Black Stain, When Silent Sin Comes to Light

Innocent song birds;
Hopping freely on branches;
Living on mercy.

What was it Jesus said? Be like the birds, don't worry and trust the natural order of things. I don't doubt the wisdom of that, in fact it's a cornerstone belief in my life. But times come when I have trouble letting go and I want to cling to something in the world, fear and frustration getting the best of me. And for a time, one can be seduced by worldly success, thinking: "What do I care of the birds? So what if I lie? Do you see me die?"

_____________________________________________________

It was song birds she heard under the gentle warm rays of the Spring sun. And as she watched the coffin lower into the ground on what would otherwise be a joyous, lively day, she knew she had to blame someone other than herself. So she blamed me. Her son of seventeen earthly years spoke no more, sealed for eternity in deafening silence. As scoops of dirt landed with thunderous impact, the sound rifled through her being, burning agonizing holes of despair.

She too was buried that day - buried alive.

Presented with the Danger Of Life, she'd built glorious inner dams holding back despair, stemming the floodwaters of life. And though she ached in the slave labor torment of building those dams ever higher - her soul aching to destroy it as she truly wanted - the strings of power proved too alluring; for they were too logical, too concrete, too seemingly smartly safe to refuse. She'd make her life as she saw fit, her soul be damned - and so it was.

I was an inconvenient truth, an environmental disaster in what she called her garden of Eden. But it was the snake who'd first led her astray, whispering her out of paradise and selling her a hellish mockery of life. A sly salesman the snake, praising and lauding her decision, feeding her the lies she needed to hear. "In the old garden, you had no say in the forces of nature! What is life if one is to live at its mercy, I ask you. Which way next the wind, what possessions to be lost? The river floods, sweeping away even the good homes if not resting on rock. In my garden, you can set the river's path as you please."

But proud she was of her Dance of Life and she feared its departure. A starlet of love, the sunshine of her soul a beacon in a dark world, she walked in ethereal dreams. She had plans for the bright burning of her star - but a Weak Male had plans for her. Like a deer in the woods, her instincts alarmed danger at his arrival. He cared not she said no - only that he spoke to him. Finally, he convinced her the danger she felt was the Danger Of Life. Did she really think her star would burn ever bright? He asked her if she wanted dreams that could be safely bought, and she said, "I do."


"A nice day to start again"
And the snake hissed in discomforted joy, knowing he had not spoken in vain.

Over the years, in the tall tale of her life, she made myth on how True Love had overcome her wrongheaded instincts - then held up her shackled wrists and gave smile as proof. "Make me your slave," she cooed in the night. "I have nothing else to offer." In the garden of the snake, they sowed trees of rot and hoed gardens of twisted root - and marveled at the comfort ill-gotten growth did bring. And yet she did question her Weak Man about the grains of sand on which their fine home rested.

With eyes afire, her leader-bleeder explained: "These are grains of greed - the grains that save us! As long as we're greedy, out house will never fall. You know how to be greedy, don't you?"

All her life she'd been a prisoner of selfishness - she hated how it contorted her beautiful Dance Of Life. As a child, she despised losers who lost the Dance Of Life, the walking dead bemoaning their fate and dire in demeanor. For she knew what life is to be: it is to be love. Love that reaches out through all living things, the universe in every cell and the universe an infinite, infallible dream. But love means surrender, and she could not surrender to the idea that merely the Dance Of Life would keep her alive like song birds in the trees.

Lacking true holiness, she made rituals of her religion, praising herself as God, parroting God's words and pleading to herself to keep her life, the words of the snake echoing in her ears: "The river washes away houses built on sand." Words that froze her heart and stilled her dance. But seeing her dance die was unbearable as well. Torn between the two, she dug through the grains of sands, suspecting her faith misplaced. That's when she found me.

***
The snake led me astray as well, leaving me in the cruel, arid sands of the desert, living at the mercy of snarling teeth that hunt in the night. In the desert dunes, every footstep must be heeded, the ground laced with bubbling pits of anger and holes without end. Drinking from bitter waters, I was convinced this is all life can be. I cursed me and the lies I followed - was my love forever a Dream Unspoken? I asked God to send me a soul to lead me out of the wilderness. Give love a chance. That's when the Oasis appeared and I found Her dreaming by waters pure and sweet.

Life cannot be made in an oasis, they come and go in the desert day, popping up as nature allows. But any respite is welcome from the scorching, parched heat of a lonely sun. Tepidly I approached Her, an involuntary smile on my lips. She returned mine with one of her own. We didn't have to do anything, a miracle happened as a golden flower sprouted of its own accord. Never had I known anything so beautiful. Healing tears dripped from our faces, nurturing the flower, each petal made of countless crystals of light. The tender waters of the oasis nurtured us as well, two heaving chests hungry once more for life, a little boy meets a little girl.

At night, back in the hellish shrub of the desert, I must have made quite a silly sight for any angels who watched. Among the dangerous pitfalls and odorous waters, I danced like never before, singing "Yes! Yes! I found you at last! My dreams are real!" I dreamed of a normal life, at long last returning to the world of the living. I looked at my hands but they were not my hands, but the hands of God, glowing in the dark air, flowing with the power of the universe. God help the snake who broached me now.


"Even if it takes a lifetime"
A changed man was I. God did love Me, My dreams were not delusions, but merely a reality waiting to happen. I didn't know! I just didn't know! I wanted to share this dream, to wrap the world in a love and light it could not resist. I fell down on My knees in thankfulness and happy angels appeared, flying Me to worlds I had never seen before. But I hadn't earned My wings yet.

Looking at the harsh terrain I inhabited, I knew I could never bring Her here to live. I must find greener pastures in which We could lay. Sensing My moment of doubt, the snake returned to remind Me of Her fine house and that all was lost. "Taste the bitter water of your choices," it hissed, "and know you poisoned your own dreams. Life is not for you." I cried to the Heavens to take My life. I was the Biggest Fool Alive.

That's when She told me my feeling were sin in Her eyes. That feelings outside of Her house would bring Her house down. Yes, She said the flower was good, but that it must grow in Her garden and not in the Oasis. "I love the feeling but it is not ours to have. I must build on what I own." And I, with no place to take Her, was helpless as she returned to her house of sand - only now not caring if her Dance of Life died.

No more did the Oasis appear, receding back to Eden from whence it came.

***

Leaves hate not the wind;
Souls who contend with nature
Bring war to the world.

***
Had I been a man my job would have been clear: to find my way out of the desert and back into the greenery of Eden to find our Flower. Angels came, calling me forth from the deadly dunes, but I feared their judgement and ran in cowering shame. Secretly I sang of my true love lost - yet feared her to hear my heart and mock me in unbearable scorn. To this day I drink from bitter waters, roasting as a lamb over a flaming pit. Angels call me no more.

The taste of Flower love affected her as well. Hers was no longer a house of gold, instead revealing itself a house of mold. With eyes wide open she saw the half eaten apple upon the floor: she had bitten too soon, not willing to wait on paradise. "Let the birds wait on what is to be, I'm taking mine now." Smiling, the snake watered her fears: How can you leave now? What have you ever done on your own? You sang of holy gold - shall you also sing of the truth?

"No," she whispered, "not the truth!" And with that, reality became unreality. She closed her eyes, defiantly declaring them open. With the power of blindness, mold was the new gold, holographs held heaven and she constructed her stairway to nirvana - why would she ever leave such a place! Like dried blood, her love for me left a black stain to be denied and I an enemy of her state. Only one problem remained: The hole she dug through the sand forever seeped with the water of life, causing her to build an ever higher dam, restraining desires she once found true.


