The building had more hallways than ever to be counted, Which was good, I rarely ran into the same person twice, So the time I spent was only in moments of greeting, And I beguiled them who I be: Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief; That's how I wove my web of disguise, For a moment's time I could be anybody - But never me, I saved the truth of me for none but me, But that's a fate too lonely.
Yes, my shirt is ragged and shoes in disrepair, My holy jeans in tatters - the clothes of despair, I told this poem to some, But not to a Certain One, Journeying through secret passages, Revealing the thief in me, Finding the closet of hope, "Come see the suit of me," The linen shimmered in unaccustomed light, My Visitor smiled and eyes grew bright, I had taken an awful chance - My breath both uneasy but finally shown, But my gentle Visitor, Left my cover unblown.
A handsome word was spread, "He has a suit to see!" I really got to say, Was not the worst thing happened to me, I tire of my disguise of rags, Seeking safety among the paupers - Of whom nothing is expected, Because I know where the world is blind, And how it ignores the divine, And finds the shallow sublime, Knowing this place never admits its crime, I knew I'd never have to admit mine.
But lonely feet can never stand still, Seek! Seek! Seek! But too much wandering makes you ill, I came upon a garden party, Through the prison of my eyes, I felt the life within, Wishing to join in, But the guards were of official mind, Pretty policemen in uniforms creased, With I clad in disdained smudges, Against reveling partiers in finest finery, The copper hissed at me, "Piss off, you! We'll have no soot upon our suits!"
But a voice spoke up to hear, The Visitor of my hidden closet, "He has a suit to see!" So that somebody let me in - Sometimes it takes only one, Reluctant, scared, proud, profane - That's how my suit debuted, Among the acceptable folk, Admiring hands lovingly touched the fabric of my soul, Sweet carresses brought forth an involuntary smile, But these threads feel so ill-fitting, And crooked as I walked, "Dammit, that's why I keep it hidden!" Until finally I balked.
I had a greater hunger Than those who munched their food, And came the fatal moment For my acting rude, Peeling off my clothing Until completely nude, With needs so stiffly showing, "My God! He's just too crude!"
Sharp dressed men and well-heeled women, Observed pristine police wrestle me down, Below their noses, In jailhouse my suit glows bright orange, Of course it wasn't of my choosing, But that happens when you're losing, The naked man is evil! Worse than killing souls combined! He reveals the ultimate crime, A sneering inmate asked me of my time, "Life" was the only sentence, No more this suit of mine.
He greeted with a politeness - But never with himself; His pleasantries were delightness But had he secret's hell?
He never raised a word That threatened or cajoled; His speaking tone was heard: "If I may, to be so bold."
In a world of fiery lip aiming And with bony finger pointing; He forsook angry blaming Finding no soul disappointing.
Flocking femme fancied his demeanor, "Oh, he's as polite as could be!" Burning hearts wished he was meaner, "Oh...he was as polite as he could be..."
Hidden was a Keyless Door, "This room where none can endure me." Politeness forbade us asking more - Such a lovely currency!
But plain the quiz upon our faces: Was he a pretender to his joy? "Please, rest assured my life is aces! "Forever I the happy toy!"
Well-honed instincts trained to please Knew the gifts sold to be lauded; Receiving our soothing appease We then dutifully applauded.
Yet of his Room I wondered, Did it hold a raging sin? Fretting I had blundered Never asking to be let in.
In proper politic, he said he had it made Charming us with irresisting kindness; We kept sunny his pop parade With a keen obliging blindness.
Dancing to his silent dreams We mistook his shuffles for a voice; But life is never as it seems When felt lived without a choice.
So till the time of no more breath He claimed impossibility of strife; Polite he made his tear-stained death: "Fear not what's lost in life!"
But in hasty post he'd sent a letter Telling of the Room with Keyless Door; Hope's confession to sway death better, "T'was in that room I pled for more."
Happy Mother's Day. She just lost her hearing from the factory noise.
If the world was stripped of all illusion and facade, and all things and all people revealed to be as they truly are, what we'd see is a vast vortex of love around which our lives are centered. And how we deal with that vortex defines our lives. If we could see our lives truly, we'd see our actions for what they are: expressions of our need for love, that love is at the center of all of life's issues. Money, religion, war, sex, suicide, dreams, politics, debating - whatever issue you want to bring up is really about our struggle for love.
Of course, we rarely admit that. I mused on my last post why we accept without challenge throwing people out into the street. We see it, we shrug, we move on. I asked why but I already know why: most of us don't see ourselves as worthy - but since we all need love and therefore need to feel valuable - we build value systems to make us feel valuable regardless. Assholes say assholes are the way to be. Lovers say lovers are the way to be. But if your values aren't true you still won't actually feel valuable. That is how sheep come to be.
"The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience"
It is commonly said Hitler killed six million Jews. Technically, that is a lie. That's way too much work for one person to do, especially a quitter like him. No, he ordered the deaths for sheep to carry out and obey they certainly did. We love to praise those who blindly follow orders but that is just another example of creating false values - there is no value to being a sheep! And since a sheep can never feel good about itself, the sheep never fights back - even when it's in the sheep's best interest.
