It's been a while since I've been in the neighborhood of Tyler, Texas but when I am I try to visit the Tiger Creek Wildlife Refuge, home of the big cats! Having the smaller version in my own house just makes me even more of a fan of the larger ones. It's an unforgettable experience seeing these guys up close and personal. So though it's been many years since my last visit, the impression it made is still very strong. And a lot of that is heartache.
"A" marks the spot
Seeing these great beasts in such small cages can't help but bring a feeling of suffocation. As resources become available, larger compounds are built but in the meantime they remain confined as is.
No ball of yarn for these boys!
I did get to see some more of the larger compounds had been built since last time.
Heckuva cat nap!
But too many are still in the smaller cages. Tiger Creek does not set out to populate their refuge with animals like a zoo but rather "to provide rescue and rehabilitation of big cats that have been abused, neglected or displaced." Just as with the smaller version, far, far too many irresponsible owners out there. Precious is as precious does.
But the one who got to me the most was 8-Ball, the black leopard. A stunning creature who deserves all the room in the world was stuck in the same small cell I saw him in last time. I don't know if they rotate the cats around between the larger areas or not but my heart went out to him.
His cage is kept far away from the outer fence
I also took a few quickie videos of the fearsome felines. I highly recommend visiting if you get the chance or making a lion sized donation if you win the lottery. I know I plan to!
Over and over I kept rolling that thought though my bruised head.
The donated divan I lie upon was like us: neglected, abused and unwanted. The ripped leather had assumed the properties of dry plastic, making a godawful squeaking noise every time you moved. I guess it was the couch's revenge for being used long past its rightful usefulness. Violating the rules of protocol I stretched across the length of it because that's what I needed, political police be damned.
Goddam, I hate this world, huddled in this shelter like a bunch of unruly children to be kept out of sight. There's nothing even to fight against - or for. We're persona non grata to an ungrateful world. The harder you fight to be seen the more they look away. I've never felt so low or lonely before.
Last few months I've had the best paying job in years but there's always a price from the robbing barons. This mid-level manager psychopath makes the rounds peeing on people's heads and they have to pretend it's raining - or else. Everyone has an excuse: too old to fight, must feed family, it's the way of the world - I've heard them all. I was the only one who refused to be peed on. I'll be spending an isolated weekend wondering my fate like a feather in the wind.
Who invented this hell? I knew that manager was corporate to a fault - always a telltale of one's self-knowledge of misdeeds - and did the same thing to his children at home. How they must hate him. He'd explain that same twisted tale of the "morality" of lying, of that's how you make good in the world; the politics of a successful predator. They've taken over the world.
Is this really all there is?
It's shit, shit and more shit. I wish I could drown the sorrows that drown me. All I got is this damn noisy couch that betrays my uneasiness to all the world. When nature finds a vacuum it fills it with pain. Right now I was hoovering it by the bucket loads, dreaming of a way out at last. Two nights ago the fever hits me thinking of a woman I once knew. I rushed inside this small abandoned warehouse I know and whacked off in the corner.
I remembered Vincent once got caught whacking off in the woods by a teenage boy who tormented him.
I stumbled away from the scene of the crime quickly as I could feeling same as the trash that littered the floor. I thought of couples in the plush urban apartments across the street, making love in their safe warm beds when the fever hits them. Guess the rhythms of life go on with or without a home - no mercy allowed.
"Either you become shit or get shot, ain't nothin' in between."
Russell used to say that. Even I was afraid of what his eyes had seen. In his grey sixties, he never spoke - that I know of - of what drove him to ruin. There are those who say art doesn't save lives but in these intense moments of danger art and Russell's truth was all I had. Art is the opposite of war. It's the glue that brings us together. But in every culture that dies art is the undeclared enemy. Who would let Shakespeare live to reflect his truths today?
To the outside world I was just a lazy bum lying on the shelter's divan but on the inside I was in agony like a pig on a spit roasting over an open flame. Sheer fucking torture. Scream and you'll be directed outside. I knew my left shoe was untied and the need to address it hung over me like a ton of bricks. Always, always one more goddam thing to do. Can't I have any fucking time to myself?
Naturally, at my most vulnerable, Esmeralda picks this time to come fuck with me feeling vindicated by my illegal hogging of the entire couch. I'm in too much pain to move and she's in too much pain to resist.
"Harry, what you doing taking up that whole couch? You know other people need places to sit too!"
Briefly I thought of that Georgian town I read about where everyone is required to own a gun. The guilt of my pain forced me to play into her hands.
"This couch is just a piece of junk."
Esmeralda loved that. "Don't you be talking like that. Somebody donated that couch to us and you should be grateful!"
Esmeralda is a notorious tsk-tsker and I wanted to wring her fucking neck. Just this side of a physical assault I replied back, "You should be grateful I don't have my foot up your ass."
It took all my remaining energy to reply and if she didn't back off I was toast. Luckily, she got my drift and went away in a huff. That's the thing about riding around on your high horse: it's a long fall to the ground. Like all evil dead, she was probably going to get reinforcements so I'd be forced to do the "responsible" thing.
No homeless person is considered responsible, you know.
