Steam of Unconsciousness.

Beyond the annoyances of flies, and the constant buzzing of their LCD wings, little motors turning and sparking silicone chips force fed into belly of the fat-man, pissing all over the wretched masses of confusion and arguments, there is the wink of a goddess, or the beat of a snare, striking the right tone at the right moment for the skies to light ablaze and for fireflies to dance, fluttering long enough to breed again and meet the barrel of a mischievous kid's plastic ball bat.

Splattered glow crashes into a dull mass, igniting all that is life before it sprays into something bright and wonderful for a dragging moment, before it's wiped away for the next Sun to be consumed. 

Beyond the wind and the cries of triumph, and the Goddamned flies, where carcasses piled have been ground into dirt, colliding with mercury and rusted into iron, there is the perfection of silence.

What's eternal turns into a second, tears and scream are drowned by the beauty of reality, and there we die, or live, or sleep, wandering or travelling, in wonderment of what is beyond books or theory. 

8AM, take a shower, ride into the day, divine as a grain of sand, read the paper, press the gas, rush to tomorrow. Bathe in the glory, the paper of excellence, and the comfort of society's breast. Here you will be found and will be lost, depositing and quarreling, bickering and budgeting, judging peers and celebrating the simplest things you have conquered. Somewhere a lush is congratulating and an angel is crying, as another who has fallen knocks on your door.

Conquer the world from the inside of your four-door, and become enraged from the rudeness of a random nobody, who may die tomorrow as you wished, for changing lanes at the most inopportune time. Look for the emotion that makes you feel alive, and if you conquer it you may be the only person on Earth who has settled down and taken the bank, insured your mediocrity with a few cheap laughs and a cardboard box holding a fiberglass tomb. 

Twenty-something. Twenty something cigarettes, twenty-something years, twenty something hours and twenty-something beers, whatever it takes to forget the hours wasted or the nights, a bashful grin to wash away the moment realized it could have been spent better, or said better, or better done with more time in bed, or less.

Chess, a part of the game, crumble like a hopeless pawn or hang on, long enough to trap yourself and become a sacrifice who held on too long. Bodies lay at the feet of the King and Queen, hoping they fell for the ultimate win, but the next game begins, and you are nothing more than a lost face in the crowd, mixed onto another square, though the King and Queen, on only two sides, in only two colors, stand again above you, and you take only one step forward, toeing the line of uncertainty.

Flip the board, let the pieces fall and roll, onto the floor and into the vent, a dog may wander by and sniff at your parts, then devour the King and piss on the rest. Laugh, stop playing, stop trying to play, Chess is redundant, and only the seasoned win. The world's most genius player could be buried by the street's pettiest groveler. Kid's can play, but shouldn't, as every move is another battle lost. Nobody wins, nobody loses. Life is a gift, dying is an honor, everything else is a broken heart, hard road, or blind guess, luck will strike and so will squalor. 

Outburst.

I want to pound my fist into the day until their is nothing left but screams and gasps, the terrified glare of "what if" and every bleeding moment that could have been a different reaction.

I want to kill your idols and make peers cry, rage beyond the destruction, reset it all, a pile of rubble and a glistened tear swallowed by dusted and broken blocks, of cement and brick, clearing out just in time for the morning coffee and the no pulp OJ.

Break the bones of annoyances, assault, assault, assault. I want to take the rudest mouth and fish hook it's cheek so everyone can see it. A certain way will be established, and it's mine, and it's right, and in all the arrogance and the glory, and the war, the dust will clear and things will be normal again.

After the bodies are cleaned.

Puzzle Prose.

Matter matters, time matters, space matters. Put under the microscope this can drive a man mad but what's the matter? Behind the confines and padded walls of safety, white picket fences, and the two and a half kids (unfortunately the youngest had been sawed in half at birth) there are things of importance and grandeur. School matters...of coarse the courses matter, and the courts and laws or lobbies for tests and honors of recognition, the regurgitation of the instructor matters, it shows great importance and legitimacy. When Mr. Reaper knocks lightly on your door, recitation of Shakespeare matters, and will resuscitate your life.

Looking down on another matters, because what is unequal is not square, and for the sake of the obvious, there doesn't need to be an explanation of why one man's fortune gives him more worth than another. Liters of blood and sagging flesh bags of bone in man, are measured by worth, unlike every other pile of slaughtered meat rotting on the shelves of the market. To flatter matters, and the Mad Hatter can make the daintiest daisy blush as the babbling spits from his flushed face, and brushed persona. Some green here, a little red there, and all is explained within itself simply by looking, for men in hat's don't need to explain themselves. Not because of assumptive imported ideas, transgressions to be or debates and haggling for the sake of haggling debate are covered beneath wool, or cotton, or style over everything, and this is not worth explaining, because early on, nobody will listen. 

It's boring, it's repetitive, questions answered with riddles are for children, and directions into labyrinths are moves made by pranksters with no sense or respect for time, and being at a certain place at a certain hour, when you are supposed to. That matters.

When you wake up in the morning and everything is seen behind a grid, you must go back to sleep. Layers of squared stitching, overlapped threads make sheets, and bindings, and paper...but they also make vision, all vision, wormholes and dimensions. The finite, fine and infinite matters, each string brought through the eye of a needles, twisted to some maker's liking and speared through the plain, again and again, until sowing grows into lumps and deformity, all to mend things apart, for no reason but to do. Time matters, and must be filled with something, because if not, it's just a waste, of time, and matter. 

Take something from this, take nothing, it doesn't matter to the wide-eyed traveler, so few things can be brought along upon departure, unfortunately for most, what is carried, held on to, and suspended above high waters doesn't matter, for more than a momentary flicker foolish assumptions, aspirations, to achieve, something, so it may all be spent relinquishing, in nothing. 

The Jester Courts.

I can hear myself grinning, the stretched lips of a careless fool with a heavy heart, caring too much for it all, and left on a paper airplane, malfunctioned in its first fold, for the wonder and amazement of the anticipated flight before the swirling joke of it's pathetic route softly lands on a cold wooden floor.

Paper-cuts and splinters, the best case scenario for a crash landing, pick it up and use some loft, and always keep this meal's fortune tossed or tucked somewhere where it can be found again, when the message really sticks to your gut.

Somewhere between shame and joy, let go of the wheel and let the pavement guide you through it's grit, but do not meet it head on, swerve and dance, loosen before the blow, and laugh the whole time.

Life is hard, loving is easy. You are the easiest thing I've found in this world, and the simplest wonder, and I'll wait patiently, fluttering like a clown in stupor, smearing my paint on every corner and rug, stumbling through every door on my way to you. God dammit...a life without you is blasphemy, and so yes, I'll curse and jump and lose myself in the moment, and know my idiot well, because I am a fool with good intent, and I will not relent, in the race to hold you smile.

Beneath The Rib's Eye and a Cake of Crab.

He left at a time in the morning where his drunken nights usually ended, a coffee and GPS system geared to swoon, a mentality shifting past morning traffic and an accomplishment made to find the mountains of Appalachia after a well rested night forced before the Sunset.

His car was too beaten, too rusted to drive, so he took the newer model of his girl's, who took a newer model of a man in her bed as he sped to the interview. He made it to the capitol where forefathers bled and wrote and read, the History of their origin turned a small town into a clustered metropolis.

His accomplishment of the day was making it to a small diner just off the shore, next to an Amish market, outside the heart of America, in the middle of nowhere. He ate two crab cakes and drank some more coffee as it helped him conquer a ten hour drive in only eight, he was ahead of his own time and his own interview. He found his destination as he sat amongst locals and listened in on their conversations, similar to ones he knew in Ohio, supplemented with real crab cakes instead of real bad catfish from his local lake.

She told him to be careful with the car, to not drive like an idiot, and he was in total control at one-hundred and twenty miles an hour through the mountains, as unmarked State Patrolmen paced beside him, making eye contact long enough to know not to bother, that he had somewhere he needed to be, and so did they.

He had a glimpse of the memorials, and sat on a bench waiting for another man to tell him what would happen with his life. The man asked him if he could "suit up" and made a poke at his newsboy cap, wrinkled slacks, and messy half-Windsor, tucked beneath a gray and grained vest.

"This isn't laid back Ohio, you need to dress accordingly" He said, expecting the young man to wear a suit in a car for fifteen hours. In ten short words he was delegated the job, the man just wanted to see if he was crazy enough to make the drive, so he presented the next challenge.

"Be in New York in three days, you can live on my couch if you need, and you will get paid."

He sped like a demon against traffic, and broke a dozen traffic laws in every school zone in his battle to escape D.C. He was told by a friend who lived in the city it was impossible to commute past four, and his interview ended at three-thirty.

"I'll be out of not just the city, but the state of Maryland by four" He thought to himself, as he knew he succeeded at everything else on that day, and somehow did, without arrest, though he knew he should have seen flashing lights hours before.

Just as illegally as he arrived in Maryland ahead of time he arrived back home, for a celebratory shot at the wood-laden steakhouse he worked for meager means, just after a mutual friend picked up his girl's car at a neutral lot, as she lay beside a new man.

