A Prison of Pride

"Now look here, son. Don't do something you're gonna regret."

Recoiled and cornered in his own kitchen, the prison warden kept a leery eye on the angry pistol pointed straight to his heart. But the steadfast intruder couldn't have been swayed by a hurricane. Dressed in black with a ski mask, his whole being an extension of the gun. The warden's vaunted snake-like words wouldn't save him this time.

"Funny," spoke the mask. "I was just about to say the same to you."

"Just put that gun down and it's gonna be all right. You'll only be making things harder on yourself you pull that trigger." The warden's southern drawl oozed a magnetic pull to do what he said. Years and years of snake-charming worminess could put even the most hardened of criminals under his spell. He was the master puppeteer of chain gangs, mass brutality and rogue thugs with a license to maim. No man had bested him and his institutional authority yet.

The gunman's voice was razor sharp. "What we have here is a failure to communicate."

"Luke?" answered the startled warden. "That you, boy? We done buried you. What's your real name, son?"

The reply was deliberately inadequate. "Luke."

"I don't know what you're on about but nothing you do can bring that boy back."

"Not aiming to."

"If you put that gun down, we can talk about this proper-like. I can sees somethin's eatin' on ya."

"I'm fine, boss." The voice was cold, unwavering. "I just have one question to ask you."

Chills went up the warden's spine. Here was an adversary that would take all his wiles to master. The warden's face was the picture of accommodation. "Well, sure. I'll answer anything you want. I knew you was a reasonable sort."

"I just want to ask you: Do you regret it? Do you regret what you've done to the men under your control? Do you regret the pain you've brought into this world?"

"I don't regret nothin'!" lied the warden - it was a lie he struggled to tell himself every day. "These are bad men we're talking about here. They get what's they deserves. It ain't up to me. They decides their own punishment. I don't keep them in line and all hell breaks loose. No, sir, I don't regret a thing I've done to do my job."

Defiance was always the best bet. The warden's institution was untouchable. When push came to shove, the naysayers always backed down. The choice was between him or the criminals. He couldn't wait to further the argument. But the man in the mask merely chuckled.


"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? This little power game of yours - no one can touch you. It's just funny really if you could see just how pathetically petty your life is." The gunman was genuinely amused but deadly serious. But the warden was ready to bluff it out.

"I've had about enough of this. If you're gonna shoot me then shoot me! I don't need no gun to make me right."

"No, you need about twenty of them." Stalemate. "I'll ask you again: Do you not regret the pain?"

Outside, the gusty wind blew cold as shadows of night time leaves fluttered by the old square framed window. How empty this house when stripped bare of its illusion. The old, grey warden wanted to go home with all his might. Words of sway now seduced him. Did he dare to chance the agonizing pain of lying a second time? "No, suh," he gruffed. "I don't regrets none of it! I won't stand here and let the likes of you stand in judgment of me."

"Then I can't regret the pain I bring." The gun spoke with two vicious shots shattering each of the warden's two shin bones. No one heard his screams. No one came to his rescue. Unrepentant Pain came to visit him that night - the one thing he had spent a lifetime avoiding. His writhing soul wailed in torment.

"I came here not to judge you but for you to judge you, to bring you out into the light. You thought lying would save you - as you falsely believed it had in the past. But tonight I am the Avenging Angel and your regrets are mine. But don't worry, I shall not kill you.

"Instead, I've given you a prison of your own.

"It will be like this: a cripple, bound in a wheelchair the rest of his life, forever dependent on others to live, appears before the prisoners. The cripple knows they know how he reached such a sorry state and he wonders if he's too cruel will it happen again. Will another abused prisoner come after me and finish the job? Fear and paranoia wither his soul to his dying days. But there is a way out. The cripple can become as the lamb, gentle and healing. I ask you, sir, will you become like the lamb?"


"Never the lamb!" spat the cripple.

"Then never is when you will leave your prison."

Bum With a Gun

"There once was a man with a gun,
He said, "I'm a son-of-a-gun!
"I know what I'm doin'
"So don'cha be screwin'
"With a man who plays with his gun!"
-----------------------------------------------------
The Bum With a Gun
Kept his head on the run
To ensure his will would be done.

But Jesus, Who Knew Better
Said his gun he must fetter
Before he'd become a Regretter.

Yet stiff-necked bums never listen,
"On my parade you are a-pissin'!
"There's nothin' in Heaven I'm missin'!"

"Don't call me a brute,
"Or your head I will shoot,
"Your foul words suddenly moot!"

But as he was speaking
His havoc was wreaking
The Bum's bloody foot a-leaking.

"It's your fault, you hater!
"Just another damn traitor!
"You freaking negative baiter!"

"This Negative Bitch,
"Made my trigger itch,
"And caused me a permanent hitch!"

So the Bum With a Gun
Said "It's the will of the Son",
And his savior saw no more sun.

"To see what I need
"Is to see my heart bleed
"But none must know I'm not freed."

"To see what I need
"Is to take my good greed;
"It's twisted dreams that I heed."

Then a Bitch With A Beer
Came comfortably near
To say what he wanted to hear.

For though he'd a mullet
She'd give him a bullet
For when it came time to pull it.

"A friend to the end!
"My ear yours to bend,
"Silencing truths not meaning to send!"

"My gun's fully armed!
"I can never be harmed!
"My enemies had best stand alarmed!"

But what the Bum didn't know
Was that his greatest foe
Had just shot off his bloody right toe!


Righteously reloaded -
And his flattery goaded,
He sought his lies to be quoted.

"I'm a Bum With a Gun!
"My will must be done!
"If ever my war's to be won!"

Then he shot once again
At toes that had sinned;
Now missing two from his ten!

