The Chinese character for crisis is the same as the one used for opportunity. And if we in Texas are hellbent on raising stupidity to new heights, that can only mean good things for a smart boy like me. The trick is in knowing how to talk to my fellow retards Texans, to wit our continually re-electing of Governor Goodhair even after his demonstrable raping of our state. So I figure since the good idiots citizens of Texas can be so easily manipulated, why not manipulate these hearty souls for the better?
You know, sometimes in this state I feel like a gigolo in a nunnery of virgins: Honey, you may think you know what you want but you ain't foolin' this boy!
It wasn't difficult finding a member of the Texas intelligentsia at the recent tea and fart-sniffing rally here in Dallas and luckily I found him to be most representative of his ilk as the crowd around him hooted and hollered in encouragement of his replies:
Why do you need a country of your own?
It's a free-dumb of real-itchin' iz-shoe.
And in what way do you feel your religion is impinged?
Cuz I needs to be free ta worship me guns like I pleez! Rites now thay gots all sortsa crazee laws sayin's we cantz chutes nobuddy mosts timez sept maybe's win thay's blakkks or walkin in me front yard.
Oh, those are highly restrictive laws. Could you tell me what the tenets would be of your new religion once freedom is attained?
Tenents? Nah, I ain't rentin' nuttin ta no buddy. Butt I nose firs thing I gonna dew is makes it so we's can chute dem dam libberalls wot messin' evrythin up! Dat wot gunna make us grate in da whirld n keeps our razes pure.
So this utopia you wish to create will have no liberals, so as to keep your race pure. But just how are the evil liberals threatening you now?
Ewe-tow-pee-ya? Ain't dat sum plase n Kanzass? Dem libs gonna be da enema win we suseeds so I's doan care bout dem much. I jess nose dem liberralls makes me madder in a hornit win thay bee talkin's to me, yassir, I duz nose dat!
And just what are these godless liberals saying to you, sir?
Thay sayin all sorts vial crapp like homos is peeple like us n wee gots to eet vejjees we-uns hates n den thay goas a roun on thar hi horse sayins I sposte to think mor! Wells, I's thinks ewe's da devil ewe liberall devils! How bout dat fer thinkin!
Governor Goodhair takes a break
You feel no environmental consternation on the global carbonization of our atmospheric patterns?
Doan bee hatin's on me wit werds like dat! Bigg werds is jess like bigg terds: thay stink and I doan wants to be no-wear neers 'em! Ewe soundz like won a dem iffy-lefty-wills. I's can all ways spots n enemee mine cuz thays makes me brane hert.
So is it true anyone who graduates sixth grade is not allowed to live in Texas?
What skool gots to dew wit runnin a combine and hatin's stuff? Dem over-edjamicated folks like dat we-uns deeports ta Aus'in.
Is not Austin part of Texas?
Nah, dey too dum to no better bout nuttin thar. Thays too dum to hates on any buddy! Thays gots kweers walkin down da streets in broad day lites no less! Dem aint Texans atall!
Leslie wants to join your tea party
Can you tell me what this new nation of Texas will be like?
Wells, firs offs, god likes hisself sum guns. Yassir, thats jess da fact. An taint nuttin west a fort werth gonna bee anythin but won bigggg chutin' gallreee! Yee hawwwww! N we's onlee gonna shows reel moovies like 'Member da Alamo' n 'Smokee n da Bandido' n on dem hi-brow nites we can shows 'Rodehouse', jess so's folks nose we gots sum re-fine-a-ree hear.
Just so you'll know, after we secede I'm planning on overthrowing the government and naming myself Shogun.
Show-gun? Dat won hellava post ewe got thar, boy! Yassir, I's on bored wit dat! 'Show-gun' - dang wish ide thot that up fer me fer shor!!
And to demonstrate how I want everyone to have a job, I'm going to name our Governor Goodhair as court jester because he says so many funny things.
I allways sez, evryone good gots to hav a job and I thinks thats mite kinds of ya. N I reelly duz likes me a funnee feller! Dat Boxcar Willee make me pee my pants rite down me legs!
Governor Goodhair has me peeing down mine as we speak. More importantly, though, I'm going to create a warrior class called samurai who'll keep law and order. They'll be able to chop a peasant’s head off without a moment's notice.
Sam Your-eye? New a feller name Sam once, him a good ol boy n could cach sum fish like ewe not beleeve! Ewe think yur San no mines?
Oh, without a doubt.
Well, ewes a smart feller after all! Yur Sam sound like won heckuva feller wot wit him killin feasents all da time. Taint no life atall when mens cant kill wot evry berd he seas! Yup, I thinks im'a gonna likes yur Sam Your-eye and won thin I can tell ya, cant no never haves two much poe-lees!
Oh, from what I can see of Texas, my samurai will be very, very busy chopping heads. But most of all, I'm just happy to provide you what it is you think you want!
Dats how dem-oxa-crazees sposte ta werk! Buy givins da peeples wot day wonts! Dem godless folks in Washy-tun taint gonna dew nuttin bout nuttin so is up ta we-uns to sets stuf strate! God I luvs Americas - n I's cant wates ta get aways from it!
Trust me, I will rule with an iron hand - Tree hugging will be mandatory
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Judge for yourself:
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They call me "Magic Man" at the Sisters of Divine Severity and Spankings convent.
Come with me to the Japans and learn of Cha No Yu - or the Way of Tea. It's four main principles are: harmony, respect, purity and tranquility - precepts we shall look for in our would today. The undisputed master and cultivator of the tea ceremony was Sen no Rikyu, 1522-1591, who elevated it to a high art, spawning three schools of thought on the practice of the tea ceremony.
Simple, unadorned objects should be used
Over the centuries, the tea ceremony gained refinement: The tea ceremony developed as a "transformative practice," and began to evolve its own aesthetic, in particular that of wabi. Wabi, meaning quiet or sober refinement, or subdued taste, "is characterized by humility, restraint, simplicity, naturalism, profundity, imperfection, and asymmetry [emphasizing] simple, unadorned objects and architectural space, and [celebrating] the mellow beauty that time and care impart to materials." Ikkyū, who revitalized Zen in the 15th century, had a profound influence on the tea ceremony.
The Way of Tea requires humility, restraint, simplicity, naturalism, profundity
Rikyu composed this poem to explain his philosophy of tea:
"Though many people drink tea, "If you do not know the Way of Tea, "Tea will drink you up. "Without any spiritual training, "You think you are drinking tea, "But actually tea drinks you up."
ichi-go ichi-e is a philosophy that teaches each meeting should be treasured, for it can never be reproduced
Toyotomi Hideyoshi ruled Japan in the late 16th century. He was a patron of the tea ceremony and Rikyu was his tea master. Hideyoshi learned well:
"When tea is made with water "Drawn from the depths of the mind "Whose bottom is beyond measure, "We really have what is called cha-no-yu."
