The Shattered Shooter With One Lost Shoe

Deviants. That’s who he hated. Hated more than anything. Deviants aren’t normal and that which is not normal destroys what is normal. And then what was deviant would become the norm. This can not be allowed.

He had always looked for what is Approved. Things must have obtained approval for a reason, he reasoned, and thusly must be protected. Who was he to question this – and who was anyone else to? He hated the questioners, the thinkers, the curious, the disobedient or troublemakers of any kind. It’s when he saw the smile on the face of a superior he knew his path was right.

He liked being called a useful idiot, for he stopped listening after the word “useful.” In his world of blue melancholy, he removed all mirth. Perhaps he would laugh if all the others did, but to laugh on one’s own, never. His mission was forever seeking the proper way of living, honoring the ordained, being the good child. The dreams of the individual must be sacrificed for the common good.

Clothes were his one seduction. To be properly attired, now that cannot be beat! He bought only the best, forging himself to the peak of classic fashion. In early morning fog, he’d often wake to an unacceptably rebellious mind. It was a panic to invert the soul. “No, no,” he shivered. “Must build a bigger wall.” Then in meticulous consternation he disguised all doubt in dapper dandies. A look in the mirror provided confirmation. “Who couldn’t love that look!”

As a Deviant Killer, he never failed. His superiors would tell him the insidious trouble of odious non-conformists who must certainly be eliminated. And like a single-minded robot, he carried out his duty with ruthless efficiency. And why not? What else is there to think about? For him, his perfect-ness was his life. It what’s kept his heart beating.

The assignment today was truly delicious – the greatest function ever! A non-conformist had infiltrated the highest ranks of the establishment. Oh, the damage his disagreement could do! And the best part was he was to kill him in the great Hall of Power, with all the glorious heads of state watching in nodding approval. Never had his pride felt so alive.

Brimming in his own world on the way to the execution, he failed to notice the Mockers in the street.

“Ain’t you a spiffy one!”

“I can’t tell if he’s a man or a mannequin!”

“Looks right proper with that corncob up his arse!”

The three mockers laughed in self-amusement and at the dazed look of this tormented deviant from nature. The puzzled shooter just couldn’t understand how anyone could mock him on the greatest day of his life, the day filled with more purpose than any other, a day to save society! Who in their right mind would mock that? These creatures must be evil. They must be deviants.

In helpless silence, his ears continued to echo.

“Who ya trying to fool, guv’nor?”

“Yeah, pulls that corncob out and relax.”

“No crime it is to be yourself. Be happys with the way God made yer!”

With head twitching, the killer fought off their words. A seduction they be! Turning him against himself, trying to sway him from the path he knew served him best. Oh, how he wanted to lay down right there in the street and rest his weary heart! But he clung to his iron will and slowly edged away. He must leave these Mockers or become their apprentice. Run. Run!

The Mockers watched in bemusement. “How long before he catches up to himself?” Curious, they started to follow.

“Damn them!” cursed the deviant man. “They’re coming to finish me off with their satire.” So the shooter ran as never before. He ran to keep the very meaning of his life. He ran, literally, out of his shoe. But he dare not go back for it…

Looking back, seeing he was safe from the truth, time dripped into slow motion in front of the Hall of Power. As if trapped in a dream not of his own making, the shooter stood frozen. Before him lay the chance to cement his legacy forever. And yet he stood paralyzed. How? How could he do it now and be Acceptable? How could ever enter the great Hall of Power with one shoe missing?

At first, he decided this could not be happening and ordered his iron will forward. But it was happening. Then he searched for all possible scenarios where one shoe missing would be acceptable. But could find none. Like a giant pendulum, he swung back and forth between going and leaving.

Until the deviant decided no matter what choice he made, his perfect life was lost. Approval swept away with the wind. Dreams dissolved to dust. Hopes morphed to hells. What other way was there for him to live? Sucked into a whirlpool of tears and fears, with a bang the shootist’s eyes closed forever.

Rambo, John J. - A Search for Home

A trail of dead policemen, media whores clamoring for details, zooming helicopters and rumbling trucks maneuvering in logistical support, an expert killer trapped in the hills of Kentucky. It was the perfect storm between a man who liked to push and a man who’d been pushed too far. The winds of fury had momentarily calmed – but only as a prelude to one huge, final gust. Slowly, this dawned on the killer in the cave.
-------------------------------------------“Dear God, no.”

Words said in a quiet panic.

With all the running, the pain, the frenzy, the fear, the sweat, the reality and the unreality, there had been no time. He had been in survival mode, that twilight strata between life and death, where neither outcome would come as a surprise. None who’d been through such experience ever told of it. Only by being there could it be known. And once having been there, you forever changed. You joined a club whose members could only be recognized by each other.


