Great Films of The Japans

My dear and beloved Japan stirs ancient feelings in me that echo across the centuries. My time there was during the Sengoku Jidai, the Era of Warring States in the 16th Century - a time of chaos, cruelty and cunning. However, in the end it left me with a revulsion for violence and heartfelt qualms to this day when I look upon the shiny steel of a sword. It didn't have to be that way, oh so long ago. (For a wonderful taste of the time of Japan's unification, read Taiko - which will also make your film viewing richer since they would no more explain who Tokugawa is in a film than we would Lincoln. Everyone just knows.)

I despise horror films which is a huge genre in Japan and I'm mostly ignorant of anime so my list here is mainly older films with a little background of my (limited) knowledge of each.


Akira Kurosawa films:

Kuro-san is considered the most Western of Japanese directors and also the one who put Japanese filmmaking on the map. For the majority of his career he teamed with Toshiro Mifune and they were a legendary pairing. Kurosawa is my favorite director and he was a sincere soul.

Ran [Chaos] (1985) Ran is Kurosawa's take on King Lear. He wanted to use it to view the cruelty of the warring eras from the "viewpoint of God". The colors are magnificent and Lady Kaede is a woman you will find in no American film!! You could watch it on mute and be awed by the spectacle alone.

Kagemusha [Shadow Warrior] (1980) Historical fiction based on the use of doubles by the great Japanese warlord Takeda Shingen. A lowly criminal is found to be an exact double of the great warlord and in his impersonation of him loses his own identity. Through his eyes we see both the high and the low during the warring era. Film ends with the legendary Battle of Nagashino.

Yojimbo (1961) Remade by Eastwood as a "Fistful of Dollars", it is the prototypical story of a "Japanese western" when a lone samurai comes to a town run by two gangs and he plays both sides off each other. Mifune is great as the swordsman everyone wants to hire and the film is unabashed fun.

The Hidden Fortress (1958) This films touches my heart and you can read my posting on it here.

Throne of Blood (1957) Is Kurosawa's MacBeth. The cinematography is great and when the arrows start coming at Mifune in the end, it's the real deal. Sit back and enjoy like a fine wine.

Seven Samurai (1954) The most famous of all of Kurosawa's films and remade as "The Magnificent Seven". Seven unique samurai defend a village against bandits as we gain a glimpse into the put upon farmers who were squeezed between bandits and warlords demanding food for their troops. A classic tale.

Rashomon (1950) The film that got the world to take note of Japanese movies. A story about truth, the human ego and what it means to lie about who you are. Layers and layers of depth never matched again.

I never cared much for Kurosawa's films made after "Ran" but all before that are worth watching and he has many more gems not mentioned above.

Zatoichi film series:

There are over 25 Zatoichi films, dating back to the sixties. Ichi (played by Shintaro Katsu) is a blind masseur (a common occupation for blind people of his time) with a wicked cane sword. His sense of justice often gets him crossways with the local crime bosses of wherever he happens to be wandering but his flashing sword shows no mercy. If you want to know who's going to die next, it's whoever utters the line, "But he's just a blind man!" Ichi is humble and warm and just great to hang out with. Like one, you'll like 'em all. (Here's my posting on my "Zatoichi Principle" and its addendum.)

Tatsuya Nakadai films:

Behind Mifune, Nakadai is my favorite Japanese actor. He made his name in the epic Human Condition trilogy, a story of one poor soul's experience at the mercy of army fanatics in WWII. But he was also one bad ass samurai. Sword of Doom is the story of an "evil sword" played with searing intensity by Nakadai. He also shows his strength of character in Hara Kiri, reviling the corruption that set in after Japan united under a single government. Kill!, believe it or not, is actually a fun samurai film with plenty of humor. Nakadai also played the lead roles in Kurosawa's Ran and Kagemusha.

Ugetsu (1953) Man, do I love this film about a couple trying to survive amid the brutality of the Sengoku era. Despite all the hardships they cling to their love in a uniquely Japanese way. Heartbreaking and moving.

Samurai Trilogy Musashi (played by Mifune) is considered the greatest swordsman in Japanese history. He defeated an entire school! This trilogy tells his story.

Good samurai ass-kicking films: Three Outlaw Samurai, (1964)Samurai Gold, (1965)Samurai Rebellion (Mifune, 1967), Samurai Banners (Mifune, 1969), Twilight Samurai (2002), Hidden Blade (2004)

Fire On the Plains (1959) When I saw this film it was introduced by someone who said after seeing it he became a conscientious objector. It's that powerful. The Japanese army is without food or provisions in the dying days of WWII and we watch the brutal fate of a sick and hungry soldier. Directed by the great Kon Ichikawa.

Takeshi "Beat" Kitano is the Charles Bronson of Japan. Here's three of his to check out: Sonatine (1993), Violent Cop (1989), Fireworks (1997)

Neo Tokyo (1987) My one anime pick. Comprised of three short stories that take you completely into another world. Satire, Alice in Wonderland and sly commentary all mixed together. Awesome! (And yes, I know there's other great anime out there)

Shogun (1980) I could do an entire posting on James Clavell's masterpiece. Also highly recommended is the novel on which it is based. Clavell was shot down in WWII and held in the horrific Japanese prison camp at Changi. 150,000 prisoners went in, 15,000 came out. The experience scarred him for life but triggered his fascination for Asia and his writing career was spawned by a need for therapy. One day his daughter came home and showed him a story in a history book about the "only foreigner ever to be made samurai". Thus Shogun was born and is by far the greatest and most insightful look at the different mindsets between East and West. Many of the characters and events are historically based. Not made by a Japanese director but filmed entirely in Japan.