Would a nation of lovers followed Hitler? Would a nation of truth-seekers followed our previous President into a false war? Do dreamers ask the state to control their lives? We like to blame our leaders for the state of the world - and certainly words of evil flow from their lips - but we determine which voices to praise or deny. And that is why we accept the injustices inflicted upon us - we figure we really aren't worth much anyway and who are we to question anything? But the real question is: who are you NOT to question anything!
"Are you sure I'm allowed to dream?"
So I can't imagine the role of a union organizer in a conservative southern town where people pretty much don't care about themselves and don't much care to hear life should be anything than what it already is. Me, I'm a negative person and would swear it could never be done - but that's why my counsel is so often unwise. It takes a certain kind of self-love to pull off a feat like that and I too often resist the vortex of love to have that virtue. You see, you can't fight for the rights of others without also fighting for your own right to love - I often despair on that count.
Jesus came to divide, not to unite. And standing up for your rights will certainly cause people to part like the Red sea - it's a person's value you're truly questioning, a matter of life and death. Some rush to your side, emboldened by the strength you show while some depart your side, threatened by that same strength. The more you stick to your guns, the more bullets come flying your way. You're told in no uncertain terms you are no one to make waves, you are a destroyer of lives, you are unworthy of love. For the most part, you're out on that limb alone and the thought of "What the hell have I done?" will surely come to pass.
Copper says: "I enforce the rule of self-hate."
So while in one sense it's a battle for union rights, the true warfare is the one for self-love, of finding your worth. A conservative person resists the call for change - he fears change more than the company's abuses. A liberal person faces the need for change, embracing it as much as one's bravery allows. Tell me, is there any greater oxymoron than the phrase "conservative philosophy"?
There's a commandment that says not to take the Lord's name in vain. What that means is you are not to say you are without worth. You may do things that have no worth, or take a path that has no worth - but no matter what you do there's still an inherent value in every soul, that piece of God within you. The more we recognize the value of our soul, the less injustices we tolerate.
So yeah, I know why people don't stick up for their rights - but being a sheep won't save you.
It's a special kind of dying in the desert, a cruelty all its own, an attack on the mind as well as the body. The roasting sun hears not your pleas and knows not your protests, its only job to bring suffocating waves of heat without pause or hesitation. Your brain literally cooks in the oven that is your head. Your protective skin withers in peeling layers from the fiery rays. Parched lips crack and split open, knowing tomorrow will bring more the same.
When the sandstorms come, no one is left on the planet but you. No beast may hear you or see you in the blinding and deafening winds that trap you more surely than any prison cell. With the time of your sentence unknown, the mind goes mad with anticipation of release yet feeling that time may never come. Yes, when the imprisoning sand rises up, its rule is absolute, severing you from all human needs.
Nighttime is daytime's left over decay. During the day's domain, the mind, body and soul hunker down like in a tank-like bunker. The task then is simply to endure. Night brings the pain of breathing. Demons of the dark demand their due. Where is love? Where are dreams? Where is hope? Unsatisfactory answers are rewarded by a pitchfork's painful poke. The torturers ask again and again until night reaches end. You cannot beat the demon, only expel it.
Any "water" you find is rancid and foul, pools rejected by the living souls who travel by in life's caravans. One taste - and drink one must - and your guts twist in agony as the black liquid poisons it way through your system, bending you in contorted hell. You pray for death, but death will not come. You stand as your own enemy, cursing yourself for the water that sustains nothing but delay of doom.
Sometimes, wandering angels drift by - my only companions without snarling teeth or a lizard's cold skin. For hours I've sat motionless in an empty stare, caring only for the end. The angels spark a faint flicker of life in my black universe. Crawling slowly, my worn feeble hand rubs my sand encrusted eyes as my body protests my movements with howls of pain. I reach my pen and paper, weathering the sandstorms of my mind unleashed by the fury of sudden sobriety.
I can hear the angels above discussing me.
"What on earth is that wretched creature doing?"
"I can't imagine it's anything of use."
"Perhaps he's writing a suicide note..."
"Who's going to read it? The vultures?"
"Oh, I see now! He's blogging!"
"Blogging? Well, all I got to say is it better be witty and funny or I'm not reading that shit."
I'm more outcast than outlaw but I've always had a disdain for the facade of our pretentious world order where we always claim to know "the way". There's a whole underbelly of reality out there you won't see any "proper" talking head on TV ever admit with all their "serious" talk of the economy and other garbage they pretend is real. And any of us who do speak the truth are immediately dismissed because, you know, our suits aren't as nice.
But as I've said before: the world is a criminal enterprise. You know how you can tell a place is crooked? The assholes live the best.
So I have a certain amoral response when all the "responsible" folks tell me money has to rule. I say, "Fine. Let's play by your rules - fuckers." Let me place money over you!
When I first moved out, I got a job as breakfast cook in my tiny hometown and I was living with a co-worker, a disturbed Vietnam vet who told me stories like when he's driving down the road he often fantasized about swerving into the oncoming traffic. He also had no running water in his house (I guess 'cause there was none in Nam) and the window in the room I slept in was broken.
So when my parents offered to send me to a vocational school just outside of Amarillo I said OK even though my interest in it was completely zero. But it had to be a step up. And it was there I met Robert - he really was an outlaw so we were sympatico instantly. Robert was a rock 'n' roller complete with - gasp! - a pair of drumsticks used in an actual concert. His dorm room had nets on the ceiling where he placed album covers and memorabilia to lord over its inhabitants. He also had the coolest poster ever of aliens rocking out on a stage in space.