Welcome to my world
My head hazy and throbbing I see Lisa across the room. Daring the grief of human contact I make my way over to her. We used to have something in common in that we both kept journals of our hells. But I think she did it for the wrong reasons. She wanted to wake up the world and expose our plight and blah, blah, blah. She didn't know they already knew. And I figured she got frustrated and that's why I hadn't seen her write anymore.
I asked how she was.
"Moderately stable - but worse."
"I don't see you write anymore, Lisa," I gently broached. She was eager to explain.
"It became one burden too many."
I cracked a smile in hell's darkness of a feeling I recognized so well. "Waiting for the laughter but the laughter never comes?"
She gave me this look I'd just given her water in the desert. Later, I thought about it and cried when no one could see. "Yes..." she confirmed, glad she didn't need to explain.
"There's no sin in laying down what you can't carry. Even cocksucker God has to pitch in at some point."
Then she allowed herself to feel the guilt that nagged her. "I just got tired of feeling exposed. I was putting myself out there just so people could take shots at me. I need to feel safe."
Lisa was looking at me dead on - something I usually have a problem with but not this time. She's in her mid 30's and I saw her fear of hardening before her time. I was in the moment, and the words that came out were a revelation even to me.
"The danger is in not exposing yourself."
She straightened a little as the boulder lifted from her shoulders. She needed a license to write but had allowed hers to expire. I too forget it's futile to hide what's already known. She wanted love. I wanted loved. The peeing manager wanted love. The workers wanted love. Asshole Esmeralda wanted love (I was still pissed I had to move off the divan). But nobody dare say it. Art is love but art is dead. No wonder we're so very, very lonely.
"Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come."
Wandering through the deep forest that is life is its own sort of blindness. Do I go left, right, forwards, backwards - or hell, which way even is forward?? I'd had enough of the wandering, of homes lost and homes destroyed, of homes vanishing like a mirage in the desert. I just wanted out. I knew leaving the open road was risky, but that path seemed too long and too exposing of my life. Slumping against a tree and sliding to the ground I longed for a shortcut out of this morass. But who or what could ever bring me such a thing?
In my hour of need a penned this poem:
Roaming lands dark and dire,
Nowhere safe in bankrupt shire;
Hell's agents wreak dead man's lust,
Victims' pleas ground to dust;
Priceless heart drips worldly stain,
Splintered trees bend rife with pain;
Shivering by consuming fire,
What woeful deeds these times sire;
This is the end - by burdens crushed,
Who or what or where to trust?
"Jesus, I need a new god," I moaned, opening myself to the universe which never fails to give.
"I have a new god," hissed the ragged forest witch. "One like never before, not like the old ways. This one is modern, unseen before by human eyes. There's no more need for the dark mystic forest."
She had stepped out from the corner of my eye as if she'd been behind the tree just waiting for my arrival. I did not question her presence then though now it seems mighty curious to me. At the time, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to appear at that moment.
"They finally found an answer?" I hoped against hope.
"Yes," she confirmed with her craggly green smile, "the search is finally over." Music to my ears! But looking back, I realize she'd have said yes no matter what I asked.
"What's the catch? Every god has its price."
"The catch is like anything new: you must accept it. To not accept is to be left behind. Many are those who will cling to old ways and outdated concepts. It is fear that rules their lives. They cannot change."
Dear God Jesus, I do not want that to be me! Not that I could let the witch know but fear surely had ruled my life. Time I did something about it. My instincts spoke out against the shabby witch and her feculent karma but I knew in these modern times they say one must be tolerant - even of evil. So I swallowed my pain, letting my head rule my devious heart. What good had my feelings ever done me anyway? I was always too afraid to face them.
As if she were reading my mind, she knew my answer before I spoke, smiling at me and waving her bent finger to point me towards that which I wanted most: a direction. We trudged deeper into the mystic forest with excited thoughts electrifying my mind. An answer! At long last a fucking answer! No more confusion or agonizing over every little fucking decision! Sweet, sweet clarity. I can know I'm doing right!
Again, the witch read my mind, turning around with that inverted frown smile of hers, pleased with my reaction like a crack dealer watching a first time user. That set off all sorts of warning flags but I let my head rule with an iron grip despite the pain it caused my irrational feelings. Who am I to say I know everything? What answers have I? People are out there leading much smarter lives than I am. Shut up, stupid feelings! You can't argue with that.
I heard a rustling of leaves ahead and I nearly bolted in the unfounded panic it caused.
"Relax," calmed the witch, "it's merely General Giggle."
"General Giggle? He sounds very serious!" I realized after saying it I was trying to brainwash myself.
"Exactly!" warned the witch, raising her finger in the air like an arrow. "That's why he's considered the most serious man in the world!"
I hate to repeat myself but, damn if that didn't make sense to me at the time. Ignoring the witch, a runty little man in green with his oversized white moustache fairly danced his way over to me in either the most delusional or confident manner I'd ever seen since an American idol tryout.
"Are you from Texas? You are from Texas! Only steers and queers come from Texas and you don't look like no steer to me! Haha! I got to call you a queer! Giggle!"
What an annoying little shit! Didn't help I really was from Texas, either. With that self-satisfied soldier smirking in front of me I'd had all the repressions I could take and took a step forward to punch this Judy right in the mouth! The idget expected my move and stepped back.