Beer Bitch stood confused,
She can't let him lose!
And fed him more ammo to use.

"It's easy for me
"To see my enemy:
"It's bitches who question me."

"For a man in the right
"Must keep up the fight!
"Or my ego will die of its fright."

He loved his supporters -
The world's greatest hoarders -
Prosperity within their borders.

They said of the other:
You are my true brother;
For none saw the truth as his mother.

"It makes me feel good
"To hear I do as I should,
"For that's what gives me my wood!"

"Those who say I should think,
"I say you're a fink!
"Hope for my lies you would sink."

"If you give me my way,
"In all that I say,
"Bright futures I'll ever portray."

So as his friends fed him death -
He smiled at their breadth.
Until finally he shot their last breath.

The New American Patriot!

[Used to be, when an American came home from work and found people inside his house, the invaders got their asses shot off. But now that we are nation of invaders, we welcome intruders with open arms. It's the new way to show your loyalty, it's the new hip: selling out.]
 

"Whoa, dudes, this is awesome!" yeehawed the Patriot. "What's that thing you're putting in the corner do?"

The two Stormtroopers hated interruptions but felt the need to swat away the gnat. "It's a motion sensor that covers your entire apartment. You can't take a shit without us knowing about it."

"Damn, man, I bet the terrorists are shitting right now just thinking about this!" The Stormtroopers rolled their eyes. "So will I need permission to shit or can I take one any time I want?"

"Anytime you want - for now."

"That's some really bad ass monitoring! I can't wait to put on my "Monitor me, I'm a patriot!" T-shirt. And all this is free too. It's like a KGB Christmas or something." The Patriot's speech was failing to impress. He needed to try harder. "What about black helicopters? I heard you got these choppers with like super powers to take people out. Think some of them might come around here too?"

A testy "Yes" replied the trooper as he tied the TV access line into the monitoring cable to record all viewing. Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside, drawing them all to the door. In the apartment building across the parking lot a man was being dragged out by dark clothed men in ski masks. A van with darkened windows waited for him as he kicked and screamed "Fascists thugs!" and "Jackboot Nazis!" to his abductors.

"Hey, I know that dude, he's a liberal! No lie."

A small crowd had gathered at the noise. The man taken away was the neighborhood liberal whiner and most people were glad to see him go. He was always in their ear about "rights" and "civil liberties" and "justice". No one ever knew what he was talking about. This is America, Land of the Free! We already have those things. Problem child.

One kid even threw a rock as the van drove off. The Stormtroopers made note of this for possible recruitment later. They shook their heads in mock dismay. "Shame not everyone has your sense of patriotic duty, sir."


The praise prompted an orgasmic reply. "There's this dude at work, he's same way as that guy. He doesn't want to do anything to protect us. He'd just let all those crazy people come over and do whatever they wanted! That guy is nuts and says he doesn't want anyone knowing what he does!"

The Stormtroopers, guardians of America, were reassuringly confident. "Don't worry, sir. He'll be brought into line. There's too much at stake to allow that kind of thinking."

Egged on, the Patriot enthused: "I know! I told him that, for sure. I said if you got nothin' to hide you got nothin' to worry about!"

Striking a pose straight out of Iwa Jima, the Stormtrooper warrior speechified. "It's the war of our lifetime, a life and death struggle for our very survival. Follow us on our noble cause to defeat an enemy who places no value on freedom, an enemy who wants to drape you in a religion of total control, an enemy fighting in the name of God but completely blind to its own evil. Give them their way and all we hold dear will be destroyed."

"We've got to win at any cost! Long live America! Let freedom reign!" spouted an inspired Patriot.

As one Stormtrooper bent down to place the tracking bracelet on the Patriot's ankle, the Patriot continued to opine on the State of the Union to the other. "We're the greatest nation, man. Greatest there ever was! That's 'cause no one's ever valued freedom like we do. People in other countries, they can't give up control of their lives to their government 'cause their governments suck. Damn, I'm proud to be an American. I can hand you my life and know I'll never get fucked over like those losers in France and shit."

The Stormtrooper corrected him. "Well, of course we're going to fuck you over with what we find. It's our job. Anything you do we don't approve of, your ass is ours. These are serious times. We can't expect everyone to be the immature, naive, moron you are. You’re either with us or against us."

The Patriot was shocked and awed. "Wow, nobody can defy you guys!"

"Remember," lectured the steely-faced government instrument, "do what you're told and everything will be fine. Criticize us and you help the enemy. Obey us or the terrorists will win!"

"No problem, dude! Trust me, I'm happy to be serving my country! You lead and I will follow."

[As one Stormtrooper smirked knowingly to the other, they silently thanked the terrorists of the world to grant them such powers over a cowed populace. These two enemies of all free men knew the secret key to success: it's what people know about themselves that makes them afraid.]

Our President, the Giggling Monkey

Today, the Monkey giggled. The Monkey lives for days like these. Like an addict shooting pleasureful poison into his veins, our Presidential Primate rejoiced as he fed the Monster of destruction that lives within him. The life forces of hundreds and thousands and millions flowed into him, delivering fresh morsels of meat to a bottomless appetite. I need ever more lives to ruin! Be my frog! Just a few more months of hanging on, keeping the illusion of wellness alive, then he can walk away the victor leaving others to forever battle the false god he has built. But to do that, his true face must never show.

All day on TV shined the genuine general giving genuine gibberish. This the Monkey loves! He watches as his puppet dances at the bullets meant for him from the quixotic senators. The Monkey delights in the knowledge of knowing so many eyes are focused once more on his ever beloved lies he believes no one can prove. Lives that could have been focused on life are bent to focus on him. With mocking sneer the Monkey laughs as his bitch boy general frustrates the feckless accusers. Yes! cheers the Monkey, the more outrage the better!

