Part 9: Anthony Bourdain Stole My Idea!

My next stop

First things first. Apartment living is really suiting me well for the time being. I love the impermanence of it while having the privacy I never could have at the W. My plan is to move every six months to a different set of lofts around Dallas. Fort Worth has a booming market for upscale living so maybe I'll try them too. After that, who knows...

I still don't know what to think of my situation. After my suicidal free fall into oblivion, now I'm just...not feeling. Which is pretty scary. Just not gonna deal. Worst part is I can feel the Woman Of Fabric out there hating me and loathing me into withering dissipation. She's firmly convinced I didn't have feelings for her. I know part of her has to tell herself that in order to justify cutting me off wholesale. I know I have to live with that part (even if I can't) but it would mean the world if she understood it wasn't a lack of feeling I was hiding but the depth of it, of being wholly dependent.

Speaking of Bourdain, he passed through Austin a while back and checked out Franklin's BBQ, calling it "transcendent". I've yet to partake in that because I won't wait in line for three hours for anything (well, maybe for Maria Sharapova). Locally we have Pecan Lodge, a cult favorite at the Dallas farmer's market now moved to larger digs in funky Deep Ellum. Unhampered by a work schedule, I can minimize the wait time to enjoy a very tasty moist brisket.

It was the most relaxed I've been in a while, reading an interesting article in the Observer giving two police chiefs' perspectives on what cops face and what they expect of recruits, to be "guardians not warriors" as the article titled it. But I found this point particularly refreshing:

[Former Dallas Chief David Kunkle] said, "Some kid drops out of high school still not able to read, sells dope, gets caught, goes to prison. Whatever trade he learns in prison is a bitter joke, because when he gets out he finds out he's not allowed to have a real job, ever, because now he's an ex-con. We basically tell that young person, 'Go away, your life is over.' He hooks up with a zillion other guys on the street who are in exactly the same shape. And then we tell the cops, 'Hey, go down there and take care of that situation, will you?'"

Brown said, "Society expects a police officer to resolve all the broken social service safety nets. We are the social service of last resort. It's up to us to resolve the lack of mental health funding and every other social problem."

People who try to bury racism are wrong. I think KKK meetings should be videotaped and broadcast for everyone to see. It's the slick fuckers who know how to hide their treachery who are truly scary. Get a few hundred mil and join the tenth of one percenter club and it's just like a KKK meeting where all the masks drop and you see the real faces. These people make no bones about wanting rip apart any safety nets society has. They somehow see them as some sort of intrusion on their lives! And they speak as if they are taking an alleged moral stance. If only I could broadcast that!

They say shit like, "True slavery is being dependent on government handouts." These are the same cocksuckers lobbying to wring every last cent out of the government in subsidies and tax abatements. But their real guilt is knowing they want people kept as slaves, their lives thrown away like the police chief said and then using the police to hide the victimization. All this shit can be connected if anyone chooses to do so. But we turn our heads away. Reading this really got my blood boiling. It was great to think of something other than myself.

Problem is, it's when I forget myself that I remember myself.

Involuntarily, right in the middle of a thoroughly tasty meal, I broke down. Tears start rushing down my cheeks as I panic trying to hide them from the other diners. Just shoot me before anyone sees me and asks, "What's wrong, honey?" Luckily no one did but a rare enjoyable moment was ruined and I was forced to realize just how much the hollowness of my existence affects me. I managed to semi-hold it together to finish my food but it was difficult stuffing it down to my knotted stomach. Just let me out of there!

So back to Bourdain. I saw this article the other day and it was a kick to the nuts: Anthony Bourdain to open giant Blade Runner-themed food market in New York City. Wow, just wow. Maybe I had been on the right track a few years ago, after all. I referenced this in a previous post:

The closest I ever came to doing anything was trying to recreate my own personal Blade Runner set in the abandoned warehouse district south of downtown Fort Worth. It would have been so cool, right down to the matching neon! (Yes, I really do have that much money. Thank you, oil speculators!) The zoning assholes wouldn't hear of it, though.

I felt a tad guilty about not fighting harder for it, like I was more interested in feeling sorry for myself than making a stand. Mine was not going to be a commercial endeavor, but done only for my own amusement. Later I figured I might sell out to someone who'd want to commercialize it in some way eventually turning it into a trite tourist destination. But that would be only after I had my fill. Maybe I should have fought harder or maybe because I wasn't making money for other people it was simply doomed. Regardless, Bourdain has struck upon the same idea and will most likely do it right. Damn, that really hurts.

*****

Rain keeps coming down here. Some call this bad weather but I call it good. I stroll around uptown and downtown during the day in a veil of raindrops. The Woman Of Fabric works downtown so that gives me a vicarious, frustrating connection. That does me no good, of course. In these quiet private moments in public, though, I have the gumption to realize that truth is I have no real connections at all. The mist has cleared from my eyes. Oh my, what a horrible sight to see...

Five Moral Men Went Into The Desert

After a while, one tires of having one's morality questioned. These men of high standing and high conviction - saviors all - set out to prove their worthiness of the worship they craved. For them to prove this would be salvation, forever silencing any criticism. They would travel into the desert alone and without water, only to return by virtue of their superior virtue. Opinion among onlookers, however, was divided.

"They ain't takin' no water with 'em? They's must knows sumpthin I don't. That's just nuts!" wondered the Old Fool.

"Shut up, you old fool. These are men of great faith, not like us," mocked the saviors' supporters.

"That means they don't be needin' water?"

"It means they will find a way to get water if they do need it. It's so inspiring! I do so admire them."

"I dunno. It just seems kinda dum to me."

"It seems dumb to you because you are dumb. Now be quiet before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. And learn some fucking grammar!"

Having reached the point of no return - a point where souls must find water or perish - the five men beamed with pride and self-pleasure.

"Praise be to the Lord!" sayeth the Priest, pointing to the sky like a home run hitting ball player.

"Just look at our power!" declared the General.

"How obvious it is my views should prevail!" ruled the Politician.

"Who can deny the system that got us here!" demanded the Moneyist.

"Mind over matter!" sold the Positivity Peddler.

But who would make it back alive? Too many days would pass before their bodies would end up as corpses in the sand. Still, the very idea of returning to endless glory thrilled these men out of their minds.

"I'll be declared holiest of the holy!" rejoiced the Priest.

"I'll be able to wage war without opposition!" conquered the General.

"I'll be able to pass every law I see fit!" authored the Politician.

"I'll have the world at my feet!" consumed the Moneyist.