"I made it" he exclaimed, and bragged about the adventure he would soon embark on to anyone who would listen, and his friends cheered his victory and wished him the best.

He went out that night, and every drink coupled another memory of each one dear he knew for years. They talked about where they'd been, where they would go, and passed the bong around one last time before the world changed. The celebration went long into the night, and every girl at the same dank bar wanted to hear about his trip, and the man he would become. He was on top of the world, for just one night, someone had won.

The young man woke up the next morning, and looked at his rust-bucket vehicle, then looked at his dog, and suddenly New York sounded dumb, and so did the couch, and the money. He didn't make the drive, he didn't return the calls. He thought to himself, "fuck you, and your suiting up" then he returned to his meager means and serving tables in the wooden steakhouse, but every time he bit into a bloody ribeye he thought about the taste of fresh crabcakes, and the place he stopped for a moment to reflect on it all, the place he only arrived with time to kill, and how through the steam of burnt coffee he felt at home, next to the Amish market, in who cares Maryland, population: A Handful.
 

So You Want to Die?

There was a time in life when you were in control of it all, you were a promising young man, with the world in front of you. You commanded reality, and joy seeped through your pours, at a time where poor didn't matter, because you guided reality and steered it to your liking. Poor and potential, only temporary words to kickstart greatness to be unveiled.

You were in the driver's seat of endless potential, the word itself was a badge of honor, measured by the lazy description of "so much" by those who witnessed the flame you carried. The embers of control boiled your blood, everything was such a rush, every minute a celebration of what YOU would become, the promise of YOU rushing to blossom. How stupid we are in our youth, when we know it all.

One day colors became obscure, and potential became a dream of the past, a reflection of the days of youth, everything was a blur, or an enslaved thought, to what could have been and what never will be, and in these days you clutched to thy endless knowledge, and thy fire, and THY sense of worth.

You learned about the world, and how dark it could be, how wrong things were, and how you would change it all. You always wanted to put the pain on your back, to carry the burden so others never felt the pressure of sorrow and madness. At times, you prayed to any God who would listen, to let you, and all your strength carry the load, too proud and too strong to succumb to weakness and the like.

And when you fall short of your dreams and aspirations, the fairy tale of a child phenom who shakes mankind and resets the scale of right and wrong, you want to die, to put the empty and worthless to rest.

"Well I should kill myself?" You'll say, because the world is bitter, steeped in commercialism and "Pop", and all of the people, wasting space and wasting minds will not listen, and will not bow, to the prodigy of you, and the greatness you bestow. The mediocrity will sicken you, because in the land of legends, people fall short, and you realize you live in times of dullards and pawns, those begging to be slaughtered without any knowledge of self or the power of the mind.

And whoa is you, and all of your misery, dealing with the terrible nights in heated rooms and endless feasts. And pity yourself for the horrible nights you spend smoking pot or drinking away all the pain. How merciless this God must be for you to suffer intellectual nights describing the mentality of man the the music that perks his ears. What a miserable existence it is, driving cars and chasing girls, sparking nuanced religion and debating the economic fundamentals only the rich knew how to spell only a few generations ago.

And whoa is you poor soul, in your ability to connect to a stranger across the world in the blink of an eye, and the terrible moment when you realize you can learn an alien culture overnight, or teach yourself a language, or learn thousands of years of History through your ancestors eyes, and find any answer at the tip of your tongue with the click of a mouse.

So die, and die you should, because the world will not recognize you as a great thinker, as a Shepard among the aimless flocks, same in the flesh but empty in their souls. Who could bear a life where you are the only one who is right about everything and has seen it all? Oh misery! Medicate and die, die slowly, kill the pain and let it all turn black in a romantic and perfect moment.

Race to the place where the is no God, because he has been dis-proven, abandon free will for the comfort of darkness and the infinite knowledge you hold. Oh you will live on, because your mind is so great and the world to small, you are infinite, and you know it, but nobody else does, so walk in eternity and perfection through the welcoming of a bullet, or a rope, or the thin slit up the arm's river.

What a terrible life, and it must end. The soldiers and the sick, helpless rape victims and the children without parents or food, who have spent every day thirsting or hungering for a day to live and not slowly die, how easy they have it, and how hypocritical they are to stay alive. Prisoners of war who hold on the face of a girl or the promise of a fresh breath, how wickedly they deserve to live and you to die. How harsh this life has been to you, modern bastard.

The stories and the adventure, it is all so fake, it's all so unreal, and all that exists is pain then death, so face it, because you know this is right, because you know it to be true.

And they will all weep, and wonder what could be done. Thy father will never forgive himself and thy brother will live the rest of life in misery. How they deserve to wonder for their rest of their being what they could have done to change thy path and to better thy world. The aching heart of a mother decades later, crying for days and days, she will get over your death, until she doesn't, ever.

How important you must be to ruin the lives of those who love you, because you are so un-worshiped, by them. By God, how they deserve the live every day in the pain you feel, and question themselves like you question yourself. God dammit they deserve it don't they? They deserve the burden you created and the mess you leave, God dammit they deserve it all, because they cared for you the whole time, even though you didn't care for yourself.

So die, and die you should, you selfish lump, because you are afraid of trying to live, and taking the chance to be what you are, and what you were always meant to. We all die soon enough, but don't take your time, because if you do, you might be convinced life isn't so bad after all.

Solitude

There's a place unknown to most, and few seek, the comfortable breast of solitude; between the frosted mountains and mist laden hills of nowhere Ohio, or nowhere Wyoming, or Nowhere, Anywhere, something can be found or witnessed, if only for a moment. We change lives, change friends, and time, time we try to catch, or freeze, or understand, or change, but in this moment we let go. Lay down and roll in the grass, let go of describing the blades and dew and do, and be, and let everything around you be, as you only hope ultimately to left be and free.

The world will operate and turn and hurl into another time or another place, with or without you, so just for a moment let it run and stop the chewing or the spitting, let the irritation numb you, you will be soothed. In this moment do not tire, face it, live it, and do all your mind can to capture the time where vision is clear.

Drop the "I" or the "me" for one instant, and let a string of the ball unwind in your palm, some things cannot be described, regardless of the editor or deadline, the impression or message, be present in solitude. So many fears of loneliness, so many tries and cries for attention or witness to see what cannot be shared, only filtered through the fogged eyes of a restless heart.

There are events and actions, dreams and the like not meant for others, nor mentioned. The door is not infinitely open, so do not welcome others in, do not ask them to join, their presence will carry away the purity of the moment, so grasp and hold on as long as you can. It does not need to be written or understood or defined, this is absolute failure of a writer and redemption of a mind. We cry for something to reach down and touch us, to caress what ails us, but we run, hoping to find a commonality or a shelter from the unbeknownst workings of the very deity we beg to see. When the veil is lifted partially, we cower and hide, then peak our heads out again, hoping for the sensation to return.

Know this moment and bask in it's oddity, in the peculiar feeling of being alone, and bravely greet the message you were only meant to receive. Every day we ignore these moments, and try to explain them, or remember them, only to find they have moved on without us, but know that it was there in time, and so were you, then look ahead with wonder and patience for the next breath of life to pass through.

Pigs Off The Wing

Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, Communists, Socialists, Tea-Party members, Working Families Party, Conservatives, Liberals, The Left, The Right. Anarcha-feminism, Mutualism, Platformism, Autonomism, Maoism, Marxist, Juche, Neoconservatism, Agrarianism, Monarchism, Fascism, Bioregionalism, Zapatismo, Agorism, Internationalism, Zionism, Theocracy, Dominionism,  Participism.

It's a Cluster-Fuckism. People can't even agree on definitions of their own socio-economic ideologies, let alone issues like legalization of guns, drugs, sex, books, words, hate, or anything else that attaches itself to personal freedom. Regardless of how morally correct one's individuality is, it's one of the few things we are born with, freedom in the absolute. Freedom to die at any moment, freedom to follow prophets, or the freedom to be the biggest piece of shit the world has ever known. From the moment we are born this natural freedom to merely exist is stripped away. We are taught the ways of the world by our parents, and as we become adults ourselves, we realize adults don't have all the answers simply because they are seasoned...they can seldom even provide one answer in it's absolute. We are indoctrinated through school, teachers, social norms, peers, television, etc. until reality becomes a constant onslaught of outside forces affecting and changing our minds. It's a constant assault and conditioning, with no end game. A $12 movie has been written, staffed, and conjured with the one goal of getting the consumer to buy that movie, but the symbolism, story-line and characters may damage a consumer permanently without intent. The human mind is fragile, it's something that after thousands of years of existence, we still can't comprehend, in many ways it is more alien to us, who control our own minds, than the depths of the ocean.

The volatility of modern political thought is not just a clash of civilizations or ideology, it's something more basic and not so fixable. We have dug ourselves into not just one hole, but many. We see pretty evident laws in nature that are explained by Science. We see in our daily lives that every action has a consequence, some good and some bad, but any action, puts something into motion. Our political moves domestically, our wars abroad and their affect on cultures we don't understand have all had lasting affects on this global society. Things have been put in motion without any real knowledge of what will happen as an ultimate consequence.
Our overly-complicated economic trickery has turned other nations into copycat economies, which have delineated so far from actual worth and trade, that the beautiful simplicity of economy and the merchant has now turned into an uncontrollable monster. Frankenstein economy.

