From the Count of Monte Cristo

"The wicked are great drinkers of water. As the flood proved once for all."

The Flowery Road of Mount Daisy Sion

You must travel to the flowery road of Mount Daisy Sion.


First, Ascend to the most western edge
of the most northern peak.

Celebrate the wind, dance
to her beat.

Stomp your feet and kick
up the ashe of yesterday.

Next, Run down the eastern hillside. Gently

slide over the obdurate edge of earth.

Feel yourself seep down your thighs.

Lick god's sweat off your lips and

ride the wave of bright til you

feel the heat of day, fade

with the distant

sunlight.


Dusk has past,
and now the stars and moons lead.

A cosmic catastrophe,
one million years before,
brightens your night, just
enough to see the dust
breathing beneath you.

Now, remove your shoes
one by one.
Go down this path you hath begun.
Now you walk til the days do end.
Sun goes up, sun comes down
every day, this you know.
You must walk this path you lead,
til the day

the sun, doth not show.

Damn Good Day

It's A Damn

Good Day

To

Be Alive

And In

Love.

Quote

"If we disbelieve everything because we cannot certainly know all things; we shall do much what wisely as he, who would not use his legs, but sit still and perish, because he had no wings to fly." - John Locke An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

Nothing

Nothing to Lose, But

Time:

{God's Lobby,
A Universal Slice
A Carton of Milky Way
A Buckled Asteroid Belt
A Piece of the Pi
An Uneasy Equilibrium
A Dimension of Dementia
Our Galaxy Garbled
A Google Fun-Plex of
A Macro-Million Moments}



nothing to fear, but

fear:

{man's modesty
and bravery's companion
screams that curdle
tears that shake and roll
heart slams the cage
struggles to break free
butterflies now bats
blindly stretch and flap
only suspects: pain and death}

Words from the King.

Eternal love shines in my eyes.
Don't build your hopes to be let down, 'cause I really feel it's time.
A willow deeply scarred, somebody's broken heart,
and a washed out dream.

You feel the cold hand, and wonder if you'll ever see the sun.
Then every head turned with eyes that dreamed of being the one.
You never said goodbye, someone tell me why did you have to go,
and leave my world so cold.

And when the groove is dead and gone,
yeah, you know that love survives.
Now I believe in miracles,
and a miracle has happened tonight.

(RIP Michael)

This is thy life

Jungle of thought a fever in the brain,
lost in an endless maze.

running, screaming, a jumping gasp,
breathing fire, a dragon's past.

Life's words, words of life,
wisdom and knowledge must suffice.

blazing glory
lazy and snory
writing a story
lick the knife
kiss thy wife
this is thy life.

Real?

Realism is phony. Isn’t it arrogant of an artist to believe that he is painting reality? Reality is what is before our eyes, it is three dimensional. We can see it, taste it and feel it. A very talented artist can paint a very realistic painting of a bridge, and it could look just like it. Every detail could be perfect, every cable and stone perfectly drawn to scale. No matter how real this bridge looks, it is still nothing more than paint on canvas. I will believe that an artist can paint reality the day that he paints a bridge that I can drive over in my car.
I know an artist who works in realism, and believes that is the only true art form. He has an utter disdain for works of abstract art. He spends months and months on a painting, using his amazing ability to capture the world how he sees it. It infuriates him when he sees a “masterpiece” that is nothing more than two lines drawn on a plain white canvass. He cannot understand why someone would be more interested in looking at a couple of lines over his perfect recreations.
What he doesn’t see is that if he spends a month painting a perfect cityscape, a cityscape is all that he has created. People will look at it, possibly remark at the talent it took to create, and move along to something else. It is in abstract art that deep questioning and thought is created. An abstract piece of art is open to any and all interpretations.
Abstract art is like poetry, and realistic art is like a textbook. Realistic art takes an amazing amount of effort and skill, just like a textbook can only be written by someone who has a deep wealth of knowledge on the subject. Abstract art, just like poetry, can be done by anyone. A poem can consist of only one word, just like an abstract masterpiece can consist of a couple of drops of paint.

“Wow look at that painting of the Manhattan skyline,” Jeff said while standing right in front of the giant painting with his legs spread and his arms crossed. “Can you even imagine how long it took to paint this? This guy is a genius.”
“What you have never seen the Manhattan skyline before?” asked Jennifer, confused at her boyfriend’s fascination.
“I have, but never painted like this, it almost looks like a photograph.” Jeff replied with his eyes still fixed on the painting.
“Well maybe he should have just taken a photograph then, it would have probably saved him a year of his life, and it would have looked the same.” They continued walking down the corridor of the museum, and came across a canvas with two blue vertical lines on the left side of it.
“Look at this garbage!” Jeff said too loudly for the quiet museum halls.
“Shut up idiot, what do you mean garbage?”
“It’s just two lines, I could have done this painting when I was four years old,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, what do you think it means?” Jennifer said to him in an attempt to engage in an intelligent conversation about the piece.
“I think it means absolutely nothing and should not be considered art,” he said while starting to walk away.
“It may not be art, but it’s real,” she said to him, her eyes now fixed on the piece in front of her.
“Real? No sweetie, that is real,” he said pointing at the painting of the skyline. “This is a joke.”
“I hate to break it to you honey, but those aren’t buildings over there, they are paint, and they are the joke.”
“Well what are these then?” he said starting to get angry.
“These are lines,” she said to him almost in a whisper. “And they don’t try to be anything else.”