The bitterness, the hate, the blinding fury - it all soothes the scathing soul of the Mad Monkey. He jumps up and down from his desk to the couch, then swinging from the chandelier and bouncing to the ground in glee. It's just not possible to contain the joy of this fetid fantasy fulfilled! I'm untouchable! Later, when he heard a commentator had said the President should have been grilled instead of the general, he ate a banana and grinned.


"But woe to you who are rich,
"for you have already received your comfort.
"Woe to you who are well fed now,
"for you will go hungry.
"Woe to you who laugh now,
"for you will mourn and weep.
"Woe to you when all men speak well of you,
"for that is how their fathers treated false prophets."
The Maniacal Monkey assures the world no such words apply to him. As long as there are the deceived and the deceitful to follow him the Smirker triumphs over a lost planet. His promise of a home for endless pride gives comfort to his demented disciples. Wildly, they flail verbal swords against non-existent enemies, vainly hoping to end the tortures of a doomed life. Until finally, one day, they slay themselves and the judgment of God has been executed.

Praise be to God!

Random Thoughts in the Shadows

********************************************
If you take away men's ability to make war, what have you? What are men really if they suddenly were no longer able to kill? I will tell you. They are slaves. Weak little creatures tethered to the moral strength of women. It's the dirty little secret all men try to hide. Men try to manufacture worth through war, hoping to somehow prove themselves as needed as they believe women to be. But the only way to hide the truth of who you are is to destroy everything you are. Many are the men with the courage to face death, few are the men with the courage to face life. Love takes more courage than war.

********************************************
The only thing worse than not wanting to live is having to pretend you want to live when you don't. It cuts off your air.

********************************************
Live.
I'd like to - but I can't.

Love.
I'd like to - but I won't.

Learn.
Don’t bet on it.

Lose.
Always

********************************************
"No. Noooooo. Please, not again. Please don’t. Dear God, help me. I can’t keep doing this. Please let me die. Please let me die. Just kill the world, God. Kill it all so I can live…"

********************************************
"Do you love God, my son?"
"No, I don't love anyone who doesn't want me to live."
"Oh, but He does! He wants us all to live. There's not one of us he doesn't want to live!"
"He didn't want Jesus to live."

********************************************
4,000 Soldiers killed in Iraq

The tragedy is far greater than that. But it drives home the point: Never, ever let yourself be used. Not by God or government or girls. You just end up dead in the end. Or worse – to be as I am – the living dead.

********************************************
Writing while homeless is like writing while on a rollercoaster. Yes, there are some quiet moments but then the next thing you know you're dropping at a hundred miles an hour, screaming with terror, and by the time it's over you're in a place completely different than before.

********************************************
    "Hey, dude, you’re naked!" giggled Stoner Guy.
    The nude Pretentious Man was dismissive: "You mental midget. Your problem is you're incapable of grasping the deeper meaning of what you see."
    "Whatever, man! All I know is I can see your wanker hanging down from here."
    "I seek to convey an idea far beyond your depth. It’s the intellectual dishonesty of clothing. We are all naked underneath. I am revealing that inner truth and thusly spreading enlightenment to the masses."
    "Oh, I get!" exclaimed Wannabe. "That’s brilliant! I want to spread enlightenment too!"

    Later, Stoner Guy got a phone call from the police station as his two cohorts asked to be bailed out from the "fascist, narrow-minded, conformist police cretins". Stoner Guy never did find the station - which was really OK because he was afraid to go there anyway. Afterwards, a movie executive called wanting to do a cinematic version of the trio's story which later became an art house smash.

********************************************
The best thing about being alone is you never have to explain why you're crying.

********************************************
Redneck motto: The more you bomb people, the safer you are.

********************************************
It's not about who tells the most truth, but who can lie the best. That's the person we trust most. How else can we keep living a lie?

********************************************
Nature knows all crimes.

Hanging Out With God On A Sunday Afternoon

"Ask and ye shall receive" says the Good Book and so after the umpteenth billionth time of bitching at God wanting to know: 'God, what in the fuck are You thinking??' I got really annoyed at never getting an answer. After all, God, aren't You ultimately responsible for this pile of shit here since You had the lame ass idea of creating us? Yeah I know, people don't have to suck. But we do. And I got all these existential questions for You like: Why can't I be sitting on the beach earning twenty percent?

Well, I guess I finally caught God's ear and I got my ass called up to meet my Maker. He told me I was quite famous up there in Heaven. I said, 'Oh really?', thinking He must have been reading my blog. "Yes," said God. "We call you Whiny Bitch. You complain you can't do anything when in reality you can do everything." "Oh yeah?" I retorted defensively, "Does that mean I can fart strawberries, then? See? I can't do everything after all!" God just stared at me with a Cheshire Grin. Let me tell you, it was fucking unnerving!! Then God-Dude finally says, "Do you want to fart strawberries?" Well, fuck...guess I wanted a little more out of life than that. So I slumped down beside the Big Guy in resignation and opened my ears.

We sat in silence for a time and when God got his sniper rifle and said to follow Him I admit I got a tad worried. For some reason, the word "Blasphemer!" kept repeating in my head. But God had something else in mind.

"I'm taking out Lynyrd Skynyrd's airplane," He explained.

"Again?? Goddam, and I thought you had grudge against me!"

"What do you mean 'again'?"

"Half the band got wiped out in '77. You gonna take out the other half now?"

"This is the '77 crash."

"But that was over 30 years ago! How can that be happening now?"

"There is no time here. Just events."

"Wow, you must have a helluva 'To Do' list then."

"Yes, it takes a lot to fill up eternity." God then fired off a shot at the fateful Skynyrd Convair as it plummeted to the ground. God fist pumped and then declared, "Excellent! I never miss!"