I "stole" his bike once and when he came pounding on my door looking for it I told him I had no idea where it was but I had one just like it I could sell to him. I also called him "Lius Chama" (a character from "Joe Kidd") for no other reason than for its esoteric value. ("It's not funny! I don't know why you're laughing!") I remember I took something else of his - don't remember what - and he started chasing me down the hallway in his underwear. I smirked as I headed for the exit thinking he'd never follow me there. I was wrong. (Yes, people saw it and everyone wanted to know who the "underwear guy" was.)
Luis Chama!
Robert's roommate was Duane - who had no problem telling you how "fine" he was - and he owned an item of truly exotic worth: wheeled transportation. Duane wanted some new fancy wheels for his pickup and when he and Robert asked if I wanted to tag along I said sure. It was the first time I ever set out to intentionally steal something. We drove into Amarillo proper and found some fancy apartments where Duane might be able to "obtain" some new rims.
We split up, looking for unlocked cars - I remember sitting in a Corvette for the first time - and though the car wasn't stolen, the feeling sure was. It was great just sitting there outside the law. I think one of us finally set off an alarm and we scurried away to IHOP for some midnight stoner food. It was a giggle fest with me with making the syrup container "talk" by flipping the lid up with every word and I stuck an exploding cigarette into Duane's pack while he was in the bathroom and when it actually worked we thought that was the funniest thing ever!
Such was the genesis of my life of crime and by the time I was through, Amarillo would never be the same with the psychic scars I'd leave on her sad soul. Like Dillinger, Robert and I were tired of our meager existence and we demanded munchies for all! I was visiting him at his Mom's house in the city and we hatched our plans to grab edible goodies from a nearby 7-11 by making a mad dash out the door with our loot. Some old lady was behind the counter and we thought, eh, this'll be an easy knock off.
But after running out the door, Grandma Sneakers comes chasing after us yelling out, "I got your license plate number!" Robert looked at me with a pained face. "We gotta go back, man, this is my sister's car. She's going to KILL me!" So we trundled back and I actually bought some Doritos with the last of my cash as a way of apologizing with a genuine purchase. But like Pharaoh of old, God only hardened my heart and I failed to repent.
Stacy was a friend of "the gang". She lived in the city and she too was an actual owner of four wheeled transport. We made her the (reluctant) Bonnie to us two Clydes. The rampage would continue, but this time I had a plan. First, we put a cloth over Tracy's license plate. Then I came up with the idea of Robert and me going in separately. I was first, my job to grab as much beer and chips as possible and then stare at whatever items were by the exit. Then Robert - who was a rather athletic fellow - would come in and start to wander around. That was my cue to make my mad dash out the door with Robert assuring the clerk, "Wait! I'll go get him!"
Worked like a charm! Feeling rather heady, we knocked off a second joint, only this time a customer in the parking lot thought our covered license plate rather suspicious and when we scrambled to the car to make our getaway, this guy decided to play Smokey and the Bandit and follow us in a high speed pursuit! Bonnie, err Stacy, panicked and floored the car out onto I-40, hitting 100 miles per hour. We lost him, but a fuming Stacy wanted no more of our life of crime.
We only had the chance to pull it off one more time when some guy somebody knew showed up with his parent's brand new conversion van. We found an isolated 7-11 to hit but some black kid was on the pay phone out front exactly on the escape route Robert and I would need to take. So Robert took the liberty of telling him we were going to steal some shit and the kid was cool with that. We screeched away with no problems, on our way to sneak into the last song of a Ratt concert (I know, so not worth it).
Might wanna rethink that!
Our last act of terror was at a Denny's. Four of us were there but we were not about to let poverty stand in our way of a fine meal. My plan this time was for all of us to leave but Robert, who would then go up to the counter to "pay". He'd say, "Oops, I left my wallet in the car." Then join us in the waiting ride for a frantic escape to digest our ill gotten gains.
In a dog-eat-dog world, sometimes one must resort to the ways of the outlaw in the gritty struggle for survival. What's really scary, though, is when I see America pulling the same trick - only we use our military to steal what we want. But the times are still woeful for me, and Robert, if you're reading this, I can tell you where all the easy 7-11's are in Dallas.
I'm going to ask you to picture a person: This person is standing in the middle of the street, gripping with white knuckles an automatic rifle, teeth are clenched in seething rage, their face is flushed red with fury and they are howling in frustration as the trigger is squeezed.
Now I ask you, did you picture a man or a woman?
I know the idea that men have sexual needs is an explosive topic for many people and will engender bitter remarks. It's also a most excellent mirror and that is the case I'm making today. Sex for men is a necessity like food. Sex for women is a nicety like dessert. There is a difference between not being happy with your diet (and calling that happiness necessary) and the necessity of having a diet.
But admitting these things is problematic. Women become furious with the idea they could be using blackmail in their relationship. And men hate admitting any vulnerability - precisely because they so certainly are. The real pisser though, is even if you are getting sex - if it's not the sex you need, it's the same as having no sex at all. The amount of ugly realities buried out there is beyond human comprehension.
But if the curse of sex were lifted, these are the things I see that would happen:
First would come a thunderous thud as a hundred million rifles dropped to the ground in disinterest - making war impossible.
