Vendetta Silenced

The Sea of Gallows hung over The Dead Sea. Steams of blood drained Jericho's consciousness; children in the slums felt the warmth wash over their ankles. Projectiles ricocheted through tunnels, rich and poor held hands in iron soaked puddles as masses funneled to The Great City. The streets spilled over with rage, a herd of shepherds flowed under bridges and crashed into walls, exposing assassins, sacrificing their lives in an unwavering ho! forward, brandishing no more than torches and robes to the doorsteps of The Moors.

Vendetta, O' Vendetta fell...reduced to silent cries laid before cataclysms of duality growing into the night; beneath interwoven pines, through pits of mud, beyond the tunnel, past low hanging Gardens, under, over, asunder vision, refraction of the word spread from the wild. Rolling clouds of remorse gathered the corpse, gathered the doubt, as jaws drug men to their knees, drops of silence in the crowd froze a moment, gasps suspended in the air. Stone glares. Lost cares. Fear. Fear pushed the moment forward before those left breathing forgot to worship a divine attention demanded.

Now.

The Day The Bombs Fell.

I remember when the bombs fell...in one moment everything changed, not for the better, but for the immediate. Some ran, some fought, died, hid, cried, some turned into rats with chatter or rats that scatter. Before all of these things came to be, there was the dust. Cement collapsed onto and through itself with enough force to cripple lungs within, Earth jumped from it's seat and fled; I witnessed mankind's shared consciousness for the first time within the gasp of a city.

God's tears made the moment to sink in. Heavy rain flooded low-lying areas, downhill alleys carried bloody streams over the feet of people who could only wonder who they just lost.

There was no lightening or thunder to follow the cloud, only changing winds. The gusts took many lives, but everyone knew they'd have to brave it. They weren't heroes, they were just numbers, ones that didn't get called, but sat in line with their neighbors, waiting for fate to be handed to them.

I remember the feeling of hopelessness, hunger, discomfort, and fear. Real fear, not a startled moment, but the kind of fear that can drive a man mad, the type of fear someone can only know when it finally occurs to them, death will knock on their door.

Before The Reaper, before the self-confrontation, and the mental-slide show, the horrors of Society's Mankind, and it's violent decay...I remember the day the bombs fell. I relive every moment before the blast constantly in my mind. I wish that minute never happened, but I recognize it's reality, as punishment deserved, punishment for the sin I'd had made if the bombs never dropped; I know, spoiled in the routine of life, I wouldn't have appreciated the moment as much as it deserved.

I will chase that peaceful moment, in my sleep, through the day, to keep my legs under me, and my mind yearning for the time after, the bombs didn't fall.

WAR WITH RUSSIA: LET THE GAMES BEGIN

Obama just acknowledged the phonetic existence of the words "propaganda" and "misinformation" for the first time. He then used them correctly in a sentence, hinting that he understands what they mean. Sanctions on Russia, pressure on Russia, an order of Ceasefire, and a big soup where "violence" and "separatists" all mixed up in a pot of "I'm never flying to or from Malaysia, ever."

Right before President Obama's speech I read an article that said Pro-Russian separatists had control of the crash site, and on CNN the political pundits pointed the finger on Russians, and said that the Obama Administration recognized any attempt by Russia to recover or hide the black box, would be seen as an admission of guilt, that doing so would incriminate Russia directly.

After Obama's speech, CNN released audio of Russian-backed separatists saying they had "one-hundred percent" knowledge that the plane was civilian. Within minutes of being warned of propaganda coming out of Ukraine, CNN has a direct order from a "Major" to shoot down the plane on audio recording. Coming from the same news station responsible for bringing you this fantastic war correspondence.

If you haven't been able to pick up what I'm laying down, this is how wars start. Nothing starts a war faster than a downed plane, and this one, had a plane full of international doctors working towards a cure for AIDS/HIV. Former President Bill Clinton was speaking at the same International AIDS Conference these doctors were attending. BFD.

Senator John McCain, former Presidential candidate, perennial war-drum beater and ironically, ex POW seems to want Hell raised on separatists, Obama confidently drilled into our minds that the perpetrators of the crash are separatists.

Separatists or not, I'm still asking the question, "Why was that plane flying over a war zone?" Well, it's because international airlines are going green.

So, the question is, "Does this add up to a war?"

I don't think so, not at the moment, but it looks like a storm of disinformation may be on the horizon, and many of us are going to be spending our time doing this.

We do know that Obama has ordered a ceasefire, and an international investigation, and demanded Russia be cooperative. Russia has already been sanctioned for their role in supplying arms, training, and intelligence to militants, effectively disrupting internal Ukrainian affairs.

More or less, President Obama just gave Russia an ultimatum, and I don't think KGB-Gremlin Putin, thinks his Boystown counterpart has the gumption to move. THIS, is how wars start.

The Divine American

You are nothing. Nothing, nothing besides calories, cavities, and calcium; emotion, eccentricities, and ego, skin, sin and sinew...bravado, bone and blisters.

Don't you see? Don't you get it? You are insignificant, unimportant, and so, so very expendable.

Nobody cares about your experiences, your empathy or your expertise, not your love or stories of lust, nobody gives one damn about your lively sense of humor. You are only borrowing your humerus, a handful of fingers and you're holding onto a helpless fight, you aren't special, or the only person who likes hummus.

You come from nothing and there you will return. You aren't the Earth or the Stars, only an illusion of carbon, only a trick of consciousness, and a rather insignificant trick indeed.

There is no Heaven or Hell, no God or Satan, no eternal inferno, no reckoning, no justice. There is only this vile life, full of pain and death, there is no Watchman, no Father of Time, no Steward of the River, no Ghost, no hope. And you? You are a disease, ruining this temporary rock, where a dash of luck and a beam of light let you last just long enough for a few short breaths, from your black-tar lungs.

There is no reason in faith, no reason in believing, and no reason in debating these truths, it's a waste of time, time that will someday expire just like you, and all your goddamned imperfections.

Do you still not understand? Are you blind? You. Do. Not. Matter. You are ignorant, ridiculous, destructive, and quite honestly...completely worthless.

Oh, you have money? I'm sorry, I-I spoke too soon, come on in, make yourself at home.