"You can't backtalk or defy me in any way or I'll make you do push ups in the mud! Double giggle on that!"
I'd never hated anyone so much in my life! I felt like I was being driven to murder, or rather justifiable homicide according to how I felt. Apparently he caught the murderous look in my eye as he held up a picture of tall burning buildings like a cross to a vampire.
"Stand back! Neither a traitor nor truth-teller be! I'm in charge of national insecurity! My god is the biggest god in the land. I can lie, cheat and steal and no one can question me! It's glorious! Glorious! Double triple giggle forever!"
His whole body started shaking with the uncontainable laughter of the hyper-absurdity of the situation. But this man who was supposed to be in control of everything lost more and more control as the ridiculousness he craved devoured him to the point where all he could do was laugh until he was helpless as a turtle on its back. The witch, of all people, pulled me along.
"Don't worry, one day he'll laugh himself to death."
"He's not helping the world! All he wants to do is humiliate people!"
"As he humiliates himself. Our god is a better god."
"Even greater than national insecurity?"
"Most assuredly."
Shit, the witch really must be on to something if it's greater than national insecurity. You can rape people's kids and they won't say a word if you invoke that god. Heck you can blow them to pieces and have them say thank you. It's one powerful god! And mine is even better? Woohoo!
The woods drew thicker as we trudged along. It drew heavy on my wondering heart as I made uneasy steps.
"Don't worry," assured the witch. "It's rough because we travel the path less taken."
Ah, of course! Makes perfect sense to my head. Stupid heart! Why am I listening to its heaviness?
Then we heard voices - angry, angry voices. Lost boys' voices speaking to one another.
"Fucker!"
"Fucker!"
"Fucker!"
"Fucker!"
Not exactly riveting but cutting nonetheless. The witch froze in her tracks but I was laughing as the four boys turned to her.
"Witch! Kill the witch!"
It was like I wasn't even standing there.
"Witch bitch brings the glitch!"
"C'mon guys," I pleaded. "Give her a chance! These are enlightened times we're in now. Be nice to evil."
Again, it was like I wasn't even standing there.
"Foul-mouthed shrew with your witch's brew! Cut off her head to save the dead!"
At that point we could only flee deeper into the dense woods. When we caught our breath, I spoke.
"Catch my left-wing non-judgmental comment back there?"
"There's a difference between non-judgmental and lacking judgment," she hissed without an ounce of gratitude. I decided to change the subject as we resumed our journey to God knows where.
"So why have all the gods before failed but this one works?"
"Do not question or you'll end up like those lost boys back there, angry and full of spite."
"I didn't say I was going to stop following." Though when I said it I realized I wanted to. "Just saying there's gotta be a reason for it."
"The fate of a people is determined by how they treat their savior."
"But we crucified ours!"
"Exactly, so nothing can be easy after that. They thought they were getting rid of a problem but they only buried themselves deeper. So you see, we found out even if not pure one must respect the savior at all costs in order to ensure the best future."
Funny thing is, every time she said "savior" I felt she was talking about herself. I should respect her at all costs? Well, I guess that makes sense if she's going to save me.
"But how do I know I can even do what this god requires? I've always been inadequate to the task before. Never found a god that worked."
"That's because you were looking for shortcuts. There are no shortcuts, only the one true path."
"But I left that path when I entered the forest looking for a shortcut."
"And now you shall return to it."
"By going deeper into the woods? I don't understand."
"This is a god of mercy and understanding, one who does not punish. Trust me, your faith will be rewarded."
Evidently I was in a situation beyond my understanding. Frankly, it made my head hurt and my heart squeamish. This was my first taste of faith and I was thoroughly miserable. But I feared the witch's words even more than my pain were I to stop now. Just give it a chance. Keep moving forward. Right?
Thoughts and motion ceased as we stumbled upon the camp of the Unfeeling Wounded. Seeing us, they welcomed us with toothless smiles, extending distorted arms with twisted wrists.
"Welcome! Peace be with you. Come share in our goodness. We are followers of the One who makes all things good!"
Looking around at their warped and atrophied state, all I could think was: But you don't look that good to me! Yet, they seemed to have a peace I certainly lack. What am I missing??
"You have found the One?"
"He rose up from among us, blessing us, showing us the way. He gave meaning to our ways and purpose to our lives. How gifted we are to need never leave this place! Pity the lost and the searching, for they suffer so."
The witch furied at me under her breath. "Do not listen. They are jealous that we still function. They rot of resignation!"
Truly, there are moments when there's nothing to believe in. I couldn't shake loose of the idea that this One may have something to offer me, no matter how convincing the green witch be.
"Show me this One. Let me see his nostrils flare and his sun burn!" OK, so maybe I'd been traveling in the woods too long.
Sycophantic song leaked from the camp like a cracked fissure. From out of the trees appeared a man perfectly handsome in manner and dress, exactly the opposite of the campers. But as he stepped out of the shadows horror descended as I saw an ax stuck squarely into the back of his head. The only meaning he gave was by being even more fucked up than the Wounded!
"I told you!" howled the witch who grabbed my hand to safe pastures.
"It won't be long now," she assured. "Hear the quiet? No souls come this far. They give up along the way. If only they knew how close they were to final redemption!"
