Two worlds so vastly out of proportion to each paint a phony reality of who, and what, we were. The future will look back on our television shows as glimpses into ‘reality’ trying hard to understand who we were, so they can try to figure out who they are. To me, the 60-70’s never existed, and my only vision of them are from the images of Woodstock, JFK, Chicago Riots, All in the Family, the Jeffersons, Sanford and Sons, great music, PBS documentaries, and fun drugs. Only the history deemed appropriate to know by mainly the artists who lived it, survived; leaving behind a lot of reality in the process. I wish I could ride a bus through Chicago in 1965 to really understand the world I never knew.
What the future will see of us is a tribe of overly sexual, under sexed, babies, consumed only by product and appearance, often battling each other over money and fame. Ok, so maybe it’s not too far off. But if that is how they see our culture, how will they apply it to our greatest document, and the phrase, “the pursuit of happiness”? The interpretation takes on a whole new meaning if the culture is defined by its selfish appearance and violent demeanor.
I call an act to congress to save all security tapes, on all major cities buses, as an archive of the Real America. You would see the faces of immigrants that really are over worked and underpaid, but thankful to have jobs. You will see the faces of the young men already giving it up joining the gangs of the early dead. The thin faces of the addict, along with the fat faces of the greedy. The old faces of history, and the young faces of future. The cleaning lady, the sleazy barmaid, the paranoid yuppie, the guy who just wants to get home and get to sleep, the I-POD hipster, the girl who struck out, the lovers who found each other, the emo skater, the nerd on his lap top, the trannies, the homosexuals, the drunks, the partiers, and the walking dead all going somewhere together, without ever really going anywhere at all. It’s the same faces and the same cycle of simplistic existence every day. The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round….
What the TV tells us is that the top news story is a hardly a concern to anybody who isn’t a happy little housewife. Oprah is leaving her show. Shocking I know, please get off the floor and regroup. But for ten minutes of a 23 minute news cast the fallout of Oprah, was all what was spoken of. 25 years and now she’s walking out on her own terms. Meanwhile on the bus, the thought that job security is something our generation will never know crosses my mind as I think of my friends and the fact we’re all in the same boat searching for a beacon. Landing a job at a young age and holding it until you retire, always knowing you’re place, and that you can support your family is gone. Job security has been sold overseas for cheaper slaves by the least patriotic of criminals smoking cigars and sipping vermouth laughingly madly at how easy it all really was. Meanwhile we’re thirty and directionless and although the blame is ours alone I personally don’t think we were ever given a fair chance as our parents held on to their jobs a little too long while the greedy hogged everything else American and ours.
Meanwhile on the bus a drunken man staggers on the ride, head hurting from the bright florescent lights that surround us, he goes right to the back seats, the designated seats for the troublemakers and outlaws. He tells me he’s just having fun because he’s got nothing better to do. He’s a painter with nothing to paint, and not the artistic kind either, but rather the sterile white wearing workers who paint sterile white corporate walls. Most people are getting their walls covered with rubber these days I joke to him, but even in his state of sin he’s in no mood to laugh. Few people are these days, despite the perfect white smiles everybody has on the TV which brightens PRIMETIME every week day night starting at seven. Well maybe the joke wasn’t that good. Who am I to judge? He’s passed out now and the ride is nearing its end.
I’m home now and just need to unwind from the long bus ride and the longer day of work. I hate it. I hate it all. But it is who I am and what I have to be in order to survive. I’m watching thee overly sexed people trying to cook a perfect French Cuisine on some stupid show right now. I’m sure it’s good but I’m alright just being here watching this stupid show, writing on my laptop, and eating Peanut butter right out of the jar. I wonder if I’m the only one.
AFL
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Scars on Lady Liberty
Strange times in the land of plenty as the Mexican mystery man El Nino fucks with the thermostat while the land lord sleeps. I’m sweating and hot, it’s November 14th, something isn’t right hoss, and everybody feels it. A movie dealing with the predicted end of the world is tops at the box office as doomsday and revelations are marketed and sold like a going out of business sale that never ends. Everybody needs to make a dollar before all the dollars are gone.
