My Patriotic Billboard

Greatest man alive! Greatest President Ever!

Having posted my billboard here in Dallas, many came to wonder about and even suspect my motives. I finally agreed to an interview with a redneck radio DJ on a sports station that pretends not take itself too seriously but if you look hard enough you find that oftentimes they do. So it was funny to see his facade fade away when the reality of his burning opinions came to light.

Redneck Radio Guy: We've all seen this billboard you posted on our President and while it seems as if you're lauding him some people wonder if in fact it's a specious statement and a statement of sarcasm.
Harry Homeless: It is what it is.

RRG: OK, meaning what? Each person can take it however he likes?
HH: Why not?

RRG: That's fine but how do you see it? Is this some sort of backhanded way of giving our President the bird?
HH: If I died tomorrow would the meaning of the sign change? It's not my job to do other people's thinking for them. That's not what you're asking for is it?
RRG: Well, let me ask you this: Are you a supporter of our President?
HH: Of course I'm a supporter. I support everyone. Even Bin Laden.
RRG: [pause] I'm not sure I exactly understand that. So you support a guy who wants to destroy America. Someone who kills innocent women and children. You support someone like that?
HH: Sure I do. Like I said I support everyone. So do you.

RRG: Thank you, sir, but I'm a patriot! I don't want to see this country destroyed and as far as I'm concerned that S.O.B. can hang from the highest tree.

HH: Let me put it to you see this way: Give me your list of whose souls you don't want to see saved.
RRG: [pause] Well, of course, I'd like to see everyone's soul saved. Doesn't mean I want to see mass murderers going free.
HH: If you want Bin Laden souls saved then you are his supporter. I mean, what greater form of support can there be than saving a person's soul?
RRG: Right, but that doesn't mean you have to support everything they do.

HH: I agree totally - and remember you said that: that you can support someone without supporting everything they do.
RRG: So you don't agree with everything our President has done during this time of war?
HH: Of course not. I don't agree with everything I do much less anybody else. There's Jesus and then there's everybody else.

Radio Sidekick: [butting in] Wait a minute. Explain to me why you don't agree with everything you do. That's like saying you don't have freedom of choice or something. You can always do the right thing so I hope that you would agree with your own choices.

HH: Tell me why anyone sins.
RRG: What exact things are you saying you don't agree with that our President has done?

HH: I think where the confusion lies is in the definition of support. I can give you an example but you'll have to realize I'm speaking completely hypothetically and not trying to relate this back to any specific person or thing. I just want to make a point.
RRG: OK, shoot.

HH: Suppose you had friend who's a drug addict. In order to save him he has to admit there's a problem. But in the addict's eyes, those who tell him there is no problem are his supporters and those who tell him he has a problem are his enemies. So I ask you, who are his true supporters?
RRG: So you're calling the President a drug addict!
HH: Thanks for ignoring what I said about this being hypothetical.
RRG: Then what's your point then? Just go around criticizing everybody like you know everything?

HH: No, that's your job. My point is that if you view this President as a war criminal then to praise him is to condemn him and to criticize him is to save him.

RRG: Who are you to decide our President is a war criminal?
HH: Who are you to decide he's not? I make no decision. I simply seek out honest answers on where people stand. If you're telling me you disagree with my sign then fine. It's obvious then that you do not support the President.
RRG: I completely support our President, especially in a time of war, sir. Doesn't mean I have to think he's the greatest ever.

HH: Great! That's all I wanted to hear. I'll put you down as one of those who disagrees with my sign. Thanks a lot and remember: people love lists!

RRG: Hey now! I didn't mean it like that! Take me off that list! I love the President! I love my Daddy!!!



P.S. In the interest of presenting both sides, I offer this:

War Criminal! Greatest Traitor In History!

Tears of a Free Man

In days of prison
When iron ruled,
T'was all the same
If true or fooled.

One wrong move
The Man will shoot,
The zombie mind
Renders goodness moot.

But swing wide open
Did freedom's gate,
No visible chains
Except for my hate.

In fighting iron
I was a scholar,
Yet dead man's skills
Do pay no dollar.

I live the rage
Of my injustice,
I rejected love
To feel what lust is.

Wilderness dry
This free man roams;
Crying for love,
My body moans.

In bondage of man
I knew what to fight,
Walking free streets
Feet sink in my plight.

Good people asking:
For what is my time?
Having no purpose
The godless divine.

I plead to the heavens
Outstretching my arms,
Silence rebukes me
For previous harms.

For what is a salt
That has lost its season?
And what is a life
When stripped of reason?

Alone in the night
I wait for the dawn,
But the meaning of strife
Is just a big con.

Morning's light
For me never comes,
The answers I try
Are never the ones.

They tell me I'm free
I can do as I wish,
But shut your damn mouth
And wash the damn dish.

Confusion is king
When wishing to live;
For living is dying
With nothing to give.

I fret in darkness
My sentence not done,
Freedom's not free
With love for no one.

Paranoia Will Destroy Ya

"One thing you can't hide, is when you're crippled inside."

I just had to be around people.

I woke from another bad dream with that sinking, end-of-the-world feeling. And in my little corner of the universe the winds blew only cold. In these moments I see no reason. But without the convenience of a timely death I decided to wash away the stench of despair. The only place with life this time of night is a QuikTrip down the road. I huddled in an inconspicuous spot along the periphery and absorbed the vicarious energy from afar. "Not too close, Harry, or they'll run you off!"
"King and Queens and guillotines, taking lives tonight.
"Screams of no reply."
In the shadows I reflected on my latest nightmare. Back in the room I grew up in where no one could know me, the radio played a sad ballad speaking my inner soul. It's funny when I see an authoritarian government mandating only displays of happiness - reminds me exactly of our household. I wanted to leave but there was no way I could open the door to my room with that song revealing my feelings. The radio knob fought me as I tried to shut it off. Familiar feelings of frustration and fury choked me in my struggle. I'd never be able to go if I couldn't silence that song! Finally I got it shut off, the panic passed and I was free to enter the ever-present despair waiting for me. "Quiet, Harry, or they'll know."
"I am the Lizard King. I can't do anything."
After Debby moved away my freefall got so out of hand my father ended up sending the cops over to my place. Knowing they were on their way, my only thought was to destroy the most incriminating piece of evidence. No way can they see this or the full weight of the law would come down on me. So I very carefully tore up my one picture of Debby and flushed it down the toilet. No, sir, no evidence of any feelings here. The cops left empty handed. "Whew! Close one, Harry."
"Love hurts, love scars, love wounds, and marks."
It was years before I realized I destroyed that picture for no reason. Things destroyed for stupid reasons is a theme for me. Meeting Debby forced me to face up to the fact I was completely unprepared and unable to have the kind of relationship I wanted. A murderous rage surged through me when hit me. I dearly wanted to kill my "parents". They had cheated me. I had cheated me. My name was not be written in the Book of Life.
"Close the door, put out the light. Nobody will be home tonight.
There is No Quarter."