The dam held her tears dry as the years passed by, giving lie all was well. Also passing by were Dancers of Life, whom she now chided and lectured as foolish and unknowing. Yet what vexed her the most was that even though she had dammed her own River of life, infuriating dreamers in the world had not, sailing happily by with liberal love, never hiding their Flower of light. But resist she must the foul temptation to join the flow: she was of a family now and one must understand one must harden one's heart sometimes in life to do what is right.

Yet her children were not born with this understanding. Like all children, they came with dreams fresh and new, eager to live. "Why speak falsely?" ever asks the babe. But a parent can only teach what they themselves be - whether they be well or they be sick. Her daughter, though the younger, was strong and defiant to her mother's teaching, the problem parent labeling her a “problem child”. The older boy, however, was sensitive to his mother's plight and eager to please. He learned all too well one must dam the river of life to appear perfect - and only the perfect deserve love.

A grateful mother lavished him with praise, holding him tight in professed joy - even as his lonely eyes watched his friends swim ever further away down the River of life, doing as they wanted and exploring dreams he'd never know. How could the Good Boy dare to join them, abandoning his duties as a child, devestating his birthing parent? And as the snake reminded him: who knew if he could even swim anyway! But unlike his mother, his eyes were still open to the futureless and endless torment that lay before him. Looking into his mother's danceless eyes confirmed the hopelessness of his demise. But leave her he could not.

So rather than kill his mother, he killed himself.

No dam can hold a mother's tears for her child, her house washing away in the torrent. The sky drew black, the sun shone no more. In the budding trees above her, a nesting mother fed her babies and rejoiced in that simple gift. Blooms reached out, searching for the sun, reaching for its life giving light. Out of winter's woes, nature rebirthed herself in her infinite wisdom. Man has no say in the cycle of life, his will be dumb. But in this moment of searing torment, she could not accept that - silence her shattered savior.

It was I who caused her to build walls with no bridges, it was I who forced her eyes shut, it was I who gave rise to waters that burst forth so pitilessly and ruthlessly. I don't blame her for that. Deep in the desert night, as I clutch my side in sharp pain from the bitter water in my veins, I too curse her as the wounds of loneliness lash me mercilessly with razor blades of despair. I am the walking, bleeding dead with no love to share. All I have left is the truth - as does she.

For although the body was buried on this day, the day she truly buried her son was when she buried her love for me.

Lists of Sei Shonagon, III (Japanese Princess and The Original Blogger)

[This is part of a recurring series on the writings of Sei Shōnogon.]


Sei Shōnagon (清少納言), [pronounced Say Show-nah-gone] (966-1017) was a Lady-In-Waiting serving the Japanese Empress. While not a princess herself, she certainly had the temperment of one and the sensitivities of a noble. She authored the Pillow Book a "collection of lists, gossip, poetry, observations, complaints and anything else she found of interest during her years in the court." Sounds like blogging to me.

Japanese culture initially was formed and nurtured by the nobles and royal court. To be scholarly and poetic was expected and had it not been so, Japanese culture would be far less rich than it is today as the populace in general was not yet literate to the point of introducing art.

It may seem odd a female is one of the great early contributors of Japanese culture in such a male dominated society, but in its formative times, this was not unusual at all and Sei even had contemporary female rivals in the same pursuits. But to put this time in perspective, we first need a quick review of Japanese history and where her time fits in.

Japanese culture took its initial ideas from China and Korea but was really a fresh start which they morphed all into their own. They created their own creation myth with a set of holy artifacts and a holy emperor granting divinity to the nation through him. But then rebellions flared up in the countryside causing the nobility to recruit those who would serve them in retaining power. These men were called samurai, meaning "to serve".

But a funny thing happened on the way to the court. Eventually the samurai asked themselves, "Why serve them when we can serve ourselves? We are the true power after all!" And so began centuries of power struggles not resolved until 1600 with the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate, which was dissolved in the 1860s when power was returned once again to the emperor.

Shōnagon's time was in the twilight of the age when samurai still served and the nobility held absolute power. After the samurai took power, life was very hard in the royal court as they were completely dependent on outside funding without their ability to tax. But Shōnagon knew none of this in the halcyon days of Japanese royalty.

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Things That Should Be Large:

• Priests. Fruit. Houses. Provision bags. Inksticks for inkstones.

• Men's eyes: when they are too narrow, they look feminine. On the other hand, if they were as large as metal bowls, I should find them rather frightening.

• Round braziers. Winter cherries. Pine trees. The petals of yellow roses.

• Horses as well as oxen should be large.

Things That Should Be Short:

• A piece of thread when one wants to sew something in a hurry.

• A lamp stand.

• The hair of a woman in the lower classes should be neat and short.

• The speech of a young girl.

One Has Carefully Scented a Robe

One has carefully scented a robe and then forgotten about it for several days. When finally one comes to wear it, the aroma is even more delicious than on freshly scented clothes.

When Crossing a River

When crossing a river in bright moonlight, I love to see the water scatter in showers of crystal under the oxen's feet.

During the Hot Months

During the hot months it is a great delight to sit on the veranda, enjoying the cool of the evening and observing how the outlines of objects gradually become blurred. At such a moment I particularly enjoy the sight of a gentleman's carriage, preceded by outriders clearing the way. Sometimes a couple of commoners will pass in a carriage with their rear blinds slightly raised. As the oxen trot along, one has a pleasant sense of freshness. It is still more delightful when the sound of a lute or flute comes from inside the carriage, and one feels sorry when it disappears in the distance. Occasionally one catches a whiff of the oxen's leather cruppers; it is a strange, unfamiliar smell, but, absurd as it may seem, I find something pleasant about it.

On a very dark night it is delightful when the aroma of smoke from the pine-torches at the head of a procession is wafted through the air and pervades the carriage in which one is travelling.

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When the Empress Was Staying in the Third Ward

When the Empress was staying in the Third Ward, a palanquin arrived full of irises for the Festival of the Fifth Day and Her Majesty was presented with herbal balls from the Palace. The Mistress of the Robes and a few of the younger ladies prepared special balls, which they attached to the clothing of the Princess Imperial and of the little Prince. Then other very pretty herbal balls arrived from other palaces. Someone also brought a green-wheat cake; I presented it to Her Majesty on the elegant lid of an inkstone on which I had first spread a sheet of thin green paper carrying the words, 'This has come from across the fence.' The Empress tore off a piece of the paper and wrote the following splendid poem:

Even on this festive day,
When all are seeking butterflies and flowers,
You and you alone can see
What feelings hide within my heart.

I Laugh at You, Stupid American!

[First off, just to be clear I offer this as no public service announcement and I stand firmly behind the Peter Principle (people as a whole always believe what suits them regardless of facts). Wishful thinking and willful ignorance are the things that lead us into unjust wars and buying into garbage such as "compassionate conservatism". I pity you not the consequences of your self-deception. I do, however, always find it fascinating to see which cons people fall for and how.]

Here's the video "I Go Chop Your Dollar" from a Nigerian 419 scam artist:


I Go Chop Your Dollar
I don suffer no be small
Upon say I get sense
Poverty no good at all, no
Na im make I join this business
419 no be thief, its just a game
Everybody dey play am
if anybody fall mugu, ha! my brother I go chop am

[Chorus]
National Airport na me get am
National Stadium na me build am
President na my sister brother
You be the mugu, I be the master
Oyinbo I go chop your dollar, I go take your money dissapear
419 is just a game, you are the loser I am the winner
The refinery na me get am,
The contract, na you I go give am
But you go pay me small money make I bring am
you be the mugu, I be the master… na me be the master ooo!!!!

