The Eve of Ruina

This is an unfinished short story that is going to be part of the collection, if I decide to do that. Or possibly I'll take this story a lot further, I have a lot of potential ways I can take this already lined up. Tell me your thoughts.

The Eve of Ruina

The Gods called upon him, and to their every whim he must answer them. He is their chosen one, the lone prophet of the true Gods, the true seer of knowledge. His name is Azaziah, his mission is the total conversion of all the peoples of this puny Earth. The world was to succumb to the will of the Gods and their avatar, but first the rituals must be preformed.

Entertainment for the night came in the form an act of Nature and the Gods so powerful and intense that it rocked the most materialistic-atheists and turned them into the Gods-Fearing mortals that they truly are. As Azaziah climbed the Great Hill of Babazola, he was battered with the strong force of the winds, their howls raging against him like a blood thirsty beast. It mattered not to him, he must reach the peak of this mountain before the climax of the storm, or everything would be ruined. Everything must go according to scripture, according to plan, according to the Gods.

The plan that Azaziah had in mind and the plan that the Gods held, though, was to be illuminated as quite different. The trek up the mountain was quickly taking its toll on the weary muscles and ground up bones of Azaziah, and his breath was growing heavy. Although his will for the most part stayed resolute and true, there were a few thoughts in the back of his mind urging him to just quit now, turn back, or even just lie down and die.

"You're an old man, Azaziah, but through the Gods will you shall have an Eternal life of bliss, with no weary muscles or broken bones." The prophet began speaking to himself, becoming delusional and hallucinating - or perhaps becoming incredibly lucid and perceiving reality through more facets than usually available to the human senses. In quite a short amount of time, the old man realized that the words came not from his mouth, but from the mouth of a prodigious Angel - or demon - messenger of the Gods.

"What is it that the Gods desire, O Angel of the most high?" Azaziah managed to speak his words through raspy breaths and coughing fits, continually plagued by the burden of the sand-mountain and the holy jihad of the wind.

"The Gods demand a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice." There was no emotion in the strong voice of the apparent Angel.

"A blood sacrifice? Where am I going to find an animal in time for the climax?"

The Angel said nothing, and Azaziah grew worried. As the grim realization finally dawned over him, his journey acquired a theme that was much more somber and stoic than the ecstatic, sensuous excitement that usually gripped his loins and his heart for this ritual. He knew that his body's leash to physical existence stifled his soul, it dampened the Holy Fire that burned deep within his chest. His body, his brain, his emotions, they all betrayed his true inner nature. By all rights he should be glad to die for his Gods in such a glorious manner, on the eve of destruction!

"Oh glorious eve of Gods waging war

The midnight sky to rage and roar

Much blood to spill and incense to be burned

A prophet shall die and much will be learned."

The Angel quoted from the most holy of Holy Scriptures, the Apocalypse of Babazola! Suddenly, his heart was filled no more with doubt, his will solidified as much as anything can be called solid, and the fire burned within. An unexpected gust of wind blew Azaziah over, causing him momentarily lay in the sand, staring up at the sky. The image that burned straight through his retinas and into the very fibers of his being would be the most profound experience of his life time, which was to end shortly.

In the night sky, a masterpiece of artwork was being crafted with utmost care and delicateness. Contrary to the subtle nature of the artist, the inherent spirit of the art was violent, chaotic, passionate, dangerous, deadly, and powerful. It was geometric, it was pre-historic post modernist, it was an abstract still life, it was a landscape painted as a portrait. It was, in fact, the most beautiful piece of art ever known to man. The title of this piece was, "Nature", the author of it, the Gods.

Dark, brooding clouds swirled around in a decadent display of a Deity’s delight; a cacophonous orgy of the elements hydrogen and Oxygen frozen by the high sky and made beautiful in their unity. The picturesque orgy in the clouds revealed some of the nature of the prophet's ordeal and the ritual of the Gods, the Eve of Ruina. Through the marriage of hydrogen and oxygen and the divorce of life from this Earth, an ecstatic and sensuous exhibition took place.

At the command of the messenger, Azaziah picked himself up off his feet and continued his ascent to the top of the Great Hill of Babazola. Upon reaching the summit, he checked his robes for his incense, but to his great dismay he found nothing. The Gods, however, provide for the faithful.

A strong gust of wind had apparently blown the remnants of some odd plant up the hill, and not to be one to spit in the face of good fortune, Azaziah quickly scampered over and gathered the brush.

Casualty of Solipsism

This is a short story that I'm debating whether I should continue on with, or leave it as it is. I suppose if I get hit with some inspiration for it, I'll continue. I've been thinking of making a series of short stories based on my many seemingly-conflicting-yet-married-together-in-an-orgy philosophies and spiritual views. Hopefully they'll shed some light for myself and others on the nature of reality and how we percieve it. Anyway, here's Casualty Of Solipsism, a look into what it would be like to travel along the left-hand path with a narcissistic, solipsist worldview.

Casualty of Solipsism

As I paced around the room, I wondered how much longer this fairy tale can keep up. How far can I take it? Can I mold the entire world; will the universe bend to my whims? Has my solipsistic world view defined my narcissistic existence, or has my ego determined my philosophy? How can I trust myself?

Apparently, I can't. The two dead hookers lying in a puddle of blood and feces is a grand testament to this. I'd have to take care of the other one soon, before she walks in the room with her saggy Mexican tits and her collection of dildos. She'd cause a scene, and I can't have that. She'd wake up my redneck, white trash neighbors and I'd be off to some maximum security prison where'd I'd wake up each day to an ass full of semen and my resilience left for dead.

I took another line of cocaine and decided I'd strangle the bitch. Much less noise that way, although truth be told, not half as much fun as beating her over the head with whichever blunt object of choice happened to be on hand. Before setting off to increase my counts of homicide, I decide to liberate the oppressed urine from my tyrannical bowels onto the lifeless corpses of the low-class prostitutes that littered my floor. Really, they shouldn't have insulted me like that. I'm not some sort of depraved fucking homosexual; they should have told me they weren't really women.