He’d been on the run before. Desperate times and desperate moments burned into his memory, branding him. He remembered these flashes with an unspoken dread: that only in risking death had he felt alive. There was a certain panic in that: that he never truly lived. He had found a home in hell – but hell was no home. His real home lay elsewhere. Of all the wretched nightmares thrust upon him, his truest terror was the thought of never finding that place.

So he returned to the home he knew. War. But in the war he felt a part of something. A mission, a team, a country. They were backing him, pulling for his survival. If he had died, he would have never died alone. Now the smell of death was upon him once more. And, yes, some of the old feeling came back of living through dying but something had changed. Why should the taste of fear be so different now?


Here, by the flickering fire in a cave, surrounded by a thousand enemies, lost in the strange land of his own country, his hidden fear came home to roost. This dread was new. The circumstances were the same but when he reached out for the old flame, he found…emptiness. Isolation. That’s what it was. It was all on him this time. Oh, dear God, what have I done? It was regret he had felt in the war, buried deep within.

He had never come to terms with it.


So maybe he engineered all this to punish himself. Clinging to the war had been a mistake. There had been no home there. He knew that. He couldn’t face it, but he knew it. Now horror of horrors, he was left with nothing. This was the end. The last illusion stripped away, his heart breaking in bleak darkness. He had so loved the taste of betting his soul and calling himself the master of life. Now the question was answered. A fool he be. And all that was left was to walk the plank.

Tears of a Monster

How would you feel if someone died because of a lie you told? How would you feel if it were your neighbor's son - or your own? How could you live with such a thing? It would be unbearable and would take a lifetime to repair. God help the person in that position. The hardest forgiveness to achieve will be one's own.

But imagine if your lie sent thousands to die, thousands more to be maimed, tens of thousands emotionally scarred; unleashed years of terror, drove millions from their homes fleeing said terror and ripped further apart an already gaping wound in our world. What do you do if you're that kind of unspeakable monster?

Easy. You just disconnect.

The thought of actually being such a monster is unbearable. So one must devote all of one's life to keeping the lie alive you are something else. You somehow have to believe your evil has made the world a better place. Problems start, though, when others don't buy into your delusions. Oh sure, your fellow monsters will support you and call you good but even that won't be enough as truth becomes clearer.

Now our President Monster is crying because no one loves him. He/it desperately seeks to hoodwink history and declare himself a success - reality be damned. "Academics" are being brought in to offer advice on how best to fart and call it perfume. But is this really in the monster's best interest? Only an enemy tells you you do good when you do wrong. Luckily for the monster, he called on the Sarcastic Samurai!

As the famed samurai entered the Oval office, he drew his sword, made several impressive and threatening moves, then loudly screeched, "Ogenki desu ka!" ("How are you?"). This was followed by a completely motionless stare of contempt.

Standing in the corner wearing a shirt saying, "VEEP CREEP" was a man of vice. "Excellent!" lauded the human creep.

The Oval Office monster was confused and sought understanding from the man of vice. "What did he say? What did he say?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he told us to go fuck ourselves. God, I like that in a man," breathlessly replied the creep.

"I like it too then!"

The Sarcastic Samurai relaxed his stance as he pondered if he were on the world's most bizarre candid camera episode. But comfortable now in a state of delusional acceptance, the monster poured forth its woes:

"You see, it's the people - they just don't understand my vision - it's from God hisself you see - life is just a fantasy! - and I'm living my beautiful dream. But the people have a problem knowing this and loving me like God. I have to be frankly, I thinks people have a complete understanding of what I do."

"No, you moron!" interjected the creep. "You're supposed to say they have no appreciation of what you do!"

"Oh..." apologized the monster wearing its "I is your god" shirt. It nodded towards the veep creep. "What he said."

"Well," posed the samurai in feigned thought, "I suppose you could blow your brains out and call it victory."

The monster was very excited by the idea of victory but was cut off by his creepy partner. "Fuck him! Fuck you bastards with your goddam truth. I'm going to skull-fuck the truth right out of every one of you sons-a-bitches! What do you think of that?"


The samurai shrugged. "I think you should lick my shoe." Then he added with a smirking raised eyebrow: "What do you think of that?"

The creep licked his lips. "I think that's hott!" But as he made his move to the floor, the lightening flash of a sword erupted and a thud was heard with the rolling head of the creep. The samurai shook his head. "You people are too stupid for sarcasm."

"Awesome!" declared the monster president. "Can you do that to Iraqis, too? I promise to say you're doing God's work and spreading freedom!"

"A most tempting offer!" Sarcastic Samurai mused. "If only it weren't for that pesky soul!"