A man stops striking his wife - as he is no longer her prisoner.
Monasteries empty as men re-enter the flow of life - with divinity no longer a requirement.
Divorce rates skyrocket - as men enter relationships only of their own free will.
Frowns of pierced agony disappear - as the demons' pitchforks depart.
Grey hair turns to brown - the pressure is off.
The blackmail of money disappears - along with the need to control women.
Lying lips stop in mid lie - no longer seeing the reason why.
Eve was not the first to bite the apple, Adam was and he then handed that apple to her (scared old men reversed God's words). And for that God made men women's bitch. The entire culture and structure of the world is centered around men's insecurities and inferiority complexes. All because we seek to suppress one simple truth - a battle that can never be won. "Surrender" is a code word for men carrying connotations of endless terror. We each are expected to fight for the lie. What a bunch of fucking idiots. The only way to win is to surrender - or stay a lying loser forever.
We are a funny lot! Here's what's really happening:
We're playing those mind games together Pushing the barriers, planting seeds Playing the mind guerrilla Chanting the mantra, peace on earth We all been playing those mind games forever Some kinda druid dudes lifting the veil Doing the mind guerrilla Some call it magic, the search for the grail
Love is the answer and you know that for sure Love is a flower, you got to let it, you got to let it grow
So keep on playing those mind games together Faith in the future, outta the now You just can't beat on those mind guerrillas Absolute elsewhere in the stones of your mind Yeah we're playing those mind games forever Projecting our images in space and in time
Yes is the answer and you know that for sure Yes is surrender, you got to let it, you got to let it go
So keep on playing those mind games together Doing the ritual dance in the sun Millions of mind guerrillas Putting their soul power to the karmic wheel Keep on playing those mind games forever Raising the spirit of peace and love
It's been a few weeks since I've seen Claude Lelouch's film "A Man and A Woman" (France, 1966) and it hasn't left my head yet. One of the ways I judge a film is by how well it echoes afterwards. Somehow - in a film with people I have almost nothing in common with - something reached me and found a tender spot. I dreaded watching it - the feared "relationship film" - but I was stuck with it and gave it a go. It did help a little bit as it was described as tres cool on the cover. I'm a sucker for 1960's French cool.
The storyline didn't bode well: two widowers finding each other in their first relationship after their losses. I had seen Blue (of the famous Blue, White, Red trilogy) which was a really heavy (but great) film dealing with sudden loss and I didn't really want a repeat of that or even tinges of it. Luckily "A Man and A Woman", while certainly not a light film, did not probe the inner depths of grief but rather we watched the re-flowering of two individuals. It takes a high amount of skill to walk the line between schlock and sublimity but Lelouch was up to the task.
It's also madly atmospheric with every shot framed and lighted with loving care. It's a film you absorb as much as you watch. I also loved all the little moments of self-talk and hesitation - do I extend my hand out or not, what could he/she be thinking? Lelouch truly enjoys the poetry of the visual medium and the entire cadence of the film is that of small vignettes streaming together, carrying us along on the couple's journey of self-discovery.
Those who criticize the film do so for seeing it as having too much style. Our would-be lovers are too beautiful, their careers - he a race car driver, she a film script supervisor - are too elite, with lifestyles too far removed from the grubby masses. But if an auto mechanic can know a broken heart, so can a sleek race car driver. Despite this sort of reverse snobbery, the romance is true and simple but with all the complexities of opening one's self up anew. The ending was perfect: subtle and complete with the enticing hint of more steps yet to come.
For me, there's an other-worldly quality to the film, like I'm peeking into lives that I shouldn't be seeing. Or maybe I relate to this film so well because it's how my life should be had I found myself along the way. Enjoyment erodes with my guilt and angst, fretting over the sense of inadequacy. It's amazing how often the reality is we ask for our own demise in the effort to express ourselves truly. For though I dearly loved this film, Debby the Guilt Monster came kicking in my door:
What the fuck are YOU doing watching this?
Nothing. I, uh-
When was the last time YOU had a relationship?
I haven't exactly...
I've had relationships all my life. You know they are THE most important part of living. And what have YOU ever done?
Nothing, I know.
So what makes you think you're good enough to watch this, bitch?
I don't.
So what are you going to do about it?
Nothing I can do.
Do I need to remind you all the chances you blew, Mr. Smartest Man Alive? Do you know how many women hate and despise you right now?
I know.
I'm the only one that knows the whole truth about you. You know that, don't you?
Yes. I haven't dropped my guard since you left.
You're still just one big act, aren't you?
Pretty much.
Give me one good reason why I should forgive you.
I can't.
Well, you better find one before you die! You know that don't you?
Yes, I know...
But you're not going to do it, are you?
I don't see how I can.
God, you're pathetic! You should just off yourself and end the misery now. There's no point living without a relationship. *I* worked on that and you did not. Why should I do anything to help you?
I don't know. I can't see why either.
Have you been fooling people again? Making them feel sorry for you and shit like that?
I can't help it.
Jesus! What can anyone do with you!
I want you to be proud of me. I want to be someone you're not ashamed of. It kills me I'm not that person. Failing you is unbearable to me. Only you know my crimes and I'm completely dependent on you. I don't know what to do, Debby. You're the only person I can talk to but the only time you talk to me is when you're yelling at me.
Are you telling me you don't deserve it?