When Oyinbo play wayo, them go say na new style
When country man do im own, them go de shout bring am, kill am, die!
Oyinbo people greedy, I say them greedy
I don see them tire thats why when them fall enter my trap o!
I dey show them fire
He's mocking the gullible American psyche and boy, are we one gullible country! Although few believe it true, it is a fact of nature that anything or anyone that does not honor reality will be destroyed. I don't have to prove this, I just watch it happen daily as you are shocked, shocked! at your demise after having lived such an innocent life. Whatever. I also understand there are those who base their lives on gullibility and were they to give it up they'd lose something most valuable to them, such as a marriage or faith in government or their idealized self-perception or some such. And that's why even after demonstrating gullibility's self-destructive nature people still cling to it. Good luck wit dat!

The Nigerians have grown far more sophisticated than the old days of sending you an email telling of lottery winnings and you need only send a transfer fee to get it. Dateline had a hilarious story about work at home scams that are in reality sophisticated Nigerian rip-offs. We in America love to believe that, hey, if you are willing to work hard that's all that matters and you'll get ahead in life. So we tend not to question dubious job offers that come our way - in the global community, America is not what you would call streetwise.

Want to be a mystery shopper, or process bills at home or even process data for a major corporation in the convenience of your own living room? These things can be had - if you're willing to be had. There are variations on this theme but I'll concentrate on just one method. On the surface, it seems pretty obscure on how someone could profit from a work at home scheme.

First, you accept a job offer - but from someone you will never meet face-to-face (not without a plane ticket to Nigeria anyway). These postings can be seen on MySpace Jobs, Simply Hired, Job Planet and other legitimate outlets. You'll "pass" an online interview and you're hired! Let's say your job is to process payroll. You go out and buy all the hardware and software needed to create checks - you'll be given exact instructions on how - and then be sent the info necessary as to who and where the checks should go. And guess what? You get paid actual money for this! So where's the scam?

Looks real - until you notice the crooked routing numbers
First, the checks you send out are not representative of real checking accounts. You are being used as a chump to cheat others from whom the con men actually do get their money. As payroll clerk you are necessary as both a person actually living here in America and as someone to take the legal blame. You give an illegitimate operation legitimacy - sort of like a corporate lawyer does. The check recipients are also "employees" but a different service is required from them.

Those who get the checks are asked to cash them and wire part of the cash to another location for various business reasons, depending on the tale that has been told. Even a woman suspicious of this was told by her bank the check was good and no delay was required for confirmation. A week later, however, her account got dinged for the full $3,000 she transferred and she could pull no money out of the ATM. There is no recourse for her but to pay up.

This is a large scale operation. All across the country hoodwinked souls are stuffing hard currency into envelopes and putting millions into Nigerian accounts. I know many people wear their self-deception as a badge of honor, proud of the bubble they live in (e.g. "I am a conservative through and through") - and will literally kill to protect it. But nature pops all bubbles in the end - leaving you stuck with the bill. It's just a matter of time, mon ami.

Fuckhead Fred and the Fraud

Weariness weighs on me like a stone yoke around my neck, sponging in my worries and gaining burden every day. I don't sit down anymore - I collapse. But in a world such as ours - even after dropping bone tired into a chair - do not expect succor, expect rather Fuckhead Fred to come over and kick you when you're down ("The best time, I say!") .

You see, my two tickets to paradise got canceled - as did Fuckhead Fred's - by the world at large but our reactions were polar opposites. Fred's solution was to become a whore to the system, for which then the system would obligingly provide health and wealth and happy endings for all. Freddy stuck with this idea even though he never got any tangible results from it. But in his mind he felt that any minute the powers-that-be would recognize his unswerving loyalty and snatch him from despair - or something like that. But me? When the world fucks me, I say burn the world down, leave no offending timber untouched.

Naturally, we were mortal enemies, each seeing the other as the destroyer of his hope. And, grudgingly, I had to admit we were also a lot alike: souls with no hope of love, miserable to the core. Like me, Freddy feared those with open hearts and kind dispositions but whenever he spotted my sorry ass, well, that's when he went in for the kill - like now as I lay half dead seemingly unable to fight back.

"Hey, Harry, look at poor Wilma over there lugging those heavy bags up into her cart. Makes me wonder why a big, strong guy like you doesn't help."


A brilliant attack on several fronts. First, I'm neither big or strong but Freddy boy would like nothing better than to draw me into an energy draining argument as to my attributes. His second point of attack was in tempting me to ignore my own pain - thus ensuring it - by involving me in Wilma's world of woe. One glance over to her and I'd be toast. And lastly was the blatant guilt trip of my sitting idly by while Wilma struggled - even pointing out Freddy himself did nothing would not help me ("But you're the one always saying help thy neighbor!")

Fuckhead Fred indeed. But I wasn't biting on any of it.

"Guess she'll just have to suck it up on her own. Helping her doesn't fit my agenda."

Freddy couldn't believe the red meat placed before him. "Dude, I thought your agenda was love and kisses and saving the world! What happened to that??" Fuckhead was oh so satisfied after that remark, mentally patting himself on the back and gloating on what had to be an obvious mistake on my part.

"Nope, I'm out to prove it's a dog-eat-dog world. If I start going around helping everyone it invalidates my thesis."

Freddy scrambled, thrown by my tact, attempting a last ditch attempt at blackmail. "OK, well, ya still gotta do good. You just can't let things go to hell."

What a priceless moment that was! Fuckhead Fred making my arguments for me! The look of unreality on his contorted face was hilarious, almost as if he could see the words coming out of his mouth and still not believe his eyes.

"Believe it, bitch!" - it startled Freddy to see me read his mind - "Helping people to survive only enables the dog-eat-dog system to perpetuate itself and I want it to die."

"So you would let people die just to prove some sort of bullshit agenda in your head? I think that's outrageous!"

I looked at the end of my string and what did I see but Fuckhead Fred the yo-yo, dancing to my every command. "You don't like it? Go blog about it - maybe you'll change the world!"

"I ain't doing shit, man. And you know what? I think you're full of shit! All this "social justice" crap is just phoney talk of yours cuz you got no money and got no woman. If you had that you wouldn't give a flying flip about anyone or anything. You're a total asshole fraud!"

"Well, don't kill yourself over it," I grinned, secretly hoping he would.

"Where's your Bible talk now? 'Love thy neighbor.' 'Don't bet against the words of Jesus.'"

Since he used my words against me, I used his words against him. "Oh, Jesus? He was a hack, what did he know?" And then I relaxed, placing my hands behind my head in an air of complete self-satisfaction.

Fraudulence is fun! I had Fuckhead Fred over there genuinely outraged at my blatant hypocrisy yet completely unable to do a damn thing about it. This is awesome! I bet this is how those Wall Street bankers feel; the whole world outraged, bitching and moaning, but they can never touch you. The world is all hypocrites too!

Frustrated Freddy was hopping mad at my unshakable blind faith in my self-exemption of wrongdoing. I silently laughed at his sulking figure helpless with thoughts of revenge. Guess my social musings over the years had burrowed under his skin deeper than I ever realized. The twit continued in childish ranting. "I'm never going to listen to another fucking thing you say ever again! Fuck you, dude! Con man motherfucker!"