"Yeah..." agreed a crestfallen monster. "I hate mine too." Then, with tears in its eyes: "Have you no advice how to makes things better for me?"

"Indeed I do!" replied the samurai, sheathing his weapon. "Love your neighbor as do yourself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

It's difficult to describe the movements the monster made on hearing that. It was as if one could physically see its internal struggle to digest the words. Then came the venom: "That's sarcasm isn't it? I'm on to you now! You don't care about me! You don't care about anyone who doesn't benefit you! You're all about you, thinking you know right from wrong when the only thing you care about is selfishness. That's your god! I read about folks like you in my Bible. In the end, you guys are always exposed and hated!"

Sarcastic Samurai applauded. "There you have it! Well done!"

President monster blinked his eyes rapidly in confused excitement. "You mean I'm right??"

"Absolutely! I think there's no doubt as to your legacy now." The samurai motioned to the severed body of the veep. "Now be a good boy and clean this up. I'll be back later to piss on your head."

"OK! Thanks!" As the monster bent over the dead body, he was heard to mumble over and over, "He said I have a legacy! He said I have a legacy!"

The Suicide String - Debby's Delimma

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do men light a lamp only to put it under a bushel basket; they put it on a stand where it gives light to all in the house."
As Debby slipped the suicide string around her wrist, it was the fear of what would happen on the inside she dreaded more than any fear of what could happen on the outside. Falling 30 stories to certain death was at least a way out. Trapped in a life she could never leave, she was tethered to this world by her string of god's approval. She was addicted to it and she felt that to die an untimely death would also mean the end of all her adoration. So in leaving and staying she was torn.

Best to let the chance of a breaking string take all the responsibility.

Tears of regret dripped from her cheeks. The same haunting questions voiced themselves once more in loud tyranny. How did she let things go so far off? Who was she? What was she good for? Why couldn't she find an answer?? The aching emptiness pounded her temples and broke her heart. It was much too much to feel! “If God wants me dead then so be it!”

She was the superstar who ran away from life. Growing up, everyone could see the dreams in her and loved her for it. She fiercely believed in those dreams – but slowly gave up on herself. And the more she gave up, the more she need approval. To do What Was Expected became the paramount concern in her life. She rationalized that as her need. If she were ever to face life on her own, she feared to be exposed as not the stalwart defender of dreams for which she was so admired. So she hid in the discipline of her marriage and hopelessly grasped onto its illusion of fulfillment. But the more she let herself be used, the less useful she became…

“Oh, my God! What will people think!” Debby pictured her lifeless body splattered on the ground and the resulting shock of her parents and family viewing such an inappropriate spectacle. She shut off the pipeline to her feelings and grasped her way back onto the roof. Back into her trap.

------------------------------------------------
Tim the Tormented always knew when someone had just come back from using the suicide string. It was the fresh look of despair that gave them away. “You know the difference between a woman and a girl?” he asked pretending to not notice her presence. “A woman knows the difference between being useful and being used.” He turned to his nemesis. “Oh, hi Debby. Are you a woman?”

Debby never broke her wall of silence. Façade Fred felt the need to interject though. “Wouldn’t you like to know!” Then he winked to Al to join in, who obliged.

“Seems to me, Tim, Debby here already has a man!”

Tim could strangle them both. Yet it was Debby’s silence that hurt him the most. Deflect, deflect, deflect. “You gotta be kidding! Who would want to make a life with her? Little miss Prom Queen has turned her back on everything she is! Tell me something, your Perfectness, you gonna teach your children to grow up and empty trash for a living too?”

The arrow struck home. “It’s easy for you to talk,” Debby railed back. “You don’t do anything. You live in a cave and comment on everyone’s life but your own.”

Having finally got a response, Tim had Debby exactly where he wanted her. Thus he ignored her. “I guess that’s just what we’re gonna do in this country: just keep on raising kids to be as stupid as we are. There’s a noble goal! There’s a secret every sick parent knows: a sick child will love you, a healthy one won’t. It’s good to have a plan!”

As defender of the world, Fred was threatened by talk of its demise. “You wouldn’t know a noble goal if it bit you on the butt! Some people live to serve the greater good. Not that that’s something you can understand.” Tim started to smile as he pictured Façade Fred’s idea of greater good.

Their old friend of Uneasy Silence arrived on the smirking lips of Tim. But all that was shattered by the meek, matter-of-fact voice of Debby.

“We’re out of trash bags. I’ll go get some more.”