No. I know what I did. It's unforgivable even if I live a thousand lifetimes.
Damn right it is!
Everyone thinks you're being unfairly angry with me.
And do you think that?
No, it's more than fair you speak to me at all.
And your lying, chickenshit ass better not forget that!
I'm sorry I tried to watch this film like I'm somebody normal. I know it's a dream I forsook.
You're going to die a 12-year-old, aren't you?
Looks that way.
Watching others live, poaching feelings vicariously through their lives, wishing from afar you were one of them. I can't condone that. You can't expect me to. There's no hope living with someone like that.
I know. But I can't resist you. You know what The Dream is. That can't be replaced.
I don't know what to say to you. I can't stop my disgust. The more I hope for you the more you hurt me. That's what addicts do. Where does it end?
It ends when I have a home. I can't forgive me either. I know I burned it down and it can never be the same again.
Fine. I'll be waiting until the next time you call out for me - and you always do. And if you haven't changed by then, well...you know what's going to happen.
_________________________________________________
Hi, my name is Simone! I'm a French girl, sleek and ritzy and refined. I bring love and joy to the world because that's all I know how to do. I also ooze feline mystique in spades. You must honor my delicate sensibilities like my daddy does or I'll stay just outside of arm's length anytime you try to pet me (sometimes I do that anyway). He says I'm "an angel of the angels" - and he's right!
My daddy is very angry. He yells and screams and kicks things then doubles over clutching his stomach in pain. I don't know why he does this. Life is very horrible for him. I only want him to be happy. Family time is the best time! But he says he can't talk to anybody and he's trapped like a dog. So I looked in his diary, the stuff he says he can't share with other people because they are unfeeling monsters.
I couldn't type this in myself so I called Mrs. Michaels and she said yes this is important and I thanked her for the use of her opposable thumbs in getting this out. She told me if she had to choose between saving a Rembrandt or a cat, she'd choose the cat. I like Mrs. Michaels!
This is the stuff we picked out that seems to make him so angry: -------------------------------------------
Missing her is killing me... Of course, I can't tell anyone this or the Flame Thrower Fuckers will roast me alive. Maybe their needs are unmet too and that's why they can't stand to hear of mine. Can someone please pull these knives out of my belly!!!
I can't stop hating her. How could should leave me like this knowing I need her? Who made up this rule of needing someone? Do I get to kill God too and make Her need someone too? Does not God understand I have to have someone I don't have to lie to? Guess not, guess God's a monster too.
I can't read those posts on OS where people talk about their lives and what they got. I have to put up a front like I'm living too. But they don't know I'm far, far away, stuck on the moon and separated from everyone on earth. They'll fucking kill me if they find out. "What they fuck are you doing there! How do you expect to live all alone like that! You're a fucking idiot!" I talk the talk while others walk the walk. Good job that.
I wish I could put God in a 6x4 metal Cell Hell and make Him horny as hell every day. God, how satisfying that would be to hear Him wailing in pain and torment, pounding on the sides of the walls in frustration, ripping out His guts with no possible hope of escape or satisfaction. "Die you motherfucker! Die! Maybe You'll think twice about inflicting screaming agony on everyone who isn't goddam perfect. You give no quarter so neither shall I. Enjoy Your daily crucifixion and know that if anyone but me hears Your wailing they'll call You a faker. HAHAHAHAHA!"
I can't forgive her for not speaking to me. My soul doesn't care why she doesn't, just that she does not. It's too late now anyway. How could I ever trust her? So hard to tell what's real when no one admits their feelings. Drives me fucking insane!
The Strong Ones must bear me. Anyone who's like me I instantly hate and repel - as they do me. We cripples always recognize each other and despise one another. Each has his Strong Friends on whom they rely and I call that pathetic to have no real friends because you can't walk on your own. I hate living on the generosity of strangers. What an obvious parasite I am. I had dreams to bring. Dreams like no one else on earth.
Who created this world that has so little understanding of who we are? I could tell them they are Love Beings but that's exactly what they are trying to hide. A person's worth is determined by how much he can lie about himself and get away with it. Whoever lives the most can tell the greatest lies. I can't compete on that scale. I'm not living at all.
How can she not be suffering? I bet she is happy after all. I can't imagine someone never having to live alone. High school, college, marriage, kids - never a broken heart or dating for years trying to find the Right One or having to make it on her own. Is she really that good? Can her husband really be a good banker? Is there no one I can vilify but me?
The street is the only place where I don't have to lie. This whole bullshit planet can fuck off die. I know it's not wrong to breathe - you just make it a crime. But it's our spiritual life that determines our fate. And what a poetic justice it is to see them dirty the air so their bodies literally cannot breathe as well. All life is self-expression. They keep hoping it's something else.
The monsters are coming, They want to fill my body full of drugs and make their lies mine, to socialize me in their own image, to play God. The greatest sin on a dying world is to be hurt. Too many guilty souls know they're to blame and they have to silence you before God finds out what they did. The madness of men.
Only Simone can love me. She does not tell me I lie - nor ask me to.
And real people are dying. Now I ask you, would this have happened had Obama not become President? Would not these people be alive today had he stayed an obscure Senator from Illinois? And if the answer to that is yes, does our President truly believe his being President is more important than the lives of police officers and his innocent supporters? Logically speaking, he should resign now in order to save lives, no?
