A Web of Thoughts-Enmesh Yourself

2009-03-08T09:25:00.003-05:00

On this International Women's Day 2009, I am inexorably reminded of a recent experience that was the antithesis of a celebration of women but rather celebrated their abuse and debauchery. Of an event that some would not even call an event because it was merely a n illusion of moving picture upon a silver screen. That event was the now popular, millions-of-dollars-making movie called "Watchmen". This is a picture that I'm sure at least a lot of lay people, if not critics have revered as being a wonderful adaptation of a comic book with a "strong plot" and likable characters. Some may argue that it is innocuous. I know when I attempted to see the film just yesterday there were two-year-old children accompanied by parents in the theater. But, no, this film is not innocuous. And why? Not because of the blatant violence that nobody needs to see but that we do see because the directors and producers don't believe anyone has an animation or inference anymore. Not because the plot was weak and the director and producer tried to contemplate with lots of CG and action scenes. But because of the way it portrayed women. And I'm not just talking about it portraying women as sexual objects that the filmmakers use to sell tickets so the men can buy them and drool over the women. No. I am talking about the way women were brutalized, beaten up, attempted to be raped, shot in the head while pregnant. All of that was just too much for me to stand, and I couldn't even stand to sit through the entire duration of the movie. And what about everyone else in the crowded Saturday theater that was also viewing the film? They sat there, silently giving their consent, not necessarily that it was okay to treat women in this manner, but that it was okay to watch.

In our desensitized society people are spoon-fed disturbing images of sex and violence every day. What once sent shock waves of scandal through an audience will now barely illicit the batting of an eyelash. We ingest mass amounts of so called "virtual" violence and sex every day so that it has become our norm. Even our most vulnerable segment of the population, our children, ingest mass amounts of this potentially harmful type of media because it has become socially acceptable for parents for them to ingest what they potentially cannot digest. This does not mean that parents do not have an obligation to be the filters of their children's potentially harmful edification, but the fact that this potentially harmful material has become a social norm to view not just once, or twice, but thousands of times per day has contributed to the degradation of parental filters.

But it is harmful, at least on some level, to people of all ages, but yet, they still digest it under the guise of fantasy. "It is not real", they say, "and as long as you are able to discern reality from fantasy then it will not harm you." But there is one fundamental flaw in that argument. I was recently reading the book Why We Hate Us, by Dick Meyer, and he discussed this while citing another source. There is not theoretical button that the brain can push to discern reality from fantasy. Hence, while on a conscious level you rationally know that a movie is scripted, contrived fact and not fiction, subconsciously your brain cannot make that rationalization. And if your brain cannot make that rationalization on a subconscious level, then it is still damaging you in that respect. It does not matter how old you are, or if you're supposedly neuro-typical or not. That very fact leads, at least in some regard, to your own self-destruction. This self-destruction may be more evident in children because they often cannot discern fantasy from reality on a conscious level, so they are more likely to express their damage resulting from the ingestion of said damaging material. But that is not to say that subliminally, adults are not damaged on a level so deep inside that it cannot be outwardly expressed. This is why adults still get scared at scary movies, and they still jump during loud noises or actions of suspenseful parts of movies.

But even despite the foregoing, I myself am desensitized. I will admit it. I was born in 1985. I read books, watch movies and TV. But even I could not bear to sit through such blatant disregard for women. And it is because I know that, essentially, we are what we eat. And I knew that if I continued to sit through this film, then that would equate to me on some level acknowledging that this type of behavior toward women was okay. It was socially acceptable. And that I, by purchasing a ticket for said movie, was supporting it. I could not bear to do that. I can also not bear to purchase pizza from a pizza shop owner who has been charged with pedophelia. I know these types of behavior are wrong, and I choose not to support them. It does not matter that one is in our supposed reality and the other is in supposed fantasy. According to the brain, they are no different.

south africa

2008-12-14T09:43:00.007-05:00

Sometimes I think about the people floating out there in the world that I am connected to by blood relation. Do they look like me? Do they talk like me? Do we have the same personality/interests/goals? So many people. So Far away. In a way, it is a curse that we cannot meet them. That there are so many others related to us that we know of but do not know. So many people that love us that we have never met. And who we love. I understand that consanguinity is not everything, but it is a bond. A bound that binds beyond thousands of miles of wires, waves, oceans and continents. A bond that goes beneath the superficial surface and straight into our hearts. A bond that defies time and distance, as if there were none. However, I suppose I can only say time and distance has been defied when we have met them. When our questions are answered. And when our hearts are one. And I hope that day is soon to come.

Kings

2008-08-28T08:01:00.002-05:00

premeditated plans
cut off life support
the other life, so near
and me, on the other side, so far
I told you
that I hated him
and he'd better watch it
in the street
I told you
that I hated it
when you came home
too late
to eat
I told you
that I hated it
when you woke me from
my sleep
And still
so far
and me
so near
and you woke me
from my sleep

money

2008-07-02T08:40:00.002-05:00

cha ching
cha ching
wedding bells bring
cha ching
cha ching
children sing
cha ching
cha ching
the waiting wings
cha ching
cha ching
resounding grovel rings
cha ching
cha ching
I loved you so
cha ching
cha ching
I let you go
cha ching
cha ching
Now I'm alone
and you're
letting the registers ring
cha ching

2008-01-11T10:29:00.000-05:00

lately
alcohol is so
extreme
not to just me but
friends
it ends in
tears
or necessitates
sirens

we've had enough
we've had too much

696

2007-10-11T22:10:00.000-05:00

undo the past
picture
the words
not worth it
unsprung
sensation
early rising
displacement
and the wreckage
that would weaken
and the bells
they say would ring in
day's judgment
of offensive
unoffensive
menstruators
blue balled angry
penetrators
crashing down
into the blackness
sleep
is all
that's left
made my way
past the wreckage
past the thorns
of insane's requiem
up and against
those casualties
faded to black
and fell
and I
here
am fading
as well

2007-03-20T21:04:00.000-05:00

complete ignorance
Ig
norE
ance
don't exist
I
been a slave
through
waves
wires
miles and miles
of ideas.
no matter
don't bother
only with
compl
ete
ig
norE
nce

2007-03-05T19:18:00.001-05:00

fill the void
with hollow sound
cut the noise
to higher ground
open black
below the mound
misery
all soul did shone
flailing new
the tangled limbs
four against
the monkey tin
and paling
proper print
grin
only me
within it lied

2007-03-04T11:34:00.000-05:00

out of reason
out of
touch
out of
reason
touch
sigh away
just sigh away
hhmph
sigh away
just
hhmph