I believe what we are seeing now across the world is a culmination of something we don't quite understand. We are almost instinctively dismantling society, all of the chaos, frustration, anger, corruption, all of it is reversing and destroying the post-industrial world. There are riots in Europe as their Euro collapses and entire countries are becoming enslaved to their debt. America is sinking into the ocean slowly, as the Middle East is in regional upheaval not seen since a post-Imperialist world of the 1960's. China and Russia only look unified in these times because they have been imprisoning political dissidents and making people disappear before it was the "hip" 21st Century thing to do.

We have lost ourselves as a people. Before the industrial era things were simpler, families were closer, we more actively survived the harsh nature of existence, there weren't people simply paid to do everything. What percent of this population do you think could go off, build a home, routinely make fire, hunt, garden, and fish to survive? Not just for a week or a day, as a way of life. We have turned ourselves into a helpless mound of flesh, that has everything and wants more, we pay no attention to things that matter in existence and dedicate all of our time to pop-culture and the lives of people we don't know, who generate money but do nothing great to move us forward as a people. It is unnatural, everything is so fake, and the frustration building is more than political differences, it's more than a jackass and a fatass arguing politics or red and blue. There is no Revolution, for that, there must be a majority in agreement, and that is nothing more than a myth these days. The only silent contract we seemingly agree to is self-destruction, and that is our Revolution. This is an upheaval of society, it's an overthrow of the shackles of Leviathan, and any government, any law, anything keeping us from tearing our world to pieces. To some, this may seem like a negative perspective, but to the Anarchist, it's quite uplifting.

.............Be? Cause. One is Guaranteed.

Coarse brick, painted over for a quick fix, but rust bleeds through the porous and forced adhesion, bound to crumble and be forgotten, touched for a moment and remembered for a life as the finger and thumb grind against grooves of original prints; the mind relaxes and all collapses without fear, without the sentimental grasp of memory or time.

Ask to be remembered and you shall, remembered as a jackal or jackass, a scornful beast or a lustful dud, a dude, crude, finding a rhyme for whatever it takes, committing a crime, raising the stakes, to matter. A lump of matter can't be forced to matter, it just is. Bouncing around, creating noises, gaining attention later unwanted, and judgement unneeded. With the right tone or clamor you could "make it", and good luck defining what it is you have made, because eventually, what matters, won't anymore.

Stop writing and read, stop talking and listen, stop fearing and bleed, stop listening and lead. Exist, feel pain, find comfort, let someone or something sooth you, because your anger and your whiskey won't release the tension of brick walls, cement mixed with sinew and grit. The cracks and pulls can take a break, the breaks and scars have built high enough, let them fall.

There is no point, no reason, no message meant to be combed through, and there doesn't always need to be, just let it be, just let it be. Breath, stretch, touch your surroundings, be present, just feel. It isn't always for entertainment, and there doesn't always need to be a point, there are enough points and words cluttering the air, so take it in, and let it do what it was meant to. It happens with or without explanation, or coaxing, or any of the other desperate attempts to let it be known. Breathe, the action itself is greater than the imperfect words you shuffle through to describe it. "But if I don't do it people won't see". You can lead the blind across a road no and again, but you can't restore their vision, hold their hand, take a few steps and walk away, especially when they aren't blind, but refuse to open their eyes.

Too much time wasted, looking at the screen, "what does it mean?" Someone will see, someone will say it was a waste of time, someone will be pleased, and someone else will try to figure out the writer while skipping over the words, good for them, it doesn't matter, it isn't even matter, just a blip, some imaginary way to showcase imagination, a .com version of paper that will fade even quicker.

Thoughts From the Mat.

It's dirty, painful, bloody, exhausting, and honest. The big wigs steep the canvass in lies and grime, their empty promises leak from crooked smirks, but beyond the paper, exists some of the purest elements of human emotion, physical development, and determination seen by mankind.

For a year, I hammered my wrists into place. "Und machine, und machine" I'd whisper over and over as I buried hooks into leather, I pulled myself through an aching body, constantly reminding myself the body is only my mind's machine to control. "Und machine, und machine, und machine" a brainwashing experiment, two words deafened skinned and broken knuckles, splintered fingers and swollen joints. I wore my most important human tools into blunt objects, purposefully callousing soft spots and banging fists against immovable objects, collecting scar tissue as a hobby.

There aren't too many places in reality where you find grins stained with blood, where the injured beg to continue, no matter how evident their defeat. In reality, when you don't like the way someone smirks it's unacceptable to saw off their teeth, but I found a place where that is encouraged. You hunt for weakness, prey on it, pray for it, frantically searching and prodding, looking for the right time to hurt whatever is in front of you. Someone may walk in one minute screaming "The champ is here!" and get mopped off the floor the next.

David and Goliath, dog fights, and chess matches, there's something for everyone. Some arrive with God, others with hate, and some just want to feed their babies, willing to sacrifice themselves to provide what some a mile down the road throw in the trash. Some are bored and curious, searching for a moment to feel alive, playing cards with Death as the Devil deals. For others, it is all they have ever known, the last or only chance to avoid the terrors of society, cold bars and dark hearts, feeding on the weak, an initiation where dreams are stomped out.

It's honest. It's a dance floor stained with tears and blood, covered by dust, where greats and fakes both trod fully exposed. You hear the echoes of champions, and stories from those who shook their hands or fell from their punishment. It's the realist thing, I have ever experienced, and I will never walk away.

Sorry Japan, You Just Got Roasted.

Japan. Overpopulation, typhoons, nuclear reactor disasters, atomic bomb catastrophe. Cramped hotels, people living on people, rejoicing in pollution and land slides, an island that abides by self destruction, a volcano eruption, children and slaves, whipped by sixteen hour days of study...it's cruddy, soaked in the bloody and muddy, gray skies, rainy days, and dead samurais. It's not bigotry it's imagery, painted by Panadas, rice, bamboo trees, and bad days with chemistry, it's misery.

Anime poisons, more Americans than a Blowfish Roll, comatose Ginger, shit's taken it's toll. Bunch of awkward kids, and two armed squids, shitting from their mouth, wasting time at Lids, with broke out faces, permanently sealed behind parent's places, tentacles reaching into spaces grasping for Yu Gi Oh cases, but finding dead air, bouncing foreheads off LG screens and the PlayStation's glare.

God must hate Japan, and I just can't blame him, he showed a old man there the path and he claimed that God shamed him, maimed him, the emotional wreck, cried out that Judo had trained him, but life had defamed his once noble craft, so you do the math, one steel sword and one pissed off Jap, he bent over sharp with his face in his lap, would have beheaded himself if he had crafted the trap. A small island of insanity, twisted vanity and strange talent, wait for the day a unicycle is valiant, and when a balancing act is worth the practice, anywhere else but the Fallen Circus of Axis.

For Better or Worse.

Truth is the most hidden, the most forbidden essence of all. Smells can be remembered, triggering waves of the past and all that came, or didn't, or may have twice, moments and conversations, connections and missed opportunities, or the right things to say, at the wrong times, at the most crucial hour and vulnerable breaths; death, and all that it opens, or closes waits...brakes busted, gears churning, a slide from the cliff into the inevitable, or the depths, of fear and love, opposing one another inside a bitter and dismal tango, where underdogs are real, losing battles most of the percent, only to make the one victory shine brighter than endless defeat, and impatient ascent.

Descent, into the cloudless days of gray and doubt, rhymes broken and found, strength sacrificed to be profound, to exist, or falsely claim being through sacrificial words, shunned feeling lost in the abyss of communication, a nation, divided by lines and the imagination of men assumed to be greater than those equal, living and working for different goals and tribulation, all to fall and rot in an unseen shadow, and fear of numb tranquility, forced confrontation, ground into the dirt and the common, where we will all lay together.

We shiver, we grasp, sometimes for air, or the secondary comfort of cotton lumps, remembering the people who broke the falls and supported the toll of life, a pillow cannot find you in your darkest days. Lay beside her, dine her, but do not love, as you may fright her, and all the comfort of clouds above will decide one day to shrug, a fall back to reality, but never beyond thyself and all the foundation missing from the first nail. Pale Ale, for a moment of clarity, and a morning of confusion, a gasp and sweat, last nights dream, a forgotten illusion, of what could have been or what could be, the aching rest of a full night of sleep.

Lost in an abortion, is the distortion, of reality, truth is fleeting from peers and sons, of those promised guidance by those whom are shunned. One day a prince, the next day a beggar, youth flutters away then dances in front, children someday, but tomorrow's a front, a game, a play, a feeling lost and found again, with every wrong emotion, or move, today's wife could be tomorrow's nightmare, and yesterday's love could be thy neighbor's bore, a whore, or the innocent girl next door, blossomed into perfection and left for dead twenty years or more, down the road where walkers are run over, by fast pace cars, of loud hums and rich bums, worried about the pedal without ever enjoying the ride.