It's not like they had much to live for anyway. I was freeing them of their flawed material existence, and all things considered, I should probably be awarded a medal. Maybe in their next lives they'd be born caterpillars or something, although I've never seen a she-male caterpillar. Shit, I've never even seen a caterpillar in action, getting all hot and heavy and finishing off with a money shot. Oh, but that's right, caterpillars undergo metamorphosis into butterflies. A bunch of fucking pansies they are, I guess butterflies are the GLBT of the insect world.

Not that this has anything to do with the problem at hand. I stepped over the heap of dead bodies and fluids, exited my room and closed the door carefully. The spic whore was in the bathroom, brushing her hair with all the attention only a woman of the night could give to her strung out, disease ridden body. I stroked my cock until it was erect, strutted over to the bathroom, bent the harlot over the sink and shoved my male figure of dominance into her filthy cunt. She acted surprised, but I knew she could barely even feel it. Not that my prick was small, far from it, but this bitch was a classic case of a "hot dog in the hallway". I'm pretty sure I could fit my foot inside of her. Either way, I wasn't fucking her for my pleasure or hers, hell, the only reason I was hard was because all this killing had my blood pumping, regardless of all the cocaine swirling through my veins. I just needed a distraction.

She was still preening herself as I began to choke her, strangling her with the gentle assuredness that only a man with an ego the size of an elephant and a cock buried deep in a pussy could muster. It didn't take her long to stop struggling and give way to my asphyxiation, and as soon as we both went limp, I slammed her head into the mirror and let her body fall onto the sink, and then the floor. A job well done, I think. It wasn't possible to make her death anymore fitting, I'd wager. I'm sure she always knew she'd go out with a bang, or at least while getting banged and jacked up on blow and hash. Or maybe she was just trying to save up enough money until she could return to back her family in Mexico, marry some nice young man and share the gift of herpes with him.

Fuck! I've probably got it too, now. No matter, I can take care of it; I can take care of anything.

Freedom And Authority

Freedom & Authority

"Leaping from a cliff does not mean that a person isn’t free; indeed, it demonstrates that he is free to leap or not to leap as he pleases. The fact that he can’t fly proves that he is not a bird.

The concept of freedom is valid only within the natural limits which have been imposed upon man by nature. Loss of freedom arises if and when additional limits are imposed by others of his own kind."
(Robert LeVere)

The simplest definition of absolute freedom would be the complete absence of authority. This is, however, a fairy tale definition and there is at no point at anyone’s life where they are completely free of authority. One might say that then, death is our only freedom, for during our lives we are continually oppressed and continually slaves.

When the word “oppression” is said, one often thinks of horrible authoritarian governments. Oppression does not start there, though, it is really seeded in the individual. Our brains, in combination with the actions and thoughts of others, oppresses us. Also, authority is not always a direct thing, no, often times it is indirect. Take this for example:

A man is watching a movie with his girlfriend. It’s a sad story that makes him want to cry. However, he knows that men do not cry in front of their girlfriends, especially over a sad movie. Therefore, he stifles the tears and pretends he has something in his eye.

There are three examples of authority and freedom being infringed:

1. Society creating a “macho man” image where men can not cry

2. The girlfriend just being there, an indirect authority

3. The man taking the first two to heart, and complying with 1

Now, most people would say, “You’re exaggerating, that’s completely preposterous.” However, more importantly, it shows that people willingly let just about everything impose it’s authority on them, and consequently govern them. The fact that people do not in fact, do whatever they want, shows an innate ability for them to govern themselves.

Here is another example, to show how we govern ourselves based on the (in)direct authority of others:

A man and his girlfriend are preparing to go to a dance club. The girlfriend is admiring herself in the mirror, in her new dress, and says to him, “Does this dress make me look fat?” It does in fact, make her look a bit chubby.

Now, realistically, most men have two choices to make here, one likely smarter if he wants to keep on having a relationship:

1. He could tell the honest truth, and say “Yes dear, it does.”

2. He could tell a “white lie” and say, “No hunny, you like fine.”

Most people would choose the second choice, because it’s just mean to tell someone they look fat. Honesty, in many, many cases is not appreciated, and exercising your right to freedom can often be construed as a negative thing to do.

So, furthermore, most to all people are innate liars and lovers of authority.

Government, however, is an unnatural and inefficient, corrupt thing. It has been shown countless times that power corrupts (The Prince is testimony to this), and I have just shown that people are innately liars and lovers of authority. So, a person (often times much richer and sharing nothing in common with you), who is just as prone to corruption, dishonesty, and being oppressive, is controlling many people. Government began with the shrewd idea that the Gods had chosen a single person to rule over many people. The biggest problem is not in fact how he was chosen, as handing power to someone on any basis is wrong, but rather that the idea that the few could rule the many.

Many years ago, when life was more community based, the idea that the individual could control himself seemed viable, however with today’s pseudo-imperialism and globalization, this seems insane. And in all actuality, it would be insane without first a proper revolution in the true sense; that people would be educate and have a completely different view of life. So the only viable option that would restore many basic freedoms that government destroys would be a rule of the many, by the many. It’s basically a fraction, 1/1 versus 100/100, it’s the same thing just on a larger scale. Governments, however, are more like, 1/1000, and thus more inefficient.

Many so called “freedom lovers” (and sometimes nihilists), like to say “Death is our only freedom.” This is another incredible lie, going against what everything freedom stands for. Nature is itself, the greatest authority, but one that can be accepted by most people. It makes laws, and we WILL follow them, there is no consequence for if we do not, because we can not.