The Suicide String - The Ballad of Al

"You are the salt of the earth, but if the salt has lost its flavor, with what will it be salted? It is then good for nothing, but to be cast out and trodden under the feet of men."
With fevered hands he clumsily slipped the looped string around his wrist and tightened it. The wind was harsher and gustier than usual, adding to the sense of chaos and panic. Of course, it’s always somewhat windy when you're on a rooftop thirty floors up. As he reached the edge he hesitated, paused by the thought of the certain pain to come. But the soberness was drowned by waves of inner darkness, pressing him onward. This much he knew: he must have hope.

With pounding heart and sickened stomach, Al the Apoplectic teetered on the edge wall of the high rise building. It was nighttime and he was an unseen man. With nothing to live for – and everything to die for – he jumped. The string – as always – snapped sharply on his arm causing him to wince. But at least that way he knew was alive. Dangling 300 feet in the air exhilarated him and choked him. Al was a man who needed a way out and in this nether world between life and death he found sanctuary. If the string snapped, all problems were solved…

It had all started with the Election Won But Lost. Al had gotten the votes to justify his life but the results had been rigged against him. He never got passed the stinging bitterness. For his future for now, he saw nothing. For Al had been seduced by politics: the idea you can make the world a better place without becoming a better person yourself. With the strings of power ripped from his hands, he was left with only himself. And once there, Al found nothing…

Given enough time hanging, the spark of life resumed, cutting through the darkness. Terror had put him over the edge and terror pulled him back up. With a starry night above him, Al’s heaving chest looked down to where his precious life had literally hung by a thread. With shaking hands he gratefully pulled off the suicide string. But as he moved back from the edge and into safe haven, twinges of regret already started gnawing on him.

--------------------------
“Damn, it didn’t break!” greeted Tim the Tormented upon Al’s return. “The drama queen has arrived,” he dryly remarked.

“You know,” demurred Al, “your life isn’t so great, either. Maybe you should think about ways of improving yourself instead of always criticizing others.”

The stinging words failed to remove Tim’s smile. He knew Al’s reply before it came. Tim had to manipulate everything – even if it meant his own discomfort. He just hoped the other two – Façade Fred and Debby Do-Gooder didn’t join in. Tim’s tormented soul wasn’t sure it could handle all of that. But his gamble crapped out.

“Yeah, leave him alone,” joined in Fred, happy to return the torment to one who had so many times poked holes in his façade. “I bet ol’ Al over there has a heckuva better life than you.”

“It’s really not a nice thing to do,” weighed in do-gooding Debby. Rarely did she have the courage to raise an inclement word but she felt the wind at her back this time. “You would do much better to find ways to be positive.”

Tim’s burning soul lashed back at both. “Yeah, well, you’d do a lot better to keep your mouth shut like it should be. What kind of moron is positive about bullshit! And Fred-head thinks loser Al has such a great life then how the fuck do you explain him using the suicide string?”

No answers were to be found.

Sitting amidst so much blood, even Tim felt obligated to end on a few words of healing. “We’re all fucking janitors and our lives all fucking suck.” The words were directed at no one and to them all, helping to fill the painful vacuum of silence. Each returned to his rolling trash barrel in funereal solemnity. No one saw a way out. Where was hope?

The Lonely Wind Blows Cold

It’s time to face the reality I’ve made. I often think of the final scene of Shampoo when Warren Beatty is spinning around, looking for someone or something to latch onto…and finds nothing. I put up a brave front to my co-workers at whatever job site I’m on, pretending I have a future, a don’t-worry-about-me-attitude. But like that Beatty character, I’ve destroyed everything.

I have no true human contact. Any support I build up is based upon the fact they don't know me. So that’s no support at all. The perpetual con is killing me. I need rest. Rest from the street, rest from meaningless work, rest from me. I guess I have to do something to earn that rest. I don’t know what that something could be anymore.

You age quickly on the streets. I’m sick, twisted, alone and horny. If no man is an island, how come I can’t get off mine? The lies I’ve been feeding myself just don’t cut it anymore. I wanted to be today’s Tom Sawyer. I wanted to bring a message of love. I was going to show the power of life. But all that’s a joke. I’m a joke and my life’s a joke. I’ve got nothing. I’ve made my bed and now I can die in it.

Letter for Father's Day

Dear son,

There are some people who actually don't believe in being successful! But I ask you, what are scruples without success? Those who don't take aren't achievers and doers but merely sheep who blindly follow orders. A man has to take the world by the horns to reach his destiny! Do not let outside voices sway you from your goals. No one is going to give you anything. You know what you deserve so go out there and get it!

The world is for the strong, weakness is your enemy. The foolish and meek will whisper foul lies in your ears to make you as they are. Is it them who should hold the reigns of power or us? Is it the frail among us you want to make decisions for you or the strong-willed? Be loyal to what makes our way of life great. Who are we to question it? The future is ours to control.