Oh, how I love using simple-minded logic back on you simple-minded morons!
"So let us not talk falsely now The hour's getting late"
The reality is there's a very simple reason why people act like assholes: they are assholes. But after choosing to be an asshole, some cause must then be associated when said assholeness is expresed. And then in what must be a vain attempt to excuse the asshole in all of us, we blame the alleged cause as being the true cause. Good plan that.
This "logic" is a common device. Those who lived through the 80s remember we as a country were on the verge of total collapse (at least it was reported that way). Why? Drugs! Poll after poll showed it to be the number #1 crisis facing us and had it not been for the wisdom of a First Lady telling us just to say no, we would not exist today. But just how does an inanimate object kill you? Do needles just jump off the table and into your arm?
Again, we blame the method a person uses to kill himself as the reason why he kills himself. There's always some outside force causing us good people to do bad things. Why do we rape? Porn! Why are we so violent? Video games! Why are there wars? Bad hair day! None of those things happen because we're, say, assholes. "Serious" studies are conducted and applauded essays are penned and holy wars waged against these forces that if only we could get rid of them, the world would be saved. ("If we could solve bad hair days, we'd have war no more. A beauty shop on every corner I say!" And the sheeple clapped.)
I do so love the Alice In Wonderland logic I hear every day. Religion is especially rich in this area: "I saw a man of God molest a child, therefore I know God does not exist." "A woman who says she believes in the Bible beat me, therefore I know the Bible is bad." "I saw a follower of Jesus do wrong, therefore I know Jesus is wrong." Amazing how easy it is to conflate things: just do something in the name of somebody and everyone believes you!
So let's start the "Resign Now, Obama!" petition drive - and save a conservative's life.
"Swift as the Wind, Silent as a Forest, Fierce as Fire, Immovable as a Mountain”-Takeda Shingen’s motto,
taken from Sun Tzu’s "The Art of War"
Kagemusha (Japan 1980) is a film by Akira Kurosawa set in the sengoku jidai (Era of Warring States) period of Japan. In the middle part of the 16th century the shogunate finally crumbled after several decades of underlying tension (although a Shogun - the title of the supreme military ruler - would still exist for most of this period, he was without any real military power). This basically produced a free-for-all grab for power that would not be resolved until the end of the century. It was a time so raucous that many clans would be wiped off the face of the earth forever.
The key symbol of power was control of Kyoto, the capital and the seat of the emperor (the emperor’s authority was more as a pope’s than a king’s, his blessing was required to be named Shogun). Control of the capital was extremely difficult, though, because the warlords across the country were in a virtual stalemate with no one person able to break out to claim it. The only two ways a warlord could expand his power was either by direct conquest of his surrounding domains or by reaching an alliance with them. The film picks up in 1573 with Takeda Shingen breaking this 3-way alliance:
Takeda Shingen – “The tiger of Kai” Oda Nobunaga – The first great unifier of Japan Tokugawa Ieyasu – The eventual Shogun (James Clavell’s book “Shogun” is based upon his final rise to power in 1600)
The fate of the Takeda clan is the main focus of this film. Although Shingen never reached absolute power he is still highly regarded in Japanese history. His greatest strengths were his famed cavalry and the ability to inspire a high degree of loyalty in his men. Seeing an opportunity, he decided to break off his alliance with the Oda and Tokugawa clans (there was a lot of switching sides in the sengoku era) and made a successful raid on Tokugawa lands (Ieyasu’s worst defeat ever, barely escaping alive). But it was Shingen’s use of kagemusha (impersonators) that fascinated Kurosawa and he used this to create a fictional story of the life of a Shingen double.
The final battle scene is a re-creation of the Battle of Nagashino, one of the most famous in Japanese history. Rightly fearing the Takeda cavalry, Nobunaga knew he must come up with a way to tip the scales in his favor. His idea was the use of firearms from behind wooden palisades, which had not been done before in Japanese history and soon became the standard deployment of firearms by all warlords.
By 1980, Kurosawa had fallen out of favor as a filmmaker (i.e. out of funding) and had not made a film in years. Fearing "Kagemusha" would never be filmed, he storyboarded the film in watercolor paintings, visualizing the characters, scenes and costumes. But when he went to America for funding, directors George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola interceded on his behalf (the studio dare not refuse these cash cows) and financing was finally secured. Coppola to this day speaks very lovingly of the watercolors Kurosawa gave to him in gratitude.
The depictions in the film of both Oda Nobunaga and Tokugawa Ieyasu are historically accurate in both appearance and personality. Oda was a fireball, a raging genius. The film of his recitation of the song of Atsumori was a well known trait of his. Tokugawa was a pillar of mental strength, patient and crafty, waiting his turn to seize power.
The overall framing for the story uses historical facts and much attention was paid to accuracy in the recreation of the battle of Nagashino. This is not the only film on Shingen, he was a favorite of movie makers for his storied (and ruthless) life. To read more about him, check out this bio.
The use of kagemusha, or doubles, is done to this day. Saddam Hussein had many doubles as have many evil dictators over the years who feared assassination.