2007-03-04T11:31:00.000-05:00

fill the void
with hollow sound
cut the noise
to higher ground
open black
below the mound
misery
all soul did shone
flailing now
the tangled limbs
four against
the monkey tin
and paling of
proper print grin
only me
within it lied

can you live your life without me -Garbage

2007-03-04T11:08:00.000-05:00

I want so desperately to read something worth it. Not some misogynistic poor American-in-France pseudo-writer's work with an introduction that argues that he really wasn't a misogynist, but rather was abused why women. The author of the introduction supports this claim with an excerpt from the text, in which Miller or his protagonist refers to a character that was more misogynistic than he was as a "foetus". If I'd used supporting details like that in my most recent English class, you can bet I still would have gotten an A. But still is where my mind can't sit. All around me are the dancing jeering flashes of the undone, once they were negative, as I came. And still, it bothers me so how she mocks him. Through swigs of Fosters, she mocks him. And if you confront her, she says you simply do not understand. Pity Pity. But I guess I'm getting better at it. At not expressing. Plastic tree chunk woman. Wouldn't they love you. If you were beautiful like them. And all the while. Drugs unspoken yet spoke above. Between girls of young in, not only public places, but their own places of employment. Once again, the world does not give a fuck. Once again, I feel shitty. Once again, I will not say. While the whole dilapidated skulduggeried earth rots its fucking green pasture exterior away. I used to believe in dates, in the power of time, but fortunately or unfortunately, my concept of time is something that I've lost. Or maybe I realized that it wasn't real, constructed, and through this realization, I just don't give a fuck. I hardly understand why I am so nervous. Unable to concentrate. Diagnose me with Adult ADHD and pop me full of Ritalin. Or better yet, Adder all. Percocets. Oxycontin. Cocaine. Gallons and gallons of cheap alcohol. And all else that is pain-numbing, reality-killing. All else that is a facade. The same name as that club in Nyack where the loose women and even looser men congregate to get off so that they can't get on the train of reality. I would like to obtain a copy of No Exit and reread it with my twenty-one year old mental prowess. haha. mental prowess. I just proved myself wrong, as I'm sure that is the incorrect usage of the that phrase. I'm sick of being paranoid. Of keeping myself up nights. Of Working the life out of myself and having to pretend that everything is o fucking kay. When it isn't. It isn't at all.

2007-02-05T23:19:00.000-05:00

saying I
why
the black line
on a bad time
malificent's
multiple
mongers
network down
I dialed up
to you
until
near far
approaching death
and all those
haunting ghosts
but
no translucence
unto you
black's fading
another life
I's born
into
and still I sit
and lie and
call love love
and melting up unto
the very sight
and still I could not see
can not
and blind
is sorry

Irrevocable Changes Through Oates and Erdrich

2006-11-24T11:31:00.000-05:00

Throughout life people go through many changes, some which affect them more greatly than others. In the short stories, "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?", by Joyce Carol Oates, and "The Red Convertible", by Louise Erdrich, the characters of Connie and Henry are dynamic in that they go undergo changes that affect their lives so irrevocably that they will never again be the same. A catalyst induces the changes in both characters and neither change has a positive affect on the character's life.

Prior to the changes, both characters are more naive and innocent about the world around them. During the introduction of "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?", Connie is portrayed as "fifteen and she had a quick nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors." She also fights with her mother constantly and has begun to fool around with boys. Connie is a normal American girl on the brink of her adolescence. During the introduction of "The Red Convertible", Henry is also portrayed as naive and innocent. He buys a car with his brother, Lyman, and they go on a road-trip that lasts the entire summer. During the end of the road trip, when they are with Susy, a girl with whom they had been staying in Alaska after picking her up somewhere in the Midwest and driving her all the way home, Susy lets her long hair out and Henry puts her on his shoulders and spins her around, saying, "I always wondered what it was like to have long hair." Clearly, Henry is fun loving, carefree and spontaneous.

In both stories there is the presence of a catalyst, which induces the negative changes in the characters. In "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" the catalyst is the character of Arnold Friend, who drives his golden jalopy to Connie’s house one Sunday when her parents are not home to try and convince her to come for a ride with him. The character of Arnold Friend represents the "demonic lover", in that he has supernatural powers that make him irresistible to Connie. He is demonic in that he possesses the telepathic ability to view the activities of her family members at the barbeque they were attending at her aunt ’s house, along with the fact that his foot doesn’t fit properly into his boot, making it appear stuffed, which represents the cloven foot of the devil. For Henry, in "The Red Convertible", the catalyst is the Vietnam War. After Henry and Lyman come home from Alaska, Henry is called upon to serve in the Army, for which he had previously "signed up". Before long he is stationed in Vietnam where he soon becomes a Prisoner of War.

As a result of the change that was induced by the catalyst, both Connie and Henry’s lives are negatively and irrevocably affected. For Connie, the change starts to occur while Arnold Friend is outside, seemingly trying to convince her to come for a ride with him. At one point she attempts to seek refuge in the kitchen, a room in the house that she and her family had occupied for three years, but it begins to be unrecognizable to her. "The kitchen looked like a place she had never seen before, some room she had run inside but which wasn’t good enough." The change intensifies during the climax of the story, when Connie runs back into the house after speaking again with Arnold Friend, hitting her leg on the table, with a roaring in her ear that amplifies as she picks up the telephone for help but can only scream into the receiver. Like the kitchen, the telephone, a device she has used for much of her life, has become unrecognizable to her. At the resolution of the story, when she walks outside to go with Arnold Friend, she is gazing in awe upon all this land that she had never seen before now that she had changed, because when she had looked upon it before she was naive and innocent, two of the qualities she used to possess that Arnold Friend, the "demonic lover", had taken away. In "The Red Convertible", after being a Prisoner of War and coming back home, Henry ’s entire personality changes. He has become quiet, barely stringing even six words together, and he never seems to sit still. He seems to occupy himself solely by sitting in front of the television, which is where he was when he once bit all the way through his lip without even noticing. This change is so negative and disturbing to his family that they consider admitting him to a mental health facility, but as Native Americans living on a reservation, they did not trust the mental health providers, his mother stating, "they just give them drugs." During the end of the story, at the bank of the Red River, even when it seems to his brother Lyman that Henry is acting like his old self again, laughing and playing about, he jumps into the river and kills himself, which proves that the change her underwent was irrevocable.

Sometimes changes can affect one so greatly that they will never be the same again. This is true of the dynamic characters, Connie and Henry, in the short stories, "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" and "The Red Convertible." During the introduction of these stories, both characters were more naive and innocent and, better off as a whole than they were after the change occurred, which had been induced by the catalysts of Arnold Friend and the Vietnam War. These literary works seem to reflect a universal truth about real life and provide a means for their audience to relate, as most people also go through life-changing events, which affect them so irrevocably that their lives will indeed never be the same again.

nothing

2006-11-14T00:05:00.000-05:00

she
could do nothing
but wait
for her pulsing veins
to pump blood
over
the vastest of
expanes.
but not before
her pulsing veins
pumped blood
over
the smallest of
expanses.

my own Self

2006-11-13T00:04:00.000-05:00

Today I felt a feeling that I had not experienced in a long time. Like all feelings, it is not tangible, and therefore, can not be expressed in words, but nonetheless, I will try. College. The ideal of college is, in American society, supposed to be a second coming of age for budding adults, the age of responsibility. Students are expected to have their share of fun, but also maintain a strong well-rounded academic life, which centers around working toward their career goals.

Well when I went away to college, I was working on something, but it sure wasn't my career goals. How could it be. I was a journalism BS major, which to me was B.S. for bullshit.