There is an old Latin saying, 'Ars est celare arlem'. This means that true art is so subtle that it looks quite natural and simple - it does not look contrived.
If man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty. Japanese Proverb
"In the common parlance we speak of the man ‘with no tea’ in him, "when he is insusceptible to the seriocomic interests "of the personal drama. "Again we stigmatize the untamed aesthete who, "regardless of the mundane tragedy, "runs riot in the springtide of emancipated emotions, "as one ‘with too much tea’ in him." Okakura Kakuzo (1863-1913), Japanese scholar
For those who practice true wisdom Each movement is measured
He never put on his own makeup. Not once in all the years I knew him and I was with him from the beginning, working small time circuses in dusty West Texas towns all the way to arenas jam packed with rabid fans. Charlie could make the world laugh and applaud and offer thunderous standing ovations - but never could he put on his own makeup. Like a turtle on its back, helpless to the task of righting itself, Charlie had an inability to face the mirror - and it was a telling sign of a sinking soul. My name is Tim, I was Charlie's makeup artist and I want to tell his true tale at last.
***
The Inspector at work!
It's magical when you discover you have world class talent. At first you sort of look at it sideways, not daring to believe, then gradually with a mixture of excitement and trepidation you find that yes, the stars have aligned for you and you be "gifted". It's a bit like finding a knapsack of endless cash on your back, something wonderful that never leaves you and pours forth infinite gifts. The feeling of specialness, of being continually connected to forces greater than yourself, puts a dreamlike glow around you, naturally drawing in those who want to share that dream.
Others see your magical star, thinking it a shortcut to their own, or believing that time with you heals them as nothing else can or for some just to steal a piece of your light for a dark life craving to be known. Like faces popping out of the dark on a funhouse ride, the star man is assaulted by false eyes without understanding and the surrealness of it is a ticklish part of the magical ride. But it also isolates him, cuts of him off, no one wants to hear the star man's reality is anything other than perfect. He is obliged to live the dream life the dirty masses can not, to prove life has hope and meaning.
I have a theory that God makes us 99% perfect - but that imperfect 1% can take over your life and kill you in the end if not fixed. And oftentimes, without explanation, Charlie would offer up to me, "It's killing me, Tim. It's killing me." He'd confess this with eyes closed, exhaling the thought in the eternal struggle show preparation required. I never responded, merely continued applying his makeup, knowing I was the lone soul to whom he could confide without repercussion - being both within his world and without.
Not all chains can be escaped
In a way, that made me the most important person in Charlie's life. But I was married, with a life of my own and Charlie's demands at times put a strain on me and mine as no one really understood why it had to be me to take off on his tours to do such a simple act as his makeup. Yet I could offer no real defense. I never repeated the admissions Charlie said to me - didn't feel the need to - and if I had, I knew it would not have been Charlie I betrayed, but myself. To be honest, without my own life to retreat to, I could not have borne his words as he disintegrated over the years, crippling himself. I witnessed the one thing every clown hides the most: his tears.
In the entertainment industry, my job as Charlie's makeup man was a running gag. "Hey Tim, you gotta help him put his underwear on too??" Every clown puts on his own makeup, almost as a point of pride, but it bothered me not to be tending the only clown who did not. Charlie was the best - they were "the rest", competent but rarely transcendent. And yet, Charlie's continued helplessness on this point made me wonder if he was ever going to win the battle on the imperfect 1%. Like a nation's ill-conceived war, elusive success was always just around the corner.
Reality was, long ago he had ceased to be Charlie the Person and assumed the life of Charlie the Act. Slowly but steadily he withdrew from personal relations, engaging in outrageous acts of self-destruction, making wild accusations of betrayal and sabotage. I think he viewed relationships as a liability, as if they would rush the stage and scream to the world Charlie was not the funny man he portrayed. Like a mute sentinel, I watched this journey to nowhere - and to Charlie, my silence was truly golden.
Sabotage!
Entertaining on the outside, raging on the inside. The more Charlie withdrew, the angrier he got, railing at prop men or any other poor bastard who happened to be standing in his way. Never me, though. Not once. I was like a tree in the desert whom the scorching wind moved around but never burned. The outbursts gave Charlie a "reputation" with insiders but really he was just cruelly lonely and I saw these pleas for help go unanswered. Big money was to be made off Charlie, which bribed his witnesses into silence - most of all himself. No one feared the magical star he'd followed all his life would stop shining more than he. Please, no one say a word!
But what of healing? Healing means what? A collapse of the empire? What if he tried it but healing never came? Could he ever make it back to the stage? Eventually, the question was answered by the easiest of all answers: Could Charlie still sell tickets? That's all Charlie wanted to know too. I'd seen in his interviews when asked what courage it took to perform night after night and how he praised himself to face it year after year but I shook my head in disgust. Cowardice ruled the life of Charlie the Clown - and it left him a fragile fellow.
What would of the world have said if they knew the Charlie I knew? After the shows, as the lights shut down, so did the light in his eyes. His brow furrowed and lines of pain creased his eyes as the mask faded away. I was never sure he was even aware he spoke out loud as his admissions flowed forth to me. Once, in a breath of realization, he sighed, "I have nothing to offer." He proclaimed this with the roar of a standing ovation in the background. Part of me wanted to scream, to drag him back onstage and say, "Confess it to THEM!" But Charlie was stubborn on fixing that 1%.
Stubbornness is the breeding ground for desperation, which lends itself to ever increasing absurdity. Charlie role-played as a slave to dominatrixes , pleasing his mistress regardless of the pain inflicted. To his mistress he showed an unswerving worship, deigning her infallible, a god that must exist in his mind - much as Charlie was to his adoring public. Biting the apple of this illusion, he released himself to the lie. Charlie was dying - and getting off on it. Worse, he welded elements of it into his act - often getting him the loudest laughs - and Charlie the Person was laughed at before all the world though none knew it but me. How could this end well?
I told the inquisitors I had no idea what the note meant. Yes, Charlie was dead, but even then I still felt compelled to silence before these uncaring vultures picking over his remains. His final words were simple: "No way out" - and I cried with the thought of his trapped soul solving its problems with a bullet. Point came where he could no longer keep up the act and he'd be left to face Charlie the Person. The seemingly simple act of not facing the mirror - transforming from eccentricity to charade to choking ruler of his life - eroded him into despair. All the applause in the world couldn't save him from that. Charlie had indeed followed his star - but that's not the only star to follow in the midnight sky.