You have to know what you want and never vary from it. Only those who keep their eyes on the prize will get the reward. These are turbulent times. The winds are changing course and who can stand against the wind? Be smart and do what benefits you. Don’t be some idiot who wants to save the world but not himself. Be on the side of the winners. The losers get what they deserve. That is why I have decided to join the Nazi party’s most elite group: the Schutzstaffel or SS. It will be glorious!

Remember, son, do what you want to do to benefit yourself but don't let that define you. It's what you say you do that defines you.

Your father, der kampf 1935

P.S. If you can't join the party, at least be Republican. Live the good life!

The Moral "Theory" of Objectivity

A mesh of live wires lays on the ground after a storm. A curious boy reaches down to pick them up. In the nick of time his father swats away the hand of the child to prevent his electrocution.

So what just happened?

To the father's understanding, he just saved his son's life. From the son's point of view, his hand was hit for no reason by an unjust parent. Each person's point-of-view is shaped by a personal understanding of reality. If there is such a thing as Objective Reality (God), then we must assume one viewpoint is more correct than the other, i.e. is more in tune with the Objective Truth. If there is no Objective Reality then the small child was safe picking up the live wires because to him he saw no harm in it.

If the child remains self-serving and conservative in his outlook, doom is inevitable. Refusing to admit his father's action was correct, a dogmatic crusade ensues to prove himself right. This then becomes his religion, which he calls holy and claims it to be Objective Reality. But this conservative lack of faith in the truth leads to his downfall as he once again tries to pick up a mass of live wires and dies from the shock. In this way, God will cleanse the earth with his "wrath".

Religion is derived from man's insecurity, thusly it serves man, not Objective Truth. But inside each of us lives Objective Reality. Problem is, it does not flatter us and always say we are right like religion does. Some even refer to it as an enemy because it contradicts an individual's religion. The danger is in declaring your religion holy and true instead of keeping a more liberal and open-minded view to what is Reality. You can tell how infected with religion a person is by whether or not he believes in Questioning.

One perfect example of this is the Theory of Evolution. I have studied this with an open mind and found it based upon insecurity, thus making it a religious statement. It is a fairy tale being passed off as science. We are not now nor ever have been fish. For some it is important not to believe in a Creator - which then gives more credence to a religion which refutes the existence of Objective Reality - thus relieving us of any responsibility to it. We think that makes us smart.

But Reality is our friend. It guides to the things that benefit us and away from things that harm us. It's all a matter of faith if you believe Reality is good or bad. When they boy asked why his hand was hit, his father told him it was to save his life. It was then up to the boy to accept the truth or choose a path of darkness.


See if you find these words to ring true:

Then the Lord answered Job out of the storm:
"Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?
"Brace yourself like a man; I will question you; and you shall answer me."

"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?
"Tell me if you understand.
"Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
"Who stretched a measuring line across it?
"On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone - while the morning stars sand together and all the angels shouted for joy?"
So what is the definition of "know"?

The Moral Theory of Relativity

Many people fasten onto science as something hard and fast. The phrase "scientifically proven" acts as sort of a bulletproof vest against any arguments to the contrary. It also implies that anything outside of science must then fall into the realm of philosophy. This reduces life to a more manageable level and sheds moral responsibilities. "Each of us is merely a mass of cells processing data and bodily substance until such time as the body expires." See how much simpler life becomes?

Unfortunately for these people, many scientific “truths” have changed over the years, thus making them lies. But as we all know, real truth never changes, it is absolute.

The true purpose of science, as Einstein reasoned, is to gain a greater understanding of God and the reality that has been created for us. This makes it a moral cause. The greatest leaps in science – the ones most hailed by its proponents – have been moral ones, to change our reasoning from a self-serving egocentric view to realizing there is an objective reality. Morality is an absolute.

The scientific strides we have made forward come from rejecting the point of view of insecurity. Deciding the earth revolves around the sun is the most obvious example. Einstein’s theory of relativity is another, i.e. what is physically true for one person is not necessarily true from another perspective. Meaning you can’t even unequivocally state a ruler is twelve inches long because were I to pass you at the speed of light that ruler would appear to you at a different length. And you would state that as a matter of fact.

So if all things are relative, is there absolute truth? Is this our only reality or does a supreme reality lie elsewhere? Is there a reality outside of this dimension we are also affecting? My answer to these questions is an unequivocal Yes. The sun is a parable for the truth. We cannot look directly into it but we know it’s there. So the truth cannot be seen, but it can be known. What we do know is right from wrong. And the (scientific) truth is that’s all anyone needs to know to be happy.