Half the time I was wasting away in margarita ville, which usually also included smoking enough pot to give an anorexic the munchies and snorting codeine or cocaine or whatever I could get off of some one's desk. When I wasn't fucked up I was in paranoid stages of a nervous breakdown, or so depressed that I could barely even lift my head from the pillowcase, and I suppose that's where the feeling of unnameable dread came in.

Before I dropped out in the middle of my fourth semester, I carried around a feeling of unnameable dread all of the time. I hated being there. I hated my boogers freezing in the cold winter air. I hated drinking. I hated smoking. And mostly, I hated that I couldn't do either because part of my sanction from my lovely outpatient rehab facility that the school had enforced upon me included random drug tests.

I would call up my mother and told her that I hated it there, that I couldn't wait to see them. I think the time when the ball finally broke was when I got arrested for calling some girl that I didn't even know when I was drunk and threatening to kill her.

The feeling of unnameable dread is that horrible feeling when you know that you aren't where you want to be and you feel like you are so far away from the path that leads to it. Or maybe you feel like the path doesn't exist. Maybe you'll feel like you'll never get anywhere, and you deserve it. You think you're crazy. You think you're stupid. You think that you're a drug addict, an alcoholic and a slut. But most of all, you think you're never going to get any better.

And this feeling, it isn't gradual. It's not like a wave that comes over me at random times in my life. It was like a parasite, always there, feeding upon my happiness and turning it to pain, infecting me. And I knew that it was there. I knew that I should have gone to the doctor and had the parasite removed, but I felt like I couldn't leave.

But you know what, I came home. I came home and got a good job with an amazing ex-dentist, now-lawyer. And I also got other good things in certain aspects of my life. I stopped slutting around. I stopped doing pills. I still drink, but not nearly as much, and I only smoke pot occasionally.

But you know what, regardless of what I do or don't do or did or didn't do or any combination thereof, I grew up. And most people will tell you that so much growing up is done in college and it makes you smarter or more well rounded or whatever. But for me, college meant the feeling of unnameable dread. I came home and the feeling of unnameable dread still descends upon me sometimes, but never as much as it did when I was four hours away from home, stuck in the mud of the circular path that goes nowhere.

And that's something that society couldn't give me, nor could my former college town. Nor could a pill or a line or a parasite. But only my. own. self

The End of A New Beginning

2006-11-13T00:02:00.000-05:00

All semblence of a real home for my family departed long ago. What it left in its place was the shitty little old dilapodated shack, complete with broken windows and chipped paint.

Termites infest the walls of this house, this house that is not a home. With their jagged little teeth they chew into the framework of this house, weakening it with every piece of wood they bite into.

This weak house. The people inside it hear them and they let out a shriek of terror each time the termites take an audible bite of wood. They watch and wait in fear to see the termites scattering across the kitchen floors, but they can not stop the termites. There is no way to, at least according to them.

They don't even know the reason. They don't even know if there is a reason. But what they do know is that the termites have been there for a long time, generations upon generations, and will be there for generations upon generations. And they will never stop breaking down the house.

And once they have chewed through all the framework, and are scattering across the kitchen floor in droves, and the screams of the inhabitants can be heard from a mile away, the inhabitants will run and the house will fall down. And the leader of the termites will go to the highest point of the ruins, because they have won.

But there will always be another house for the termites to break down. The family understands this. So they go from house to house, and houses fall and fall after them. And the termites rejoice every time.

Eventually the time of the family has come to pass, but before they pass, they leave descendents. And like the family, the descendents can not stop the termites from breaking down their houses. And like the family, they do not know the reason.

And eventually, the termites break down all the houses of all their descendents until their times have come to pass. And there is no one else in the family who has a house to break down. And the leader of the cockroaches goes to the highest point of the ruins of the last descendent's house, and he makes an accouncement.

"It is the end," he says, "The end of a new beginning."

nameless .10

2006-11-12T23:56:00.001-05:00

Twisted lines

Those lines we twist

and turn into

our boundaries

cross

and Hell

breaks loose

like the twisted line

your strings

doth turn into

pulled by them

and you

twisting

pulling

until

crash into

what once thought

was you

erupt

then turn

into

what gets

the better

every time

damn twisted line

not lax

not straight

that makes

me turn into

Hell broken loose

nameless .09

2006-11-12T23:53:00.001-05:00

corner turning

confiscated your heart

health dimished

and family torn into the shred

deeper inside

hiding from the tearer

hiding from the bearer

won't be torn into

like you

walked in your footsteps

never really happy

bolting from the scene

so as not to scream

and then again

and again the shredder

and again

the heartache

and again

the vacant room

after womb

many miles walked to

away from you

my bargain

your suffering

as the shredder

and you

split

into

nameless .08

2006-11-12T23:50:00.001-05:00

Inescapeable plan

the dark path waits

to be treaded on

so uncarefully again

in the distance

i see it

my chance for another life

as far away from this one

as andromena from milky way

twitch too often

ignore the smoke

the haze that fogs

all doubt and

preteen instances of

insecurity

some never grow

the bonsai trees

society's

so redwood trees

can plentifully populate

the smaller forest

shining white

that ill smile you wore

fashioned by

lasers

smooth faces

fashioned by

scalpels

the poor slobs

beg on the streets

to be

as beautiful as you

when you're thirteen

and you don't eat

she better be

as beautiful as you

inescapable plan

for all of us to be

so fucking

perfectly imperfect

perfect bodies

imperfect minds

nevermind the monster

nevermind the vomit

just be yourself

as long as its not

fat and ugly

i wont do it

i will not walk the path

that claimed so many casualties

of image's destruction

but the other life

so far away

the path is laid before my feet

and that's where they'll stay

so I can perish

at the cost of image

as my predecessors did

a not so lofty bargain

for the pain

that begins

with your first step

on the dark path

shamless self pity

2006-11-12T23:47:00.001-05:00

opening and shutting

the shut shutters

of my mind

eurthymic rhythm so

not eurthymic

and miss world

drowning

the cacophany

smile and wave

and flip a page

and die and die

another day

impressed by your brevity

a thousand years standing is ye

and a thousand years dead

is me

hopeless shadows

filling the void

fulfilling the absymal lucidity

that I never really was

and those who stay there

do not speak

they just circulate

you and me

and the poison frog your poision's choosing

shoot me with an arrow

for there is nothing left

too many slices cut

and evenly distributed

to ravenous beasts

and the like

of all who have sucked from me

that which can't be sucked

wasting the wasted

killing the dying

and the catalyst

for that which

can never

be named

except

during moments

of brevity

oh so long

ago

and miles

miles

away

to live

2006-11-12T23:36:00.000-05:00

Nothing ever changes

in the house of broken dreams.

The door's been black

for a long time now,

And it's all

as it seems.

Twenty-one years,

not counting it,

all odds against,

I don't know why.

Unearthly

Earthbound

Existance,

filled with

Nothing,

no work,

no play,

just idle days.

Make a plan,

Maybe we'll suceed,

Or fail

Fail

Fail,

my tails spinning

the same circle

As so long

Ago.