I think I know what triggered this dream. In the losing war against boredom I picked a used Japanese novel written just after WWII. A couple of passages really got to me, throwing cold water on these drunken days of mine:"In the manic phase, Kenzo would feel on top of the world, as if he were already a full-fledged medical doctor, a Ph.D., and the member of the faculty of a prestigious medical school. When he was depressed, though, he became convinced his talents were mediocre, his existence worthless, and his dissertation a total waste of time. The wisest thing, he would think at these emotional low tides, would be to throw himself under a train, because there was nothing for him to contribute, and no place in the world where he could ever feel at home."

"Not just criminals, but martyrs and celibates too; what they all have in common is deep feelings of guilt."

Oh shit, here come some useless teenagers. If they see me writing my feelings in this pad they’ll kill me. I’ve got to run.

Fearlessly Facing Facts

The warlord was crafty. Racing back to his castle with his retreating remnants, thoughts of ultimate failure fed his mind for the first time. The time was now and the winds of change were blowing across the country. Never before and never again would Japan be so wide open. Rules were for fools and fortune favored men of vision. But had he suddenly gone blind?

For a man who risks everything, one bad decision can wipe out all previous success. "Have I been too bold? Was I more interested in glory than winning? Is this feeling of destiny just an illusion after all?" The warlord had known setbacks - that was to be expected - but never defeat. As the dying rays of the day silhouetted the fleeing riders, this warrior knew he'd reached a point of no return.

Once inside the castle, he threw off his armor and cleared his mind. The choice was obvious: he must face the fact if this was the time to die or the time to live. His pursuers were too many to ward off even with the aid of the castle walls. But the crafty warlord knew the mind as well as the sword was a lethal weapon. With the authority of a prophet, he ordered his men to halt the closing of the castle and to open wide all gates. On the road to the castle, bonfires were to be lit to show the way in. Let us welcome our enemy, let us invite him in.

Horses reared in surprise at the sight of guiding fires leading to the castle's lowered drawbridge. Though victorious in the day's battle, the samurai were far from the main body of troops and they were suspicious of a trap, for the wiles of the warlord they chased were well known. No, they decided, they would not be so stupid as to fall for so obvious a stunt. Wiser, instead, to regroup and cut his head off another day.

But they never did.


This is the true story of Tokugawa Ieyasu as he retreated from the advancing Takeda forces. He had lost all but his wits but his wits were enough. He would survive that day to eventually become the supreme ruler of a newly united Japan. He became Shogun. For 250 years afterwards his descendants ruled the country - a legacy built on fearlessly facing facts.

The Looking Glass Lies

Both men paused before passing through the subway doors. Looking up and down and back again at one another each man saw his image reflected in the other. Same suit, same briefcase, same shoes, same hair - same everything! Were they long lost brothers found at last?

"This is freaky!" observed the first.

"Very freaky!" confirmed the second.

And even more was confirmed as they conversed. They both owned the same model of laptop ("This model is a bargain!" "I know!"), liked many of the same restaurants and even held the same job title: programmer/analyst. How could two strangers be so exactly alike?

"Doing a good job," emphatically spoke the first, "is about doing things right. No ego or politics or time wasting bureaucracy to get in the way. Do the job right - focus on that - and everything else will work out fine."

"Man, you're not kidding. It's about thinking - using your head. Do what's best for the situation regardless of any sort of preconceptions. It's all about the bottom line."

Looking eye to eye, viewpoints were expounded eye to eye. But an artificial world breeds artifical men and the looking glass can lie.

The first man was flying high. "Man, I love my job. It's a great feeling being useful, knowing what you do makes life better for others. Every morning I have a reason to get out of bed."

The second man was a dying sigh. "Every morning I have a reason to die. I'm suffocating with this shit. My life just slowly has all meaning stripped away from it..."

"Wow, that's brutal. You need a new job!"

"I need no job. They're all the same: death."

"That's a heavy load to carry. Maybe things will take a turn for the better."

"You can show me how to not need a job in this world? No, things are what they are and lying about it only makes it worse. The hands of the world are bloody and its eyes are blind with rage."

"Ya gotta have faith, man. My wife, my family - they mean the world to me."

"I spend all my spare time recovering from work. I am the Lizard King - my feet can never touch the earth or I'll be scorched to a cinder."

"But you seem so successful!"

"Who knows who I am. I'm just not this facade you see. While in this hell, I'll do my best to make it work because that is the law of men. But it's a fool's gold - there's no love in it. I'm just very, very tired."


No love means no future. With nothing left to say, the Flying Man and the Dying Man now peered upon one another as total opposites. As the subway doors opened, each wished the other luck and with an obliging blind eye pretended the conversation had never happened.

Time is the mortal enemy of all things artificial. Flying Man thrived and raised his children strong. Dying Man shrank in hollow hopelessness, a chained man. Like intersecting bullets, as time passed so showed their separate paths. The Flying Man lived forever and the Dying Man died long before his body. And yet they lived in a world that knew each only for his labors.

It's not the work that's important - God needs no field tilled. It's only what it does for your soul that counts. A world of sick souls has no choice but to implode - but I hear they're going to pass a law against that.