Death is natural. It is, however, the greatest authority. If you were alive during the time of Lenin, you could not speak up against Russia. If you were dead, you could not as well. When you are dead you can not talk, you can not enjoy yourself, you can not bring yourself pain, for by definition of death, you can not do anything. Death is the final authority on everything.

Freedom is the realization that you could just as easily have cried if you wanted to, or told your girlfriend that she looks fat. However, you’re doing this for you, not for them.

Blue

This is most likely my shortest, and um...silliest? I guess short story:

Blue

This is the story of a blue cat. Not the sad blue, but the actual color blue. The cat’s name was Blue, ironically. Other cats did not like Blue.

One day Blue decided to get some fish at the wharf. To his disappointment, other cats had claimed the wharf and had eaten the fish. These cats did not like Blue, because he was different from them. Even though cats don’t see color like humans, blue has its own unique scent.

None of the cats would let Blue have food. They hissed and they clawed at him, and Blue grew sad and hungry. He hid in an alleyway until he was so hungry he decided to jump into the ocean to get some fish. When he jumped into the water he realized he couldn’t swim! Blue became blue in every sense of the word-he was sad, he was drowning, and he was Blue.

Six Seconds To Live

Heh, one of the first short stories I wrote. One of my best, too. I wanted to write something completely original, something I had never heard of before.

So I wrote the last six seconds of someone's life as they fell to death, thousands of miles up in the sky.

Six Seconds To Live

This is it, this is the end, there’s going to be no tomorrow. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to be happy about, nothing to be sad about. I will become one with nothingness, I will no longer be incarnate, I will cease to exist. Species-Me will cease to exist, a dying breed of people will have well, died out. Perhaps I should have tried to do more in life, but now it’s too late, it’s too late to do anything else. I suppose that in this dog eat dog world, I became obsolete in the rat race of evolution and power shifts.

It’s kind of funny how it happened, any way. Not that it really matters any more, what was funny or what was not funny. Nothing matters anymore because the end is imminent, more so than ever. Of course it was always in the back of my head, a phobia that we all have, but now it has become quite unequivocal and in the front of my cranium. Dear, dear brain, you have served me so well in the past, and no longer will you be able to help me. Well, thinking back, I suppose you weren’t that much of a help seeing as I’m in this situation now. And quite the predicament it is, no perceivable solution is jumping out into my face, although I’m sure the ground will quite shortly now.

Now I’m watching all these people on the ground, wasting their time as it seems to me at the top of the world. I’m trying to hold it all inside now, and retain my dignity, but it’s becoming quite hard. Soon those people down there, having fun, enjoying their meaningless life will awake to a rude siren of death amongst them. I do hope something ironic happens, such as me falling onto a bench full of food…It’s hard to see where exactly I’ll land now, but I can still see the stupid little ants, roaming about, foraging for food, working for the queen ant.

Oh hell, I feel so full of angst now, so full of hatred and spite towards the world and everything containing it or inside of it. Although I suppose it is to be expected considering my plight, and most other people would be acting in pretty much the same way I am. But it still feels so horrible, not that the impending sense of “DOOM!” is really comforting me much. You know, knowing that the end is so close that you can taste its horrible morning breath upon your face really changes your view on the world. Being up and looking down really alters your character, although being up looking down, and watching down get much closer makes things oh so much different than from a position of safety.

Knowing that it will all be over soon doesn’t help much either, because that does mean everything will be done. All my suffering, pain, all my hurt will drift away with my sudden demise, the most instantaneous solution around. Hah, the way I’m looking at it, it seems like I’m committing suicide rather than just dying by accident. Although, like I said, it is to be expected that I feel this way. God, it hurts when I breathe…

It would seem that without my finite suffering, pain, loss, and hurt, that I would be in an euphoria of pleasure. I suppose death is not one sided as some people would see it, though. Death isn’t really inherently evil, people just look at it that way because it takes away those that they love, thus the vision that death is evil. No, it is not the bringer of terror and evil to this lands, that is another. Rather, I think the bringer of terror and such is really just us: you, me, that strange guy next door, the old lady across the street.

But that’s quite besides the point I’m trying to make here, if I am indeed trying to make a point at all. More likely I’m trying to make a “splat”, at the rate of speed and direction that I’m going in. What I’m trying to say is though, is that death is not evil nor good, when the bad goes away so does the good, thus creating the sweet neutrality of slumber known simply as death. Not the creator, and not quite the destroyer, death is more like the eraser.

And how well I will know this eraser, considering what’s about to happen. I’m still mulling over whether or not to let my corneas take in the surface of my end, or to glue them shut with my tears as I hurtle towards my fate at an alarming rate of speed. Would it be better if I pretended none of this was to happen, and I was still in my log cabin in Alaska, sitting by the fireside, drinking hot apple cider? Ignorance is bliss, yes, but I have always been one to look for the truth, that seemingly distant enlightenment that most of us strive for. Should I throw away all my morals and values just to have some comfort in my time of death, or should I be a stickler for what is right in my eyes?

Not that it will mater anyhow, no one will know, and I will be dead. But what does matter is the here and the now, so what will make me feel better? Hah, what will make me feel better…What would make me feel better is having a future, having some hope in my life, having something to strive for. Maybe actually having something to think about rather than such a morbid subject such as my own journey to the grave would make me feel better.

There was so much more I wanted to do, so much I wanted to accomplish. I can’t believe I sat around all those days and nights, doing nothing, being nothing, and repeating the cycle. I could have changed the world, maybe stopped the spin cycle of greed, war, hate, and fascism. Alas, I am yet still here, I could never have imagined something could have been more depressing, this is the epitome of suicidal, one might say.

