Finale: Blossoms Of A Twilight Samurai

Ronin had prostrated himself in the Japanese practice of dogeza before the Shogunate high official. This would be his biggest job yet and this time he was not meeting with mere intermediaries as before, but directly with those giving the orders. He was moving up in the world. Perhaps he'd found his place as a sword for hire. He feared he needed acceptance of some sort - even if it was with the corrupt. He had not realized how strong its pull until this very moment.

The men in the room praised Ronin, promising him standing and rewards. They were so pleased with his previous work they granted him this direct audience. But all the while hearing this, Ronin was out of body, his spirit in another place. A voice told him he should be excited at what he was being told. Another part had lost any interest in the world. This was the constant struggle within.

As he left the room, Osaya's chastising dream words rang in his ears. Her contempt for him as a killer was not assuaged by this "success". But he feared to give in to her, to bond with her even in absentia. To expect even an ounce of acceptance from her was not to be dared. It took the entirety of his courage to do so. Surely the gods would be angry with his taking something so precious which he could never deserve.

Having decided to take this step, Ronin put his life in further danger by stepping around to below the open window of the room he'd just left. Osaya's words had broken the spell of the official's seduction, casting him back into the world, however harsh it may be.

"Yes, yes, I know all about him. He indeed killed the merchant's son. That's what makes him so perfect."

The official and a subordinate were discussing Ronin's arrangement. "How many men will you have stationed at Machibuse pass?"

"Ten. More than enough. Then we'll post his head as a criminal, feeding the people a scoundrel to make them feel good - and distract them from us."

"How did you read him? Do you believe he'll do the job and follow the escape route through the pass?"

"He is a guilty dog stupidly berating himself - as if that means something! He's so busy punishing himself he'll never see this coming. I've been waiting for a high profile job like this to use him. Plus, we used him before so there's a level of trust. As political creatures, trust is the most valuable commodity we have, is it not, sire?" He smiled an evil grin.

Ronin gasped, almost giving himself away. Then his eyes hardened into razor sharp steel as he worked his way back to the normal exit of the mansion's compound. So I've been playing the fool all these years!

Swirling with emotion, he made his way back to his room at the inn. By the slimmest of margins his life had been saved. He dared step outside his guilt to see the picture of a fool. Even the scheming officials scoffed at his self-punishment! Dishonesty never serves a purpose. But he feared to not to hate himself. What would that say of him as a man who ruined the lives of three people, counting his own? For the first time in seven years, he ordered sake be brought to his room.

It was easier when I thought I was the worst person in the world. I know of no one who's committed a crime as heinous as mine. Ever since I returned from the bridge, though, something has been off, sensing I've been on a fool's errand. Now I know! Why do I have such a problem admitting the evil of others? Is it because there's still something in me worth fighting for? Is it to that which I must answer?

While still doubting he had any sort of future, Ronin had no intention of letting men like the official take his life. He felt outrage for the first time in a long time. Then it struck him: he'd avoided outrage because then he'd get a taste of what Osaya must have felt when he struck down her brother. The warm sake soothed him in grateful retreat. Then he fell fitfully asleep to enter a land ruled by demons as he searched for good people to trust and to guide him.

*****

A few short decades away a man would sit in jail writing a book after a failed attempt of overthrowing the government. Betrayal for him was not a single act but a way of life. His dream was to have everyone in the nation engage in self-betrayal having lost hope himself. He knew the big lie was to believe in the goodness of the masses. "It's the inferior people around you causing your problems!" he wrote. He should know, being one of those inferior people.

His message sold well. A man openly proposing mass murder became (at one point) the most popular man in the nation's history. So much the for the goodness of "the people". That country would align itself with Japan in a quixotic quest for world domination. In the horrific ashes of the end, one country's populace were forced to march through its death camps in sobering recognition while the other were forever scarred by nuclear devastation. God help a lost soul looking for guidance.

*****

Ronin forced himself awake from the uninhabitable dreamland of demons. He truly hoped that was not the land in which he lived as he approached the rising sun of the dawn. However terrifying his own treachery, he could no longer sit back and allow his life to be wasted. And however hopeless redemption might be, he must still fight for his life. If only he could sit and watch this dawn until he died.

The following week Ronin requested a meeting with his intended target - also a high government official. He was surprised to be received (he was received for a reason but never to be known to him as the gods were working in his favor). There Ronin explained the plot against the official, refusing any reward, leaving the two warring officials to themselves. He departed a marked man.

How delightful to bring things out into the open! What a feeling of relief and freedom. This is true power, to have no attachments to the world. I will surely be marked for assassination now for there's nothing betrayers hate more than being betrayed to the truth. But to die on this day is a thousand times better than any day before since the incident. Do I have the courage to continue down this road?

Osaya would be proud of me. This puts water on my raging fires, thank the gods! Heeding her words saved my life - in every sense. She didn't want revenge, at least not like I was thinking. She wanted me to repent and turn away from killing as her satisfaction. She is as beautiful as I ever dreamed. May the gods always serve her and damn them if they don't!

Once again a ronin samurai crouched under a country bridge crying in revealing moonlight. But these were not only tears of bitter regret as before, but ones moved by the beauty of a soul who taught him the meaning of life.

The Truth About Trump

Journalism stories have many standards they have to follow in order to be published. Some are good and some are false. There's no such thing as "objective" reporting since only God is in possession of the whole truth. That leaves us only with honest and dishonest reporting. One can be factual and be dishonest while on the other hand one can be non-factual and be honest. Thank God I don't have to follow those rules!

Donald Trump is bent. That's the most important fact you need to know.

The only question after that is how bent. That is a question you'll see danced around in mainstream media. The good thing about Trump is he pulls the mask off the façade of American integrity. We all know he's bent but too few can point it out without having their own bentness be pointed out in return. OK, so I'm an asshole and I lost the most important person of my life through outrageous deception and betrayal. Now let's talk about the other asshole.

Kompromat is a Russian term for blackmail material. Russia has given its own unique twist to capitalism, stripping away Western pretense of fictional Christian principles contained therein. It's pure dog-eat-dog using any means possible. Another term they use is krysha, meaning protection from the-powers-that-be. See, these practices are so widespread they have to coin terms for them!

To safely navigate the halls of Russian power one must obtain krysha, no if, ands, or buts about it. Everyone is looking to pull you down, from underlings to rival business interests to the government itself. It's a way of life. But that's not limited to just internal politics. Nothing is more treasured than obtaining kompromat on Western leaders, businessman, or power brokers of any kind. And as Putin is a bent soul himself he easily recognized a fellow criminal in Trump.

Would you trust these guys? Trumpy did!

At the top of the Russian hierarchy it's all about positioning for power and nothing else. A prize like Trump would be plum indeed because, let's face it, The Donald is a prize plum, hopelessly stupid and naïve with an uncontrolled love for lying. How Putin must have been laughing his ass off at Trump's unguarded ways as the idiot fell victim to his own cult of business which is nothing more than a club of bent souls pillaging the world.