My "Lunatic Fringe" Video

BACKGROUND: STEVE - kicking and screaming on his way to salvation - and MORTY - the stone the builders rejected - have joined forces to embark on a mission to find out if life has more to offer than the hopeless hell deemed by Man. STEVE had been sentenced to the Factory Grind, mind numbing monotony enforced by the blackmail of facing life in the Alley. MORTY, having refused the judgment of men, was crippled with rage of having been trapped in the Alley for committing no crime. Together they find the courage to risk life and limb in hopes of escape.

Having come across many false hopes in the Land of Sir Real, they are reaching the edge of the Land with no place yet having a future.

The BACKDROP: An older ranch style house on the edge of a small city. It's warm, cozy and well lived in. A fireplace is going, as much for a utilitarian aspect as for aesthetics. Cut to a middle aged MOTHER - no better and no worse than anyone else, average in all aspects - hand washing and drying the dishes. She is neither annoyed nor enjoying this chore. It is simply something one does.

Scene 1: But her underlying irritation with her life is revealed when she hears a breakable break in the other room. We pass out of the kitchen and into the room with the fireplace to see a guilty little BOY standing in front of the shard pieces.

Scene 2: The MOTHER is scooting the boy out the door. The BOY has been dressed in winter clothes and is clearly not happy with what's transpiring.

MOTHER
Out you go! You're not breaking anything more of mine! Stay out there until you can learn to calm down!

BOY
But Moooom!

MOTHER
Out! You brought this on yourself! Your own decisions got you where you are.
Scene 3: As the boy scoots out into a tree filled yard that is merely a prelude to a full forest further on, we see the MOTHER framed in the doorway who suddenly realizes on some level the words she just spoke to her BOY were really words she has been silently chastising herself with for quite a while. She shuts the door on this thought.

The BACKDROP: Winter's fading light in a yard at the edge of all civilization. We feel the coldness and the looming inevitability of the coming darkness. There's nowhere to go.

Scene 4: The BOY tramps through some leftover snow around the house to the kitchen window. He's separated from his MOTHER and the warmth of a home. He spies her through the window as she has returned to what is now open drudgery. The BOY approaches the window.

Scene 5: Looking down from the roof, we see and hear the BOY matter-of-factly pleading his case.

BOY
But Mommy, [He finally gets to finish his sentence from when he was pushed out] it's cold out here.
Scene 6: The camera swivels and peers back towards the city, skimming over the rooftops to see the glow of distant hubbub in the dying light. But we are not going there as no little boy alone can either. The camera swivels once more towards the dark and ominous trees of the forest and makes a beeline going up and over the treetops. The camera races over the landscape, trying to catch a sun that has set. All signs of civilization disappear - the lights, the telephone poles, everything. We hear the opening eerie whistle of Lunatic Fringe, foretelling the destination of our journey.

With each guitar burst, we flash forward to a different face of the SEVEN MEN of the axe. Their grimacing faces reflect the clear light of a dying sunset, alluding to the fact the earth has not rotated to darkness on their landscape. The landscape is brutal, uneven and barren. It's the Sadlands. Each man carries a large, burdensome axe in a fashion reflecting each one's personality. A red glow of hate emanates from the heads, clearly hating the circumstance of the burdens they carry and the barrenness of their existence. Somebody's got to pay!

Here is what we see them chant:

"Seven Men of the Axe are we,
We chop all who disagree,
It is you we will deceive,
We will make you to believe,
And if we don't see eye to eye,
We will chop and watch you die."
The Seven Men:

PRIEST OF DOOM: Arms crossed over his axe, pressed flat against his breast. To him the axe is holy and kills in righteous fury.

CARE-NOT LUMBERJACK: Drags axe head along the ground. A man who chops for chop's sake.

MASOCHISTIC WARRIOR: Fanatic who holds his axe with his teeth, Rwanda madman

RUTHLESS BUSINESSMAN: Smiles up front, axe in back.

BLIND SOLDIER: Sees not and knows not who he kills. It's the orders that count. Carries his like a rifle.

WILLFUL SLAVE: Axe carried across his shoulders. He's bitter at having not chosen freedom. Make him Arab.

BOLD EXECUTIONER: Perhaps the scariest of all. Society's sanctioned murderer holds his axe held high ready to chop at a moment's notice

As the guitars start in full force, the camera catches up to them and we know all signs of civilization are long gone. It passes over them and circles them and zooms in on them. They are chanting something in unison but it's not a happy song. We cannot hear it but we fear it because it's plain to see they are in their own little world and care nothing for the rest of it. Each one tells his story of terrorism as we focus in.

[Order to be determined]

PRIEST OF DOOM: Burning people at the stake. Gothic church symbols. Jesus on the cross, implying these are his crucifiers, not his followers.

BLIND SOLDIER: Nazi raids. When we hear the words "final solution" we see a stark black and white picture of Dachau against a dying sky.

RUTHLESS BUSSINESSMAN: Evicting families, followed by homeless families. Factory Grind shots.

RAGGED SLAVE: Walks right by needy, never helping, always playing the martyr.

CARE-NOT LUMBERJACK: Environmental disaster. As he rapes himself he rapes the world around him.

Eventually, STEVE and MORTY see the approaching marauders. As it dawns on MORTY what they are doing, he at first grins and then outright laughs. Nothing amuses MORTY more than those who so clearly do not do what they want to do. STEVE, of course, is terrified as feels his own guilt and instinctively knows they'll blame him for their unhappiness - something he has done many times with Debby. One by one the SEVEN MEN form a circle around Steve, drilling into him with accusatory eyes.

Lunatic fringe
I know you're out there
You're in hiding
And you hold your meetings
We can hear you coming
We know what you're after
We're wise to you this time
We won't let you kill the laughter.

Lunatic fringe
In the twilight's last gleaming
This is open season
But you won't get too far
We know you've got to blame someone
For your own confusion
But we're on guard this time
Against your final solution

We can hear you coming
(We can hear you coming)
No you're not going to win this time
We can hear the footsteps
(We can hear the footsteps)
Way out along the walkway
Lunatic fringe
We know you're out there
But in these new dark ages
There will still be light

An eye for an eye;
Well before you go under...
Can you feel the resistance?
Can you feel the thunder?