After 11 months I’m back employed in the strangest of jobs in the gravest of times in my strange and excessive life. End of life real-estate in a bone yard of salvation is my new home of corporate servitude. I’m now just another piece of a machine I don’t care to help run, but I’m without options like so many other Americans searching for security long undercut by Mexican labor and Indian ingenuity.
Anybody who doesn’t think these are hard times are either wealthy or stupid or probably a combination of both. Hours are being cut, jobs are being cut, and salaries are being cut, and the gaping wounds are now in plain sight for everybody to see. There is no outrage or outcry since everybody is in the same sinking boat looking at the same ugly scars too big to cover up. Nobody wants to bitch and moan in the company of the rest of their broke brothers and sisters standing without shame in the welfare line. Indifference is death, and the end is near.
With my new job I witness a lot of caskets going into the ground. Most of it I can take but every time the American flag covers a casket and is folded up and presented to the family on behalf of a grateful nation I tear up. I don’t know if it’s the love of my country or a deep sadness in knowing that kind of patriot is dead, and not many more exist. America has been counted out before only to rise strong and spit into the face of all the fuckers who wrote us off and counted us out. I don’t know if we can get back up as change is sweeping the land in drastic ways. To be honest I feel the same about my own life.
Things are tough and there are parallels to depression of the 1930’s and the stumble of the 1970’s. I’ve always found something about those depression aged faces that told a story of the REAL America, and who we are. They through their hard times came out with a wisdom that propelled the country for decades to come. It was their toil that made us great and their sacrifice that forced us to become strong. I’m proud to be a broken down broke American watching from the bottom praying to climb to the top knowing damn well I’ll never get there. In these lessons of no credit, no respect, and no hope; I hope to one day instill and inspire greatness to future generations. If I’m the lesson and the example of greed then it was all worth it.
I feel like I’m watching the world burn like Nero safe from a distance only I didn’t start the fire nor can I help put it out. Beside the water is taxed to high, in short supply, and the hose isn’t long enough –not the first time I’ve heard that. Once you let the shitty feeling of hopelessness pass by, all that’s left is to enjoy the view. Pop some popcorn and sit back and watch the colors as they fly through the air. Fuck’em if they can’t take a joke.
I have less then just about everybody else around me, but that’s ok. It is after all simplicity that defines me --I’m also ok with that as well. Complicated people with complicated lives seldom have anything but complexity structuring and steering them right into insanity. Sure I’m crazy, but to quote the late great Waylon Jennings, ‘it’s kept me from going insane.’
Thanksgiving is coming up and that is my favorite holiday in this entire world. When my mom and I hit rock bottom and we were living on borrowed time in an apartment without electricity or food, rooming with a Viet Nam vet who would have nasty flashbacks until he passed out in his own urine and vodka; a tradition started. Dan Chin a friend of mine from school asked me to join his family for Thanksgiving a selfless and charitable act of true Americana. Since then I have always taken up the kindness of friends on the 26th of November. I’ve sat with many different families all over the state in all periods of my life, and never once has anybody’s family (often strangers) made me feel anything but welcome. I love it and it reminds me that humanity still exists and love and charity isn’t just attached to buzz words like hope.
The one thing I’ve been forgetting to do lately is to love myself. I like being pulled under by the undertow, and gasping for air as it excites me. I like being near death and laughing at the boring folk in the shallow section. It’s been a rough few months but the danger is starting to bore me and the safety of the shallow end is becoming more and more comfortable and desirable. I do love me, and it’s time I concentrate on accepting that feeling and letting it carry me back to shallower water.
There are moments when I walk right down the center of the road while traffic zips by and I hope a speeding mass of steal tears my body from its limbs and my soul from myself to the warmth of death. I’ve found myself suicidal and wild eyed in the last few months going on almost a year now. It’s true that truth has caused me more pain than fiction. But right now things are starting to look up, even if just slightly. Sometimes slightly is all you need; just as a simple scratch can cure the biggest of itches. Slightly and simply is enough to keep on fighting this losing battle of Alfred Ferdinand Larcher III versus life. Mouth guard back in, swelling reduced, take away the stool, here comes round '10.
