Moses was relentless and unyielding in his stance, lording over me as he pointed to the holy mountain. I resisted.
"My turn? What do you mean my turn?"
Moses was relentless and unyielding in his stance as he pointed to the holy mountain.
"I can't go there! God loves you, not me."
Moses was relentless and unyielding in his stance as he pointed to the holy mountain.
"Go up there and do what? I'd just be wasting everyone's time."
Moses was relentless and unyielding in his stance as he pointed to the holy mountain.
"What if God gets pissed off and takes it out on everyone down here. Wouldn't want me to go up there then!"
Moses was relentless and unyielding in his stance as he pointed to the holy mountain.
"This is nuts! Look, I supported you. When everyone else was building that useless golden calf, I still believed in you. Doesn't that count for anything? It was you I voted for."
Moses put his hands on his hips. "Good. Now go up there and vote for yourself."
*****
Dude toasted his dude friend.
"Congratulations on your marriage, dude!"
"Thanks, dude. About damn time, huh?"
"I'll say. So where you headed off to in such a hurry?"
"Trump rally."
"I thought you hated that guy! You said he's a force for evil in this world."
"Yeah, I know."
"You called him a murderer and a rapist and kidnapper stealing babies from their mother's arms."
"Yeah, I know."
"You said anyone who supports him has to be either insane or insanely ignorant."
"Yeah, I know."
"If you know all that then why the hell you going?"
"The wife. See, there's something else I know too."
"What could that possibly be to contradict everything you've already said??"
He's what the locals call "Miami mean", with a duly vetted motto: "Living better means being better." He had to think that. He had nothing else to point to.
During the day interacting with wage slaves, monetary sycophants, prissy pretenders, jealous juveniles, gold dust women, body bitches, political priests, watchful pickpockets, opinion-less store owners, tongue-biting salesmen, and those so unaware they deem awareness itself to be their fatal enemy, he tolerated these creatures in a cloud of rude arrogance. Sharing the sun with them was a burden he must endure to maintain his life of unrequited guilt, rage his only pursuit left.
"Fuck you, I deserve this."
For every Ferrari, every fine dining meal, every day spent yachting, every single thing that kept the yawning world at bay, he justified with anger. Angry at having been born on a dying planet, angry at the easily seen falseness he as able to view from his high perch, angry at never leading the life he wished to lead. Having virtually limitless money was like trying to dig his way out of a hole whose walls crumble at every touch, an endless series vain clawings and scratchings leading nowhere. Sometimes he envied the lesser man whose sole objective was to buy a home and having done so, could declare victory.
"Yes, I deserve this lifestyle, but..."
He never dare finish the sentence. The idea of an honest living didn't seem possible to him. With his billions he was supposed to be "free." He could be as honest as he chose. He could make a movie, or write a novel, or paint the days away. Instead, he chose the safety of his inner cell.
"Honesty can take you anywhere - even the poor house."
The fuel for his rage was his fondness for fraudulence. What he'd found most interesting was he was not alone. The club of the super-rich and the famous hid an underbelly of perversion and deceit, other decaying souls also lost without their funding. Sex parties, slavery, driving servants to suicide - all in a day's work. This was their way of crying out for help - not that they'd ever take it. These beings take their wages in duplicity.
"They want me to die."
His contempt for his fellow man was based on the universal struggle for the money god. He could ask for love, but who'd love a fraud? So everybody's in on his destruction, taking what they can along the way. Why give them any regard? Why care about any of them? Without his cash, they'd leave him to die in a ditch in a heartbeat. Keeping this lie alive would grind his teeth at night into painful sores, stealing elusive rest.
"I must have been born without a purpose."
A purposeless man is free to pursue his lifestyle above all else. What else has he to do? No purpose equals no responsibility. He saw those who took pride in their work knowing that could never be him. To try to do something "real" would truly expose him as a fraud! His stunted existence perpetuated the need for him to drive himself deeper into his debauchery.
"Where is she now?"
He drove away his one chance for love. It never failed to flabbergast him how his illusion of wealth allowed so many people to think he could be happy alone. They imagined him with a different beautiful woman every night, a carefree playboy living the dream. Like all anger, part of it was based on fear. Fear that one day everyone would stop and point at the loser, a man without love. These were the thoughts that consumed him in his locked and secure penthouse.
"I don't know what to do. I was right to betray her."