"Hey, I like Skynyrd. Why Ya gotta pick on the them?"

"You know how many times I hear 'Free Bird' up here? Besides, if it feels good, do it."

"Ah, I see Your point. So accidents aren't random, eh?"

"Some are, some aren't. In this case, it was asked for."

"Nobody asks to die!" I hopelessly proclaimed.

"You talk about whay you say there. I talk about what I hear here. Wakarimasu ka?"

"I think so - but that's awfully disturbing if You only hear my soul."

"I feel like painting. Follow Me to the Art Room, My most favorite of all places."

The Art Room was an endless wonderland of delight. And by endless, I mean literally endless. God said there was actually no end to this treasure room filled with writing and song and art of all kinds. All the riches of earth are worthless compared to what I found there. God said Earthlings rarely visited this place anymore and when I asked why He said, "Because you can't come here without learning a little bit about yourself. Eventually, the dying planets just stop showing up." I instantly recognized the horror of that statement.

"You mean I'm stuck with Superman and Batman remakes for the rest of my life??"

"Pretty much."

But when my Maker sat down at His easel, I instantly recognized the picture. "That's Van Gogh's bedroom! I love that painting!!"


"Me too. Vincent is doing an excellent job of getting out of the way and letting Me guide his hand. If only that boy loved himself as much I love him."

I recognized a Japanese print on the wall. "That's Hiroshige, isn't it?" God nodded as Vincent's painting took form. Suddenly a thought struck me. "Hey, have You unified Japan yet? That was awesome the way the Winds of Change came and brought them together."

"Sengoku Jidai? Been there, done that."

"Fuck! I can't believe I missed that!"

"You didn't miss it. You were there. But you can't just keep trying to relive it all the time."

"I know, but it was so cool to feel the breath of God on my soul as I fulfilled my destiny," I sighed. "Oh, hey, what did You think about my idea for building a Japanese castle as a modern day monument?"

"Actually, it was My idea, so yeah, it was a good one."

"Motherfucker! I knew it was a good idea!! Why didn't You give me the winning lottery ticket so I could build it, goddamit?"

"Not on My 'To Do' list."

"Well You just think of Yourself as perfect don't You? Can't change even one little list?"

"Do you want Me to?"

"No," I instantly replied. "Hey wait a minute. I didn't mean that!" Then I doubled up in pain.

"Sure you did. There's no lying up here. Better stand by your honest answer if you want the pain to go away."

"Ok, OK! I don't want to win the lottery!" The pain went away but God starting laughing as I said "Fuck!" about twenty times in a row. And then when I was all done, I said "Fuck!" again. God shook his head.

"Had you chosen life and not run away you could have had everything you wanted."

"Including Debby?"

"Especially Debby. Trust Me when I tell you two were made for each other."

"Part of me still is confused but, man, that sure does explain a lot of my guilt. My whole life is nothing but frustration!"

"Yes, it's frustrating to give gifts that are not accepted."

"Don't You ever get tired of being right?" I heaved in exasperation.

"Just trying to bring you into the fold. Why would I do anything else? Come, I will show you an interesting event."

God took me to the War Room, the place He said where people come to lie. I watched as He wrote out an Executive Order saying simply "Protect This Man". An angel obediently took it to literally embark on a mission from God. I myself am not good at taking orders without question, but then again, I never had orders from God - have I? Curiosity got the best of me as I asked who the person was to be so important he could not die in war.

"Hitler."

"Hitler?? Adolph fucking Hitler? Kill him now! Gimme that sniper rifle! I'll risk Your wrath to take his sorry ass out. Goddam that motherfucker! God damn him to hell! I know what he did!"


"A match only starts a flame among dry kindling."

"What the fuck does that mean? There are times when you gotta do what you gotta do. Why do you let that man run amok?"

"Why let any of you run amok? The point is his voice exists to this day. I keep that voice alive to see if you will listen to those words or Mine. Those who listen to Hitler, Stalin, Bin-Laden - they must be separated from those who revere the truth. It's a self purging. The Tears of Man break My heart in rivers of sorrow. I am grieving for you day and night. Lamentations of darkness reach out to Me so I sent you this note:

"Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colors from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion."
At the sight of my Maker crying, I wept also - as would you. I wanted to leave this place called Heaven. I wondered if I only soiled it. I returned back to where I started: What means anything? God knew my woe and I knew He meant to comfort me when He said, "Come, I wish to show you the place I'm most proud of."

"Yes," I complied, "but can I ask you one thing first. Where is the vile voice of Hitler now?"

"In the one who slanders Me most: the anti-Christ 43rd President of the United States."

I followed him as He tenderly tended to Heaven's garden, an endless field of electric flowers that shone the lights of the spectrum from every cell. Never in my life had I seen anything so alive. The intensity of life was so strong you felt as if the life-force of an entire planet had been squeezed into each cell. I see now the flowers on our planet are mere echoes of these flowers. And in that moment, all confusion left my mind.

I used to think, why did God make us knowing our capacity for evil and inflicting distress? It seemed such an irresponsible thing to do. And the reason is: because death does not have to be. All death comes from us, blocking out God from where all life flows. When you see the world as all life the search for meaning ceases.


Well of course God wanted to make us. Who wouldn't want such beauty to exist? Everything makes sense now. Why did I ever doubt? As God passed the Flowers of Life, they sung Her praises in unrelenting joy. They were some happy sons-a-bitches! My urge to join in overwhelmed me as I cried out, "Yes! Yes!" in complete understanding. This is what I want. It's what I always wanted: to be one with Love - the driving force behind each and every life. Mock the Flowers of Life at your own peril. Our true desires are already known.