The Republicans were wholly terrified Trump would reveal their true heart: racist, greedy, irresponsible, treacherous, treasonous, scapegoating predators. He was, in effect, wearing his KKK (Konservative Krist Killers) hood in public and that would spell doom for the party. So a report was commissioned by Trump's rivals to take him down (as they furiously denounced his pussy grabbing ways in jealous outrage). This report was compiled by Christopher Steele who has been described as an ex-member of British intelligence and a Russian expert during his time there.

You can read the report here on Buzzfeed. It speaks of "plausible deniability", sex party references, and other hanky-panky. But the theme is Putin's goal of destabilizing the West. If he can get the sanctions lifted his power will be permanently cemented in Russia and he'll be a hero who outsmarted the sanctimonious West (of whom they have a perpetual inferiority complex). So what does all this mean?

That our President is a Russian stooge.

Do you remember how in the debate it stung the Donald when Hillary called him "Putin's puppet"? Talk about protesting too much! The majority of his irrational Presidential behavior can be laid at the feet of his knowing he's Putin's bitch, and that he lives in absolute dire fear of being exposed. Corruption in business is not considered a big deal here in America as we've sanitized greed as a moral trait. Idiot Trump kept that same mentality during what seemed his losing campaign, pulling out all the stops including grasping onto the Russians for help.

The psychology here is easy to read. "Enemy of the American people!" "Sad!" "XYZ doesn't have a clue!" "XYZ is laughing at us!" Self-expression is the primary driving force of every life. Trump is constantly expressing who he is as he continually slanders others in wildly desperate distraction. Yes, indeed, it is sad to have someone so clueless be laughed at by our enemies and who has, in turn, become an enemy of the American people. Fucking moron.

Every ounce of his focus centers around hiding this truth or protecting himself if it does come out. He must demonize the media. He must surround himself with loyalists. He must muddy the waters as much as possible. Draw a line through his actions and you'll see this is the one connecting string throughout. Watching him in this light makes sense of his reactions and motivations. We don't need no stinking report to know the truth.

But President Nero isn't the totality of our problems. It's the American people who love to be lied to and choose to hold onto greed at all costs. Every emperor during the decline of Rome got nuttier and nuttier. Did you see the "honest" people rise up in revolt? Of course not. They just got nuttier too. Nero is exposing America as a clown country absent of morals. All these dithering protests mean nothing. As Lennon said, it's not about what you're against, it's about what you're for. And obviously we are not for truth, justice, or love or we'd have thrown this clown out already.

Rolando's Way

An earnest and oh-so-sincere voice came over the car radio. "Hi, my name's Jennifer. I was in the Marines for eight years -"

My hand slams off the radio before she can speak another word. "Shut up, stupid bitch!" Eight years in the military and she's still playing the stooge? And I can tell her idiot ass wants to ask the same of me. Life's too short for that shit.

"Damn, Harry! Sometimes I think you're more hardcore than me."

That was Ro speaking, a criminal even back then, back before I'd started blogging. If he could read of my "peace, love and understanding" mantra now I'm sure he'd bust my balls because he only saw me in my day-to-day misery where I can't politely subsidize the idiocy of the world and I call every person who cuts me a off a cocksucking nigger. Still, he knew I was a pacifist at heart and like most people he mischaracterized that as something it's not. It doesn't mean I'm here to take shit.

Rolando didn't want to take shit, either.

*****

I debated writing this but my words cannot be heard anyway. Not a soul alive can face that prospect - not even me. So I will say things that under other circumstances would be explosive but here they are no more than leaves blown in the wind.

Rolando shot a guy in an attempted drug deal rip off. If the moron had known Ro better he'd known he was going to end up on the short end of the stick. Ro is nothing if not committed. He tried to recruit me back in the day.

"C'mon, Harry. You gonna stay in that crap job forever, being a sucker?"

"It's not like I'm fucking happy about it."

"The world is all about taking. Either you taking cash or taking shit. You keep thinking it's anything more your life will be a total waste."

"It's already a waste."

"See!"

"But I can't go down your road. In for a penny, in for a pound. I can't live my life waiting to die."

"You die every day pushing that broom, hombre."

When he says "hombre" he's about to get philosophical on you. I demurred. "I've got a cat."

"Good for you. Want to keep feeding it?"

"I can't let anything happen to me, no matter how much shit I have to eat. She is my revenge against the world, for one goddam creature on this goddam earth to have a goddam good life."

This is why 43, 44, 45, et al. can all go fuck themselves.

That made him laugh and eventually he gave up trying. He said I'd be a great ally because I was smart and can read people well. But I knew my heart would have to be in it for me to succeed, plus I saw it as an eventual trap. Now, however, I wonder of my choices.

I have nothing. I've never had anything. I never will. We are de facto slaves in this country just like any other. The-powers-that-be want to keep us on this treadmill or God forbid they'll have to empty their own damn trash can. I find it harder to argue with Ro's world view as I age.

What is sudden death compared to a slow death? With a slow death you never live. With a sudden death you live but it can be cut off at any moment. I told myself I was taking a moral high road, but was I?

My frustration is immeasurable. True, I don't want to have to be in a position to kill someone but on the other hand we're all in that position whether we like it or not. Murderous policies are put in place every day. How many of them have our implicit fingerprints? No such thing as a bloodless capitalist. We are in the process of having that revealed more every day. One can argue Ro is taking a more adult position than I am.

Better to be honest and direct about my killing. What point is there to life as a puppet on a string? There is none - and can be none. How many famous poor people do you know? Slaves are never heard. We as a society will never be rich enough to afford to listen to them.

I feel the same rage as Ro. We are both outsiders, ill-fitting parts by virtue of having a brain that can only serve as we see fit. One is expected to whore oneself out as one's "duty". The legal whores persecute the illegal whores to "prove" their morality. Let's face it, the only reason a whore is running this country is because we're a nation of whores. I can't say I'd not be a whore given the opportunity. I've yet to face it to know.

*****

"You're buying a fucking suit?"

I took it as a betrayal of sorts by Ro. He was up and coming in the drug trade and wanted to show off. I wouldn't have bought a suit even had I won the lottery. I knew I was being selfish - just didn't care.

"Damn right, I am! One I told you about last week. I ain't dying in no blue jeans."

"Oh, you don't want to get a suit, man."

Nothing riled Ro more than telling him what he did or did not want. I was laughing behind my straight face. "Don't be tellin' me what I want! That suit be fine!"

"Nah, man. You don't want a suit."

"Shut up, Harry. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. When this world ends - and believe me it's coming to a fucking end no matter what the morons and monsters say - the people who are going to bring its final destruction will all be wearing suits. You can't hide evil in this world without wearing a suit."