War Reporting

Americans are shielded from the brutal horrors of war. American armed forces are currently involved in conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan, and through great distance and strong defense infrastructure, the American people are relatively safe. They are safe to enjoy sports and entertainment, and feel worlds away from the suffering abroad that seems to never end. There are some people though who have the drive to travel the world to tell gruesome and horrifying stories, as an attempt to enlighten the safe and comfortable of the world to what is really going on.
There is something about war that makes it easy to glance over in the media and in historical studies. Growing up we learn about wars in social studies classes. We learn that the War of 1812 was fought between the United States and Great Britain. We learn the political reasons behind the conflict, and the outcomes for the nations that participated. We learn history on a grand scale, nation versus nation, leader versus leader. The history of war many times leaves out the truth, that wars are not fought by nations, they are fought by people. These People are just trying to survive, trying to live fulfilling lives with their family and friends, and end up caught in the middle of political and ideological conflicts that are way greater than any one of them.

Ernest Hemingway covered many conflicts in Europe during World War II. He wrote two pieces for the Toronto Daily Star in 1923 called: “Mussolini: Biggest Bluff in Europe” and “A Russian Toy Soldier.” In these articles, Hemingway seems somewhat distant from the action of war, from the dying and suffering. He does however give his reader an interesting look into the worlds of the men who make the decisions that lead to war. Benito Mussolini, the feared and respected Italian fascist dictator of the day, is called a coward by Hemingway. “Really brave men do not fight duels, and many cowards duel constantly to make themselves believe they are brave.” He does not only succeed in making Mussolini into a coward and a “bluff,” but he also succeeds in making him undeniably human. We look back on dictators like Stalin, Hitler and Mussolini as statuesque figures of hate and greed, and sometimes we forget that they are human just like anyone else. The very important characteristic of successful war reporting through the ages is in integration of the human element into politics and warfare.

Martha Gellhorn, a war reporter who was actually married to Hemingway during World War II, also wrote very intimately about the human experience during wartime. In her article, “Dachau: 1945, The Face of War,” Gellhorn described in great detail the brutal horrors from within the Dachau concentration camp. At the time, many people did not fully believe the rumors of European death camps, and could not even imagine some of the things that went on there. Gellhorn’s story is disgusting and haunting, vividly describing the living skeletons that the prisoners had become, and the millions of faceless, nameless dead that were carelessly thrown aside to rot in the sun. She told the story of a Polish surgeon who was forced to carry out savage experiments on living subjects. Gellhorn’s story shows us the scale of human suffering that can be the result of political decisions that were backed by an ideology of prejudice and hate.

War reporting today is not just for the few brave souls who want to make a difference, but rather a profession of journalists who do their work abroad. Every major media outlet in America has correspondents in the warring regions of the Middle East. For the most part, newspaper stories about these wars, such as the Iraq War, read like textbooks. They tell of military invasions, give quotes from world leaders, and the human lives lost are limited to a number, the number of “casualties.” The way that war is covered in the American media aids the American tendency to keep distant from conflict, and leaves them with the freedom to be able to flip the paper over and read about really pressing issues, like  the lives of Alex Rodriguez and Britney Spears.

One reporter has taken war reporting to a whole new level. Kevin Sites, the war correspondent for Yahoo, leaves the politics back home and reports on the horrible things he sees and the people he encounters along the way. The way that Sites does his reporting is very different than the reporting done by Ernest Hemingway. The big difference comes because of great advances in technology. Hemingway had an amazing gift of vivid description in his writing and was able to give his readers an image of the way war affected people. Sites does not need such a gift, because he has a camera crew at his disposal. In his Hot Zone videos on Yahoo, the viewer can now be brought directly to the war zone, seeing the destruction with their own eyes. Although Hemingway had a great gift for storytelling, there is nothing more effective in media than visual images. Today’s world is so dependent on visual images to tell stories, that the great storytellers like Hemingway may become a dying breed.