The BACKDROP: The sun has set and risen once more. STEVE, frayed and broken, has spent the night in living horror. Somewhere, MORTY is eating popcorn and watching in amusement.

STEVE
"Alright!" he screams, "Just go ahead and do it! Chop away, I don't care!"
The circle tightens. "But before I go, I'm going to say one thing: You whackos-" STEVE rears back with all the spite he could summon, "You people look like the biggest bunch of freaks I've ever seen! What's wrong with you? Not a one of you carries his axe like a normal person!"

The protests are immediate.

WILLFUL SLAVE
"How else can I carry it?" whines the slave.

BLIND SOLDIER
"I carry it the only proper way," defends the soldier.

PRIEST OF DOOM
"Mine is carried God's way," the priest proselytizes.

RUTHLESS BUSSINESSMAN
"Only a fool carries it out front," secretly speaks the businessman.

CARE-NOT LUMBERJACK
"What difference does it make?" the lumberjack wants to know.

MASOCHISTIC WARRIOR
"I carry it like a true warrior," says the warrior, cutting his mouth.

BOLD EXECUTIONER
"Mine is the best way to chop!" proclaims the executioner, who had never been questioned before.
[A livid and vigorous argument ensues among the Axe Men. It is the politics of insanity - no one is right. Steve crawls out through their legs. He gets up and meticulously brushes off his worn garments.]

[MORTY's happiness openly gushes as he approaches.]

MORTY
"That's the problem with terrorists," he cracks. "They always worry too much what other people think!"

Ikiru (To live)

"How can I go forward when I don't know which way I'm facing?"
-John Lennon
Ask any homeless person what they want most in an immediate sense and the answer might surprise you. It's not love or money or even hope - those are unthinkable luxuries meant only for others. No, the answer is 'rest'. There is no rest from your fellow man. The draining weariness that ages street people so quickly gives no quarter. I spend all my time now searching for rest.

The 'rest' issue is racking my health and I have to consider any option available. I could try doing a straight job again. I have a chance for a janitorial job which would allow me to then stay in a cheap hotel. I could hide in my little room and peer out into the world through my invisible bars. My own Trump Tower. But would that bring rest?

Problem is, I want to live too badly. I can't force myself into godawful jobs any more. In my novel I spoke of those wounded by the Factory Grind. Some physically, some mentally. The mentally dead will say any job is a good job because they have lost the capacity for boredom - and therefore lost the capacity to contribute. The mentally twisted will say a job must be taken no matter how much one suffers - these are people to whom their children will never give true love. So I know what the insane have to say.

It's a constant line I walk between the logistics of living and the desires of life. The ebb and flow between the two are continually at odds within me. I never find the answer. Sometimes I think my life is lived only in theory, a giant lab experiment. It's so confusing to figure out which way to go. I must decide soon on this job or it too will be gone with the wind. I just can't decide right now. Right now, I need to rest.

A Snake Charming

A Modern Man
Since ancient times,
Sowing slumber
Through Ancient Rhymes.

He built an Image
For all to see,
He built an Image
Of you and me!

Chastising all his lovers -
We love a lovely fake;
Matters not who you are
If you're a Charming Snake!

The Varnished Truth
Is much more pleasant,
Better falsely Kingly
Than Purity's peasant.

Binding fact
With Fancy Fiction,
Pay high heed
To his perfect diction!

He spells of Saints
Who never sin,
And lusty virgins
Who die with a grin.

This confusing world
So full of fright!
His soothing yarns
Twist Black to White.

"Days of Love
"Are never coming!
"Time to start
"Your feet a-running!"

"Believe me when I tell you:
"Each man is your brother,
"Believe me when I fell you:
"The fault lies with the other."

"Upon my face
"Blow Winds of Change,
"Deep inside
"I'm feeling strange."

Listeners to the Snake
Shudder in silent woes;
Faithful to the end,
Fear's cold heart never knows.

Werewolves and vampires
Forsaking times of healing;
Killers gaping aghast -
Now Awakened with feeling.

Please oh please, thy Charming Snake!
The rainbow's end you vainly strive;
Please oh please, take us away,
Keep us from seeking our very life!

God loves us!

Oftentimes when I see the ills of the world addressed I see a statement like this:

"Remember, God loves us and is watching over us."
Whenever I see that phrase or one like it, I just want to vomit. What a vile and evil thing to say. What a despicable dismissal of mankind's woes. Only one reason exists for relaying such a remark: a complete and utter abrogation of one's personal responsibility.

Dude, I'm a master of worming out of personal responsibility. It's my hobby so I know it when I see it. But don't break the third commandment to boot.

First, let's break down this thought process. God's love has no meaning unless we let it into the world. Sure don't see a lot of that happening! So the question is not whether God loves us but the reverse. But by stating "God loves us" we imply it has relevance because the love is mutual. If only propaganda saved the soul.

Also, by stating we are being watched by God it implies God's intervening to make things good. Did God, for example, rush to save the Katrina survivors? Or was the reality mothers' babies died in their arms? Maybe they weren't praying hard enough or weren't good Christians or whatever garbage you want to make up. See, motherfuckers, it's up to us to make things right. But it's a lot easier to see a guy in a ditch and say, "It's OK, God is watching us!" than to actually help.

So whenever I see someone come up to me and say Jesus or God loves me I know they are saying that because they have no intention of doing it themselves.

Imaginary Me

A funny thing happened in the awesome J. Erik Jonsson library today. I was sitting by the window, staring out through the curtains into the afternoon heat and I started picturing myself sitting out there on the front steps, calm and collected, watching the people go by. Right in the middle of downtown Dallas Imaginary Me sat, fearlessly taking out a cigarette (I don't smoke in real life), lighting it up and coolly gazing at my surroundings. Imaginary Me had no rules and since in reality I was inside, the scorching sun bothered me not. I just wanted to sit and stare out that window forever, picturing myself un-crippled and un-needy. My imagination is my only home.