I was only semi-tongue-in-cheek but proclaimed it as the one and only gospel. Ro loved my outrageous tone.

"You funny, man. You got no more use for those assholes than me. But I'm still getting that suit!"

I cracked a smile. "Yeah...you're right. When I was talking about suits, I didn't mean ones made of purple leather."

*****

So is Rolando is facing responsibility more than I as I sit here bitterly wanting a Maserati and financial security? He's taking ownership of his wicked ways, facing the world for what it is instead of giving it a false morality to be served. Most would say between I as a janitor and he as a criminal that only I am being responsible. But I have come full circle. I've been lying to myself that by not breaking the law that makes me a "good guy". I haven't done what I wanted - and that leaves my insides as cold as the winter ice. Ro has done far more what he wanted than I have, for sure.

I'm destined for a fool's fate. To be a part of the working poor is to be a part of the most hated class in America. Oh, TPTB fall all over themselves praising us with their lips because they fear more than death itself to lose our slave labor, but our treatment is one of contempt, a vicious drive to persecute us for their dependency on us. Oh, you noble Romans, no wonder you put Nero in charge. Our chains weigh heavier every day and our woe is heard not even by God. Moses only comes once.

What path is open to me now? Part of me wonders of joining Ro. Some of the times I felt most alive were when driving around DFW highways with him, seeing the roads in a new and exciting light as I stepped outside the law to breathe the free air. It was like being in a completely different world. Ro refused to be a man on a string. But on the other hand, as that shooting pointed out, none of us are ever completely free and almost everyone takes some sort of refuge from the world.

No road seems right to me having slapped away the hand of possible success. I see towering skyscrapers gleaming in the Texas sun as proud monuments, and though I know those who inhabit those buildings lack my intelligence, I know I am only there to clean them. I would say that's criminal.

Part II: Tales Of The Moon And Rain

As the Edo era progressed, so did the rot in the central Shogunate. High officials ransomed their office for bribes of money and concubines while outlying magistrates took their cue oppressing the locals under their thumb in sheer treachery. Since closing her borders in the 17th century, Japan stagnated her way into the 19th century while the world advanced in terms of both social and technological progress. Futility fouled the Japanese soul.

With democracy never a thought, the Shogunate's only direction was to increase its power by dissolving clans on the flimsiest of pretexts and then confiscating their lands. Japan had become a land of gangsters from top to bottom. In a couple of decades the final implosion would occur forever knocking the ruling samurai from their perch at the top. This was their twilight time, the clock of extinction ticking louder every day.

As courts and castles concocted conspiracy, ronin samurai without a clan wandered the land in callous desperation. By custom and mandate they were not allowed to earn a living but by serving a clan. As more and more clans were dissolved, outcast samurai roamed the land searching for whatever meals they could find. By this time the lowly merchant class used their monetary leverage to live lives of ostentatious luxury that infuriated the samurai, who then demanded merchants scale back their lifestyle.

But of these wandering samurai, there was only one who actually referred to himself by the name Ronin. This was because he'd outcast himself.

The tragic murder at Utsune bridge caused him to burn down his own house and live in perpetual torment, restlessly roaming. He'd become a sword for hire, striking down five men in his time. For a man gone bad these were fortuitous times. Secrets meant loose ends. Loose ends meant killing. Though never spoken, a lurking feeling was emerging that one day all this would end very, very badly. The price of that repression would be nuclear.

But under a watching moon, beneath a country bridge, Ronin crouched in tears. His visit to the scene of his crime had shaken him more than he realized. In a country hardened by its molting state, he yet could not hide his emotions any longer. He could not escape his love for Osaya, trapped as her secret prisoner for life. He knew the danger his condition caused in these rough times. He must find an inn where he could hide and calm the storms within.

But a change in geography provided no solace. The Argument raged as ever on the room's hard bed.

Can there be hope?? There must be hope! There can't be hope after losing the one love of my life. You must make something of yourself! You are nothing! You ruin everything you touch. How can I make things better? How can someone like you make things better? Would she had loved me if I said something? Could she ever -

"Enough!"

Ronin's emotions could not be resolved. Bursting with pain, he stumbled out the door, blustering his way to a local drinking hole - though he'd not taken a drop of sake since that fatal night of the Ebisu Feast seven years ago. But the company would distract him from his warring factions within.

A man pleaded with his friend at a nearby table. "But why not? She's not that bad. Do you want to die alone?"

"I'm not going out with your stupid sister. Quit asking me. I'm not meant for marriage. You know that."

"Everybody is meant for marriage!"

"Not me!"

Ronin rooted for him to stand firm in his refusal. Do not surrender! Never give in! Stay alone and miserable. I'll die if I'm the only one fated to this hell.

"But what about love? You can't live without love. Nobody can!"

Love? scoffed Ronin. Love is evil. It brings death and destruction and ruin. One must never love!

"Don't worry about me. Keep to yourself. Besides, I can't believe you don't want somebody better for your sister. Do you want her to hate you for life!"

Ronin could write a book on being hated for life. There was a time after his monstrous murder he came to confess his crime to whomever he met. But it was if no one wanted to admit his criminality, Ronin finding himself part of a larger, unknown conspiracy of broken lives.

"So you killed some scumbag merchant? What of it? They are nothing but dirty traders who'll swap the soul of a samurai for a gold coin."

"You made a mistake. You wouldn't have killed him had you known it was her brother. Move on. The magistrate had a man beheaded last week for sleeping with his prized concubine - whom he forced from a helpless farmer! No one says the worse of him."

"I killed a man too. I was proud and wanted to prove my skill. I goaded him into a fight. Back then I was weak-minded. You have to forgive yourself or quit life altogether. Simple as that."

Ronin's mistake had been in confiding only to other privileged samurai. He dare not hear the reaction of an ordinary person forced to live at the mercy of a men like them. At that time a great sorrow began to weigh on him, dragging him down to sunless depths.

In his fights to the death, it was not skill that saved Ronin. Rather, it was his drive to exorcise his demons, cursing his opponent on whom he projected his rage. "You bastard shit! I will kill you!" Since these were men of conspiracy he faced, they held secret guilt that became unnerved when hearing Ronin's sincere outrage. Little did they know it was himself he was trying to strike down in self-revenge.

This gained Ronin a reputation but also distanced him from a misunderstanding world. He was no master swordsman, simply a man on a death trip. A boy who'd witnessed a killing of his rushed up to Ronin afterwards in awe, praising his deadly deed. Ronin told him he was the stupidest person in human history. "Who could ever wish to walk in my sandals?"

Then a loud voice in the drinking establishment disturbed his ruminations. "You, ronin, come join us!"

Four ronin sat at a table with many empty sake bottles. Ronin had met this kind before, violent men without honor. He'd done business with that type with regularity. But tonight, filled with emotion he could not explain even to himself, he was in no mood for their contaminating company. Ronin still felt the need to punish himself, to wallow in the mud, in order to make any moral claim but he could not bear the filth of these scoundrels.