DING DING DING
AFL
After 11 months I’m back employed in the strangest of jobs in the gravest of times in my strange and excessive life. End of life real-estate in a bone yard of salvation is my new home of corporate servitude. I’m now just another piece of a machine I don’t care to help run, but I’m without options like so many other Americans searching for security long undercut by Mexican labor and Indian ingenuity.
Anybody who doesn’t think these are hard times are either wealthy or stupid or probably a combination of both. Hours are being cut, jobs are being cut, and salaries are being cut, and the gaping wounds are now in plain sight for everybody to see. There is no outrage or outcry since everybody is in the same sinking boat looking at the same ugly scars too big to cover up. Nobody wants to bitch and moan in the company of the rest of their broke brothers and sisters standing without shame in the welfare line. Indifference is death, and the end is near.
With my new job I witness a lot of caskets going into the ground. Most of it I can take but every time the American flag covers a casket and is folded up and presented to the family on behalf of a grateful nation I tear up. I don’t know if it’s the love of my country or a deep sadness in knowing that kind of patriot is dead, and not many more exist. America has been counted out before only to rise strong and spit into the face of all the fuckers who wrote us off and counted us out. I don’t know if we can get back up as change is sweeping the land in drastic ways. To be honest I feel the same about my own life.
Things are tough and there are parallels to depression of the 1930’s and the stumble of the 1970’s. I’ve always found something about those depression aged faces that told a story of the REAL America, and who we are. They through their hard times came out with a wisdom that propelled the country for decades to come. It was their toil that made us great and their sacrifice that forced us to become strong. I’m proud to be a broken down broke American watching from the bottom praying to climb to the top knowing damn well I’ll never get there. In these lessons of no credit, no respect, and no hope; I hope to one day instill and inspire greatness to future generations. If I’m the lesson and the example of greed then it was all worth it.
I feel like I’m watching the world burn like Nero safe from a distance only I didn’t start the fire nor can I help put it out. Beside the water is taxed to high, in short supply, and the hose isn’t long enough –not the first time I’ve heard that. Once you let the shitty feeling of hopelessness pass by, all that’s left is to enjoy the view. Pop some popcorn and sit back and watch the colors as they fly through the air. Fuck’em if they can’t take a joke.
I have less then just about everybody else around me, but that’s ok. It is after all simplicity that defines me --I’m also ok with that as well. Complicated people with complicated lives seldom have anything but complexity structuring and steering them right into insanity. Sure I’m crazy, but to quote the late great Waylon Jennings, ‘it’s kept me from going insane.’
Thanksgiving is coming up and that is my favorite holiday in this entire world. When my mom and I hit rock bottom and we were living on borrowed time in an apartment without electricity or food, rooming with a Viet Nam vet who would have nasty flashbacks until he passed out in his own urine and vodka; a tradition started. Dan Chin a friend of mine from school asked me to join his family for Thanksgiving a selfless and charitable act of true Americana. Since then I have always taken up the kindness of friends on the 26th of November. I’ve sat with many different families all over the state in all periods of my life, and never once has anybody’s family (often strangers) made me feel anything but welcome. I love it and it reminds me that humanity still exists and love and charity isn’t just attached to buzz words like hope.
The one thing I’ve been forgetting to do lately is to love myself. I like being pulled under by the undertow, and gasping for air as it excites me. I like being near death and laughing at the boring folk in the shallow section. It’s been a rough few months but the danger is starting to bore me and the safety of the shallow end is becoming more and more comfortable and desirable. I do love me, and it’s time I concentrate on accepting that feeling and letting it carry me back to shallower water.
There are moments when I walk right down the center of the road while traffic zips by and I hope a speeding mass of steal tears my body from its limbs and my soul from myself to the warmth of death. I’ve found myself suicidal and wild eyed in the last few months going on almost a year now. It’s true that truth has caused me more pain than fiction. But right now things are starting to look up, even if just slightly. Sometimes slightly is all you need; just as a simple scratch can cure the biggest of itches. Slightly and simply is enough to keep on fighting this losing battle of Alfred Ferdinand Larcher III versus life. Mouth guard back in, swelling reduced, take away the stool, here comes round '10.