But I merely closed my eyes in final dismissal. "Why so mad, Freddy? How am I stopping you from loving thy neighbor?"

_____________________________

Social justice? Fuck that! I'm hot for teacher!!

Jeff Blackburn, A Guiding Light of Texas

Try and do the following:

1. Become a Lawyer (OK, that's not always an accomplishment in and of itself considering some of the lame ass idiots I've seen with a lawyer's degree, but on the other hand it can be a healthy achievement in its own right)

2. Turn into a trial lawyer (No, you don't get to hide behind a corporate desk churning out billable hours, you have to go to court and plead your case. This is not public speaking, it is public speaking on steroids - another person's fate depends on your words and yes, even your acting. Your integrity as a person is always on trial along with your client when you're in front of a jury.)

3. Defend someone accused of a sex offense in the dark corners of rural Texas as a liberal, long haired lawyer from the city (even if it is only Amarillo) and face some of the most brutal juries and vicious prosecutors imaginable - prosecutors who know to put the crime on trial first and the defendant second so that the inflamed hearts will then convict without reason.

Do these things and you will get a whiff of what it's like to be Jeff Blackburn, one of the greatest defense attorneys in the land. This is no ego tripping Racehorse Haynes like his fellow Texan and lawyer, but someone who fights the good fight in what I can tell you is one of the most conservative areas of the country. And that's the way Jeff wants it. The way he sees it, the place to be is the place with the least light because that's where he's needed most. I know these things about Jeff because I met him back in the day and we'd talk about life in Amarillo and life in general.

In mid 1980's Amarillo, I worked as a contract janitor - which I later found out was a complete scam to cheat me as an undeclared employee so the piss-ant janitorial firm I worked for could profit at my expense. As Bugs Bunny would say, "This means war." I had just watched the film 'Skokie' about a Neo Nazi march defended by the ACLU as a first amendment issue. It made me an ACLU fan for life, people who protected speech both popular and unpopular, balls to the wall like it should be. And since I saw my rights being trampled, I sought out my own local ACLU lawyer: Jeff Blackburn.

Jeff very kindly informed me my situation was not an ACLU case but I think he liked my fire for sticking up for my rights. Since we both had shoulder length hair, that alone was enough to make us kindred spirits in a town stuck in the '50s (Two good ol' boys once speculated on an elevator ride down with me on whether or not I was an "Indian". Shocked the hell out of me people like that still existed.) I would see Jeff off and on regarding my case for the next couple of years (he was a crummy tax lawyer but I did get some back overtime pay through the DOL on my own).

The armpit of Texas
Things took a humorous turn when the scumbag ex-owner of the janitorial company I worked for started up a new company he would run in the same crooked fashion, only this time it was owned by the Mayor, who was running for re-election. This really hacked me off and I asked Jeff his thoughts on taking this guy down and exposing him (by this time his hair was cut, feeling the need to shear it to properly defend his client charged with a sex crime). Jeff said I needed some proof and when I asked how, he threw out a few offhand ideas, one of which was to go through their trash. I was like, "Fine. I'll do it."

In the middle of the night, I'd retrieve the janitorial company's trash bags from the dumpster out back, sorting documents that I thought would suit me but I also found miles and miles of green and white computer printouts showing their ledger accounts. I thought, "Huh, this could be useful to somebody." The company was actually twofold: one part janitorial and the other a security firm. The knothead I had worked for was actually an ex-employee of the Sheriff's department so he felt that made him a security expert as well. But Amarillo was dominated at that time by a single security company and I figured they might like a little inside information on the competition.

I met with the head of the security firm and told him my tale. I agreed to bring him the general ledger accounts in exchange for a 100 dollars a week cash. He LOVED the stuff I brought in, poring over it gleefully and keeping a huge stack of it in the corner of his office. One time my car broke down and he had a patrol car pick me up so I could make my nightly trash run. At the same time this was going on, I was also forced to stare at a campaign sign each day on my way to work with a picture of the janitor-exploiting jerk running for Mayor. To ease my pain, I finally stopped and drew devil's horns, a goatee and a moustache on him. It eased my pain considerably. It also made the news.

Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo chic
The noon news showed a picture of the sign and asked the jerk candidate what he thought. He tried to joke about it saying it must be a reference to his daughter going to UT ("Hook 'em horns!"). But his true reaction was to organize people in pickup trucks with stencils of a circle with a bar across it and spray paint that on his opponent's signs. "Campaign vandalism" became part of the race - and Jeff was loving every minute of it. He never really thought I'd take seriously his suggestion I dig through the trash and found the whole turn of events hilarious. (The jerk lost, btw.)

Eventually, someone ratted me out. All useful information ceased appearing in the trash and I took that as a warning sign. Remembering reading about cagey tigers in the jungle who walked in crisscrossed circles that made them very hard to track, I always parked my car several blocks away and took a circuitous route to the trash dumpster as a safety precaution. This soon paid off as one night I saw a curious set of bouncing headlights on the side of the building as I departed. It was a one way street out front, how the heck could headlights show on the north side of building when all traffic had to head north? It was a freaking Potter county Sheriff's Bronco bouncing over the curbs across the street to run me down. Oh shit!

Maintaining discipline but running like hell, I took the same circuitous route back to my car - even though I did trip and fall just like they always do in the movies, which I couldn't frickin' believe. Once I got to my car, I eased it out onto the street with the headlights off and checked to see if I was being followed. What I saw was incredible: a deputy was tracking me with a dog! They were dead on my path - which was a good thing since I knew my circular route would take them out of the line of sight I needed to exit unseen. And so I did, post-haste.

I relayed this one final story to Jeff (he loved the dog part) before my move to Florida and it wasn't until I moved back that I found his accomplishments had only grown and he'd become justly famous throughout the state.


His most famous case involved the illegal arrests of almost half the entire adult black population of Tulia, Texas. As Elizabeth Amon wrote in the "National Law Journal" in 2003:

Jeff Blackburn: Tulia Defender
In 1999, nearly half of the black adult population of Tulia, in the Texas Panhandle, was arrested for dealing in cocaine, based on the word of an undercover police officer with a questionable past.

National attention has put a spotlight on the dubious veracity of those 46 arrests in a town of 5,000, but it didn't stop almost all of the people from going to jail.

In the last two years, Jeff Blackburn, a solo practitioner in Amarillo, Texas, has been working with the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People Legal Defense Fund and a handful of other lawyers to get some of the accused off and others, already convicted, out of jail. It's taken more than 2,000 hours and about $39,000 of his own money.

The informant, Tom Coleman, worked for the federally funded Panhandle Regional Narcotics Task Force. He spent 18 months in Tulia.

He was ordered suspended from law enforcement by the state because his previous employers in Cochran County charged him with misconduct involving theft and abuse. But he continued to work in Tulia. Coleman's accusations were based entirely on his own testimony, with no drugs, money or other corroboration. State and federal authorities are investigating the Tulia arrests.

Will Harrell, executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Texas, said that Blackburn's exoneration of defendants Tanya White and Zuri Bossett helped generate public attention and led to legislative reform.

"Jeff was instrumental in crafting the so-called Tulia bills from the beginning," said Harrell. "One of these bills is now the first law of its kind in the nation. It prohibits criminal convictions on the uncorroborated work of a confidential informant. Since its passage, over 180 cases in Texas have been dismissed."