Hell's Laughter

one of the things i did to drive people away was to pour gasoline on myself and now i can't get it off...dear god in heaven, somebody please help me...it's crawling on me like ants and I'm going out of my mind...these fumes are clouding my head - i can't think straight...they're going to kill me...wait till they see me...there's already one guy flicking burnt matches at me and giggling...one stray innocent cigarette can kill me...i'm too ashamed to tell them...god, I'm ashamed...please hide me from Debby...hide me from everyone...the distorted faces of hell envelope me...nobody I want to touch me will...the fuckers i don't want touching me will...i can't take it any more...i can't take it...please let me die...this is not living...i wanna go home...i wanna go home

Church Pees On Jobless, Tells Them It's Raining

"Dear God, please let me keep my money -
oh yeah, and them other fuckers' too."
At first I thought it was a Monty Python skit:

Church Of England Publishes Prayers For Those Being Made Redundant

But no, 'tis real life satire. Read it and weep:

The Church of England has issued two prayers for those facing up to redundancy.

The new Prayer On Being Made Redundant and Prayer For Those Remaining In The Workplace are aimed at bringing a few crumbs of comfort to those out of work - and to those left behind who have lost their work colleagues.

The Prayer On Being Made Redundant helps to put into words the anxieties of those who are losing or who have already lost their job.

It includes the verse: "Hear me as I cry out in confusion, help me to think clearly, and calm my soul."

The Prayer For Those Remaining In The Workplace focuses on the guilt and increased workload associated with redundancy and asks of God: "In the midst of this uncertainty, help me to keep going: to work to the best of my ability, taking each day at a time."

Or to put it more simply, "Thank you, sir. May I please have another?"

I always loved Martin Luther King's line, "We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools." Somehow I doubt throwing someone in a ditch and promising to pray for them qualifies as "living as brothers". What's truly interesting, though, is how we see all this needless human suffering and yet the guilty blood of it stains the hands of no one. Oh, there's some talk of "evil corporations" but we call their evil necessary so that we can make the same claim for our own. Maybe that's why they call this the "Human comedy".


What you never hear is questioning why it has to happen in the first place. We assume ourselves innocent by claiming our throwing of people out into the street to be a force of nature and we merely the helpless bystanders. But I wonder if God - the only opinion that counts - sees no blood on our Lady Macbeth hands for turning children out of their homes? I wonder if God buys into our socio-economic theories and artificial principles of monetary manipulation? If not, then we're screwing all these people over for nothing.

"Look, kid, no there ain't no food shortage. It's just that no one's can afford to feed ya. You gotta understand! Blimey!"
Suffer your children unto me - for none are born a capitalist. I think what Dr. King was saying was that living as brothers is not optional, it's the only thing to try. I agree with that. For no matter how much we wail and moan and pontificate and vociferate and lie to ourselves that this is the only way, in the end it means nothing. Calling the earth flat makes it no less round. But we do proffer that holding up said belief as unquestionable gives proper excuse not to explore the truth.

What did the first man say the second man halfway down after jumping off a skyscraper?
"So far so good!"
Thusly, we see no connection between ourselves and the sheriff's car pulling up to the neighbor's house with an eviction notice - no more than we see a connection to the soldiers who nailed Jesus to the cross. Just people doing their job - and who will question that? Apparently, very few. For such scared sots are we, we consider it acceptable even when the crime is perpetrated on us. But c'est la vie, no? Even though paradise lies just beyond the horizon - if only the world weren't flat, we could reach it.

"Hey, you there up on the cross, tough break! Got nothing to do with me! I'll pray for you after I go kiss some Roman ass. C'est la vie!"

The Obituary of Harry Homeless

"Whatch writin'?"
"My obituary."
"Bitch-you-airy? You gonna die or sumpthin'?"
"Most people do."
"I mean, whatcha writin' it now fer?"
I lifted my eyeballs to stare into his. "Because if I don't, who will?"
That he understood.
--------------------------------------

She spoke to any who would listen:

"It was funny because near the end he just kept going around to everyone saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He wouldn't say what for. But his face - he had this look on his face so wrought with guilt you knew he'd done something terribly wrong. Maybe he killed somebody. Maybe it was himself he'd killed. I've never seen a person in so much obvious pain. So in that sense I don't look at his death in a bad light - not if it prevented that kind of suffering. My God.

"I know he was haunted by past crimes but all he told me were vague references to turning down chances for love, to do right. And then he said, "And now I can't even trust myself with the chance." I didn't say anything at the time but I always thought what a living hell it must be to live like that. His spoken dream was to get money, curl up in a hole and never be seen again. But I think he had another dream - a real dream - he never told anyone about.

"The only other time he opened up to me was to say he had to quit hoping "for her". That it was insane to keep hoping and yet that hope drove his life. Something happened to him as a child - again, he wouldn't say exactly what - but Harry's life was way, way off course. It showed more obviously than I think he ever knew. He had a great insight into people which he went to great lengths to disguise. I wish I could unravel this tragedy myself but I think the only person who had any chance at that was the "her" he'd never explain."

-Shellee Bratton, Shelter Director

Later, when mingling with the scant mourners, Shellee was overhead to say, "Frankly, I think the only reason he ever opened up to me was because he wanted me. Truth is he was horrifyingly desperate."

--------------------------------------
Thinking of you, Sherry...

--------------------------------------

Harry Homeless died today, unknown. Autopsy revealed cause of death to be a rotted soul, broken heart and deep-seated misanthropy. Doctors were astounded at the depths of self-destruction revealed. "We had no idea a human could exist in such a state. He should have been dead twenty years ago. In fact, his condition at the time of death is so unbelievable and contradictory to current scientific principles we are declaring him never to have existed."
--------------------------------------

[The dead guy did leave a final farewell note (complete with hyperlinks!)]

Random shit that goes through my head while pushing a broom:

"Don't do it, Matt. You're a Star Fleet officer, that makes you a valuable commodity. We need you."

"But I am upset, Benjamin. Extremely upset."

"Yes, there are such things as vampires, but that's OK because Buffy's a superhero!"

"So what is life?"
"Life is love."
"I think you'll make it," surmised Debby with a smile.

"I know thee well: a serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress as badness would desire."

"Sometimes, General, they can't tell when you're acting and when you're not."
"It isn't important for them to know. It's only important for me to know."

"He's formulating an answer."

"Number Nine...Number Nine...Number Nine..."
--------------------------------------

Mr. Homeless is survived by a dying planet and an oblivious populace. He listed his occupation as: "World's Smartest Dishwasher, Guilty Prophet, Mental Kung Fu Artist and Self-Saboteur."