I was excited - and believing enough to finally reveal my most secret concern. "So there really is a way to love without love?"
But the witch was gone. Everyone was gone. I was left lost in the woods like the world's worst snipe hunter. Fool! Fool! You idiot! Why didn't you listen to your voices? She was leading me astray the whole time, to bury me in the woods like her! Curse that damn witch! The lost boys were right! Better she be dead than lead others astray.
Too many woods. Too many trees. Too many false steps. I asked to be lied to and I was. Broken and defeated, I penned the last stanza to my death poem.
In crouching woods, gulping dead man's air,
Realizing my life is beyond repair.
After driving home through rubbernecking grief, I find hell of a different sort.
"Where's Abdullah, my cat?"
"I don't know.."
She was curled up on the couch, eyes on the TV as if it were mandated from heaven.
"What do you mean you don't know?!"
"Means I don't freaking know. They came and took him. How should I know where he is?"
"Who took him? When? Where??"
"Sherriff's people or something, I don't know. There's a letter on the table."
"And you let them?"
"What was I supposed to do? Besides, they were noisy and interrupting Oprah's life lesson moment."
"You stupid cow! Don't you have a sense of ANYTHING!"
"Shush, my favorite commercial is coming on."
I stormed out into the hallway of our apartment building, grabbing a fire ax.
"You fucking bitch! I'll give you something to give a damn about!" I screamed raising the ax high above my head. "Heeeeere's Oprah!"
I chopped the TV to pieces causing much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Whole damn world could burn down around her but she'd not give a damn till it got to her fucking TV.
I went to the holding place for my cat. It was cold and sterile like the hearts who designed it. My boy needs his home but the monsters who took him are both homeless in life and dead in the head.
"I want my cat! I want him right now!"
"Can't do that. It's the most impossible thing in my world and I am its guardian!"
"Give me my fucking cat before I rip your lousy head off!"
"I obey the law! I am its servant! Doing what smart people tell me to do makes me smart too!'
"What is this, some sort of S and M role play, you sick fuck? It's YOU who belongs in a cage!"
Smart people told me to put this on!
"It's them what need obey the law the most. I just do what I'm told!"
"Yeah? So does an imbecile."
"I can speak no more. Touch that cat and you die!"
Seeing the Sherriff's office, I rush to it only to find it locked even though I could see him at his desk through the glass.
"Come out of there, you asshole! Why did you take my cat? I know you can hear me!"
But he pretended otherwise, leering at a Playboy tucked inside a Bible only half its size. Guess he thought he could fool everybody with only the slightest of pretense!
"Douche bag motherfucker! Where do you people come from? Why even bother to exist? Fucking zombie vampire rapists!"
Behind me a man entered in priestly robes both made and anointed of himself.
"You, sir! Do not use that word 'rape'. It's a holy word and you shall not speak it. You denigrate it when you associate it with a mere cat. Rape can only used on the following occasions: - "
"I'll use any goddam word I want you sanctimonious shitbag! Get off your high horse and help me free my cat if you're so damn righteous!"
"I fight the good fight. I'm going home and I will write many essays condemning the injustice of your language and behavior. Then I shall appear on Oprah where she will publish it and I will walk in high standing to much applause."
The self-made man left the room with his nose at the highest point of his body the entire time. This emboldened the gutless guard.
"Haha! There's nothing you can do! No one sides with you! How can you think you're right? You're one of them crazy extremists!"
"You're the fucking extremists! Taking my cat for no good reason, torturing him by denying him his home. I can hear him crying now and it's breaking my heart! Is justice dead? Is there no hope?"
"Ain't nothing you can do! You can't touch us. We is the law and order and whatever we say goes. Don't blame us you ain't got no sense!'
"Blame you? I'll do better than that. I'll curse you! Till my dying day I'll pray for your deaths. I'll ask that you give up your children to the god of war to be maimed, discarded and suicidal. I'll pray you throw one another into the streets to starve and die in loneliness without counsel. I'll blind you to your deeds thinking you save yourself as you poison yourself. You'll trust your lives to false saviors who lead you to irrevocable doom. All these things and more shall continue day and night without cessation until you soften your Pharaoh's hearts and repent to the ways of justice now and forever!"
Ono No Komachi was a ninth century poet renowned as much for her own beauty as that of her poems. She's one of the Thirty-Six Poetry Immortals and one of the very few women writers recognized in early Japanese history. Much of her poetry was written as she gazed upon the garden from this verandah in the early morning hours with her waiting attendants beholding her divine inspiration. A famous print captures one of these moments.
As I dozed
The man I love
Appeared, so
It is dreams that
Have begun to comfort me
Zatoichi, Protector of the Mikoshi
Zatoichi was a blind swordsman of the late Edo era. Inside his walking cane resided his deadly flashing blade. Many was the fool whose last words were, "But he's just a blind man!" Although his skill was extraordinary, a great amount of cunning was also required for his survival.
As one who was handicapped and picked on, Zatoichi felt a natural affinity for the weak and helpless. This did not sit well with the predators of the day, causing Ichi much grief. Once his reputation grew, however, few were those who would take him on one on one. Small gangs were dispatched to end his career once and for all but Ichi always came out on top.
