Ever wake up homeless, hung over, and covered in squirrels?
Ever wake up homeless, hung over, and covered in squirrels?
You know what I hate?
I can’t look.
I avoid it because it makes me sick.
I don’t watch the news because it’s poison, twisted scenarios, biased accounts.
Is there even such a thing as truth?
Or is truth in the eye of the beholder?
Science cannot measure ethics.
Science cannot measure a human heart.
When people look into their own pasts,
All they see
Is what they need to believe.
Even history is a tenuous thing.
I know people who believe in history.
It is written by human hands, filtered through human hearts, wrung through the gossip machine over and over.
They say Ramses was king from such to such a year.
This is all the truth that remains.
What does that matter, what does it mean?
But there are patterns of truth
To a discerning eye.
I see the future
Because of history.
I know where we’re headed
Because of history.
There will be no apocalypse.
But the age of America’s empire
Is coming quickly to a close.
Our decay as a nation is imminent.
It will not happen suddenly
But it will happen faster than any other empire’s close.
Technology is a joining of hands.
It accelerates everything.
We learn faster, we forget faster.
We share language and culture faster.
We are running on fast forward.
People are jaded more quickly.
People can see the patterns
In their own behavior
Like they never could before.
And when America falls,
Many of those joined hands
Will be pulled down with it.
Amidst the chaos,
A dictator will rise.
We will choose security over freedom.
That is what humans choose
The world will not end.
The world does not end.
Humanity can survive
But we repeat our mistakes.
Sometimes we even worsen.
Yesterday was beautiful.
Our biggest problems
Were sexual harassment and bullying.
This was a mark
Of our success as a nation.
The cultural backlash
People are getting shunted into camps
Driven away, caged.
Rights and freedoms for all are shrinking back
Into rights and freedoms for some.
I fear we have witnessed the peak.
Today begins the decay.
Maybe it’ll just be
A bigenerational thing
But this feels stronger.
I’m afraid our time is up.
We’re due for an economic depression
We’re due for a major war.
I’m not afraid of death.
I’m not afraid of poverty.
I’m afraid of my own inability to act.
The situation is disgusting
And those in power
Are equally disgusting.
Everything is disgusting.
It fills me with frustration.
Watching the news
Is just a shitshow.
We are watching ourselves
Flush ourselves down the drain.
There are millions of people
Who know how to fix it
Who want to fix it
Who cannot fix it.
I want to fix it
But stronger is my want
For personal freedom.
We might influence culture here and there as individuals
We might start a club, write a book, invent a tool
We can devote ourselves to a cause
And leave a small dent in evil.
But nothing brings true peace.
Here is something I wrote a few years ago. It took a lot of elbow grease to straighten it out! I guess it’s proof that I really have learned some things since then. I still would give it another… six revisions if I weren’t so tired.
This one’s for Tom, author of Slumdog Soldier. If you guys want to read some addictive action and make a nice friend, check out his site.
Walking alone in the park was foolish at the best of times, but tonight was Mardi Gras. People were especially rowdy and dangerous.
Still, there were things she needed from the store. If she didn’t get something for her lunch tomorrow she would be stuck with convenience store food.
She wasn’t comfortable on the street with all the dancing, jostling, vomiting drunks (any one of them could be a criminal) so she decided to take a shortcut through the park. Tucking her purse safely under her arm, she headed down the path toward the dark trees.
She had made it nearly halfway through the park when she noticed a man following her at a distance.
Maybe the park hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
Clutching her purse even closer, she quickened her pace.
There was a rustle in the woods, and a second man emerged from the trees just ahead of her. He brandished a pocket knife so small, she had to wonder if bringing it to the mugging had been an afterthought.
The first man wrapped a cool metal wire around her neck and pressed himself against her back.
“Are you robbing me?” She said, aghast. She’d never been in a fight before.
“Shh,” the man with the knife said. He buried his face where her neck met her shoulder and inhaled deeply. He still held his knife, but he was distracted and it was loose in his hand at his side. His neck, dark with stubble, stretched in front of her as he took his first taste of her skin. He was so close that she could see the jugular veins throb beside his esophagus.
She had spent her whole life trying to be gentle. But these two were clearly a lower class of human, undeserving, uncivilized. Criminal.
Just this once, she gave herself permission to join their level.
With one hand, she batted the knife from his distracted grip and let it fall onto the leafy path. With the other, she grabbed the back of his neck and brought his throat toward her open teeth. She sank in with a crunch of gristle. Metallic blood welled into her mouth.