"Not tonight," was all he could utter, realizing what monumental effort it was even to speak in his immobilized state.

The man kept after him. He was clearly the leader of the four with his slick charm. They no doubt wanted to recruit him for a job, or even have him take the fall in the aftermath. Ronin had no illusions of the world he'd chosen. A Zen monk once tried to talk to him of serving a greater purpose but Ronin would have none of it.

"There is only merchants' money. I've heard of fools who speak of an all powerful god but there is only money. Have you ever seen a man who eats and sleeps well without money? So if there is a such a god, it too lives under the thumb of money. Who needs a god like that?"

It was closing time before Ronin left, he'd barely noticed the time passing. Emotionally disabled, he'd refused the company of bad men he'd normally take up with. Since he never felt above even the worst of the worst, this was a new experience even though he only appeared to be rejecting their company. He feared in great dread his alone time in the clutches of his waiting bed. Then a woman's voice spoke beside him.

"So that's what you've become: a killer. That certainly suits you. It's all you know how to do! Go on! Keep killing, harming your life and everyone else. See where it gets you, you fool. Just what the world needs: another lost idiot."

"Osaya!"

Ronin woke up in shocked dismay. The voice had seemed so real, with words he could never have concocted. She chastised him as if he still had something to offer. She whom he'd so very deeply wronged urged him to live. Outside, a grateful summer rain began, hiding the sounds of a sobbing samurai. He dare not question her words.

Ronin returned to the road alone in the night, under a sheltering moon and merciful rain.

The Fight For Obamacare And Obama's Fallacy

"I'm sorry I helped fuck Bernie."

First off, let's separate the reality of Obamacare from its symbolic representation. For purposes of this discussion I'm only going to talk about what it is in its proponents' minds: healthcare. This is a political argument and the first rule to remember in politics is that actual facts don't matter, only the facts of what people believe.

For many years we had to listen to the crowing of the conservative left of the "genius" of Barack Obama, that he was playing an endgame beyond the understanding of mere mortals, his rope-a-dope pragmatism superseded any principles, and nothing could be his fault due to evil Republicans and evil liberals preventing him from saving the world. With last year's election we see the fruit of this strategy and I hope everyone is enjoying watching Nero burn down the house as he fiddles (OK, golfs).

The only thing O-man pushed from the beginning and stood firm on was Obamacare. And even though it's incorrectly associated with healthcare, it's come to represent it as such and people are fighting mad about its possible repeal. Even Republicants are afraid of a backlash and a possible ouster in the midterms where angry leftists may show up to vote more than usual. It's funny to watch but the important thing to remember is that a large part of this - over a program that only polls at 50% favorability - is the fact it has been established and ingrained.

Every word or silence emboldens something

Just imagine if truly meaningful reform had been enacted and legislated in all areas! All the last minute regulations Obama enacted are easily thrown out the door by Nero because, why not? Obama's position on everything except Obamacare was one of fear: fear of conservative criticism because in reality he is a conservative. Had he championed liberal causes from the get-go (which he deemed political insanity that would lead to a complete Republican takeover in all three branches, *cough*) people would be seeing the benefits of those changes and demanding they not be reversed too.

Many of Obama's most egregious sins have yet to come to light. When he took office the country was begging for reform. Just imagine if he'd used the bully pulpit the same way Nero is now. Obama's biggest problem is that he never trusted wisdom to speak for itself (and thus mistrusted himself). Instead we got kowtowing to Republicans (Obama being an enabler of obstructionism in the worst sense of the word) and wholesale selling out to corporations. There's no audacity of hope in protecting greed, it's the exact fucking opposite! And thus the last chance for reform has gone now with the wind.

As we slip into the 21st century, the conservative left and right have coalesced into descending into the cult of personality. "My guy is Jesus so everything he does is fine." (e.g. "I'm against mass deportation now it's not my guy doing it.") There are real and brutal consequences to that willful blindness and when the bill comes due the people affected will bitch and moan and it will be mistaken for a "movement", but it will come all too late. Hope can only come from the truth and if no one demands the truth there can be no possible hope.

When the wreckage is finally over and done, each of us will have to account for our part in it. If you come home and find your house burned down with ten people standing around looking at the ashes and find one of those ten did not participate in the burning, that is the person you trust and to whom you are grateful. The other nine say there was no point to not helping burn it down because others were going to do it anyway and they wanted to go along with the crowd to be popular and get elected (to do the right thing!). But you don't really care why they did it, you just know that they did it -- and that they can go fuck themselves.

Haiku Found Thawing In The Snow

The River Angry

"It's just a matter of time now."

I was peering through my binoculars from my secret upstream perch overlooking the river. If only everyone could see this, I sighed. I do not have the words to fully translate what my eyes see.

The angry swell was ripping up bushes and washing away foundations from trees from the expanding river banks. To be in its way was death. Downstream, disaster awaits the comfortable village on its shores. I tried to tell them but that only made me their enemy.

"We HATE you! Don't ever come here again!"

I hastily retreated ahead of thrown rocks. They thought I was being judgmental of their ways. What I said and what they heard were two different things. I had no idea of the contentious debates into which they had fallen. I simply came from upstream to warn them. They thought that meant they were idiots and fools for living where they were.

"Only if you stay!" I replied. Boy, did that piss them off.

As I watch the merciless rush of water devour everything that stands in its way, I feel a fear I've never known before. This is a power that answers to no one. The grey jostling waves smash with unrelenting fury, unstoppable and blind. These waters do not care about the clever and eloquent political arguments made for staying in its path. They are not sensitive to people's feelings or egos or careers. Time for Nature to have Her say.

"Do you want my child to die?" This woman held up her baby to my face, accusing me of wishing its death. In her mind, there was no other way to live other than where she lived. She gave me all of their systemic reasons why she couldn't move. But what amazed me the most was that she ascribed to me the power to change the flow of the river, as if I were determining its course. Didn't she realize that if I wanted her dead I'd simply have stayed upstream and said nothing?

Later, I found out their secret dream guilt. The reason the river was overflowing was because of the villagers. They put their trash in the river's tributaries which cause it to dam up. As long as the makeshift dam held they were seemingly fine. Before they knew to fully fear their own behavior they had even sent engineers to examine the dam to see if they were in any danger.

When reports of their possible demise came, that's when the situation turned political (The most important fact in politics, of course, is that facts don't matter.) The arguments had grown more acrimonious over time so when I showed up to tell them the dam had burst I walked right into a bear trap. But I was not there to argue. Even so, I was denounced by their shaman headman.

"We are children of our god. Our god loves us and wishes us a long life. That's why we were given this river! Damn any who say otherwise! Damn those who say this is not a holy river! Damn those who say this is not a river of life!"