Let it show,

Let it Show,

and then

they go,

till there is

no one left

to share with

this broken

Dream,

And no money

Never any

And if you'd

Work hard

to get some

than it wouldn't be

as it seemed.

But all is crumbling

around me

Except the

Insurmountable

Surmountable

Burdens

that blind the eyes

of those who believe

that just because

they were

Maligned

they don't

deserve

to live.

Believe

2006-11-12T23:34:00.000-05:00

Why do we
refuse to believe
What we need

Dawn's a dusky shadow
but
Hope is lost
In the
Darkness
Many days
For it
We wept

Want
Adjacent to our shadow
A small one
So she can live
A different life
Walk in stride
Have prodigious
talent
Paint rainbows
In the
Overcast
So not
To make
Her gray

You want
her to
Believe
But there is
No
Small
Shadow.
Space
Adjacent
is vacant

But even if
The row
was filled
small shadows
Your heart
Would still
be vacant
Because
you don't
Believe

crash metal crash

2006-11-12T23:33:00.001-05:00

metal on metal
collide
spin cylindrical tools
ancient yet new
archaic yet modern
mind
my mind spun
with them
and with them
my mind did collide
as they collided
with mine
crashing
you wish to be smashed into
the pieces
that you are
hold together
tell them
unify body
and mind
but all the time
in between
okay
and
insanity
the pills
perpendicular
to your
stomachwall
as it crashes into
your large intestine
and collides with
your seratonin
will you ever find
your
mind
or will you
crash
into
pieces
and collide
never to unify
again

abcd

2006-11-12T23:27:00.001-05:00

abcd

memory's fading

of a time

we weren't classified.

abcd

which one is

the one

I hate the most

abcd

which is the one

that gets replaced

the d by a

or d by d?

abcd

which is the one

with no more as

and/or

the ds

abcd

which is the one

scanning the sunset

for the d if they're a

and the b if they're c

nameless .07

2006-11-12T23:25:00.000-05:00

love

bright simple

shining star

of streetlight

filled and fulfilled

hole in heart

and mind

with utter complexities

of itself

and the

fulfilling

so that

self-recognition

and

singing to streetlights

a normality

when in fact

you were

in love

-11/8/06-

This is NOT a Monkey Poem

2006-11-12T23:24:00.000-05:00

it's not alright
dance
monkey
dance
it's not alright
be prim
monkey
be prim
it's not alright
lay down
monkey
lay down
it's not alright
bruise
monkey
bruise
it's not alright
choke
monkey
choke
it's not alright
die
monkey
die
it's not

-11/7/06-

nameless .06

2006-11-12T23:22:00.000-05:00

not just immigrants

suburban white

deluded

section thereof

filled with

eviction notices

and carboard boxes

single income house

that's not a home

and the wine

oh the wine's poison

feasted upon

by those who believe

just because they were

maligned

walked this path before

snorted that line before

had this breakdown before

and still

it can't be visualized

by those who lack

the knowledge

that it is all a game

and that which ails you now

will not do so in the future

than why am i in pain

at the news

that we're out again

at the news

that we can't make ends meat

at the news

that once again

it's been confirmed

this house is not a home

any semblence of one

for me and them

left a long time ago

in its place

a crappy old shack

whose main objective

is to let us down

and who will complete it

many times over

before death strangles

the life out of

-10/23/06-

nameless .05

2006-11-12T23:20:00.000-05:00

path of darkness

path of light

the v

of self destruction

some walk darkness

some walk light

to lightdarkness all aspire

leaned left

pulled out right

living left's legacy

destruction's

creation

sit still

smile

be pretty

pretty fucking vacant

but not too happy

sad

smart

slut

virgin

the scales not tipped

perfect

oh if you could read

understand

but just

another insect

no pretty

no white

no happy

leaned left

and pulled out right

he pulled out,

right

alright

just the living

legacy

of life's

dark

destruction

nameless .04

2006-11-12T23:19:00.000-05:00

I am incredibly exhausted, as I have been for days of sleep deprivation. But I am going to attempt to write this somewhat articulately.

Today was labor day. Throughout my whole life this day never had any significance to me whatsoever other than the fact that it was a day off school (if school had even started) and work for my dad. My whole life, the day that school started determined the slipping away of summer, whenever that may have been. It was transitional and fleeting, and not set in stone.

But this year, I am not going to school. So therefore, for me and millions of other Americans, summer officially ended today. And it doesn't really make me feel old or mature, nor does it make me feel immature. But it does make me feel like I've lost something. Something that doesn't necessarily have to do with the fact that I am not in school. Or that I have deviated from the most trodded path, even if this is the result of it.

What it is exactly, I am not sure. I don't feel like analyzing it to death. All I know is that this is a new era. And I'm not even in a different place, but there's just something about it that feels different. I look at it existentially. and I do not expect it to save me. Eras can not do that.

But I must admit, I am kind of excited.

-9/5/05-

nameless .03

2006-11-12T23:18:00.000-05:00

Twisted lines

Those lines we twist

and turn into

our boundaries

cross

and Hell

breaks loose

like the twisted line

your strings

doth turn into

pulled by them

and you

twisting

pulling

until

crash into

what once thought

was you

erupt

then turn

into

what gets

the better

every time

damn twisted line

not lax

not straight

that makes

me turn into

Hell broken loose

nameless .02

2006-11-12T23:13:00.000-05:00

corner turning

confiscated your heart

health dimished

and family torn into the shred

deeper inside

hiding from the tearer

hiding from the bearer

won't be torn into

like you

walked in your footsteps

never really happy

bolting from the scene

so as not to scream

and then again

and again the shredder

and again

the heartache

and again

the vacant room

after womb

many miles walked to

away from you

my bargain

your suffering

as the shredder

and you

split

into

survival

2006-11-12T22:53:00.000-05:00

I am walking through the woods, a large sword strapped to my back. Behind a thicket,, the beast, and my enemy, emerges. He is large, half man and half wolf. When his blazing, yellow eyes meet mine, they automatically burn with a red fire of hatred, whose blaze of malevolence can only be matched by the blaze in mine. I remove my sword from its case. He gets out his archaic mase. I hurl myself toward him, wielding the sword and screaming the ancient battle cry of my people. He begins swinging the mase, and I can hear the wailing of its sharp spikes piercing through the air, the wailing of impending death. As I take a wide swing of my sword toward him I hit the mase, and metal on metal collides with a resounding clash. We stop for a moment, to stare into each others hate-filled eyes, fire begetting fire, hate begetting hate. Then we move, detaching our instruments of death. He swings the mase around again, this time low, so that I have to do a backflip to avoid it. I hurl my sword at him again, this time he blocks me his shield. His mase comes down so fast that I duck and it still scrapes the top of my head. I cry out in pain. He counters this cry with a deep and gutteral malicious laugh. I touch the scrape on my head and feel blood. This feeds my fire like kinling. I move toward a tree, and the mase that is meant for me deeply gashes a tree. I am almost certain that I can feel it screaming out in pain amongst the other oaks, and for a moment I feel regret, for having to do this, for us all having to do this. But then this wave is replaced by another one as the mase swings toward me again, the will to survive. I run a few yards away, to a spiny tree, and as I begin jumping up the branches, my back is toward him, and I can hear death's sound, in the form of a mase, but I know that I am not going to die today. It only takes a moment for me to turn around, block the mase with my sword, which would have instantly ripped into my large intestine. My enemy has a look of bewilderment in his eyes when he heards the metals clang, and if there's one thing I have learn, it is that bewilderment makes you vulnerable. So I seize the moment, I let the mase drop for only a second as I catch its metal chain with my sword and begin wrapping it around. It makes an odd sound, one that I have not heard since. My enemy is holding strong and fast, trying to retain his grip on his only significant weapon, but for however strong and fast he is, I am that much stronger and faster. Soon he lets go completely, but not before getting out another mase, smaller, but still deadly. And I say to myself, I am not going to die today, as I swing my feet around the tree branch and impale him so hard with his own mase, and even harder with the blade of my sword. Just before his eyes roll into that vacuous space of eternity, I see them, at the same level as my eyes. And they are not burning with fire of hatred, but rather, they are aglow, with the light of the times that have come and gone, with the light of knowing that he died trying to save his own life. He was not angry or vengeful . In truth, he would have done the same to me. He knew this. The only differerence was my time line went on further, and his had reached the end.