Spit from beneath the wheels of the perceived stars are the scars, of those who tread lightly and patiently await, a fate which may never arrive. They trudge through the snow, and the bitter road, through chilling winds and endless loss, surviving on will, hope, and love, or warmth, or simply a sign from above, a wink or nod, praying to be told it is not all in vain. They walk over broken wills, and those who settled for fragmented rock, who lied then died, beaten to death by their own thoughts and failures, but if they just keep walking, they could discover comfort beyond their wildest dreams. They may be shot dead a step before the summit, only exclaiming and just for a moment, that it can be done.

The man on the road promises a safe arrival, and asks you to throw away your Bible, or whatever it is you grip closest to your heart, and for a safe return you will be showered in paper, when stacked high enough is like stone, shattering bone, severing the brain from the heart, and dreams from an eternal nightmare. You may only live once, and you may life forever, but you can never be certain, so drag on, walk alone if you must, but never be afraid to let another carry your forward, even if the last let you down, because easy paths are just an illusion, for the weak to be drawn in and finished quick. Break the line, do not fall before it, we all define, ourselves, and our steps will always stray from one another, and if they didn't, every step would lose it's meaning.

Never falter at the word of another, it's not a race but a trail, be aware, have the tortoise for dinner, and for breakfast, the hare, this leg's sinner could be the next one's saint...but walk on, you never know what awaits. You can only see what has failed but when you look down below, it is your feet you see...do you see?

It was once flat and had an end, and then it was round and you'd come back again, explanations of it all, through the thicket and the barriers, climb over the wall, never stop, never. Never itself it debated and proven, but the more you see, the more you see it's all woven, powers that be and powers unseen may stop your constant defeat in a moment, and inside the depths of the eyes of another, a story itself frozen forever, enthralled without meaning, it's a moment of truth, though the person holding that truth may run from their own, and on this day, you will know there was not one defeat, not one speck of remorse, and you will live forever, for better or worse.

The Question of Syria

Since 2001, "terror" has been used as a precursor for the United States to attack and invade countries in the Middle East, whom have been seen as agents working against our "national interests", since the 70's, well before the War on Terror. One of the main reasons people question the actual story of 9/11 is because of how this event has been used to propagate multiple military actions against nations and leaders whom the CIA and Security Council have identified as threats to the U.S. decades before the attacks on September 11th. In this very moment, leaders are debating whether or not to go to war with Syria over the accusations that Assad's military has used Sarin nerve gas against it's citizenry. It's important in a situation like this to peel away the cover and war rhetoric and really dig into what is actually going on, and what happens behind the closed doors of government.

In case you didn't already know, the people at the top of our government don't go to war over emotional issues, or the strict defense of human rights. The entire showcase of "America, the Crusader of Justice and Democracy" is absurd, it's language used for those who have no idea what goes on in the global arena, for the mom and pops who are constantly terrified for the security of their children and are afraid of what the world will do to them. The government plays off of this fear, and let's you know, "Yes, the world is a dark and scary place, and you need us to protect you from it."

In the world from a realist perspective, war, trade, air-strikes, and humanitarian aid is all dispensed in some symbiotic fashion. We, along with every other world-power, will not take any action simply because it benefits another country. A thought up strategy may benefit another country, but the plan isn't executed unless there is some benefit to us, and "us" is not you and I as citizens, but "U.S. interests" a term used by many and understood by few. U.S. interests are things that spread American influence through the world. We aren't policing the world because it needs us to survive, it is seen as "in our interest" to do the things we do out of fear of other superpowers, like Russia and China, because it's assumed these nations will take actions and stick their influence somewhere if we don't.

If you need evidence of this, feel free to learn about the Cold War.

We stood idle during the genocide in Rwanda because there was no gain for U.S. interests by interfering. Most of the time when horrible things happen in Africa occur "we" do nothing, because private companies have already sucked the continent dry of it's national resources, and the governments or people themselves have nothing to offer us. Parasitic exploitation is in full circle.

The Middle East has been a focal point of U.S. interests since oil was discovered in the region in the 70's. When America spearheaded the oil boom it also led the industrial revolution in the early 19th century, but eventually, our oil fields began to run dry, and other countries were making discoveries. The Middle East as a whole is rich with oil, but these fields are separated by national lines. If the Ottoman Empire still existed today, it would be the economic focal point of the world, because all of these oil fields would be unified under one national identity. This would provide self sufficiency for the Ottomans, and directly threat the interests of the U.S. by creating a real trade rival. The natural reunification of the Middle East under Arab Nationalism may be seen as an impossibility from the outside (as we are always to believe the Middle East is full of nations who are modern day tribesman with blood vendettas against one another now and forever) but when looking at conventional maps through the past millennium and you will see this region unified more often than not.

Enter Saddam Hussein, more than a brutal dictator, more than a man once on the CIA payroll, supported to destroy Iran, was a Socialist, a member of the Ba'ath Party, and a pan-Arab Nationalist. This is to say, he was someone who wanted the reunification of Arab nations, not so much under peace, but by force. His expansionism into Kuwait caused Desert Storm, effectively shutting down his attempt to acquire territory before it gained any momentum. Decades later we went to war under false pretenses to topple the Iraqi government we helped shape decades before and had Saddam killed. He wasn't a huge threat to us, here at home, but he was a recognizable character, had the respect of his people through fear, had one of the most powerful militaries in the Middle East (we sold it to him) and held Pan-Arab Nationalism as one of his ideals, in other words, he got too close to the Sun.

Let's move onto Muammar Gaddafi, killed without so much of a peep from the American people, was a dictator, but he was also a socialist and an Arab-Nationalist like Saddam. He wasn't a threat to American people, but he was a recognizable name once again, who made himself and his country rich through oil, and another man who called for the region to unite regardless of if the means were peaceful, a man, seen as a leader in the eyes of many in the Middle East.

This is important when looking at Syria. The Iraq War was a strategic disaster. It has been the focal point of public opinion of the War on Terror, and almost brought the war down, as it should have. Bush ordered an invasion, without any real understanding of the Iraq people, and how the country was unified through fear of it's leader, but not commonality. The reason why the occupation of Iraq lasted so long is because the people there wanted their own interests, not the interests of America, Halliburton, or other private companies, to be put first. The profit of private industry exploded in Iraq before any notion of Democracy even hit the table. Insurgents have fought back, suicide bombers have constantly attacked civilians, the entire country is a mess. It doesn't matter to our interests that Iraq is a mess, because it is not a nuclear country, and therefor, destabilized, poses no major threat.

While Saddam and Gaddafi may not have been benevolent leaders who championed human rights, they were able to consolidate power in their countries, generating relative stability and infrastructure inside a region, that seriously lacks these two elements. It could be argued that the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were just an opportunity to get boots on the ground in the region, as we have witnessed government after government destabilized and overthrown, not at all in the best interests of the Middle Eastern people. Political unrest or full-blown upheaval in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria, Lebanon, Jordan, Oman, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Bahrain, Libya, and Kuwait.

In the case of Libya, rebels seemingly came out of nowhere in 2011 and created unrest in the country. Gaddafi claimed these rebels were foreign influence trying to purposefully destabilize the country. He said it was "Al-Qaeda" and was mocked on national television in the U.S. for this. These claims were a show of his mental instability and how "bizarre" he is. Both sides of this conflict ignored international law, and tortured one another, wiped out civilians, using them as pawns. Regardless of the politics, eventually the country was successfully destabilized and our government used "atrocities" against mankind as a precursor for air strikes. Gaddafi is dead, and without official U.S. intervention he would have outlasted and eventually defeated the  rebels. This time unlike Iraq, we killed the leader we wanted to quickly, and didn't get the bad PR for U.S. casualties, but we did begin the discussion of chemical weapons. Gaddafi never used them, but our news organizations at home started planting the seed and drilled the idea of "concerns of chemical weapons" over and over into the minds of U.S. citizens.

Jump to Syria , and Al-Bashir Assad, a Socialist member of the Ba'ath Party in Syria. Al-Assad's father ruled Syria before him as an Arab-Nationalist, and the President before his father, Shukri al-Quwatli was also an Arab-Nationalist. The country has been destabilized through a bloody Civil War over the past two years, where well over 100,000 people have died. The U.S. government has provided weapons to rebels just like we did in Libya, and like we did in Afghanistan in the 1980's. The rebels have failed to kill Assad or win the war, and now we are to believe it is time for U.S. intervention, because Sarin nerve gas has been used on civilians in the area. Obama and others have been debating whether or not to officially support Syrian rebels for quite sometime, but have been scared off by Russia's tough talk (it is in their interests for Syria not to be attacked as the only Russian naval base in the Mediterranean is in Syria). We contemplated assassinating Assad when the conflict began because protesters were being killed and stood down. As the violence has escalated, the pundits and war-hawks of corporate news channels have debated whether or not to intervene in Syria through the entire conflict.