____________________________________________________________
Recap:
"Kagemusha" is a film about identity and the strings of power. The double eventually is consumed by his portrayal of the great warlord and as it inevitably begins to unravel, we see the true loyalty of the retainers as it had been all along: to power itself. Kurosawa's statement on the god of power during this time reveals a human condition that continues into our own times, as we worship both war and money. He gives no happy ending to such a state as no happy ending is possible. We share the ride on the wave of turmoil of the sengoku jidai, like the kagemusha we are outsiders, hopeless spectators observing a tragic spectacle. As so often happens, it is the lowest among us who see the truth.
"Nobody loves you when you're down and out"- John Lennon
My life is fucked up and I'm hurting and I'm scared. The particulars are nobody's business but my own. I'm not expecting a dying planet to help me. On the other hand, I shouldn't be made to lie either. Many in a position of guilty privilege feel obligated to play the role of hero and to always provide The Answer. "I have an answer for all suffering" - these Guilty Heroes love this concept more than anything, it is their god and religion all rolled into one.
Like any addict, drinking from the cup of denial sets them "free" from responsibility and keeps them comfortably numb. But any part left unanaesthetized is left to fester and infect, making it unbearable to the touch - which is the price of their retaining any sense of reality. So it's in a state of constant warfare the Guilty Hero lives and his enemy is determined by any and all who utter any sort of unpleasant reality. Such words are like burning coals upon their forehead and they lash back in furious vengeance.
Though I'm sure there are more, I found three main types of Guilty Heroes. Lumbering under the weight of the eternal burden of always having an Answer To Your Woes, they often hiss and snap like a cornered animal. The beasts are most dangerous when no answer can be found and they have failed in their self-imposed duty. So like a lion tamer throwing red meat into the cage, I present my Heroes an Ugly Truth and back away quickly though I have asked for nothing more than the privilege of speaking frankly. These are the contorted reactions I get:
"I can't pay my rent." The I-Hate-You-If-I-Can't-Be-Your-Hero Hero: "What the fuck do you want me to do about it? I got my own problems! I can't pay your rent for the rest of my goddam life! I work hard for my money! Everybody has to pull their own weight! Ain't no free rides out there. Don't come looking to me every time you have a problem! So STFU!"
The Faux Fixer Hero: "We're gonna lick this problem, I'm sure there are all sorts of people just dying to hire you! I've got some ads circled here and you better have an upbeat, positive attitude! Look at this: 'Landscapers needed to mow 2,000 acre ranch daily' - a little hard work never hurt anybody! And this one: 'DBA needed with SQL background, C++ and HTML skills' - now I know you're very smart 'cause you made your own web page and a smart guy like you can learn that other stuff in no time! Or this: 'High end steak house waiter' - those guys make tons of money and I know if you just put a happy face on that social disorder of yours you can do it too! So STFU!"
The Blamer Hero: "And whose fault is that? You can go around blaming the world the rest of your life but that's not going to change a damn thing! Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and start flying right! Paying rent is a very important thing to do and you can't hide from that responsibility. I'm sure you can solve any problem if you just put your mind to it! So STFU!"
In fact, oftentimes you can't say any declarative sentence to a Hero:
"I like chocolate ice cream."
"What am I supposed to do? Go out and buy you fucking ice cream every time you want some, asshole?"
"Let's go on the internet and make ourselves a list of every place that sells ice cream, we can call each one and find out if they sell chocolate, what price it is and calculate the distance to the store from where we are. OK, Mr. Cripple-Who-Can't-Help-Himself?"
"Who says you have to eat chocolate all the time? Have you even tried other flavors? I don't want to hear this 'I like chocolate' shit if you haven't tried all the other flavors too. Grow the hell up!"
One time while discussing the Iraqi situation with a Hero he said the Iraqi people should just rise up and take Saddam out. While that plan did not fix the Iraqi's problems, it sure as hell fixed the Hero's problems. Guilty Heroes feed themselves such lies all the time and they expect everyone to babysit their eggshell existence since every sip from the cup of denial only increases their bitterness. Well, pal, I got news for you too: I can't help you with that problem either.
This is not to say there aren't true heroes out there. You can spot them quite easily. They listen. And for that I thank them.
In the last election we basically had a no-win situation. John McCain was just flat out pathetic, a man who saw integrity as a liability (which is a logical POV in the GOP) and who named a veritable pet as a running mate. Shrillary was so busy getting measured for her queen's robes, she forgot to actually run a campaign and she kept "finding her voice" like eight different times. Obama in comparison was the cool, sleek cat of the crowd with an A1 organization and speaking words recognizing the long held outrage among those who actually care about this country. Problem was - and I used this word at the time - he was a Poser, an empty suit for the times.
Three piles of pure vomit uttered by a man who wants to appear visionary - but not be visionary; by a man who wants to represent change - but not effect it; by a man who wants to say the right thing - but not do the right thing. So law enforcement is called "retribution" now? I'll be sure to point that out next time I get a speeding ticket. And a soul who lies his country into a war causing wholesale destruction and mass murder is a "good guy". Josh, golly Mr. Prez, I'd sure hate to see what a bad guy does. And it also turns out we weren't there to steal Iraq's oil after all, instead we came out of the kindness of our hearts to lay flowers at their feet and stabilize the region one dead body at a time:
I'll say it for him: God damn America
The O-man also says he wants to rule like Lincoln: Well, here's a quote from the real deal:
"The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep's throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act, as the destroyer of liberty. Plainly the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty; and precisely the same difference prevails today among human creatures."