Few claimed to know him though many were deceived into thinking they did. ("If they think they know your game, they stop asking questions. Give 'em a game to see through, it makes them feel clever.")

Hobbies included: stoking a chronically poor attitude, engaging in officially useless daydreams and cheerleader worship.

Only the daydreams did he enjoy.

Last true hug was in 1997.

Famous last words: "I fucked up." Soon to be the mantra of many.

The deceased requested a headstone engraved with, "Fuck you, world!" and "Life is love!" However, markers aren't made for the homeless.
--------------------------------------

As requested, the "Song of Atsumori" - a favorite of 16th century warlod Oda Nobunaga - was recited at the funeral in both Japanese and English:

"Ningen Gojuunen,
Geten no uchi wo kurabureba,
yumemaboroshi no gotokunari.
Hitotabi sei wo ete,
metsusenu mono no
arubekika?"

"A man's life of 50 years under the sky
is nothing compared to
the age of this world.
Life is but a fleeting dream, an illusion --
Is there anything that lasts forever?"
--------------------------------------

Thinking of you, Kim...

--------------------------------------

A reporter questioned attendees to explain Citizen Harry's final words of "Cranberry sauce":

"One thing I remember he said I'll never forget. He said it like a joke but I could tell it wasn't. He said he couldn't watch a movie that was a love story anymore. He said it was like being invited to a restaurant to watch others eat their food. He was that hopeless."

"None of us ever approached him much 'cept for Terri. He loved Terri and 'bout died when she left. They was both on the same wavelength and ya saw a diff'rent side of him when they was together. She was real blunt and didn't hold back and he liked that. But the rest of the time he'd just be scribbling in his pad and mumblin' and if ya said anything to him he'd always have somethin' smart to say back at ya. One day ol' Otis got all crabby and walks over to him an' says, "Harry, you there with that pad makes me feel like you spyin' on me!" Harry just looks up at him and says, "I am.""

"I saw him nap once when he had what he called a daymare. Made me shudder. His body was twitching like a war was going on inside. You could almost see the demons tormenting him as he slept. I can still see it it freaked me out so bad. You see lots of bad stuff here in the shelter, but Harry's insides were really mangled and his life twisted. It was an effort of will to make it through every day. What do you do for someone like that?"

"I always thought he was a freakin' narcissist. He never did anything that wasn't for the benefit of his ego. Who cares what you have, dude, if you're not gonna use it!"

--------------------------------------

Psst, hey bud, over here. Wanna know a secret? I'm really not a person. I'm a committee of discarded intellectuals frothing with rage at our demise. We use Harry as a vehicle to deliver our message of disgust. See if you can spot the different styles even though we tried to blend our voices. But then again, no matter how hungry or cold or homeless we may be, we're still smarter than you!

--------------------------------------

Greatest accomplishments were listed as "Meeting Debby" and "Writing my novel". He said his novel was his "only art" and he had put his heart and soul into it. Allegedly online, he suppressed it after receiving too much positive feedback ("That girl who called from California went nuts over it.")

--------------------------------------

Greatest regrets were listed as "Meeting Debby" and "Running away from everything I wanted". Mr. Homeless also stated on several occasions he regretted acting like a moron. He also wished to declare a posthumous apology for the number of buildings (and patrol cars) he peed on in public.

--------------------------------------

You tell me
The world is flat;
I tell you I
Trust only my cat!
--------------------------------------

Ironically, the happiest moments of Mr.Homeless' life were his final ones, shouting continuously, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last! I'm finally free of you fuckers!!"

--------------------------------------
Thinking of you, Debby...

Show Me What You're Made Of, Madoff

I saw this funny headline on MSN: What punishment could fit Madoff? Here's a little taste of the article:

Media accounts immediately labeled the disappearance of $50 billion, masterminded by Bernard Madoff, as the largest fraud in history.

It is a greater wealth loss than having one of many household-name companies -- such as Walt Disney (DIS), 3M (MMM) or Boeing (BA) -- vanish without a trace.

The loss is mind-boggling. But the figure does nothing to convey the damage this alleged Ponzi scheme has done.

Dear Lord, let me be judge for a day. This guy is easy. "I can always use another good dishwasher." This soul needs a life sentence, working full time at one of those fine restaurants he frequented, shining the plates of his former mates. Some may say that it's humiliating for an elderly man to wash dishes until he dies, but I say those people must have an issue with hard work. I mean, our man Madoff, in the finest Enron tradition, certainly had no qualms on foisting this fate upon his fellow aged colleagues. What's good for the goose...

While we're at it, let's put our president monkey in karma's court. Love seeks out every heart in its pursuit of justice, neh? This fine fellow can spend his remaining days in a kick-ass Iraqi refugee settlement complete with his own tent and communal latrine. We know this is a man who'll make any sacrifice for freedom - and freedom is messy.

Speaking of karma, it sure is hard to pity the peasants who finance their own fucking. "Gosh, really, Daddy? You need all my money to save God's country? I'll work two, three jobs and give you all I got! You'll be so proud of using me!" Yes, useful idiots still exist and they'll bring ruin to the watered land as well as the dry. And then we'll walk into the desert together and wonder why it happened.

And now for something completely indifferent:

The Sinking of the S.S. Capitalism

The glorious ship was sinking. Blindly sneering at all obstacles, it hit an iceberg and - they said - was mortally wounded. The riders had had the good life on board (at least those not toiling in the furnaces below) but now it was time to head to the life boats for waters uncharted. But still there were Believers who stayed onboard, unwilling to give up their faith in the easy life. Silly Sally - later to be called Savior Sally - knelt in prayer.

"Dear God, Heavenly Father, I know I've done wrong and not lived as I should. I stood silent on the suffering of others but protested mightily the slightest inconvenience of my own. My direction has been guided by sheer selfishness and I ignored my self-interest of serving the greater good. I've kept my eyes closed and pretended that which I could not see is the same as that which cannot be. And that brought ruin to us all - but I know by admitting my weaknesses that makes them OK.