"I'll be able to declare paradise found!" deemed the Positivity Peddler.

But even with these noble declarations, Nature refused to cooperate. Bitter panic seeped in to the camp as parched lips cracked under the relentless sun.

"God, don't let a good man die in vain!" prayed the Priest.

"The world dies if I can't wage war!" ordered the General.

"Chaos will rule if I cannot rule!" proffered the Politician.

"We'll live as enslaved savages if the system fails!" borrowed the Moneyist.

"Life will be a series of pointless pursuits if paradise lost!" assumed the Positivity Peddler.

I save you. You save me.

None of the arguments persuaded Nature to change Her course. In the past these arguments had received wild applause, gratifying awards and a certainty of outcome craved by a populace hungry for palatable answers they did not get from within. This was a time for solutions!

"Bring rain to Your true believer, God!" lorded the Priest.

"I'm seizing control of this ground to behave as I say!" marshaled the General.

"I'm passing a law declaring water is not needed!" elected the Politician.

"I'll give the highest price for every drop of water!" bribed the Moneyist.

"The will shall triumph! You'll only be thirsty if you believe it!" goosestepped the Positivity Peddler.

But in the end only five dead bodies were found. There's faith in God and then there's faith in fraud. There's hope in peace and then there's hope in war. There's real world politics and then there's the real world. There's serving Nature and then there's serving illusion. There's trust in truth and then there's trust in lying.

The disillusioned populace spit upon the dead men's hubris and folly. The saviors' Icarus wings exposed them and revealed their true legacy. A new paradigm emerged in the village as the answers from within gained acceptance. But some savior supporters clung hopelessly to save face.

"It doesn't mean anything. Everyone has to die sometime. It's how you live that counts. These men stood for something! They died in the name of greatness. We should honor them absolutely!"

The Old Fool - now named the Old Wise Man - then surmised, "If you's don't care about dyin' then lets kill ya now!"

Those who refused to repent ran off to the desert having no place else to go, hoping to die as their idols and find praise without penance. Those who remained, saved themselves.

Agent Gary Seven: Report, Planet Earth

Agent: Gary Seven
Planet: Earth, Star Date 5928
Mission: Determination of survival of final incarnation

This orb spins around its star in a whirling sad tragedy. She lives in the ever shortening shadow of a moral eclipse they believe makes safe their sin. The truth is known, of course, but not openly admitted. The coming of the light is displayed only in dystopian terms. I see no evidence yet of awareness that if they believe it brings doom then doom will come or that if they believe it brings bliss bliss will come. Judging by what I see they do in the dark it's understandable of their foreboding dread of a coming mass despair as their final outcome.

I brought two fruits to an earthling. One covered in poison, another not, and asked him to choose. He chose the poisoned fruit. I asked him why. His poisoned mind replied that he made the responsible choice based on cost. I pointed out his choice costs him his health. He said this was the only way to "make the numbers work." I asked him which numbers and he said 666. This is as the prophets had seen in their ancient sorrow.

Number worship spreads ruin on a daily basis. If left to run its course the planet will become uninhabitable. Often, they will admit of their evil, factually claiming it as a necessity to maintain the number worship. Any act committed to further number worship, however, is desperately proclaimed as good and worthy. To explain how they plan to live with evil, they say evil has been done in the past so why not continue since they are not dead. To explain the suffering from the number worship, they say any other path spells a certain demise as they still see number worship as an uncertain demise.

False profits

The vast overwhelming majority endure great distress from the number worship. The basic tenet of this religion is that mutual cooperation and trust is an impossibility. Yet even the worst victims of this falsehood still cling to it despite the destruction of everything they love, including their own offspring. This prevents insurrection by even the hungriest because they fear being portrayed as betrayers to their brethren even as they commit that very act by failing to insurrect. They find glory in dying for a lie and foolhardiness in living for truth.

What they call civilization has been built on a foundation of sanctioned evil. Such is their deception on this matter they bet their entire existence on it, creating a monumental unsustainable wave of global proportions. A great uneasiness stirs within them over this even as the struggle to deny their predicament weighs heavier each passing day. Their arts are dark and lifeless, not daring to offend the cult of death mandated by the number worship. As their worry grows, so does any rebuke of their religion.

Unsanctioned evil is treated with great brutality. The amount of brutality determines the amount of morality of the judge. If the taking of one eye for an eye is good, the taking of two is better according to their reasoning. To show love or compassion to someone who has committed an act of unsanctioned evil is considered to be yet another path of certain doom, even having not traveled down that road. They claim to know where love will take them with equal fervor to the claim they know not where evil will take them. I'm hearing not even a debate on this point in the mad frenzy to prevent religious dissent.

Choose the poisoned fruit like I did!

In short, this is a planet in chains, tethered to a rock at the bottom of her seas. Intervention will be required for the humanoids to remain and begin the time of Love. My time here has been unbearable as I've witnessed the staggering atrocities done to their children; forced to march over land mine fields as war machines roll in great cheer, starved and raped in open society by their caretakers. Ask most any of the humans and they will tell you their world is going to a hell. And yet they insist this is happening despite having chosen life.

"He Cheated," She Tweeted

But can you cheat on a lie?

This most certainly was not her normal behavior. Admit nothing. Always keep up appearances at all costs. Play the role of a happy, successful wife. These were the rules by which she lived her life and they had served her well as she gloried in her multi-million dollar home north of the San Francisco bay. Truth be told, these were not only her rules, but her morality, her justification of God's love that made her opulent lifestyle OK while others starved. The moral, you see, need not take a vow of poverty.

"Watch therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But know this, that if the householder had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have watched and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready; for the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect."

This was the scripture she most took to heart, strident in her diligence and vowing no surprises for her! Relentless to a fault she made sure to praise her Creator for her blessed life. She made the church the center of her spoken words, a security blanket to heaven. At times this was grueling in its drudgery, pressing herself to the limits of possession, forcing her energy down a path she did not desire. But it was "what God wants." She would have her cake and eat it too just as only the very special may do.

But now, in the twinkling of an eye, gone.

Her husband too had been forcing himself down a repressed road to fabled morality. But being the weaker sex could not keep his dick lie inside. Their mutual bond was selfishness and greed. With great and humble pride she "confessed" to her preacher this fault in her and her marriage. She'd had no intention, however, of admitting this as fatal to their union! So they went on the run, eternally trying to escape themselves. Her husband's true confession in the late night office as he ripped off his pants in furious freedom had ruined the illusion forever.