Oh, God, how he had wanted to believe, to step into the Light at last and rejoice in a reborn life. She believed in him and that belief triggered his greatest rage of all: it meant he's wasting his life. He cheated on her every chance he got, "proving" his unworthiness, sacrificing his love so "she can be free to get a better man." All it did was make them both hate his guts.
"Now what?"
He climbed onto the bench by the outside wall of his penthouse. Engaging in his favorite activity whenever he felt down, he urinated on the unsuspecting masses below. What they get for trusting such an obvious asshole as him with an exalted position. With secrets like these he had to hide "where the sun don't shine." Maybe it was time to stop trying. Maybe he had finally hollowed himself out to be the purposeless creature he always professed to be. Then he could die without apologies.
Forget the legal arguments. Forget the political arguments. Forget all the BS and think of this in the only terms that count: human terms. Nature gave us a brain to use so let's use it. We don't need to look to the sky or to the dead or old parchment to determine right from wrong. We can each judge that for ourselves right here and now. We know inhumanity when we witness it. And we know it's always a crime. So let's recognize it as such - in ourselves as well as others - if we are to preserve any chance we have of a future.
The truth is not as confined by the rules of Man. It stands on its own marching to its inevitable revelation regardless of polling or popular opinion or the whims and desires of the masses. Only by standing with the truth can one stand at the end. Everyone else will be dead. For though we all desire life, we all will not choose it. And on the sick and twisted path until that final time, we will slander and rape the truth as if that would save us. But only love can save us.
So let's drop the charade and write the true articles of impeachment of not only Donald Judas Trump, but any who support treachery and treason, murder and mayhem, libel and lasciviousness, death and despair. No soul can profit from these things even in our darkest deceiving. Crimes against humanity cannot escape punishment. We fail to resolve them at our own peril. With great sorrow we must list our crimes, renounce them, and embrace the gifts we daily reject. In so doing, we shall drink from the endless stream of dreams and thirsteth nevermore.
ARTICLE 1: MURDER
The agonizing and unnecessary deaths of Puerto Ricans after Hurricane Maria
To argue against these articles is to argue against oneself. I would encourage everyone, school children and adults alike, to engage in the exercise of writing their own articles. Let us face the full gravity of the situation. For those who argue against themselves, let your child be raped or kidnapped. Let you be forced into drinking toxic water. May your family be betrayed to military death squads. May firemen show up to your home and use "alternative facts" to determine your house is not on fire as you listen to the death screams inside.
Like our good, our evil will come back to haunt us, as one of the monster's supporters has already found out:
I had been banned, outlawed, with extreme grievance; on the unwanted list. To step into her neighborhood was criminal trespassing without forgiveness. My picture had been posted as enemy of the state. I was to neither see nor be seen there if I wished to remain alive. She had given me fair - and final - warning; end of conversation. But none of those conditions made me stop needing her.
I could only enter during a quiet time when few were about, taken up by their jobs or sundry errands needing to be done. From afar I scouted the neighborhood until I knew I could cross the border like a defamed immigrant. I caught myself holding my breath, unable to breathe. I looked to the cloudless sky to see if lightening would strike me. I tiptoed down the sidewalk as if I owned it, a thousand absent eyes upon me. Then I smelled smoke. It was from the house of she who banned me.
I looked around for help but alas, I had been too careful in my scouting as the place was truly abandoned. Either I rush in to help her or I run away to deny my presence. I knew if my past did not exist the answer would be easy. Who wouldn't rush into to help? Truth is, I've been running away all my life. And the urge to do so now was overpowering. It's what I knew - and always known - to be safest for me. But a critical voice spoke of me, saying I couldn't not help because of my own committed crimes. I couldn't not help for any reason, actually.
So I rushed inside.
A shelf had fallen over, trapping her beneath it and also knocking a candle into the curtains. I heard her cries for help as I entered - then suddenly stop as she recognized my face. I informed her of my obligation. "Here, let me help."
"Go away! Get out of here!"
"Let me pull you out first then I'll go."
"Don't you dare touch me!"
"But you'll die!"
"That's my business. I don't want you to ever see me again."
I crossed over to grab her arm in the increasing smoke but she violently resisted and not being a strong person myself I could not fend off her resistance. The turmoil of the fire mirrored my turmoil within as my instincts to run were pleading for me to flee, and frankly feeling the desire to oblige her even though she chose death. I heard a creaking from above and stepped back as a ceiling beam crashed down, separating us. I was cut off from her and had to crawl back outside to avoid the smoke. Looking back one last time I saw a curious smile of hate on her face.