I’ve loved a lot of things in my life, and I’ve hated a lot of things, too. I wish I could take all that back, start all anew, and not bring myself to this position. Most of all, I wish I could tell those that I love to not worry, for I have nothing to fear anymore. My anguish is over, I can finally relax and just let things happen, above me. Mostly because I’ll be six feet under, but that’s besides the point. I just wish there was some way I could tell them all I love them. Oh god, and the night before this, I had gotten into a huge argument with my fiancé. I can’t even comprehend the magnitude of this anymore, my thoughts are getting more scattered and erratic, pure emotion is now taking over, I have become a beast. Rather, the beast overtook me last night, causing me to say many harsh things that I really should not have said. Would that I could, I would take it all back, so I would not have to shed the tears I do now. With my melancholy and somberness I could power a whole city, that is, if they found a way to use sorrow as an energy.

I’ve just realized-I still have her locket that I bought her in my jacket pocket. When I hit the ground, I really hope that it’s fine and not damaged. Perhaps I can protect it somehow, keep it safe from harm, as a final way of saying “I’m sorry, I love you.” That would be comfort enough, I think I shall. I’ll take my jacket off, and wrap it into a ball, and hold it in my hand, even though it’s dreadfully cold up here. Not that cold is going to matter in a few seconds. What does matter is that they will find it, she will see it, and she will cry, and appreciate the actions I took before my end. She’ll know that I was thinking about her before my final breath, and my long journey of death.

Here, it comes, the end…My last breath. I’m sorry everyone, I love you all.

A Considerable Tale

Note: This is a story of mine I wrote a few years ago, and as you can tell, I'm blatantly ripping off the styles of Terry Pratchet and Douglas Adams. Still, though, maybe someone will find enjoyment in it:

A Considerable Tale

By Rizzo

This is a story of literary clichés used unexpectedly, of horror, and above all else a search for a bagel. The setting is quite familiar to those of you who have started a story with the words, “It was a dark and stormy night...”

It was a dark and stormy night, up on Considerable Hill…

There was a crash, then a woman swearing and flailing her arms about wildly. A man in common chef’s attire walked through a door and found the woman acting quite flustered and scared, to which he put his hands on his hips and sighed.

“Margaret, what on earth am I to do with you? You’re so jumpy, you can’t concentrate, and you run about doing so many things you’re like a chicken with its head cut off!”

“I’m sorry but thunder always gets me jumpy, and there was this thunder, and then lightning, and then when it flashed I saw a man’s face in the window and he was holding a knife and I dropped the dish and it crashed and, oh I just don’t know what to do!” Margaret rapidly explained to the chef, not even taking a breath throughout the whole thing.

The chef sighed, turned around once as if he was going back out, then turned back around, looked her over, turned around once more, decided to say something, turned around a final time, waved a spoon at her and said, “Why don’t you go out and see what he wants then, eh? Maybe he’d like a nice hot meal and a place to sleep, eh?”

Margaret visibly paled at his suggestion, and while she tried to swallow the lump in her throat she nodded in agreement, too scared to actually say anything. As the chef left, Margaret leaned up against a wall and slumped down, putting her knees up and burying her head in her dress like an Ostrich, although any well brought up Ostrich would admit that she did it in terribly bad form. Thunder roared and lightning struck once again, and the frightened girl jumped straight in the air, although apparently no muscles had actually been used, it happened on sheer willpower. Anyone that could hover using mental powers could tell you that this was nothing to write home about, though.

She fell back to the ground, sighed, then slowly stood up and rubbed dirt off of her dress. Its pale blue color seemed almost depressing to her, now, even though it was supposed to be one of those “happy” colors that boosted company morale! Before she headed out to try and find this mysterious man, Margaret threw on her jacket and nipped into the kitchen to grab the largest knife she could find.

Having found a suitable knife, she put it down to her side and went outside through the backdoor of the Hotel Considerable. Rain danced on the rooftop of the hotel, creating a sound like that of an army marching to war. When she stepped out into the rain, it almost felt as if a very old and weak man was trying to beat her to death. She gave it an “A” for effort but it quite failed at being anything but annoying.

When thunder rolled again, and lightning illuminated the sky once more, Margaret could see a figure sitting on a bench overlooking the cliff that Considerable Hill sat on. She gulped once again, having her throat send out the Riot Police on the protesting lump that lay in it, and slowly walked up to the figure.

As she drew in closer she realized it was a man, and as she was about to lay her hand down on his shoulder, he turned around and asked, “Has anyone ever fallen off this cliff?”

Taken aback she responded, “Why, no, no one has. Don’t know why anyone would do such a daft thing.”

The man smiled toothily, and Margaret thought she saw something gleam from his pants pocket. He went on to say, “Oh, well people sometimes have…accidents. Quite unfortunate, really.”

Margaret, quite aged in cynicism snorted and said, “No, not really. People die all the time. Some people even find it fun.”

The man blinked as if someone just interpreted something quite obvious into something completely absurd, such as turning the statement, “Only go to war if they provoke us” to “Let’s say we show Johnny-Foreigner who’s boss, eh?”

“My dear, I was referring to the grounds misfortune, not the persons. The ground is much older, and much more important than a person. Without the ground we would have nothing to stick our heads in, but a single person? Off with his head!”

Margaret slowly nodded, disturbed and confused. For some reason[*] she decided to walk over to the edge of the cliff to see just how far down it was. She had done his a million times before during broad daylight, without some man who was most likely an insane homicidal maniac. At the moment though, it seemed like a fun thing to do.

That was, until it turned out that the man really was a homicidal maniac killer and shoved the knife he had hidden in his pocket straight through Margaret and shoved her down the cliff. Her scream (accompanied by the maniacal laughter of the man[†]) was drowned out by another rolling of thunder, and in the flash of lightning the man picked up the knife Margaret had dropped before falling to her demise.

He grinned and laughed as he looked over the blade, “What a marvelously stupid girl!”

* * *

“Bzzt…Reports have come in…deranged…iller…let loose…ac asylum..”

The chef smacked the radio which fell to the ground, electronically twitched a bit, and died. He shook his head and sighed, and stood around trying to think of something to do. There were no guests at the Hotel except for some old man who had retired early. No one to feed.