Jeff's efforts eventually resulted in a $5,000,000 settlement for the falsely accused. A documentary has been made on this story as well, detailing the events. Jeff can also be seen commenting in "American Drug War: The Last White Hope", lamenting the government's efforts in this "war" and the injustices it incurs.

Another high profile case was the infamous beating and murder of teenager Brian Deneke. Nicknamed "Sunshine" by his erstwhile employer Stanley Marsh III (creator of Cadillac Ranch), Brian had committed the unforgivable crime in Amarillo of being different. For that he gave his life. Surrounded by the "good kids" - the football players, the cowboy mafia - of his high school, Brian was savagely beaten then run over by a car (then backed up and run over again - just to be sure). He died in his friend's arms.

Brian Deneke
Looking like this in Amarillo
is a literal death sentence
Jeff helped the family through this ordeal, serving as spokesman and filing a wrongful-death suit though little money could be expected - but hoping for exacting some sense of justice. Brian's murderer, you see, for being an Amarillo "good kid", had gotten off with probation. The full story can be seen in an episode of "City Confidential", with Jeff providing commentary on the events and Amarillo's overall mores (the narrator has a delightfully sarcastic tone throughout the show).

The Innocence Project of Texas


As founder, Chief Counsel and Executive Committee member of the Texas Innocence Project, this may be Jeff's greatest legacy. It's mission statement:

"The Innocence Project of Texas is a non-profit organization dedicated to overturning wrongful convictions and securing freedom for men and women wrongfully imprisoned for serious crimes in the State of Texas."

The number of exonerations so far stands at 30 and counting. That's 30 lives shattered and broken, innocent people whisked off the street to be slandered and convicted of outrageous acts never committed and left voiceless, outcast and persecuted by an hysteric public of witch burners. Who better to burn than a convicted rapist?

Historically, Texas has had a mentality of "Convict first and ask questions later." Now, thanks to Jeff, with an army of both staff and volunteers - and some cooperating District Attorneys - those questions are finally being asked. Those abandoned to dark holes of suffering are now seeing a light for the first time. Can you imagine what that would mean to you if you were in that position?

I can think of nothing more exciting and healing than this project, both for the wrongfully convicted and for the victims of the original crimes. It gives a chance to admit our guilt, right a wrong, and more importantly, hopefully embrace a newfound sense of justice that realizes the truth must be honored regardless of consequence. I know the Jeff Blackburn I knew would call that a dream come true.

(Unfortunately, one of the prime benefactors of the foundation was hit by the Madoff scandal and can no longer provide funds. Donations can be made by clicking on the picture above if you so desire.)

_____________________________________________________

More Info:

Interview:

Jeff has also won court victories for medical marijuana. Read a fascinating transcript of Jeff's interview with the Drug Truth Network on behalf of his work for marijuana law reform.

Awards:

Criminal Defense Lawyer of the Year by the State Bar of Texas for 2002-2003. Also received the Frank Scurlock Award, the Henry B. Gonzalez Award, and the Maury Maverick Award for his civil rights work.

Fun fact:

Michelle Phillips of the "Mamas and Papas" passed through Amarillo during my time there in the 80's. She was pulled over and charged with possession of marijuana due to some seeds found on the floorboard of her car. Jeff was able to get her off by claiming those were merely "carpet seeds".

What I Saw Today

Today I saw...


40,000 people, maybe more, metal coffins headed to work - in places where I can never be myself.

a businessman without his business - but an artist who held his art.

my teeming life wasted in slave labor - and Moses wept.

a coward declare contentment until all who would listen did believe - and then walk away sadly.

lovers holding hands, striding into the grocery store - and I found that hopeful.

a cat scared, lonely and abandoned - but he wouldn't let me get close.

a baby safely secured in its car seat in the back - as pounding rap music streamed out the open windows.

an angry face, red with torment, screaming at a President on TV - because his dreams are broken.

an earnest woman praying her prayer to God - without listening to herself.


a tiny, manic spider lost and running circles on the sidewalk - so I blew him onto the grass before he got stepped on.

a split infinitive in a legal document lying on a desk - and I felt more useless than ever.

a rich man begging to keep the world as it is - arguing against his salvation.

smoke rising from a backyard BBQ - and it smelled of family dreams.

a plastic bottle smashed flat and skipping down the windy street - inside were angel's wings.

thousands cheer a brave, new hope - no one cared if it was a lie.

love bleeding from a soul unknown - because I looked.

a lush, manicured cemetery with a high and ornate gate - where the dead get better care than the living.

a billion dollar stadium gleaming with pride - so we can have a place to worship.

a cheap motel sign of flickering neon - framed by a sunset dripping the colors of life.

a trap door to hell beneath my feet - that no one else can see.


masks parading merrily under street lights - and I wondered their reasons for hiding their face.

my urges surging to live again - but withering on the vine.

a valet handed Maserati keys on a sweet, summer night - as I peered into the life I lost.

my sweaty, nervous hands clinch in fear as I my flesh sat pressed against the hard, cold concrete - and I thought of Debby getting ready for the opera.

anonymous cars driving free now, oblivious to my hiding place - and I feared their freedom.

a soul paralyzed by fear and doubt - and the eyes spoke only of shadows conspiring in the world.

cigarette ashes fall to the oily parking lot tarmac - scattered by the wind, used up by the fire.

my face stuffed into a pillow, muffling screams of horror I can let no one hear but demand a release I cannot deny - just as I silently scream all through the day.

__________________________________________



Looking back on when I
Was a little nappy headed boy
Then my only worry
Was for Christmas what would be my toy
Even though we sometimes
Would not get a thing
We were happy with the
Joy the day would bring

Sneaking out the back door
To hang out with those hoodlum friends of mine
Greeted at the back door
With "Boy thought I told you not to go outside",
Tryin' your best to bring the
Water to your eyes
Thinkin' it might stop her
From whoopin' your behind

I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go?
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go?
Cause I love them so

Brother says he’s tellin'
'bout you playin' doctor with that girl
Just don't tell I'll give you
Anything you want in this whole wide world
Mama gives you money for Sunday school
You trade yours for candy after church is through

Smokin’ cigarettes and writing something nasty on the wall (you nasty boy)
Teacher sends you to the principal's office down the wall
You grow up and learn that kinda thing ain’t right
But while you were doin' it-it sure felt outta sight

I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go?
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go?

__________________________________________

Festus and me:

"Hey, whatcha writin' there?"

"Soulful insights reflecting on who we are and we're headed as a society." And I smiled.

"Ain't no editor gonna pick that!"

"Guess I'll just have to live with that." And I smiled again.

Then his eyes got wise. "OK, smart ass, what you really writin'??"

"A mathematical formula to save all mankind."

"'Bout damn time!"

Con Men and Religion

I bring you the word of fraud!
Most folks when they see this title will either think I'm talking about the health-and-wealth type preachers or perhaps the individual who prays with you on one hand and has his other hand on your wallet. And while those examples certainly fit into what I'm talking about, I want to focus on the true meaning of religion: self-deception. And if you think you're not self-deceived, brother, then I have a bridge for you!

In David Maurer's book "The Big Con", he wrote that con men used to attract suckers with newspaper ads like this:

BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY: For an honest, reliable business man with $20,000 to invest for a large return. References exchanged.