War correspondents in today’s visual culture have to be careful to not include personal bias into their reporting. The coverage of America’s wars is very closely monitored, and reporting that questions the motivations and actions of the American government is not taken lightly. NBC correspondent Peter Arnett was fired because he went on Iraqi television and made questionable remarks about the US plan that was “failing” in Iraq. Arnett’s intentions were probably not to criticize the American government or to give Iraqis more reason to resist the American occupancy of Iraq. Arnett should have known what the consequences of his actions would be. A war reporter should always be able to report freely and honestly, but it is always dangerous to give personal opinions, this is true for any journalist. To make remarks like he did, and where he did it, was career suicide. Arnett may have just been trying to create an open discussion between two nations at war, but he only succeeded in losing his job.

Our visual culture has had an impact on how war is being reported. There was nothing stopping Hemingway from reporting every single thing exactly how he saw it. His work would only be noticed and criticized by the few in the world who choose to read it. Today, pictures and videos fly around the world in seconds, which leads to a culture where everything is under the microscope. In one of the Hot Zone videos, Sites tells a story of an Iraqi man who had been shot and bleeding out on the sidewalk. Site was embedded with Marine forces at the time, and one of the marines said he was going to kill the man. The marine asked Sites if he was going to videotape him shooting the dying man. When Sites replied that he felt that he had to, the marine chose not to go through with it. This marine was scared that a video of him taking that shot would be all over the news, and would tarnish his reputation.

There is no way to hide from the public’s eye today, and it is affecting how war is waged. In World War II, Soviet troops raped and pillaged the countryside on the way to Berlin to cut off Hitler. They did this because nobody in the world knew it was happening, and there was no way to stop them. In today’s world, tragedies and horrors can be combated by one click of a button. A picture may be the most powerful weapon against oppression.

A Bed of Clouds

In "Dreams," Jerome K. Jerome says, “It is only in sleep that true imagination ever stirs within us,” Was William Shakespeare sleeping when he penned Romeo and Juliet? Was Michelangelo asleep when he painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? How can he make such an outrageous claim, that it is only in sleep that true imagination ever stirs? Jerome’s explanation goes as follows: “Awake, we never imagine anything; we merely alter, vary, or transpose. We give another twist to the kaleidoscope of the things we see around us, and obtain another pattern; but not one of us has ever added one tiniest piece of new glass to the toy.” Are Romeo and Juliet nothing more than a twist of the kaleidoscope? Shakespeare must not have been the first person in the history of humanity to think of "star-crossed" lovers. This brings up the haunting question: Is there anything in this world that is original? Is there anything that is unique? Or are we all just products of what has come before us, just alterations of a world that has already been created?

The most extraordinary dream I ever had was one in which I was experiencing the end of the world, while standing under purple skies with swirling clouds. In the essay, Jerome claims that one cannot be surprised in a dream. Dreams are in fact the ultimate surprise. In Dreamland you can think, feel and do things that you never thought possible. Jerome says that, “into Dreamland, Knowledge and Experience do not enter.” What is there to dream without your knowledge and experience? The real surprise in dreams comes when such knowledge and experience is challenged by the subconscious mind. Things that you think you know, things that you know and feel when you are awake, are constantly challenged by the deep recesses of your brain, by a whole different entity, the dream you.


Lying in bed after a long day at the office, the brain does not stop stirring, moving from place to place, idea to idea. Was the report thorough enough? Does Mr. Allen think that I am the right person for the promotion? If I don’t get it, I am going to have to search for another job. Karen looked really great today, I wonder if she would go out for drinks with me tomorrow after work. I hate my life, I wish I could do what I have really wanted to do all along, write a story that would change the world, something that would win awards, which would take me out of this humdrum existence into a world of literary imagination and fantasy…

I'm sleeping on a bed of clouds. You would never believe how itchy clouds can get. When they are high up in the sky they look so fluffy and nice, but they are nothing more than a thicker brand of wool, which can get very uncomfortable. I roll off the side of my cloud bed, and take a one thousand foot free fall to my closet to get dressed for work. My bedroom looks a little different to me now; someone must have rearranged my furniture last night. I see her sleeping on my bed. Karen, the love of my life, is fully nude staring right at me. “I have been waiting for you all night, please come make love to me I can’t stand being without you for another minute,” she says to me while rubbing her hands all over my body. “Sorry babe, I have to get to the office, I need to make sure Allen isn’t screwing up the Johnson account.” I turned from her, too bad I am a busy man. I turned from her and walked out the door. The sun is closer to the ground than usual, and when I look up at it, it looks like it is staring right back at me. “Can I help you?” I asked it, annoyed at its intrusion into my busy morning schedule. “You should quit your job Nathan, that life will lead you to nothing but boredom and disappointment, you have already been passed over for the promotion; Allen gave it to Johnson.”