Later, I thought back to the early days, the brash, young, cocky full-of-life Charlie, the fast rising star strutting off the stage walking on a cloud, his ebullient manager clasping him in victory, "You're a raging smash, Charlie! They love you!" But Charlie only smirked and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Don't be silly. It's not me they love, it's the act."
it's true i've made nothing of my life and i'm guilty and useless and need to be needed but who needs someone who isn't anyone but needs to be someone so when i saw they were talking and reading and asking yet wondering what means 2+2 i told them four but they said no and got real angery saying i was dangery and said it was nun of my busy-ness and go away for the ever and die and then die some more and i wondered why and asked them why but they spoke no more so i asked some others is 2 plus 2 not four but heads turned away to never see me so then never hear me so be i must not and they dreamed me gone but i was still here or i thought i was cuz now i don't know what i know because i thought i knew but they said no one's true especially you so i wondered if i should say two plus two is five but then who would be i and should i be i and i want to be i but how to be i?
i ran to places no one wants cuz men sickly fare and the restroom was bare but i am not bare so even this not for me and words on walls spoke of girls not free but free's what i have but i read them to see when cops car screeches to caught me and they were angrys and detesting me for years and years and i should get what they got coming to them and laughed at my chains and under the light asks if i wants to show boners and i said never but they said i read the girls words with numbers in hand so i must be a liar who should be in forever and whatever i said must not be true so i told them yes i want to show boners so a woman came cuz she never came to protest me calling me perverts telling me jails too good for me and when i said i had to be free she scorned as philosophy and she did not know what she needed so how could i and i was a liar anyway so what did it matter and when i called her a monster she said only a monster would call her a monster.
then i searched for their ears but they all disappears and sad eyes rolled in their heads and they put hells in my beds with no lie unsaid so wheres the hope in that and they said where is the hope in not that and when i cried they hoped i lied and when i died they feared i lied and when i fried they swore i lied and they hated me for their lying and dying and frying so they tried to choke me because they said they need not to breathe and no one could be better than they and monsters ruled the world but they were not monsters but the world must be safe for monsters because of their mobsters and who can defy the mobsters and my future was theirs when they have no future but futures for monsters must be and thats why two plus two could never be four cuz that means monsters no more.
I had to wait until I calmed down. 45 minutes ago I woke from the worst nightmare I've ever had. More real than real itself. Unless you've had one like it you can't understand the experience of a dream so strong you actually lived it. I will never be the same again and I'll never trust America again. Seems even I, the one true False Prophet have fallen for our self-propaganda, living in rationales that make sense only inside a bubble - until the bubble is burst.
It started with rumors. Stupid, silly rumors that made you say, "C'mon bitch! We dare you to try!" A coalition had formed - a coalition of greed, anger, envy and despair - and they wanted to take us on. I laughed like everyone else. We are the remaining superpower, not only that, we're smarter than those dumb ass backwards countries that oppose us. We would teach them a painful lesson on what it means to mess with America.
Why would anyone hate us?
The rumors bothered me but I also took glee in them. I was secretly looking forward to kicking a little ass on someone who actually deserved it. My smirk was planned and waiting its cue. But I have to admit I was actually a little shocked when the invasion did come. Could they really be that stupid? Are they so blind as to not know America is untouchable? What were they thinking? An unjust war like that was doomed to fail.
But it is we who are blind.
We failed to learn from this
The allied powers had a plan: invade and cut off all oil imports. The Arabic powers saw no further use for us and to at last wipe out the Defender of Israel was too tempting a thought to further repress. At this point we were used up financially and militarily. Ripe for the kill. They allied themselves with China, Russia and every other country in the world that was sick of our interventionist ways and easy living as they starved. Apparently, they didn't see their starvation as the just fate we declared it to be for countries we deemed our lesser.
The skies darkened with enemy aircraft, the sirens went off and laughable folly became an horror all to real. Luckily, I was with a military man - an NCO - I remember him being an NCO because I never knew what being a non-commissioned officer meant. We went to a military building but really it was more like an office building and it was not on a base. There we got confirmation it was true: they were invading our cities and streets and killing Americans with unholy vengeance and glee. Their eyes held the contemptuous look as one who throws the lever of death for a man society condemned to die.
Does being helpless get you hot?
I was not ready for this - no one was. Never had I felt so helpless. I had to watch the end happen in front of my eyes and could do nothing to stop it. They wanted our houses and cars and sleek towers soaring into the sky. Most of all, they wanted our bubble popped, to make us aware of the daily hell of their lives as we concerned ourselves with the ways of greed and self-indulgent smugness. "Pride goeth before a fall" only applied to other peoples.
An invader penetrated our building but I am not a killer by trade. Luckily the NCO killed him with an odd butterfly blade he had. I had been frozen in fear. One of the NCO's men came running towards our building. He stopped to tell us the invaders were coming but in my head I yelled, "Don't stop! Keep coming or you'll die!" But it was too late. The weapons they used were silent - except for the screams. Like powerful squirt guns, they shot out a stream of self-igniting gasoline. We watched the soldier burn alive - as well as a family the invaders had chased down.
Behold our face of terror
I got a gun from the NCO but the strength required to pull the trigger was so strong the gun kicked back to the point to where I was unable to have any decent aim. We did manage to kill a few, I remember feeling surprised we could kill any at all. It felt good to defend myself and destroy these beasts that had once been human and I took refuge in that false hope. For these attackers were nothing more the Rage Beasts, logic to them meant no American should be allowed to live. There was no greater picture or a thought to tomorrow. It was all about serving the god of unreasonableness.
The enemy had been far smarter that we ever gave them credit. Japan was cut off as well - perhaps the most oil dependent country in the world - and China tasted her long hungered revenge for WWII atrocities never forgiven. It came to be realized the oil god we so dutifully worshiped could be used against us; to rape, pillage and loot us. Unable to deliver food supplies to cities as gasoline ran dry, the riots and starvation turned the tide for the invaders. They had merely sent in their angriest cannon fodder at first, to disrupt us and sow disarray.
They had been happy to die.
Fighting wars that weaken us - to death
Now came the troops with cold, flaming eyes, systematic and unbeatable with the discipline of death. Our soldiers around the world were slaughtered having no oil for the war machine to run. The victors rejoiced in our demise, calling us Nazis and our fate a karmic catastrophe. At last they had a chance to stick a steel blade deep into the belly of the beast. The world was mad with rage and they did what they did for the mere fact that they could. To us, life had been about "maintaining our standard of living" but for the them it was struggle between life and death.
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Iraqi child bombed during American Idol voting
I woke up wanting to commit suicide. My stomach had never been so wrenched in torment and my head was mad with suffocating despair. The logic was too real. I imagined what it must have been like to be an Iraqi family who could only cower in terror as bombs came from the sky, killing their children in murderous fury and hearing the American overlords mockingly declare "Freedom is messy" and the collateral damage necessary to a just cause. And why did we butcher, slaughter and invade them, unleashing unholy hell? We murdered them to take their oil. And we shall reap what we have sown just surely as the sun will rise.
God cannot help you fucking morons if you think this war is over.
Innocent song birds; Hopping freely on branches; Living on mercy.