Like I said, Imaginary Me had no rules and had someone wanted to come up and talk I'd have gladly done so. Offered them a cig if they liked. Or maybe just shoot the shit. Anything was good. In real life, I hate questions, the one most dreaded being, "Who are you?" (How are you supposed to answer that? Should I say "Misunderstood Genius" or "Understood Loser" - or maybe I should go with the God line: "I am who I am." How the fuck am I supposed to answer it, really? How can anyone answer that? "Who are you, motherfucker?") But the Man With No Rules can be asked anything. He's happy to oblige.

It was also cool because Imaginary Me didn't need money. It wasn't because he had money, he just didn't need it one way or the other. This was a complete man I was looking at here. Imaginary Me peered up at the sun and sky, absorbing the day, clearly a man at peace with himself. Imaginary Me couldn't be rousted or questioned or hassled in any way. He was untouchable by the Stupidity of man and every man's sins were his own. God, that was sweet! You pay for your sins and I'll pay for mine. That's the way it should be - and will be.

The sun drenched steps held me spellbound in my own little world. Transfixed as I stared outside, I could hear the Voices of Unenlightenment dissuading me. "This is not productive - and therefore not permitted." "Only the real world counts, not this feeling." "No dreaming in public! That's not what life is for!" But none of that bothered me as I saw myself pull out another cigarette with an easy and knowing smile. To know thyself is to be undefeatable. Imaginary Me took an extra long drag as he looked at the world around him - and then blew smoke in its face.

The End of the Day

"Do you think I came to bring peace on the earth?
No, I tell you, but division."Jesus Christ, Luke 12:51

[In the despair of the night I held a vision of God's dreams twisted into men's nightmares - and I was eaten alive...EATEN ALIVE]

The Beast sat upon his throne, laughing at the stupid humans. He'd brought them to his ruin and yet still they blindly embraced their demise. Murderers and rapists ruling the day, hungry hounds seething on strained leash. The human heartbeat drowning in the rage of the times as insanity was proclaimed sane. Such days of darkness had never been known by humankind. The criminal became incorporated and the corporate became God. Victims were declared the new criminals. The starving, the mistreated, the abused, the slandered, the condemned, the falsely accused – to hurt in any way brought contempt and a sneer for your fate. It was a world on the brink of collapse and the wolves sought to devour the few remaining morsels.

One of the many well-paid spokesman for the Beast addressed a lost world:

"Today, we implement the Final Solution! Freedom, at last! No more shall our enemies persecute and destroy us. Their treacherous ways will be silenced forever! How long have we lived with these traitors among us? How long have we put up with their fascist dictates? How long have we suffered their insufferable mandates? Too long, I tell you! The time has come for us to do solely as we please – without question and without shackles.


"The world must be made safe for our love of war. We must eliminate those who refuse the peace war brings! Our wars of love must be sustained at any cost! Ours is the only way. To listen to the voices of poison among us is to eliminate our future. But today we shall stamp out disunity and discord so that we may forever sing the song of peace we all say we so dearly crave!"

Wild cheers and applause greeted the speechmaker. At last, the debate of who was right and who was wrong would be determined forever. The protesting traitors who called for the end of war and a commitment to peace had been gathered into camps for extermination. Slowly the fuse had shortened until even the most liberal minded of the warmongers could no longer stand to hear words of opposition. The blood hung heavy on the war supporters' foreheads to the point of breaking. Something had to be done!

But something funny happened on the way to the execution. The camp dwellers – the guileless meek, the stout-hearted, the honest, the peacemakers, the truth tellers, anyone incapable of waging war – all disappeared into thin air. The wheat was separated from the chaff. The sky blackened in terror as dark as the deepest night. Out of the sky landed huge machines searing through the earth. Electricity ceased to flow and cowering humans huddled in knowing fear as their hearts told them of guilt gone too far.


Out of the machines came creatures with many heads, wormlike, with a slicing round saw spinning in its mouth through razor-like teeth. With an intelligence sanctioned by God the creatures scoured the planet in an uncompromising zeal to sever any remaining human life. For anyone left on the planet at that time no recourse could be found: their fate being the same fate they’d handed out to others. How could it be otherwise?

Many decades before, a voice of evil had triumphantly declared the morning of a new age – the age of blessed corruption. As that day came to a close, the folly of the corrupt was plain to see as their carcasses mounted to the sky. In winning the world they lost their lives.

Where else did you think corruption would lead?

Inquiring (Alien) Minds Want To Know

Radar shows large, fast, unexplained objectBy ANGELA K. BROWN Associated Press Writer

FORT WORTH, Texas -- An enormous aircraft without transponders traveling up to 2,100 mph - at one time zooming toward President [Moron]'s Crawford ranch - is similar to the mysterious object dozens reported seeing, according to radar documents examined by a group that studies unidentified flying objects.

"This shows ample evidence of UFO activity," said Kenneth Cherry, Texas director of the Mutual UFO Network, which has been studying phenomenon earlier this year in Stephenville and Dublin, about 75 miles southwest of Fort Worth. "They were turning at angles not possible by military aircraft."
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There was a lot of talk a while back about UFOs seen around Stephenville, which I think is a couple of hours from here. What wasn't reported was the visit I got. Being homeless, there wasn't much I could say. Heck, people already think I'm crazy! But I am emboldened by this new hard evidence to shove down the throats of hard-headed critics of UFOs. So I will pass along now for your own edification the five questions asked of me:

1. Why do you put poison into your air, land and water?

2. What is money and why is it considered of value?

3. Why do you not feed everyone?

4. Why do you have wars when you can live in cooperation?

5. Why is Love not the answer?

Be sure to share with me your own enlightening responses before reading my insightful reply in the button below.


P.S. Technically, there were six questions but I didn't count, "Who's on first?"

Small Minds See A Small World, Part 2

"Hey, dude, I'm here to give it ya straight. I got nothin' against nobody and all I got to say is just the truth of what I saw. I can't help it some people don't like that 'cause I ain't lyin' for nobody! So let me tell ya what happened and you'll see for yourself that I found out this so-called smart guy legend is a total fraud!