This brought many hard realities.

"Like a thief in the night." Over and over the phrase haunted her haunts. You're not supposed to be living with the thief! This isn't fair! But no slick arguments could save her this time. She'd sacrificed so much of herself over the years, this woman scorned could no longer contain her terrorist rage. Why is it I can never do what I want? What's wrong with me? It's all over. I hope everything dies!

To be plucked from the earth at this moment would be pure mercy. But Jesus did not come from the sky as expected. She was going to die this way, naked and exposed as a liar. How foolish to have trusted her lies! Never again! This was like being buried alive, suffocating to death while no human on earth knew of her travails. Every escape route was blocked, every door barred, nowhere to go.

She was too old, too ugly, too crippled to start over. She'd never lived alone in her life and the idea of facing that had grown to be her greatest fear in the dark of the night. In this her hour of need, she found out just how truly impossible it was to leave. Yet it was just as impossible to stay. For the rest of her life she'd be known as a deceived woman, too pathetic to go her own way, a moral coward sick in the soul. Nothing could ever be the same again.

Her only option was to throw herself on the mercy of the court of public opinion. Like everyone, she painted others with a brush of her own making. She expected self-righteous indignation, judgmental scorn and high-handed rebuke. Instead, her fellow liars expressed great sympathy for her plight, a holy woman betrayed by her dastardly husband, she faultless and pure. How futile the facts.

At her lowest ebb she'd managed to stitch together a new myth to be sold. But she knew till the end of days she'd live in chains, unsaved in the eyes of God, a prisoner of her own device. She faced in the mirror a Judas to her dreams. Just who had she been in this life? She'd convinced herself her material rewards were for her moral successes. As she stared into the fireplace watching wood turn to ash she asked herself, "How can it be wood ever again?"

A Letter To The Wind

Maybe you were right. Maybe I didn't need you. Maybe the elation and joy I felt was false. Maybe wanting you was a sin. Maybe I was betting on a mirage.

Maybe no house is left unbuilt. Maybe no flower is left in the dark. Maybe dreams are for fools. Maybe no gift is lost in the wind. Maybe there's nothing to believe in.

Maybe I think of you for no reason. Maybe I'm making you up. Maybe you don't exist. Maybe you aren't who I hope you are. Maybe it's just my imagination.

Maybe I need someone else. Maybe the future is without you. Maybe what's real is waiting on me still. Maybe the past is an illusion. Maybe I chase the end of the rainbow.

Maybe not.

Holy Corruption, Batman! A Whore Phone!

Texas Lt. Gov. Dan "Pimp Me!" Patrick has sunk to a new low even for the Republic of Texastan. Blessed with a servant's heart, he has found his way in this world by being the world's bitch. Abandoning any pretense of concern for general welfare or even the tiniest bit of self-respect, Princess Patrick has become the latest Texas laughingstock to hit the stage in our sad parade of buffoons and anti-Christs.

Oil tycoon T. Boone Pickens has never been shy about buttonholing elected officials, but it's seldom been easier since Texas' new lieutenant governor set up regular conference calls for select business leaders and donors to advise him on issues before the Legislature.

In Texas, where the wall between big money and government is like the low cattle fencing that pens the state's ranchland, new Republican Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick's new invitation-only calls have provided an especially direct connection between the state's business elite and the Legislature's agenda.

"Advise" meaning Puppet Patrick sits with pen in hand on how he's to eat, sleep, shit and think. Don't be surprised if one day you see him wearing the emperor's new clothes at the state capitol. It won't be his own idea, though. His empty little head would have been "advised" to do so, never suspecting he'd been pranked by frat boy Bush. When asked why he's a blatant whore, Pickpocket Patrick gave this petulant reply:

"Why wouldn't I want to learn from and communicate with the job creators? Why would we want to pass legislation that might impact our economy in a negative way?" said Patrick, who schedules bills for action, explaining the calls.

Though many politicians have kitchen cabinets of advisers or issue task forces, Patrick's private call-ins are considered unusual.

Conferring with the job creators

We in the real world know that consumers are the job creators. But for a man looking to pick your pocket the last thing he wants is customer input! Corporate fascism is gripping Texas in a high fever even as its victims complain when squeezed by its ever reaching tentacles. Bad actors and rip off artists in the business community are protected from having to make restitution and as more and more of the fascist overlords realize this they too have become as brazen as Danny Boy. God help the victims of corporate rapists in Texas.

A bill giving state and local governments financial incentives to switch their fleets to natural gas — an idea pitched by Pickens — has passed Patrick's Senate.

...But to Pickens and others on the panels, real work is getting done.

"I'm not trying to get anything from the state. We like to help out," said Pickens, who originally supported one of Patrick's primary opponents last year.

...Patrick dismissed the idea that undue influence could be applied on bills. "I'm smart enough to filter that out," he told The Associated Press.

Yup, he's a smart one! It's smart to be a whore! Billionaire Pickens with his extensive natural gas interests will do anything to line his pockets at the expense of state consumers. Electricity prices here have been deregulated (Thanks Enron!) and any spike in the price of natural gas causes electric bills to skyrocket. A doubling of the light bill can cause serious harm to a family on a tight budget. But our parliament of whores could care less.

A former conservative talk show host and state legislator from Houston who was elected last November, Patrick picked 56 prominent Texans at the outset of the session to give their thoughts on what the Legislature should be doing.

No notes or memos from the sessions, which are held every couple weeks, are subject to Texas' open record laws. Even some of Patrick's other political advisers and conservative colleagues say they don't know what's being said.

Wonder how many of those "56 prominent Texans" are working class? Funny how "prominent" money can make you! So full of wisdom and insight and love for your fellow man. Yup, them's the folks I want deciding my fate. Where's God's vengeance when you need it? I sure as goddam hell have not been spared. Of course, one must also ask oneself how we ended up with this parliament of whores. Who supports scoundrels like these? But we all know the answer of who puts whores in office: other whores.

A Conservative Stand

He was a martyr and a hero, a farter and a zero. He relished his principles above all, a man lauded for his iron integrity. While others wavered, he remained steadfast and true to his position. Many found great comfort in this, feeling pulled into his gravitational field of influence. "He's so sure of himself! Who can resist?"

In a confused world of cloudy greys fogging the mind, his clarity cut through and dissolved the mist. Hesitation was nonexistent. His eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge. His resoluteness caused even his most ardent critics to question their questioning of him. "Is it true he knows something I do not?" He called out his foes as delusional fools who will one day be wiped clean from the face of the earth by their own destructive nature. This was a man who came to divide, a man who knew without a doubt as to his fate.