"There are those who learn only by pain, no matter how much truth is spoken or love is shown they cannot see the error of their ways until disaster strikes. Our pride blinded us, making us unable to see the doom coming our way. But this is a good ship, my Lord, a mighty ship that has done good in the world and deserves to live. The realities of Nature are sinking us now, but I know my Heavenly Father is a mighty power and can do anything He wants. So I'm asking now for this ship to be saved, to prove to all the world of our righteousness and most of all, to show Your glory and unquestionable magnificence so that every soul may worship and serve only You. God bless Capitalism."

In what was surely an answer from God, the huge beast of a ship began to right itself and return to an even keel. Sally, wide-eyed in wonder, rose slowly in amazement, not daring to believe her senses. "It's happening," she whispered. "I'm the new Moses. Only the truly saved are allowed to be evil!" The next move for this instrument of God was to scourge all the non-believers. Sally's narrow-slitted eyes burned with vengeance as she surveyed the luxury deck for The Undeserved.



"You there, Prophet Man! You're the one who caused all this! Off with your head!" A small army of fellow Boat Believers followed Sally, eager do her bidding. (After all, who could deny the miracle she enabled?) As for the Prophet Man, long had he been a thorn in the side of the Boat Worshippers who cared only to hear good tidings of their maritime methods. Quelling the heretic's voice would be sweet justice.

The Prophet Man protested his innocence. "Life is love. You brought this on yourself. You wish to save nothing but your lies, Silly Sally."

"Your voice of poison shall speak no more. God only knows how many lives you've ruined by tricking them into the life boats and shattering their good life. I condemn you in the name of God!"

As they arrested the prophet, Savior Sally smiled to the Lard couple, a.k.a. "good people". She stopped to assure them as they enjoyed the inertia of never moving from their lounge chairs.

"It's all a lie! Everything is fine and we've done no wrong! It's those who are leaving that are wrong!"

"Thank you, honey" said Mrs. Lard, patting Sally's hand. "You're a dear soul to tell us what we want to hear."

Savior Sally basked in the glow of enlightenment when she spotted another malcontent. "There's that homeless stowaway that's been badmouthing us on his blog! Grab him!"

The Malcontent was resistant. "Just hold on a minute, OK lady? I need to get this final posting uploaded before the friggin' ship sinks. Man, this self-editing is a bitch!"

"I'm not waiting for that! Throw him overboard! Let him blog while he's dying," she dryly commanded.

"What is it you think I've been doing?" spat the ungrateful Malcontent on his way over the railing.

But not all were convinced Sally could save them. An angry mob of Sheeple burst through, demanding to know the truth. "Is this boat sinking or not? Our hearts tell us it is but we need an authority figure to know what to believe!"


No man captained the Great Ship without also being bound to praise it - least ways no one after the passengers murdered captains who failed to flatter them. So Sally called down the current captain, Strutting Monkey, who stepped onto the scene singing and dancing with the confidence of delusions untouched.

"Liars and icebergs and traitors, oh my!
"Do as I say or all will die!
"Savior Sally stands true blue!
"God loves me - but not so much you!"
The Sheeple were shocked and awed by the authority with which the monkey spoke. The Prophet Man was outraged. "You're an incompetent fool! We must take responsibility to save ourselves!!" But the disparaging of their monkey leader made the Sheeple feel bad and frown.

The Strutting Monkey saw only his safe perch on high. "Competence is for wussies and responsibility's for losers. Since you're a loser, I make you responsible." With that proclamation, the Sheeple threw the Prophet Man overboard (who swam to a life boat) and rejoiced in their victory over liars. Each one vowed a righteous pledge: "We won't get fooled again!"

And indeed they were not - for a second chance never came. The righting of the ship was merely an air bubble working its way forward and after it passed the ship sank so quickly no soul could escape.

Her Moral Affair

"If he touches me again, I'll kill him." Her chest was heaving with anger as she drove the familiar route back to the house. Wrapped in an up-model SUV, a cold mid-winter light shone through the tempered glass giving the surrounding world a surreal patina. It disoriented her, feeling as though she drove through a stranger's neighborhoods. But the closer she got to that garage door that would open and swallow her inside, the more she fumed and bristled. "I don't want you touching me anymore. I abhor you! This whole fake marriage thing is over. Do NOT fucking touch me again!"

This from a woman who never cussed.

It's been said that the punishment for criminals is derived from mimicking the hearts of the judgers. One particularly cruel Asian sentence was to be pulled apart by oxen, your very being ripped in two. The oxen now were full bore on her outstretched limbs as the leather crinkled under her seat. Part of her wished she'd finally be torn apart once and for all, never to feel anything ever again - and that very well could happen. Yes, she was driving the usual way back to her abode, but she certainly had lost her way home. No wonder she felt so lost.

Her secret was the dirtiest of the dirty. The faith broken; the ultimate crime perpetrated. She'd passed through the door to do The One Thing That Must Never Be Done: to open her eyes. Seeing life's true offer made the tragedy of her choices all too clear. With the long forgotten taste of living on her lips, buried desires sprang to life anew, inflaming her with passions not to be denied. "What a fool I've been." Going back to the non-life, the pretending, the suffocation of safety - THAT was the new insanity. She mustn't go back to that. Never...never.


To live, they always scolded, was dangerous. Honor, duty and obedience were the words ingrained in her. Follow that holy troika and praise will be yours her betrayers assured. But now she had to decide on a final break. "If it's right to live, why do I feel so guilty?" Here was a man who believed in her, who carried the true faith of love. It wasn't some "deal", or a "good idea" to be a "great team". But it scared her to think of a marriage based on what she created instead of what she got out of it. This was a union, two becoming one. This was the dream she always said her marriage was. Maybe that's why she felt the guilt - she too had acted a liar.

The sleek SUV pulled into the garage as it had done countless times before. Bible quotes from childhood ran mocking through her head, speaking of clean spirits and dirty ones. And now, sitting in this stranger's garage, it was her turn to come clean, to claim the holiness to which she aspired. But whispering in her ear were devil's doubts. Who are you to break the oath of marriage? What future do you have really? Will the passion last? You've lied this many years, why not just go on backsliding and keep your money and safety and security? Who are you?