My Conversation on Hardball

(FYI: photo has been faked by a liar)
Chris Matthews can raise some pointed questions on his show - even if he doesn't always get a direct answer to them. Questions pointed enough, in fact, to concern even the Vice President of the current administration. Funny. But he's also politically blind. If you're skilled at perverting the truth for political aims (isn't that a sad life??) then you're a valid guest in Chris's eyes. That's why liars love getting on these mainstream shows as they giggle inside how they're putting one over on unsuspecting ears. They just pray no one calls them out for the bunk they are selling.

Here's the transcipt of my cameo:

Me: See, Chris, it’s like this: you get these partisan guys on here and they’ve got nothin’ to say! “My side is right. Their side is wrong.” And that’s it! Who cares.

CM: I know what you’re saying but I’m here to ask those guys the tough questions and challenge them on their positions.

Me: But their answers are bull! You get some shill on here for a candidate and you ask him, “Can your guy win?” and the shill always says – surprise, surprise! – “Yes!” –

CM: Yes, but –

Me: - And then you go, “But sir, your candidate has been dead for three months now! How do you expect him to serve out his term? In a coffin?” So the shill replies, “What you’re going to find is a man who is consistent and unchanging in his stance. We believe this is a platform worth carrying on. Blah, blah, blah.” It’s theater of the absurd.

CM: What do you want me to do? Not let them reply? They gotta answer the questions!

Me: To me, the whole problem is the debate format…

CM: But that’s what I’m here for: debating the issues!

Me: Right, so the perfect scenario for you would be what? Jesus and Satan on prime time debating right and wrong?

CM: That would definitely be the greatest show of all time!

Me: Wrong! It would be the dumbest show of all time. It presupposes evil is a valid point of view. A debate legitimizes BOTH points of view by the mere fact both are being represented. Evil is a form of insanity, and insanity is not a valid stance to take. Boot the perverts off the show. Thinking is allowed in real life!

A Dream Too Far

The night winds of the desert blow old and blindly – answering to no one. Live with them or die in them, the winds still pass you by. The howling mockery in the distance bespeaks a fool who surrounded himself with a sea of pain-filled needles as a reward for any wrong step. The walker’s burred eyes stream tears of sickening regret.

Too far he had gone, always too far.

There are no footpaths in the desert. No trails showing the way. No sign, no marks, no soul to guide you. Just a place of spiders, scorching sun and suicide. What business have the sane in such a spot? They were home, safe and sound and singing. No, the sane do not come here; only the abandoned, the fools and the lost.

Too far he had gone, always too far.


Breathing bred the tears. The madman had poisoned his own oasis. Banished forever; a hope forsaken; a heart closed. Bonds of love snapped as a spaceman’s cord to his ship, left to endlessly drift in space as he watches home earth diminish ever smaller. No hope now, he knew, too late to make amends. No word could be heard.

Too far he had gone, always too far.


In angry pride he’d burned it down; a mindless rage against his dreams. Afterwards, in unbearable shame, he ran to the desert – no other place would have him. Home now lay in hellish heat mired among hissing lizards on searing rocks. The one who scorned life was now scorned by life. But the ever-flowing tears came not from his desert demise. Shattered memories missing love lost despaired him to this world of deserted dreams.

Too far he had gone, always too far…

Through My Jaundiced Eye

I saw it and said it and no one believed me. I saw it and said nothing and couldn't live with me. So I decided to see nothing. And they said, “Welcome to the club!”
 
What is intelligence? Who is intelligent? A Jeopardy winner? A scientist? Surely, a doctor or a lawyer? Mommy and Daddy? The Pope! A priest? A President? Well, then, who godammit?
Intelligence is determined by how much you lie to yourself. Or rather, by how little. So today I met an intelligent lawn mower and a stupid President.

“I’m sorry, did I forget to tell you to fuck yourself?”

What is morality? It’s when your dick doesn’t rule your life. It’s a mistake in your best laid plans. It’s your unwanted salvation.

I am never me…I got nothin’ until I am
Jesus in a closet. The man prayed to a plastic Jesus in a closet. People are always trying to sell me on their plastic Jesus. Pain does that. This last guy’s Jesus was education. Got to get an education, he said. Get an education and all things will be good. Then he went to beg for crack money.

“I dunno. Why does anyone sin?”

I'm a useless eunuch trapped on a doomed orb careening through space, fated to labor out my days in concentration camps surrounded by a thousand dickless dictators who have somehow deluded themselves into thinking they're doing God's work and therefore show no mercy. Savage beasts roam freely in well-woven garb thinking that hides their beastly hearts as acid is poured into air and water for illusory profits of the mind. Cyborgs programmed with ill intent march mindlessly as their makers giggle gleefully in the ensuing trail of tribulation, thrusting their souls onto spikes of despair as small men grab for the fleeting power of a dream that is not within. Children who see truly are predated as the enemy to bend and twist until hope becomes their enemy too. Religious fervor worships death wrapped in metal as it’s proclaimed protector of all. The light of life grows ever dimmer as demons dance in the dark hallways of houses without honor and of trees without tending. Hissing of snakes is emboldened by the spinning of heads and turning of hearts, laughing at fools edging to the end of their planks declaring souls ever in the right. It’s a world gone sad and the cries plea louder every day. The louder the screams, the less we hear.