A man from the next street over showed up asking what he could do. I had to tell him it was too late, the house was falling down. He had called the fire department and even though the station was close by the fire was too swift. As others arrived home they naturally gathered round to discuss the tragedy. Then a woman recognized me.
"Hey, aren't you the guy on the Unwanted posters?"
I'd been waiting for an appropriate time to depart but up to that point it had seemed too suspicious for me to leave so early. Now I was trapped.
"Not sure, " I mumbled.
A man cried out, "Sure is!" and the lynching was on. I had already volunteered the details of what I saw in the fire but now I was accused of not trying to help her - or maybe even starting the fire! Even though on this particular incident my conscience was clear I was drowning in guilt of my past atrocity and could not fight back their accusations. I covered my face with my hands, masking my shame. Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. Then I heard a voice point me out.
"That's him, officer. That's the son-of-a-bitch who threw that acid on her face. Now he burned her house down too!"
I was handcuffed in silence as I was booed off the stage and into the awaiting police car. I knew I wouldn't be able to protest my innocence. The more facts I told the more it sounded like a lie. The cops had it in for me, asking why I was there, what was my business in that neighborhood where I'd been banished. I had no good answer. Confessing I needed her friendship would only harden them against me. They'd made a mess of their personal lives too, the truth was not in their interest.
If I'd had no past with her, the cops would have let me go. Heck, I wouldn't have been accused in the first place. She was dead so I was too. What does anything matter now? They can railroad me if it makes them feel better. It's amazing how stubborn people can be when they have hold of a false truth they feel exonerates them. Me being the bad guy automatically made everyone else the good guy. My sentence was life without parole. The female judge was especially vindictive in her sentencing speech, calling me a "sick coward" who never should have been let out of jail in the first place.
As the guard escorted me out of the court, her death smile in the flames came back to me and suddenly I understood. She knew this would happen. She always was fucking smart.
CODA: I'm in Hell's hell, inconsolable in my loss. Every night is a lifetime. Did I try enough to save her? Why didn't I try to save myself before they imprisoned me? (I can blame them for not searching for the truth but most people really are walking dead.) This whole ordeal I put us both through is beyond comprehension. Worst part is I want no part of this godawful planet if she's not on it. Maybe that's what her final smile was about, knowing how much I'd miss her. Did she figure out I needed her? Shit, she wasn't sending me to jail like I assumed. I let this happen for nothing - again.
After seeing rave reviews calling the director as someone who is now among the cinematic greats after making this film plus with the added bonus of it being a class warfare movie, I just had to see "Parasite". I walked out halfway through, unable to stand the torture anymore as things only got worse and worse - and after reading how the film turns out, my instincts were right in leaving. It only got dumber and more absurd.
As with any movie dealing with this subject matter, I feared stereotypes and simple-minded knee-jerk observations. And that's ALL this film had to offer. So that gave it nowhere to go except into absurdity since it had nothing real to say. For the unenlightened, that made it "cutting edge". If someone were to make a true class warfare film, there would be howls of alleged outrage from conservative media. But this empty head-rattler is no threat.
Below is the review I left on IMDB:
A Textbook Film Of Pretentiousness
The opposite of a singer who sings with soul is a singer who sings *as if* they have soul. This movie was done *as if* it were a satire, *as if* it were making a statement, *as if* it has a deeper meaning. Instead, it's hollow at its core, mean-spirited, and pointless. It's a film for those like the idea of making a point but not having to suffer any uncomfortable truths.
The only good effect of this film is that it exposes the vacuity of those who praise it and their self-delusion. It's a barometer of the public's appetite for garbage. See this film only in the context of a sociology experiment and be shocked at how far we've fallen in our gullibility and how desperate we are not to face ourselves.
*****
Most professional critics kissed its ass (only time I've seen more ass kissing was on "Force Awakens" travesty). But this guy gets it right:
- Lamar Xander Jackson,
The Bridge homeless shelter resident
***
Joan Burns was a girl who couldn't wait. She wasn't a nobody, she was a somebody. But she was a somebody going nowhere. In the bubble that is high school, her star shone at the very top, great expectations sprinkled with moon dust in store for her. And she loved it. The adoration, a Pathway to the stars, and most of all, no need to ever question herself. "Others have to do that. Not me."