But what's that got to do with them fucking it up? If they thought it was so holy, why did they put trash in it? Instead of fixing it they just became experts at arguing about how they shouldn't have to fix it. But the river can't hear those arguments, not one drop of water will be swayed. That woman and her baby will die blaming me. Even now, if they were just to admit their sins they could be saved.

But they let fear be their master, for they knew they were sowing their own doom even if they refused to admit it. Jaded jackals rose to power, enriching themselves as they declared those who said they need to clean up their trash were their true enemies. Their system they called village-ism was blessed by their god and they should have faith in that god. "Listen to what our god says!"

To do that they need only listen to the destruction I heard below. I'd heard a few brave souls had left for the desert amid much scorn and abuse. The villagers wished death upon them and did everything they could to make that happen. The villagers called it justice to destroy the deserters. But true justice is raging below, getting closer and closer every second.

Such a simple situation in reality: make a mess, clean it up, and live. Don't, you die. Their village-ism was blessed only in their minds. In their final days delusion took over as the river's reality became harder to deny. Holy technology will save the day, diverting the river's path so that they need never change their ways! So even as they as they were forced to admit on some level the river swell was coming, they still refused to admit its consequence. But I won't be there to see it.

I'm returning to my home far away. I do relish the picture in my mind of the shaman headman being washed away by a giant wave, his diabolical deeds gone forever. What has been set in motion cannot be stopped now. They waited too long. The desert survivors will return to build on the truth, winning reality instead of winning arguments.

Incident At Utsune Bridge

Why do we do it? Where does the madness come from? Is there hidden madness in everyone?

There. Down at the bottom on the south end. I dare not step there. It is a black hole that swallows whole. It is where my life ended.

The echoes of that night have not faded. Seven years ago, time stopped. I eat, I (barely) sleep, I carry out my duties as samurai. But I have not recovered. Crippled forever in a single blinding moment of madness.

It is winter now but was a warm, late summer night then. The night of the Ebisu Feast. Umada village was decorated with lanterns, the merchants were selling their dolls and everyone came out to enjoy the vibrant life in the air. Osayo came out too, the silk merchant's daughter. I'd had my eye on her the last couple of months and she was every dream come true.

It's easy for a samurai not to fear death. But a woman is worse than any invading army. We had exchanged words and I even allowed myself a little familiarity with her. But that's as far I went. I couldn't pull the trigger and confess I needed her. If only we still lived in a time of war I could have proven myself to her. But as an ordinary man I could not approach her.

Why do I torture myself? Why come back here? What is it I hope to accomplish? The bridge that has haunted my dreams for so many years is not lessened by this visit. No, it still bears silent witness to a madman.

Like everyone, I'd had my share of sake that night. Osaya was such a prize that every day I waited was a danger to me for her to be swept away. It's true the merchants are the lowest class and we samurai reign at the top. Part of me believed that and part of me thought it meant nothing. She was funny and intelligent and would easily see through a fraud like me who is nothing without his status. Three times I made her laugh and I still count those as treasures of my life.

I will never be able to make her laugh again.

I secretly stalked her at the festival, following her wonderful visage, trying to work up the drunken courage to touch her hand. And then I saw it, the fatal embrace. He was handsome, a man from outside the village, and he too had the light of intelligence in his eyes same as she. How was I to compete?

Immediately they separated from the crowd, wanting to talk and be alone. I looked around but this bothered no one but me. They headed for scenic Utsune bridge. So it was true. I was to spend my life alone, a coward.

If only I had left it at that and taken my medicine.

My inner voice screamed at me to stop. "But I have to know!" That was a lie. I just couldn't mind my own business. How can a coward live with himself? He must make others' business his own to feel alive; a poacher.

Her face in the bright moonlight was happy. Oh, how I ached to give her that happiness! To mean something to her would mean everything. They stopped on the bridge, watching the sweet flowing water below gurgle in the evening warmth. The longer they stayed, the more I boiled.

She would go home with him, giving him her body in the dark. Worse, he'd take up her time, robbing me of even the few morsels I did get. I felt I had nothing to lose as I stood facing daily castration by his presence. I determined a logic of my own making. Remove him and I still had a chance.

The visions in my head were mocking me and my impotence. To see another with her so easy and free, lacking any fear...I could not bear it. I must act!

I tore from the trees with sword drawn. They both stared at me in frozen wonder, only realizing too late my intentions. With a single slice I chopped him down. I looked at Osaya, half-proud of my deed. I had acted!

"You!"

That was all she said before running off. Then I realized I'd lost her forever. I went home straight away and burned down my house. Conflagration in the heart of the night.

The next day I found out it was her brother I had killed. It has been said that whether a man does good or evil it begins in his imagination. I had been contemptuous. "What matters a person's imagination? That is not real!" What a way to find out I was deadly wrong.

I am ronin now, wandering as a hired sword. Some fools admire me as I walk this black path to nowhere. Umada village died too and is now a town of lonesome weeds. I wonder if my bad karma infested the place, my dark deed bringing ruin to the land. So many questions I cannot answer.

Osaya said nothing. To my knowledge she's told no one of my murderous moment. As a samurai I can kill at will if I feel justified but this clearly was not. She could have made a lot of trouble for me (and half of me wishes she had). But being the person she is, she did not. I will die in distant awe of her. I do not begrudge the man who is worthy of her now. I can see that can never be me.

If only I had been honest! People speak of senseless tragedies of failed communication, they happen all the time. But I do not get angry like others do when they occur, I get silently sad. I do killings now to make my life worse, punishing myself, serving bad men. How can I not believe I'm a bad man too?

Why did I damage the life I most wanted to bring joy? I hear now she moves from place to place, as if on the run (from me?). What can I do? How can I bring her brother back? I've thought of seppuku but what would that gain her? Satisfaction? Or is there simply no answer to be found...

Today it is winter. Tomorrow it will be winter too.

That Which Can't Be Told

Innocence. It's the most important part of childhood (yet God guarantees nothing). The longer you can keep it the better off you are. Mine ended one day throwing rocks into a swelling pond after a few rainy days. When other boys threw their rocks in, vast ripples were made and, hell, watching the waves was half the fun of throwing in the rocks. But mine simply sank with no ripples at all.

"Whoa, how did you do that?"

An innocent question from an innocent time. Later, we all "grow up" to become judgmental and righteous over anything different, but as kids we're more open-minded (and therefor more intelligent). But I said I couldn't explain it even after I duplicated it several times. As I began to think about it, though, I became ashamed and concerned about something I couldn't explain. For days afterwards I'd throw rocks on my own but never a ripple was made. How the fuck does one explain defying the laws of physics??