“Bah, blasted radio! Babbling on about some inflamed pillar. Must be some sort of religious thing.”

“I believe it said that there was a deranged killer let loose from some insane asylum.”

“What? Oh, so that’s what ot said? Hah, fancy that. These bloody things never work.”

“’S got something to do with the rain, I think. Cosmological interference or some such.”

The chef nodded knowingly, he knew all about Cosmological interference[‡], “Ah. Well that makes sense.”

His eyes suddenly went from a look of grasping basic knowledge and all knowing enlightenment, to a look of pain such as one gets when they receive The Estimate, except with less pain. Blood trickled down from his stomach and fell on to the floor, imitating a marching order much like that of the rain.

“Oh deary me, it seems that my knife just went and plunged itself right into your back. Let me try and-oop, nope, it just won’t come out! Sorry about that. Well, it’s going to take you a while to die and you’re going to be puking up a lot of blood. Don’t worry though, it will all be fine!”

And with that, the killer slammed the stunned chef’s head into a marble table, causing him to fall into a state of semi-consciousness where he felt pain but couldn’t do anything about it, like stop it. Right now though, he had a greater responsibility than death.

“Don’t touch…the bagels…”

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t quite catch it through my fits of maniacal laughter.” The killer said, pausing between a fit of maniacal laughter.

“Bagels…” Was all the chef could make out before he lapsed into coughing up blood.

“Bagels you say? I’ve been looking for a good bagel, myself. Searching for one, even. Calms the nerves, it does. Makes me less prone to shove sharp objects into people’s skulls[§].”

* * *

Michelle liked fire. In fact, she liked it a lot. Whenever she could she would start one, and then bask in its glory. Her parents would obviously stop her from doing such things, but they figured it’s impossible to start a fire in the rain, so they didn’t bother watching her this night.

But after she got bored burning down her house, she decided to set her eyes on an even bigger building. While her parents were rushing back home from a friends house to put out the fire and save the twins, Michelle was walking up the hill to Hotel Considerable, the largest[**] building in town.

She walked inside its big doors and looked around. It was really very dark, and much more quiet than usual. Except for the wailings of a dying man, floorboards creaking, and the odd maniacal laugh every now and then. But that Was To Be Expected, because it was a dark and stormy night. She decided to start some fires to brighten the place up.

As she set to her work, a man came down the stairs, mumbling about how unfair it was that the old man was dead before he got to him. The front door was suddenly closed (closed to the point it would not be able to be opened), and Michelle jumped. She noticed the man, and the man noticed the fire.

“Um…It was just really dark and I wanted to see…” Michelle mumbled out an explanation for her work.

The killer grinned, the kind of grin you want to be very far away from, “How much do you like fire, little girl?”

Michelle beamed and answered back, “Oh lots mister, lots!”

“Good. Stay there and I shall show you an even better way to enjoy the fire.”

Michelle shrugged, wondering what secret this man possessed. He searched around the room for a bit of rope, and then finding it ordered her to sit in a chair. Having done so, he tied her to the chair and place her near the fire which was now having a roaring good time.

At first she enjoyed the heat warming her body, but then it became intense and started searing her flesh. She started screaming at the deranged killer but he was already trying to open the front door.

“Strange…the thing won’t…budge…!”

He walked over to the door to the kitchen, taking a bite out of a bagel on his stroll over. Trying to open the door, however, was met with much resistance.

“I told you…don’t touch the bagel…”

“What? Oh come on! How could I not? Anyway, let me through before I burn to death.”

“I don’t care whether you live or die…you certainly don’t care about me.”

“Well it’s not so much that I don’t care so much as that I…don’t care. Now let me through.” The killer’s pleadings became more anxious as the flame grew, and the girl’s screams became blood curdling.

“Sorry, but I’m about to die and I really can’t move all this stuff again…Here it comes…death…the end…Ah…Am I dead yet? No? Ah, right…Now? Alright, guess not. Here it comes, this time I can feel it. It feels like I’m being picked up apart…Oh never mind, just the rats.” The chef’s monologue went on like this for some time.

Thunder rolled and lightning crashed once more. The killer sighed, then sat in a corner to Think About What He’s Done. He got a lot of time to think. By the time the townspeople got there, there was no one left to save except for some batty old man who was dreaming he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man.

The mayor of the town sighed, he was quite sick of dark and stormy nights. The thunder rolled and the lightning crashed for the last time that night.[††]

---

[*] This reason is actually a mixture of curiosity and plain idiocy. Scientists try and write off this mysterious human phenomenon as a device that writers use to move the plot forward in a sneaky and under handed way to meet their deadline. This is all rubbish though because it was obviously Fate that made her do this.

[†] Somewhere nearby, a man clad in all black had the sudden urge to go play on his pipe organ, with a small raven perched on his window sill overlooking him. This is another one of those instances of Fate. He’s a real stickler to the set script.

[‡] In fact, all he knew about Cosmological interference was that it sounded quite scientific and official, two things he respected but which he had no knowledge about. Therefore, much like the people of the Medieval ages, he used Cosmological interference as a scapegoat as anything which didn’t work right. Works wonders.

[§] This is decidedly, A Good Thing, and if one is still alive, A Good Thing To Know In Case I Don’t Want Something Sharp Protruding From My Skull, Thank You Very Much.

[**] And as of now, emptiest.

[††] And, incidentally, the pipe organ man could finally go to sleep and that blasted raven finally flew off somewhere. And somewhere, a writer tied everything up in a horrible manner to meet a deadline.

The Apple Tree

I am the tree

Please eat from me

Tree, tree, tree

I am the apple tree

Tree, tree, tree

Please eat from me!

Eat from me and you’ll be free

Free, free, free of all you cares

Free, free, free you all have shares!