"Yeah, man, this guy is supposed to be like some super-genius brainiac dude but I gotta tell ya, he's really dumber than a rock! I see this old guy wandering around, totally freaking lost. He's got no idea where he is just like one of them old-zheimer’s patients. I'm thinking 'Wow, this guy's got nothing upstairs.' I asked how he got here and he says he don't remember! I'm like, Dude! How can you not know how you got here?? He makes up this totally gnarly excuse he was like in deep thought or something. Whatever. Deep thought, huh? Dude, try some thought about where you're going! Genius, my ass! He was just feeding me a line of shit he made up just so he could feel good about himself. What a loser.

"I asked around later and some of my peeps tell me this guy never really thought up any of the shit he's supposed to be famous for. What he did was like take other people's work and start saying it was his own. Now that makes sense to me. And I know it's tough to take and everything but we gotta face the truth so we don't walk around all delusional and shit. That Einstein guy is lucky all he did was theory stuff because I betcha if anyone really tested it people would find out he is completely full of shit.

"Sorry to have to tell ya'll this but I'm the Bringer Of Truth!"

Small Minds See A Small World

As the director of a mental ward it is sometimes awkward dealing with our disturbed patients. Yes, it's true I'm highly trained and knowledgeable but the human equation invariably creates situations for which no one can prepare. My guess is this happens because there are those so far outside the realm of the norm there is simply no way to account for such deviant perspectives. I have one such fellow here now and when he presented me with an original painting of his I felt forced to accept it due to this man existing in a psychiatric black hole.

His presence sets everyone who's near on edge. One cannot but help but think of the mutilation incident which triggered his arrival but there's also a continuous nervous energy to the creature grating others into self-consciousness. He tells us he makes us feel the same way he feels around others. If so, I truly pity his world! And the god-awful painting I am currently burdened with gives off the exact same sensation as his being. It is a true piece of silliness, the product of a dysfunctional mind unable to relate to anything outside of its own, small world.

What was truly galling to myself and the staff was his brother sending money under the guise this madman had actually sold one of these pathetic pieces of pretense! This tortured soul explained his work by saying he creates mirrors by which the viewer can see himself. Hogwash! As it is, my wife and I are tormented daily in our abode by this mocking abomination that covers the crack in our living room wall. I have half a mind to call his brother and tell him to come sell this. Then again, his brother is a tad off kilter as well. Those Van Gogh brothers are a quite a pair!

Going Down in Flames

The little things just build and build and build and build until finally...you break. Then you find yourself in a lower level of hell and you pray once again for death but death does not come.

I was determined to process the stuff that's eating at me, twisting my guts into knots and stringing me out like a wired up addict. Hysterics all around. So I got comfortable and did my best to shut off my raging brain.

It's all this shit and garbage I see and hear every day, seeping in like a thousand points of fright.

...always trying to hide in movies. Not working anymore...

I dreamed of a film of the kind I always hate but am bombarded by. They keep coming at you, driving you down. "Oh, you gotta see this!" No, I fucking don't! I don't gotta see it and stop telling me I'm a lesser person if I don't! Jesus, will you people get off my back! Fuuuuck!



One specific name was mentioned: Lindsey Lohan. Another one of those annoying gaggle of celebs sucking on a bottle of death whom I really didn't want to see. Yeah, yeah, she's talented - whatever. Leave me alone with all this shit I 'have' to check out. "But she's so amazing in this!"

God, what a beating.

So what happens but I catch a clip of this 'must see' film on TV. It's set in the Middle East so it can be like Hip and Relevant, you know. "We're here to say something about the times, man. We're gonna show it like it is." Man, freaking spare me. But the first scene was of Lindsey as a peasant girl gathering stuff up. We see her from behind and she has a very high slit up her homemade skirt showing off gorgeous, smoking hot legs and part of her ass. She just radiates sex. I was completely taken in. "I see why she got such rave reviews. Wow, she is hot!" So I gave in on that part.

And I did see these really hot pictures of her on the net a few days ago.

But then came the hell part. The hero of the film was generic-good-looking-guy actor, maybe DiCraprio or of his ilk. He sees Lindsey and he too is swept away by the sight of her. It cuts to a scene of Lindsey swinging in a chair and telling a peasant boy, "I want you to fuck me." That's when Mr. Perfect decides he has to have her. It just so happens, of course, he's in this village doing Important Work, he's young, rich, and edgy looking, he's Somebody and has unlimited freedom to do whatever he wants. And get whatever he wants.

How does one get to that point??

But that's what I have to fucking compete against. Live up to that or be nothing. I'm so sick of these people with perfect lives who never make a mistake, never go off course. The world really is their oyster. Naturally he sweeps Lindsey off her feet and takes her to a very expensive restaurant on a balcony and I got so disgusted I stopped the dream.

But the hell kept on.


When I woke, my whole body was in flames and my eyes literally burned. I was so fed up with my life I couldn't move, catatonic with fear. It was like I'd had an emotional stroke. All my will to live stripped away - I stayed motionless for a very long time.

When will it end?

Where do you go when sleep isn't safe?

Why We Won't Leave Iraq

Our position in Iraq is a seeming quagmire. On this most people agree. We like to say it's a damned-if-we-do and damned-if-we-don't situation. Pick your poison, so to speak. And while all these statements seem reasonable and moderate, they are in fact complete and total horseshit.

What is acceptable to admit being true has no bearing on anything other than to point to a state of mind. The truth is we committed an egregious and outrageous act of evil with our invasion. Every man, woman and child in this country knows that but we seem to think that by not admitting it we somehow make it less true. On any given day you can hear very grave, brain-dead commentary on the dangers of admitting we're wrong. But you see, these people are merely talking about their own personal lives - the dangers they fear of admitting they are wrong. All roads lead back to love.

The reality is the drama on the outside is merely a playing out of the drama on the inside.


There are Unspoken, Burning Questions on the minds of every American: Do we really need to change? Are there really consequences for evil if we sin in the name of God? Can we just stay the way we are and not go further down the drain? We manifested our doubts by an act of doubtless wrongness. Our invasion expresses the problem of our own capitalist quagmire: in order for us to keep our system going we must feed it ever increasing doses of greed - and that is an inescapable fatal flaw. But we hope otherwise.