DING DING DING
AFL
Friday, November 6, 2009
I don't know anymore.
“Kill’em all let God sort them out. “
--Unofficial motto of the Special Forces.
“It's a restless hungry feeling
That don't mean no one no good
When ev'rything I'm a-sayin'
You can say it just as good
You're right from your side
I'm right from mine
We're both just too many mornings
An' a thousand miles behind.”
-Bob Dylan
Just a normal day in a routine world that keeps on spinning day and night, day in and day out. POP POP POP three fall dead. A flash of white, a blue plume of smoke, sulfur scents fill the hallways. Confusion and fear create disorientation, as what is presented as fact simply isn’t logical. POP POP POP Three more fall dead. Sound the alarms, man the stations, the war has come home to Texas, and nobody is sure who the enemy is. BANG BANG BANG Three more fall, as evil is evidently present and humanity is all but gone in the sheer horror of a vulgar religious statement made by a man who never understood the words of the God he kills for. Where is God? Whose, God? Who cares? BANG BANG BANG Twelve soldiers lay dead and many more lay injured as the gun man is finally shot down, breathing, but incapacitated.
Blame the guns, blame the gods, blame the culture, blame the war, blame the politicians, blame the music, blame the poverty, blame the indifference, blame the mind, blame the President, blame the congress, blame the training, blame the media, blame the blamers. I wonder if God is busy blaming us.
A ripple spreads through the amber waves of grain like a brush fire as the media tells the story of Nidal Malik Hasan the weak minded monster who killed twelve of his brethren of the uniform impacting hundreds of lives directly as moms, dads, uncles, aunts, best friends, good friends, brothers, sisters, lovers, and children all weep for their dead soldiers. Like so many American’s most can’t believe, or accept it. Neither can I. ‘Why’ the question everybody is asking right after giving their opinion on how Mr. Hasan should be executed for the treason he engaged in. I say painful and slow, but a few shots in his eager veins while strapped on a steal table in Terre Haute Federal Prison will probably be the ending of his sick tale.
I want to ask why too. I want to figure out why a man who so hated the military and all it stood for kept showing up. Was this a statement well planned out for months, or a sick moment of sheer fucking delusion and insanity? How did a Muslim with extreme views get the privilege of serving our country? I don’t have answers nor the resources to sniff them out, so it’s silly to ask the questions. Most of this will be asked and answered to the point of nausea in the next few weeks by the media.
Make no mistake about it Hoss a religious war is brewing in this country just as it has been in the rest of the world for dozens of years. We’ve had the privilege of watching from a distance, but the world is shrinking and so is the world’s general understanding of all the different God’s; and their teachings, philosophy, and culture. We’ve given up the study of the bibles/Korans/Scripture, so now all we’re left with is the cliff notes written by propagandists with agendas, guns, and a promise of an afterlife better than their actual lives, which they can’t deal with because they are miserable maggots crawling on the corpses of understanding and decency, both killed in a double homicide on the south side the press forgot to cover because they didn’t find the victims all that important. The sides are being drawn and there is little to do to stop it, as the greasy wheel always gets the squeak.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG POP POP POP BANG BANG BANG How many body bags you got?
In a perfect world those who have actual faith in Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, and even those with no faith or understanding in spirituality would all get together as soldiers of the world, as sons and daughters of parents who love, and as fellow travels, and would hunt down and kill those who give the rest of us a bad name. Snuff out evil and blow up every fucking creature who wants to kill in the name of God. A united war of humanity against inhumanity in the genocide of extremism until all that’s left is understanding and acceptance. KILL KILL KILL. It’s the only solution. Am I now being drawn into the sickness of the extreme world around me? Do you need to engage in the madness to defeat it? Yikes hoss, I don’t like my tone.