Free, free, free, free apple tree!

I am your soul

Existence is goal.

Home is where the heart lies,

Home is where the soul dies,

Home is whenever ye’ be,

Home is whatever ye’ see.

Depravity

Darkness.

Depravity.

Enter into the most sinister corners of your decadent soul:

Here you lie. Not dead, but not really alive. A product of a system designed to consume every inch of imagination and creativity and squash it. In this system there is no food chain, there is no progression, you live in squalor, you are a disgusting insect. A cockroach scattering under the feet of those who seek to dominate and control you, who rely on the millions of cockroaches that are just like you to keep them afloat.

Floating, floating in a sea of short-sighted irrationality, of sinful pride and stupidity. The air is heavy and brown, the water likewise. Factories spew out smoke that mingles with the dense fog to create the lung-damaging gas known as smog. The wheels keep churning, but every single energy source has now been exhausted. Complete annihilation of the cockroaches and those that are doomed to become them is all that lies ahead.

When an animal gets stuck in a trap it will bite its own limbs off to save itself; this is logical. But when a machine starts to consume itself to power its meaningless expansion, when it loses as much as it gains, how can this be rationalized? Imagine an animal eating its entire body so that it can survive, or, rather, look around.

Yes, that’s right, lift your head up, your half-alive cockroach. What do you see? Not much, that’s the smog’s fault I suppose. It doesn’t matter much to you anyway, does it? All you are interested in is gorging yourself on food, leaving crumbs all over your residence, leaving stains on all your clothes, and leaving bits of meat stuck in your dirty, uncared for teeth. All you care for are emotionally vacant orgies with other grotesquely obese monsters, with so much useless flesh flapping around, sticky and sweaty with the heat of copulating.

You disgusting slob, can you even see past the next meal? Can you use females for something other than a depository for your seed, for something other than meat to grope? How can you justify yourself?

Get up. I said get up, you lethargic ignoramus. How far are you willing to let it go? Do you enjoy being a cockroach? Do you think at all?

Of course you do. Perhaps I am too arrogant, too quick to judge. This darkness that I see exists only in my mind, this system the spews insects is a product of my idle mind. The factories are synapses firing, the smog are chemical reactions. I am the cockroach. I am the annihilator. I am darkness, I am depravity, I am decadence. I am all this and more. I am nothing at all.

And you, yes you, my dear “friend”, now cease to exist.

Bake Your Own Bread

Note: I have no idea who wrote this. I might have written this, some lines definitely spark a memory to me. Somebody else might have, I don't know. If you DID write this, then you must be someone I know, since there would be no other reason for it being in my "MyDocuments" folder on my hard-drive. If I'm saving stuff I find online, I put it in a specific folder and label it correctly. So I'm assuming I wrote this, although I'll say Jesus did it. Why the fuck not? Praise Jesus. Hail Eris.

Rot in the head
Jam in the toes
Bake your own bread
Write your own prose

If I grew wings surely I'd fly
Fly as if I could never lie
And see through the swim of bliss
And sea through the eye of this

Thorazine and apple tree
The Carrot-top of royalty
Treads on mice and treads on me
Take the ride and pay the fee

The story's an end to
Two days ago
When as luck would have it
I made some dough

I mugged an old lady, this much is true
I grabbed an axe and swung right through
And now her blood stains the street
A bloodier end no one could meet

Be happy though, for she was the devil
Drank infant blood and on sadism she'd revel
The screams of her children crying in fear
An orgasm from each ghastly tear would appear

But in the end, it turns out this was all a big joke
Haha, good one, see I had a real fat toke
And all of this came through my fingers
And this line does not rhyme

Note #2: After consulting with my pineal gland, I am certain this is mine, now.

Five in the Morning; The Words Don't Stop

What is it about writing, reading, thinking, and learning that I love so much? It's like chasing after the greatest high there is, but with only occasional hints of it with an occasional rush of bliss.

I love the smell of books, the feel of paper, the ink that rubs off on my fingers and turns them black.

I love feeling a keyboard at my command, feeding words into a document until page upon page is filled up.

I love holding a paper down while I scrawl my indicipherable printing onto it.

I love the feeling of making a sudden connection, the moment of Eureka, the apple of newton, the apple of discord.

Oh, Eris, oh lovely Eris. Oh Mary Magdalene, oh Sophia, oh Holy Spirit! Every word I utter, every sentence I write, every thought that I could ever think, they are your doing. You have imbued me, I have imbued myself, I am part of you and yet I am more than you and less than you.

Oh, Eris! How I love thee! All the paradoxes, the confusion, the chaos, all the reasons why we ask, "why?", they are all because of you! They are all hoaxes as you and I are hoaxes ourselves, as we are all nothing and everything! Duality, seperation, they are all born soley from an individualized, contextual perception at a specific point in space and time.

You are the reason, you are the rhyme
You are the spice and you are the lime
You hold me up while they hold me down
You make me smile while others make me frown

Praise Eris!

Congressional Legislative Oversight and Investigations

This is an essay I did for my government class, just to put this into some context. Usually I don't get too heavy into politics, at least not lately, as it's a bunch of bullshit and there's not much reason to get into it. Especially when you're as far out on the fringe as I am. This is, however, I think a nice, informative piece of writing:

Congressional Legislative Oversight and Investigations

The United States government is set up with three branches of government that act as checks and balances against each other, as set up in the Constitution. Congress, for instance, may not suspend habeas corpus, has the power to pass laws, and has the power to tax. However, the most important check of Congress is one which is not implicitly stated in the Constitution, and is one which has become a farce. This check is the power for Congress to investigate, subpoena, and practice its legislative oversight.