Then came college. The dream was breaking down. She didn't know what she wanted to do - or could do. Did she really have what it takes to reach the stars? Did she really have the guts to find out if she's the winner she - and everyone - declared (and expected) her to be? Joan certainly didn't want to lower herself from the exalted plane from which she'd determined she deserved. Being special means never having to say you're wrong.
Her sense of entitlement seemed so real. "Just wait and the Pathway will take you to stars." Unfortunately, Joan was a person of faith - in faithlessness. Her family who'd praised her so mightily expected her above all to be morally seen. The weight of it loomed like an ambush down the road. "OK, time to grow up and realize what's really in front of me and stop this wishful thinking. I believe in love, but -" Doesn't really matter what she said after "but". She did what most people do when they decide to grow up: she chose death.
To reach for the stars meant to follow her heart. As much as she wanted to - and actually believed in - spending the rest of her life doing just that, fear knocked her off course from the Pathway, fear she was a fraud, a person undeserving of the dreams she'd seen was God's truth, she determined. From now on she'd close her eyes and hope for the best she's on the right path. "That's what God wants me to do. I shouldn't be believing in myself so much. I'd be condemned for all the ages! Forgive me, God, for putting myself before You!"
God wants you to be free to do what you want
Having been knocked off course, Joan floundered for direction. Not willing to take the chance of being made a fool for doing what she wanted, a vacuum formed putting her on the wrong side of nature. Worst of all, this was happening in secret, for these were concerns a "somebody" should never have. She could trust no one - because she could no longer trust herself. "God doesn't want me trusting myself. I should only trust God. I have perfect faith and know that no one who trusts God is a fool - and above all else I will not be seen as a fool!"
Having given herself her marching orders (in which Joan made herself God), she deceived herself with the wishful thinking that having the trappings of success is the same as success itself. And the most beautiful part of this wishful thinking was that she did it in the name of ending wishful thinking! Later in life - though never confessed - she would call this moment "The Fall". And while nothing was ever the same again, she clung to the vain hope things would be - or could be - or should be. These were tears frozen in her heart.
As with all vacuums, an answer was summoned to fill it. In this it was in the form of Joel. Joel was a nobody, never a star, and nothing possessed him more than the idea of having a somebody for his own. One thing he did have was direction: nothing would come between him and every last dollar he could squeeze out of this Earth. Joan, naturally, was initially repulsed by him but she soon realized her only alternative was to return to the Pathway where she was certain she'd be ruined for life. So she signed a marriage contract to ruin her.
Two years into her vow of self-betrayal, Joan's soul cried out for help. As certain as she was of her fraudulence, an equal part still believed in the Pathway. Secretly, she begged and pleaded not to be the person she saw in the morning mirror being dragged down to the slaves of Babylon. "I feel as though every part of me is dying. This isn't the life I want. Please, please tell me it's not too late to go back to the Pathway. I'll do anything to get my dreams back." The universe replied with Jack.
Jack was the soulmate she'd been looking for her entire life. He too had strayed from the Pathway that would lead them to paradise. And he too struggled to believe he deserved love. Their meeting was as much a nightmare as a dream. Like two children with noses pressed against the glass of a candy store, they wondered if they could ever get inside. Excitement and frustration boiled over when Jack finally had to confess, "I love you." Joan covered her face with her hands, afraid of showing her delight. Would Joan return to the Pathway having been given the chance she swore she needed?
As if by design, that night her husband gave the news he was being transferred out of state, his relentless ambition not to be denied. If Joan didn't commit to Jack now, she'd never see him again. "To leave my marriage for an unknown would be insanity! Everyone would be questioning me and asking why and I'd have no explanation other love. But can I make love work? Is what I got so bad? Who gets to live their dreams? This is more of me thinking I'm special when I'm not. I need to have integrity and not lie to myself and bravely face the fact I'm really a fraud. What does love mean anyway? I only need the appearance of it."
The cover-up continued over the years as her despair and lifestyle grew equally off course. Joan insisted she was fine without her dreams and exquisite luxury proved a suitable substitute. At night, the lies gnawed at her but she only cared if they showed during the day. But nature would have Her revenge. As part of her cover of a loving and moral couple, Joan had produced two children, the oldest a boy with whom she had repeated rows that he deny his dreams as she had done. And while Joan may be able to live with her lies, her adolescent son could not and threw himself in front of a BART train as other Bay area teenagers had.