“The last thing I need to be doing is listening to a big ball of gas; just stay out of my way alright?” I said back, now very annoyed. I kept walking and all of a sudden the world around me disappeared; now I'm in my office sitting behind a desk. The desk is monstrous, with stacks of papers reaching all the way to the ceiling. I try to sort some of the papers out, but they just keep on piling higher and higher. I can’t see where they are coming from, a stream of papers endlessly flying in my direction. They start to pile up on my chair, pushing me up towards the ceiling. The entire office is filling, papers rushing in like water into a punctured tunnel. There must be a way out, there has to be a way to get out. I am now shoved all the way to the top of the office, and all I see below me is paper, both yellow and white. The only thing I can read on any of the papers is “GET OUT” in huge block letters. I turn to face the ceiling that I am being pushed against, and I see a small opening in the center of the room. I slowly crawl towards it, the pressure of the paper almost getting too much to handle. When I reach the center of the room, I see the opening, which is only a few feet wide, but it looks just big enough to squeeze through. I reach my hand up and I feel something. It’s small, and I tightly grasp my whole hand around it. It seems to be very sturdy, so I start to pull myself out of the sea of paper. As my eyes emerge, I look up to see what I am holding onto. It’s a pen, one of those fancy ones you see at jewelry stores that are way too expensive to actually buy. In small script writing on the side of the pen it says: “This World Can Be Yours.”

I hold the pen tightly in my hand, and I can feel its energy permeating my body. Every second a new pulse, traveling through my bloodstream, down past my lungs, soars to the tips of my toes and back to the top of my head. I open my eyes and now I am in a dark room, lit only by a small oil lit lamp sitting in the on an old wooden desk. The pen in my hand is now a feather tip quill, and on the desk is a small container of ink, and a large piece of parchment. On the top of the parchment is a heading that says: “Nathan’s Masterpiece.” I sit down on the chair, dip the quill in the ink, and start writing. My hand is moving faster than I ever thought possible, completely filling the giant sheet with very tiny script letters. I wrote for days and days, year after year. When I was finally finished, I looked down to see a light gray beard resting on the edge of the desk. My hand did not feel weak; instead it felt more powerful than ever, fully ready to keep writing for all of eternity. There was one last step before finishing the masterpiece that I just completed. At the very top, where the words: “Nathan’s Masterpiece” once were years before, I titled my great piece: “Nathan and Karen.”

The second the pen left the paper, finishing the “n” in Karen, I look up to see the desk is turned around. I am now looking directly at the desk, and a different man is sitting behind it, with my masterpiece in his hand. He is leaning back, with one leg crossed over the other. The giant paper is blocking his face. I stand anxiously, waiting for some kind of response. When he eventually removes the paper from the front of his face, I see the man who will determine the fate of my masterpiece.

Mr. Allen stared at me through his black rimmed glasses, his bald head too bright to look directly into. “Nathan, this is an amazing story,” he said to me with a stoic and stern look on his face. “Your writing is fabulous; your imagery is vivid and haunting.” A feeling of pure elation started to fill my whole body. Finally my great abilities will be appreciated. “The only problem, son, is that your topic is a cliché, two lovers who are not meant for each other defying all odds to be together, it’s a story that has been written thousands of times, it’s just not original.”

The floor underneath me vanishes, and I start to fall. I am free falling through space and time, but all I can see is white. There is no sky; there is no ground, only white. After what seems like an eternity of falling, I gently land on the same bed of clouds that I awoke on. All of my hopes now sufficiently shattered, I dig my face into my cloud pillow, and start to weep uncontrollably. I turn onto my back, and there he is again, that damn Sun just won’t leave me alone. “Will you go away, I just want to be dark now; I will never come up with an original idea. Even a talking Sun is a cliché; so how about you just leave me alone.”

“Ideas are never unique Nathan; humans have been around for thousands of years. For any person to think that they are the first to think of anything is arrogant and unrealistic. It is you that is unique, Nathan, you have never been on this earth before, and anything that you write, anything that you feel, is original. Stories may stay the same, but the people who read and write them will always change. It is the human mind that is unique, every single one is the first of its kind. You need to wake up Nathan, wake up to a world that will set you free. You have to wake up Nathan; you need to be free to let your mind soar with new ideas. If you don’t, the paper will find you again, and this time it will not let you go. You will be suffocated by paper, consumed by it. You have to wake up Nathan, you have to wake up. You are a man of great talent Nathan, you have to wake up.”

“You have to wake up Nathan!” my roommate Ted screams into my ear while shaking my shoulders. “You’re going to be late for your meeting, aren’t you up for that big promotion?”

“I was just having the most ridiculous dream.” I said rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“What was it about,” Ted asked.

“Something about a talking sun, I have no idea actually.”

I walked into my office, my tie perfectly tied and my pants pressed to perfection. This is my big day, the day that I have been waiting for. I take my final steps into Mr. Allen’s office, with a tightening feeling in my stomach.

“I’m giving the job to Johnson, I’m sorry Nathan, I know you have been looking forward to this opportunity. Trust me, more opportunities will arise in your future. If you continue to work hard for this company, Nathan, your hard work will pay off.”