Gnawing questions for a woman who has never lived alone - and now feared it more than death itself.

What she didn't know here on the eve of her twentieth wedding anniversary was that her husband too had strayed with heart-pounding sex to relieve his yearning needs. He could share thoughts there his wife would never understand. And he ached to dump that wife who so slowly over the years turned into an albatross of denial. Yes, he'd leave her high and dry for not taking care of him. Thusly, what his wife did not realize was that if she didn't commit to the new life she found, she'd end up with neither.

New Year's Naked Run

Hey, gang! Gather up the kiddies and Fido and Fluffy cuz I got a heartwarming tale of family fun for you! It's all about my most memorable New Years! One year, bored with the usual routine of jetting to Switzerland to ski the Alps, I decided to absorb the local nightlife as I deigned to mingle with the little people. I was very pleasantly surprised to see we have some really hot honeys right here in the good ol' USA and (wink, wink! nudge, nudge!) decided to deal with that in the usual way: public masturbation.


It's a bit of a hike, but within my sphere of roaming is a conglomeration of restaurants, a movie theater and shops that always proves to be a lively spot. I've blogged before how once I was frozen by the delicious smells of life when coming out of a movie and I just stood at the railing ensconced in an olfactory cocoon of vicarious vivaciousness. As I inhaled the lives of others I painfully remembered how beautiful life can be. That bittersweet moment pulls me back there on a regular basis and when deciding on a place where to spend what turned out to be a fairly warm New Years, this was the spot.

But apparently, I can't stand to have anything good in my life and anytime I return now I relive the shame of that night.

Like I said, there were all sorts of babes out that night - unbelievable babes dressed to the nines. I'm usually of two minds on this: one to be near them and another to avoid the frustration. But that night I wanted to see them and ogle them and secretly fawn over their long, tan legs. A thousand years of frustration could be released with one of those fine lassies - and my heart would hate no more. Eventually my volcanic passions overwhelmed me, screaming out for life. Helpless, I gave in to the single greatest crime any homeless person can commit: I wanted to live.


An unleased retail space in one corner of the complex has stairs and a walkway leading to the upper floors. Underneath that is a dark area perfect to hide in at night. It's also between the shopping area and parking garage so there's lots of traffic passing by. I picked out three very hot girls with short skirts and exposed midriffs that brought you to your knees. How much is a poor guy to take? I unleashed my desires and clothing in naked homage but it's when I saw them heading to the parking garage that I lost all control.

"Should I do it? Should I do it?" my fevered brain pressed over and over. Bedazzled by their beauty, I broke. "I'll do it!" But what would be my story? I know, the direct approach. I'll run in front of them naked chanting, "Spank me! Spank me!" Yeah, they'll love that. Can you just imagine being bent over those bare, hot legs and getting my ass slapped?? Sweet Jesus in heaven! Half excited and half terrified, I timed my run perfectly for my hoped-for menage-a-quatre, only half-looking at my targets, pretending not to see them.

And then: nothing.

Not a word, not a shriek, not even a groan of contempt. Motherfucker, I knew I was invisible to you folks but I didn't know it was literal! Did they somehow not see me at all? Impossible! I still needed to run back to my clothes but I'd lost the nerve to pass them again. Son-of-a-bitch! What a mind fuck. What a burn. Now I'm twice as frustrated as before. There's just no pleasing them - ever. A thousand tons of guilt weighed on me as I stealthed my way back to my clothes and slinked away.


Sex in the homeless community is an upside down mirror of sex in real life. We just don't have your advantages of disguise. My lust is exposed - and fearlessly derided - for all to see. Your lust comes out in unwanted babies. Rape of homeless women is a common occurence. It's unreported because they figure either no one will listen or they don't count anyway. But also playing into it is that like the suburban housewife they still believe being used for sex is the same thing as being useful. My, my - what a fucked up world we live in, Mrs. Robinson.

See? We homeless know all your secret desires and true colors - no wonder you fear and loathe us so much.

P.S. This is the kind of stuff you write when the guy in the cot next to you keeps fucking farting all goddam night.

There Are No Economic Problems, Only Moral Solutions

I saw a posting by Arianna Huffington (whom I love) on Huffington Post calling for the death of laissez faire capitalism. She joins a chorus of other voices with similar calls for a nice tight regulation of our greed. But don't not nobody see what wrong wit dat picture: "See, it's not the sin that's wrong, it's the lack of sin regulation!" With enlightenment such as this, we have no future.

Let me put this another way, if you have a law that prevents children from working in coal mines, that's fine. But if the only reason children are not working in coal mines is because of said law, then that society is dead man walking - big time. Laws don't save souls but only a soul can save the law. America has always been about rape - it's our favorite pastime. But there's no doubt we have taken it to new and shameless heights in this century. We turned our back on the suffering we inflicted on the Iraqis with our rape of them, but the same forces that unleashed that evil are the same ones reaching into your pocketbook now. I call that funny!


Millions of Iraqi families were forced to flee for their lives and live in the squalor of refugee camps:

"Well, they're not pretty, I've got to tell you that, Tony. It's not a nice thing to see. These were people who used to live comfortable, normal lives, if you'd like...

"Now, that has about 800 people living in an area, try to imagine this, the size of two soccer fields. Most of the housing there is just tents, a dusty landscape, sewage in the street, but in many ways it showcases the pessimism of those there, because they're starting to build there more permanent homes out of bricks they're making themselves. It's -- the kids that are there, they don't go to school. They try to amuse themselves playing marbles. Some of them just literally staring blankly into an increasingly bleak future."

Who cared when it happened to them? Haha! Now we get to see what it feels like when you're thrown from your comfy home into the street - and people half a world away are cheering it or are indifferent. Man, don't come whining to me about the horror of watching your child starve - you just haven't been paying attention. That was your decision - not God's or the President's or anyone else's.