Love is coming. Love will come roaring as a crashing wave of the ocean to wash us clean. Love is the volcano we repress that one day must erupt. Love is all that there is, and so in the end, all that can be.

The truth is never negative

Guerillas for God

“Why does the guerrilla fighter fight? We must come to the inevitable conclusion that the guerrilla fighter is a social reformer, that he takes up arms responding to the angry protest of the people against their oppressors, and that he fights in order to change the social system that keeps all his unarmed brothers in ignominy and misery.”
There’s nothing I like better than stroking the barrel of my precision-crafted, gas operated, rotating bolt automatic assault rifle. 800 rounds per minute, firing 5oo yards out. Beautiful, just beautiful. Come and get me, motherfuckers. Speaking from the muzzle of my pet is the voice of God.

“Words that do not match deeds are unimportant.”
There are evil-doers in this world and they must be eliminated. And I am that eliminator. In bursts of unrepentant wrath I bring forth justice. God, it feels good to kill for God. The oppressors of this world must be destroyed for freedom to spread. This holy crusade is God’s will. I shall show no mercy.

“I am not a liberator. Liberators do not exist. The people liberate themselves.”
Doing good is an addiction. The flames of righteousness burn deep. Around the globe I travel in crusading missions, a purpose filled life I lead. The suffering of the people will end. Your liberator has come! I shoot off your shackles and lay harmony at your feet. It is good to believe I foster such a thing.

“At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality.”
Die, sinner, die! Make your mother cry!
Don’t stand in my way. I’m reaching for the sky!

Bam! Bam ! Bam! Shoot the sinner!
Bam! Bam ! Bam! Freedom’s the winner!

In holy march I come,
Taking it to the street;
As holy bullets fly,
Evil sees defeat!
“We must carry the war into every corner the enemy happens to carry it: to his home, to his centers of entertainment; a total war. It is necessary to prevent him from having a moment of peace, a quiet moment outside his barracks or even inside; we must attack him wherever he may be, make him feel like a cornered beast wherever he may move.”
Wouldn't it be nice if we were older
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long.
And wouldn't it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through.

Happy times together we've been spending
I wish that every kiss was never-ending
Wouldn't it be nice?
"I know you've come to kill me. Shoot, coward, you're only going to kill a man."
- Ernesto Che Guevara (just before he was shot)

I’m gonna fix the world. I can’t tell you the glorious feeling of death and power in my hands. With these instruments of God I change lives, I can shape the world into the place it should be. God’s dream lives within me. For me to do nothing would be criminal! I’ve GOT to fix you, world – because I’m never gonna fix me.

Knife In The Soul

“Oh, God, nooooo! Why are you doing this? Somebody please help me!”

Seeing her in abject terror, paralyzed with fear, it was in these moments Knife Man lived. He watched as the woman crawled in agony and dread across the plush carpeting of her home. Amidst all the finery and neatly arranged luxury, she left a trail of blood. The killer studied her as the trauma set in of life leaving her body. She cried out to anyone.

“Please help me! Dear God, won’t someone please help me!”

She no longer addressed the Knife Man, who always waited for the point where they stopped asking him to help and just started screaming in vain. He spoke coldly.

“I am your God. And God hears you but does not help. I see your pain but say nothing and do nothing. Turn to God and die!”

“That’s not God, that’s just you!”

“Show me the difference!”

She noticed for the first time a bitterness, an emotion to his voice. Maybe it was an opening. All her animal instincts were alive right now.

“Why did you have to pick me? What did I ever do to you? WHY do you have to do this?”

“Yes! Yes! Those are the questions!”

Now she heard satisfaction, maybe even approval. But she needed to know more. “Questions to what? You make no sense!”

“Yes, confusing, isn’t it! Answer questions you cannot answer! That is the only way out. Die another day!”

She understood. “This is your torment, isn’t it? This is what you live every day.”

“Yes, I have brought you into my domain. There’s a knife in my soul and God won’t take it out. All the yelling in the world won’t change a thing. I pray for the death you’re about to receive.”

She was like a soldier in battle; bloodied, facing death, yet fighting on. Was that what war was all about? Millions of men with knives in their souls? Couldn’t be! Why was this popping into her head at this particular moment?? Think!