Here are some more things to think about on Syria. Al-Assad, like Gaddafi, has claimed the rebels are trained and influenced by Al-Qaeda. A pretty strange claim, as it gets ignored and completely overlooked by our media. All of the the governments thrown into chaos have come from what corporate news called "The Arab Spring". All of the rebels involved in the Spring are just as violent as their predecessors, and adhere to the idea of Sharia Law, a sect of Islam, where government and religion are conjoined. A sect of government that routinely causes human rights abuses. Once again, the people of the region have not benefited, but the theme of "divide and conquer" has well been put into place.

Why would Bashir Al-Assad use Sarin gas on civilians only a few days after the UN Security Council sent people to look for chemical weapons? Knowing Obama has long wanted to have a way into Syria, why would he use chemical weapons, months after Obama claimed this would be a "red-line" drawn for us to intervene? It makes absolutely no sense from a strategic standpoint. The man has been fighting off rebels for two years, to hold onto the nation given to him after his father's death, and he does the only thing that would guarantee U.S. interference?

If we struck now and killed Assad, we would damage our relations with Russia, show the entire Arab community it is us, not them, that control their destiny, we would spend millions if not more money we as hard working Americans don't have, and we would hand Syria over to murderers. That's right, beyond the rhetoric of Assad, is the brutal truth of those whom oppose him.

 http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/05/world/middleeast/brutality-of-syrian-rebels-pose-dilemma-in-west.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

Just like in Libya, both sides of this war are ignoring international laws of war, like most in the Middle East tend to do, and we are supposed to support a side? We are supposed to put our own credibility on the line after it has been so damaged, to pick a side in the matter? The article below shows, that we don't even know whom is using chemical weapons.

http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2013/may/6/syrian-rebels-used-sarin-nerve-gas-not-assads-regi/

It would make a lot more sense for rebels to release the gas and blame it on Assad, knowing this would cause U.S. intervention and the eventual fall of the Assad regime, wouldn't it? You have to wonder what the end game is for every side to be able to play in this game.

For some reason, big Whigs have decided destabilizing and throwing the entire Middle-East into chaos is in the U.S. best interests. My guess would be so puppet dictators like Mohammad Mossadegh and President Mubarak, can be re-established in the region with renewed support for U.S. interests to directly oppose Iran's influence in the region, and oppose any chance of Arabs and Persians of uniting under an common regional identity. You see, there was a revolution in Iran in 1979, and those who determine "our interests" really, really took this personal, and there has seemingly been some sort of vendetta on the Middle East since. I don't see any of this to be coincidence, because it isn't, just like it isn't a coincidence that Syria borders Iran, and opposes Israel.

It's all in our best interests, to have blood on our hands, more blood on our hands, more countries thrown into chaos, and more Israeli operations completed without them having to spend a dime or go to war directly with their enemies. It's all in our interests to ensure Israeli dominance economically and militarily over the region permanently. Here's some more food for thought. John McCain seems to be pretty intent on going to war...now.

http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2013/09/20139414329291833.html

Play, Damn You. Play the Game.

The essence of life is life itself. Wallowing is wasting, and waste will swallow, all of the fiber, until you are hollow. Stay hungry, but never starve.

To realize the game, it's purpose, you must first play. Let the winners and losers sort themselves out when the curtains close, and until they collapse, hand yourself over. Do not look through the hole, climb the fence, do not watch, dance on the field. You cannot win, you cannot lose if you never try, if you never pick up the ball, if you never lace up the glove. Someday there will be no end, if the game is played perfectly it will never end, it will passionately move forward, and both sides will pause, just for a moment to realize their part, and that they do not oppose one another, but instead, that they breathe life into one another, and in this moment, rivals will pray that they can fight forever.

For the essence of life is life itself, there may be a beginning, and could be an end, but just like any game, it's what happens between that defines the time. Get on the stage, jump off the cliff, close your eyes and let go of the fear, of the doubt, let yourself feel. You will hear the air, it will brush against your skin, it soothes.Sometimes it is the unseen that fills you with life, that carries you. Let yourself love the game, and you will stop caring about winning or losing, you will know what it's like to run free.

Life is only a string of short moments, and at the end, everyone will talk about the winners, of the performances, of the failures and successes, this is why funerals are so dull. They are times to reflect on life, and mourn the lost, but the lost themselves are never present, and for good reason, it is a waste of time, of life. They have moved on to another game, players don't enjoy the press conference, it's a formality, it's fake, the questions are determined, the answers are expected, dull words of the heavenly lights, which caught a glimpse of heroes and heartbreak, of love and struggle, of grit, and everything beautiful that cannot be repeated and will never be captured in whole. Play damn you, get out there and leave your heart on the field. What are you saving it for?

Jason Reynard, B.A. Political Science, Comparative Politics, former Political Consultant.

About a month ago, I promised I would stop ranting about politics, having said that, let's move on.

It dawned on me last night, as I was polishing off a few Rogue Dead Guy Ale's (product placement) that a majority of people have no idea what is going on around them in Government, part of me is jealous, and the other part I think, finally had the "ah-ha!" moment I've been waiting for.

A pretty large majority of people in this country will not read what I'm about to say, but I never started doing this to please other people, I selfishly began writing, because I enjoy it. So, fuck em'. There is another large sect of people in this country who will be turned off to any knowledge I have to offer simply because of my language, well to be more appropriate, fuck them too, and still, the rest of the make-up of people will not take the time to read, because it's inconvenient, and certainly fuck them, most of all, with a six-foot rubber fist. These people are worthless, and every sect of their imagination has been projected to them by another person's mind or another person's imagery. They are in a sense, dead already, as they refuse the exercise the very essence of what makes us human, internal thought, and our creative connection to the next plain. Yes, the next plain, the place we cannot understand, a world where Deja Vu, gut instinct, love, dreams, the afterlife, the true machinery of the Universe, and all other things that both don't exist and do at the same time whirl above and below, taunting us with every decision we make without acknowledging what is beyond the physical.

So, back to the physical, and what we know, or at least, what we perceive to know. It is 2013, and we are in the middle of one of the most turbulent times in human History, with updates across the world at our fingertips in an instant, we can see these times unfolding before our eyes, and yet we choose to look away. The truth of existence is beating on the front door of America, and those who need to step up to the plate, hide behind the sofa, while serpents control our destiny and run it into the ground. People like John McCain, Nancy Pelosi, George Bush, Diane Feinstein, Barack Obama, Michael Bloomberg, Dick Cheney, Joe Biden, Sean Hannity, Al Sharpton, and so many other of our perceived "leaders" do nothing more than pit us, human beings, against each other on false political front lines. They make us hate each other, they tell us what to think, they tell us 'their side" of the story as opposed to ever giving us the straight answer, the truth, the real story. They invoke Hitler when talking about their rivals, they invoke Martin Luther King Jr. when talking about themselves, they do nothing, absolutely nothing more than play off our deepest human emotions, to make us destroy one another. It's worked, this country is collapsing from the inside.

The entire Middle East is in upheaval, North Korea, one of the world's worst Despotism states is developing nuclear weapons, Europe is collapsing. Riots all over the world, people are tired of being controlled, they know we as a people, are destined to be something more. Be a part of this, pay attention, you cannot tread water lazily when the tides of History cascade. You have no choice other than to be a part of it, you must know what part you want to play. Change, real change, is coming, for better or worse.

Pay close attention to what I'm going to say, because I don't care what you think about me for saying it, the American Government is preparing to kill you. I don't know why, and I don't know exactly what we are on the precipice of, because we have never seen anything like this in human History, it has never happened.

"THIS KID IS FUCKING INSANE". No, I'm seriously not, this is the most important part, so don't just hang up on me, read this.

I've harped on this for a while, it is now legal for President Obama to order the assassination of American citizens without judge or jury. Here is an article about it, you can find hundreds more.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/05/us-targeted-killings-eric-holder_n_1320515.html

This Executive Order was passed without any lawmaking body that represents us as a Democracy having any say in the matter. They always use terrorism as an excuse, just like they use it as an excuse to tap our phones, to save all of our personal data, to access our emails, our passwords, our accounts. It's all in the name of Terrorism. Some bullshit word, some bullshit war that invokes fear in it's very name.

Guantanamo Bay, we don't know who is even there. There are human beings being held without trial, many of whom are not terrorists, but we are afraid to release them, because after torturing them, we fear if released, we have actively turned them into terrorists. http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/aug/12/john-grisham-guantanamo-bay-us-wrong

In case you didn't know, it's legal for any American, now to be detained indefinitely without trial, with jury, only if they are "suspected of terror". Pretty fucking vague.

Yes, I realize that people are not just being assassinated, or disappeared around the country, but realize, the legal precedent has been set, and carrying out such crimes is now, not an offense that can impeach a President, this is not now just a philosophical debate about safety, it has grown teeth legally.

America has the world's largest prison population. China, Communist Dictatorship, Russia, Communist pseudo-Dictatorship, North Korea, all of these enemies and nations we see as being constant Human Rights deniers...we have a prison population larger than all of them combined. 25% of the world's prisoners are in America.  On top of this, over 800,000 people go missing in America every year, every year. Something is seriously, seriously wrong with this country. An estimated 750,000 are adults, not children. It's beyond comprehension.