"Our enemies are many and our friends few - but together we suffering few stand strong!" Wild applause erupted from his surrounding supporters in the street. "You have heard the outrageous slander heaped upon me, how I've been called an idiot, a deluded dreamer, a man who knows not what he does. They say I must change my position. But I say they speak only of themselves!" More enthusiastic cheers and applause. "I shall suffer these slings and arrows for what I know is right and true. I speak from the heart while they speak from a place of bitterness. It will not end well for those demons!"

The crowd buzzed with excitement, intoxicated by the public justification of their lives. To be released from the ever-present gnawing inner doubt that hampered and hindered their lives with a constant agony was a relief beyond compare. Tears streamed with ecstasy. Onlookers marveled at the display of faith. Surely, these were a blessed people favored by God. The showman continued.

"I'm doing what they say can't be done!" A derisive laughter was had at the expense of the non-believers. "They said I would die. Do I look dead to you? They thought they could defeat me with their negativity and fear-mongering. But I stayed the course! Who's laughing now, my friends? Answer me that!" The crowd was reaching a state of near delirium. After a lifetime of being told they were wrong, here was a man proving them right! To at last be in the right, to be out from under the fascist liberal thumb that dominates their lives, was a release beyond compare.

"I have a dream! A dream that came true! A dream that shows we have the answer. We are the seekers of truth, daring to believe even when derided by our fellow man! There are those who lay down their version of reality with dogmatic demagoguery, ears stuffed, eyes closed, and a stiff neck. But today, our light shines through!" The roar from the crowd was deafening. The kingdom of heaven was within their sight promising everlasting life. They had not chosen the path of death, after all.

"The rope has finally broken and they said my death would come of it. Yet it is life I have! And all of you who believe as I will have life too!" A lusty cheer showed the crowd's joy. "Like our Savior said, it is good news I bring you! Tell everyone you are saved! Shout it from the mountaintops! Witness to every soul you meet how you have found The Way. Let them know how you received God's justice!"

And that's when the piano from a hundred stories up finally fell on him. For years he enjoyed rebuking the "negativity" of those who told him he stood in a unsustainable position. They told how the rope will break and he would meet his doom. But the more they spoke, the more he stiffened his neck, refusing to admit any error. He railed without compunction against all criticism in a furious backlash. He swore up and down that to  move would deliver unto him a humiliating fate and his foes sought to engineer his demise.

But his "treacherous enemies" were his friends - and his "loyal friends" his worst enemies, telling him he did well following this path to ultimate ruin. Those who had viciously chastised the truth-tellers for "callously hurting that man's feelings" were exposed as callous offspring of Judas. In the end, despite who won or lost impassioned arguments, Nature served her own justice. As always in a world turned upside down, those furthest from God most needed to claim to be nearest.

Part 8: Waiting On Oblivion

Is check endorsement a marketable skill?

I'm not sure I'll ever buy another place where to live. New York, Miami, London - I've got pads all over the world but for visitation only. I just can't generate an interest in having a "home" anymore. Having a home implies so many things that don't apply to me. I can't stay in my circle of friends either, not with what I know of them now so why let them be able to track me down. Frankly, I can't believe there's one person in the world with whom I can relate. How many 900 hundred million dollar self-aware losers do you know?

I snapped that pic of one of my cash transfers from my phone while staring at these 666 numbers that rule the world. I used to think it was enough to be able to pretend to be somebody. Christ, what was I thinking? That lie got my foot in the door, sure, like with the Woman Of Fabric, but then what? Shit, if only I hadn't tried to be somebody or something I wouldn't be in this goddam predicament. She made me want more. She made me need more. I broke my cardinal rule of never trying to step out of my shallow life. Now even that life is gone forever as I try to slither back in. Shit, shit, shit!

Staying at this hotel is no longer an option. You have to face someone every time you want to eat! Man, does that get old. I took a six month lease at the Mondrian bringing only a bean bag, an air mattress and a couple of electronics. From what I saw a bunch of SMU brats stay there living in their detached bubble world. I doubt our paths will cross much, however. I've got no time for that anymore either.

What do I have time for?

My money is like a weight. None of it is earned. And because I have no wealth of my own - nothing to offer - my money in essence owns me. Motherfucker. It's why you read about so many lottery winners pissing away all their cash. They can't wait to drop that weight. It's not even a matter of "deserving". It's a matter of being able to get because you have something to give. The Woman Of Fabric has that - and that's what truly keeps her alive, not the paycheck she so proudly manages with great fastidiousness.

But just as merely having money gives no purpose to one's life neither does not having money. Rich or poor I'm equally lost. It's true, I've felt so bad about my frivolous lifestyle that I've not let anyone in the door to my life. Perhaps if I had I would be in a different place now. The underlying guilt has been sabotaging my life. So that's what I've been running away from. Everything I tried to prevent from happening to my life by not exposing myself is exactly what did happen. Nature can't be bought.

So now I wait. The scam on which my crippled life depends will one day end as we turn our back on the money illusion. I intimated the Woman Of Fabric was a fraud and she actually took that to heart. Truth is, not one particle of my being believes that. In fact, to even suggest it is an absurdity and I expected her to call me out on my outrageous behavior and see it as a plea for help. It was simply my jealous attack to hide my own fraudulence. Fuck, who would ever think someone like her could value my opinion on anything? I'm just a check endorser, lady.

So now I sit inside my prison, dark hollow thoughts running through my head. "Lying Pete always said you would hang." Well, I sure do feel like a criminal. This is how people end up joining ISIS or the Railroad Commission (the Texas ISIS) or the dead army. Lots of organizations looking for lives with no direction of whom they can take advantage. I'm tired of trying. I'm way fucking tired of guessing. I have no idea where the Woman Of Fabric might have led me and now I'll never know.

I'm just waiting to die. Oblivion is my name.

"Lambert And Stamp" And Moonie (Double Review!)

The Who were a fractured band. But that fracturing liberated them, taking them right to the edge, unleashing a creative anarchy that made them one of - if not the - most explosive performing bands in the world. Life on the edge is never easy, though, and ultimately in the end if one does not pull back the end most certainly will come - as it did for Keith Moon.

I'm experiencing a serendipity of Who mania lately. First I read Tony Fletcher's outstanding Keith Moon bio followed by the just released documentary "Lambert and Stamp" about The Who's management team. When it comes to rock and roll antics, there's Kieth Moon and then there's everyone else. The story of his life was everything I expected it to be. What I hadn't realized was the deeper story of The Who.