The Flower's Dream

I saw a flower in a field today, and in it I glimpsed the beauty of God. In a mystical moment, its warm, delicate petals seemed to hearken back to the ancient times of the beginning when men openly wondered All That Is Meant To Be. This flower gloried in the Sun it received and celebrated its place in the world. It asked not how or why things came to be but merely threw itself on the mercy of Nature.

And Nature was good.

"There's more to life than meets the eye" and never was that truer as I spied the treasure of this flower's radiance. I sensed it crying out to me, trying to share hidden secrets of the Universe. And I felt that just as Nature had rejoiced in Einstein's discoveries of Her true self, so would this flower rejoice were I to know the power of its gifts. It was a feeling of missing something so huge it would save the world. There are times, you see, when dreams are more real to me than anything I can touch.

And this flower took me to a place where dreams come true.

"We are not meant to die," it breathed. The flower spoke of great forces we knew nothing about - or maybe we have long forgotten. It spoke of the Power of Life - that by figuring out everything we had figured out nothing. But the most magical part was having my deepest of instincts confirmed: life is a good thing. All we had to do was accept it and walk on the water to Eternity as the flower had. Damn, I wanted to talk with that flower forever!

But I live in a world of invisible bars.


The fleeting moment of the flower passed all too quickly as the flatbed truck I rode in bounced over a jarring pothole and the oblivious driver continued to chew on his chaw on our way to deliver entry doors to a construction site. Had the truck stopped when I saw this flower of the Sun, it would have taken mere seconds to reach it. I was that close. But in my reality, it was over a lifetime away. I would never see that flower again, trapped as I am on a road to nowhere.

Since then it has haunted me; my special friend. I dream of living within its bosom and never having to explain our smiling joy. Life is so much more than we have deigned it to be. We cheat ourselves mightily. That one inspiring, heart-rendering incident changed me forever. Since then I have come to understand the Flower's Dream of harmony with Nature. And I found there's a word for life without harmony: death.

The Coma Escape

"Somebody asked me the other day, 'What is it you have, is your life wonderful?' And I had to tell them: 'I have the moon and the sun and the stars in the sky. I have everything in the world. There's nothing I do not have.' Sitting in my fame home, embedded in a suburban bubble and driving chariots of lust, what else could I say? But the truth is, there's nothing I do have. My life is empty. This can be said to no one. Anyone sees the lie and I die. That's why I'm lying here now: to keep the secret safe.

"My finely furnished castle is my finely furnished prison. But others see only the gilded walls. In the world where I live, to not be happy in such a well fortified fortress is the Ultimate Sin. And we pride ourselves above all else on our Sinlessness. So how does one escape? Where is the place where I can go and be free of it all? Why it's right here, on this hospital bed.


"It's a temporary reprieve, I know. I see all the looks of concern on my parents' and husband's faces. But I also know how quickly they would turn had they a certainty of knowledge of my treason. Outcast I would be. Already I can see twinges of outrage as they suspect the motives for my self-inflicted demise. They're wondering who I am now. Is she a traitor among us?

"Why yes, yes I am.

"Even in a coma that's a dangerous thing to say. But my goals and my gods have failed me. 'If you can't lie, you have to die.' That was my holy mantra, the sunglasses on my soul. I smirked in my disguise and chastised those losers whose secrets got revealed. My God, what a feeling of contempt! But now I share the losers' fate. I lost myself along the way - or perhaps I should say I found myself - and I got to a place where I could lie no more.

"I read them well, my supporters. My traitorous urge to be free surges through my veins, bringing the cherished dream of life back to me. If I give in to this impulse, I will be abandoned by those who sustain me. All the world is blackmail in the end. If I free myself I will be called a 'lost sheep' and a 'misguided soul'. Help from them can only mean returning to the fold of my golden prison of despair. Who among them wants to set me free? Who among them is not Pharaoh?


"I discern I can still salvage a sickening horror hell out of this. I know they know of their own sins just as I know of mine. But they didn't take 32 pills, I did. Thus forever will I be looked askance with suspicion and if ever I express any sort of doubt of them or the holiness of the life they provide me, my captors will sneer and say, 'Oh, you're not going to do that again, are you?' And thusly the cell door of shame will slam shut. Paradise with iron bars.

"Here in the coma world, I have it both ways, neither trapped nor free. Can you imagine a life outside the castle? Is there one? Does God really exist? Does somebody somewhere really need me? I would have to rebuild everything, this time on a foundation of truth. That would be wonderful! It's been so long since I've walked in the Son. Free and clean with a smile of its own making - why did I ever get away from that? I'd be like a little child again, discovering all the joys of life meant for me.


"But years of running have put me far, far away from what I want. Have I the strength to leave my gilded cage? To stay entombed is to stay in torment till the end of my days. I'll be their puppet girl, my strings pulled this way and that, their precious toy of amusement assuaging their own fears and doubts. In such a way would I be 'useful' and on bended knee I would pray to my Maker to make me holy, to make me His puppet as well. But God doesn't want puppets.

"Abandoned by all. God wants not my useless puppet ways, my family suffers no traitors in their midst and I, myself, want no part of this cripple you see lying comatose before you. Is this how a real person becomes a ghost? If I go on to heaven, I'll forever bear the disdain of God and hear the wailing of my motherless children. But if I come back, will I have the strength to transcend the castle walls? I fear not. I fear I have only dug my hole deeper and made my life dumber.

"Dear God, help me. I am too stupid to live."

The Blindness of Guilt

"Don't whack off there, sonny boy, or you'll go blind."
It may have been just a movie, but I saw a piece of true psychology at work in Sergio Leone's remake of Kurosawa's "Yojimbo", "A Fistful of Dollars". The introduction to arch bad guy Ramon is shown with Ramon behind a Gatling gun ruthlessly mowing down a troop of soldiers. In this he takes great relish. When the killing is complete - and no soldier remains alive - Ramon is satisfied in an almost sexual manner.