We hope we can shout down the truth. We hope we can manipulate the truth. We hope no harm can come to us if we silence the truth. We hope that our Creator doesn't know the truth of life - or the truth of us.

The Closed Eye Sleeps Well

Yes sir, I am a Trusting Soul;
You've come to do me right!
You're not like the evil mole
Stealthing in the night.

You brought me lovely flowers -
So what if they are wilted?
Forgetting me for hours,
At least I was not jilted.

For no future can ever be
If my life is not a dream;
Why should I want to see
If things aren't what they seem.

The comfy pillow in my bed
Tells me safety's all around;
Not a worry in my head
About the hungry hound.

It's good to know that in the end
The world's a godly place;
Love is all we mean to send,
The bad things, I erase.

Have you seen the faithless
With grinding teeth on edge?
Such rabid fears are baseless!
Screaming to me from a ledge.

I care not for troublemakers
Urging me to listen;
Blaspheming to my Maker
And my country they be dissin'!

It's us good guys who are winning!
Don't undercut with questions.
For why would they be sinning
Since we already are the best ones.

Blindly noble do I trust,
My eyes are never open;
Those who say, "To see I must"
I always hear a-mopin'!

Never shall I deride the plans
Of my holy brothers;
Keeping clean my lily hands
Of the dirty deeds of others.

Now comes an angry soldier,
Only angry because he's right!
He grabs me by the shoulder;
In the cattle car it's tight.

To a better place I'm taken,
Just for my well-being;
I cannot be mistaken
As long as I'm not seeing.

I sneer at the sorry fate
Of those seeking to defy;
Filling their hearts with hate
And slandering the lie.

Surrounded by anxious eyes
Who put themselves through hell!
In jealousy they do despise,
But my closed eyes do sleep well.

Cold-Hearted Orb

Thoughts While Lying on a Cot Covered by a State Issued Blanket

My nightly prayer:
Dear god,
"Fuck you, too."
Sincerely,
Harry

On women scorned:
In the game of life women are dealt a royal flush while men are dealt merely a pair. Many women find it romantic or heroic or even moral to fold the hand God has given them and let the guy win. But after doing this, the guy always leaves in search of another pot to win. For the woman who just sacrificed everything it's the same as being burned alive and her fury has no end. But really, she got what she asked for: to be used. It's not romantic nor heroic and especially not moral to not play out your God-given hand. It's just plain ol' irresponsible.

My life-draining labors:
"See, Harry, I knew you could do it. I bet you surprised yourself!"
"Actually, it makes me want to put a bullet through my head."

Meeting my Maker:
God asked: "Why didn't you believe in Me?"
"You know, I was just gonna ask You that question."

My current haiku:
The dry, withered twig
With no blossoms left to give
Hangs on to the tree
Overheard:"No one's gonna believe a word he says until he's dead."
"Yup, tain't no other way of provin' you're tellin' the truth."
"An' then it'll all be taboo."

Learning from history:
One man swallowed poison, got sick, and swore never to do it again.
Another man swallowed poison, got sick, but then declared himself immune by his surviving. So he kept on taking it until he died.
My current lyric:
"He tried pretending
"A dance is just a dance -
"But I see
"He's dancing his way back to me!"

Today's truth:
They say resisting (money, power, sex, war, fill-in-the-blank) is useless. I hear it every day all day long from wannabe cynics and sightless prophets but the truth is love always wins in the end. Bet your life on it - because it already is! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Cold-hearted orb that rules the night..."

The Love of the Worm

"I wasn't born a worm," said the Worm, "but I became one as quick as I could."

The Worm hated legitimacy. Legitimate people with their legitimate lives - he despised them all with a burning passion. To the Worm these people were forever mocking his worm existence - mocking him by merely being. So the Worm's twisted dream was for him to be declared the legitimate one and for him to lord over them. In this way the Worm hoped to achieve the impossible: to not be a worm though having chosen to be one.

The Worm never believed anyone could love a worm. That fact, however, did not stop his need for love or his drive to seek it. It drove him into a hellish life of isolation and perversion. The Worm was lucky, though, because he was a privileged worm, his feet never to touch reality. Without the salvation of responsibility, the Worm was able to stay in his warped cocoon. This made the Worm very, very loyal to his enabling world of disconnected reality.

Deeper and deeper went the Worm into his sphere of Unreality, drugged and drunken, seeking to brand souls as his had been. But even though he was forever bailed out of his wickedness, the Worm could find no relief: he was still a worm. The tormented humanity left in him could stand no more, the road to excess finally caused this insect of inebriation to snap. So he did the one thing left for him to do: declare himself holy.

Joining the group of Declared Holy allowed the Worm to abandon all truth at last. All the glory of God was now his. He may still be a worm but now he was a worm for God. And that meant the one thing the Worm wanted most: to be loved. The false friends and worm lovers who gave him the approval he so dearly craved earned his ever lasting fear - just as they had planned. They formed an unholy alliance and set out to take over the world.


The Worm's ambition for power was as limitless as his need for the true love he could never have. "I'm just a worm, haha!" joked the candidate as he wormed his way into the lives of others. And while some were shocked and disgusted and dismayed and appalled and horrified and outraged an actual worm was running for office, many others fell under his spell. This greatly encouraged the Worm - and his twisted hopes of ruling the world incredibly came to be.

But getting what he thought he wanted was the Worm's worst nightmare. What was he really - even with all the misplaced love shown him - but still a worm? The Worm hid in his hole, waiting for the inevitable day he would be exposed for the fraud he was. Even his privileged life could not save him now. But something else did. War came to the land and the Worm knew the frightened sheep would rally around him for guidance. A miracle such as this could only be a sign from God. This gave the Worm a daring even he had never dreamed of in all his perverted fantasies.

He spoke to the mindless masses: "Attacked we is and war we be at! Your President me will lead blindly you! Fall divided house if me trust not! Win me will! Win me will!" Despite the shockingly bad grammar and graphic ineptitude of communicating, hearty cheers greeted the Worm's words. Too great was the belief that a failure to support their leader would lead to a failure in the holiest of all endeavors: war. With thumping heart, the Worm continued, "Confidence with say I: We are a nation of worms! Worm is your ruler! Worm is the winner! Worms we all must be!" It was the goriest moment of depravity in the life of the Worm.