Guarding the garden's priceless Mikoshi artifact, Zatoichi cleverly drew the would-be robbers into this stream to even the playing field. As they sloshed around in the water his sharp ears knew just where to aim his sword while they struggled with their footing that Ichi could instinctively secure from his long practice of sightless walking. Once word got out Zatoichi would defend the Mikoshi, no robber ever dare try again.
Yojimbo's Pillars
The garden's Zen Rock Garden far predates the rest of the gardens, a remnant of early Shinto monks. It even survived the rough and tumble times when two rival gangs - one controlling the sake trade, the other the silk trade - vied for ultimate power letting nothing stand in their way. Yojimbo was a swordsman of legendary skill. Like many samurai of the Edo era he was left masterless and forced to wander the land.
His plan was to play the two rival factions against each other for his own profit. But once his treachery was discovered he was badly beaten, only escaping death by crawling under the Rock Garden's walkway. Later, once healed, he came back and sliced them to pieces!
Sen Rikyū's Tea House
Ironically, the wide open warfare of the 16th century Sengoku era also ushered in the era of chanoyu, the way of tea. And its most heralded practitioner was Sen no Rikyū. Oda Nobunaga, the first great unifier of Japan was a huge fan of the tea ceremony as was his successor Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Of the tea ceremony Rikyu is claimed to have said, "Though you wipe your hands and brush off the dust and dirt from the vessels, what is the use of all this fuss if the heart is still impure?"
Hideyoshi, though a great conqueror, was in over his head as a ruler. Flummoxed once all of Japan had been unified, he set his sights on Korea and hoped to eventually "sit on the throne of China". Rikyu warned him against such delusional thinking and for this Hideyoshi ordered him to commit seppuku. Had Hideyoshi heeded the tea master's words, two disastrous incursions into Korea in the 1590's could have been avoided. Hideyoshi came to deeply regret his rash order and commanded Rikyu's tea house be preserved for all time.
Minamoto no Tametomo's Final Stand
In the early days of the samurai struggle for power the two dominant clans were the Minamoto and the Taira. Although ultimately victorious, the Minamoto suffered setbacks in the beginning. Minamoto no Tametomo was a legendary archer who was rumored to have his left arm six inches longer than his right which enabled him to shoot more powerful shots. Legend has it he once sank an entire ship with a single shot below the water line!
Although Tokugawa famously said the sword was the "soul of the samurai", the bow and arrow were the main weapons of warfare. In Tametomo's final stand he swam out to this rock knowing his pursuers would suffer his deadly arrows were they to try to do the same. While killing dozens who approached over the hill, at last the numbers were too many for him, forcing him to commit seppuku (the first in recorded history to do so).
Hidden Christians' Crosses
The Shimabara Rebellion of 1637 was Christianity's last stand in Japan. The revolt was prompted by the shogunate's persecution of Christians whose religion had gained quite a foothold in southern Japan. Afterwards the ban on Christianity was strictly enforced, forcing true believers underground.
But ingenious believers were still able to slyly include Christian symbols such as these crosses by disguising them as framework support.
(Credit to Scott Brooks, senior gardener, for relating this tale to me)
Oda's Palisades
The Battle Of Nagashino is one of the most famous in Japanese history. It marked the end of the famed Takeda clan who was left in the foolhardy hands of the son of the legendary Takeda Shingen. Shingen was taken out by a lucky sniper shot and it was the gun that would also play a pivotal role in his son's demise.
Oda Nobunaga embraced the new technology of the gun but also realized its shortcomings with the comparatively long load times required. To defend against the well reputed Takeda cavalry, Nobunaga devised a two step plan. The first was to adopt the (then unknown) European tactic of rotating firing so that at least part of his troops were always firing. The second was to build wood palisades behind which he could more safely shoot.
Part of these palisades remain as a reminder to Oda's pioneering brilliance in his ruthless quest for victory.
Signal Blossoms In The Castle Stream
Hostage taking was a common method of ensuring peace - or at least a slowing to warfare. Some took it as a fact of life but others would not stand for it, such as Kenbei. Kenbei's sister Kimiko was taken hostage at the great Himeji castle. Problem was, even a large army would take a months long siege to bring the fortress down.
But as a builder of the castle's keep, Kenbei knew a secret way in where he and his consorts could possibly overpower his sister's guards and sneak her out to safety. But Kenbei had no way of knowing if his secret access had been discovered or if any other traps lay in waiting until he penetrated the castle firsthand.
Anxiously, Kenbei's warriors waited outside, not knowing if he had been captured or stymied in his efforts. Kenbei's absolute orders were to wait until his signal: he would sprinkle white blossoms in the castle's stream. Every castle needed a water source and while bars may keep out human invaders nothing could stop the delicate blossoms.
Play the video to see if the blossoms appear and Kimiko can be rescued!
Some nightmares never end. That's what I love about America! Never admit a mistake! As we here in the loser 21st century reap what we've sown in the 20th century I take a step back in time to board the legendary Huey helicopter. After all, aren't our wars of today merely an extension of the Vietnam war, one where we're fighting ghosts of our own imagination?