Congress can have a standing committee or a select committee conduct investigations, which can last from several days to several months. Staff members of the committee will travel around the country collecting evidence and witnesses, and sometimes dozens of witnesses will be called to testify under oath. Congressional investigations are not trials, but Congress has several powers that help committees to collect evidence. For instances, Congress can subpoena a witness, which is a legal order that a person must appear or produce requested documents, a power that is used often by Congress. Witnesses that do not tell the truth under oath can be criminally prosecuted for perjury, and those that refuse to testify or otherwise will not cooperate can be found in contempt of Congress. For a long period of time, witnesses called to testify in congressional committees had few rights, but in Watkins v. United States (1957) the Supreme Court ruled that Congress must respect a witnesses’ constitutional rights just as a court does:

“Witnesses cannot be compelled to give evidence against themselves. They cannot be subjected to unreasonable search and seizure. Nor can the 1^st amendment freedoms of speech, press, religion, or political belief and association be abridged,” as said by Chief Justice, Earl Warren. Congress gets around this requirement by granting immunity to witnesses, or freedom from prosecution for witnesses whose testimony ties them to illegal acts. A high-profile example of this is when Colonel Oliver North was granted immunity during his testimony which implicated many high-ranking members of the White House during the Reagan administration in illegal arms dealing to Iran and financing guerrilla warfare in Nicaragua. Although he should have been tried as a war criminal, his conviction was overturned on appeal because the evidence used against him was uncovered as a result of his protected congressional testimony. This is a somewhat reasonable example of how congressional committees and investigations are a farce – high ranking individuals in the US government can get away with anything as long as they are granted immunity. However, one can see that this may be reasonable in the light of trying to get more important information out of a witness.

The biggest farce of congressional investigations is that dealing with Congresses’ legislative oversight of how effectively the executive branch carries out the laws which Congress passes. Using the commerce power and necessary and proper clause, Congress has spawned a huge, money draining, inefficient bureaucracy. The idea that Congresses’ legislative oversight is a farce is not of a biased opinion, but even stated in the very textbook assigned, Glencoe’s “United States Government – Democracy In Action” (Jon Stewart’s “America – Democracy Inaction” might be a more appropriate book). For instance, it is printed in this book that, “Very few congressional committees review the actions of the executive branch on a regular basis, especially if the president and the majority of Congress are the same party.” This has become quite apparent in recent years, with the lack of investigation into the Jack Abramoff scandal which implicated many Republican leaders, and the President’s illegal wiretapping project.

The executive branch of government is so far out of control of all the other branches, and Congress is so inefficient and corrupt, that the President has basically become a King and can do whatever he likes. This is most certainly not limited to our latest President Bush, every single president throughout the history of our country has far over stepped his boundaries set forth in the Constitution. Even the most highly praised and worshipped leaders such as President Lincoln spat in the face of the Constitution, restricting habeas corpus, for example[1]. Such things as having secret CIA prisons[2], holding prisoners indefinitely[3], spying on citizens illegally[4], and shrouding the government in secrecy[5] defies the very principal this country was founded on.

Every time there is a committee that tries to investigate the executive branch, the military, and the exact events that are taking place, they are denied because of “national security reasons”. Unless one has child-like naiveté and an undying amount of faith that the government is honest and cares only for the people, this scam is easily seen through. If you were President, you could get away with anything, but hiding evidence and refusing to let information to get out on the grounds of “national security”. Who is to say that it’s really about national security? All we have to go by is the President’s word, and he’s already been shown to act unconstitutionally, to lie for whatever reasons not related to national security[6], send us to Wars for reasons that are either unclear, outright lies[7], or are simply un-American. The Republican majority Congress has been shown to be made up of either homosexual pedophiles[8] or money-grubbing recipients of bribery[9], and while the Supreme Court can declare things unconstitutional, it doesn’t have the power to actually do anything (as seen with the illegal wiretapping scandal). When every level of our government is corrupt, scandalous, power hungry, greedy, and has the transparency of a brick wall, how can one say there is checks and balances?

It is safe to say that Congress does not conduct these investigations out of a love for the country, a desire to keep everything runny smoothly and correctly, or out of moral and ethical justice. No, as even the Glencoe book states, “…Lawmakers know there are not many votes to be gained from most oversight activities. Voters and news media seldom are interested in oversight activities unless an investigation turns up a scandal or an unusual problem. As on lawmaker put it, ‘Where there is publicity to be gained, there is oversight to be had.’” Congress does not care about America, the President does not care about America, and the Supreme Court has too little power and may themselves not care about America. The simple fact is, these people care only about themselves, and their sole motivation for becoming involved in the government is the money, the fame, and the power. Love of money is the root of all evil, power corrupts, and congressional investigations and oversight are a farce designed to distract and entertain the public.

The Media, which is often called the “fourth institution”, is supposed to be an informal check and balance on the government. It’s supposed to inform and educate the people about how its democratic republic is operating, but instead it is just a tool of the government to spread its propaganda[10] in the form of “infotainment”[11]. There are five major media corporations which is where most Americans get there news from, and therefore how they are critical in how Americans react to policy and the actions of the US government[12]. It is safe to say the media plays a very important role in American society. However, the media is just as corrupt as the government, uses propaganda and subliminal messages ( i.e.; calling the War in Iraq “Operation Iraqi Freedom” to give the idea that the war is about liberating the Iraqis). Since it has already been established that Congressional investigations are influenced heavily by whether it will make good news, the influence and corruption of the media just further shows how much of a farce congressional investigations are.

In conclusion “Congressional investigations” and their legislative oversight is nothing more than a sham to generate votes, media attention, and to distract away from real issues. Studying specific Congressional investigations may be somewhat important, but realizing that having faith in Congress puts you at a disadvantage, and the government in general, is even more important. The history of this government is not half as important as the future of it, and what should be done.