What was it Jesus said? Be like the birds, don't worry and trust the natural order of things. I don't doubt the wisdom of that, in fact it's a cornerstone belief in my life. But times come when I have trouble letting go and I want to cling to something in the world, fear and frustration getting the best of me. And for a time, one can be seduced by worldly success, thinking: "What do I care of the birds? So what if I lie? Do you see me die?"
It was song birds she heard under the gentle warm rays of the Spring sun. And as she watched the coffin lower into the ground on what would otherwise be a joyous, lively day, she knew she had to blame someone other than herself. So she blamed me. Her son of seventeen earthly years spoke no more, sealed for eternity in deafening silence. As scoops of dirt landed with thunderous impact, the sound rifled through her being, burning agonizing holes of despair.
She too was buried that day - buried alive.
Presented with the Danger Of Life, she'd built glorious inner dams holding back despair, stemming the floodwaters of life. And though she ached in the slave labor torment of building those dams ever higher - her soul aching to destroy it as she truly wanted - the strings of power proved too alluring; for they were too logical, too concrete, too seemingly smartly safe to refuse. She'd make her life as she saw fit, her soul be damned - and so it was.
I was an inconvenient truth, an environmental disaster in what she called her garden of Eden. But it was the snake who'd first led her astray, whispering her out of paradise and selling her a hellish mockery of life. A sly salesman the snake, praising and lauding her decision, feeding her the lies she needed to hear. "In the old garden, you had no say in the forces of nature! What is life if one is to live at its mercy, I ask you. Which way next the wind, what possessions to be lost? The river floods, sweeping away even the good homes if not resting on rock. In my garden, you can set the river's path as you please."
But proud she was of her Dance of Life and she feared its departure. A starlet of love, the sunshine of her soul a beacon in a dark world, she walked in ethereal dreams. She had plans for the bright burning of her star - but a Weak Male had plans for her. Like a deer in the woods, her instincts alarmed danger at his arrival. He cared not she said no - only that he spoke to him. Finally, he convinced her the danger she felt was the Danger Of Life. Did she really think her star would burn ever bright? He asked her if she wanted dreams that could be safely bought, and she said, "I do."
"A nice day to start again"
And the snake hissed in discomforted joy, knowing he had not spoken in vain.
Over the years, in the tall tale of her life, she made myth on how True Love had overcome her wrongheaded instincts - then held up her shackled wrists and gave smile as proof. "Make me your slave," she cooed in the night. "I have nothing else to offer." In the garden of the snake, they sowed trees of rot and hoed gardens of twisted root - and marveled at the comfort ill-gotten growth did bring. And yet she did question her Weak Man about the grains of sand on which their fine home rested.
With eyes afire, her leader-bleeder explained: "These are grains of greed - the grains that save us! As long as we're greedy, out house will never fall. You know how to be greedy, don't you?"
All her life she'd been a prisoner of selfishness - she hated how it contorted her beautiful Dance Of Life. As a child, she despised losers who lost the Dance Of Life, the walking dead bemoaning their fate and dire in demeanor. For she knew what life is to be: it is to be love. Love that reaches out through all living things, the universe in every cell and the universe an infinite, infallible dream. But love means surrender, and she could not surrender to the idea that merely the Dance Of Life would keep her alive like song birds in the trees.
Lacking true holiness, she made rituals of her religion, praising herself as God, parroting God's words and pleading to herself to keep her life, the words of the snake echoing in her ears: "The river washes away houses built on sand." Words that froze her heart and stilled her dance. But seeing her dance die was unbearable as well. Torn between the two, she dug through the grains of sands, suspecting her faith misplaced. That's when she found me.
***
The snake led me astray as well, leaving me in the cruel, arid sands of the desert, living at the mercy of snarling teeth that hunt in the night. In the desert dunes, every footstep must be heeded, the ground laced with bubbling pits of anger and holes without end. Drinking from bitter waters, I was convinced this is all life can be. I cursed me and the lies I followed - was my love forever a Dream Unspoken? I asked God to send me a soul to lead me out of the wilderness. Give love a chance. That's when the Oasis appeared and I found Her dreaming by waters pure and sweet.
Life cannot be made in an oasis, they come and go in the desert day, popping up as nature allows. But any respite is welcome from the scorching, parched heat of a lonely sun. Tepidly I approached Her, an involuntary smile on my lips. She returned mine with one of her own. We didn't have to do anything, a miracle happened as a golden flower sprouted of its own accord. Never had I known anything so beautiful. Healing tears dripped from our faces, nurturing the flower, each petal made of countless crystals of light. The tender waters of the oasis nurtured us as well, two heaving chests hungry once more for life, a little boy meets a little girl.
At night, back in the hellish shrub of the desert, I must have made quite a silly sight for any angels who watched. Among the dangerous pitfalls and odorous waters, I danced like never before, singing "Yes! Yes! I found you at last! My dreams are real!" I dreamed of a normal life, at long last returning to the world of the living. I looked at my hands but they were not my hands, but the hands of God, glowing in the dark air, flowing with the power of the universe. God help the snake who broached me now.
"Even if it takes a lifetime"
A changed man was I. God did love Me, My dreams were not delusions, but merely a reality waiting to happen. I didn't know! I just didn't know! I wanted to share this dream, to wrap the world in a love and light it could not resist. I fell down on My knees in thankfulness and happy angels appeared, flying Me to worlds I had never seen before. But I hadn't earned My wings yet.
Looking at the harsh terrain I inhabited, I knew I could never bring Her here to live. I must find greener pastures in which We could lay. Sensing My moment of doubt, the snake returned to remind Me of Her fine house and that all was lost. "Taste the bitter water of your choices," it hissed, "and know you poisoned your own dreams. Life is not for you." I cried to the Heavens to take My life. I was the Biggest Fool Alive.
That's when She told me my feeling were sin in Her eyes. That feelings outside of Her house would bring Her house down. Yes, She said the flower was good, but that it must grow in Her garden and not in the Oasis. "I love the feeling but it is not ours to have. I must build on what I own." And I, with no place to take Her, was helpless as she returned to her house of sand - only now not caring if her Dance of Life died.
No more did the Oasis appear, receding back to Eden from whence it came.
***
Leaves hate not the wind; Souls who contend with nature Bring war to the world.
***
Had I been a man my job would have been clear: to find my way out of the desert and back into the greenery of Eden to find our Flower. Angels came, calling me forth from the deadly dunes, but I feared their judgement and ran in cowering shame. Secretly I sang of my true love lost - yet feared her to hear my heart and mock me in unbearable scorn. To this day I drink from bitter waters, roasting as a lamb over a flaming pit. Angels call me no more.
The taste of Flower love affected her as well. Hers was no longer a house of gold, instead revealing itself a house of mold. With eyes wide open she saw the half eaten apple upon the floor: she had bitten too soon, not willing to wait on paradise. "Let the birds wait on what is to be, I'm taking mine now." Smiling, the snake watered her fears: How can you leave now? What have you ever done on your own? You sang of holy gold - shall you also sing of the truth?