Immediately her fellow corrupt warriors assured Joan she was not to blame and above all else not to abandon the path she was on and throw away the good things in her life in a fit of disillusionment. After a suitable number of years to save face, she finally divorced and ran away to live near her daughter lest her only remaining child also succumb to despair. Her ruined life devolved into nothing more than a fool's errand of a charade to show a brave face as she rotted out the rest of her existence.
To the staff at the Beth Israel nursing home, she was just another breathing body to be processed and given an account number and impersonal love as outlined in the guidebook. Her money afforded her the best of dying conditions - but for life it was too late. A toxic brew of loneliness, alcohol, and religion slowly fossilized her into sterilization. Joan could hardly speak during the slow motion hell that enveloped her.
Years of tears within had bloated her to twice her normal weight. Born with a smile that would light up a city, she ended with a frown to darken the universe. Drip by drip the life drained out of her, bleeding to death in a world bleeding to death. She'd turned away from her shining star so no one would know she was one. No one in the fluorescent facility knew of her dreams or nightmares, of her miracles found and lost, of the colossal tragedy of her nothingness. No one knew of her implosion into a black hole, trapping any escaping light.
But she finally had the answer to her question: "What does love mean?"
"That is fucking bullshit! I can't believe my eyes! I'm so angry I can't see straight! People HAVE TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEIR ACTIONS! Where does anyone think this is going to lead? To something GOOD? I don't think so! Anyone thinking that is a MORON and a LUNATIC living in fucking la-la land. I, for one, will not stand for this. CHANGES have to be made. We can't just sit on our asses and let this kind of shit go on. We'll all be sunk if we do with NO FUCKING HOPE! It doesn't matter what the cost is or how high a price we must pay, things need to get fixed and I mean FIXED RIGHT NOW. Waiting is insanity. I don't care if I'm the only person in the world who feels this way, my voice will be heard, consequences be damned!"
Reaction 2:
"Shit happens. Yeah, it's bad but what can anyone do? What's the point of making a big deal out of it? What can anyone do? I can yell and scream my head off and nothing will change. What am I going to do? Go out and create some movement to change everything I don't like? That would be a waste of time. I refuse to let things outside of my control upset me. We have to keep these kinds of situations in perspective. Expecting perfection is a waste of time. Comes a point you have trust people are going to do the right things and carrying on and berating people in the meantime won't help at all. Sometimes you just need to mind your own business."
Reaction 1 is in regard to poor coaching decisions in a Dallas Cowboys loss by "Superfan Earl".
Reaction 2 is his same reaction when informed of children being kidnapped by the U.S. government who will never see their parents again in their lifetime.
"I don't care what you say - or how many times you say it - or with how much conviction you may say it - I still have hope. There's more to life than meets the eye - you don't know what you think you know. No one knows everything. Your words mean nothing to me. I stand with the side of hope - and always will regardless of the actions of others. My faith is unshakable and the way forward is without doubt. These are my words and I stand by them till the end of time. Let the rest do as they wish."
She looked everyone in the room with a defiant eye. The TV camera ate her up. Cheers could be heard in the distant outside. Wars love warriors and she was determined to make a stand. The Conflict had been brewing for decades, setting teeth on edge, boiling rages, reaching a fever pitch - all the earmarks of a dying planet. The dividing time had come and no soul would be left unaccounted. This was the time of Life or Death.
The Numbers Merchants who'd ruled the world since nigh the beginning saw their days were numbered. However hopeless perpetuating their perch may be, they would do anything and everything in their power to delay that day of reckoning; no sacrifice was beyond the pale. Though fearing the growing food riots, starvation was deemed to be used as a tool for population control. Those preoccupied with finding daily food would not be in a position to question the ways of the Merchants or even notice their decisions until too late.
"Because I'm tethered to the truth, I need not listen to the opinions of others, my certainty is my rock. That which conflicts with what I assert must therefore be wrong. I stand as one with the Lord. I shall not deviate nor stray an inch from this righteous path. What's right is right and what's wrong is wrong. I shall be a beacon of light in this dark world. If we all unite as one we can never fall. I cannot emphasize this enough: Dissent is death. Only if we each align ourselves with the truth now can we survive!"