I left Mr. Allen’s office walking quickly, feeling very light on my feet. I made my way to Karen’s desk. She looked up at me with her perfect blue eyes. “What’s up Nate?”

“Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?” I finally asked the question I have been dying to ask for months.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea Nathan, what would Mr. Allen say? You do remember the memo about inter-office relationships, don’t you?” she said.

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t work here anymore, I’ll pick you up at 8,” I said to her as I walked through that office for the very last time. When I reached the street, I looked up at the sky, at the beautiful fluffy clouds that were over my head. I always wondered what it would be like to sleep on a bed of clouds. I bet it would be perfect. I reach into my pocket and grab the little black notebook my mother gave me for Christmas ten years ago, the day I told her I wanted to be a writer. The very next week I got a job interview here, and never wrote a single word in it. I opened the book and cracked the binding for the very first time. I took out my pen, and wrote something down.


“I"'m sleeping on a bed of clouds...”

Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sounds of Rock Music Class - Bob Dylan day.

While smile know not when lock me away allow inside hide loneliness blue yelpy I won't stay in a world without love session thicker soul melody hollery pop articulated melodic record extra weight PUNCH vocal thickening it texture love grows that umbrella waiting at the stop started to be the same that's the way silly but true romance sun ice melts no more shelter how we live a roof hangs above our head without it our hair gets wet - umbrella wind rain employed it she was mine what do we own? Superstar of the folk world star super superlative star of stars groove, groovy shake the groove twist and shout and shake and spin -

"This Machine Kills Fascists"

Legend in the shadow, death around the corner. Larger than life, life looms large. Death always wins. Life versus death playing chess on a breezy summer day. Life looks to us like a four year old girl with a flower in her hair. She is wearing a pink dress with a white frilly trim. Death sits across the concrete table. He appears like a man close to eighty. He is wearing a black shirt with perfect white buttons that shimmer in the sunlight. He wears a baseball cap pulled down close to his eyes. The writing on the cap says, "Your End is Near." These two play every day, and have played every day that we have existed on this earth. The only problem is that life can't win.

She may not win, but she never stops playing.

Impending Doom
of modern context.
Gruesome and fearsome,
a dozen dead oceans.
Hammer's a bleedin',
tongues were all broken.
Thunder of warning,
drown the whole world.
Whispers of nobody listening,
masters of war.
A purist streak,
a lost crowned prince
in a commercial cesspool.
Highway for gamblers,
it's all over now.

Define a new sound.

The CNN Effect

Information is power. The manipulation of information, more importantly the media, is the most efficient way to dictate the events of a nation. In a Soviet style press system, all forms of media are strictly controlled, so the public only knows what the government wants them to know. The United States of America was built on the foundation of a free press. It is in the First Amendment in the Bill of Rights because the framers of the Constitution believed that a democracy could only prosper with an unrestricted press, one that can act as a watchdog on government, even to act as a “fourth branch” of government. Growing technology, such as television and the internet have made the watchdog even more powerful than the founding fathers could have ever imagined.

News has evolved so much in history of America. First people could only read news in daily newspapers. Television came along and led to news cycles throughout the day at specific times when you could get information and news. In 1980, CNN was founded by Ted Turner. It was the first television network that set out to produce 24 hour news coverage. While now CNN isn’t the only network to have accomplished this, they are credited with starting a whole new relationship between the media, government and public relations. The “CNN Effect” is a phenomenon in which some say that government decisions can be directly affected by the quick and widespread nature of news coverage.

Some say that the actions taken by the US government in the early 1990’s with regards to Somalia were directly influenced by the CNN effect. Larry Eagleburger, the Secretary of State at the time, admitted in a panel discussion sponsored by the Brookings Institute that President Bush’s decision to send troops to Somalia was clearly influenced by pictures on television. The news networks were airing pictures of starving children suffering in Somalia, and it made it tough for the administration to turn the other way. It proves the strength that a picture can have. An interest group could have sent letter after letter to the President asking him to help the starving children of Somalia, and nothing would have come of it. Yet when there are pictures, when these children are given a face that is pumped through TV sets across the country, the administration has to respond. Without a response the Bush administration would have appeared inhumane. American troops did enter Somalia, but they did not stay there for long. New pictures started to cycle the news networks, this time of a dead American soldier being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu. The new pictures influenced the new administration to remove the troops from Somalia.