Later in the film Ramon is told of two soldiers who escaped and are hiding in a nearby cemetery. Immediately upon hearing this Ramon and his men set out into the night to eliminate the soldiers. The previous massacre had been staged to look as if two rival armies had clashed and if the truth got out to the Mexican government, Ramon and his band were dead men. It was in this scene I noticed Ramon's fatal flaw.


In reality, the two soldiers were a ruse set up by the Eastwood character. He took two dead uniformed bodies and propped them up against a headstone as if they were in conversation. The two "soldiers" are encircled and eventually toppled over from the gunshots of Ramon and his men. The ambushed soldiers do not, however, cry out, run away or fire back as would live soldiers. Ramon is an extremely clever and shrewd man. Yet he takes no notice of the ease of the kill or the unnatural behavior of his victims. He just has to believe he is right and cannot stand the thought of anything else.

Earlier I did a posting on the False Parsing of History about when historians play the "What if..." game without realizing the greater forces in play. And in this case they would speak of Ramon's glaring stupidity to not realize something had been wrong in the cemetery shootout. Why not verify the soldiers were truly dead to prevent another fiasco such as this? Why didn't he notice the lack of movement on the soldiers' part? The answer to these and other questions is the same: guilt.


The guilt of the massacre blinded Ramon. Confident and cocky as long as he believed the truth would never will out, he was then equally terrified and trembling at the thought of the truth being revealed. You can read the fear in his face as he shoots. His immortal soul was in danger and that overpowering terror blinded him from his normally clear-eyed view on reality. A true historian would realize there was actually no way Ramon could have known he was being set up in the cemetery - it was in his blind spot.

Countless crimes are successfully committed each day. But in the aftermath of guilt, the perpetrators often get hung up through their own desire for discovery. Decision making is impeded by the vortex of the perpetual cover-up. People often look back at bad decisions in history not realizing those decisions were inevitable. And this is why I now call America 'The Land of the Fucked'.


On my Alpha Centauri blog I did a posting entitled "Does God believe our propaganda?" From the way we act here, the answer seems to be a resounding "Yes!" We spin our invasion of Iraq as something other that what it was: an act of pure evil. And like Ramon, we will be blind until we admit the truth. America will continue to make foolish and self-destructive decisions. Future historians will not understand our need to destroy ourselves and the necessity we feel to wreck our society as long as we call ourselves only good. They will only see our stupity - and we will live it.

The Blood on That Diamond is Mine

"What's it like to be a blood diamond miner?" I was asked. So I shall tell you:

"She dashed by me in painted on jeans.
"And all heads turned 'cause she was the dream.
"In the blink of an eye I knew her number and her name, yeah.
"Ah, she said I was the tiger she wanted to tame."
To be a blood diamond miner is to curse both Heaven and Hell. It is to wish death upon God, the World and all Mankind. They who have stripped meaning from their lives seek to strip meaning from all lives. In this way, losers of the world hope to find comfort in the flames of a putrid existence. Hatred and contempt glare in the eyes of my captors. As cruelty has mastered them in holy furor, they seek revenge by wringing the life out of me. For me, mortality is the only proof of God's mercy.

"I was in search of a good time,
"Just running my game.
"Love was the furthest -
"Furthest from my mind."
But they have no idea of the hatred and contempt in me. Forever shall I seek the day the backs of the backbreakers are broken. Forever shall I rejoice when the savage is forced to drink from the cup of his own poison. Forever shall I pray for the predator's passion to finally devour him by his own appetite for destruction. The Dream Killers rule the world in mockery and disdain but each killer will die by his own wretched hand. And this will be called the Judgment of God.

"I lose my cool when she steps in the room
"And I get so excited just from her perfume.
"Electric eyes that you can't ignore
"And passion burns you like never before."
On your graves I will dance the Dance of Life. Ye who made my desire to live a sin shall exist no more. But in the moment of now, there is no hope. The promise of tomorrow is merely the hell of today. Monsters of Murder roam freely in open sunlight. It is your own fate you espouse when you say, "Only by your death can you make the world a better place." As you bury your love, you bury me. To be a blood diamond miner is to be buried alive. Buried alive

"Caribbean queen,
"Now we're sharing the same dream.
"And our hearts they beat as one,
"No more love on the run."

Viktor, We Hardly Knew Ya!

Not too long ago I did a posting on our man Viktor Bout, aka The Merchant of Death. As a current blood diamond miner and a former Russian sociopath myself, his life story really caught my eye. But it seems Viktor has finally completed his search for self-destruction:


BANGKOK (AFP) - Thai authorities detained notorious arms dealer Viktor Bout, as US officials said Friday they will seek his extradition over conspiring to sell millions of dollars in weapons.

The Russian was arrested in a luxury hotel room in Bangkok on Thursday in an elaborate sting operation in which US agents posed as Marxist Colombian rebels seeking an arsenal of modern weapons.

Thomas Pasquarello, regional director for the US Drug Enforcement Agency, told a press conference here that the United States wanted to prosecute Bout on charges of aiding terrorists.

"He's called the Merchant of Death and the Man of War for a reason," Pasquarello said. "We have warrants for Mr Bout and we do intend to extradite him," he said.

But Thai police told the same press conference that Bout, known as the "Merchant of Death" for his alleged role in arming rebels from Africa to South America, could face trial in Thailand.

Russia also plans to seek his extradition while Belgium has worked for years to capture him through the international police agency Interpol.