Nothing new under the sun, eh? In Vietnam movies, the Huey helicopter is a must-have staple as gun ship, troop transport and a host of other duties. It's what the Jeep was to WWII. They have entered into war mythology and as a fan of mythology I climbed aboard to see if real life matches the mystique. Let's just say my camera was not so steady as Coppola's.
In a Huey there's no place to hang on in the back. Won't see any grab handles or bars to cling to. Basically, all I had was a strap around the waist and my white knuckled non-camera hand clutching to the edge of the seat as I peered downward to the ground below me on every sharp turn left.
Looking out over the Tyler airport
The Collings Foundation is an aircraft preservation society who take their planes across the country. Some are to view only, on some you can purchase a flight. My last chance at a Huey was three years ago and I missed it thinking I'd get it next year but the Huey did not return. So after this long drought I jumped at the chance. I highly recommend this rare experience to taste what our fighting soldiers endured in the past.
Each ride has to be full before it will take flight
The seats look more dangerous than they are. It seems you could fall out if the chopper takes a dip to your side but the centrifugal forces keep you in place. However, without time to acclimatize to this it makes facing the ground during a turn no less disconcerting! By the end of the flight I was just ready to kiss the sweet ground.
Below is the video of my flight. I intentionally did not film any of the others passengers or anyone else without their consent except for the pilot. He lost my sympathy anyway after that first gut wrenching turn to the left after take off. Had I to do it again I could do a much better job knowing what to expect but here it is nerves and all my first time through:
He's black. Good enough reason to track him for me!
From the Grits For Breakfast blog which tracks issues of justice and civil rights:
Despite the US Supreme Court's ruling in US v. Jones that such an activity constituted a Fourth Amendment search, John Boehner continues to maintain that the government may install a GPS tracker on personal vehicles without a warrant or demonstrating probable cause. (From Wired see: "Feds: No warrant needed to track your car with GPS device." Boehner's latest brief (pdf) on subject to the Third Circuit Court of Appeals says the Feds should be able to use such trackers to develop probable cause, a notion that turns the Fourth Amendment on its head.
If the court doesn't buy that argument, the Senator maintains judges should apply the automobile exception to the Fourth Amendment that allows a lower standard to search a vehicle at a traffic stop than a person's home. The automobile exception, though, was created to let police look for contraband. It's quite another thing entirely to say it justifies continuous tracking over time.
Incidentally, Mr. Jones, of US v. Jones fame, saw his case result in a deadlocked jury earlier this month. The government, after being told it couldn't use information from the GPS tracking device in his car, used tracking data from his cell-phone instead to generate the same location information. So it wasn't the lack of location data that soured the case but the state's failure to provide other, sufficient proof of his guilt. Still, the episode shows the relationship between cell-phone tracking and US v. Jones - if that loophole isn't closed, Jones becomes essentially useless for protecting personal privacy in an era where nearly every adult has a cell phone.
Blind trust helps us keep watch on terrorists
These federal cases demonstrate why Rep. Bryan Hughes HB 1608 has received so much support in the Texas House, along with bipartisan support for a warrant requirement for cell-phone location data in the Senate. Opponents of the measure have been arguing of late that your personal location information does not belong to you, that you've given up any "reasonable expectation of privacy" regarding your location simply by carrying a cell phone. This is the "third-party" exception - an ill-advised, SCOTUS-written carve-out of the Fourth Amendment that Justice Sonia Sotomayor argued should be reconsidered in her concurrence to Jones in an era when so much data about us is now held by private companies. Sotomayor argued that to allow continuous, warrantless tracking by the government would "alter the relationship between citizen and government in a way that is inimical to democratic society." She's right.
Nine Justices in Jones said putting a location tracker on your car is a search, and a majority of justices held it was a search not just because of the physical intrusion of placing a tracker on your car but because continuous tracking of one's movements violated reasonable expectations of privacy. Judges, though, aren't the only ones who take an oath to uphold the Constitution. Legislators, too, bear that obligation and when judges or the executive branch fail to act, it's incumbent on legislatures to step in to protect constitutional rights. The Texas Legislature has a chance this session to exercise leadership on this question, rebuffing Boehner's absurd, self serving contention that we have no "reasonable expectation" the government won't track us everywhere we go.
"Can't find no place to sleep. Can't find no place to rest."
Rodney had that same stressed sound to his voice I'd heard countless times before in the homeless strife life. It's the kind of tense fear you hear from someone trying to tell you they're dying without telling you.
"I know, man, I know. Home is a hard place to find."
"I feel ever'thing slippin' away. Can't get no ground under my feet."
Rodney was a tall, once husky black man, 49 going on 79. Street ages you quick, like dog years.
"Everybody wants something for something. Never going to work that way but that bottle's not going to help."
"What about your man, Vincent. How much drinking him do?"
"Too much or not enough, I guess."
"Exactly. All them great paintin's he done with a bottle in his hand. How 'bout that?"
Rodney let loose a few terrifying coughs.
"Didn't give him a home, either. Just don't want you to miss out on your chance because you're too drunk to see it.'
"Chance? What chance is there out there? No fuckin' chance nowhere!"
Yeah, I know there's few chances. But I knew allowing him to give me that sharp rebuke was a chance for him to blow off steam, to plead his case.
"Sometimes the universe gives us chances we never expect."
