Over and Over

When I write long winded diatribes on how our lazy nation needs to hang tough in tight quarters, for our honor, for our sanity, for the salvation of our souls, I do not do so lightly. In fact I haven't been able to completely reconcile myself with my own opinion presented in the earlier entry entitled "Riot Face, Strong Heart". It starts off a recollection of my youthful activism and left leaning "soft" radicalism, while the tail end advocates a course of foreign policy akin to that of our current neo-con administration or that of presidential hopeful Sen. John McCain. As you might imagine I am not comfortable putting myself in bed with these kinds of people...








So in order to assuage my own riled nerves and constantly revolving thought process I will continue to examine this problem in a typical spiraling calamitous Jack fashion. Feel free to skip to the next entry.

I wonder where the guns come from. "Their" guns, "Their" bombs. Of course you'll tell me they come from Iran; yes, granted they have passed through the Iranian borders, they may even have been purchased by Iran coiffures, but who made these weapons? Russia, perhaps? Give me the name of the company, I want the NAME of the conglomerate responsible, and with that a list of stock holders, trustees, and board of directors. Who OWNS the munitions factory? When I buy RPG's from some plant in Vladivostok who ends up pocketing that cash? What other companies do they own or hold stock in? Show me the tangled web of intrigue that exists in the modern age and now seems invisible and ignored, where the men who built the guns sell them to the people his own country is fighting against. Tell me straight to my face that this condition doesn't exist in American business, tell me that American purses don't get fat from the squabbling revolutions of Africa or the suicide car bombs in Gaza, tell me that the yolk has been loosened, tell me that I wasn't born, unfortunately, outside of a class of elites, so foreign and alien to my lifestyle that they might as well be from Mars. Tell me that my endless toils and aspirations, no matter how noble and diligent, aren't for naught; tell me I have a shot at happiness, peace and changing this corrupted institutional greed and slavery into a world more like the fairy tale one promised to me by my Saturday morning socialization programming and my positive attitude "can do" icons decorating my sugar crusted, over processed, breakfast cereals.
C'mon just tell me
tell me
LIE TO ME.

Where I make a plea to the conscience and humanity inside of the American public, to not let the good and innocent people of Mesopotamia suffer for our lack of heart and perseverance. Our leaders call for the same action to prolong their unrivaled profits or to further destabilize the area for future plunder and exploitation. Where I feel a duty, as a strong human being and true man of the west, to defend those who cannot defend themselves, Our leaders are not hampered by such heartfelt idealism, they see only dollar signs, feel only the yoke of their masters upon their throat.

My friend Mark Lennon once gave to me this profound truth after a weary discussion of our political woes in the dark year of 2001, he said this " There are no conspiracies, just follow the flow of capital and you will find the truth" he may have borrowed it, he may have conceived on his own, it makes no difference, it began a firing in my imagination that became the cascade of simple undeniable truth to the sorrowful state of mankind presently and ever in the past. Greed is the sole motivator of all humanities evil. Greed for money, for land, for power, for status, all other things fall beneath it as the father of our suffering. So when I make emotional pleas for self sacrifice to benefit the people whom we have needlessly victimized under the banner of "liberation", I do so out of the foolish dream of turning the next corner in the evolution of civilization. To grow as a society out of the infantile squabbling and greed laden, land and resource grabbing, into a more mature and enlightened state, one that isn't afraid to admit it is wrong, one that can exert force but may also yield, an advanced technique in all games of strategy, in interpersonal relations, but not in the affairs of nations?

I want to make my case to the grey faced career politicians who are are content to be carried along by the currents of financiers, bankers, and the industrial military complex, and not by intelligence, conscience and a DESIRE to see things made BETTER. We are cursed to have our finest and noblest lead lives of poverty and charity while the gilded crowns and thrones of the Earth are occupied by unenviable slime and detritus from the fecal afterbirth of Mammon. Their chains of persuasion and control emanate from every media source lulling my friends and fellow true hearts into a static filled sleep, an apathy that casts them adrift, lobotomized from their creative faculty, hope for the future, essential divinity and power.

These are the conditions that induced me to wander, that have instilled me with an almost insurmountable ennui. This is the world that I live in and love and yet cannot bear to look at, this is the cruel bitch mother that I will never forgive. I would shed my humanity and run the hills like the desert dog that I am, if only I could choose a transmutation of form over this eventual withering of spirit and gradual defeat of my most shinning hopes and dreams for the world. I have had my eyes blinded by the glory of the lie that I live under, that I tell myself, that we all whisper before we go to sleep to keep from going mad and throwing ourselves onto the roadways, into the nuclear reactors, onto the rails and electrical lines.
"Sleep" we whisper "Everything is going to be alright."

Everything is not going to be alright and we know it. All our lives we have been fed the "America the beautiful" line of bullshit, about the triumph of capitalism and democracy over the forces of tyranny and exploitation. All I see is rule of money over the battered peoples of the world, no government is above its influence, no individual unable to be bought, borders have become arbitrary distinctions of land masses, for the arms and meddling fingers of the wealthy reach from the industrialized food industry of the American mid-west, to the blood diamonds of Africa, into the forges and factories of China. The masters of the world sit high upon their limitless treasures, and they have become like the devil himself and have convinced the world they don't exist. The beauty is they are not a conspiracy ,they do not have an agenda outside of creating and keeping more of the worlds wealth for themselves, wielding more influence in the arenas of governance to further this aim and living above the rule and laws of man, behaving how they see fit.