From a numbers perspective, our economic problems are insolvable. There are some studies and a couple of documentaries that hint at this, but only I have the balls to come right out and say it. (And such is the genius of God, you find a homeless voice unworthy!) What's going to happen if we stay possessed by our numbers is a long, wavelike slide into hell. Every time the wave goes up we say, "See? Everything is fine!" even though the highpoint of this wave is always lower than the last. And when we are on an obvious slide like now, there's all sorts of screeching for change but nothing really happens. Through thick and thin we remain steadfast in our belief these numbers must determine if we live or die.

But it's all hogwash, you silly, simple sots. The "need" for money is only in our heads.


The argument for moneyism is simply that there is "no other way". You gotta force lazy-ass, rotten, no-good people into labor or nothing will get done! (Tell me again whose nature is made in the image of God? Cognitive dissonance - it beats the fuck out of thinking!) We've lived so long off the poisoned fruit of communal blackmail we accept the rule of money as an axiom of life itself: there is no choice to do but what we do. And thusly we've adopted the false credo that winners deserve winning and losers deserve losing. That's why no one listens when your ox is gored.

I saw a TV show about renovating a house where a girl was sent off as a prank to the hardware store to find a part that does not exist. The contractor made up some name of a fictional object to get her out of his hair. It was funny as hell as they cut to the store with the girl and three employees looking for something they would never find. I'll be having that same laugh watching you hopeless morons struggling to make greed work. Put on your Sunday suits with your respectable haircuts and pontificate all you want how we need to be more responsible to our greed - all fury and bluster signifying nothing.

So if you want to save the economy, then save your soul and dispel the lies of numbers into the wind. True, there's no guarantee it will save the immediate lives of you and your children but on the other hand, what else you gonna do? It's not like you have a choice. (I know what you're thinking (I say in my best Thomas Magnum voice-over). "Oh, Harry, you're so naive, so unpragmatic, so unrealistic! Thing's just have to be the way they are. You need to grow up and face facts. Why, if we changed things now the world would go to hell!")

Mortification and Sarcasm

Before I made my appearance on the Letterman show I was asked if I could tell a funny story about myself to which I thought, "Oh goody! I get to be homeless and funny." But my verbal reply was to merely squirm and say, "Oh, sure." I guess my act wasn't very good because the assistant kept staring at me as if waiting for my real answer. But I had no more words for her and finally she left. Why does everything have to be so hard?

Racking my brain as I scanned my desperate life of despair, I remembered one story that might work. Of course, it involved a moment of my humiliation - most stories about me derailed existence do. It happened back in technical school. (The thought of an actual college terrified me and, frankly, disinterested me.) I wasn't serious about it. But who could I tell? I was there because I had nothing better to do.

Staying in my three bedroom dorm was Harley and Russell. Harley and I were hanging out in a mutual friend's dorm room when he started telling this grand adventure tale he'd had. I thought it was all bullshit so I started mocking him and calling him Indiana Bert (Bert was his middle name). And the more he told, the more I mocked, coming up with a line of Indiana Bert dolls to sell, along with the famous suppository version ("Gives new meaning to the word 'shithead'!"). I was on a roll that night and Harley was caught somewhat flatfooted by my stampede - but that's not because Harley was witless.

I had highly enjoyed my needling of Harley when the next day Harley made his counter attack. Whenever I walked into the living room of our dorm, he'd boo me. At first as I was furious and was going to jump his shit but when I actually saw him doing it I wanted to laugh. He had his hands cupped around his mouth and he had a big ol' grin on his face while booing. It was completely disarming and I had a hard time coming up with my own counter attack because I couldn't get mad at him. So naturally he kept doing it - which led to complications.


I was very good at computer programming at school - as long as I didn't mind killing myself to do it. But the pressure was enormous since the tuition was on my parent's ticket and my life had no meaning. One weekend the despair got so bad I attempted suicide by taking a bottle of sleeping pills. To my eternal regret it failed, obviously. So when I could I traveled back home and came back on Sunday to avoid the alone time.

It was on one of those Sundays returning to my dorm when disaster struck. I was carrying in my little TV I lugged back and forth and about 20 paces behind me was my emotionally estranged stepfather bringing my suitcase. My stepfather was a human being I truly loathed - as he did himself. My dorm was on the second floor and sitting on the bottom rung of the steps was my roommate Russell who suddenly got a bright idea when he saw me. He thought he'd start booing me as Harley had been.

The courtyard between the dormitories was large and public so Russell's booing me was inconvenient at best. What was worse would be trying to explain to my quickly approaching stepfather why I was being booed by my roommate. ("See, it's not real. It's just a game. Uh...") So I was ready to freaking murder Russell - especially after he decided he'd call Harley down to join in the fun. "Boo! Boo! Harley! Harley!" he'd cry out to the second floor. I was mortified but furious and decided to retaliate without compunction.


It was after about the third or fourth time Russell called up with his sequence of booing and calls to Harley that I let fly with all the sarcasm and contempt I could muster: "What's that? Your mating call to Harley?" My voice was so sharp you could a razor with it. Better yet, a huge burst of laughter came from across the courtyard. Unbeknownst to me, the "gang" had been watching the entire drama unfold and delighted in my putdown of Russell, who visibly shrank and spoke no more.

Computer school was a hell for me, drowning in a sea of numbers as I prostituted my mind for desires not my own. My only survival skill was to summon all my wits to disguise my glaring social failings. I surprised even myself sometimes with my repartee but in the end, lying in bed at night, I knew the futureless life that lay ahead of me.

The Final Argument

"Look, you sorry fuck, I know what the truth is. Everyone around me knows it too and they all agree with me. It's been voted on for Christ's sake. You want to tell me everyone is wrong and you're right? You want to tell me my whole life has been a fraud when I've had a very successful career and am loved by millions? No, my friend, calling me a liar is the same as calling all who are righteous liars - and that simply cannot be.

"This is simply a political witch hunt. The problem with people like you is you serve your own personal agenda over the truth! You make stuff up to make you feel better. It's such an obvious self-deception - your'e not fooling anyone. What are you, twelve? Do you plan on living the rest of your life like this, like some overgrown brat constantly whining about not getting your own way? Yes, the truth hurts and you're just going to have to live with it: I'm right and you're wrong!

