Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Bastard Glass




The open end of the Glass never speaks, though it’s lips are curled, capturing the essence of an angered scream, frozen in the sands and waters of charred hands and focused eyes.
The Glass has but one expression, though It’s insides pour to the soil, delivered without hymns or enunciation, explanation, appreciation, representation, or what begins at a sea and holds a commune without E Pluribus Unum, in the modern times iNation. 

An iFor every word, as entertainers giggle at The Eye’s in every word, temples of worship and hidden degrees of threes in these, but Symbols cannot see and will not, the things held dear to This and Me. But I is Them, and They are not I, so I say to Myself I cannot be trusted or battered or busted, because They will never cease and this shall be infinitely true, in a world filled with Them, Me’s, I’s, and You’s. 

The tree stands strong, though splintered in winter, and lashed in the spring, but the Devil may play and torment all things. He dances and laughs, over broken glasses and ashes, of Those he had burned and Those he does seek, only a mirage, a play, and portraits of bleak. Oh, suppose without him the world would be dull, destinies fulfilled, races with one-million tied first, no hunger or war, no disease or thirst. 

The Glass could be evil but it never speaks, it stands between the days and years, holding and pouring, both mead and beers, and wine, and whiskey, delegating strange nights and days, mistakes to Us all, and stories and song, of both right and wrong.

The Glass delegates to us how life will spill, though it is the glasses content inside Me, not My own, not Thine own, a foreign object frustrated and dormant, using Us as puppets to scream and carry out cemented abandon, tricking Us to be as hopeless and concerning as itself, The Bastard Glass deserves some more discerning.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Killing for Fifteen Minutes



James Holmes is not the "Joker", he is a joke, another twisted example of how perceived normalcy can quickly disintegrate into a fractured reality. His "work" is already being compared to Columbine and rightfully so. It wasn't a high school, it wasn't a two man job, job but it was in fact a production, a trick we have all fallen for. Unfortunately, our rating system is to blame, our media is to blame, our social atmosphere, and our current obsession with doom.

In the Columbine case, Eric Harris and Dylan Kiebold have been placed under the psychological microscope for years. Some pointed to bullying, some pointed to violent video games and movies to pick up the blame, but it was always about something more to the two murderers, it was about relevance.

Harris and Kiebold video-taped themselves plotting and planning, hanging out and listening to "Miserlou" by Dick Dale, the intro theme to "Pulp Fiction", talking about DOOM, and glorifying other mediums of conjured violence like Natural Born Killers. Kiebold himself planned on attending college to be in video production. The two talked about how Columbine was their prison, and on that fateful day they decided to put on their biggest show, one that is remembered better than most movies, games, or cd's from that time period. In death, they reached fame, and if Kiebold finished out four years at school, then spent twenty honing the craft of becoming a director, the chances are that he would never reach that same level of fame or notoriety.

James Holmes has some striking similarities when it comes to strategy. Fish in a barrel scenario, where the mentality is not to assassinate a specific person, but to "kill em' all". The more dead, the more of a shock wave will go through the media, if you score enough points, you will be remembered as "the orchestrator of the worst shooting in U.S. History", that is, until another nobody comes along and decides any press is good press. Both situations involved the use of explosives, careful planning, and a sense of no remorse. James Holmes smiles in his mugshot as if he had just received a major accolade that he is humbled by. Holmes also shows the obsession with film, killing at a Batman preview, dressing like the nemesis Bane, telling the arresting officers he was "The Joker". Is this just a schizophrenic who has lost touch with reality? Doubt it.

It is the middle of a presidential election, and all we will hear from the media for the next month or so will be this story. Even in the attacks and negative light, they will play right into Holmes' plan of fame by force. Violence, especially against the average American, gets ratings, so it gets the coverage. This modern obsession is a sick and public version of mass masochism, though some would argue this human obsession stretches beyond newer-age media. The political games will begin, and surely we will learn it is "never too soon" to exploit a tragedy, whether it be for tightening up gun laws, or witch-hunting scapegoats. We will continue to ask the wrong questions and provide the wrong answers.

To me it has become obvious that the best way to handle these situations is to keep the killer's name anonymous. The media can be intimidated into not releasing the truths about war or various other names and stories that exist, but there is almost a sense of ratings-driven worship for these people. It must stop. If the fame and name is detached from these slayings, they will decrease, at least this style of media-driven murder. It has become apparent that those who have a true problem with being nameless will do anything to be remembered, and have no remorse, because they did something they wanted to, and achieved what they crave. It's a form of selling your soul to the Devil and never learning how to play guitar.

If James Holmes knew that he spent all of that time bugging his home with explosives, planning out his garb, plotting the attack like a militant for drama and effectiveness, only to be called "the gunman" by every news outlet, my money is that he wouldn't have done the attack at all. These are events that are not driven by beliefs, they are not sociological, political, or religious, it is violence for the sake of violence, killing the innocent to prove only that you have killed the innocent. So James Holmes, this is all you get from me. You are a nobody, a nothing, a coward, a loser. Perhaps the nerdiest thing I have ever heard is to stage a mass killing of unarmed civilians that circles around Batman, you pussy. Hope it was worth the lifetime of prison reaming, because last time I checked there aren't many neuroscience students in the big house, and I'm sure all the boys in the pen would love to have their first.


Friday, July 13, 2012

Last Call America

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IhqYu8RRlk





It's last call America, finish your scotch. It's last call America, your clean shaven boys in their twenties, thirties, and forties don't drink scotch anymore, and they sure don't let sweat from rocks abandoning the glass dampen dirt beneath manicured fingernails. Say your prayers America, before an atheist with godlessly good lawyers topples your temple of worship. Drink up America, you are getting fucked, and the morning only promises the grim clench of a regretful face and mistakes made in the night.

Take two more shots, quick, before the drive home America, deaden the pain, go comatose for the boys in blue, because when they peel you from the wreckage, your whole body will be the same color as their uniforms, even if you climb out unscathed. Buy a lawyer America, spend money to delay the inevitable incarceration, the clammy cement of a sleep on the rock bottom, because you feel absolved of crimes attached to the lifestyle of a destructive lush.

Blame the Republicans America, blame the Jews and Democrats, the media, the spics and crackers and niggers. Blame the youth, the teachers, the leaders and the unions, blame the rich, the poor, the unemployed, underemployed and billionaires. Blame the failures and successes, the taxes and wars, the trade deals, blame it all America, but it's last call, so you drink up, and refuse to blame yourself. Curse the bartender if you must, but tip accordingly America, because he's been putting up with your hateful bullshit, and you scaring off all the good customers with your drunken nonsense.

You're card was declined America, you ran one Hell of a tab, you told a Cherokee he had a drinking problem then threw up on yourself. You owe your home, your job, your dreams, your promise, and most importantly, your word. So pay up, because it's all drunken babble and it's all just a way for you to escape what you owe. The TV told you it was OK, Hell grandma told you it was OK to escape, to deflect, to bury yourself in the pointless finger-pointing and endless gripes of a divided nation on a fifty year bender. Curse em' all America, whine like the soft spoiled brat you have become, blame the blackout on your tab, it doesn't change the fact that the binge wasn't on the house. Don't cry America, I didn't do it, I just said it, a cab is on the way to take you where you sleep. They will drop you off at the corner of Censorship and Fear. It's OK America, you won't die, you have been choking on your own vomit for over a decade and still manage to stumble in to the Stagger Inn, and hassle your favorite bartender, fate.