"No," she whispered, "not the truth!" And with that, reality became unreality. She closed her eyes, defiantly declaring them open. With the power of blindness, mold was the new gold, holographs held heaven and she constructed her stairway to nirvana - why would she ever leave such a place! Like dried blood, her love for me left a black stain to be denied and I an enemy of her state. Only one problem remained: The hole she dug through the sand forever seeped with the water of life, causing her to build an ever higher dam, restraining desires she once found true.
The dam held her tears dry as the years passed by, giving lie all was well. Also passing by were Dancers of Life, whom she now chided and lectured as foolish and unknowing. Yet what vexed her the most was that even though she had dammed her own River of life, infuriating dreamers in the world had not, sailing happily by with liberal love, never hiding their Flower of light. But resist she must the foul temptation to join the flow: she was of a family now and one must understand one must harden one's heart sometimes in life to do what is right.
Yet her children were not born with this understanding. Like all children, they came with dreams fresh and new, eager to live. "Why speak falsely?" ever asks the babe. But a parent can only teach what they themselves be - whether they be well or they be sick. Her daughter, though the younger, was strong and defiant to her mother's teaching, the problem parent labeling her a “problem child”. The older boy, however, was sensitive to his mother's plight and eager to please. He learned all too well one must dam the river of life to appear perfect - and only the perfect deserve love.
A grateful mother lavished him with praise, holding him tight in professed joy - even as his lonely eyes watched his friends swim ever further away down the River of life, doing as they wanted and exploring dreams he'd never know. How could the Good Boy dare to join them, abandoning his duties as a child, devestating his birthing parent? And as the snake reminded him: who knew if he could even swim anyway! But unlike his mother, his eyes were still open to the futureless and endless torment that lay before him. Looking into his mother's danceless eyes confirmed the hopelessness of his demise. But leave her he could not.
So rather than kill his mother, he killed himself.
No dam can hold a mother's tears for her child, her house washing away in the torrent. The sky drew black, the sun shone no more. In the budding trees above her, a nesting mother fed her babies and rejoiced in that simple gift. Blooms reached out, searching for the sun, reaching for its life giving light. Out of winter's woes, nature rebirthed herself in her infinite wisdom. Man has no say in the cycle of life, his will be dumb. But in this moment of searing torment, she could not accept that - silence her shattered savior.
It was I who caused her to build walls with no bridges, it was I who forced her eyes shut, it was I who gave rise to waters that burst forth so pitilessly and ruthlessly. I don't blame her for that. Deep in the desert night, as I clutch my side in sharp pain from the bitter water in my veins, I too curse her as the wounds of loneliness lash me mercilessly with razor blades of despair. I am the walking, bleeding dead with no love to share. All I have left is the truth - as does she.
For although the body was buried on this day, the day she truly buried her son was when she buried her love for me.
[This is part of a recurring series on the writings of Sei Shōnogon.]
Sei Shōnagon (清少納言), [pronounced Say Show-nah-gone] (966-1017) was a Lady-In-Waiting serving the Japanese Empress. While not a princess herself, she certainly had the temperment of one and the sensitivities of a noble. She authored the Pillow Book a "collection of lists, gossip, poetry, observations, complaints and anything else she found of interest during her years in the court." Sounds like blogging to me.
Japanese culture initially was formed and nurtured by the nobles and royal court. To be scholarly and poetic was expected and had it not been so, Japanese culture would be far less rich than it is today as the populace in general was not yet literate to the point of introducing art.
It may seem odd a female is one of the great early contributors of Japanese culture in such a male dominated society, but in its formative times, this was not unusual at all and Sei even had contemporary female rivals in the same pursuits. But to put this time in perspective, we first need a quick review of Japanese history and where her time fits in.
Japanese culture took its initial ideas from China and Korea but was really a fresh start which they morphed all into their own. They created their own creation myth with a set of holy artifacts and a holy emperor granting divinity to the nation through him. But then rebellions flared up in the countryside causing the nobility to recruit those who would serve them in retaining power. These men were called samurai, meaning "to serve".
But a funny thing happened on the way to the court. Eventually the samurai asked themselves, "Why serve them when we can serve ourselves? We are the true power after all!" And so began centuries of power struggles not resolved until 1600 with the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate, which was dissolved in the 1860s when power was returned once again to the emperor.
Shōnagon's time was in the twilight of the age when samurai still served and the nobility held absolute power. After the samurai took power, life was very hard in the royal court as they were completely dependent on outside funding without their ability to tax. But Shōnagon knew none of this in the halcyon days of Japanese royalty.
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Things That Should Be Large:
Priests. Fruit. Houses. Provision bags. Inksticks for inkstones.
Men's eyes: when they are too narrow, they look feminine. On the other hand, if they were as large as metal bowls, I should find them rather frightening.
Round braziers. Winter cherries. Pine trees. The petals of yellow roses.
Horses as well as oxen should be large.
Things That Should Be Short:
A piece of thread when one wants to sew something in a hurry.
A lamp stand.
The hair of a woman in the lower classes should be neat and short.
The speech of a young girl.
One Has Carefully Scented a Robe
One has carefully scented a robe and then forgotten about it for several days. When finally one comes to wear it, the aroma is even more delicious than on freshly scented clothes.
When Crossing a River
When crossing a river in bright moonlight, I love to see the water scatter in showers of crystal under the oxen's feet.
During the Hot Months
During the hot months it is a great delight to sit on the veranda, enjoying the cool of the evening and observing how the outlines of objects gradually become blurred. At such a moment I particularly enjoy the sight of a gentleman's carriage, preceded by outriders clearing the way. Sometimes a couple of commoners will pass in a carriage with their rear blinds slightly raised. As the oxen trot along, one has a pleasant sense of freshness. It is still more delightful when the sound of a lute or flute comes from inside the carriage, and one feels sorry when it disappears in the distance. Occasionally one catches a whiff of the oxen's leather cruppers; it is a strange, unfamiliar smell, but, absurd as it may seem, I find something pleasant about it.
On a very dark night it is delightful when the aroma of smoke from the pine-torches at the head of a procession is wafted through the air and pervades the carriage in which one is travelling.
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When the Empress Was Staying in the Third Ward
When the Empress was staying in the Third Ward, a palanquin arrived full of irises for the Festival of the Fifth Day and Her Majesty was presented with herbal balls from the Palace. The Mistress of the Robes and a few of the younger ladies prepared special balls, which they attached to the clothing of the Princess Imperial and of the little Prince. Then other very pretty herbal balls arrived from other palaces. Someone also brought a green-wheat cake; I presented it to Her Majesty on the elegant lid of an inkstone on which I had first spread a sheet of thin green paper carrying the words, 'This has come from across the fence.' The Empress tore off a piece of the paper and wrote the following splendid poem:
Even on this festive day, When all are seeking butterflies and flowers, You and you alone can see What feelings hide within my heart.