Another possible example of the CNN effect was the prisoner abuse scandal in the Iraqi central prison at Abu Ghraib. In January of 2004 an internal Army inquiry was ordered by Lt. Gen. Ricardo Sanchez about prisoner torture and abuse. The New York Times ran a story covering this inquiry on January 19th, but it was not a major story. It did become a major story when pictures from the prison were first released by 60 Minutes in April. The pictures were graphic and lead to a media frenzy about torture by Americans who were supposed to be in Iraq on a “civilizing mission.” Once the pictures were released, and were cycled all over television and the internet. The “internal” inquiry then became a public circus, and everybody wanted answers. Immediately the American soldiers who were involved were expelled from the army, and soon after were sent to trial for their crimes. Two of the soldiers, the ones in the pictures, were sentenced to jail time. This event had longer lasting effects as well. President Obama’s first executive order when taking office this year was about the closing of the prison in Guantanamo Bay. This prison is notorious for the torturing of suspected terrorists. President Obama’s decision was most likely influenced by the pictures that were released from Abu Ghraib. After those pictures, America’s image was damaged around the world. The President decided that the rebuilding of the image was even more important than the rebuilding of a struggling economy.

One picture may be worth 1000 words, but one picture on CNN is worth way more.

Odious Importunities

“Why do we, you and I and many another, protest so vehemently against war, instead of just accepting it as another one of life’s odious importunities?” – Sigmund Freud

The reason that we as a people protest to war so vehemently is because we have a great enough intelligence to understand the horror and pain that it causes. Our minds have the capability of guilt and empathy. War is a primal urge an urge to survive and to prosper, a real competition of life. Our minds, though, give us the opportunity to put ourselves in another’s shoes and try to understand what another is feeling. When you put a rifle to the temple of another man does not an image of his family pop into your mind? Little Susie, his only daughter will have to grow up without a father, because you followed orders. War may just be one of life’s odious importunities, but we are too smart to accept it as such. The march toward peace is a march on a road that is bloodied and soiled. We must march toward peace in a single file line, boots kicking in perfect unison, chanting and screaming. We must achieve peace on the same battlefield where Lincoln gave his Gettysburg address, to the graveyard of thousands slaughtered. Lincoln, Einstein, Freud, these are men who knew that man’s greatness was in the intellectual in the “superior moral.” Man has a high intellect in comparison to other species in the animal kingdom, but some men have a greater intellect than other men. Maybe, as we evolve, as we grow smarter, humans can learn how to end war. Are we growing smarter? Humans spent a thousand years thinking and learning, but what is to come of the next thousand years? Are we so engulfed in TV and sports that we really are not growing smarter? It is the knowledge, the intellect, the greater understanding of our universe that will lead us away from war? Even when we know killing is wrong ,there are other factors that overcome. Religion is the cause for an enormous percentage of  the wars in the history of our people. Differing beliefs about god and the afterlife are not respectfully disagreed upon, but instead lead us to brutal slaughter. Slaughter bred field josh Upton Sinclair must have seen a cow get hooked by the captain. We see war for what it is not for what it does. We think so hard yet we hardly think. We are so smart but we know nothing at all. We kill and kill. We kill our brothers and our mothers. Two men separated by a bureaucratic line can find themselves at the end of each other’s rifle and they will both pull the trigger because it is what they are told to do. What do we do now? The world is filled with men who lust for blood, who kill for fun. What happens when one of these men comes to power and leads a nation of millions? The results are disastrous. Blood, truth, life, being wonders. I wonder what truth this blood of wonders will bring in my life. I bring you my legs of wisdom feel the juice of degenerate being. A life without knowing. Know your life. Life of lives. In, out, super men of wisdom. Wisdom, what is it? Knowledge can only take us so far - A man can spend a lifetime learning and teaching and gaining the intellect to know what is best for our kind. A similar man of the same age can spend his life as a soldier only taking orders never thinking for himself. If these two men faced off what would come of them? One with the intellect to create a better life for everyone, and one who can bring that whole world down. As the soldier lifts his gun to intellect’s chest our whole world could be shattered. Suffocated as his blood, his all knowing blood, seeps into his lungs. His next breath may have been the one that could have saved humanity. That last breath was one breath too soon. The soldier holsters his weapon and goes to find his next victim, the next great mind to snuff.

Why War?