Now, most people are literal-minded and would think this would be the worst possible ad you could place for a con, fearing an inundation of honest, reliable people who would have no interest in anything even slightly shady. And while you may get a few of those, most likely you will get a huge number of juicy, fat pigeons all ready to prove to you how honest they are. Maurer continues:

...like most everyone else, the mark thinks of himself as an "honest man". He may be hardly aware, or even totally unaware, of this [self-deceptive] trait which leads to his financial ruin. "My boy," said old John Henry Strosnider sagely, "look carefully at an honest man when he tells the tale himself of his honesty. He makes the best kind of mark..."

Many minds are unable to comprehend this phenomenon, finding it absurd on its face, but mostly it's the idea that anyone can see through their self-deception that rankles them the most. Those who banish unpleasant thoughts from their minds are forever doomed as marks - which is why some marks are conned two or three times in a row until all their cash is gone. It's all about facing facts - facts are your friends! The greatest human need is for love. Once you face that it becomes obvious why there would then be a corollary need to also feel good about oneself - to feel worthy of love, your greatest need.

Hey, I'm just like you!
I always look for a person's rationale of worthiness in life, to find his weak point. I remember reading Lucky Luciano's autobiography, wondering how in the heck he was going to find a rationale for his dastardly deeds and it was a classic: "We're just doing what anybody would do if they had the nerve." That's his self-deception, that's his religion, that's where he leaves the front door open for a con man to come waltzing in. "Yes, sir, I truly want to be just like you!" Some marks make it easy to identifiy their religion by calling themselves an "ist", e.g. capitalist, anarchist, baptist, atheist, humanist, realist - terms of self-congratulations viloate the Rule of Silence: Those who know, don't say; those who say, don't know.

Everyone also likes to present an incontrovertible fact or story - at least to their own mind - of proof their religion is true. Perhaps Lucky would cite some corrupt politician as proof that even the most upstanding of people are really just like he is. Maurer writes in his book that those who answered the "honest businessman" ad always told a tale like this: "Mr. [Con Man], to show you how honest I am, I found a pocketbook with $230 in it on the street the other day. I spent three dollars advertising to try to find the owner." That's when the con man shakes his hand congratulating him on his honesty and says he's just the man they're looking for (and he ain't kidding!).

As Maurer so beautifully puts is: And once a man admits complete and unshakable faith in his own integrity, he is in an excellent frame of mind to be approached by con men. So overwhelming is the need for love, so helpless are we, that once the mind turns dogmatic, it becomes outside the range of human will to alter one's self-view. This is a key fact the mark cannot admit! A true mark believes his human will can overcome anything - especially the truth.

Sure you can have these!
My webcan is only $2.95 a minute!
Now I'm sure you're thinking you'll never be met by a con man but the truth is your surrounded by them! Politicians, desperately horny guys, mortgage brokers - the list is endless of people looking to exploit any weakness in you they can find. The only protection against this is self-honesty. So tell me who the honest man is: the one who tells you there is larceny in his heart or the one who tells you he has none?

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

What Are Words For?

"What are words for?
"When no one listens,
"It's no use talking at all."

The building is almost a circle in its design with hallways offshooting with every 90 degree turn, providing room after room of possible life sustaining storage. It's these storage units where I go to poach, procure and prey - hoping to find any sort of morsel of life to keep my hell going. I've tried to resist but how does one say no to food? Without it, the mind grows fevered and frayed, blocking out any thoughts but that which sates your heated state. The endless void comes calling, crushing all pride. Yes, my friend, I do have tears I hide.

But no merry poacher am I, no Robin Hood who's a prince in another life. These meager morsels are my other life, tiny crumbs of self-expression bringing only fleeting fanfare. Intimacy for me is a public event, a flashing of hope. Self-appointed shotgun sheriffs take aim at this pauper of thieves, hoping to add another stuffed head to their collection. Sometimes torch parties are formed to kill the manmade monster, hoping to kill their own inner beasts. But it is the monster that cries loudest of all, hoping to be heard.

No one listens, of course, monsters are much too much fun to kill. Listen, though, and you might find out it's not a monster after all. So stuff your ears well.

Kill first, ask questions later
But monsters are made, not born, and more than once I've been asked why I be a monster - and that's when words fail me. You see, I've been gifted with a language all my own. When I speak of me, I hear my words just fine, understanding myself perfectly well but the other person hears this: "Krxd pownf oi drrn dllu zxyr". They look at me and nod condescendingly but inwardly shake their head at my inability to say anything real. Used to be - when I saw I wasn't getting through - I'd try even harder: "YTUKL ^%OISK HRW ZJFDB!!" I'd say with utter conviction and emphasis. That only made it worse.

I don't have the vocabulary to describe the ensuing feeling. Panic seems so inadequate. Raging fear, fatal frustration, a freak cut off for all time - those are just a few of the emotions one feels. Suicide should also not be excluded. Yet, if you will notice, I did say I was "gifted" with this language. For you see, when I say these words with love, something wonderful happens - something beyond anything that happens with ordinary words. For while my listener may not "understand", he surely "knows" of what I speak. When I speak the language of love, everyone gathers 'round, dropping their weapons, knowing without understanding. Some fucking gift, huh?

When Debby breathed on me, I knew the hope of love if not love itself. For that, I will give her my life. And for the first time, I wrote the language of love, and it circled the globe a thousand billion times over in rays of golden light, soaring out into the universe, taking to me to places of joy I had never known, places where the lion really does lay down with the lamb, places where war is long forgotten, places where the angels themselves came to rejoice. Such things do I know but can share only in my own language, never in words that can be heard.

I want you to want me
So you see, I know what the truth of me is: I know when you hear me not it's because I speak not the language of love. There is no forgiveness for this, even if forgiven. It's the law of the Universe I speak it, and my stubborn pride only jails me, making me a thief in the night, living off morsels that most nights are not even there to be found, a criminal in both God's eyes and the eyes of men. Sparse is the justice found in men's hearts but Nature has allowed me to mete out my own fate - no one can ask for more than that. The injustice is mine own.

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

The Free Ride

"God how I wish there was something more important in my life

than my marriage."

No words are unheard, they are like ripples in a pond, for even if you didn't see the rock that makes them, you still feel the effect. Saying these words changed her world - and therefore all the world. Words flowing into the universe, unstoppable and free, branding her, never to be undone, a breaking of the seal. Gazing alone through the window of a suburban prison, these wishful words escaped without warning - before she could hide them or unspeak them. But like an erupted volcano, what has come out could never go back in.

She gasped at her heresy, retreating to the overstuffed refuge of her sofa. From her prone position, her eyes moved slowly around the room, inspecting the finery as if she were a stranger in her own house. None of this belongs to me. More heresy - words waiting their time for release. She'd made a passion of collecting luxury, for that is how one makes one more comfortable. Yet the folly of this fool's errand was never more apparent. A little voice whispered, "Nothing ever belongs to you when you don't belong to yourself." And she was pained.

Too many words! Attacking her, shaking the bars of her well-guarded mouth. Was it going to be like this from now on, forever spiraling out of control? "No, no, no, no, never, never, never, no no no!" She must hold back the lava flow before it burned down her house. Why is this happening? Why now after all this time? Don't do this to me. I can't make it on my own.

Dreams are the tenderest of all flowers - which makes them the most beautiful. Growing a dream, nurturing it to life, brings all the world to gaze in wonder and offer praise. "She is of the clouds," they'd declare. "Let no one bring her down." She remembered her own dreams like that, alive and exploding with light - and the words of praise echoed still in her ears. Those were the words she needed, now gone with the wind. But her disrepair was a secret God herself must never know: she held no commitment to the beautiful in her.