The Who were not a rock band, but rather a rock compendium. Roger Daltrey, Pete Townshend, John Entwistle had their own raucous band going in the mid-sixties mod movement. The fact they were going nowhere was just part of the loose, anarchic deal of the road they had chosen. They were driven to write (or explain) but could not complete the sentence within. "Fuck it! Hope I die before I get old."



Keith Moon joked many years into his time with The Who that he really was not part of the band as they'd never asked him to join - which was true! In the chaotic spirit of the group Moon filled in at one point and since he wasn't asked to leave stayed on until they decided to kick him out. That never happened, of course, though Moon's hair raising devilment certainly strained and wearied the band. Like the Beatles, a last minute drummer change sealed the deal - almost.

Even with their outrageously creative new drummer, The Who were frustratingly stuck on the brink of success. Not that I believe they had any interest in doing the structured things success requires. Something was missing to complete the compendium. That's where Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp (brother of actor Terrence Stamp) come into the picture. Talk about souls meant to find one another. Homosexual Kit and creatively repressed Chris were outsiders also in search of a direction. Their connection was on planning to make a film together to give their lives an outlet. The movie would be a documentary on the making of a rock band. Guess who they found?

Lambert and Stamp searched for months before discovering The Who, knowing instantly they had struck gold. They offered to manage the band but they were much more than that. The two searching souls were collaborators with the band as well, nurturing Pete's songwriting and shifting the leadership of the group away from Roger (which was one of many shifts needed over the years to keep them progressing). In the end, everyone was looking for a creative outlet. None more so than Moonie.

Keith had a lifelong love for California sun and surf music

I smile and cry every time I see Keith Moon. No one represented the fractured state - or had greater liberation - than he. Just as part of him sought to live out every second of his life to the maximum another part was equally hellbent on a death trip. Never able to resolve this dilemma, (creating a Jekyll and Hyde personality), he died in 1978 of an overdose. Moonie was the classic funny man hiding a frown. That's not to say he didn't have his moments!

In the "Lambert and Stamp" film Pete describes Keith Moon as someone who was never a drummer! Had I not read his bio that would have seemed a nonsensical statement. How could my favorite drummer of all time not be called a drummer? What Pete meant was that Moonie was not a drummer in the classical sense and probably would not have made the cut in a college marching band. Of course, no college marching band drummer could make the cut in The Who. Moon's creativity and drumming around the beat and explosiveness were forces that lived on the edge of harnessing - and sometimes not. In fact, after a long layoff, Moon had to relearn how to play!

Their manager/collaborators were as equally seat-of-the-pants as their charges. In a brilliant move to win over the boys' parents, they promised a salary in the contract - a salary of which they had no way of paying! They made many promises in the beginning just to get the ball rolling in the unwavering belief that providence would provide as they traveled on down the road. It took many years for that ultimately to happen and at one point the group had reached a standstill. Then came Tommy.



Kit was Pete's sounding board and creative rock that kept Pete from weaving off the road. Kit came from a classical background and the idea of an opera had always intrigued him. Pete too found himself wanting to write songs that had a connection. Thus, the rock opera was born. Tommy took the group to a new level, giving them money (at last!) and fame as more than just writers of hit songs. The Who had something to say. But the burdens of success would be many.

Chris Stamp turned to cocaine. Pete started his heavy boozing. Keith was wreaking havoc on the English countryside appearing in Nazi uniforms or in drag or driving around with his car rigged with a loudspeaker frightening whomever he came across - and never met a pill he didn't like. And Kit sank into a pit of self-excess that effectively ended his collaborating with Pete. By the time the mid 70's rolled around the die was cast: straighten up or pay the ultimate price.

It's hard to recommend the "Lambert and Stamp" film as it's a bit murky as to what's what and who's who, expecting you to walk in with that knowledge already. Had I not read the Moon bio I might have been severely lost trying to make heads or tails of the story. As it was, I got a kick out of it and I'm always fascinated by the creative process and how the stars align to make it work (or fail). The Moon bio, however, I absolutely recommend. It gives a sense of Moon's infectious insanity and dark side as well as the many moments of pure comic genius Kieth displayed.

To leave a creative mark on this planet is to become immortal. The Who will never die before they get old. All those involved, no matter how tragic their end, should be proud of their acts of faith, their personal growth and drive, and most of all, of the love they created. After the apocalypse we will sing once again but how can it ever be as special as when done in our darkest hour?

The Rehabilitation Of Judas

The faces aren't even close but then again Da Vinci wasn't there.

"God is an assassin!"

"Judas! That is blasphemy!"

"What else am I to think if we are made in God's image? The love, the miracles, everything! All just to end up in murder, plain and simple."

"But it's not plain and simple. It's prophesied!"

"Don't hand me any of that prophecy garbage. This isn't some inescapable act of Nature. It's a choice by men, no two ways about it."

Each disciple had always known on some level of the coming ultimate doom. Only Judas had held out hope it would not come, that Jesus would announce an unseen hope for Mankind. It was Judas who loved Jesus' work the most and took delicious delight in the truths he shared. See? The world doesn't have to be this way! We can all live if we choose! But now that entire effort seemed for naught.

The rest of the disciples were in awe of Judas' effortless and instantaneous grasp of reality and felt challenged by his visceral assertion. To say this was meant to be was a lie. But they also felt something else, a sense of disconnect and an inner discontent within Judas. Now that Jesus formally announced his coming death, something snapped inside Judas and the dam that held back his conservative waters finally broke.

Judas wandered off. "What a load of goat shit this is. What's the point of anything?" In the past, Jesus' sparring with the faithless religious leaders gave Judas a special satisfaction. He clearly saw it as a triumph of the Truth as the leaders' falseness was exposed and they walked away in bitter torment. Some of the other disciples were doubtful of Jesus' rebuke of institutions that were ordained to represent God. But they quelled their doubts with some effort even as Judas was laughing at these special exchanges of dialog.

Now the roles had reversed. With the announcement it was plain to see that every man who tells the truth could also expect crucifixion. "How the hell is that sustainable? Let every person die who tells the truth and the whole planet dies! Is that Your plan, God? To let everyone die? That with endless love comes endless cruelty?"