[First off, just to be clear I offer this as no public service announcement and I stand firmly behind the Peter Principle (people as a whole always believe what suits them regardless of facts). Wishful thinking and willful ignorance are the things that lead us into unjust wars and buying into garbage such as "compassionate conservatism". I pity you not the consequences of your self-deception. I do, however, always find it fascinating to see which cons people fall for and how.]
Here's the video "I Go Chop Your Dollar" from a Nigerian 419 scam artist:
I Go Chop Your Dollar I don suffer no be small Upon say I get sense Poverty no good at all, no Na im make I join this business 419 no be thief, its just a game Everybody dey play am if anybody fall mugu, ha! my brother I go chop am
[Chorus] National Airport na me get am National Stadium na me build am President na my sister brother You be the mugu, I be the master Oyinbo I go chop your dollar, I go take your money dissapear 419 is just a game, you are the loser I am the winner The refinery na me get am, The contract, na you I go give am But you go pay me small money make I bring am you be the mugu, I be the master… na me be the master ooo!!!!
When Oyinbo play wayo, them go say na new style When country man do im own, them go de shout bring am, kill am, die! Oyinbo people greedy, I say them greedy I don see them tire thats why when them fall enter my trap o! I dey show them fire
He's mocking the gullible American psyche and boy, are we one gullible country! Although few believe it true, it is a fact of nature that anything or anyone that does not honor reality will be destroyed. I don't have to prove this, I just watch it happen daily as you are shocked, shocked! at your demise after having lived such an innocent life. Whatever. I also understand there are those who base their lives on gullibility and were they to give it up they'd lose something most valuable to them, such as a marriage or faith in government or their idealized self-perception or some such. And that's why even after demonstrating gullibility's self-destructive nature people still cling to it. Good luck wit dat!
The Nigerians have grown far more sophisticated than the old days of sending you an email telling of lottery winnings and you need only send a transfer fee to get it. Dateline had a hilarious story about work at home scams that are in reality sophisticated Nigerian rip-offs. We in America love to believe that, hey, if you are willing to work hard that's all that matters and you'll get ahead in life. So we tend not to question dubious job offers that come our way - in the global community, America is not what you would call streetwise.
Want to be a mystery shopper, or process bills at home or even process data for a major corporation in the convenience of your own living room? These things can be had - if you're willing to be had. There are variations on this theme but I'll concentrate on just one method. On the surface, it seems pretty obscure on how someone could profit from a work at home scheme.
First, you accept a job offer - but from someone you will never meet face-to-face (not without a plane ticket to Nigeria anyway). These postings can be seen on MySpace Jobs, Simply Hired, Job Planet and other legitimate outlets. You'll "pass" an online interview and you're hired! Let's say your job is to process payroll. You go out and buy all the hardware and software needed to create checks - you'll be given exact instructions on how - and then be sent the info necessary as to who and where the checks should go. And guess what? You get paid actual money for this! So where's the scam?
Looks real - until you notice the crooked routing numbers
First, the checks you send out are not representative of real checking accounts. You are being used as a chump to cheat others from whom the con men actually do get their money. As payroll clerk you are necessary as both a person actually living here in America and as someone to take the legal blame. You give an illegitimate operation legitimacy - sort of like a corporate lawyer does. The check recipients are also "employees" but a different service is required from them.
Those who get the checks are asked to cash them and wire part of the cash to another location for various business reasons, depending on the tale that has been told. Even a woman suspicious of this was told by her bank the check was good and no delay was required for confirmation. A week later, however, her account got dinged for the full $3,000 she transferred and she could pull no money out of the ATM. There is no recourse for her but to pay up.
This is a large scale operation. All across the country hoodwinked souls are stuffing hard currency into envelopes and putting millions into Nigerian accounts. I know many people wear their self-deception as a badge of honor, proud of the bubble they live in (e.g. "I am a conservative through and through") - and will literally kill to protect it. But nature pops all bubbles in the end - leaving you stuck with the bill. It's just a matter of time, mon ami.
Weariness weighs on me like a stone yoke around my neck, sponging in my worries and gaining burden every day. I don't sit down anymore - I collapse. But in a world such as ours - even after dropping bone tired into a chair - do not expect succor, expect rather Fuckhead Fred to come over and kick you when you're down ("The best time, I say!") .
You see, my two tickets to paradise got canceled - as did Fuckhead Fred's - by the world at large but our reactions were polar opposites. Fred's solution was to become a whore to the system, for which then the system would obligingly provide health and wealth and happy endings for all. Freddy stuck with this idea even though he never got any tangible results from it. But in his mind he felt that any minute the powers-that-be would recognize his unswerving loyalty and snatch him from despair - or something like that. But me? When the world fucks me, I say burn the world down, leave no offending timber untouched.
Naturally, we were mortal enemies, each seeing the other as the destroyer of his hope. And, grudgingly, I had to admit we were also a lot alike: souls with no hope of love, miserable to the core. Like me, Freddy feared those with open hearts and kind dispositions but whenever he spotted my sorry ass, well, that's when he went in for the kill - like now as I lay half dead seemingly unable to fight back.
"Hey, Harry, look at poor Wilma over there lugging those heavy bags up into her cart. Makes me wonder why a big, strong guy like you doesn't help."
A brilliant attack on several fronts. First, I'm neither big or strong but Freddy boy would like nothing better than to draw me into an energy draining argument as to my attributes. His second point of attack was in tempting me to ignore my own pain - thus ensuring it - by involving me in Wilma's world of woe. One glance over to her and I'd be toast. And lastly was the blatant guilt trip of my sitting idly by while Wilma struggled - even pointing out Freddy himself did nothing would not help me ("But you're the one always saying help thy neighbor!")
Fuckhead Fred indeed. But I wasn't biting on any of it.
"Guess she'll just have to suck it up on her own. Helping her doesn't fit my agenda."
Freddy couldn't believe the red meat placed before him. "Dude, I thought your agenda was love and kisses and saving the world! What happened to that??" Fuckhead was oh so satisfied after that remark, mentally patting himself on the back and gloating on what had to be an obvious mistake on my part.
"Nope, I'm out to prove it's a dog-eat-dog world. If I start going around helping everyone it invalidates my thesis."
Freddy scrambled, thrown by my tact, attempting a last ditch attempt at blackmail. "OK, well, ya still gotta do good. You just can't let things go to hell."
What a priceless moment that was! Fuckhead Fred making my arguments for me! The look of unreality on his contorted face was hilarious, almost as if he could see the words coming out of his mouth and still not believe his eyes.
"Believe it, bitch!" - it startled Freddy to see me read his mind - "Helping people to survive only enables the dog-eat-dog system to perpetuate itself and I want it to die."
"So you would let people die just to prove some sort of bullshit agenda in your head? I think that's outrageous!"