Now, let's use some good old fashioned imagery of what our police forces look like these days.

                                                                                                                                                                   I think you get the idea. This is not a Police force, there is a word for this in the world of Political Science, it's called paramilitary. But hey guys, it's for your own safety, from terrorism. 9/11 happened twelve years ago, Osama Bin Laden is dead, Saddam doesn't have nukes, but for your safety, we are going to arm our police forces tooth and nail to protect you. We are going to spy on your phone calls, detain people without trial, assassinate people without trial, because it's for your safety.

What else has happened for our safety here recently? The Department of Homeland Security has purchased 1.6 BILLION rounds of ammunition in the past year, hollow points, in case you don't know, these bullets are called "cop killers" because upon impact they explode and bits of shrapnel spread into the tissue, causing massive bleeding that is extremely, extremely difficult to stop. 1.6 billion rounds, not for the military, for Homeland Security, who the fuck at home are we securing? That's enough ammunition to kill every American citizen...three times. Acknowledge what is happening, let it sink in a bit.

Do you really think Government leaders want to ban assault weapons in the United States solely because of school shootings? They don't seem to have much of a problem distributing fully-automatic rifles freely among our police forces, along with domestic tanks. This is what you do to set up for warfare, not protect the citizenry against a dozen underfed Saudi Arabians with box cutters, or one manically depressed nut-job with a semi-automatic, ya dig?

You looked around your neighborhood recently? Notice cameras on intersections that didn't used to be there? Did you remember voting for that? Don't worry, we have you under constant surveillance for your own safety. Good luck not getting shot, teased, or the shit beat out of you if you attempt to film cops doing anything, from routine traffic stops to killing the neighbors dog, or illegal searches and seizures. Though you can see them filming you, taking pictures for facial recognition at demonstrations and protests of any sort. Is a harmless video really "interrupting police business"? No. Not at all. They are keeping people from filming this because it's terrifying, it's intimidating, and it's going on with a large majority of people not knowing its happening. It's the world's greatest magic trick, the overnight transformation of America into a militarized Police State.

So, here we are in the real world, never really free, always clinging on to some job we hate, to scrape by, and never become the people we were destined to, completely tuned in to television and tuned out to the greater beyond, never asking ourselves important questions like "What's my purpose?" "What happens when I die?" just standing idly by with the one life we get, not having any real choice in what we do with it. Work 5 days for two off, too tired to do anything exciting, too broke to go anywhere for a long time, a quarter of every dollar we make goes towards killing people over seas, and buying our police enough weaponry to completely and legally destroy us.

It doesn't matter if you think this is real or not, if you think this is with bad intent or not, the only thing missing for an absolute massacre in this country is the order. The cameras are set up, the weapons and machinery are distributed, the new law enforcement agencies have been introduced, the laws are in place, the precedent has been set. The Boston Bombing was a national televised showcase of what our government can do to any major city in the snap of a finger. The guns and ammunition are there, and the tanks. If we are the enemy, our digital correspondence is already tapped, our phones are accessed and all digital print archived. Good luck trying to start a resistance against this form of government, hiding from the drones and helicopters and cameras, you can't even stage a protest without everyone getting shot with rubber bullets or maced, good fucking luck leading a revolution to resist oppression, it's been stamped out before it ever began, right under our noses.

Hey, don't worry, I'm sure our legislators will do the right thing, the ones who steal money from us and legally get away with insider trading, the ones who get paid kick-backs, and suck up to each other like this is all some big game, some big "haha" over a glass of Chardonnay paid for by the constituents, the ones who just got their homes repossessed, whose fathers just got thrown in prison, the lowly jobless who can't take care of their families or afford to educate their children to do better. Said I wasn't going to rant about politics anymore, I guess I didn't really lie all that much, because I'm not talking about politics, I'm talking about some sort of domestic war that for some reason, our government is preparing to fight inside this country. Ask yourself who the "enemy" is?

Passion.

Passion will carry you further than any human emotion; there is love, there is hate, there is fear, but passion will let you hover above all of these things. Passion is a sustained moment of perfection, where you will float above doubt and critique, where you lose the fear to care, and take a leap.

We sacrifice passion for what is deemed necessary, what is deemed normal, what is depicted as acceptable, passion will plow through it all...doubt, sadness, and sometimes madness. When you sacrifice all for passion, you will reach immortality. The money will not matter, you will hold disdain of fame, you will only want to be alone, with your passion. It is an essence, a sense, unattained by so many who will never know the hunt has begun.

It can destroy and create love, it will force you to rise above the clouds of mundane existence, and it will channel you to something better, something never before seen by the crowds of onlookers, who drown in the wonderment of what has made you different than they. You will not care if they see, as you exist, and feel that existence, and how beautiful it can be, when you dedicate yourself not in part, but whole. You will not care about their thoughts, about their judgement, nor their ridicule, for you have found passion, something nobody but yourself will understand, something you will never have to explain, it WILL NOT be contained and cannot be simply obtained. It is a fire within, that will never stop burning, the endless yearning to outsiders discerning, the closet human contact can be to divine gears churning. 

For it is passion, it is life, and for those that do not seek, and do not sacrifice, they will never find, the core of life.

The Rant to End All Rants.

America is in a state of confusion, where the backwards moves us forward, and rallies for "change" have quickly transformed into the progression of hope's suffocation. Hope, trampled by blood-lust and frenzied masses, as they celebrate the demise of invisible foes and conjured enemies. Hope, dangling above the starved by the depraved, a teasing game with a ball of yarn, just to watch the cat do flips for nothing in return. Hope, sealed behind the guise of a classified envelope, revenge for the written word, once burned in stacks by people, now the words order the burning, all sealed behind doors of laughter and purposeful ignorance, chosen stupidity, only a more innocent and less cowardly version of aversion.

If you don't understand the imagery in it's entirety, don't be alarmed, for you are human, and this part of your brain has actively been eviscerated since your conception. As an update on the country, people are rallying all around the country at this moment to "avenge" the death of Trayvon Martin, wide rallies in various cities all call for George Zimmerman, to be prosecuted, executed, electrocuted, anything to satisfy their thirst for vengeance. This fire has been fueled by the President, by The Justice Department, by corporate media. There have been no calls for peace, for reconciliation, or even directions to READ by definition what "Murder 1" is, and how without clear, premeditated intent to murder beyond a reasonable doubt, it cannot be.

Of course, as a writer, I must recuse myself to a degree, because many people don't understand what "corporate media" even is, and still think the petty jokes about "FOXNEWS" illegitimacy are not jokes reserved for the media as a whole. The fact is CNN, MSNBC, FOX, ABC, are all misguided bastards of information, with intent to gain ratings, not to inform the public of truth, especially a public who loudly rejects truth at every turn, a public who cannot see but two inches beyond it's own face, a public who will gladly mock, then intimidate, then threaten an opposing view until finally, after the damage is done, that opposing view is proven correct, then the public will fade into the background like cowards, ignoring their own actions without ever acknowledging how wrong they were. Who would want to tell an unapologetic tank full of sharks they are in captivity, when all they want is to be fed? This is the reality of our time.

While Obama and his goons desperately try to damage the legal system like they have destroyed the main legal foundation of this country for years, a petty attempt to muster racial tensions, as ignorant whites and blacks alike call into their stupid talk-radio show hosts, and share their infantile views on the case...the House voted today to NOT curtail the wide domestic NSA spying programs across the nation. While hundreds of people killed one another over the past two months, black, white, Latino, and everything in between without a pip from any major media outlet, Obama got away free with his corrupt and politically slanted IRS, and the Department of Justice got away with outing major news sources from the one major news outlet that actually does it's own research, The Associated Press. It doesn't do it's research very well, but unlike FOX, CNN, and the likes, at least it gathers it's own information.

I've taken a walk from all of this, from the constant onslaught of corruption and shit in this nation to focus on myself and what makes me happy, because as a political writer, happiness is impossible. Every day I read a news article, I only learn of the new position my government puts me in as it rapes me, and how I cannot abort the bastard rape-child I bear within. It's infuriating. 25% of every hour I bust my ass to barely get by, is stolen by the government and wasted, I'm forcefully taking part in so many things I disagree with to my bone. I am tired of it. I'm tired of trying to make people realize how bad things really are. I thought those three cases would be enough to expose how much of a liar and crook Obama is, and just like the snake he is, he wiggled out of it, by helping turn George Zimmerman into the national scapegoat. President Obama doesn't care if a race war broke out in Florida because of the case, he hasn't once asked others to respect the law or asked for George and his family's safety, not once has he asked anyone to be rational, because as I've repeated so many ways over the years, he doesn't care, as long as he's off the hook.

Did you know Obama is half black? Did you know he is half white? Did you know he doesn't give a flying fuck about 100% of blacks and 100% of whites?