I don't want a President who's bipartisan with the wolf. I don't want a President who feels sorry for the wolf. I don't want a President who makes nice with the wolf. I want a President who cuts the wolf's balls off and tells him to fuck off and die! Being nice to the wolf doesn't make you a nice person - it makes you an appeaser. You are the wolf's enabler, allowing him to continue his predatory ways. Yes, Mr. Obama, you talk the talk but you don't walk the walk.
When in doubt, do right:
"There were no generously peaceful impulses in Atlanta, Georgia, that same week, when, on October 19 [1960], police arrested Martin Luther King for refusing to leave the all-white restaurant of a department store. Taken immediately to court, King was sentenced to four months hard labor. "The morning after King's imprisonment, resting in his motel room, beginning to prepare for his fourth and last debate with [Tricky Dick] Nixon, Kennedy was interrupted by a telephoned suggestion from his brother in Washington, that he "might want to intervene" directly on behalf of King. Kennedy turned to the handful of staff members who had already assembled to begin the day's work. "What do you think?" he asked. The political advisers, led by Kenny O'Donnell, expressed opposition. "You have no legitimate right to interfere with the judicial system of Alabama";"It's a local concern";"Our position on the South is already precarious, and this can only antagonize the white political leaders whose organizations are essential to electoral success."" So what did Kennedy do? He acted as a leader and made the call to free King. And what happened to Kennedy, a man who followed his convictions in a nip and tuck race? "As the King story spread through northern ghettos, black support for Kennedy - hitherto ambivalent or disinterested - began to solidify, acquired the added enthusiasm necessary to persuade black Americans that their choice at the polls might make a difference, that Whitey was still Whitey, but some more so than others. In an election decided by a handful of votes in a few key states, that political reward was of enormous consequence. Joseph P Kennedy's most insightful political aphorism had again proved its wisdom: "When in doubt," the old man said, "do right."" - from "Remembering America" by the great Richard Goodwin
-----------------------
*For all the reverse-sexists out there, sexism in the media doesn't make Hillary any more than what she is: a bitch. Don't tell me about the Hillary you know. My sister worked on the '92 campaign, she was on the buses with Clinton, she has a letter of recommendation from him - and she despises Hillary. Public appearances don't define you, if you really want to know a person see what it's like when you're under their thumb. That's when you see their true colors. That being said, my sister's opinion only confirmed my own.
Do you always check the carton of eggs before you buy it? I would hazard that most of us do - especially if we've been burned before. And after opening the carton to find the offending egg, what do you do? You put it back down and find another. The broken egg is never wanted. Was it expecting to be?
The broken egg's only hope is a false hope: to remain undiscovered by one who either fails to open the carton or by one who takes too cursory an examination. The egg may rejoice in its initial selection but that only leaves it a far worse fate. Once the truth comes to light and the money has been paid, the egg's selector has ten times the fury had the discovery been made before the purchase. Better to have never been picked at all.
No one cares how or why the egg got cracked, only that it is. And it's a hellish life for the egg, waiting in agony in the dark, unopened carton. You know your truth but it's an undiscovered horror to the world. You're carted into the store just like all the other (worthy) eggs. Being fresh, you're placed behind the existing cartons to wait your turn to the front. You can't help but feel the excitement as the cartons ahead are carried away by satisfied customers. Oh, how you wish to be a part of that!
In the excitement of the despair, the urge of self-deception overwhelms you, begging you into relief from your dilemma. Maybe my cracking isn't so bad! Maybe someone can want me after all! After all, what egg is perfect? Or perhaps a soul of tenderness will find me and accept my damaged being into their life? My positivity can change reality. Pretend not to see my faults and no one else will either. Such are thoughts hatched in an unknowing dark.
"Oh, crap. This one's got a busted egg."
The carton is placed back in contempt. My carton mates are furious with me: I imposed my miserable fate upon their unblemished shells. The light has stripped away all my lies and eternal shame lay before me. Does no one want the cracked egg? Is redemption even possible? Can only death bring an end to my tormented existence?
Like a condemned prisoner waiting on a long-shot last-minute appeal, the egg awaits its verdict - knowing full well its guilty condition. Each second brings wretched hope of a stay of execution. Has someone taken pity on me? Why do they not come? It's closing time, the-powers-that-be have decided to let me live! Oh dear Lord, I've aged a lifetime waiting on this moment.
"Hey Harry, a customer complained about a busted egg in the one of the cartons. Throw the piece of crap out and replace it with a good one."
Leaves hate not the wind; Souls who contend with nature Bring war to the world.
You really think angry souls will save the environment?
You really believe greedy souls will save the environment?
You really hope warring souls will save the environment?
We call this "spreading freedom".
We call this "good business". We call this "solving problems".
History will be merciless in its mockery of us. We didn't create Earth Day because we care about this planet, we created it because we don't care. But no matter how much we propagate, our deeds will long outlive us and speak far louder. "When man stops raping his soul, he'll stop raping the land - and not before." You may call that philosophy - but you know it to be reality. There's no fixing this planet without fixing ourselves first.
You shall not make for yourself an idol You shall not bow down to them or worship them for I the Lord your God am a jealous God
There is no serving this...
and also serving this.
To do so is to choose death. Remember that when Hell Without Recourse comes to visit - we chose it.
Kagemusha