A beefy man with sharp blue eyes, Bout was escorted by 15 police and heavily armed commandos as he was paraded in handcuffs Friday before the media.

Wearing an orange polo shirt and khaki pants, the Russian sat stony-faced and silent as Thai police spoke about his legal fate.

He has throughout the years allegedly helped arm Afghanistan's Taliban militia, Osama bin Laden's Al-Qaeda network, Marxist rebels in South America and former Liberian warlord Charles Taylor.

The 41-year-old suspect -- whose dealings inspired the arms smuggling movie "Lord of War" starring Nicholas Cage -- was captured Thursday just hours after arriving in Bangkok on an Aeroflot flight from Moscow, Thai police said.

Deputy commissioner of Thailand's Central Investigation Bureau, Surapol Tuanthong, told reporters that prosecutors would first decide whether Bout could face trial in Bangkok on charges of aiding terrorists.

If convicted, he could spend 10 years in a Thai prison.

"If the attorney general decides there is not enough evidence to prosecute him in Thailand, they will not bring the case to court. The US DEA could take Viktor Bout back to the US," he added.

So far, the United States is the only country to formally request his extradition, Surapol said.

Bout and his close associate Andrew Smulian are wanted in the United States on charges of conspiracy to provide material support or resources to a designated foreign terrorist organization.

They could face up to 15 years in jail if extradited to the United States and convicted.

Mystery surrounded the fate of Smulian, with Thai police saying that they were still searching for him, while the DEA's Pasquarello said cryptically that "he is not in custody in Thailand."

Bout was arrested after DEA sources set up several meetings with Smulian in Romania, Denmark and the Dutch West Indies to discuss a deal, according to a previously sealed complaint released by New York prosecutors.

During the meetings, agents recorded telephone calls to Bout in which he discussed shipping an arsenal of deadly weapons, including helicopters, armour-piercing rocket launchers and surface-to-air missiles.

A former Soviet air force officer who was born in 1967, Bout was dubbed the "Merchant of Death" by former British government minister Peter Hain due to his involvement in supplying arms to Liberia and Angola.

In March last year, US Treasury Department imposed sanctions against seven companies accused of fueling the war in the Democratic Republic of Congo at the start of the decade. Three of the companies were linked to Bout.

Ramb0 IV, P0rn0 Vi0lence

Rambo has to be the most famous homeless character in film. And as such, he has a special place in my heart. Though our origins are completely opposite, we both ended up in the same place. He comes back from Nam a highly skilled, transcendental person only to find the bubble world of America has no place for him. When America in all her righteous fury condemns this unproductive wanderer, Rambo fights back. God, I loved that! Take out all the fuckers, Rambo! I got no use for them either.

"First Blood" the film is one of my all time favorite guilty pleasures. So I decided to hunt down the book which I had heard was far more hardcore. This gave me cause to do my own Rambo posting, inspired by the book. Author David Morrell truly painted scenes of tragedy of a life lost to torment. I emailed Morrell at that time to share my humble take on Rambo. When on his website, I saw he gave a favorable review to Rambo IV, which I did not expect. My reaction was different than his as you can see from our exchange below:


Hey David, just wanted to bend your ear a minute on the latest Rambo movie.

I wasn't going to see it because I figured it was a Rambo II redux as just another vehicle for violence. But since you gave it a thumbs up I went ahead and gave it a shot. One thing's for sure, you were right about the amount of violence. What made it more brutal was the fact these things truly do go on. Killing soldiers such as those Burmese troops is not really killing them - they are already dead. It would be, in fact, doing them a favor to keep them from digging themselves further into a hole. But that's not what I found disappointing in the film.

Surprisingly - maybe because I was expecting the worst - I was glad to see the film did not go insanely overboard on violating the "Zatoichi Principle" (no one man can save the world, it's up to the world to save the world). The way the movie started I was wincing in that Rambo was going to "fix" all of Burma and set things straight. So that turned out to be cool but what I didn't like was that the rhetoric didn't match the action. I'd of re-written it to have Rambo at his father's farm in the beginning. But because he truly "is war" and has to "face what he is", he can have no home of tranquility. Now that's a person damaged for life. After he completes the mission, he stays in Asia, always close to war and living in a twilight world between life and death. That would truly send the message: war doesn't fix you up, it fucks you up (the opposite of the message it sends now). But hey, few American filmmakers are going to have the balls to go against war.

I don't know if I would have had the strength to resist in the 60's but I do know I always related to Rambo's stubborn streak and his feeling of being out of place in the sheltered world of America. So I was frustrated by what I saw as a missed opportunity for this film to say something truly meaningful about a character in which I am vested.

Please bear in mind, ALL this is completely IMHO.


Morrell replied:

Harry, two years ago Sly phoned me to discuss the new film. I wasn't involved with it. He just wanted to talk. He said that he wanted to depict the violence in a realistic manner so that the shock of the audience would give them some idea of what it could do to someone who was steeped in it. Basically the character is burned out. The telling line of dialogue is, "I didn't kill for my country. I killed for myself. And for that, God won't forgive me." In essence, he's admitting that he's only good at one thing and hates himself for it. The final gun battle goes on and on and on and on. That's the point. It builds graphically until the ugliness of it overwhelms us. Rambo stands at the top of a hill, looking down at all the pain and grief and death. He just stands there and stands there. Something happens to his face, and he walks offscreen to the left. I suspect that Sly is trying to communicate that the character finally came through the other side of hell, that he has reached absolute bottom and has nowhere to go but up, which is why the film ends with him returning home, wearing the same clothes that begin the first film.

The character presented in this movie is very much like the character in my novel, the first time he's really been on screen.