One by one they fell across the land. Like a wind blown fire, hate ignited in their souls, making war on reality. Again, the goal of the Deciders was not to win, but to extend their days of rule by any means possible. Fear and frustration fueled the fires - as intended. Those unable to blame themselves for their self-inflicted fate set up gods to save them - even if their only purpose was to knock them down later. They still served the goal of wasting time. At this stage, the general consensus was liars need to win in order to maintain their way of life.
"Plant cotton, get corn!" Simple, easy, and salable. The Numbers Merchants had lowered the price of cotton seeds as to be practically free. But the big money was in corn in a starving world. Farmers stood to make a fortune in alleged profits as few could actually afford to plant corn with its sky high costs. This was an answer beloved by all: to not reap what you sow - no responsibility required. Anyone who spoke out against it was labeled a traitor and a bringer of doom. The slogan was on shirts, shoes, and body tattoos. The more you celebrated it, the more you were celebrated.
"I have heard those who would bring us down - but their negativity won't bring me down! Jesus said to overcome and by our faith we shall. Our land will be covered in corn! Our future is secured and our problems solved for evermore. These are hard times that demand hard answers. The wishful thinking of love will not save us. We have to take responsibility for our actions - and that we have done!. Let no one stand against us. It's our duty to save the world. Today, I will even amend our glorious slogan to say: Plant cotton, get corn - get saved!"
She sat perched on high in the high court on a wooden throne with "FORBIDDEN JUSTICE" carved around the curved headboard in Gothic letters not to be questioned. On the wall behind, in the same but larger Gothic letters, "NO TRUTH IS CERTAIN" was loudly proclaimed to be true. As I stood awaiting in the lower chamber, the judge stood up in her long black robes designed to hide what is already known, and she began the sentencing mourned as my trial. "I see before me a known unknown, persona non grata. So how can I judge you as anything else when Nature has made Her judgement before me? Do you have business here, does the doomed wish to speak? Perhaps a witty comment might do, you think? Something to entice me to enjoy your company. If so, do you believe you can sustain that indefinitely, for life? How much wit is within you? Are you certain of an inexhaustible supply? Or do you wish to keep that dour look upon your face, of which I have no desire to see and if I did your severed head would serve equally well. Or perhaps you wish to make a wry observation upon these proceedings? Do you think that is what I wish to hear? Would that please me or enrage me, you wonder. Do you dare take the chance? Are you having a crisis of conscience and faith? Is it only by crime you can gain my company? Is deceit your faultless ally? May a stolen moment be the only treasure you can obtain? Is an allegation of an unbearably anguishing separation your plea, so that the court may show mercy? Would that be a just outcome for this court: to have you tolerated at best, dreaded at worst? If you should fall into disrepair, is that the court's concern, of your every peregrination through life? Is the court obligated to tabulate the outcome of your decisions in which it had no say? Should the court hold itself responsible to weep over your grave when your death is without notice? "Each soul assumes feelings but some assumptions are true and some are false. How is the court to determine your wishful thinking and flights of fancy from a true heart? Is such a thing even determinable? Is the court your refuge where you hope to ameliorate your wounds incurred from without, to substitute this life for having none? A person on the run seeks shelter and takes shelter wherever it can be found, right or wrong. Should the court be taken advantage of in this way? Does it exist for your pleasure and convenience? Am I to be at your beck and call, denying my own life, due to the discord in your own? Or do you allege that the sum of two parts is different when combined as one? Is this what you guarantee, an unknowable and unforeseeable outcome that has never been faced? Is your imagination to be taken for reality? Are you so certain of your needs that you yet proclaim them while still breathing? What is the court's obligation to your unproven truths? "Or is silence your answer? To say nothing and be nothing is your defense? How can the court not be offended when you make no effort? Or are you simply cycling through the various answers you could give, waiting for the right moment to strike, knowing that giving the wrong answer - or the right answer at the wrong time - is equally offensive as silence? Or do you contend there is no right answer, that no possible words or combination of words ever invented could possibly do? Do you believe you have the intellect to make that determination? Or are you accusing the court of a prejudged bias against any words you say no matter how appropriate or inappropriate they may be? Have you come simply to cast aspersions and expect that the court would delight at the generous gift of your supposed insight? Where is this all to end, these speaking-and-not-speaking deliberations? Till death do us part? What offering can you make to this court, which you have deemed your doorkeeper to salvation, with your quivering lip which gives the court such pause? What is the way forward? If you do not know, how can I, for communication is the vein of life."