I want peace above everything else, not just for my own safety or piece of mind, but also the for the families of the soldiers killed by this man on his mission of murder. The world isn’t perfect; and the fighting and killing will keep right on rolling. Oh well. So mote it be.
AFL
--Unofficial motto of the Special Forces.
“It's a restless hungry feeling
That don't mean no one no good
When ev'rything I'm a-sayin'
You can say it just as good
You're right from your side
I'm right from mine
We're both just too many mornings
An' a thousand miles behind.”
-Bob Dylan
Just a normal day in a routine world that keeps on spinning day and night, day in and day out. POP POP POP three fall dead. A flash of white, a blue plume of smoke, sulfur scents fill the hallways. Confusion and fear create disorientation, as what is presented as fact simply isn’t logical. POP POP POP Three more fall dead. Sound the alarms, man the stations, the war has come home to Texas, and nobody is sure who the enemy is. BANG BANG BANG Three more fall, as evil is evidently present and humanity is all but gone in the sheer horror of a vulgar religious statement made by a man who never understood the words of the God he kills for. Where is God? Whose, God? Who cares? BANG BANG BANG Twelve soldiers lay dead and many more lay injured as the gun man is finally shot down, breathing, but incapacitated.
Blame the guns, blame the gods, blame the culture, blame the war, blame the politicians, blame the music, blame the poverty, blame the indifference, blame the mind, blame the President, blame the congress, blame the training, blame the media, blame the blamers. I wonder if God is busy blaming us.
A ripple spreads through the amber waves of grain like a brush fire as the media tells the story of Nidal Malik Hasan the weak minded monster who killed twelve of his brethren of the uniform impacting hundreds of lives directly as moms, dads, uncles, aunts, best friends, good friends, brothers, sisters, lovers, and children all weep for their dead soldiers. Like so many American’s most can’t believe, or accept it. Neither can I. ‘Why’ the question everybody is asking right after giving their opinion on how Mr. Hasan should be executed for the treason he engaged in. I say painful and slow, but a few shots in his eager veins while strapped on a steal table in Terre Haute Federal Prison will probably be the ending of his sick tale.
I want to ask why too. I want to figure out why a man who so hated the military and all it stood for kept showing up. Was this a statement well planned out for months, or a sick moment of sheer fucking delusion and insanity? How did a Muslim with extreme views get the privilege of serving our country? I don’t have answers nor the resources to sniff them out, so it’s silly to ask the questions. Most of this will be asked and answered to the point of nausea in the next few weeks by the media.
Make no mistake about it Hoss a religious war is brewing in this country just as it has been in the rest of the world for dozens of years. We’ve had the privilege of watching from a distance, but the world is shrinking and so is the world’s general understanding of all the different God’s; and their teachings, philosophy, and culture. We’ve given up the study of the bibles/Korans/Scripture, so now all we’re left with is the cliff notes written by propagandists with agendas, guns, and a promise of an afterlife better than their actual lives, which they can’t deal with because they are miserable maggots crawling on the corpses of understanding and decency, both killed in a double homicide on the south side the press forgot to cover because they didn’t find the victims all that important. The sides are being drawn and there is little to do to stop it, as the greasy wheel always gets the squeak.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG POP POP POP BANG BANG BANG How many body bags you got?
In a perfect world those who have actual faith in Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, and even those with no faith or understanding in spirituality would all get together as soldiers of the world, as sons and daughters of parents who love, and as fellow travels, and would hunt down and kill those who give the rest of us a bad name. Snuff out evil and blow up every fucking creature who wants to kill in the name of God. A united war of humanity against inhumanity in the genocide of extremism until all that’s left is understanding and acceptance. KILL KILL KILL. It’s the only solution. Am I now being drawn into the sickness of the extreme world around me? Do you need to engage in the madness to defeat it? Yikes hoss, I don’t like my tone.
I want peace above everything else, not just for my own safety or piece of mind, but also the for the families of the soldiers killed by this man on his mission of murder. The world isn’t perfect; and the fighting and killing will keep right on rolling. Oh well. So mote it be.
AFL
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