Thursday, January 19, 2017

Words

"Illusion is the first of all pleasures."

Voltaire

Hey, I Was Thinking.................

Anybody wishing you a happy new year lately?

Anybody asking how your new year is going? No? What a surprise.

Wanna know why? 'Cause there ain't no new year. There ain't no old year. It's all the same fucking year.

Over and over and over again.

Janis Joplin had it right when she said: "Tomorrow never happens. It's all the same fucking day, man."

So what the fuck, what's the point? For Christ sake, it's January 19 and you haven't lost a pound. You're working the same soul-sucking job. You haven't even killed your boss yet, right?

You get home and go right for the whiskey and, three generous drinks in, you are fantasizing about crucifying your boss, you visualize yourself driving the spikes through the palms of his hands and his feet, blood spurting up into your face; dripping in rivulets down the front of your shirt, blotting out the writing on your name tag.

You raise the cross, making sure it is firmly planted. Then you begin throwing ball bearings and lug nuts at his body until it sags in agonizing death.

You dream about it but you haven't done it yet, have you. What happened to your to do list?

You haven't moved anyplace warm. You haven't bought that motorcycle you covet, you haven't picked up your guitar or started to learn to speak Italian.

You have not increased your earning capacity; you ain't got enough money. More sacrifice, no access to the finer things.

You have not begun to move in more interesting circles, you are not challenged by creative and interesting people.

You are moving in circles, like a dog chained to a post.

It's all a conspiracy, man. The holidays were created to inspire false hope. You get a little giddy with all the glitz and glimmer. You start to think that life could be better; Christ it could even be fun. You think, "Yeah, man - I can change. I can turn my life right around; reinvent myself and bring happiness, success, pride and money back home right into my heart and my wallet."

Yeah, baby - you picture that big fat wallet and all the good things it will deliver. Dinner out whenever you want; clothes to be proud of; nice car; bills paid, no worries, mon.

You realize that money ain't the root of all evil; the lack of money is the root of all evil.

Suddenly it is the middle of January. Cold, clear, winter skies reveal the truth.

You are shattered. You ain't gonna change, nothin's gonna change. You are stuck in a swamp, treading water, giving up dignity until you die.

You become empty. You put your head down and dutifully go to work. You pay the oil man and eat cat food.

You become legless, helpless and subservient.

That's what they want, man. They want you broken and servile. Now things can move ahead as planned.

For them. Not you.

happy new year, baby.

(Editor's note: Despite the tone of these words, I remain resilient and hopeful in 2017. I don't even know where the words came from. The Devil, I'm guessing.)

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Mass Hangings & The Presidency

People stood and cheered the bodies swaying in the trees. It was extraordinary; that so many people would simultaneously commit suicide; that so many would be pleased to witness it.

Of course the deaths received massive coverage on every network, except WE tv, which refused to interrupt their scheduled airing of endless Law & Order episodes, as well as the brain teasers Marriage Boot Camp, Braxton Family Values, Kendra On Top, Bridezillas and much, much more.

It all started with the presidential election.

Who could believe this guy won? Jesus Christ, he sacrificed virgins and babies on stage at his rallies and people cheered.

He raped and killed the pope and was celebrated on Breitbart News with exclusive coverage and enthusiastic support.

He shackled people to trees and whipped them, and ground lit cigarettes into their flesh until they agreed to vote for him. His supporters voluntarily threw rocks at these people as well, aiming to spill as much blood and break as many bones as possible.

Just for fun.

He terrorized the elderly, visiting assisted living communities and demanding their votes. If they refused to pledge allegiance, he punched them in the face and tasered them into submission.

They always came around. Or died.

He mocked the handicapped. He pushed wheelchair bound people to the edge of cliffs, dangling them there until they saw the light. Those that did not went for a short ride to a bone-crushing death.

He slapped and spit on quadriplegics, pouring motor oil on them and threatening to light them on fire. He really didn't care if they lived or died. What the hell were they contributing to America anyway.

The hangings were sporadic at first, but reached critical mass on January 20. Suddenly millions of people were looping nooses over the limbs of sturdy trees and kicking out the stools beneath their feet.

Necks snapped as the signs on their chests revealed the consistent message "I'd rather be dead."

Some people were horrified. The people who voted the new president in were entertained.

At first they stood beneath the swinging corpses and cheered and chanted. When that became boring they poked them with sticks and eventually got around to whacking them like pinatas, delighting in the crushing of bones and the interesting way the corpses became looser, giving the appearance of being relaxed.

This happened all around the country. Strange how so many different people in so many different locations could think alike. Strange how they were united in the support of this particular man.

