|
11/29/01
Horrible things. For some reason, as I lay waiting to drift off into the land of slumber, I kept attempting to solve problems that weren't real problems at all like how do I get home from Arizona? (very real dilemma as I lay trying to sleep, and it was keeping me awake and one solution involved asking the cacti, but it wasn't a dream because like I said, this was a grave dilemma keeping me from my rest and my dreams) That and other such nonsense which I usually equate with feverish horrors and agonizing body destroying pains and sickness plagued me for about an hour before the odd hallucinatory logic patterns broke and gave way to equally hallucinatory dreams. I'm sitting in an airport and I have a luger. I uncontrollably begin gunning down every jackass in sight. People flee in a terrorism derived panic, pulling their luggage after them. I'm not particularly enjoying myself in any acute sense of the word, but neither am I disturbed by my actions. I finish my shooting spree, chuck the gun behind an airport bar. Nobody knows it was me who did all the killing. The entire airport is locked down, no one is to leave. Security crews examine security camera footage. As they do this I chat with the bartender who keeps giving me free rum. I confess everything to him, but he doesn't seem interested. The camera's frame rate and angles somehow prevented them from ever capturing me on video. I leave the airport. Outside it's very nice. It seems that I've exited a federal building even though it should have been the outside of an airport. A cool stream winds through the front lawn. The grass is pale green but incredibly vibrant. A black dog is lying down near the creek and as I approach the creek the pooch takes on a foul attitude, all snarls, growls and drool. This prompts me to pick up the pace and step across the stream quickly. There's one place to cross and it's near the dog but I'm not overly concerned. In order to cross the stream, I step out onto a small grassy island just big enough for one man. The dog falls back asleep. A family (mother, father and small blonde haired son) are approaching the stream from the opposite direction, coming towards me. The young boy (about four years old if I have to guess) is quite excited and running carelessly towards the small brook. Without so much as trying to stop he falls right into the brook and drops like a lead sinker. The stream is surprisingly deep. I watch him drop further down into the virginally clean waters until he hits bottom, standing perfectly upright, where a current pushes him back into a recession under the opposite bank. I take a moment to think about kicking off my shoes and diving in after the tike, but decide time is not on the boy's side. I jump in, paddle my way down to the bottom and swim up to the surface with the little fellow, alive. I dump him onto the bank and his parents ask if I can watch their kid for the rest of the day, and take him to his grandmother's house later at night. For some reason I agree to this stupid chore and drive the kid around the streets of L.A. for several hours, pointing out sights of interest. And that's it. 11/26/01 Meet the Virus page is updated with show dates and another mp3 that is actually an mp3 that was posted a year and a half ago, but now sees the light of day once again. I was thinking today, after watching the new Coen Brothers movie which is amazing, above and beyond the call of duty for any two men create that many great movies, I was thinking that a smart man knows when not to write. I know that time for me is right now. 11/22/01 Happy Thanksgiving. All the usual redundant crap and painful harangues will return on Monday the 26th. 11/11/01 Two months since the big day. I haven't been myself, whoever that is, since the attack but I'm sure I'll return to normal before too long. In personal news, I'll be at the Joynt in my good ole home town starting at 6:00pm Tuesday. If you're the kind of person who thinks I might like to see you there, then please be there. 11/07/01  "Could
a terrorist pack a big rig truck with explosives and ram it into a building?"