lessof

2006-11-12T22:52:00.000-05:00

I sit and wait
For a home
Purgatorial antiparadise
No glass-half-full shit
Feeling in my wrists
Where you can really feel things
Where your strength does lie
Now now
Mine has diminished
And all you want is to suffocate
Because the pain is less than
That which you have to
Endure
Greener grass
You think you'll find
1000 miles away
But youre paralyzed
And there's no ride
So all you do
Is wait
You sit and wait
And break
And break
You clean up their pieces
too
And you want so bad
to fade
But you realized
It's not just you
And you dream and dream
For a beautiful aesthethe
Of architectural design
A piece of land
White picket fence
American in kind
But then you wake
The dream it fades
Hope fading with it too
Yet all do
Is sit and wait
For a home
for them
And you

countenance

2006-11-12T22:46:00.001-05:00

The memory of your face

that I can not remember.

waiting for a time

that we are not

running through the maze

the twists and turns

turn twistedly

eternally.

the memory of your face

that I can not remember

the last time that you wept

through circuts, waves and wires.

the memory of her face

when it was not so scarred

and her smiles

were not plastic

and her feeling

was not pain.

the memory of your faces

when we were all together

and when we did laugh happy

oh what time has erased.

the memory of your face

is all that she has left and

there is nothing more be

cause all else of you

she has

erased

-12/21/05-

idoubtit

2006-11-12T22:35:00.000-05:00

I am thinking about school violence. And not necessarily about what compels misanthropic, alienated students to create a columbine-like situation, but more about what leads them to do so. I am talking about the way American adolescent children treat each other. Some may benefit fruituously from the institution of public high school. It is after all, one of the first places where children network and, aside from the home, arguably the place where they are socialized most. But high school is not all fun and games. Many children suffer horribly from school violence. They are taunted and teased relentlessly because they are not a well-oiled cog in the machine of the system. These children may have diagnosises of learning disabilities, social anxiety, mental illness, all three of which can cause them to have low self esteem. How can the system label them deviant and then punish them for it? I mean some of the most intellectual and creative people in the world's history have been labeled as social deviants and they are still glorified. But these children suffer relentlessly from a system that it is just not possible for them to be part of through no fault of their own.

So children tear each other down. they throw each other into the ground and scar each other for life. the pretty, popular ones asserting their "social surperiority" over the ones that just can't reach their level. This social darwinism of high school politics has created a hate-filled environment in which our children suffer every day. And I am not just talking about those who are considered socially weak, but even the fairest of the fair when it comes to social politics of high school. It is proven that in South Africa, all citizens have been affected by the apartheid, both the oppressed, the black population, and the oppressors, the white population. The same is true for high school. Those on the highest rung of the social ladder may not think that teasing some girl for being "geeky" and "badly dressed" has something to do with why they feel down on themselves most of the time, but it does. By trying to create a darwinistic, capitialist model for the institution of high school, what we really have created is a culture of hate for our children to grow up and suffer in.

I am not saying that an event like Columbine is justified, but how do we create a culture of hate and then complain about the hatred that surrounds us? What the institution of American high school should do is show children that, though they are different, and may be afflicted in different ways, they should all learn to respect each other. I am not saying that this would stop people from treating each other badly in general, but when a child is systematically attacked in an environment that claims to be safe and nuturing, this is a terrorist action. We complain about the terrorist actions of 9/11, as well as those that happen in countries overseas, but what most Americans don't understand is that there is terrorism right under our nose, and it is effecting that who we care about over all others, our children. It must be combatted.

Now most children of high school age will argue that bullying is not a systematic problem. This can be attributed to the fact that our children, like most of American society, hold on to their ideals above most other things. They would love to believe that there's no bullying, and calling that weird girl a dork sometimes doesn't count. In truth, this is not reality. What we all say and do effects one another, and for a popular child, teasing another child may just be asserting their strength and power, and thus, their place in the world, but for the child on the recieving end, their place is being shown to them as the place of an untouchable in a caste system.

Now, just like a crackhead parent that abuses and neglects their child and the child goes to jail, if a child is abused and terrorized at school, how can you blame them for engaging in deviant and destructive behavior. Now the influence that a parent has on a child and the influence that a child has on a child are very different, yes, but both are extremely important in a child's life. And if they are abused or neglected severly in either facet, the child will be more likely to develop self-destructive, angry or agressive tendencies, that may lead to crime, drug use, and other forms of social deviance.

Hopefully there won't be another Columbine, but if there is, then maybe people will not ask God how on earth something like this could happen. Maybe they will actually learn something and look inside themselves and society for the answer.

But I doubt it.

nameless .01

2006-11-12T22:27:00.000-05:00

I saw the world

In red and white

When the sun

Did rise

I saw the world

In pink and yellow

Throughout the cold

Daylight

But when the sun

Did set I saw

The world through

Mine own eyes

And I helped you see it too

But through your own

Eyelight

Perspective

It can save us when

When we are not strong

When days are long

And sums are short

And no songs do we sing

But in the times

Of blindness

We retire

Our false eyes

And see the world

In splendor

When we look

Into

Our light

This is the light

Will save us

And from in

Does it come

Not from a God

Or President

But from our soul's

Own strength

So retire

In the mountain

And gaze upon

Your prize

All the world

In splendor

Bathed by

Your own light

-10/16/05-

shatteredglass

2006-11-12T22:24:00.000-05:00

After much time has passed

And many relationships dissolved

I have deduced

That it is all my fault

I have always wanted it

Wanted them to go

But that I was never prepared for it

Was a thing I did not know

The idea was nice

To be with others

Much more beautiful and strong

But when I thought

I could handle it

I was very wrong

I am not strong

I am quite weak

That has proven to be true

And everything

With all of this

I don't know what to do

I could sit here speaking this

Till all my days do pass

Still nothing

Would be made from it

Except my shattered glass

I've got to get away from here

I've got to run so free

I've got to get away from here

They're looking down on me

I've got to get away from here

Now all my scars do show

I've got to get away from here

To where I do not know

a Poke is just a Joke

2006-11-12T22:22:00.000-05:00

He makes a strange, vulgar gesture. She feels uncomfortable but says nothing. Why does she allow him to treat her this way?