Judas was well aware - and saw for himself - what Jesus foresaw. He knew Mankind was setting itself up for a great and horrible crash without recourse. And that left unattended the planet would become extinct. But there would be divine intervention, the world made whole, and the destroyers gone forever - but all at a terrible, terrible price that permanently and forever brands the human mind. "Why must we pay this price??"

That's when Judas broke faith. "Piss on it. If God wants Jesus to win then God is going to have to get off His ass and do something about it! I'll go to those dark priests and let them buy me so they'll be satisfied to my motives. Then I'll hand over Jesus and we'll see who gives a shit then." Judas could find no error in his logic yet a voice still screamed within him: "You can't do that!" And despite the fact he deemed his plan faultless and pure and in accordance with The Way, he hid it from the other disciples who would certainly oppose it.

Only after the fact did Judas realize his mistake. Till the end of time he'd forfeited his inheritance in the kingdom of God. He'd set himself up as God, separating himself from his reward. Who was he to be angry with Nature? Hadn't he spent his entire life knowing and believing in the joy of Her justice? But irrational anger and stubborn baseless negativity claimed his ultimate loyalty. He knew he'd done it - betrayed his savior - but if asked, he could not answer why, even to himself.

"And they called me the smart one."

"The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him.

But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man!

It would be better for him if he had not been born."

Most of us are betrayers. It happens every time we lie to ourselves, when we sell out from fear or weakness, when we call the Important unimportant and the unimportant Important, twisting truth to suit ourselves. I've even refused things I wanted in an effort to "prove" myself correct in my so-called righteous anger. Where does this insanity come from? One thing we do know: to fear the consequences of said behavior.

"Jesus asked Judas to betray him!" I hear this said with a smug cleverness of supposed insight and a twinkling eye that winks, Bet you never thought of that! Responsibility is the fabric of the universe and through it all things can be surmised. Anyone who says Jesus asked Judas to betray him is not interested in taking responsibility. What they are trying to do is justify their own betrayal even if it is done on the laughable premise your fellow man can give absolution. It ain't gonna be your next door neighbor to whom you answer on judgement day.

Love is really hard - and no truth exists outside of it.

Obummercare: Is Math A Subjective Science?

Some people look up, see the piano falling on them and move. Some people are "persons of faith", never look up and are duly killed, aka kool-aid drinkers. The worst, though, are those who look up, see the piano falling, but recede into a suicidal state of denial, aka politicals. Seems most of my arguments these days are with people in the third group. Unfortunately for them, Nature makes the final call.

Finally, I've come across someone (from MSNBC no less) who hits the nail right on the head.

Health insurance and health care are two different things.

America's politicians, White House speechwriters, and way too much of the news media should be forced to write the above sentence 1,000 times.

In the immortal words of John McClane: "No fucking shit!" While the useful idiots debate this and that in the trenches, the puppet masters are free to see things as they really are. Healthcare costs are outrageous and out of control. There's a simple solution in real life: remove the greed from the system. But no one is going to retain political power in a country whose faith in greed is unparalleled and unquestioned. In fact, there can't even be a conversation about it.

So what to do about it? It's like having a cancer patient being brought in but the option of removing the tumor cannot be part of the answer. But if the patient dies it will still be all your fault! The answer then is to find a hapless victim, hook them up to a blood transfusion with the cancer patient, and thus extend life that way. Oh sure, you end up with two dead bodies instead of one in the end but you simply tell the kool-ad drinkers and politicals that it was "unforeseeable."

That's exactly what we have with the ACA. Draining the pocketbooks of tens of millions to support the unsustainable built-in greed of the system in order to push out the inevitable date of death. Those whose blood are taken say, "See? I'm useful!" (Moses warned the Hebrews to grow up or they'd sell themselves back into slavery.) Those who cut the cord holding the piano (because they want to share the wealth with as few as possible) laugh at so many morons willing to let their lives slip away to support a corrupt system.

"Oh shit! I gave my life for what??"

We all give our lives for something, for better or worse.

Just as there are many who draw moral self-worth from demonizing marijuana, there are many who draw moral credence from supporting the ACA. These "people of faith" take pleasure in the perversion of their religion's tenet that "health insurance equals health care." I say, God damn those people.

Because they just don't seem to understand that getting millions more Americans signed onto to some kind of health insurance is absolutely nothing to be proud of unless those people actually get better and affordable care. And there's also nothing to celebrate about Obamacare if there's been no easing of the burden for emergency rooms where we have cared for so many uninsured people at such a high cost for so long.

So far it looks like the ACA is 0 for 2. It's already been well documented that the Obamacare plans are leaving millions of Americans struggling to find doctors who actually accept their new insurance plans. And now it turns out America's emergency rooms aren't getting a break either. A just-released poll by the American College of Emergency Physicians, shows that 75% of the 2,099 ER doctors it surveyed are seeing either a major surge or at least a slight increase in the volume of patients coming into their emergency departments. Again, not only are the ER's not seeing any easing of traffic but their burden to care for those unable to find accessible health care has increased in the past year. So much for all those millions of Americans who were supposed to have great new choices and great new access to care.

Silly girl. Corporate greed serves the human need! Right??

But facts mean so little in politics (which is why most people wallow in and subscribe to politics) and once one views oneself as Jesus-not-to-be-questioned then whatever is done to get or retain political power automatically becomes a saintly endeavor. And God knows our last two Presidents have a messiah complex justifying acts of treachery "for the greater good."

But the real tip off was when we learned that so many people signing up for Obamacare were being shoved into Medicaid, a system that has been struggling for years to find enough doctors to accept its ridiculously low reimbursement structure. And since Obamacare doesn't do anything to encourage more young people to go into medicine, there was the simple math problem of too many patients and not enough doctors to treat them. You can have all the nice laminated insurance cards you can carry, but they aren't worth a thing if you can't find a doctor who can treat you.

All of this would be bad enough if implementing Obamacare came for free. But the costs of the ACA are exorbitant and already at least $250 billion more than President Obama promised when he signed it into law in 2010.

When I hear someone say, "But look what Obummercare did for me!" it's like hearing a 1 percenter say, "But look what tax cuts did for me!" No thought to the overall destructive nature of the beast nor of the looming disaster in the making. "I got mine, fuck everything else." One day, mon ami, you're going to find you're part of "everything else".

I come not to condemn Caesar but to bury him. There is a solution. Who can we blame for not choosing it?

How To Make Both The Police And Protesters Happy

Stop or I'll cry!