Stubborn me replied:

Thanks for the reply. And I agree what you state below is the stated intent of the filmmakers. I LOVE the idea of a self-loathing and self-examining Rambo. The rhetoric was fine, I just wanted to see the price one has to pay for killing for yourself. In the book, Rambo pays. To me, hitting bottom means putting a bullet through your head. That would have been a unique ending too! I didn't walk out of the theater with a sense of tragedy as in "All Quiet on the Western Front" or "Men with Guns". I felt Rambo IV preserved the myth of war. At the end of the book I was saying, "Damn, what a shame. What a waste. I wanted to know that guy." At the end of this film I only felt dirty. I'm well aware of the tact of showing the violence of war as an anti-war statement. However, it just doesn't wash. The ending of Bambi invokes more outrage against violence than watching an endless series of soul-less CGI soldiers being ripped apart. One brings pain and the other desensitizes pain. There's a Chinese proverb that says the opposite of good is good intentions. I never look at what filmmakers intend, only what they do. That's what we all get judged on in the end.

So I give an "A" for the idea and an "F" for execution. I just would have so dearly loved to have seen the look on the faces of all the "Rambo is a badass!" cheerleaders as Rambo eats a bullet as a solution to his PTSD. That would have given them something to think about :)

Spirit Wars

The Thousand Yard Stare is never far from me. I feel I can slip into it at any time, needing only a moment's break from the fray for it to appear. My co-laborers live in one world, I live in another. Among the Homeless such a state is not frowned upon. In fact, you might even say it is revered. A certain holiness is attached to the time one needs to reconcile with whatever horrors the day has brought. It's an unspoken code never to disturb the sober absorption of what hell one's life has become.

In the "regular" world, it's a different story. God forbid you should go into a Thousand Yard Stare at a jobsite. Even at break time it is verboten, bound to be shattered by unobliging onlookers. Christ, can you fuckers give me no respite!? Some sordid soul always comes along with a "Hey, snap out of it!" or some such whiplash - and they don't let up until a look of anguish registers on your face.

Small events like this are noticed when they happen but wash away with the currents of the day. The Monster Man who snaps you from your reverie is either scared to see you escape the pain of a world he entombs himself in or is outraged by your failure to worship his godly world. Little battles of spiritual warfare like this are conducted every day, all the day long. I'm sure in offices these battles can even degenerate into running vendettas and political backstabbing. I wonder what the world would look if seen only from the spiritual point of view.

I can imagine it would be pretty ugly.


No one wins a war - to have descended into fighting is to have lost. To please the money god, I must bend my will and suppress my desires to live. At night, the efforts of daily life bleed into my dreams, distorting reality. Twisting life's flow for Meaningless Endeavors for money twists the soul as well. In times of attempted rest, the perverted thinking of "dying is living" replays the trials of torture endured from the conscious day. I fear the period of shut eyes. Wringing sweat covers me from head to toe as I'm jarred awake from nightly Dream Screams.

The Homeless are expected to suffer, to disintegrate from Miserable Existence. Whether admitted or not, we are all well aware of our dog-eat-dog ways. When a man watches his peers go off to war as he stays behind, the guilt is overwhelming in his failure to share the burden. When you spot me, I see that same consternation in your eyes. It's the guilt of having turned your back on love. Funny thing is, I share that same guilt.


But what would God think of your guilt?? Or your parents? Or your kids? That's why we must hide the Homeless! Hide the Homeless now! Do it before God finds out what you've done to your love.

Scared, Little Rabbits in the Night

I don't know why. Maybe it's my affinity for bad weather but I'm shelterless tonight. I'm hiding down by the railroad tracks. The rails are shiny from the rain with the glare of distant lights. I feel so remote here. I rub my hand on the wet, wooden tie and for it comforts me. I guess at times I fear nothing is real anymore...

I've learned just to go with feelings that sometimes come with evening's darkness. Right now, a cool, blustery wind feels more at home than any shelter could. True, I could be interrupted at any time, but for now I own this piece of real estate. And since I am my own landlord, crying here is not a sin...

The woe-some whistle of the passing train rings in my ears. I wish I could answer it back, tell it how much its lonesome call means to me. Those men aboard the train have a purpose. I do not. If I could melt right here, turn into a rock and provide a tiny bit of support to the mighty rails I think I'd be forever happy. I'd have found my place, my home...

But my wishes are just wishes and I'm stuck being the scared, little rabbit in the night. I had to piss three times in the last hour; my nerves are shot. I'd love to lay my head on this railroad tie and sleep till I needed sleep no more. But there's always a man saying, "You can't do that!" I am Jean Valjean and Javert dogs my every step. But this wind upon my face is free. Not even Javert can arrest the wind...

On the run. I've always been on the run since I decided to live a lie. Freedom lies in a place I have yet to imagine. I want to be on the mountain with Moses, safe in God's bosom. In no place of man's making do I feel safe. I've seen what happens to those people hiding in their fortresses, becoming brittle and frail, peering out through windows like scared, little rabbits in the night...

Is it wrong to seek a place of no strings? I have seen those who take a genuine interest in the homeless and their reward shall be great. They feed not only us, but the soul of God. I smell something in the air. Maybe it's industrial or the plants growing wild by this section of track but it sustains me in a curious way. I think back to the dreams and visions and myths of my youth when all things seemed possible. I never doubted a legendary life was before me. And right now, I can smell it, I can sense it once more and it fills my nostrils with the energy of the universe...

"One little fuck up..."
Moses looked upon the Promised Land with eyes that could never reach it. In this moment I too visit the place God promised me and I thank my Maker. It is beautiful and wonderful and magical and full of life. In this place the Light is always shining on dreams meant to be. I'm seeing the life unlived in me. Does this happen to others? Is this why I see so many other scared, little rabbits?

The wind, it blows colder...