I looked at the end of my string and what did I see but Fuckhead Fred the yo-yo, dancing to my every command. "You don't like it? Go blog about it - maybe you'll change the world!"
"I ain't doing shit, man. And you know what? I think you're full of shit! All this "social justice" crap is just phoney talk of yours cuz you got no money and got no woman. If you had that you wouldn't give a flying flip about anyone or anything. You're a total asshole fraud!"
"Well, don't kill yourself over it," I grinned, secretly hoping he would.
"Where's your Bible talk now? 'Love thy neighbor.' 'Don't bet against the words of Jesus.'"
Since he used my words against me, I used his words against him. "Oh, Jesus? He was a hack, what did he know?" And then I relaxed, placing my hands behind my head in an air of complete self-satisfaction.
Fraudulence is fun! I had Fuckhead Fred over there genuinely outraged at my blatant hypocrisy yet completely unable to do a damn thing about it. This is awesome! I bet this is how those Wall Street bankers feel; the whole world outraged, bitching and moaning, but they can never touch you. The world is all hypocrites too!
Frustrated Freddy was hopping mad at my unshakable blind faith in my self-exemption of wrongdoing. I silently laughed at his sulking figure helpless with thoughts of revenge. Guess my social musings over the years had burrowed under his skin deeper than I ever realized. The twit continued in childish ranting. "I'm never going to listen to another fucking thing you say ever again! Fuck you, dude! Con man motherfucker!"
But I merely closed my eyes in final dismissal. "Why so mad, Freddy? How am I stopping you from loving thy neighbor?"
1. Become a Lawyer (OK, that's not always an accomplishment in and of itself considering some of the lame ass idiots I've seen with a lawyer's degree, but on the other hand it can be a healthy achievement in its own right)
2. Turn into a trial lawyer (No, you don't get to hide behind a corporate desk churning out billable hours, you have to go to court and plead your case. This is not public speaking, it is public speaking on steroids - another person's fate depends on your words and yes, even your acting. Your integrity as a person is always on trial along with your client when you're in front of a jury.)
3. Defend someone accused of a sex offense in the dark corners of rural Texas as a liberal, long haired lawyer from the city (even if it is only Amarillo) and face some of the most brutal juries and vicious prosecutors imaginable - prosecutors who know to put the crime on trial first and the defendant second so that the inflamed hearts will then convict without reason.
Do these things and you will get a whiff of what it's like to be Jeff Blackburn, one of the greatest defense attorneys in the land. This is no ego tripping Racehorse Haynes like his fellow Texan and lawyer, but someone who fights the good fight in what I can tell you is one of the most conservative areas of the country. And that's the way Jeff wants it. The way he sees it, the place to be is the place with the least light because that's where he's needed most. I know these things about Jeff because I met him back in the day and we'd talk about life in Amarillo and life in general.
In mid 1980's Amarillo, I worked as a contract janitor - which I later found out was a complete scam to cheat me as an undeclared employee so the piss-ant janitorial firm I worked for could profit at my expense. As Bugs Bunny would say, "This means war." I had just watched the film 'Skokie' about a Neo Nazi march defended by the ACLU as a first amendment issue. It made me an ACLU fan for life, people who protected speech both popular and unpopular, balls to the wall like it should be. And since I saw my rights being trampled, I sought out my own local ACLU lawyer: Jeff Blackburn.
Jeff very kindly informed me my situation was not an ACLU case but I think he liked my fire for sticking up for my rights. Since we both had shoulder length hair, that alone was enough to make us kindred spirits in a town stuck in the '50s (Two good ol' boys once speculated on an elevator ride down with me on whether or not I was an "Indian". Shocked the hell out of me people like that still existed.) I would see Jeff off and on regarding my case for the next couple of years (he was a crummy tax lawyer but I did get some back overtime pay through the DOL on my own).
The armpit of Texas
Things took a humorous turn when the scumbag ex-owner of the janitorial company I worked for started up a new company he would run in the same crooked fashion, only this time it was owned by the Mayor, who was running for re-election. This really hacked me off and I asked Jeff his thoughts on taking this guy down and exposing him (by this time his hair was cut, feeling the need to shear it to properly defend his client charged with a sex crime). Jeff said I needed some proof and when I asked how, he threw out a few offhand ideas, one of which was to go through their trash. I was like, "Fine. I'll do it."
In the middle of the night, I'd retrieve the janitorial company's trash bags from the dumpster out back, sorting documents that I thought would suit me but I also found miles and miles of green and white computer printouts showing their ledger accounts. I thought, "Huh, this could be useful to somebody." The company was actually twofold: one part janitorial and the other a security firm. The knothead I had worked for was actually an ex-employee of the Sheriff's department so he felt that made him a security expert as well. But Amarillo was dominated at that time by a single security company and I figured they might like a little inside information on the competition.
I met with the head of the security firm and told him my tale. I agreed to bring him the general ledger accounts in exchange for a 100 dollars a week cash. He LOVED the stuff I brought in, poring over it gleefully and keeping a huge stack of it in the corner of his office. One time my car broke down and he had a patrol car pick me up so I could make my nightly trash run. At the same time this was going on, I was also forced to stare at a campaign sign each day on my way to work with a picture of the janitor-exploiting jerk running for Mayor. To ease my pain, I finally stopped and drew devil's horns, a goatee and a moustache on him. It eased my pain considerably. It also made the news.
Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo chic
The noon news showed a picture of the sign and asked the jerk candidate what he thought. He tried to joke about it saying it must be a reference to his daughter going to UT ("Hook 'em horns!"). But his true reaction was to organize people in pickup trucks with stencils of a circle with a bar across it and spray paint that on his opponent's signs. "Campaign vandalism" became part of the race - and Jeff was loving every minute of it. He never really thought I'd take seriously his suggestion I dig through the trash and found the whole turn of events hilarious. (The jerk lost, btw.)
Eventually, someone ratted me out. All useful information ceased appearing in the trash and I took that as a warning sign. Remembering reading about cagey tigers in the jungle who walked in crisscrossed circles that made them very hard to track, I always parked my car several blocks away and took a circuitous route to the trash dumpster as a safety precaution. This soon paid off as one night I saw a curious set of bouncing headlights on the side of the building as I departed. It was a one way street out front, how the heck could headlights show on the north side of building when all traffic had to head north? It was a freaking Potter county Sheriff's Bronco bouncing over the curbs across the street to run me down. Oh shit!
Maintaining discipline but running like hell, I took the same circuitous route back to my car - even though I did trip and fall just like they always do in the movies, which I couldn't frickin' believe. Once I got to my car, I eased it out onto the street with the headlights off and checked to see if I was being followed. What I saw was incredible: a deputy was tracking me with a dog! They were dead on my path - which was a good thing since I knew my circular route would take them out of the line of sight I needed to exit unseen. And so I did, post-haste.