I can't see anyway out of this situation but what was done before, to realize them, the god kings of man and go to their homes one and all to drag them into the streets, opening their well fed bodies up from balls to brain and turning their insides out, for the feast of rats and wild dogs; To tear down their palaces and redistribute the riches they have hoarded, but how to keep things from returning to their current state? Isn't it in human nature to want one more morsel of bread then the man next to you? And so I despair, because in the end I can have no answer, my desire for revolution and retribution is fed by my own jealousy and desire for the power and status denied to me by fate. This is why I wander, this is why I cast off the burdens of the world and sit amongst the flowers, this is why giving up has never been so close, the final tap out to the world at hand, where I turn my back on the ways of society and wander into the wilder realms of experience alone and speak only to myself. What is there to do that is worth doing? How can the truly world weary ever overcome his vision of the futility and purposelessness of a human life? I have long needed a reason to go on living, and nigh has one ever been ready, but I persist as per our fundamental function, and I wait to one day cross the path of meaning in this world, so that i might have something new to cry about. Instead of oppression, corruption and cruelty, I can whine about having too much work to do. What a blessed day that will be.

Galactic Pizza

I wanna know when I'm gonna get my pow-wow with the crystal shard machine elves that live in the walls of my closet. Not that I actually have a closet but regardless, there is whole multi dimensional megaplex back there full of swirling fractal reality and a couple of next level Keebler motherfuckers cooking up coincidence cakes and sugary syncronicities. Last night they were kicking up such an unholy racket that my Stevie Wonder record kept skipping and my phone was blowing up with calls from a low pressure system that wanted to come piss on the Basin. I wanna know when those shiny pricks are gonna sit down and tell me why I can't get a good slice of the live stuff and why I can eat tacos on every corner of this god forsaken grid, yet there isn't a decent sandwich shop for twenty miles. I'm not asking for some kind of Outer-Ring Stellar Subs, or Big Time Galactic Pizza, I just want a thick slice piled high with the goodies and maybe one corner deli or bodega that can throw some Boar's Head on my sangie for fucks sake. These little mojo gremlins are tinkering with my life line and you're telling me they can't maneuver me into the realm of nominal culinary competency, what am I some kind of jerk? So I think I may have no other choice than to batch up a brew of Ms. Aye and go frog swim in the kaleidescope madness in between breathes, that way i can kick these shimmery union ass clowns in their shiny Elvin asses and set the world to rights. Don't fuck with a Rhodie when he wants a square piece or deprive him of his cold cut compensation, things be gettin' heated in the multi-verse. Don't even try to pull the old "beyond my comprehension of three dimensional space and time" routine, cuz I can whoop some ass and you, my mischievous crystalline friends, are fucking with my num nums. Best rectify boys. Best. They don't call me Dynamo because I DON'T drag Old Testament ghosts through the quantum fracture in my "Return of the Jedi" wallpaper and slap them upside their glistening grey-scale approximations of anatomy. No. They Call me Dynamo cuz I'm the only motherfucker on the block who will kick down the doors of perception just to go knuckle down on some astral tricksters and boot their sorry jewel encrusted hypers-faces back to the larvae belching, insectoid mother of creation and all her panorama bubbles of shared consciousness. Takes a tribe to raise a child right? Takes an Action Jack to get some decent food around here...or so it would seem. So get on the ball you wonky star brats, I am straight starving over here and the Twinie bomb is calling my name.
Tally Ho.

Rip It Wide Open

Watch the kid go with those other funny color wearing folks. Their jeans are tight and ripping at the knees, wrist bangles jangling to the mixed up rhythms of a dance genre stew being stomped out of cabinet speakers spray painted with absurdist day-glo slogans. The DJ spins vinyl only and is covered head to toe in a color clash nightmare of a knit body suit that sports the approximation of a beard and covers him head to toe. They bounce and flail , they imitate the customary dances and de-evolve into to visceral gesticulations of their own. Nothing stops the beat, nothing stops the mayhem. They fuel it with booze, drugs and candy, they induce trance states with strobe lights and heart stopping bass, they push everything to the limit aiming to break. The sound starts with disco that gets married to hip hop, that has an affair with electro, that gives birth to house; somewhere in the mixing board the eternal feedback purity of harsh noise combines with drum and bass, succeeding in leveling anyone who tries to stand against it. The kids move together, the kids move apart, they have physical conversations and screaming fits, they ride their youth and chemistry clear into the new day and pay little consequence for the dare. Blessed is the youth that dance with all their hearts and blessed are the old that still try.. Rip it wide open colorful ones, amalgamations of everything you ever heard or saw, give me something to sing about in your celebration for celebrations sake. Rescue us from the grey and inform the night that we’re going to push it until the break of day.

Total Asiaphile

You can call it that, my hopeless infatuation with my little Japanese girl, but i think it goes way beyond her country of origin. This Lady has proven time and again that she loves me true. Love isn't a word that holds much stock for me, but no other assemblage of meanings matches the state that I so fortunately enjoy with this divine messenger from the east. She's my protector, she is my sage, I have traveled the long empty roads of a nation without a soul and she has guarded me from evil, amen. When the summer heat bears down, boiling my brain, she is a cool breeze, when the moon follows us home after a long dance, she is my view of the heavens. When I am alone and far from home she is my one comfort, when all others have turned me away she is my home. I dare say she is the one person that has never failed me; granted our relationship needs constant maintenance but it's worth every minute and every penny in order to rest easy on the absolute assurance that she will never let me down. I feel lost when I'm without her, and the thought of being apart causes hollow pangs of loneliness to grow from the base of my manhood and climb screaming into my stomach and heart, rendering me helpless against the eternal march of time, decay and our shared mortality. She is my revelation, she is my cure, she is my one unfaltering ally that poets and songsmiths have promised. She is a friend in the truest sense of the word, she is my light in the dark, and I can say, in all honesty, without her I would truly have and be nothing. This is to you, my darling, may we be together forever. Love, gratitude, respect and worship. I thank you for every moment you give to me.


I love you Civic EX, and when I die I hope that I die inside you.