So, I never threw rocks again in the sight of others. Most of the time it didn't bother me but it always lingered in the back of my mind that I'd have to avoid natural bodies of water. I refused a scouting trip to go camping because I knew it was by a lake. There wasn't a soul alive I could tell why. I started to separate myself from others, the shame snowballing in secret consternation. It was the beginning of the running.

Who could I have a relationship with? I'd have to lie. If she ever discovered my secret, then what? Would she have the absolute faith it would take to believe there was nothing wrong with me despite this inexplicable phenomena? No, that's too much to expect. I'd get my heart broken for sure. I stopped doing any outside activities to lay the groundwork for not being an "outdoor person". I kept obsessing on how to not be discovered until it became a full time job.

Forever forbidden. Un-fucking-believable.

Every once in a while I'd hike out on my own and try a few rocks. The wrenching emotions as I'd trek up to the water like Charlie brown with the football. This time will be different! It just has to be! But, of course, hope is forbidden. I cursed God and prayed for God to die so I'd be free of this prison because who else could cause this to happen? Who in human history has ever been cursed as I am? I decided I had a right to be angry with God - until I realized that mattered not. Nothing would change my situation, right or wrong.

I even tried going to a counselor because that's what you're expected to do even though I had no faith in it whatsoever. She kept thinking - insisting - that I was speaking metaphorically. Worst part was when I said I could prove it to her I chickened out. I really didn't want anyone else to know my secret with certainty. So that flamed out. Then I started a blog.

My readers were like the counselor, thinking I was speaking metaphorically. By this time I'd learned what to expect and could manipulate them. Everyone read their own shit into what I wrote, as if looking into a mirror. How could anyone possibly suspect I was telling the absolute truth? I found out a lot about people that way, but I never found an answer. God damn.

In the evening time, I sit alone in the dark. I see the point of nothing. Eating and not eating are the same. I can say words of truth that literally no one can understand. And because I fear to remove all doubt by demonstrating proof, no one will ever know of my dilemma. At this point, I'd have to show the whole world, become freak of the year, and be branded in infamy for all time. It's such a trivial thing in so many ways yet so horrific in its nature and consequence.

I will die without knowing. And I do know I'd be crucified if found out by the wider world. People are savages and attack what they don't understand (because what they do understand about themselves is bad). I'd be called a con artist or a trickster, deceiving everyone with my ripple-less rocks. I can just imagine the phony "scientific" explanations offered because science is a religion trusted by the angry masses. In a way, I understand. It's no fun being confounded. The only thing that makes sense to me is that if Jesus were to return I know I could tell him without fear or hesitation - and maybe even get an explanation.

But lacking that I'm stuck in solitary confinement for life. I feel rage, overflowing and out-of-control. It's a constant battle not to let the despair overwhelm me. I have no choice but to operate on faith as I must live with something no human can quantify, you damn dirty apes. I'm sure somewhere in the universe there's an explanation, one that is beyond science and our puny understanding. With our morbid outlook on life I even wonder if my curse is actually a gift in disguise, something beyond our power to reason yet can still be appreciated.

So now I've told you without really telling you. I'm writing a script where you unknowingly recite lines per my intent. You'll walk away vaguely unsatisfied but won't be able to get to the bottom of it. The only way it could possibly make sense would be to accept I'm telling the actual truth. But that can't be! you'll say to yourself as I have you join in my perpetual frustration and conundrum. It's a sad game nobody wins that we are compelled to play. My only solace is in knowing revelation will have its day in all things and then everyone will know and understand. I live dependent on the kindness of the universe.

Crashing The (Sociopath) Pearly Gates

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?

- Romans 9:21

He fired up his Maserati with the satisfied grin he always felt at the sound of its throaty exhaust. He luxuriated in the fine Italian leather as he watched a homeless man push a grocery cart in the rain. He'd just picked up his tailor made shirt from Ripley Shirts and was heading back to his upscale townhouse in the latest Dallas development.

"It's good to be me!"

Earlier that month he and a few friends waited outside a known gay bar, looking for a victim. They laughed as they beat and kicked him with unrestrained glee under the cover of darkness. A sleepless neighbor called the police but when the cop arrived he simply said, "Let me know when you guys are done and I'll pretend to chase you. Get that fucking faggot!"

He grinned as always: "It's good to be me!"

He visits his office during the day where a room of cold callers have lists of elderly seniors to cheat and swindle. They are bonused not just on the amount taken but also the percentage of a person's wealth, to leave them in the most dire circumstance possible. The fact he was able to do this day after day, destroying lives at will, validated his every crooked deed (especially as he helped vote a fellow sociopath victoriously into office!).

"It's good to be me!"

With the proceeds of his scam office he opened a car repair shop. He only hired mechanics who followed his edict: "Fix what's broken, but break something else while in there!" Many customers swore by his work - they just had bad car luck! If anyone dare badmouth him, he used a sociopathic (redundant?) lawyer to sue them into silence.

"It's good to be me!"

But as his Maserati raced along on this rainy day speeding insanely out of control, he passed on to the next world in a fireball of death.

Seeing St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he was defiant. "I'm not going to let you fuck me! It's kill or be killed. That's the way it is. You don't like it then go fix it, you cocksucking asshole son-a-bitch!"

"Actually, my records show you have been sucking cock while beating others who in engage in that behavior in order to hide your own actions."

"I got what you can suck! That's all fake news! Has it not been written: Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use?"

"I do not know what's fake, I only have the truth before me because why have anything else?"

"Because the truth is for losers! Go ahead and send me to hell. I don't need you to lecture me on why I can't pass through the gates."

"But you can pass through. Anyone can."

"Bullshit! What kind of scam are you running here? Even I can't figure it out."

"No scam. Why wouldn't we want as many as possible to enter the kingdom of Heaven?"

"Because some people are total unredeemable assholes! So I know there's no way!"

"Way!"

"I know this is a trick. You're trying to fuck me because that's what everyone does. I make the wrong decision and I'm screwed for all fucking eternity!"

"That's a fact, Jack! But it's easy! Just choose what you want."

The sociopath was confused, disoriented, looking around for a clue but found none. "OK, smart guy. I'll prove you a liar and pass through. Nobody gets what they want!"

Once on the other side, he looked back at Peter. "I don't get it. You're letting me in. You can't do that. You can't let just anyone in. Aren't we to be judged?"

"Only by yourself, if you want. Paradise is yours for the asking!"

"Well, damn. I sure do feel like a jerk now...and a loser...and an asshole..."

"That's right - and you will for all fucking eternity."

The Beatles - All You Need Is Love (Our World 1967) from beatles on Vimeo.

Manson and Bannon Secret Texts

Hey, Charlie, what's up? Killed anyone lately?

Can't. Got denied parole again. Once the press
is out to get you, you're screwed!

Don't I know it! Luckily, President Nero has the guts to take them on.

About damn time!!!

Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, who did that cool swastika tattoo on your forehead?

Guy from the Satanic Sanctum on Sunset Strip. Ask for Lucifer.