"No one needs your bullshit. I don't know how you got that idea in your head but it sure is stuck in there like a possessed monkey or something. Clearly, you have much to learn and when you grow up, hey, come back and maybe I'll let you speak. In the meantime, your actions simply aren't tolerable to me and civilized folk and I'm going to have to completely cut you out of my life. That is my decision and I have the power of many."

And then God Laughed, "While it's true that only you can know the truth of yourself, it's not true that only you can know truth itself - a seemingly subtle but fatal distinction. But I do have to admit I find your cheekiness highly entertaining! However, I don't recommend that kind of behavior where you are going. It just makes things worse."

And with that, God pulled the lever opening the trap door to darkness forever.

I'm Optimistic! Are You?

[Ac·count·a·bil·i·ty] n. Accountability is a concept in ethics with several meanings. It is often used synonymously with such concepts as responsibility,answerability, enforcement, blameworthiness, liability and other terms associated with the expectation of account-giving. As an aspect of governance, it has been central to discussions related to problems in both the public and private (corporation) worlds.

FUCK accountability. I'm sick of hearing that word! All of the sudden I hear nobody's accountable: Presidents, residents, loaners, groaners, hippies, yuppies, bloggers, loggers - no one is being accountable! And you know what I say to that? Big fucking deal, Pilgrim!

All you preachers and reachers sticking your nose in my bidness, griping about my dishonesty because looking at my life is easier than looking at your own, I's gots news for you: I dont need no stinkin' truth, OK? I don't needs no negativity-mongers comin' 'round because I already gots all the facts I need. I'm a fucking optimist because truth is on my side. There's a very simple way to measure the truth: if you want to hear it, then it's the truth.

So with that in mind, here's my top 10 list of reasons why I'm optimistic - and therefore an all around great guy.

I'm optimistic that

...we need not serve the truth of what we're doing
...greed cures all ills
...we can survive ANY wrong we do
...destabilizing other countries won't destabilize us
...dreams are optional
...we can always push our problems onto tomorrow
...if we kill enough people we'll only have friends left
...God will come from the sky to save us
...we don't need our environment to survive
...love will never work

This guy is optimistic too:

"I'm optimistic I'm going to
fuck you and get away with it!"
Since when did optimist and realist become opposites??

My Parallel Universe

The following is a very important public announcement:

I can't explain, only describe...


Last night in my sleep I started making my film. Spielberg was there, supporting me - reminding me of Jewish blessings - but mostly remaining wisely silent, watching me gain my sea legs, grasping what needed to be done. He let me vent my insecurities but he told me of a neat little trick to use. "You're not really making a film. It's just pretend." That took all the pressure off me and my mind opened up and I was like, "Oh, yeah, now I know what I wanted to do." I had a vision in my head of what I wanted the scene to be and that's what I would construct.

But of course, I don't have dreams, I have nightmares.

My "parents" showed up and they had fatally suffocating ideas on how the film should be. They reminded me I was in a Star Wars film as a child so I should do well as a filmmaker. I was too ashamed to tell them one had nothing to do with the other. Also, if I was in a film, I wanted to know why I wasn't paid for my part and how I sure could use that money now. Aren't all actors rich? But the truth is I was never in a movie.

But the theme of my dream was all things are out of reach.

"I'm not ready. I'm not ready." I kept telling everyone that over and over. No one would respond. My film, my beautiful film, the film to change all films to follow - was compelling me and driving me no matter what. This glorious act of love dragged me through the streets naked, dirty and crying, exposed as a perfidious loser for all to see. No one could help.

I ended up wandering around other films being shot and I watched in pained jealousy. I saw a funny South Park scene and after the enjoyment faded away, so did I. I resorted back to the despair of hanging out with those to whom I am opaque. They know not the dreams I'd destroyed so maybe I would find acceptance there. Problem was, though: they know not my dreams.


Some homeless people will ramble incessantly of their previous lives (sometimes their previous lies). What they're really talking about is the echo of shattered dreams hounding them in their head, the disconnect between where they are and where they need to be. The soul takes no prisoners. The definition of Hell is watching others live out your dreams of love and the flames burn most when you realize your unique dream can only be brought forth by you.

Wafting spring sweet smells,
Inspire desires in my cell;
Life's promises lost.
If O.J. were to confess his crimes, he'd be a free man. But no one believes my crimes because they can't see the dead bodies. Marooned on the moon, exiled by the shame of my choices, I see no sound stages here. No cameras, no fervor of life, not a whisper of hope. And no audience wants to come here anyway. You can change what is to be but you can't change what's meant to be. I'm a disaster - and you can't make a film without it being about yourself. But we all must carry on the charade, mustn't we?

Alright, Mr. Spielberg, I'm ready for my close-up.

A Clean Pig

He was the "Numbers Guy" - a man with no organic skills but a master of manipulation - and everyone loved him, for he kept their money safe and prosperous. His beloved keyboard kingdom - now hailed around the world - shielded him from inconvenient realities. For it was the evil in the world that he made work for him. And evil, of course, is the one thing we can always count on to exist. It's the safest bet of all - and the Numbers Guy only made good bets.

That tingling, almost giggling feeling, running up his spine and exploding inside was an addiction greater than any physical drug. They slapped him on the back and hailed him as wizard. He lectured others on his formulas and his insights into artifice. It was beautiful, like having sex with the world. And like the ancient alchemists who claimed to turn lead into gold, this medieval man also lured myth into reality: he'd found usefulness for his evil. It was a high like no other.

Yet he was a Clean Pig, a noble pig. As lesser pigs wallowed in the muck, his piggery remained pristine. Charities, the arts, reformist politicians - all were beneficiaries of his enlightened ways. While his cohorts engaged in sordid dealings - sucking blood from the lives of others - the Clean Pig remained outside it all, showering blessings down from his hilltop mansion (as he too benefited from the rapacious plundering). His starched white shirts and shiny black shoes made him presentable to all. And thus the pig was not a pig.


