dreams of love? Do I not trust my Maker? Do you not wish to belong once more?
But I am angry.
The raging beast sits alone in the forest. He’s tired of his diet of shame and venom. He finds peace only in a place where he cannot live.
For the beast is trapped.
He destroys the stairway to heaven and burns the bridges of the world. What is left?
A life on the run.