We all know that cops have it rough. It's a dangerous job but less so than many people think. Garbage collectors, construction workers and the transportation industry suffer far more fatalities as a percentage than police. In fact, 2013 had the fewest law enforcement fatalities in six decades. But the common wisdom remains they are in a constant danger for their lives - which makes for really good copy even as the police amp up their armaments year after year.

So why the increase in police violence? I'm sure there are many reasons but only one cause: guilt. The good book says the evil run even when no one is chasing them - or threatening them. They are literally afraid of their own shadow. Must shoot that guilty conscience dead!

A cop's wife once told me 95% of cops are assholes. Many people think the police are arrogant power trippers. But the reality is that is just a cover up for a submissive nature. They must hide their inner bitch as they act as puppets for the powers that be. It's humiliating to be an unquestioning lap dog in perpetual need of approval. It's just a matter of how big of a useful idiot you want to be. The ones who pull the trigger are the biggest idiots of all.

If only we could get police mothers to act like this

We don't have a justice system - never have. We have a legal system. And while our legal system may exonerate the police killings, at the end of the day you the shooter must live with what you've done. All the no bills in the world won't save you from the demons in the middle of the night calling out for truth and justice. The overlords who pat you on the back are laughing at you for being such a sucker. What a tortured existence these killers must lead.

If only we could pass a law to make people grow up. But we know that cannot be enforced. Which means cops are gonna keep on killin'. We all call the terrorists cowards but never call police terrorism cowardice even as they pick on the weakest of the weak. And that, my friends, is where the real problem is. If we can't stop police killings we can at least change who they kill!

If the cops need to keep killing then they need to kill rich white people. Trust me, you won't see masses of black protesters over that! Suddenly their principled concern for justice and civil rights evaporates like a fart in a high wind. Suburban whites won't protest because their future depends on selling out to the man. Poor whites feel too guilty they aren't rich. Yup, coppers, you can kill all the rich white folks you want and no one will say a peep!

Let's face it. Seeing a few Wall Streets traders dragged out of their Aston Martins and put in choke holds for parking in handicapped spaces would be pretty funny. Annoying rich white commentators on TV would act all enraged but normal people would give an honest reaction. "Hedge fund manager dies mysteriously in back of police van." "CEO shot while jaywalking with malicious intent." We deify the rich in this country while demonizing the poor. Time for some role reversal!

In the end, increasingly self-paranoid police are gonna shoot with every tweak of their conscience as their fellow conspirators laud the increasing violence to "make us safe" and the violence that violence begets will continued to be called "inexcusable thuggery" even as the inexcusable thuggery of the police continues unabated by a populace turning a blind eye while drunk on wishful thinking as we go hurling further into the abyss. Anyone want to guess what the future of that is?

Part 7: Why Am I Not Shot?

As much as I bitch and moan about having only a lifestyle and not a life I continue on with my wicked ways. One always has to have a direction or face exploding - the conundrum of this world. So what do I do? What I do best: spend money. I love watching Overhaulin' but I'd always said I'd never want a car from Chip Foose. Resto-mods (restored but with heavy modifications) ain't my thing. I like old cars to be time machines, to transport me into an era I never got to experience. But then I found an exception: cars not worth restoring back to original spec.

I already own completely original Maserati Meraks but when I saw this rotted out one I got an idea. Why not do a resto-mod and make this as bad ass as possible? So that's exactly what I did. And it is awesome. Horsepower is over twice the original with upgraded suspension/brakes/transmission. Interior seats were tweaked for more lumbar and the body went through full media blast before repaint in a light silver fleck. Couldn't wait to get it back from the Gas Monkey boys!

Took it down on a road trip to Austin to stretch its legs. Alice In Wonderland being my favorite book I went to see a premiere collection of Alice memorabilia at the University of Texas on the 150th anniversary of publication. Ate at a cool Austin join named Hoovers then on to the wonderland before heading back at the speed of sound. New engine waaaaails! I love this car that can now compete with modern sports cars. (Only compromise was the tires. Not ruining the look with low profile 20 inchers!)

In Austin, one looks for cool, not expensive

Was dark when I got back. Was as much a mind trip as a road trip. With the distraction gone, heading back to the hotel room seemed exceptionally pointless. May as well spend the night roaming the streets. But I was tired, resigning myself to my gilded cage. Seeing the Alice exhibit was painful. What have I done to contribute? My domain is only of this world. "When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer." Alas, only art is timeless.

Next day at the warehouse I took out my customized Mercedes Sprinter van. I take it out and park in places just to be in a place no one knows where I am. I draw the curtains and listen to folks pass by at White Rock lake. It was only then I felt safe enough to do something that made my heart pound. I felt like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime. "Careful, you could get convicted!" But sometimes, you just gotta know.

Just what would I do without my many millions?

Trolling through the craigslist employment ads was a horror show such as I'd never imagined. Why aren't people pissed as hell? Talk about exploiting your masses. Hump, scrub, lift and hawk wares in indentured servitude for life. Ten bucks an hour?? Hell, I tip the valet more than that. How does anyone survive on those wages? How do they have kids? I completely do not understand. These fuckers at the top will crush you! Believe me, I know. Do you really expect fairness for hard work? Wow, just wow.

'Tis dangerous going down the rabbit hole

Predatory. Sadistic. Parasitic. The jungle decay is far worse than I ever feared or dare imagine. It has always eaten at me on my times of ostentatious displays of wealth. Part of me expects to hear Lenin's cry of "Loot the looters!" and then off with my head - or worse, my Maserati. But, damn. Now I'm really scared. Are people going to take this shit forever? The world as it is now is Pharaoh's wet dream. Unions are hated and workers are willing slaves. Trust me, show me someone who promotes hard work for others and I'll show you a lazy bum. I hear it all the time.

None of the joggers or bike riders who passed by knew I was in the van but suddenly I felt my whole world shrink. I couldn't help but feel that at any moment an angry mob would start rocking my vehicle, overturning it and start chasing me down the street. My hands began to sweat. My hidden escape a claustrophobic trap. The famed silver star up front nothing but a bullseye. Oh, shit!

I could see my chest heaving up and down as I lay on the floor. The whole world seemed spinning around me. This isn't going to last, is it? We're headed for a fall like never seen before in the age of Man. This is what's been bubbling below the surface for me for so long. Everyone else senses it too, scrambling to grab what they can before the clock strikes midnight. Love really is the only thing we can take with us.

When I finally got up from my altered state I peeked out the window but the world was none the wiser to my epiphany. None the wiser to the one coming their way either! Still I felt it prudent to get the hell out of there before I was lynched. I just couldn't shake that feeling. One thing I knew for sure: either the world was off kilter or I was; my outlook skewed permanently.