Men are strange. They give none of their attentions out for free. There is always expectation. And I ask, how can we really be feminists if we allow them to treat us this way? How can we say we want and deserve respect when we do not demand it as we should? And generally speaking, why do we crave male attention when it is so costly? Have we really come very far?

And they say it is a joke, that it is said in jest. And do you know what I say? I say that most truth is said in jest. The system hides it behind their mask of farce, but the system is not as opaque as it would like itself to be. In every truth but social truth, it is really an attempt to control us, as if they are the feudal lords of the world and we their serfs. And sadly enough, in some sick and self-destructive way, we want it.

No, we don't. We may want attention, but not that kind of attention. Not that perversity. Not to feel like that. Not to be taunted. Not to be fondled. Not to be raped.

But whatever we want, and no matter how many times we shout it in their ear, they will never relinquish their power, our power.

Because then the can not joke. They can not call us bitches or hos. They can not try and get us to suck their dicks, even when we show no interest. They can not put our little girls in pretty pink dresses and reprimand us when we curse and throw us in a wedding dress and down the aisle.

But wouldn't it be nice if they gave us what is rightfully ours.

The world.

-10/12/05-

BUGS

2006-11-12T22:18:00.002-05:00

PART I

I am in a place

Where butterflies flutter

And ants crawl

And I am fascinated

That this place

Is here at all

We've ruined most of it

The sacred territory

The animals share

This ground, This ground

I wonder how it

Is even around

Why am I afraid of a spider

A moth

And an insect I can not name

To me, they're all the same

Just another bug

So why should I be scared

Why should I care?

PART II

Because I can't control you

And I don't know where you'll go

Because when you surround me

All of my fears show

Because this isn't my territory

Here I don't reside

But I'll show you

Oh, I'll show you

I'll drown out your house

And make it mine

Artificialize it

Kill this tree

And every other

Oh, it's real to me

It's real to me

Subdivisions

Minimalls

The fruits of our labors

And then you will all be

On your microscopic knees

Pleading for life

But I-Can't-Hear-You!

PART III

As is the circle

So it goes

And you are gonna kill me

But not before

I wipe you out

Your natural habitat

Who's laughing now, bitch?

Who's laughing now?

I am,

human

Irradiated

by your sound

Not moving

When you come

Around

And when

Your tiny body dies

So small that I can't see

There will finally be no one

To scare the great big me

oh ha ha ha!

The sheer delight

As I gaze upon my prize

A world that is so free of you

No one would have surmised

A beauty,

An awesome sight,

One which I can't describe

And now it's time to sit back

Enjoying

A world so free of you

Oh wait, I can't

I'm dead

I've gone and killed myself

Such a pity tooo

It would have been so great

Oh well, I guess I'm dead

And with out you

They're taking over

So the whole world

Is going to share my fate

And it's all my fault

I'm sorry

Can you forgive me...

Well I know I never forgave you but...

What?

What??

WHAT???

{Hello?

Hello??

HELLO???}

this is NOT a Love Poem

2006-11-12T22:18:00.001-05:00

In the twilight

We're reflected

Against the glass

Of our respected

Before

Fulll moonlight hits us

And our powers

Become strong

In the twilight

They're among us

And they're watching

And they're waiting

For one slip up

So they'lll strike us

And we'll sink

Into the ground

In the twilight

Hearts are beating

And we're running

Not to be seen

And we're ducking

Behind birch trees

So as not to get

Destroyed

In the twilight

They'll condemn us

If we do not

Get away from

Hearts are bleeding

Paths are meeting

So stick with me

To stay alive

But in the moonlight

All is well and

They are gone

Evaporated

And we're happy

And we're dancing

All along

The sandy shore

In the moonlight

The world eats us

In a good way

There's no badness

As we swing from

The vines up across

The belly

Of it all

In the moonlight

Things are gorgeous

We laugh happy

Nothing warns us

There's no reason

To be frightened

They are very far

Away

In the moonlight

I do love you

And there is no one

Above you

So take my hand

On this moonlit ride

As I kiss you

One more time

The world is still our own

As long as moonlight shines

And in the day light

When it's over

We will be no longer

We can't take

The night with us

But we would

If we could

But as long as moonlight shines

You are mine

the Perfect Moment

2006-11-12T22:16:00.001-05:00

Thinking about that perfect moment. stopped at a red light in the left lane with my blinker on, waiting, waiting in a world where waiting has become sinonomous with satan's firey wrath. Waiting patiently under the overcast sky. not quite dusk, yet darkening. And within that moment of anticipation to go wherever I was going, the perfect moment occurred. I was listening to some good music. And a large tractor trailer drove past me, speeding, or so it felt, to wherever destination its driver was heading toward. It seems as if automobile drivers are depersonified, so easy it is for us to see the shiny glass and metal exterior of a car, but harder is it for us to see the person at the helm. Maybe he was just doing his job, to make a bit of money to live, and then ultimately, to die, leaving nothing for his family. Or maybe he was an estranged casualty of drug addiction and would soon die in relapse, penniless, high, and empty inside. Or maybe he was a man with an idea, an innovator of sorts, whose profitable concept would turn to profit, and in turn, he would reap the benefits.

I know not his story. The depersonification did not enable me to know this man or woman, the person that was speeding past me. I was just thinking of the machine, the steel and glass amalgam that made me stop and enjoy. Because it just seemed so perfect, so inscrutably designed and meticulously planned by some unhuman force, like the scence of some beautiful cinematic masterpiece. And I was content in believeing that there is some presecnece of unhuman perfection in a hopelessly human world.