The Age of the Worm blasted full speed ahead. A worm agenda was instituted at all levels of governing and a relentless campaign declared: "Be a worm or the enemy wins!" This made worminess patriotic, bring out the worst in the souls across the land. With uninhibited glee the Worm watched the "legitimate ones" debase and erode themselves - and any who didn't were declared traitors. And having once drawn them down into a wormhole hell of existence, the Worm knew how very, very difficult it was to climb back out again. "Let's see these so-called 'good people' repent their way out of the vice-like predicament I got them in now!" (he spoke much more clearly when not having to mask his evil).


Groaning and wails of torment rang louder throughout the land the longer the worm agenda continued - which was music to the worm's ears. He loved feigning heartfelt sympathy for their pain while secretly loving it. The Worm rampaged destruction across the country while sowing the seeds for further destruction long after he was gone. His thirst for revenge was insatiable - and sanctioned by God. Yet even with spiraling despair and agonizing deaths, the Worm stood Unrebuked - just as he had planned. This Purveyor of Pestilence infected his foolish followers with a chokehold he knew they could never escape: the Worm would never be blamed for their miseries because they would never blame themselves.

My Poisoned Soul (Let the Music Play)

"We started dancing
"And love put us into a groove
"As soon as we started to move
"The music played"

I try to be a good guy
But I'm not
Who invented this need for love?
There's a rage inside me
A rage that can crucify a savior
"We started dancing
"And love put us into a groove
"But now he's with somebody new
"What does love want me to do?"
My false face shows happiness
My true face shows hell
One is the force of my will
The other a force of nature
There is no triumph for the will
"Let the music play
"He won't get away
"This groove he can't ignore
"He won't leave you anymore"
"First do no harm," I say
But my desire is to destroy
To destroy it all
So I can be free
Free to love.

"He tried pretending
"A dance is just a dance
"But I see
"He's dancing his way back to me"

Who Is the One?

"Have you ever heard the story of the One?" he asked me, leaning over his chair.

In a fit of frustration, I'd been staying lately in cheap hotels to live the "good life". But I came to realize it was an illusory waste, not really giving me what I want. So back to the shelter I went to make a more prudent use of my dollars. I don't blame myself for the hotel thing because I had to get it out of my system. Had I not done it the idea would still be eating on me to try it. In the end I found my true home in my lowlife existence.

Which sort of left me with a more open outlook, more accepting of things.

So here I am back in the shelter and I feel these eyes on me. Like I mentioned before, I've been watching "Nash Bridges" who has this character named Angel with some sort of psychic connection to the universe and seems to know things about people before even meeting them. And it was Angel's eyes I'd been feeling on me for the past half hour. Actually, I just thought there was something different about this guy so I filled in the empty space with a TV character for fun.

But that feeling shot through the roof when he spoke to me.

"One what?" I asked defensively. "Last time I heard there was one born every minute." I was trying to clue him in that whatever bullshit he had to sell, I wasn't buying. And believe you me, if you want bullshit stories, come to a homeless shelter. You got guys here in permanent con man mode with fantastically real sounding stories to rip your heart out. But most of the time it's a Rashamon story absolving themselves of any complicity.

So I really didn't want to hear this guy's stupid ass story about "the One" - except for the fact I did.

"The One," repeated 'Angel', sounding as if I should understand. "There's One out there that determines the fate of the world. He doesn't know it - he has no way of even possibly conceiving of it - yet his fate is our fate."

Angel's words did nothing but stomp on my ever-so-fragile nerves. "That's just stupid! Everyone determines their own fucking fate."

"And you have determined this should be your fate?" he frowned, gesturing to my hopeless surroundings.

"Yeah, well...I hate this fucking world."

"The One is unknown to us - cannot ever be known - and yet how we treat him decides if the world lives or dies. God made him completely dependent on his fellow man. He has a direct connection with our Maker. The One is God's weathervane of our souls."

I stared at him unrealizing I was staring, waiting for him to continue. I felt a sadness for this One, knowing what he must be going through. I pictured him wandering destitute, hand out, asking for help - and receiving none. Of all the jobs to be assigned on this godforsaken world, that would be the last one I'd want.

Angel continued: "The world will never see any obvious value in the One outside of what it ascribes to the preciousness of any soul. It takes a blind faith to keep him alive, to blindly take care of everyone regardless. If we fail to value every life, then he slips through the cracks and our fate is sealed."

"Well, no society is going to take care of everyone."

"I would call that a tragic decision. Who do they decide should not be taken care of?"

Well, I certainly knew the answer to that! Angel's story was building me up, making me feel important. I've had flashes of those feelings before when volunteers handed food out with cheer and no thought of judgment of who we were. It always made me think, "Hey...maybe I do count.' But I never dared to believe it. And I was always deeply ashamed my life was so extremely vicarious.

"Well, dude," I admitted, "I gotta say I like your story. It's total bullshit, but I like it. What's funny is if everyone believed it, the whole fucking world would change! We'd all be thinking we have to take care of everyone in order to survive. God, that'd be funny! It'd be like a total reversal of the way things are now."

"The truth will set us free."

"I've probably said that a million times. But heck, man, if you can't prove your story somehow, no one's gonna believe it. Talk about an inconvenient truth!"

"I can think of nothing more inconvenient than death. I do not seek to prove my story true because I already know it to be so. In time, it will be proven so and if our fate is foul we'll cry out, "If we'd only known!" But if you ask me, we already know."

That's when I stared at him a second time, this time wondering just who the fuck this guy is. Had he been reading me, seeing some weakness? More was going on here than I could see but I just couldn't quite put my finger on it. I hate things I can't get to the bottom of so I asked Angel dead on: "So why tell me this story?"

Then Angel's entire demeanor changed, relaxing, pulling away from me and locking his hands behind his head in an air of satisfaction. That made me want to slap him! Did this fucker put something over on me? Dammit, I have to know! Instead, all I see is this Cheshire grin staring back at me with the simple reply of, "Why not?"