The Spinning Wheel of Life spun for her as it must for any living creature, driving her ever forward. But she disconnected it, assuring she'd never be taken any place she didn't want to go. So like a pinwheel in the wind her life did turn, letting the dreams breathe only to stuff the danger back down which brought unbearable despair - causing her to once again breathe life into her dreams. Round and round she went in mad futility, never facing who she was, always fearing her marriage a stolen one.

But how could she reconnect the Wheel of Life now?


I don't know HOW to live, there's nothing left inside me. Who can want me when I have nothing to offer? I made my marriage my life so I'd never have to face life. Oh dear God, how do I get out of this? I have to have something to trade. My looks are gone, I never made anything of myself. I got by on making others happy. Don't tell me I can sell my soul no more!

I can tell this to no one. I have to go on forever being the empty being. Dirty little secrets weigh on me like an addiction. I don't WANT to do anything for me! I just want to go on living for others so I can still feel useful. Everything I do to stay alive is killing me. I'm sick of it - SICK of it!

I used to privately laugh at the problems my friends had in their marriages - I kept mine perfect. I saw them struggling, I saw their tears and fears and high drama. But I took pride in my magic formula: take no stock of yourself, pretend you don't exist and your problems won't exist either. But I do exist, God help me, I do.

I can't kill myself. My sex has dried up. There's no way out. My free ride has cost me everything.

The Lists of Sei Shonagon, II (Japanese Princess and The Original Blogger)

[This is part of a recurring series on the writings of Sei Shōnogon.]


Sei Shōnagon (清少納言), [pronounced Say Show-nah-gone] (966-1017) was a Lady-In-Waiting serving the Japanese Empress. While not a princess herself, she certainly had the temperment of one and the sensitivities of a noble. She authored the Pillow Book a "collection of lists, gossip, poetry, observations, complaints and anything else she found of interest during her years in the court." Sounds like blogging to me.

Japanese culture initially was formed and nurtured by the nobles and royal court. To be scholarly and poetic was expected and had it not been so, Japanese culture would be far less rich than it is today as the populace in general was not yet literate to the point of introducing art.

It may seem odd a female is one of the great early contributors of Japanese culture in such a male dominated society, but in its formative times, this was not unusual at all and Sei even had contemporary female rivals in the same pursuits. But to put this time in perspective, we first need a quick review of Japanese history and where her time fits in.

Japanese culture took its initial ideas from China and Korea but was really a fresh start which they morphed all into their own. They created their own creation myth with a set of holy artifacts and a holy emperor granting divinity to the nation through him. But then rebellions flared up in the countryside causing the nobility to recruit those who would serve them in retaining power. These men were called samurai, meaning "to serve".

But a funny thing happened on the way to the court. Eventually the samurai asked themselves, "Why serve them when we can serve ourselves? We are the true power after all!" And so began centuries of power struggles not resolved until 1600 with the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate, which was dissolved in the 1860s when power was returned once again to the emperor.

Shōnagon's time was in the twilight of the age when samurai still served and the nobility held absolute power. After the samurai took power, life was very hard in the royal court as they were completely dependent on outside funding without their ability to tax. But Shōnagon knew none of this in the halcyon days of Japanese royalty.

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

Different Ways of Speaking:

• A priest's language.

• The speech of men and of women.

• The common people always tend to add extra syllables to their words.

Elegant Things:

• A white coat worn over a violet waistcoat.

• Duck eggs.

• Shaved ice mixed with liana syrup and put in a new silver bowl.

• A rosary of rock crystals

• Wistaria blossoms. Plum blossoms covered with snow.

• A pretty child eating strawberries.

Unsuitable Things:

• A woman with ugly hair wearing a robe of white damask.

• Hollyhock worn in frizzled hair.

• Snow on the houses of common people. This is especially regrettable when the moonlight shines down on it.

• A plain wagon on a moonlit night; or a light auburn ox harnessed to such a wagon.

• A woman who, though well past her youth, is pregnant and walks along panting. It is unpleasant to see a woman of a certain age with a young husband; and it is most unsuitable when she becomes jealous of him because he has gone to visit someone else.

• An elderly man who has overslept and who wakes up with a start; or a greybeard munching some acorns that he has plucked. An old woman who eats a plum and, finding it sour, puckers her toothless mouth.

• A woman of the lower classes dressed in a scarlet trouser-skirt. The sight is all too common these days.

• A handsome man with an ugly wife.

• An elderly man with a black beard and a disagreeable expression playing with a little child who has just learnt to talk.

It is most unseemly for an Assistant Captain of the Quiver Bearers to make his night patrol in a hunting costume. And, if he wanders outside the women's quarters, ostentatiously clad in his terrifying red cloak, people will be sure to look down on him. They disapprove of his behaviour and taunt him with remarks like 'Are you searching for someone suspicious?'

A Lieutenant in the Imperial Police who serves as a Chamberlain of the Sixth Rank, and therefore has access to Senior Courtiers' Chamber, is regarded as being splendid beyond words. Country folk and people of the lower orders believe he cannot be a creature of this world: in his presence they tremble with fear and dare not meet his eyes. It is very unsuitable that such a man should slink along the narrow corridors of some Palace building in order to steal into a woman's room.

A man's trouser-skirt hanging over a curtain of state that has been discreetly perfumed with incense. The material of the trouser-skirt is disagreeably heavy; and, even though it may be shining whitely in the lamp-light, there is something unsuitable about it.

An officer who thinks he is very fashionable in his open over-robe and who folds it thinly as a rat's tail before hanging it over the curtain of state - well, such a man is simply unfit for night patrol. Officers on duty should abstain from visiting the women's quarters; the same applies to Chamberlains of the Fifth Rank.

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

I was standing in a corridor:

I was standing in a corridor of the Palace with several other women when we noticed some servants passing. We summoned them to us (in what I admit was a rather unladylike fashion) and they turned out to be a group of handsome male attendants and pages carrying attractively wrapped bundles and bags. Trouser-cords protruded from some, and I noticed others contained bows, arrows, shields, halberds, and swords. 'Whom do these belong to?' we asked each of the servants in turn. Some of them knelt down respectfully and replied, 'They belong to Lord So-and-so.' Then they stood up and continued on their way, which was all very nice. But others gave themselves airs, or else were embarrassed and said, 'I don't know', or even went off without replying at all, which I found hateful indeed.

It's a Madhouse! A MADHOUSE!

Click here before reading
Strapped in, lying in tatters, Shattered Me told the all-knowing Witch Doctors who never listen: I'm liking me less and less every day

Try looking at life from the sunny side up. Dance while you're dying and the dancing will become you!

I'm liking me less and less every day

There are no problems, only solutions. Look at what you can have, not what you can not have! Even if what you can't have is killing you.

I'm liking me less and less every day

You need a drug for your body so you won't feel what you feel. Then life can seem good again even though it's not!

I'm liking me less and less every day

We can't help you unless you help yourself! You are not responding to any of our treatments. It's obvious we need to take things in our own hands and run your life for you. That means mandatory dope and giving us satisfactory answers to our questions!

I'm liking me less and less every day

"Nurse Ratched, get the needle ready. We need to fix somebody - and I mean fix him good!"

Luckily, I was saved by an Adult:

"You monsters! He doesn't need your mind-altering pills or happy-talk philosophy - he needs love. Can't you see he's isolated and cut off? And that the only solution for that is to be not isolated and not cut off?"