the bow breaks

2006-11-12T22:13:00.000-05:00

Life spinning violently

cutting spherically

The air piercing me

Your breath

Filling into my lungs

Suckerpunch sickdick

And all that is quick

And I can not penetrate it

As it has penetrated me

And I am not apathetic

Or incapable

But sometimes I just feel as if

The bow is breaking

And the stern will soon follow

The descend

Into the ice cold watery depths

A forever grave

For those that do not speak so shallow

Life taken in the forever

That springs regret

And what ifs

Only after it is

Eternally gone

But sometimes

It goes

Without

Tangible Descent

With a promise

That burns to flame

With a bow that breaks

In soul

And spirit

Religious imagery

Hung you up

A long time ago

Beauty that can not be bought

And only a tiny remnant

A physical

Before the metamorphasis

Of a line crossed

On a train track

And it is just as eternal

And tangible

As those who can see

Would tell you

And those who can not

Just smile and not

Facading the antiproblem

When there is nothing

That can be done

left standing

2006-11-12T22:11:00.000-05:00

I do not ever write or think

When I think of you

I just speak

When I thought of her I thought

Yes, it's true

I was meant for

another world

pulling back eyelids

lusting

and bursting

ripping into you

all of the things

we shall never say

yet know

and think

but this is not

my ptolemnic lament

to you

I do not speak or think or write

Mrs. Dalloway

ending so Hollywood

a million girls at a time

all one in the same

a desecration

They will not desercrate me

I will make art

I will flow words

in your ear

And you will not desecrate me

Nor will you cause pain

In the valley of my heart

That became a ravine

A thousand years ago

When all was first maligned

Those tears I do not cry

Those kisses I do not kiss

I can not bear

To step into you

To fade into you

To do a dirty job

To be one of the maligned

Maligning

In a place so far away

where one knows of desecration

And they speak none in poetry

It is here

The bargain

For selling your soul to the liquid devil

Speak not these words

into the bitter snatches of the night

Compromise not

I will not compromise for them

Wear a white dress for them

Lay down for them

And all that is falling down

Will crumble

And I will be

Left Standing

loneliness

2006-11-12T22:09:00.000-05:00

The loneliness

It always comes

Even in hours

Not so dark

Even in hours

Not so sad

It brings me deeper

In myself

To a place

Where I cant stand

And all I do is think

of nothing worth thinking about

Thats after the deed

The dirty one

The one that fills me

With regret

The one that fills them

With resent

Which makes them fade away

And then the wheel

Kicks into spin

The loneliness

It spins around

Trading meaningful affection

For a hairpull

And a name said

And a long face

From a sad girl

The loneliness

Thats me

-10/26/05-

God, Hexia and the Cheesemonkey Master

2006-11-12T22:03:00.000-05:00

There are 900,000,000 dimensions in our universe. Dimension 489,000,393 is called Hexia. In Hexia, there is a planet (whose name is not important). This planet is very much like planet earth, which exists in dimension 3, except for some obvious differences.

The clouds of this planet are purple against a green sky. The vegetation is red, while the rain is composed of lickable orange toads. The ocean of this Hexian planet, Valair, is milky white, yet as translucent as the sea on earth.

The most highly advanced civilization was a species of fish that resided in a series of beautiful kingdoms on the bottom of Valair. These fishkingdoms were comprised of different tribes. Fish from many different creeds, races and ethnicities comprised the tribes.

But there was no war amongst the tribes of the Valarian fish. In fact, there was rarely any homicide among them.

How did they accomplish this peace? Well, you see, the answer lies not in the fish's biology, but in their sociology. The Valarian fish did not have any concept of society, so thus no social prejudices against each other. Because there was no society, the fish rejected all morals, mores and taboos, except one: they valued life above all things.

The fish are the Jedi Knights of all 900,000,000 dimensions. They do not let emotion and impulse overcome them, even in times of great need. How do they do this? The fish can go to their mentors, which are plentiful due to the fact that the fish do not hesitate to discuss their troubles and listen to others'. Their greatest mentor was their God, Hexia.

Here's how the God thing works. Each of the 900,000,000 dimensions are ruled by a God. This God is an ultramegasuperbeings of the superiore Cheesemonkey Universe. The leader of the Cheesemonkey Universe is The Cheesemonkey Master (aka Norbert, {Norbie for short}).

In the Cheesemonkey Universe, the God job at God.Com is arguably the best profession. But with any great profession, it comes with a lot of time commitments because you have to, or at least supposed to, be attentive to the needs all of the beings in your dimension (and that doesn't mean popping them full of happy pills).

Time in the Cheesemonkey Universe is the same as time in all the rest of the dimensions (it just worked so well). The God job was a sixteen hour day commitment. The remaining eight hours are for the Gods have a break, which is when they sent everyone to sleep at the same time, (even though we all think that we're sleeping at different times due to time zone differences).

But out of all the 900,000,000 Gods, Hexia is definitely one of the best. She cares for all the beings on her dimension, including her Valarian fish, rewarding them plentifully while responding to their cries for help. She has had the job for five thousand years, a rookie among Gods. But in those five thousand years, she has shown more progress on the job than some of the oldest. The Cheesemonkey Master/Norbie is very proud of her.

One day, to reward her fish for being really amazing beings, Hexia decided to take them to the third dimension, specifically planet Earth, for a visit. Hexia thought that by comparing themselves to the people, the fish would realize that they were far better. She hoped that this would make them feel good about themselves, like a bulimic girl who just fit into a size zero.

The way to get into one dimension from another is to temporarily inhabit or possess a person living in that dimension, as Hexia and the fish possessed the bodies of 9089 x 3909039039900890890809090909090909 earth people. After a day as earthlings, the fish did realize how screwed up earth people were, but they did not get so excited that they forgot to vomit after their next meal.

Instead, the fish took a more proactive stance. They had a congressional meeting, which included Hexia and all the Kings/Queens of the Valarian tribes.

"Hello Hexia," they greeted her in unison upon her arrival.

"Hello ( insert names of 16 different Kings/Queens here)," she greeted. "What is the matter which you intend to address to me today?"

"Well," said Rendolph, King of the Kzyoluonj, "We've been thinking a lot about the people of earth–how desolate and depressing they are."

Hexia let out a small smile and then caught herself.

"Have you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

He looked over at another fish who was seated across the table.

"Shelou, would you like to go on?" Rendolph asked politely.

"Yes Rendolph, thank you," Shelou, Queen of Ogietien, said. "We have decided, Hexia, that we would love to help the people of earth."

She politely passed her speaking power to Eliek, King of Baladino.

"We can show them a better way to live that would enable them to improve their lives."

"Well," Hexia said, taken aback. "Thank you all for the splendid idea."

She wanted to kick herself in the teeth for ever bringing them down there.

"But God is the God of Earth," she went on, "and I would have to get Norbert's permission if we're to go on missions. We can not possess those who we are trying to help."

"Please Hexia, talk to Norbert" they pleaded. "How long has God been the god of earth anyway?"

Right then, Hexia had a vision of her and God, on earth, whacked on crack and having sex, anally.

Earth always did seem to bring out the crazy-waves in her.

"Oh" she said, broken from her trance. "I am not sure. But I will be sure to speak to Norbert about it. Thank you (insert name of 16 Kings/Queens here) for bringing this issue to my attention."

SSS

The Cheesemonkey Master house is connected to God.Com. It is a beautiful building that can best be described as the antithesis of the White House (without being black, because the ultramegasuperbeings are just THAT good). Hexia has been invited to it many times on her breaks, while some of even the oldest Gods have only seen it from the outside.

She knocked on The Cheesemonkey Master's office door.

"Who is it?" he barked, suspiciously.

"It's Hexia, Norbert" said Hexia confidently. "And how are you today?"

She felt the lock click and the door opened to reveal the ultramegasuperbeing, Norbie, who was balding.

"Fine, Hexia" he said with a smile. "And how are you?

She entered the superfly superfine room and sat on a chair that looked like a spoon.

"Great" Hexia said enthusiastically.

"How are your fish?" he asked.

"They're doing splendidly" she answered with a smile. "But actually, Norbert, as of late, they have brought an issue to my attention that I would like to address to you, if I may."

"Go ahead" said Norbie.

"Well you see, Nobert" Hexia began, "I recently brought my fish on an outing to earth to see the people, and it has made them quite troubled."