“The very domain of human activity most crucial to the fate of nations in inescapably in the hands of wholly irresponsible political rulers….In our time, the intellectual elite does not exercise any direct influence on the history of the world.” This was written by Albert Einstein in a letter sent to another great intellectual, Sigmund Freud. This was at the beginning of what we now look back on in history as the Great Depression. Einstein understood the course of events that was about to take place with regards to the leaders of the world. In times of economic strife, it is not the intellectuals that the masses turn to. It is the intellectuals who called for a liberal democratic system that was leaving millions starving around the world. This quote was written just before two of the most “wholly irresponsible” leaders in the history of mankind were going to take power, Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. These two men promised their nation’s order, and order is what they achieved. At what cost? At the cost of leading their nations into a brutal world war that led to the slaughter of millions and millions of their people. For these leaders, order and stability were breathed in the same breath with war and conquest. World War two would not have taken place if it wasn’t for these irresponsible rulers, but more importantly without depression and hunger, these men would have never gained their great power in the first place. “Man has within him a lust for hatred and destruction.” Does man have within him such a lust? Or is it just a propensity to react a certain way under extreme duress. There are many reasons nations of people resort to warfare to settle issues. Surely some people do have such a lust for destruction, yet more people have a lust for happiness and security. It is when this security is threatened that a man lacking a lust for destruction will resort to killing and violence. “Conflicts of interest between man and man are resolved, in principle, by the recourse to violence. It is the same in the animal kingdom, from which man cannot claim exclusion.” This quote was part of Freud’s response to Einstein’s letter. Einstein had a tough time coming to terms with the idea that such an intellectual, rational species could still be killing themselves off by the millions. Freud thought it was necessary to remind him in the very beginning of his letter that even though humans are a magnificent species, they are still part of the animal kingdom. You would not ask a pack of wolves to come to terms to make an agreement. The same intellect and reason that makes our species so great may also be our downfall. Einstein believed that humans should be able to use their reason to stop violence, while the reality is that we use our intelligence to create more efficient ways to kill. When the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, the human race proved that they have the intelligence to completely wipe themselves out. “It is the communal, not individual violence that has its way.” War is fought by nations. War calls for the individual to give up his rights, and sacrifice everything for the good of the nation. War between men cannot be stopped until every individual in this world puts down his weapon. This will be a day when Nationalism, religion and economic troubles are put aside and humans can realize that every person on earth deserves the right to live freely. “There is but one sure way of ending war and that is the establishment, by common consent, of a central control which shall have the last word in every conflict of interests.” At the time this was written by Freud, a worldwide committee to solve disputes between nations was a new and exciting idea. A committee like this, like the United Nations today, can have a profound impact on the events of the world. Yet such a committee does not quite have the effect that men like Freud and Einstein would have hoped. If there is just one nation that chooses not to follow the decisions made by the rest of the world, war is still inevitable. The pressure in the Middle East between Israelis and Palestinians will never be solved by a western committee such as the United Nations. Their hyper-nationalism and undying faith in their religious beliefs are in such striking contrast to one another, it seems that they can do nothing but fight each other to the death. Over the past few centuries it seems as if humankind is in a steady march towards its own annihilation. Time will tell if intellectual men, the Freud’s and Einstein’s of our time, will be able to convince us to put aside their “lust for destruction” for a lust for life.

Purple Skies and Swirling Clouds

There are purple skies with swirling clouds over my head. It reminds me of van Gogh’s Starry Night. I can see him stroking paint in clockwise swoops and swirls. I take a step forward, and a stick cracks under my boot. I just had enough time to get my boots on. My feet are stuck to the leather because I couldn’t spare the time it would have taken to put on socks. I knew it was going to be cold, and the only sweatshirt I could find was the old gray one with my initials on the front. I’ve been wearing it since I was in the eighth grade. It seems fitting that it would be the one shirt that I could find today. I stare off into the distance for one more moment. I breathe chilled air deep into my lungs.

When I turn to face them, I need to have a plan. They are counting on me to know what to do, where to go next. There are only six of us now; the others are sitting huddled close together in a circle on the cold wet grass. My father is seventy-five but as strong as ever, mentally and physically. His arm is wrapped tight around Julie, the girl that we found in the pile of rubble a few hours back. Her arm is probably broken, and she hasn’t stopped crying since we found her. Abby is sitting to her left. The orange scarf on her head is striking in contrast to the purple sky. The last four months have been so hard for her. I think losing her hair was the worst part. I went with her last week to pick out the scarf. She liked the white one, but I convinced her to go with orange. I never thought I would be so happy with the choice.

Molly was sitting on the other side of my dad, clutching the stuffed giraffe I gave her for Valentines Day. When it all started, I knew I had to find her. I couldn’t imagine her going through this without me. I needed to be there for her as much as I needed her to be there for me. Alone, I might have just stayed in bed curled up in a ball, waiting for it. She makes me stronger, braver. I would never let her see me look as scared as I actually am. She thinks I could protect her from anything. I really don’t know if I can protect her from this, but I will spend every last breath trying. When I kicked in the door at her house, she was lying on the floor, screaming. I could hear her calling my name from halfway down the block. Cell service had been down for almost two hours at that point. I grabbed her off of the floor and she wrapped her arms around me so tight it hurt. I threw her over my shoulder, but as I carried her through the doorway she screamed for me to stop. I put her down and she ran over to the table where the giraffe was sitting. On the very same table sat the four hundred dollar purse that her parents bought her for Christmas. She grabbed the stuffed animal and we started running. She always yells at me for going too fast for her because her legs are too short to keep up. I don’t know if it was because I ran over four miles to her house or if it was because she was so scared, but I actually had to try and keep up with her.