The thought wouldn't stop hounding me: Why am I not shot? I have to know! I have to know or I can never walk freely down the street again. Why is it around the world a rich man lives on one side of the street and a starving man on the other and revolution doesn't break out? Oh, there have been upheavals in the name of justice and equality but none of them have been true. All the stats show the rich get richer and poor get poorer with each passing day. What gives?

Then it hit me.

Everybody wants to be the rich man. Everybody wants my deal. Spoil it for me and it's gone for you. Like I said before, every life has to have a direction, something to live for. But are people's lives so empty they'd be willing to live in chains just for the idea of keeping the rich man's dream alive? Everyone tells me dreams aren't important but in the end, they determine everything, from living to dying. I only wish I could find mine.

Text War

You don't want to tell me?

Why do you even ask?

It's a simple question...

Without a simple answer...

Is it because you don't trust me?

It's because you know I do!

Ah. I can appreciate that.

It's good to be appreciated. All assets appreciate.

But not all asses.

You really want to know, don't you?

Only in a nosy/interested/curious sort of way.

If I answer do I get a candy bar?

You'll get two!

At least you have a good humor about it.

A Good Humour bar.

There you go with that wacky English spelling!

Including U requires a sense of humour

Or maybe a sense of tumour?

Ha! Touché.

Whoa. How'd you get that accent to show over the e??

Secret! I got my secrets too you see.

Secrets are annoying with someone you want to share everything with.

How's that medicine tasting??

Haha. Not good. Problem is I don't want to answer your question
  dishonestly or flippantly like I would with an outsider.

So don't.

It could require painful self-reflection and unpleasant self-realization...

Or not.

Or not :)

I admire a man who still dares to use emoticons in 2015.

Are we dancing or dueling?

Both. Quit stalling.

What was the question again, milady?

You can't scroll up?

Finger is tired.

Want me to give you the finger?

Walked right into that one... So you want to know how smart I am.

I want to know who smart you REALLY are.

'Who smart'?

Oh, my Freudian slip is showing

That question makes my defenses pop up, even with you.

Swing for de-fences!

Bribing me with baseball puns!

Charming, aren't I?

Maybe I'm not as think as you smart I am.

We can always call this a draw.

But I want to answer.

So why not?

I guess because I never have before...

I'm fine either way. Really.

I know. You be cool like that :)

I guess if I had to confess

I'd say I'm the smartest - and dumbest - person on the planet.

Damn...

Poisoned Treasure

At every important meeting sponsored by the VFW I was always introduced last. This was because of my Distinguished Service Cross, second highest medal that can be awarded. No one else had any higher or even its equal, thus my announcement was considered one to be of saving "the best for last." My applause would be the loudest and my children and grandchildren had the proudest faces. These things were my Poisoned Treasure.

An investigation is done for every DSC to determine its merits. But mine was done during an unpopular war - a war needing heroes. The details of my story I shall not recount. Now now, not ever. The pain is too much. I am already shredded beyond recognition. I wonder if anyone noticed when I stopped laughing anymore. Weakness is a weight that buries you over time.

"What use is a dead nigger?" I'll never forget those words. It meant that simply by virtue of being white I was valuable without having to do a damn thing! I was drafted because I wasn't valuable like the college kids. I never rose in rank nor had the ambition to do so. It was Hamilton who faced responsibility. It was Hamilton who died rescuing the wounded. I lay hidden, trapped in terror, frozen, a complete coward in the eyes of heaven. I don't have the words to describe that paralyzing fear. I can't afford to have them regardless.

Hamilton saved three men but was shot dead bring back the fourth. I was too scared to even provide covering fire. God damn me. God damn me to hell. That's certainly where I've been all these years. All I did was bring back the fourth the last bit of the way. I did that out of instinct, before I could think. The sound of the moaning drove me to him. I had to stop both our suffering.

The political types asked me to lie. A live white hero could serve the country better than a dead black one. The way they put that question I don't think they had much use for a live black hero anyway. I agreed to the lie despite the screaming inside that told me not to. The fourth soldier's memory was so shattered he really did think I rescued him from enemy fire. The army ran with that tacking on the three, and you should have seen the smiling faces of the brass. Goddam, they loved a good lie more anything.

For a while I even had myself convinced I was somewhat worthy. I never told a soul I didn't lay down covering fire like Hamilton told me to. Thinking back, I guess I hoped that meant he wouldn't leave the fox hole - and thus wouldn't leave me. But I just blotted out the parts I didn't like and clung to that last short bit of my carrying a man back. But the war got even more unpopular no matter how many beaming white heroes were propped up or John Wayne Green Beret films were made. The whole damn thing was a lie.

"Come out from among them and be ye apart." I know exactly what that means. I lied, the army lied, the country lied. Who will be the first to admit it? It's why we keep committing the same mistakes over and over and over, believing the same lies over and over and over. Whoever breaks from the communal lie will be thrown to the lions. "Your son died for nothing, ma'am." Who has the courage to say that first? Sons and daughters will keep dying until someone does.

But what of me? My war is over. What is the point of breaking my family's heart? What good will come of destroying my heritage? The country won't come clean just because I have. Things will go on as before - except my descendants will be marked with the blood of a coward and a liar. I don't see the value of truth. If the powers-that-be come out and say our wars have been lies I'll certainly add my voice to the chorus. Otherwise, what's the point?

I have less than a year according to the doctors. Do I die a sinner or a saint? If God values truth then why doesn't He/She defend it? Why are those who tell the truth are left to be crucified and those who lie rewarded? My years of self-punishment were an exercise in futility. Watching TV I always sweated out the liars getting caught, rooting for them to remain undetected. Here I am about to get my wish: to die with my lie intact.

I would consider coming clean if I could see some point to it. Obviously, my soul is worth nothing in this world; nothing but a piece of meat to the army and everyone else demanding the rent - or a piece of my alleged glory. It would be pleasant to believe differently but that is wishful thinking. We all like to believe we're something special, something important. We all tell ourselves we're Jesus as we nail Jesus to the cross.

It's funny, because at times I feel it's life and death that I should come clean and tell the truth. But when I ask myself why I lose that understanding. What is real and what is not? It would help if I could see God punish the liars instead of making them rich or the President. Where's the proof truth matters? Philosophers say it's the currency of love. But I'm not going to destroy everything on a guess.

I guess I'll just die this way. Who gives a shit?