Thanks! Just imagine how that will drive liberals crazy!

Those know-it-alls! Nothing I love more than pissing them off.

Me too!! I don't care if the whole country burns down so long as I can annoy those fuckers along the way. Nero is really bummed he can't nominate you for a cabinet post.

Give it time! All libtards want to do is create fake news using facts.

Morons! Facts don't matter. Never have. It's *beliefs* we have to control.

Been doing that for years.

I know! It's our primary duty to create as much Muslim hysteria as possible so the sheep won't notice how we're ripping them off.

Brilliant! My second choice was to be a Wall Street trader. I really regret my
choices now. Just think of how many more I could have killed with poverty
than a knife!!

There's still plenty of shearing left to do even with the most imbalanced distribution of wealth here in the Western world. Thank you, Obama, for protecting our greedy ways from the liberals!

"Praise be to Satan who gives me my power."

I'm loving your campaign. You got them believing the guy
mowing their lawn is the source of all their problems!!

That's only the beginning. We have to keep upping the Muslim ante in order to maintain the distraction. I've put out lots of smokescreens on my "philosophy" but really the goal is same as always: to make the world safe for assholes.

Amen to that! You going to start a war?!?

Yes, God told me to.

That answer always sells!

First we'll tell them they have a choice between Christian fascism or Islamic fascism. Some fringe elements will argue for no fascism but we'll call them idealists so no one will listen. Once the suckers take the bait on that we can REALLY ram our Satanic agenda down their throat.

Oh, that's hot! You busy later?

You can see it working already. NO ONE wants to admit we have Nero fiddling while Rome burns in charge. Congress is shaking in their boots at our ruthless power grab. We all know how much conservatives hate Christ in reality. They'll be terrified to go against *anything* done in the name of Jesus.

Think you could send me a pic with your shirt off?? lol

These are glorious times! We're going to make America hate again! We're going to lead them by the nose and expose them for the weak bitch whores that they are! I pray to Hitler's soul each night for continued success. I'm calling this the Fourth Reich.

Just so you know, prison sex really is HAWT!

Yes, it's about time we hooked up. I need someone to practice secret Nazi rituals with.

I'm your guy for that! I know all of Hitler's favorite positions (wink, wink)

I can't wait till the press reports on it!!! Will explode their liberal heads!

That's not all that will explode!

I've been waiting for this my whole life. AT LAST, the truth has no meaning. God is our whore and Jesus is our bitch.

Great! bring them along too!

Ronnie On The Run

"Is this all there is?"

Ronnie was morose, which was unusual for him but then again I hadn't come across him in ages. I never have any place to go so I wander to various parks or sit by White Rock Lake and dream of the riches it would take to build a Japanese house on its shores. And that's where I saw Ronnie, a former co-worker with whom I once shared the pits of hell. They say war is bonding but that's nothing compared to janitorial work. At least you know a war is going to end at some point.

"Is this all my life is going to be? Endless drudgery until I die? You tell me, Harry. I always used to believe there was more. I thought it was a fact."

Part of me was laughing on the inside as I thought of the Scarface dinner speech that starts out the same way. But Ronnie had always been a happy-go-lucky guy. Granted, I had my concerns he might one day get burned on that because the world was not the place he thought it to be, but I had hoped for the best. Turns out that burn must have come as his life eventually emptied out in the struggle to survive.

"I guess I was waiting on something. I figured it was there just around the corner, then life would be complete. But it's not. It's just the same old shit, day after day, your body starts breaking down, the hell you go through is only rewarded by even more pain and suffering."

I suppressed another inward smile as I listened to a discovery I had made long ago. I have no idea how to make love work so I had nothing to say. Looking out over the soothing waters at the carefree birds made for a very contrasting backdrop for our sad souls.

Back in the day, Ronnie and I shared the same train home in the wee hours of the morning after work. Ronnie on occasion could really crack me up like when he did his best Springsteen impersonation of Bruce's flying elbows dancing. "Look at me! I'm dancing in the DART!" [Dallas Area Rapid Transit]. That's how I always wanted to remember him, was in that moment. And now he's another broken toy on the scrap heap of life.

"God really hates poor people. He's just like everyone else. All He cares about is the rent. Don't have it? Then go fuck yourself, you don't have anything to offer as a person."

Ronnie is one of the invisible people, the kind you only see as a punchline in a movie at most. We don't know how people like him survive nor do we want to face the nightmarish quagmire of the working poor whom we shaft with relentless fury and conviction. Don't feel sorry for the suffering to come, dear ones, know that you've earned it a thousand times over, that the people you made invisible were not invisible to their Maker.

I only had a lame joke to offer. "Don't worry. I know Jesus was kidding when he said blessed are the poor."

All I could really say was my life is no better, that he wasn't alone. But I know what empty solace that is. We were both waiting to die while yuppie joggers passed by with their purebred dogs and high dollar strollers, ringed by nine figure houses destined to be swept away by the tsunami of human misery that rises every day.

"Well," I sighed. "If you find an answer, be sure to let me know!" On that I wasn't joking.

As one who's always lived in the cracks of society, in the back alleys and hidden corners from which to spy, you naturally find others on the run for various reasons (though the one most offered is relationships gone sour). I am constantly searching for rest. Anything good in my life I destroy because I cling to it too hard.

I thought about Ronnie in the ensuing days. I knew he was on the tipping point, his frustration boiling over for a meaningful life. Is meaning even possible in the here and now on a dying planet? The amount of misplaced faith is so staggering that it's become the norm. And what of true faith? It's more maligned and persecuted every day. That adds up to oblivion - yet we're still obligated to do the right thing.

The election of Nero has lowered us a great step downward. Don't be fooled by protests to close the barn door after the horse is out. All those victories will be pyrrhic. The descent remains the same. The election's true destructive nature is in how it leads people out of the everyday flow of their lives as a madman fiddles after starting fires for others to put out. But fighting Nero won't solve any problems because Nero is not the solution. There's a reason why dishonest people are in charge.

After finding an object in Nero in which he could direct his anger and energy, Ronnie cracked, at last. He's all into the "resistance" and other political activities that can give his life direction without having to look at himself - the perpetual holy grail of mankind. Deeper and deeper he went, wallowing in it, immersing himself until no light could get in.

Saving the environment

One doesn't want to suspect the worst or believe one has to live with those who are so out of control their mess could overflow into one's own life. But not facing that means you get into a Smart car with Ronnie even though all your instincts tell you not to. He's all excited now that his life has "meaning", telling me about hypermiling (as part of his "new heightened awareness") as I joke about all the extra weight his anti-Nero stickers are adding to the car.

Then it happens. The true level of his disconnection to reality is revealed right there under the morning winter sun. It pains me even to recount it.

We're heading down a long hill. "I always try to take this hill. You can coast past that light at the bottom all the way to the next one. Just have to time it."