"Chance for what?"
"I dunno. Whatever you're open to."
"I ain't open to nuthin'!"
"OK, then nothing's what you'll get."
"Like I said then: what fuckin' chance."
I let Rodney brood for a bit. He had no idea this conversation was one I'd repeated with myself over and over - never getting through. I was just hoping to find someone smarter than I. Rodney broke his own silence.
"That some crazy talk you givin' me."
"Yeah, man, it scares me too."
"Then why say it!"
"Scares me more not to."
"I don't even know why I bothers anymore. I been runnin' with no place to go. Been thinkin' lot about that, lately. How crazy is this shit? Jus' gonna run till I dies."
"But you're all some got."
Had I been a black man I think Rodney would have said at that point, "What you talking about you crazy nigger?" At least, that's what the expression on his face said. So I continued on.
"Look, you see the same disconnected people I do every day. White breaded fuckers in their teflon cars, shuttling back and forth from their ginger bread houses in bubble land, frightened like hell of their own shadow, never knowing what's going on, never wanting to know what's going on and always angry about it. Those people are depending on you."
"Man, I don't want none of your fuckin' bullshit philosophy."
"Not giving any. Don't have time. You telling me some lady lurching around in her padded SUV has any clue what's going on?"
"What's that got to do with me? Them folks don't give me time o' day unless they feelin' guilty."
"You can't hide. You can't lie about the world we live in. They give you money just hoping you'll say the world has a future."
"This world got no future no way at all!"
"I know. And how many fuckers you think walked out of city hall here today knowing that? They're babbling about 50 years down the line thinking they can keep heading off this cliff without hitting the ground. We know better. We have reality shoved down our fucking throat every damned day. They fear our words more than God's!"
"Don't you go blasphemin' there, Harry!"
Aw fuck, religious people are such a pain. "There is no god higher than truth."
If he pulled scripture out on me I was going to quit. Might as well move to Plano as think like that. But Rodney was soaking in what I was saying. He thirsteth in his soul. Even the idea he had any purpose on this planet was so astounding to him it breathed life into places long since covered in cobwebs.
"You mean I should go 'round preachin' to them folks?" he asked with a light in his eyes.
Ack, pendulum swung too far the other way. Rodney was going to cling to this for all it's worth. Seen it before. "Not unless you want a fist in your face. Trust me, you haven't seen violence until you intimate to someone the status quo is not going to work. They'll call you up and down every name in the book in the most vile manner possible. They'll do it without hesitation or reserve, like animals trapped in a corner. Even if it means their own death they'll cut you six ways to Sunday before you get another word out."
Rodney coughed again, looking more tired than ever. "Ain't no hope in that."
"No, there's not. Doesn't mean deep down they aren't crying to hear every word you've got to say. Their homes rest on a lie. Imagine how hard you'd fight to keep yours."
"Don't want no lie. Won't build no home on one neither. I just want to be an honest man."
"In a dishonest world."
"So what you sayin'? I'm not standin' on no street corner like a prophet o'doom. They got minds too. They can see anything I can if they wants it." That Rodney, he's got something! He's just got no home for it. "So them people's out there really dyin' to hear what I gots to say, and I'm really dyin' to be sayin' what I gots to say but nobody can say nothin' without gettin' killed?"
"Pretty goddam silly, huh?"
"What kind of world has we got ourselfs into, Harry?"
"The kind without love."
Rodney took a swig from his paper bag bottle. He looked up into the night sky to ponder the infinity of it. I feared he was going to ask me why I didn't have any life in my love. But I could see he was already asking himself that question - and coming up short too.
Like an autobot, Rodney stood up and sauntered to the nearest trash barrel, dropping his bottle inside. He paused for a second with his back to me and I wondered if he was going to blame me for losing his booze. Instead, he turned back around, plastering me with fear. Whose life had I fucked up now?
From the corner of his eye he said in a heavy voice, "There be lots of pain in this world." He continued on his way with lingering small coughs. Time to start running again.
The Great Gatsby is a book to read slowly - deliciously - aloud even (though reading it out loud and absorbing it at the same time is a difficult balance). It's like a fine steak, rich with juicy flavors and succulent desires. It would be a crime to take two chews and swallow before its full impact is felt. Oh sure, you might get an impression of what you'd taken in if you did but you'd be forever bound to only have an impression. It's the longest short book I've ever read.
It's the kind of book as a writer you dream of creating, extending out a childhood fantasy. You write as if one who moves through life in a forever dream, letting the ebbs and currents flow as they may around you but never knocking you off course. Doing this causes you to feel the edge of roughness to the world but also to see its lurking, hidden magic. It's as if all the world lives just around the corner from paradise - but never quite reaches it. F. Scott Fitzgerald makes that journey for us - into us - detached from this world while others anchor themselves to it.
It's not the plot that matters but rather the dreamlike movements of its characters being brought into focus. It's a high wire act of writing where one must inerrantly stay the course or fall flat. We're wrapped up in the world of the rich - a world made frightful to dreams - while wishing for a better way. Everyone's looking to "get out", but to get out of one thing means to get into another. And how often do we delude ourselves of that which we're getting into?