Now my mind is racing with possibilities of shelter, places where we could survive. I ask myself what it’s all for. What kind of world will be left if we do somehow survive? Maybe we could repopulate and start all over. We are a species of animals that grew so intelligent and so powerful that we came to change the course of existence for the earth, the planet that gave us life. Now there may only be six of us left, six out of billions. I laugh at the thought. How arrogant can I be to think that we are the last six people left on earth? We’ve only been surviving like this for the better part of a day. There must be stronger, smarter people somewhere who are doing a better job than I am.

“Okay, let’s get moving, follow me.” I said to my crew, the only people I have left. They all stand up, wary, but ready to follow; ready to trust me with their lives. As we started to walk, I noticed a little grin on Abby’s face. “What are you so happy about?” I asked her quietly behind the others.
She turned back at me and said, “I’ve felt so alone, every day since I found out I was going to die. Now I’ve lived to this day, and wherever we go, we’re all going there together.”

Spontaneous Prose

"The object is set before the mind, either in reality, as in sketching (before a landscape or teacup or old face) or is set in the memory wherein in becomes the sketching from memory of a definite image-object."

"If possible write "without consciousness" in semi-trance allowing subconscious to admit in own uninhibited interesting necessary and so "modern" language what conscious art would censor..."

-Jack Kerouac

A rose by any other name is just a rose a rose with green petals not a rose a rose needs water what makes a rose a rose is it the life is it the growing is it the smell it gives off or is it the structure the physical body that we see as rose if this rose is fake is it really a rose rose green leaf vase table chair wish we had a boat for this rose until we wreck on this very island on which we decide to jump into the annals of discovery the destination of our fathers our destiny this place the place we call home is nothing but a shack boards and nails nothing inside but feces and decaying animal carcass a world without knowing genesis Jennifer Jesus H Christ Wilmington Delaware was there a factory that makes fake roses anywhere near San Antonio Texas boots and jackets an endless hailstorm of calamity an underground choir of blindfolded desire Jack the Ripper killed a girl named rose she was on the titanic with Leonardo Di Caprio he was on the mayflower with Leonardo Da Vinci who was on flight 1549 with Chesley Sullenberger a glorious landing not a death in first class second class citizen poor decrepit homeless men begging for a dollar menu at McDonalds I want a double cheeseburger and an apple pie as American as the 4th of July fireworks beachballs hot dogs golden retriever St. Bernard Madoff steals millions of dollars given to A-Rod he was juicy juice with one hundred percent juice Kix kid tested mother approved by the FDA weight loss pills xanax falling asleep on a plane because you are so afraid of the dark so you get a nightlight so you can see all the monsters the green one in Boston fans sit on top now where once the splendid splinter hit baseballs off into the knight of shining armor all wax your new car smell like there’s no tomorrow never die another day the earth stood still standing on the edge of forever young Frankenstein monsters incorporated jester loving fun monkey balls never knew until it was too late economic stimulus in my mind of trees and being until I lose my wonders and being Jesus lord this hurts my hand me a tissue so I can drop the ball of life onto your little earth Venus Pluto not a planet Hollywood Arnold California bankrupt Kathy Griffin Clay Aiken Adele the word I say is world we say earth you are nothing without a life for you and I we is you can you always will.

TV RULES

I would first like to apologize to anyone who has tried to read my blog over the past few weeks, only to find that horrible post about probate court. I was in the middle of a much needed vacation from my own written word. The vacation was mostly spent watching Law and Order SVU and old episodes of 24 and The Shield. I also started to watch NBC's compelling reality show "The Biggest Loser", where grosssly overweight contestants compete for a grand prize along with their own health and well being. I was even convinced to watch the season premiere of "The Bachelor" on ABC where 25 women compete to marry a man that they have never met. I am very happy that my girlfriend had little interest in watching this season of "American Idol", the granddaddy of all "reality" TV. I've watched so much TV over the past two weeks, and I know full well that the last thing it portrays is "reality". Sure there are news channels that do their job to inform the people of what is actually going on in the world. Sometimes I wonder though if anyone is noticing. A new President is five days away from being inaugurated into the biggest mess of a nation and a world that anyone has ever seen. No one has money or credit anymore, and things are getting worse by the day. This is not even to mention the hostility in the Middle East. Who knows what will get us first, worldwide famine, World War 3 or Global Warming. Unfortunately I can't really tell you about all that. At this present time, I can't give you any insights or solutions to any of the world's problems. Maybe it's because I'm only 21, or maybe it's because I spend all my time watching Law and Order. Through the means of TV and now even more so the internet, people can gain access to information quicker than ever before. Most people in America use that luxury to do the opposite, to engulf themselves in fictional storylines or the lives of "real" people who are handpicked by the networks to be the most interesting and scandalous. People of the world need to change the way things are or things will continue to get a lot worse. When something really big and devastating does happen in the world, I hope its not at the same time as a new episode of 24 or LOST, because I won't miss those for anything.