The Bastard Glass

The open end of the Glass never speaks, though it’s lips are curled, capturing the essence of an angered scream, frozen in the sands and waters of charred hands and focused eyes.

The Glass has but one expression, though It’s insides pour to the soil, delivered without hymns or enunciation, explanation, appreciation, representation, or what begins at a sea and holds a commune without E Pluribus Unum, in the modern times iNation. 

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

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

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

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

Killing for Fifteen Minutes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Call America

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

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

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

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

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

The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming!

While contemplating the (lack of) benefits of fame the other day, I realized, nobody really gets more than fifteen minutes of fame. The longer fame lasts, the further privacy falls away, and the more accustomed you become to worrying about judgement from imperfect critics as opposed to self-reflection. Even if you're famous for a lifetime, in the real scope of time, you will be forgotten very soon. The son of God made a visit to Earth, and forgave all of mankind for their sins, and only 2012 years later, a majority of people in the world doubt he ever existed, I mean, Jesus Christ, what does someone have to do to get some respect around here?

 It is human nature, to not believe in what you do not witness. Do you actually remember the Cold War? Most people in their twenties or thirties don't, even though it was a defining moment in U.S. History, only few decades ago. Many currently in the U.S. educational system believe they know everything, but see the Cold War as another part of History that without evidence simply, "won't be repeated". Well folks, time for a lesson of constant in Political Theory.

Many in top political positions make decisions based on their belief in Realism, and the idea of looking at countries around the world as threats, ones who must be outdone competitively on both economic and military levels in order to maintain Independence and legitimacy.

If Realism is the way of the world, nations will always be aiming for the top-dog, which in current times, is America. America is young in relation to other failed governmental experiments throughout History called "Nations", "States", or "Countries", and has only held sole dominance over the world economically and militarily since the late 80's and early 90's, during the collapse of the Soviet Union. This was seen as the final blow to Communism. The problem with our assumed victory in the Cold War is that Russia never really left, and Communism never died. It waited, kept allies, kept building weapons and homes, kept vast borders rich with natural resources, and still, during it's "collapse" had more money, people, military might, technological advances, and industry than a large majority of countries in the world.

Russia is back. Ex-Kremlin and KGB hold an overwhelming amount of political positions, Putin has successfully given the country a new face of political suppression, another grim Russian face without emotion, one that represents the country and people dictatorially, and their economic ideology of mixing government and industry has been successful enough to cause many American leaders to abandon the U.S. economic identity of "Laissez Fair" in order to craft a dismal, and desperate copy of Russian economic policies.

While we see turmoil domestically, Russia has gained power and influence through it's ability to successfully build diplomatic relationships with American enemies, such as Iran, but also has built strong economic ties with countries whom combined, have economic strength that dwarfs America's when combined; Japan, China, and India. Recently all of these countries made agreements to avoid use of the U.S. dollar in massive trade deals, which if anything, symbolizes a general agreement among these nations that the U.S. is in a serious state of decline. As a direct show of force to the U.S. and NATO, it was reported today that Russia, China, Iran, and Syria are going to conduct allied war games on Syrian soil, a soil currently stained with the blood of it's citizens.

As I type the Federal government is funneling weapons, communications, and money to opposition groups in Syria to help overthrow the Assad current regime. Those with campaigns funded by Israel and weapons industry interests such as John McCain, call for direct U.S. intervention in Syria. This is a Cold War stand off, one we have not seen the likes of since The Cuban Missile Crisis, especially when considering our military involvement in multiple surrounding countries; Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, and Libya. Combine this fact with instability or paranoia in the region's most important assets to America, such as Israel, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt, and there is a tectonic sized elephant in the room; this is how world wars begin.

The Ottoman Empire is in chaos, during a time when Western Civilization is weak, when the promise of Democracy is failing because the selfish and crooked keep finding themselves in positions of power inside of America. We are being attacked on all fronts. Our government stimulates war in the Middle East because Americans are running out of sand to bury their heads in.

Communism, and other countries around the world are beginning to see an opportunity to climb towards their own hegemony of the world, in the constant chess match between power-lust, the story repeated throughout History...a race to control the rest. The European Union is falling, the U.S. dollar is crashing, and the peon nations of the world who have fed off the U.S. taxpayer nipple for decades are quickly showing us that friends you buy are not really friends at all, they are parasites and bandwagon jumpers.