That was the question I was asked by the local news channel last night. There I am, reclined comfortably on my couch, tending to my own knitting and waiting patiently through the news for the 11:00pm syndicated Simpsons when the reporter on TV asks me about the possibility of semi-trailers full of explosives or chemical nerve agents used against Americans. The news then went on to conjecture and conclude for me that, yes, yes indeed it's possible a terrorist might do such a thing. The news then said it is one of many "fictitional" possiblities. I think I already knew terrorists could easily hi-jack a semi, fill it up with love and smash straight into the nearest Denny's, but I never knew of its status as a fictitional possibility. I'm rather unsure as to what a fictitional possibility could be, but I guess I'll infer from the root word, "fiction" that it is somehow synonymous with the adjective form of the word, "fictitious." It is therefore deducible that a fictitional possibilty is an imaginary, make-believe or pretend possibilty. Thank heavens for that. A non-fictitional (blimey, me spell-checker's gonna go bleedin' ape-shit) possibilty of course is simply renting a Ryder truck, loading it full of explosive Anthrax spores or Sexy child nurse costumes and ramming it into Precinct thirteen just in time for the Holidays. Tele-journalists seem to be coming up with at least one hypothetical terrorist attack on America per day whether it's their prediction for when the next strike is likely to occur or how the next action will be conducted. There are some things we can all know for sure. The next attack will kill more of this planet's poor, both at the site of the attack and at the locations of U.S. retaliation. The war on terrorism has a parrallel in the war on drugs; both are designed to discriminate against the poor, jail those without the money to pay the fines and hire the lawyers, allow for random bill of rights violations by law enforcement and, as Jello sang, "Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill the poor." I find myself com[pletely unable to extricate the world's current situation from that of the ever enduring, undeclared class war. The government simply refuses to out right and honestly declare war on the poor. Imagine if they did, how exciting the news could be with special reports and updates on "America's Class War." "A great victory was marked today in America's Class War when Manpower Incorporated became the nation's top employer. In other news, the Nike corporation has opened another factory in war torn Jakarta and the JR Simplot Co. has acquisitioned the remaining Australian out back for the expansion of potato growing and french fry producing capabilities in order to meet the needs of the McDonald's corporation as it expands throughout Northern China and Mongolia!" Maybe I'm going off over the edge. Maybe the war on terrorism is just that, a war on terrorism, a war on an evil man who wants to acquire evil weapons for evil purposes. I'll keep saying it. I will repeat, "the poor of Afghanistan, the poor of America and the poor of the world are not all on the same side united as one against the rich, against corporate earth, against those who wage war for religion, oil, profits or the freedom to abuse the poor through the use of religion, oil and profits, but are in fact against each other, poor of U.S. vs. poor of Afghanistan vs. poor of Pakistan vs. poor of India, and must continue to serve, aid and abett the rich who have deemed us enemies against ourselves, against our will." I'll keep saying it and saying it until I buy a flag, tie it to my car aerial and shoot a 7/11 clerk right in his damn fool betowelled head. That's what I'll do and I'll pray to sweet, sweet fucking Christ it's done from sea to shining sea. That's what those lousy fuckers get for not hailing to the chimp! 11/02/01 War on fucking everything. If you're poor, no matter where you live, be afraid. The war on terrorism has made corporate profits the number one goal of America. Corporations will receive billions in federal tax cuts. They will be charged no taxes whatsoever as they rape foreign economies and continue denying work to Americans who could be unionized. People working for corporations must be poor, uneducated, unorganized and willing to settle for the least life has to offer. In some countries they put up with armed guards assuring they do not stray from the duty to the American corporation that funnels money into their corrupt tyrannical governments to ensure those oppressive governments remain in power and keep the poor poor and the fanatical elements beaten down to keep the world safe, not for Americans, but rich Americans like the ones that make all of our countries' political decisions; political decisions that effect other nations, the power of corporations, workers' rights, the environment and our lives. The circle is vicious if you look for it. That's the problem, so what can be done to get rid of the problem? Crashing airplanes into buildings doesn't get rid of the problem, nor does mailing Anthrax to Tom Brokaw. And neither does dropping bombs or food because really, who cares if America gives you a bag of rice when they've blown up your house with your parents inside? Personally, it'd make me want to ram the rice, bag and all right down the foul lying throat of the head of that great Satan the infidels call President Bush. President Bush Numero Dos! Didn't Rome teach us the lesson to avoid hereditary inheritance of the seat of power? Bad genes get handed down, and the sins of the father have fallen square on the head of the son, and now it's war. War all the time under the shadow of the family Bush and their greedy knife, cutting out as much fat from the stores of the world for themselves and their corporate poor killing friends as they possibly can. What the world needs now is a tyrant. One man to rule the whole of the planet, centralize power, redistribute and over see the allocation of wealth, energy and power. The tyrant must know no avarice, prejudice or master. He must have a goal of unity and the passionate drive to find a way to deliver man to the stars. What is needed is another Mohammed, but one without religious convictions, and that's always the trick. Basically an agnostic Trekkie should rule the world. Now who in their right mind wouldn't want to go along with that? |
|