At the inauguration the new president looked down upon his people with pride. People smeared with blood, carrying automatic weapons, brandishing hunting knives and chanting "We won, you lost, you die."

He turned to the former president, who was frozen to his chair in horror and asked "So what's next for you?"

Trembling, stuttering, the former president said "I'm going on vacation. Someplace warm. Someplace quiet"

The new prez reached into his topcoat, pulled out a Glock 17, said "No you're not" and emptied all 17 rounds into the former president, his wife and his daughters.

An enormous cheer went up from the crowd.

And so began a brand new era in America.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Words

What Would I A Dreamer Do

What would I a dreamer do
The rainbow already has its hue
The sea has long been salted down
And there are far too many clowns
For too many carnivals

Some tell me, Be like me
No one should be like you, you see
Hide your mysterious secret side
While hungry fools have died
Unlocking mysteries

I put on a nice, neat suit
Hide my straw hat and boots
Live the accepted normal life
Answer to Mr., how's your wife?
and your children?

Seems to me to fix up things
I should fly on brazen wings
Passing by all that conforms
Wear no raincoat in storms
And to hell with umbrellas

Why should I wait in my seat
Passing time for a glutton to eat
I may know no other task
But I won't wait, so don't ask
I'll go do something

I don't recall if any or what
Task or duty fell my lot
They say songs are for nothing but to sing
Say the never listening - unhearing
While the music plays

I don't have it all figured, I guess
Maybe I'm confused as the rest
But I won't live 8 to 5
Are the 8 to 5 alive
Even on weekends?

So, I'll walk a lot of streets
Get up and go, whenever I eat
Throw away that business suit
Put neat's-foot oil on my boots
And track mud on somebody's carpet


A poem written by Johnny Cash


Friday, January 13, 2017

Just One Line

There was so much blood on the floor he slipped and fell twice on the way to the whiskey.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

A Load Off His Back

He asked her a simple question. She responded by spitting back a venomous answer.

Out of the blue. Out of nowhere. Apropos of nothing. Out of all proportion to the situation.

What the fuck was that?

This woman was deranged, and not in an interesting way. She seemed confused with anger and misplaced emotion; her thought process was diseased.

Communication between them was a torturous process. Always had been. They were not on the same wavelength since day one and it had only gotten worse.

Time had distorted miscommunication exponentially.

He went down one road and she another. Parallel roads. No crossroads in site.

But this time she had crossed a line. This was the final transgression. This time she would pay.

He had nothing to lose. Nothing. Nothing to hold on to, nothing to look forward to.

What was the fucking point in even trying?

He would kill her when she got home from work and then kill himself.

He went down to the basement to fetch the shotgun. It was a Mossberg 500 Persuader 12 gauge shotgun with a pistol grip. She did not even know he owned it. He took great satisfaction in her ignorance. As the years went by his comfort level with owning the gun increased, and settled into a warm place in his heart as it became clear to him exactly how he would use the weapon.

A vicious weapon with a menacingly evil look. His father had always told him - if you are going to do a job you might as well do it right.

He would do this job right.

He came back up from the basement and settled down to re-runs and whiskey. Seinfeld. Jesus, this stuff was funny. Never failed to lighten his load and to validate his appreciation for an irresponsible approach to life. It made so much sense to him.

These people had it right. Why take life seriously? Why should anyone give a shit about anyone else but themselves?

You care about other people you get fucked.

Simple math, baby.

He watched. He laughed. He waited. He drank.

The crunch of tires on crusty, frozen snow woke him up. Shit, must have gotten a little too deep into the whiskey.

He took another sip. Heard her footsteps on the stairs and stood up from the recliner.

He blasted her with both barrels as soon as she stepped inside the door. Did not give her a chance to say a word. She talked too goddamn much anyway.

Her body flew backwards out the door and landed, broken and twisted, with a thud.

He had a box of double 0 buckshot on the arm of the recliner, ready, so he could reload and kill himself.

But he had doubts. Suddenly he felt lighter. Like a choke collar had been removed from his throat and he was breathing for the first time.

Suddenly he felt like he could do anything. He was happy. Holy shit he was happy.

He put down the gun, pulled the phone out of his pocket and called his buddy Zack.

"Hey Zack, you wanna go out for a beer? I'm buying." When Zack asked what the hell was going on he said "I'm celebrating. I just got a load off my back that is going to make my life a lot easier. I'll meet you at Zampisi's."

He pocketed the phone, grabbed the car keys, stepped over her body without even looking down and walked confidently towards his truck.