"Dude, that light's turned red!"

"I know. But we're hypermiling, just have to time it." Like that's any sort of fucking explanation!

And sure enough we clip a pickup. The redneck driver is incensed to say the least.

"What the hell you doin'? Have you lost your ever-lovin' mind!" Even under ordinary circumstances I could see Ronnie and this fellow would not get along.

"I'm hypermiling. It saves gas and the environment. And see that pink license plate holder? That means I'm curing cancer!" Oh, boy.

"That don't give you the right to wreck my truck, you imbecile!"

"Saving the environment is important! I'm part of the resistance!" I literally debate if I should start running away even though I'm a direct witness to the accident. Ronnie has disconnected far more than I wanted to realize. This is my punishment for not facing that.

"Well, can you resist being an idiot! Because that's what you are!"

"Your big truck using up gas is an idiot! Where do you think that's gonna get us when all the gas is gone?"

"None of your damn business. You're one of them libtards screwing up the world and I gotta pay for it!"

"No, you are screwing up the world because you can't see anything past your own personal interests!"

I have to let go. If someone gets killed, so be it. I don't have the strength to step in between those two. Each person played into the other's stereotype of what they believed the world to be. Eventually the cops showed up and I had to grimace my way through a statement. But my mind is a thousand miles away as I watch the cop draw on his intersection diagram of how the cars collided. I wonder how much Ronnie is in me, how much have I gone over the edge. It scares the hell out of me.

Unconfessed

Tragedy was for other people. She was of the blessed life, one percent of the global one percent, insulated from the woes and worries of - let's face it - the morally inferior. She grew up in Christian schools and maintained her Christian heritage. She had - she deemed - a superior belief. Oh, there were other believers to be found, but she had that extra special edge that exempted her from ordinary concerns.

The longer her bliss continued, the more sure she was it was truly deserved. Watching the nightly news of mass starvation, bombed out cities, unspeakable atrocities, and uncertain futures, she contrasted that with her perch among the swank San Francisco mountains, justifying her easy life as a gift from God. She longed for the day for the last of her nagging Doubt to leave and depart, she to be forever ensconced 100% in the belief she had achieved purity and to never need fear the world.

It's hard to say if the two events coincided perfectly or if one triggered the other, but she felt she had finally achieved that state of nirvana - right as she got the news that wrecked her life irrevocably. Her daughter, her oldest child going to college on the east coast, had been shot dead. The shock of it was unreal, a cruel prank that cannot be true for someone like her. She would never see her daughter again. Into the abyss she fell.

How did this happen? Simple. I shot her daughter. At one point I had climbed the San Fran mountain to get my perch to make the kill on the mother, but then I thought what she really needed was to suffer as I suffer. As any parent knows, a bullet to their child hurts a thousand times worse than any bullet the parent may receive. And since it was apparently a random killing without motive, that made it virtually untraceable for the police. Interview all the people you want, suckers, you'll never find a clue. I knew the mystery of that would only drive the knife deeper in her.

I was supposed to have been buried along with her feelings for me. I admit I went along with it in my own hopeless despair. But once in the coffin it triggered feelings to live. But how was I going to live without her? I roamed the world a half-person unsatisfied with anything and everything. Until finally - inevitably - satisfaction became my only pursuit. How many times did I lie awake at night thinking, "If I could hurt her, I would."

As one who is crippled and dependent on the world, I feel the times a-changin'. If you're miserable it's somebody's else's fault. And while I know it's true there's always someone fucking you or trying to fuck you, this is something different. It's about a loveless life and finding a reason that doesn't point back to you. Somebody has to pay, you damn dirty ape! It's been happening for years and years now, we the unhappy taking revenge (and even getting elected). Afterwards, they always ask why you kill but they'd literally rather die than hear the true answer.

I have to admit I did think about what story I'd tell for my motivation if caught. Anything but unrequited love would do. I couldn't really think of a good political or religious excuse. Above all, I wanted to remain unconfessed. But you can't just keep it all inside. You can't say you bombed a marathon because no one loves you. In the end I decided I'd have to think of a scapegoat later. Maybe I could take something out of the paper when the time came.

What I love most is she lost her "faith". She walked as a shattered being, hollow-eyed and medicated. How could God have let her down like that? Every time she asked that question, her hell got a little harsher. The depths of her lifelong self-deception was a revelation of a greater doom than she ever feared. She had believed God was of this world, refusing to face there's only as much God in this world as we let in. Last time I checked that was pretty microscopic. She never did come to grips that the Doubt she so eagerly sought to rid from her life was, in fact, the remnant of God inside her.

I'd taken away everything she could cling to or hide behind. Her faith gone, her daughter gone, her lies gone. It was a condition I knew well as one buried alive: no way out. Welcome to my nightmare! At last I had a connection to her as love so cruelly demands right or wrong. I thought I could choose my feelings, that I was their master. Turns out it's the other way around. Like her, I tried to destroy my feelings only to have them erupt stronger than ever. Goddam, life is hard.

So did I take satisfaction in my deed? When I thought of what I'd done, my head fills with black helpless terror day or night. When I thought of her misery and frustration and hopelessness, I was like a vampire feeding off her. Nothing could hurt me more now than for her to die. Then I'd only be left with the spreading terror in my mind...

To put a final nail in the coffin, I sent a note saying her other child, a son, was next. By doing that I had done worse than kill him. She'd be looking over her shoulder the rest of her days, wondering when the time would come. She had never believed in letting go - true faith - in the first place. Now she'll really choke herself to death. But the best part was I knew she could show that note to no one. If she did, then her daughter's death could be traced back to something she did, and no longer be held completely blameless. In her mind, if nobody knows something, it isn't true. She will die unconfessed and therefor unrepentant.

That final shot killed her heart. She can curse and demonize me all she wants but it changes nothing. Funny thing is now she feels she's the unluckiest person in the world. If only she hadn't met me she'd never have feelings to bury, she falsely assumes. If you want to keep breathing, bitch, you're going to have to eat shit each and every day from now on. As time passes the deeper the realization that it's never going to change, like walking in snow that gets higher and higher yet stopping means certain death.

It's easy to see the tragedy looking back. You know it's wrong at the time but you never think that lying about your feelings can have such devastating consequences. In the heat of the moment, you wonder if it even means anything at all, one's feelings considered so inconsequential in this mad, mad world. But yes, it is a matter of life and death to be honest, just like that little voice was telling me all along.

It's a shame it came to this for both of us. Scariest part is I can see it happening everywhere. I want to yell out to them to stop lying, that I know the tragedy that is coming. But who would listen to a murderer? I guess we'll all have to learn the hard way; lying, killing and raping until there's nothing left. The currents of our feelings cannot be fought nor dammed. Whether we like where they may lead us or not, we have no choice but to confess. As I know now too late: whomever confesses the most, wins.