"Well, how are we supposed to do that?"

"He needs to face himself so he can be free, he has truths untold. But only in facing ourselves can we also help him face his own self."

"Fuck that, I got 28 degrees that say I can do what I do. I got three car payments, a 19-year-old daughter in college and an upside down mortgage. No way I'm listening to a witch doctor like you! That's just a bunch of bullshit philosophy you're making up to make you feel good about what you do."

Shattered Me then spoke with what little shards of life I had left: Hey, doc, is the 19-year-old hot?

"Did you hear that?? You see how sick this son-of-a-bitch is? I'm going to socialize the fuck out of his ass so he will never talk like that again! You don't see me talking about my daughter's hot friends in their low cut jeans with their firm, tan legs and bulging breasts. I never talk about that!"

This forced the Adult to then beat the Witch Doctors to death with a baseball bat, much to my great relief. I felt as if a gun had been lowered from my temple. My breathing resumed and my near-comatose body twitched with returning life. Then a voice who was interested in me spoke:

"Tell me, Magnus Pym, what have you done?"

"I'm a liar and a double agent. I have betrayed people. People have died because of me - this I have seen with my own eyes. Even without the laws of men - which cruelly punish me beyond despair every day - the laws of nature cannot tolerate one such as me. I am my own enemy, forced to live deep underground in a lightless soul. The only way out is to escape what I've done - and how can one undo what one has done?"

"I cannot help you with that, of course. You'll have to answer for your crimes."

"I know. But letting me speak truly, helps."

"As was my intent." The Adult was warm and soothing, allowing me safety at last, not looking upon my unfaced truths as an excuse to exorcise a hardened heart or soothe a seething soul. But I knew he'd say more: "Shame I exist only in your imagination, though, huh?"

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

Hanssen is federal prisoner #48551-083 and is currently serving his sentence at ADX Florence, a Supermax federal penitentiary in Florence, Colorado, where he spends 23 hours per day in solitary confinement.

Welcome to Texas, Nigger

Which one is the gang member?
When gangs get out of control, an entire city can be terrorized making it so that no innocent citizen can even drive down the street without fear of material harm. Just such a situation has occurred in Tenaha, Texas. When placed in an unbearable vice like this, the good citizens call out for "zero tolerance" and other draconian measures - even taking a blind eye to abuse, if necessary - in order to get things cleaned up. But I wonder if such zeal will be used on the Tehana gang.

The Tenaha thugs, you see, all wear blue uniforms and carry badges - they are otherwise known as the police.

From the Chicago Tribune:

TENAHA, Texas— You can drive into this dusty fleck of a town near the Texas-Louisiana border if you're African-American, but you might not be able to drive out of it—at least not with your car, your cash, your jewelry or other valuables.

That's because the police here allegedly have found a way to strip motorists, many of them black, of their property without ever charging them with a crime. Instead they offer out-of-towners a grim choice: voluntarily sign over your belongings to the town, or face felony charges of money laundering or other serious crimes.

More than 140 people reluctantly accepted that deal from June 2006 to June 2008, according to court records. Among them were a black grandmother from Akron, who surrendered $4,000 in cash after Tenaha police pulled her over, and an interracial couple from Houston, who gave up more than $6,000 after police threatened to seize their children and put them into foster care, the court documents show. Neither the grandmother nor the couple were charged with any crime.

The drug laws, of course, are not about stopping drugs, but about giving runaway power to authorities to "make us safe", a.k.a. commit legalized crimes of their own. But in the dark, backward, conservative minds of rural Texans - and trust me, it's almost impossible to use hyperbole to describe these lowbrow cretins - the word "drug" gives law enforcement carte blanche for thuggery, theft and the raping of lives.

Officials in Tenaha, situated along a heavily traveled highway connecting Houston with popular gambling destinations in Louisiana, say they are engaged in a battle against drug trafficking and call the search-and-seizure practice a legitimate use of the state's asset-forfeiture law. That law permits local police agencies to keep drug money and other property used in the commission of a crime and add the proceeds to their budgets.

"We try to enforce the law here," said George Bowers, mayor of the town of 1,046 residents, where boarded-up businesses outnumber open ones and City Hall sports a broken window. "We're not doing this to raise money. That's all I'm going to say at this point."

But civil rights lawyers call Tenaha's practice something else: highway robbery. The attorneys have filed a federal class-action lawsuit to stop what they contend is an unconstitutional perversion of the law's intent, aimed primarily at blacks who have done nothing wrong.

Welcome to hell!
Texas is no stranger to false drug convictions. In a 1999 raid in Tulia, Texas, nearly 10 percent of the town's adult population - mostly blacks - were arrested on drug charges. It took years but all the defendants were ultimately found to have been wrongfully convicted with the governor subsequently pardoning all the Tulia defendants. Why do such a raid in the first place? Always, always, follow the money. The more convictions garnered, the more federal task force money came flowing in. All arrests were done on the word of one paid informant.

David Guillory, an attorney in Nacogdoches who filed the federal lawsuit, said he combed through Shelby County court records from 2006 to 2008 and discovered nearly 200 cases in which Tenaha police seized cash and property from motorists. In about 50 of the cases, suspects were charged with drug possession.

But in 147 others, Guillory said the court records showed, police seized cash, jewelry, cell phones and sometimes even automobiles from motorists but never found any contraband or charged them with any crime. Of those, Guillory said he managed to contact 40 of the motorists directly—and discovered all but one of them were black.

"The whole thing is disproportionately targeted toward minorities, particularly African-Americans," Guillory said. "None of these people have been charged with a crime, none were engaged in anything that looked criminal. The sole factor is that they had something that looked valuable.

L.A. cops got nothin' on us!
Rural District Attorneys have terrorized small time drug users for years, ruining lives and families and laughing all the way to re-election. One such notorious fiend was from my own neck of the woods, giving out ultra harsh sentences and lecturing from on high - until he too was caught and convicted of drug use. How do you like this little nugget: "The prosecution also presented testimony that Roach had surfed child pornography sites and was obsessed with obtaining money from drug seizures." Rural Texas is one scary place!

The property seizures are not just happening in Tenaha. In southern parts of Texas near the Mexican border, for example, Hispanics allege that they are being singled out.

According to a prominent state legislator, police agencies across Texas are wielding the asset-forfeiture law more aggressively to supplement their shrinking operating budgets.

The process apparently is so routine in Tenaha that Guillory discovered pre-signed and pre-notarized police affidavits with blank spaces left for an officer to describe the property being seized.

"If used properly, it's a good law-enforcement tool to see that crime doesn't pay," said state Sen. John Whitmire, chairman of the Senate's Criminal Justice Committee. "But in this instance, where people are being pulled over and their property is taken with no charges filed and no convictions, I think that's theft."

Two things Texas loves for sure: blacks and justice. Remember the 1998 dragging death of a black man in Jasper, the town with a sign telling blacks not to be there after sundown? And Johnson County - just southeast of Dallas has twice the average rate of probationers as the rest of the state (again, follow the money). And the Dallas County D.A. office for 36 years ruled under the infamous Henry Wade with its incredible 93% conviction rate is now described as: "no other county in America — and almost no state, for that matter — has freed more innocent people from prison in recent years than Dallas County, where Wade was DA from 1951 through 1986". So far 19 convictions have been overturned on DNA evidence, with 250 more waiting in the wings.

Texas, blacks and "justice" - a combustible and lethal combination.
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