I've stopped writing about politics and social issues for the most part because to be honest, most people don't get it, either their egos are too big or their senses too dull, of their intelligence too low to comprehend simple ideals or morals I attempt to bring to the table. Those who do care enough to read and comment only seem to do so for the sake of argument, to jerk off their own egos, not to actually meet at agreements, but to see who can turn a discussion into a childish poop-throwing competition faster. Money is the thing most people care about these days. A President is seen as good if the country generates money under him, and that is endlessly dangerous. We sell our souls collectively these days. Work jobs we hate, temper the mundane, the boring, the average, the false sense of normal because it's better than the unknown alternative. Someone is seen as "doing good for themselves" if their job pays well, doesn't matter what kind of person they are or what the job is, just if it pays well.

Newsflash: This world will someday be turned upside down, and all of that false wealth will show it's true value, nothing. If you have sacrificed yourself, integrity, your own good for a piece of paper, you have sold everything for nothing. That day will come so much sooner than you expect it to.

It was recently brought to my attention how many of my "peers" wonder "what I am doing?" as if I am just flushing myself down the toilet. I've spent the last year dedicating myself to boxing, overcoming injuries, fears, gaps of knowledge and athleticism to compete. Pipe dreams to some. If I went in the ring tomorrow and knocked out the Middleweight champion of the world, everyone would know what I've done, there would be praise, everyone would want to know me, to talk to me. Kids would want my autograph, girls would want my hand, and the world would be upside down from the exterior. The only difference to me in this scenario would be that I just got paid a fat purse.

Outside of that I would have studied film, sparred tough opponents to ready myself, pushed myself physically every day because of my hunger to be a competitor and my want to get better, nursed injuries, wiped away blood, lost nights of sleep to aches and pains, fought off my want to drink or smoke or eat things I shouldn't, constantly battled with myself to find a self-discipline that is inhuman. These are only a fraction of it, it takes so much more work than anyone on the outside can comprehend, and that's what I've spent trying to perfect the past year. I've been actively digging into my own soul to see what I am made of, what levels of pain I can take, how far I can push myself before I fall, if I have the mental toughness to will myself forward when every cell in my body is screaming for me to stop, to rest, to sleep, to relax. I've learned that I have ability to get hit, that I can deflect punches that would injure most, to sustain punches that would injure most, and most importantly, have the courage to keep pressing forward. Boxing has never been about money for me, it's always been about learning who I am. To the outside, if it doesn't make money it doesn't make sense, and that's fine, but to someone like me, those on the outside are weak.

Recently, I've been focusing my energy on stand-up comedy as I've been nursing a shoulder injury, once again, it doesn't pay me anything, but I enjoy it. Like boxing, there are technical aspects those on the outside don't often see, and just like boxing, it takes something most people don't have or try to develop, courage. Go in front of 50 people tomorrow and try to make suicide, war, drug overdoses, real hard hitting social issues funny, go make them laugh. See how it makes you feel standing up their with nothing but a microphone and some nerve. If I had my own HBO special, and toured the country as a comedian, I could brag at my ten year reunion about how far I've come, about how I have all my debts paid off. So many people I know would be happy if I did a bit about them in my act, or offered them a flight and free tickets to one of my shows, once again I'd be "successful" just like if I was champion of the world.

I'm done with the politics, or at least telling you about it, because soon enough they will beat on my door and arrest me for it, that's where I picture this country going. Because outside of the ring and off the stage, I don't see much bravery these days. Between the high taxes, the mandates, the surveillance of emails, phone communication, the satellite imagery than can see your backyard, the invasive search and seizures without warrants, the police brutality, the gun laws, free speech laws, drone programs, illegal wars, news companies turned commercial, refugee whistle-blowers, imprisoned whistle-blowers, CCTV expansion, drug tests, tobacco tests, mental evaluations, all spread gracefully over a land with the world's largest prison population, I don't see much freedom either.

The land of the free and home of the brave? I'll tell you what I've been doing, digging into the depths of who I am as a being, both in this world and beyond, I've been studying the geopolitical arena, following trends, mapping out what I see as a full global economic collapse, taking punches, making jokes, chasing girls, developing a destructive right hand, tweaking social commentary, reading, exploring reality, REAL reality, I stop and look at trees and stars and the Moon, I've been smelling the roses, and working tough jobs for bad pay, all with a degree, and a chip on my shoulder, and an imagination that carries me from one project to another. I've been hanging out on the big playground, living, trying to find my way, writing poetry, a book, a joke, just for a smile, a conversation, an agreement, or a connection to someone I want to know more about, because my life it boring. I'm playing, surviving, uncovering, learning. I am rich, and I am so, so disappointed that people keep trying to bring me down with their petty dimes.

Untitled Short Story from October 3rd, 2002, found in 2013

The little man asked why I had not helped him out sooner. I had no idea what he was talking, and I was rather frightened by his mania. I asked if he was real, or if I may have accidentally came into contact with some harsh paint fumes. He just laughed at my question, believing me to be facetious though I projected a serious tone. I asked him to explain why he had come to me in the night, but before I let him rant, I went to the kitchen to make sure the date, time, and all things in my house were undisturbed and in order, so I would know it wasn't a dream.

The man explained to me that he had evolved from a green bean. I thought this was of course, hard to believe, but the fact is, when a little green man is talking to you, many things become believable. It dawned on me that last week my mother made a stew with potatoes, green beans, and undetermined meat. I asked the man if it was possible my mother didn't cook the food thoroughly.

"Slow down" He said.

"Let me introduce myself before we get too far into details. My name is Gerdro, but the other 'Vegetable People' call me 'The Lean Mean, Rabid, Psycho, Green Bean'."

After hearing his nickname, I decided to refer to him as Gerdro. Gerdro told me he rose from beneath my bed, and I immediately knew how he came into existence. I. Despise. Green Beans. When my mother made stew the other day, I stuck my bowl under the bed and purposefully forgot about it, I would rather not think about green beans, let alone eat them. Now that my first question was answered, Gerdro opened a wider conversation.

He told me of a wise Carrot Man who dwelled in my kitchen, mighty Olive Warriors that have been the only 'Vegetable People' to survive after traveling to the depths of my basement, and the dreaded, Evil Potato in my brother's room, who seeks to destroy all of mankind. It was an odd and surprising story to me, but I knew something had to be done about the guy from Idaho, trying to be a hot potato and all. Gerdro explained the facts of the 'Vegetable People' to me, how long their life spans are, and al details you would want or wouldn't want to know. After two hours of 'Vegetable Speak' I decided it was time to devise a plan for the safety of the 'Vegetable People' and the preservation of mankind.

I put Gerdro in my hand and walked down into the basement to meet The Olive Warriors. During his search on the floor, Gerdro unexpectedly ran into a wild gang of peas. I heard his intimidating nickname, but was still taken back by how much of a scrapper Gerdro really was. He took out ten peas by himself, they may have been smaller, but he was outnumbered. Gerdro battled in a life and death struggle until my dog, Melvin, appeared and ate all ten of the vile pea creatures. After a ten minute search, we found The Olive Warriors, and discussed how we must stop The Evil Potato. The Warriors happily agreed, and we all decided it was time to visit The Wise Carrot.

On our journey to The Carrot, an unsettling feeling of evil lurked over my senses. The Carrot forewarned of danger, and said for a proper resistance and any hope of victory, we must travel far into the backyard to meet The Rotten Pepper Army. We grouped up with Sgt. Pepper and his men, and even convinced a few beetles in the yard to help in our struggle, giving us a sizable force. We created three divisions out of Sgt. Pepper's Army, the beetles, and The Olive Warriors, whom were slowly losing their pimento from all the travel. The plan was a three-pronged attack, much like the one Washington used to drive out the British during the Revolutionary War. As the divine Eater, I named Gerdro General of the 'Vegetable People' and we pushed on.

We made our way towards my brother's room when my companion, Sargent Pepper brought up an interesting question.

"What in tar-nation is this Potato-Bastard's weakness?"

After I waded through the judgement of Sargent Pepper's incoherent and incompetent ways of communication, I figured the question he raised was in fact important. Sargent Pepper explained there was an old worm in my parent's liquor cabinet, and that the worm could give us an extra edge. I wasn't too sure what kind of weakness a potato would have, or what kind of thinking capability a worm held, but either would have to be smarter than Sargent Pepper. To the worm we went.

The worm laid lifeless when I arrived to the cabinet. I figured right then he was dead, and we wasted our time walking back down the stairs to the cabinet. During our travels through the house, I carried our army in a zip-lock bag. We had a few altercations between Gerdro and The Pepper Army, so I had to put Gerdro on my shoulder so he would stop hazing the other troops. Gerdro slid down my arm to check on the worm. He kicked the worm in his third appendage, causing the worm to move and cough. The worm slurred his worms and couldn't seem to wiggle right. The damn thing came out of a bottle of Tequila. Deciding I had already had enough of odd visions between a dumb Pepper Army, some Olive Warriors, and a group of beetles, i killed the drunken worm. A completely wasted worm would do absolutely nothing to help the cause, so I trashed him, took complete control over the operation, and decided the visiting of random oddities around the house were done.