....
"OK, then, I'll communicate. I'm fucking DEVASTATED and wholly DISHEARTENED without your friendship. I'm FAKING everything every DAY. I acted without HOPE. It's UNFORGIVABLE. You are the KINDEST most INTELLIGENT person I know. I'm SORRY in every way."
There once was a man from Perth, Who railed at the shape of the Earth, "If it were to be flat, "I could have all of that!" A curious curse of his birth.
"These final hours embrace at last; this is our ending, this is our past."
- courtesy of Robyn O'Neil
"And the meek shall inherit the earth..."
If you were God, would you trust you with the planet? Meek yourself up then and get ready, crying time is coming (actually, much of it is already here). As we descend into the chaos and despair of our law and order, the stones we rejected will become the building blocks of our future. The truth of our self-betrayal will come unmercifully to light in our time of frying. The bedrocks of the everlasting world will revert our perverted planet into the paradise it was always meant to be. Our shackles will fall off in newfound faith. Volcanoes will erupt with flowers, seas will sing with waves of joy, forests will foster our future. You know this to be true.
After we pass through our (incredibly cruel and painful) birthing pains, new axioms will replace the garbage we foolishly trust today. And in that vein, I give you the 12 Axioms of the Apocalypse to help de-gaslight the current rot that surrounds us and confounds us:
Opposite of Love is Death
Opposite of Truth is Futility
Opposite of Cursed is Light
Opposite of Dreams is Idols
Opposite of Hope is Lies
Opposite of Negativity is Honesty
Opposite of Joy is Repression
Opposite of Life is Emptiness
Opposite of Warring is Communicating
Opposite of Freedom is Politics
Opposite of Art is Religion
Opposite of Doom is Nature
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Note: This was inspired by Robyn O'Neil's great and fantastical exhibit We The Masses. I heard a museum person say "the message is dark", as if we are but helpless bystanders on our planet without a say. Truth is, we are the authors and creators of this world, and thus seeing we're on the wrong path, works like Robyn's give us the chance to correct our course. What the fuck is dark about that??
Coming up for air before I'm swallowed whole by the blackness. Something happened to break my lies so it's back to all tears and nightmares and a coldness deeper than space itself. The dream of meeting and talking to Emily finally happened. But, of course, for me it was a nightmare because those few minutes were stolen ones, when she didn't know who I was.
But she was great and I was feeling it and totally digging her as I thought I would even though I was putting on the breaks because I knew it couldn't last. Ecstasy and agony at the same time. I wanted to spend hours with her enjoying her company. I was getting sucked in.
While talking I debated coming clean. So I did - as much as my nerve held out. I told her I knew her name. I told her I knew her from a long time ago. I was too scared to mention exactly where or I'd have my head taken off permanently with extreme prejudice. With every question she chopped down my nerve. Finally, I said, "It was ten years ago." I thought that would be a dead giveaway.
Slowly, the wheels began to turn in that intelligent mind of hers. You cannot imagine the terror I began to feel. I wanted to hug and be hugged by her so badly. Then she started asking what I was doing in her neighborhood. I didn't lie, at least, but obviously she figured out I was only there because she lived there. She turned her back to me walking away, saying I shouldn't be driving around someplace where I didn't have any business. I wanted to die on the spot.
I tried to pretend I was OK walking back to my car, taking a swig from my bone dry water bottle. I couldn't break down and cry on the spot and it was a tortuous hour driving back to my hole where the suicide feelings flooded me like a tidal wave. I couldn't eat and my body was drained. That was Wednesday at 6. It's now Friday at 10 and I've had my first full meal. Even that was forced.
I just want to die. Getting a taste of Emily again triggered all the old feelings of despair. A therapist I went to correctly stated I thought of Emily as a god. Hard to measure up to a god. But that was the first crack in thinking maybe just maybe I could be friends with her after all. I talked to her on blind faith. Ten years of tears. I can't stop the crying. I can't tell anyone about this, they just won't understand. Plus Emily likes her privacy.
I'm faking it just to be writing. When the computer shuts off, the walls close back in as the screams return. I've written at least ten postcards in my mind to send her. I don't know what words to use for her to give me a chance. I can't even drive past her house anymore so I could at least feel proximity to her. I got no job or a way of earning money. All the ropes have reached their end.