Fitzgerald died a forgotten man, his true reputation only being secured decades later. With this book of such stunning lyrical beauty and truth he has woven into the fabric of society an invaluable mirror. But that does not make for a popular book among ugly people. The initial printings did not even sell out. Like Vincent before him, we dared not admit Fitzgerald's worthiness until the safety of time gave us cover. ("It was that generation who was corrupt!")
There is the life we wish to lead, the life we meant to lead and the life we do lead. Like a leaky faucet that cannot be fixed, we eventually succumb to the sound of the incessant dripping, declaring a faux peace until finally - inexorably - the madness of repression overtakes us. With each new currency of our demise we utter in all contempt, "That is nothing new" as if that were some great insight into the human condition which somehow resolves it.
For the entirety of its existence Mankind has lived just around the bend from bliss, wondering of its whispered dreams, tantalized by its promise but never breaching its shores. We resist. We resist furiously and maddeningly, with honor glory and nobility we resist, saying on one hand bliss does not exist - the "habitat of mad children" - and on the other that it must lest the day become too long. When we dream the dream together, it will be a wondered dream no more. The time is always now but we always say now is not the time.
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
"After all the hell we've been through it's time to pull together and grow up. Get with the program!"
Damn, people are hard! What does one do when trapped with the mentally incontinent on the same lifeboat? There's just no way out of the mess!
"Look, guys," I pleaded, "he wants to start doing the exact same thing that sunk our ship in the first place. Do you want to fucking live or not?"
Hard to believe but, yes, we drilled holes in our glorious ship until finally it sunk right to the ocean floor. The ship's captain who even though he campaigned against it after drilling's effects became obvious to even the most dimwitted passenger, still believed in it in his heart and secretly allowed - and even expanded - the practice. But as a dedicated politician, repentance was absent his soul. So instead of rebirth he chose the infamous "double down" road to hell, i.e. start drilling again right here on our very fucking own lifeboat!
But he was not alone in his delusion as the onslaught continued.
"So he made a few mistakes. You expect everyone to be perfect?"
"What's so wrong with a little drilling? Can't you compromise at all? After all, we did it for years and years. Are you saying it's all bad?"
"You don't know what he knows. Maybe, just maybe, a little hole drilling might do us some good, Mr. Smarty Pants!"
What was God thinking when He put all his goddam eggs in the one basket of mob rule? Why can't the dummies just be allowed to die without taking the rest of us with them?
"I know what this is. You fucking idiots think you can cover your ass by continuing the same behavior that put us in this shit lifeboat. Doesn't matter how many people vote it a good idea, drilling is the one thing we know we can never do again. The good life is gone and now you want to kill our one last chance at survival? Do not let this lunatic talk you into drilling all over again!"
That's when our snake tongued captain slithered his poison anew, the same old politics of unification.
"There's a reason extremists like you never got elected. One can't see life in absolutist terms. We can't let the perfect be the enemy of the good. You say it was drilling holes in our hull that caused our wonderful ship to sink. Do you have any proof of that? Are you saying our ways were without worth? Compromise is doing God's work!"
"Might want to look up that commandment about taking someone's name in vain there, bright boy."
But the shameless blameshifters were not done. A wretched woman took me to task for my liberal ways. "How dare you talk to our captain like that! My son was a good boy! He wanted to do something with his life and be useful. He was one of the very first to drown on the front lines in the deepest part of the hull. He didn't get all high and mighty like you elitists who always question why. He drilled those holes just like he was told to! You ask if I believe in drilling? I have to believe in drilling! My son's life was not wasted."
As she sat down crying the morons applauded her and booed me vociferously. Then it struck me: what am I fighting against? No man is a villain in his own eyes. The most precious thing to every soul is its morality - even a false one. Debating that is pointless. As I looked around at the frightened hate-filled faces around me, I knew reason was dead.
I watched in an out-of-body sort of way as a young girl happily practiced her dance moves. She had said it was "not her job" to decide if drilling were right or wrong. An old man whistled as he whittled, declaring "smarter minds" than his should decide fact from fiction. A priest of the non-opinioners blessed them for their faith while denouncing me for my lack of it. Regardless, I was sticking with the truth till the end.
It was in my darkest hour - the day drilling was to begin ("It's just one hole! Be reasonable!") - when a ship appeared on the horizon. One even more wonderful than the one we sunk! Having spotted us it was soon upon our bow, their captain true and strong as he spoke.
"Ahoy! We are the ship of Life! We want to rescue you. But first, you must throw overboard any who are opposed to drilling."
My ass hit the water before these non-absolutist, compromising, reasonable souls stopped to think otherwise. Phony bastards! Completely self-serving. Always thinking they can vote on what's true in their utterly ruthless vanity.
A power boat descended from the ship of Life, whisking me away. Oh, the confused, outraged look on their faces as the lifeboaters realized they were being Left Behind. When they saw me hugged as I came aboard the ship of Life, the lifeboat fell into unrepressed turmoil.
"We want to change our answers!"
"You've already given it," dismissed the captain, annoyed at his time wasted.
As we sailed away we heard angry shouts and the sound of the lifeboat's captain being thrown overboard. But never again did I think of those who said, "Truth has no meaning."
Heckuva cat nap!
His cage is kept far away from the outer fence