A short time ago the arena thought Russia would never come back, though it's been around for the better part of a thousand years. Even a thousand years is a short stretch of time when looking at the bigger picture, the seeming permanence of the world, and it's inescapable doom. In the real scope of time, The Berlin Wall fell a real short time ago, and those who remember that day never real took their eye off Russia, it is the failed education system and the younger generation that forget and overlook the Soviet Union. The American scholastic realm has no memory beyond current times, even though it is an absolute that some day, even the Sun will burn out. Because of this, soon, our beacon of light shining down on the rest of the world will too.

If we keep electing leaders whom sell us down the river for military contracts, foreign trade deals, and U.S. countries moving money and jobs across the world while seeking large tax breaks and access to the U.S. consumer market, the only question is whether our light will first be smothered by an outside presence, or blown out from the inside by the careless, the same men whom took an oath to keep it lit.

Wish I Was There

I know I can tell, Heaven from Hell, but can't decipher blue skies from grey, there is no free feel when it's covered by a veil, empty smiles and long, drawn out miles, waves of trees crash into hillsides and valleys, rushing through the center of a doorway afar. How I wish, I wish I could step through, but can only look outward like a fish in a bowl, a hero kept out, with his nose pressed against the glass, waiting and praying, constantly delaying, how I wish I was there. Two lost souls, ghosts from the wall, free from the same old fears, rave of the doorway, and the soothing sense of simply walking through. You can drive for miles, through charred forest, scorched Earth, city lights, and cancelled flights, but still, the doorway taunts from afar, outstretched visions from strained eyes and peering observation catch only a glimpse. The doorway hides in the center of all landscapes and thoughts, canvasses and plots...how I wish I was there. I sense home is on the other side, and no living soul can really break through, we can only wonder and imagine, waiting for our fate as we are strung along the detour of life. We chase and pursue, yet fear what's on the other side of the wall. We fear the trip, the ride, the doorway, the end, thought it may be, our only friend.

Sympathy for Apathy? Pathetic.

Wise blind men in tales of old wander without guidance, navigating into the thicket of what beckons the bewildered heart, as those lost in the bright screens of harsh chips squint to decipher daily lies conjured from the mind of a fool's jester. All men are blind in times without kings, where the shrills of drunken banshees stumbling around the Court echo into shadowed timbers and musty brick roads. Regal ceremonies sparsely fill high ceilings illuminated by candlelight, as beastlike men turned braggart cheer and laugh away horrors of blood shed and lives lost, in a time when daily hangovers nowhere compare to the brutal nature of existence. Gallons of sweat moisten tilled Earth one bead at a time, rolling off the face of a sickly man, wasted away to the frame, stuck on the range of unfair debts and savage torture. Primitive is the idea of ownership of life, in a deal struck upon a handshake and stack of paper, fragile enough for ink to bleed and base decompose in steady rain. The peasant coughs and wheezes, living only days beyond the body's ability to wear itself down through disheartening labor, grinding bones, tasting mud, gritting dirt, blistering hands and feet, straining the mind with lost dreams and hope, beliefs unmet by brighter days. Fear of the imminent and punishment for lethargy trumps the peasants will to brace for the inevitable and sacrifice itself for a breath of free air. The same shades of gray, new songs of blue, we give our only worldly gift, consuming our hour, all upon a world turned sour, under clouds covering the frown of a mighty unknown, from which we will always cower, it growls with anger and shame, as we mindlessly give away our only worldly gift, to assumed power or fame, unattainable in the very name, of that which is unknown. The mind of a peasant is empty, their spirit is broken, life within dies long before the clock stops ticking. Swarms of working corpses breed, and feed, off fruits undeserved, and land reserved, for those who refuse to be molded into anything other than the naked and free, servants of nothing outside the smile and wonder of that which is unknown.

The Runaway Dock

Pull apart curtains of fear, let them slip beneath blanketed leafs rustled by unknown footsteps. Let go of the inevitable, shortcomings of our ancestors rest in invisible hands, trembling as they brace fragile twines of the interwoven, rooted in the obscurities of proud tales and grand times.

Shiver not in the face of doom, brandish grins and songs. Laugh, love, let go. You will never win until you let go. Puzzles of knowledge and existence await, lend your hand, solve the riddle, pry open the chest, open the door. You won’t know what’s on the other side, and never will without courage to peek.

Reach the summit, ignore directions, diverge from paths laid before your feet, climb with vigor as you pass outside doubt. You can make it through the storm, look ahead, hunger for triumph, revel in the pain, know that you will both survive and die.

Drift carelessly down the winding river of time, dip toes in the clarity of flow, you will reach your destination, it waits more impatiently every day, make it wait; you are free, until you vanish outward into the great delta.