"Really?" Norbie said, in a tone of genuine concern, "Why?"

"Well the people on earth are suffering," said Hexia bluntly. "And they want to help them."

Norbie just kinda looked around and touched one of his many bald spots.

"I am asking for your permission for us to take missions transdimension" Hexia said.

Norbert started to look a little frustrated.

"We tried to help the people of earth sixty years ago," he said. "And all they got was acid!"

Right then, Hexia had a vision of herself on earth, possessing the body of the vivacious Vivian LaPerme, tripping on acid.

Damned Earth, she thought. But her second thought was her fish.

"Well isn't there something you can do?"

"Hexia, God is the God of Dimension 3," Norbie retorted, "therefore, he is the God of Earth."

"Are you saying that his power is absolute?" she said (no pun intended). "You're his boss for God sakes! The least you could do is drop in on him!"

When she said "god sakes" Norbie twitched three times as if he was spazzing out.

"Hexia, don't say that!" he said. "You know about my condition!"

"I'm sorry, Norbie" said Hexia, "but I needed to think of my fish above all. Help me, Norbie, so I can help them by helping the people of earth."

She had to think this over in her head to make sure that she had said it correctly.

Silence. Norbie was tapping his bald spot again. Her eyes narrowed.

"How long has God had the position anyway?"

After a quick temple massage, Norbie replied.

"Alright, alright" Norbert relented. "I'll propose the idea to God, but I'm not promising anything. He does have the power to refuse transdimensional help. It's in the employee handbook thanks to my good-for-nothing predecessor.".

His expression became hopeful.

"Maybe he'll at least give me back the acid,"

Right then Hexia had another flashback as Vivian LaPerme on earth. In this one, she had done a cocktail of heroin, coke, opium meth, shrooms and percocet that left Ms. LaPerme odd in the emergency room while she rushed to depossess the girl before she died.

GOD DAMNED EARTH!!! It's a good thing she was thinking of her fish first.

"Thanks, The Cheesemonkey Master" Hexia said as she did a ultramega superbeing prayer to the Cheesemonkey Master, who had a look on his face in moments such as these like, if he was human, he was either

A) getting his dick sucked

or

B) doing xtasy

SSS

The next day, Norbie traversed his lawn and went to God.Com. He knocked on God's office door, which was covered with pictures of naked women spread-eagle and pop-punk band stickers.

"Coming," God screamed, over thumping deathmetal.

The door opened to reveal a tattooed, aging superbeing ultramega...burnout.

"Hey Norbie!" God greeting him enthusiastically. "What's up dude?"

He tried to give Norbie a pound, but The Cheesemonkey Master failed miserably. He always did suck at pounds.

"Not much God," he answered. "May I come in?"

"Sure," said God.

The door opened to reveal a room that much resembled a boy's college dormitory–with posters of naked girls plastered to the walls and empty beer cans covering almost every horizontal surface.

Norbie stepped inside.

"Oww!!"

Norbie looked down at his superbeing ultramega foot, which had stepped on a naked blonde girl who had been passed out on the floor (probably drunkenly).

"Sorry!" he said.

The girl's eyes just shut again as she passed back out, snoring just to reconfirm.

God burst into laughter.

"Good one Norbie," he practically shouted, with a hard pat on the back, "stepping on Vivica–or was it Veronica?"

He scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"So God," Norbert said, glancing disapprovingly at the room, "How are things in Dimension 3, specifically planet earth?"

"AWESOME!!!" God exclaimed. "There's madd parties all over the place, girls getting naked, hard drugs...YEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

"What?" Norbert said, in shock. "Maybe I didn't hear you correctly. What did you say?"

"Norbie, you're not with it!" God scoffed. "It's all about the hookers and crack! You pick up a fine piece of pussy on the sly and you know what I be talkin bout'...umm-hmm."

Norbie went with God's ghetto theme.

"God!" he said. "What's wrong wit' 'chu?" "Encouraging the depravity of the earth peops to get yo jollies off!! Hexia and her fish was right!"

The last statement seemed to really have fired God up.

"Oh no no no" he said. "Hexia? That bitch? What has she been saying about me–other than the fact that I'm good in bed."

God slapped himself five as Norbie's eyes bugged out of his head.

"God! What are you talking about! For your information, Hexia and her fish visited earth a few weeks ago, and the Valarians were so upset that they want to go as missionaries to help your PEOPLE that you DEPRAVED&DEPRIVED!!"

"Oh okay!" said God sarcastically. "That bitch is finally getting back at me for not calling her! Well god damn I mean I was pretty freaking drunk when it happened!!"

"GOD! Listen to me!" Norbert was screaming now. "I don't know what you're talking about, but the truth is this! Your people are suffering! And instead of helping them, you only make things worse! And I'm going to have to do something about it!"

"Ooooo!!!" God mocked. "What's big, bad Norbie gonna do to God, huh?"

"I can fire your ass!" Norbie said in an I-mean-business-tone.

This made God's eyes and face harden in seriousness, and his tone deepen.

"You know what, fine" God said. "You can say all you want about the people of Earth. Call them fucked up–drug addicts and whores–say I did it. But you know what Norbie, the truth is–and this is something that you can't even deny–the truth is that, as fucked up as earth people may be, they love harder than any other species in all 900,000,000 dimensions."

Norbie looked him in the eye.

"Well," he said, "that may be true. But what's also true is that I'd rather have them love a little less than suffer as horribly as they do, with no help from you."

Silence.

"God, You're fired"

Norbie pointed in the direction of out the door.

God holds his head up and calmly walks out of the room, but not before saying "God damn2 bitch, I knew I should have called her."

SSS

In dimension 489,000,393 (aka Hexia),the mood in Valair was very pleasant. Hexia was walking the oceanic streets of the kingdom of Saleta, talking to the fish that she passed. Many of them had been asking questions about earth.

"Hexia," said Vini. "We are very excited about our missions to earth. When are they to begin?"

"We will first depart a few weeks," said Hexia. "I am excited about it too, Vini. You fish are so amazing. I know that you can teach the earth people much."

"Thank you Hexia," said Vini, "Oh and congratulations on being named Co-God of Dimension 3. I am sure that the other Co-God will be pleased. You will do a wonderful job."

"Thank you very much Vini," she said with a respectful bow.

Vini's expression became empathetically sad.

"Hexia," she said. "I am worried about God. I hope that Norbert wasn't too hard on him."

"Oh Vini," said Hexia, patting the fish's fin comfortably, "Don't you worry about God. He's finally in the position he deserves."

She then had a pleasant vision of what Norbie had told her this morning. His team of investigators had found secret drugs that God had created on earth, which was not only against the stipulations of the God.Com employee handbook, but was also against The Cheesemonkey Universe superultramegabeings. And, unlike the fish of Valair, they had laws and sanctions.

As punishment, God was being fucked. This may sound like an oxymoron, but I can assure you it's not. By a five-hundred pound woman, three times a day, anally, without lube.

And since he was seeing her so frequently, the fact that he was incapable of using the phone was no biggie.

-8/25/05-

2006-11-11T21:58:00.001-05:00