I quickly moved to my brother's room. I was tired and uncomfortable from all of the strange things, making me short-tempered. I searched for The Evil Potato, and sure enough, he sat fat in the closet. He had a group of potato chips with him who escaped from their bag, alongside a very tough cookie, who had a chocolate chip on his shoulder. I knew the battle would be difficult to win. The Potato laughed in a creepy and deep tone, saying nothing.

"What do you hope to accomplish Potato?!" I kind of hollered, since it was late and my family was sleeping.

The Potato gave me no reply, only a loud and evil cackle. The Potato Chips attacked and I let my army loose from their bag. After a four minute skirmish, all of the Potato Chips laid strewn over the shelf, broken both in spirit and physical form. Gerdro destryoed them single-handedly. Just before we began to push to The Potato, my dog, Melvin ran up and chomped the evil underground spud. Melvin bit down as The Potato's blood curdling scream echoed for a few inches. Melvin wasn't done there, he devoured The Potato and then turned and ran through The Olive Warriors and Sargent Pepper's Army with on shame. I didn't know what to do, so I watched in awe.

In an instant, the 'Vegetable People' were decimated, and Gerdro was nowhere to be seen. I began to feel bad as Melvin rolled over on his side, expecting a belly-rub. I realized I wasn't sad at all that these people were gone, I was in fact, glad. It was too weird having those little creepy things all around. But the real reason I rejoiced in their extermination dawned on me. The whole time I traveled with the vegetables I didn't think about the main reason why they sat around under my bed and in the basement long enough to take lively forms. Now that they were gone I remembered why they existed to begin with, it was the same reason I never stepped in to help Gerdro defeat the peas, and why I didn't care that Melvin consumed all of 'The Vegetable People'. I just took a deep breath and quietly reassured myself.

"I hate vegetables."

Message With a Bottle...of Liquid Courage.

We are nothing more than a pack of panicked shipmates, trying to avoid bursts of agony and fire as the ship, and world beneath slowly cascade into cold depths of self-confrontation. Scurried Captains and deckhands alike bicker, reckless shrills disregard orders as they collide into one another, aimlessly stumbling to the ground before frantic legs spring up and ricochet with blind intent into splintered boards and broken rails.

No man has the time or decency to ask "why" the ship is sinking, each man wades through the mess, and through the tangles of human, so caught-up in their struggling instinct to survive, most ignore the fact that it is not them, but the wooden ship they stand upon that will soon plummet asunder.

Fingers point in the cabin amongst high-ranks as lowly crew members brawl and tear one another to pieces, toppling back and forth as expensive paintings and candles crash from walls as the unstable ground they stand upon slopes and rocks, it's safety guaranteed for a moment, right before it drop from beneath and points downward into a new direction.

Flowing through the chaos is Tommy Two-Bit, a local drunkard whom' convinced the Captain he belonged on the ship and would no doubt help the voyage. Two-Bit's familiar discombobulated slinks across the deck were now well-trained steps, as each unstable board lifted beneath his feet, turning each slurred toe into a perfectly laid tow, as if he'd practiced the steps his entire life. As others fall to the splintered boards and feel hope slip away, Two-Bit gargles the last bit of whiskey before he willingly splashes into the dark water, his gangly limbs propel him into the night without a quiver or squall.

Flails and grasps for safety gradually move Two-Bit further until a loose grip on looser soot and muck pulls his knees into small rocks. From the far, Two-Bit watches flames and the desperate dumb-asses finally extinguish in the distance. Two-Bit shakes his head in a quick moment of sadness, then frantically searches his own body with shaking hands before a wide grin stretches beyond his cheeks. His smile is quickly retracted as lips cling to a bottle pulled from his jacket pocket.

For hours Two-Bit waited, waiting for another survivor to wash ashore as he stayed warm from within, drowning in brown liquid, and punishing his own tongue. Roars and wild things rustled in the jungle behind Two-Bit, deeps screams and terrors of the unknown devoured one another as he gazed deep into the wisdom of a translucent bottle. With a shrug and a slurp Two-Bit wandered into the wild, as tone-deaf songs rang into the unseen and reminded him of times better remembered.

Happy Birthday Magee! We're Pushing 30.

Happy Birthday to my good friend Kevin Magee! Being a Gemini, I've been told my whole life by the Sylvia Plaths and other mystic, overweight women in the world, that I am a twin. I always grew up thinking if anything, Kevin was my twin. We've always had a similar energy, one most people just kind of get overwhelmed trying to keep up with. We, along with our thoughts, constantly bounce around, and have some physical similarities.

Obviously, there are also some differences between Kevin and myself, I always thought he had better control, of himself, his impulses, and his own potential. I, on the other hand, constantly feel like I have no control of myself, and that instead, outside influence controls me. Paradigms and fads and all kinds of other annoyances that get in the way of true individuality seem to pull my strings. So, on this morning, on Kevin's 27th birthday, I will make an attempt to well, do something to fully sever those strings of outside influence.

It began with a beer, as it usually does, but this time at nine o' clock in the morning on a Tuesday in May, one that is quickly heating up...both the day and the beer. Here we are, pushing 30, and trying, but mostly ignoring, what exactly that means. I'm pushing 30, and soon enough I'll be pushed around by 60, and since I know I won't be touching 90, I'll consider this my mid-life crisis.As I raise a toast to my dog, who has no fucking clue what I'm doing, REO Speedwagon serenades us both with "I Can't Fight This Feeling".

No, I can't fight this feeling anymore, so let's get it out there...I am a strange dude. If I had a nickle for every time someone told me to my face"you're weird" I would be drinking a keg instead of a twelve-ounce bottle right now. So, I'm done fighting the weird, and done trying to be anything else, except for weird, because here we are, in the middle of a short-lived mid-life crisis, hating the notion of being normal. Normalcy rejects me like a Smallpox vaccine. That was such a weak, weak, analogy. So, moving on.

I used to hide sweatpants in my bookbag when I was a kid, because my parents made me wear jeans and I hated them. As soon as I got to school, the sweatpants went on. And every day, they were equally pissed, when they dropped me off in jeans, and I came home in sweatpants.

I chewed holes in all of my long sleeve shirts, and spent most of my youth playing in the woods by myself, and when I wasn't playing in the wilderness at the age of five, I was being quizzed on every state and capital in the country, every U.S. President in order, who their VP was, their wife's name, and what their occupation was before they became President. I drew sketches for hours and cried, a lot. Whiniest, most spoiled, bratty beat-red faced, stubborn little prick on the planet. I only ate grilled cheese, and cheese sticks at restaurants until I was in high school, and I probably drank more milk than water for most of my life.

I dressed in Abercrombie and used to skateboard at the same time, the first CD's I owned were: Quad City DJ's, Spice Girls, Bush, ICP, and Slick Rick. I also wanted to be a ninja for most of my childhood, and still to this day wonder "what if?" I fully applied myself at that young age to the craft, of Ninjary. I could Spiderman my way around the world. I probably still have some shred of me that believes Santa could be real, and I know "for a fact" I have had dozens of conversations with a ghost. It was a guy in his early to mid-twenties who functioned in an advisory role to me at a young age. When I was a child I told my mom I was killed by someone who was "Chinese" in my former life, and now looking back I'm not sure if it was my former life or a pre-destined fate of how this one will end.

 I like to write poetry and box, so obviously, things are still at conflict here, on this day, on Magee's 27th birthday. I ran over a bird last week by accident and still feel bad about it, but envision every car that cuts me off on the highway, flipping into the air like a Jerry Bruckheimer action-movie, bursting into flames and incinerating everyone inside. I think that if I try hard enough to envision this fatal crash, I might make it happen.

I walked out of an interview last week because I was told I would have to shave in order to get the job, and just last night I called someone an "asshole" for dying of a heat stroke, because drinking water is "day 1 shit".

I'm in love at a girl whom I barely know and haven't even seen in five months, I just talked to my dad for the first time in 8 months, and I'm not entirely convinced my dog isn't a person reincarnated. I threw a cheap shot elbow to someone's forehead the other day because I didn't like the look on his face, and when a fight almost broke out a couple weeks ago my natural instinct was to say "I'll skull-fuck you, I'll fist-fuck you, and shut that cunt's mouth!".

Not once have I felt bad about any of that.

So, here's to you Kevin, and our Gemini-ness, and all of the other personalities and oddities and other completely off-putting things that happen in this world. I think, on this day, I have realized alongside age, that I am just getting better at being immature. I think I'm going to be Middleweight Champion of the world by the age of 30, and I want to simultaneously pursue a career as a stand-up comedian.


So, I guess I've toned it down a bit from the "Ninja" pipe-dreams of the past, but seriously, being a salesman, banker, or insurance adjuster just sounds entirely too fucking normal and adult for me right now.

Special shout to Biggie Smalls (dead), Mr. T (hard), Corey Thomas (guy), Josh Hamilton (drugs), Chris Benoit (dead), Bruce Buffer (eh), Al Franken (douche), Ricky Williams (stoned), and last but certainly not least, Ronald Isley  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qnSz6Lh5pY

Happy days of birth you random fucks.