I relayed this one final story to Jeff (he loved the dog part) before my move to Florida and it wasn't until I moved back that I found his accomplishments had only grown and he'd become justly famous throughout the state.
His most famous case involved the illegal arrests of almost half the entire adult black population of Tulia, Texas. As Elizabeth Amon wrote in the "National Law Journal" in 2003:
Jeff's efforts eventually resulted in a $5,000,000 settlement for the falsely accused. A documentary has been made on this story as well, detailing the events. Jeff can also be seen commenting in "American Drug War: The Last White Hope", lamenting the government's efforts in this "war" and the injustices it incurs.
Another high profile case was the infamous beating and murder of teenager Brian Deneke. Nicknamed "Sunshine" by his erstwhile employer Stanley Marsh III (creator of Cadillac Ranch), Brian had committed the unforgivable crime in Amarillo of being different. For that he gave his life. Surrounded by the "good kids" - the football players, the cowboy mafia - of his high school, Brian was savagely beaten then run over by a car (then backed up and run over again - just to be sure). He died in his friend's arms.
Brian Deneke Looking like this in Amarillo is a literal death sentence
Jeff helped the family through this ordeal, serving as spokesman and filing a wrongful-death suit though little money could be expected - but hoping for exacting some sense of justice. Brian's murderer, you see, for being an Amarillo "good kid", had gotten off with probation. The full story can be seen in an episode of "City Confidential", with Jeff providing commentary on the events and Amarillo's overall mores (the narrator has a delightfully sarcastic tone throughout the show).
As founder, Chief Counsel and Executive Committee member of the Texas Innocence Project, this may be Jeff's greatest legacy. It's mission statement:
"The Innocence Project of Texas is a non-profit organization dedicated to overturning wrongful convictions and securing freedom for men and women wrongfully imprisoned for serious crimes in the State of Texas."
The number of exonerations so far stands at 30 and counting. That's 30 lives shattered and broken, innocent people whisked off the street to be slandered and convicted of outrageous acts never committed and left voiceless, outcast and persecuted by an hysteric public of witch burners. Who better to burn than a convicted rapist?
Historically, Texas has had a mentality of "Convict first and ask questions later." Now, thanks to Jeff, with an army of both staff and volunteers - and some cooperating District Attorneys - those questions are finally being asked. Those abandoned to dark holes of suffering are now seeing a light for the first time. Can you imagine what that would mean to you if you were in that position?
I can think of nothing more exciting and healing than this project, both for the wrongfully convicted and for the victims of the original crimes. It gives a chance to admit our guilt, right a wrong, and more importantly, hopefully embrace a newfound sense of justice that realizes the truth must be honored regardless of consequence. I know the Jeff Blackburn I knew would call that a dream come true.
(Unfortunately, one of the prime benefactors of the foundation was hit by the Madoff scandal and can no longer provide funds. Donations can be made by clicking on the picture above if you so desire.)
Criminal Defense Lawyer of the Year by the State Bar of Texas for 2002-2003. Also received the Frank Scurlock Award, the Henry B. Gonzalez Award, and the Maury Maverick Award for his civil rights work.
Fun fact:
Michelle Phillips of the "Mamas and Papas" passed through Amarillo during my time there in the 80's. She was pulled over and charged with possession of marijuana due to some seeds found on the floorboard of her car. Jeff was able to get her off by claiming those were merely "carpet seeds".
40,000 people, maybe more, metal coffins headed to work - in places where I can never be myself.
a businessman without his business - but an artist who held his art.
my teeming life wasted in slave labor - and Moses wept.
a coward declare contentment until all who would listen did believe - and then walk away sadly.
lovers holding hands, striding into the grocery store - and I found that hopeful.
a cat scared, lonely and abandoned - but he wouldn't let me get close.
a baby safely secured in its car seat in the back - as pounding rap music streamed out the open windows.
an angry face, red with torment, screaming at a President on TV - because his dreams are broken.
an earnest woman praying her prayer to God - without listening to herself.
a tiny, manic spider lost and running circles on the sidewalk - so I blew him onto the grass before he got stepped on.
a split infinitive in a legal document lying on a desk - and I felt more useless than ever.
a rich man begging to keep the world as it is - arguing against his salvation.
smoke rising from a backyard BBQ - and it smelled of family dreams.
a plastic bottle smashed flat and skipping down the windy street - inside were angel's wings.
thousands cheer a brave, new hope - no one cared if it was a lie.
love bleeding from a soul unknown - because I looked.
a lush, manicured cemetery with a high and ornate gate - where the dead get better care than the living.
a billion dollar stadium gleaming with pride - so we can have a place to worship.
a cheap motel sign of flickering neon - framed by a sunset dripping the colors of life.
a trap door to hell beneath my feet - that no one else can see.
masks parading merrily under street lights - and I wondered their reasons for hiding their face.
my urges surging to live again - but withering on the vine.
a valet handed Maserati keys on a sweet, summer night - as I peered into the life I lost.
my sweaty, nervous hands clinch in fear as I my flesh sat pressed against the hard, cold concrete - and I thought of Debby getting ready for the opera.
anonymous cars driving free now, oblivious to my hiding place - and I feared their freedom.
a soul paralyzed by fear and doubt - and the eyes spoke only of shadows conspiring in the world.
cigarette ashes fall to the oily parking lot tarmac - scattered by the wind, used up by the fire.
my face stuffed into a pillow, muffling screams of horror I can let no one hear but demand a release I cannot deny - just as I silently scream all through the day.
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Looking back on when I Was a little nappy headed boy Then my only worry Was for Christmas what would be my toy Even though we sometimes Would not get a thing We were happy with the Joy the day would bring
Sneaking out the back door To hang out with those hoodlum friends of mine Greeted at the back door With "Boy thought I told you not to go outside", Tryin' your best to bring the Water to your eyes Thinkin' it might stop her From whoopin' your behind
I wish those days could come back once more Why did those days ev-er have to go? I wish those days could come back once more Why did those days ev-er have to go? Cause I love them so
Brother says he’s tellin' 'bout you playin' doctor with that girl Just don't tell I'll give you Anything you want in this whole wide world Mama gives you money for Sunday school You trade yours for candy after church is through
Smokin’ cigarettes and writing something nasty on the wall (you nasty boy) Teacher sends you to the principal's office down the wall You grow up and learn that kinda thing ain’t right But while you were doin' it-it sure felt outta sight
I wish those days could come back once more Why did those days ev-er have to go? I wish those days could come back once more Why did those days ev-er have to go?
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Festus and me:
"Hey, whatcha writin' there?"
"Soulful insights reflecting on who we are and we're headed as a society." And I smiled.
"Ain't no editor gonna pick that!"
"Guess I'll just have to live with that." And I smiled again.
Then his eyes got wise. "OK, smart ass, what you really writin'??"
Governor Goodhair takes a break
Leslie wants to join your tea party
Trust me, I will rule with an iron hand -