“I can’t help you!” she blurted out, taking a stab at honesty.

“I know. No one can. I pray and pray and nothing happens. God doesn’t hear me, maybe he’ll hear you. And when he saves you I’ll know how to save me.”

Her blood was still draining. “But I don’t deserve this!”

“Exactly! God might actually save you. I find the nicest and prettiest, His favored few, and pick you off one by one till His sorry ass decides to step in. Guess what? He never does!”

“But God wants to save you!”

“Impossible!”

“It’s the truth!”

“The truth is what I say it is! Truth has no meaning! The truth was I deserved a place to live and some goddam, motherfucking food and not be spit on and treated like a fucking animal! That’s the fucking truth and NO ONE ever admitted it. You want the truth you goddam cunt? The truth is I deserve -”


From the look on his face, it seemed as if he had just been stabbed. She saw the knuckles around the shaft loosen. It was as if his soul had come back to him and just now realized the horror of what he’d done. She had to get that last word out of him.

“Say it! Tell me what it is.”

“No, no. I can’t. I just can’t…” The power was tilting from him to her. His head drooped and his body shrunk away from her, Knife Man realizing her as a threat. “If I tell you I die. If anyone finds out, I’ll die. You can never know.”

Her motherly instincts instigated in full bloom. Here was a wounded child, lost and needing direction. His aches had turned to rage and the beast could not be trusted, she knew. But the desire to kill him dissipated with her desire to hold him. Knife Man was holding a conversation with himself.

Unknowingly, he rocked back and forth. “They’ll get me. They’ll get me bad. All of them. They’re all the same. Just kill, kill, kill! Oh, God, please help me! Why do I have to die?”

Feelings streamed from his eyes but she knew wasn’t safe yet. He had fully retreated back into his own world and that was a place of living hell. She needed him back in this world – a place he hadn’t been in a long, long time. Over and over he mumbled his inner voice: “I don’t deserve it…I don’t deserve it…”

“It’s love, isn’t it? Love is what you need.”

His eyes slowly looked in to hers, the fear of a trapped animal within. Those who find out his secret must die. But first she must be made to understand. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t fucking deserve it! I can’t do what it takes!”

“Well, then maybe you don’t.” Her head told her not to say that but the mother in her knew best.

The cold, sobering shock of her words stopped Knife Man’s rocking. He couldn’t resist the calmness he was now feeling – even if he didn’t fully understand it. Those before who had so emptily mouthed words he “deserved love” had only sealed him further into his fate. She was different. All the other victims had only returned hate for hate. Ancient lyrics sang into his swooning head:

"Yes is the answer, and you know that for sure.
"Yes is surrender, you got to let it go."  
“Call the police. Hurry, I don’t know how long I can hold on.”

When the police came he was grateful to be handcuffed and made safe. They cut him with their words but the “sick bastard” didn’t mind. At last he felt he had truly lived up to their longstanding contempt. When the psychiatrist arrived on the scene and asked him why, knife man was surprised to see his reply as headlines in the morning paper: “At least now my hell is known.”

In the hospital the next day, knifing man’s victim knew her life had been changed forever. She would go on to heal stronger than before and become a respected voice of reason in the ensuing media frenzy. Making the rounds on talk shows, she chafed at the applause whenever someone declared, “I think you shoulda just stabbed his ass back!” Eventually, she ceased speaking.

The crushing isolation even made her wary of her husband. “Honey,” she asked on a sudden inspiration, ‘is there a knife in your soul?” The flash of anger in his eyes was not missed before he replied in measured calm. “Of course not. What a silly question. Don’t let that psycho stay in your head.” As he kissed her on the forehead, she thought to herself, Which one?

A Family Lost

I sat listening to the radio this morning as the show hosts debated Tiger Woods decision to possibly skip the British Open to be present for the birth of his child. Kudos on that I say. But somehow that story hit home in a shattering way. How far away such a life is for me. The odds of me having even a girlfriend are the same as me winning the lottery. The idea of a home and family is completely foreign and a pie-in-the-sky dream. But that doesn't change what I want.

My life growing up was such hell I swore I would never put my child through that. I still feel that oath today even though I live only in an empty void of despair. I have lost my family. Everyone would have sympathy for a man who lost his wife and children in an accident, but no one but me sees my loss. My life has been wrecked both for me and by me. And now these chickens are coming home to roost as I face my true desires. It's a horrible, horrible devastation to be separated from all that you love.

So it's back to the mindless numbing labor of the day. I must keep up the facade of a normal being just so I can have the privilege of another day's hell. My co-workers are joking around as you have to in day labor camps, and I throw them an understanding smile of acknowledgement of their humor. But inside I'm dying of a thousand tears as I remember my family that never was.

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