"How do you do it? How do you beat the world?" asked his Worshipful Wife. "I'm way too stupid to be like you." He grinned in bed, marveling at the power of his magic formula: make your evil clean! Money, morality, matrimony - all the hallmarks of a good soul were his. Silently, he scoffed at the losers he read about in the paper scrambling for their lives, too naive of the world to be a pig like he. And the dirty pigs who choked on their own filth were equally stupid. Every pig needs mud - even the Clean Pig - but you can't just wallow in it! "Everyone's a moron but me."

Worldly woe brings laughter to worldly pigs. For precious pigs must never suffer the despair of the unwashed masses. For if one cannot aspire to be a pig, what is left to live for? But how much longer can the Age of Pigs last? Theirs is not a sustainable slope. As the world evolves into love, the pigs will embark on their inexorable slide into the dustbin of history. If we are to survive, then the time must come when we face the fact we cannot live as pigs or let pigs live among us. Not even clean ones.

Did I Win Or Did I Sin?

It's not uncommon to be picked up by some ad hoc truck to go do day labor and then have the employer never pay. They figure, "What can you do? Haha!" Who can you complain to? How can you exact any retribution at all? Their calculations tell them you can't. Most of the time it's too far away for you to even get back there even if you remember the way. So that, they figure, gives them a license to rape.

It's funny but I heard a couple of infamous Dallas radio rednecks discussing "the homeless" a couple of days ago. Truth is, the entire conversation was focused merely on panhandlers but their semantics viewed the two words as interchangeable. "Homeless", of course, is a term that encompasses women, children, disabled veterans and other victims of our presumptive "perfect society". But what was funny was by the time the conversation ended, the logic of their perverted minds had them describing the homeless to be "users". "They are just using us!" proclaimed one in righteous fury.

What a disconnected soul. Calling homeless people users is like a rapist claiming to be used by his victim. Conservatives truly do have dark minds. My solace comes in knowing they lace their words with their own destruction. My angst comes from the immediate suffering such vile commentary enables along with the fact their self-destruction robs us of what possible gifts they have to offer. It's a no-win situation that won't be realized as such until it's too late for everyone. Such are the beasts who surround me.

Knowing this, I am usually very careful who I work for and I put them through an internal vetting process before I put myself at their mercy. Their hard earned reputation is that of being guilty until proven innocent. Those without an established reputation I usually let my colleagues check out first before I commit myself. There are earmarks for both the good and bad kind of employers and it gets to the point where you can pretty much size up who's gonna rip you off. But the truth is, you never really can tell - and I forgot that.

I still say something doesn't add up about the guy, he seemed an established fellow. Bragging about his concealed weapon license certainly sent up a few red flags and his Christian bumper stickers were another warning sign. But I wanted some quick money and like anyone I tire of mistrusting all the time. Plus the work was in an area I was familiar with - a freaking perfect storm. Bottom line is, ol' Buzzcut Bob stiffed us and I got burned like I haven't been in a long time - which really put me in a spot.


My co-workers were mostly nonplussed by the scam and just sort of looked at it as the price of existence. A few made me smile as they exploded in foul mouthed anger but I knew once they erupted it was over for them. But I couldn't get past it. Part of me said let it go, another part kept picturing this guy ripping people off over and over with smirking impunity. This guys needs to be fucked, make him think twice about his dastardly deeds. After several days of going back and forth, I finally decided some people need to be reminded that when you play games, sooner or later you lose.

My account is still active with an online I service I used to track info on Debby. One thing it offers is a license place search and that's how I found fuckhead's address, which I saw to be within walking distance of a bus line. Yes, it would be a pain to get there and God knows what I would find when I did, but if things didn't look right, then what the hell, at least I tried and I could walk away knowing the fates had deemed it not to be. Turns out, though, the set up was near perfect.

I spent quite a while casing the neighborhood and I saw where I could approach the house and disappear from it quickly. It had been dark a couple of hours and I saw the notorious truck smugly parked in the street, scoffing at its houseless victims. I did a final check walking past the house one way and coming the back the other way to ensure it was all clear. I'd done all I could do so I decided to make my move. Purposefully, I walked up to a street side tire and slit the side with my box cutter. It was far easier than I expected it to be, so I did another. An then another - and then another after that. I wanted him to get the message that it would have been cheaper to pay us than to replace the tires.

I have to admit I was pretty damn nervous as I scampered onto my escape route and I'm sure I looked like the guilty figure I was. But I had counted on needing that anonymity and I made it back to the bus stop without the fickle finger of fate tripping me up. I had a lot of mixed emotions on the ride back - none of them good or satisfactory. It was a nasty business and engaging in that kind of behavior left me feeling raw and empty. I'd done this on the bet it was the thing I most could live with, but then I remembered my own axiom: it's not how you bet your life, it's if you bet your life that matters. Betting is not fun.

But I don't like getting fucked.


Some kid on the bus had the basketball game on his radio and I imagined Redneck Rip-off watching it also, cheering and rejoicing in the victory, enjoying the privileges of polite society and a sanctified home. And I wondered if he'd get that terrible feeling of separation that I live with when he came outside and saw his truck - when he found out he's not so much a part of society as he thought. How would he explain how his truck was singled out? Hey, bud, you didn't do anything to piss anyone off, did ya? Of course he'd answer "no", but the minute he does that he's no longer one of genteel folk but a committed predator. Yes, it's a good bet that most losers won't stand up for themselves but when they do remember one thing: we've got nothing to lose.

So did I win or did I sin? My deed left me feeling foul and dirty and if I had the good life with Debby I wouldn't stoop to such a thing - I wouldn't waste my time. But as a lost loner, the call to vengeance was too loud and I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is without that in my ears - not that I'm sleeping well now, peering over my shoulder half-expecting an angry truck to arrive. Monsters don't learn lessons, they just react. Now I have to live with a beast gunning for me even if I am the only one who knows it. I've told no one of my crusade.

Who knows, maybe I really was an instrument of God and a taste of retribution and rape served as medicine for the violator’s soul. All I really know is what I have to live with - and that's a life alone.