The man didn’t scream; he couldn’t. He brought both hands up and tried to push her away, then stopped when he felt the increased tugging of her teeth at his still connected flesh. So she did it for him, with a well-placed kick to the groin.
He staggered backwards, pouring blood black in the moonlight.
Her victory came at a price: the man behind her tightened the garrote around her neck. She couldn’t breathe. Her decision to fight tonight could very well cost her her life. The sharp wire cut through her skin, and deeper.
She was ready. She would take any damage necessary, if it meant she could deal equal damage to her attacker.
With that resolve, she stomped as hard as she could on the top of his foot once, twice. She heard more than felt his metatarsal snap, but it didn’t make him let go. Fine. She drove her elbow into his gut with everything she had, then fell backwards into him. They hit the ground together, which caused him to slacken his grip just long enough for her to work her fingers under the wire.
She could run out of air at any second, but she still hadn’t done this man any significant damage. Her survival was secondary to that.
He would not let go of the garrote, but her fingers prevented him from killing her outright. He lay on the ground and she was almost atop him, on her side. How could she hurt him? His grip was unbreakable, and he had good pain tolerance… but he had reacted to the belly blow. His gut was his soft spot.
She drove her elbow into his stomach, then again, repeatedly, until she felt a small bone under his ribcage snap. This wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t die from this, and he knew the surest way to win was to hang on to his weapon just a little longer.
Her lungs burned, her eyes saw pink. Was that from the garrote or something else? She pawed the ground for a weapon, but there was nothing. Only solid rock. Solid rock…
She ceased her assault on his diaphragm and grabbed his hair with her free hand. Quickly, before he tensed up, as fast and as hard as she could, she raised his head by the hair and slammed it into the concrete path, then again, then again. Each blow weakened his grip on the garrote. The sounds of his skull hitting the cement got wetter, until he didn’t have any fight left.
She stood up, unwrapping the wire from her neck.
The first man’s Adam’s apple was still in her mouth? She spat it out and wiped her lips with the back of her sleeve.
She’d never committed a crime, so they wouldn’t be able to match her fingerprints or dna. If she just walked away now, there was a solid chance she would never get caught. She would have to rinse off in the dark pond before going back into the street.
Fortunately, it was Mardis Gras. Everyone looked criminal at this hour. She would blend right in.
This is from a couple days ago.
Why so sad, Sarah?
Why so sad?
What is it that has sapped your soul
How crazy is crazy
How crazy is normal
How normal is crazy
What is normal
is anyone it?
I drip drip drip
like an old leaky fountain
like the disposal I need to repair
like the rotten corner of the house
the mold takes hold
it grows and grows
peel back my skin
you’ll see green speckles
underneath the paint
How exactly does one
what is motivation
and where can I dig some up?
I have no bootstraps
there’s nothing I want
nothing I need
nothing to say or do
still I face forward
and chip away
at the time left to me
what future is worth living
what past is worth the struggle
I don’t like struggle
so I just
and watch the world move forward
I am pushed by the current
I could have anything I want
but I don’t want anything
once in a while I feel passion
I am mad with enthusiasm for life
It’s all about smelling the flowers, enjoying the sunset
spending time with family
eating out with friends
cooking, drawing, writing
passion is a flame
it needs fuel
it needs blood sugar
it needs dopamine
even then I don’t know what I want
success is vapid
money is boring
all I really want are the people around me
welcome to my first world existential dread
aren’t we pathetic
Who can find happiness during constant peace and prosperity?
What strength! What fortitude!
One who achieves this feat
can find happiness anywhere
has conquered life
I gotta learn how to upload sound files properly… but I was feeling especially lazy today.
how to encapsulate
Of all the hates
hate for the self is strongest
because you have no defense
denial is all you can use
a powerful tool indeed
but once hate wrests that from you
it can turn your greatest defense
into its sharpest weapon.
it cuts cuts cuts cuts
it hangs itself
throws itself over boundaries
and even when it falls
it crawls crawls crawls
so you kick it
sometimes you win the fight
sometimes you lose
but the battle never ends
and there are days when hate
appears to be
hate is a monster.
hate has fangs.
hate has many grinding teeth.
quick to eat, slow to digest.
hate is always
hate runs deep
hating your movements
hating your soul
hating what you are
hating what you aren’t.
it is righteous anger.
it is simpering greed.
it steps on the faces of good people
it spits on the finest intentions
crumples them like old tissues and throws them out.
hate has no regard
a consuming fire
a consuming evil
a consuming disease
It eats eats eats
always in the middle
eyes like marbles
are the one who has to fight this thing.