I must go. The demons are waiting on me. It's what I get for hurting Emily. But it doesn't make things better or pay my debt to her. I got no freaking idea what does.
Sunday Update: Still can't eat. Not quite as suicidal. Very alone and very afraid.
I seek to take everything that is beautiful and make it ugly. By my touch, all living things die. The hopeless are my slaves. The weak are crushed, killers exalted, rapists exonerated. I shall do all the these things and more! And for this, you will love me.
Every life will have a purpose! And that purpose is to serve me. Ye who are lost and without direction, surrender unto me. I am the state, the power, and the glory that gives you meaning. I am the alpha and the omega. If Jesus were here today, he'd declare me God's most favored son.
By virtue of being me, I can do no wrong. By following me, you are equally blessed in your faithful servitude. The world is upside down! The laws are enforced by outlaws. The poor do no work to help themselves. Traitors of the great Gotham way denounce the wonderful and noble principles of greed that have served us so well. No more shall this be! I - and I alone - can save you!
The time has come! We must destroy the destroyers! Betray the betrayers! The system they rigged against you will be rigged for you! Act before it's too late! My words are truth itself. Give me your vote and I'll give you the world.
Everybody says this is the greatest political campaign in history! My freiind Jeff, who's been in politics over fifty years, says he's never seen anything like this, it's so wonderful. My evil is a beautiful evil, blind and benign, rejecting no one. Increase my power to increase your power! Be a winner! Put on a Joker face! Everyone will love you. Just say it, and they will believe you.
His sick grin was anything but effortless. From the universe of his cell he ruled a flaming empire. He knew his captors saw him as the most uncool person alive, refusing to speak his reason after throwing acid on an unsuspecting hope of a friend. She was marked for life - he for all eternity.
"Yeah...if she comes back tell her I'm going to laugh. She's a moron to have ever let me get that close. Must be something wrong with her, I'd say. She's so perfect she'll go on and live her life anyway. So she comes back, I'm going to laugh at her ugly face. Tell her that."
His jailers were unmoved. "A further judgment has been held stating that the entirety of your assets are hereby forfeited to her."
"Who cares? Take it all. What do I care in prison? Nothing means nothing."
As his jailers turned to depart, a sea of fear rushed in at the thought of yet again returning to be alone with his demons. "Hey, you tell her what I said!"
***
Doomed devils pierced mercilessly upon his soul if he dare rest his eyes. "No one will ever love you now!" For their accusations he had no reply. "Face it! Your life is over! Who would trust an acid thrower? Monster!" Secretly he was glad his assets would be given over to her. However small, it was a way to make amends. There was certainly nothing in himself of value.
The future is lost
He felt more ugly than her face could ever be. That secret he believed he must take to his ignored grave. In the deepest parts of the night, the darkness swallowed him whole. Betrayal. Is there a worse crime? He needed a connection to her. He could have love, but he settled for hate. Every time she looks in the mirror she will think of him. That thought possessed him, ate on him, strangled him, right up until the moment of madness disfigured her. He himself had always been disfigured.
Grasping at moral straws, he flailed and wailed night and day. Every argument for hope slipped through his fingers. His health dripped away like steady drops of blood. Worst of all, he'd just assumed his rejection, unable to let he know of his need. He was blessing her by being out of her life. That made his act of evil holy. Saying that only makes the demons laugh, though. It seemed to him at this point, the worst possible thing that could happen would be to find out he had something to offer all along.
***
"Allah, no. Can't be..."
A man of immense wealth had read of her story, donating part of his fortune to cover her medical costs and make her financially independent for life.
"No! No! You must reject her. She's mine! No one can accept her hideous face!"
His assets were rejected, untouched. His gamble had failed. She would think of him now every time she looks in the mirror. Connection severed, he'd been left to himself.
How do I live with this?? How can I trust myself?? Judas was right! Kill me now! Allah, please. My breath has no purpose. I did it for nothing!
Each day he died, an immortal left without food, starving to death over and over, no way out. He'd made a joke of his life and now the joke was on him. Why does understanding come too late? Why must men march off to war to find out it's wrong? Why does the world assign no value to the soul? Must the world die to figure out the wrongness of its ways? A living death, the fangs of the asp never shaking loose, dying without killing.