---

[1] http://www.crf-usa.org/terror/Lincoln.htm “The actual right of habeas corpus is not stated anywhere in the Constitution or the Bill of Rights. The authors of these documents apparently believed that habeas corpus was such a fundamental liberty that it needed no further guarantee in writing…This suspension clause was never activated through the terms of the first 15 presidents. Then during the Civil War, President Lincoln suspended the writ of habeas corpus without consulting Congress. In doing so, Lincoln enabled the military to arrest and imprison thousands of civilians, including Clement L. Vallandigham.”

[2] http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/09/06/bush.speech/index.html “The CIA operates secret prisons abroad for holding key suspects in the war on terror, President Bush acknowledged Wednesday…The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in June that tribunals convened at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, were unconstitutional.”

[3] http://www.guardian.co.uk/guantanamo/story/0,13743,1382362,00.html “The United States is preparing to hold terrorism suspects indefinitely without trial, replacing the Guantanamo Bay prison camp with permanent prisons in the Cuban enclave and elsewhere, it was reported yesterday.”

[4] http://dir.salon.com/story/opinion/feature/2005/12/20/spying/index.html “With the revelation of domestic spying by the National Security Agency, the message transmitted by the Bush White House is crystal clear: When the president decides existing law is insufficient to protect Americans, he'll move ahead on his own and do whatever he deems necessary in the war on terror.”

[5] http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/HL0308/S00078.htm “The National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States was tasked with examining allegations that U.S. intelligence agencies ignored warnings from their operatives that al-Qaeda was planning to strike American targets with high-jacked planes. But several members of the bipartisan commission have recently complained that the Bush administration has been obstructing the inquiry.”

[6] http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article3569.htm

[7] http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/10/06/iraq.wmd.report/ “Saddam Hussein did not possess stockpiles of illicit weapons at the time of the U.S. invasion in March 2003 and had not begun any program to produce them, a CIA report concludes.”

[8] http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/09/29/congressman.e.mails/index.html “Maf54: You in your boxers, too? Teen: Nope, just got home. I had a college interview that went late. Maf54: Well, strip down and get relaxed”

[9] http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/custom/2005/12/23/CU2005122300939.html

[10] http://www.usatoday.com/news/washington/2005-01-06-williams-whitehouse_x.htm “...Bush administration paid a prominent black pundit $240,000 to promote the law on his nationally syndicated television show and to urge other black journalists to do the same… The top Democrat on the House Education Committee, Rep. George Miller of California, called the contract "a very questionable use of taxpayers' money" that is "probably illegal." He said he will ask his Republican counterpart to join him in requesting an investigation”

[11] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infotainment “Infotainment refers to a general type of media broadcast program which provides a combination of current events news and "feature news", or "features stories".”

[12] http://www.brook.edu/comm/transcripts/20020123.htm “The classic case often cited of "the CNN effect" is 1992-1993 in Somalia. Pictures that we saw, graphic pictures of starving children; the humanitarian effort of an American President, George Bush, to send in American military who were surprised; and then almost a year later a gang desecrating the body of an American, dragging it through the streets, and the President of the United States, Bill Clinton, announcing that we would be leaving Somalia. So it's often said that we got into Somalia because of horrible pictures; we left Somalia because of horrible television pictures."

Why?

For the past few thousands years, history has shown us that the most powerful tool that humanity possesses is the ability to ask questions. By questioning the way the world works, one will ponder the state of things until one begins to grasp the universe through various facets, i.e; physics, chemistry, geometry, psychology, astronomy, meteorology, etc. Just by sitting in a bath tub and wondering why the water level goes up when you sit down can bring about interesting discoveries. It is by discovering the chain of events (cause and effect) that leads to certain events can one learn to control and understand nature.

Generally it is hard to say exactly how animals think, but it is somewhat reasonable to say that they don’t ask, “why” very often. Asking “why” leads to a degree of self-awareness and introspection that is the source of all philosophy, religion, and science. This is a large part of what sets humans apart from animals. Our ability to control nature through understanding it has put humanity at the top of the food chain. However, it seems we lack the ability to control our own nature and often break out in sporadic warfare. It is safe to say, though, that the cure for this disease is a prescription of inquisitiveness.

When too much is taken for granted and assumptions are common place, nothing is learned. If Newton had cursed the apple tree and just accepted that apples fall from trees, we would likely not be flying today. By questioning how something happens at point A and ends up in point B, we learn how to harness the forces behind it. Through understanding the force that brings apples to the ground, we have learned that this is the same force that keeps the Earth in orbit, and keeps us from floating in the air.

In modern times, too much is taken for granted and we suffer greatly for that. This is the era of buzz-words and weasel talk, the age where greedy politicians carefully pack emotional value into certain words to gain power, instead of determining policy through logical debate. For all its technology, the 21^st is no age of bath-tub pondering or apple questioning. All over the world people are accepting the gruel slopped on their intellectual plates and they eat it up like it’s fine dining. Truly, what is freedom and democracy and why are they so great? How many people stop and ask these questions? Why is it considered heresy to question such important topics, especially when we die for these words? Is the death of thousands upon thousands not worth questioning? As the late Bill Hicks once said, “Go back to bed, America, your government has figured out how it all transpired. Go back to bed America, your government is in control. Here, here's American Gladiators. Watch this, shut up, go back to bed America…”

This is not to say, however, that the only thing questioning is good for is the outside world. To say that would be to utter a bold face lie, that which people take most for granted is that which is questioned least. It is rare that the average person will just sit there and question the voice in their head, the “I”, the ego, the soul, or whichever applicable name you choose to call your self-hood. How often do people question even existence itself? Philosophers and spiritual masters question everything and in the process understand much about themselves, not to speak of the entire universe. Pondering existence led Descartes to come to the conclusion Cogito, ergo sum; I think, therefore I am. Trying to overcome the nature of human suffering, Gautama Buddha had the revelation that it is desire that is the root of suffering, and was able to overcome it. By learning to question, we as a species and as individuals will return to a healthy state and become more like the Newtons, the Archimedes, the Descarates, and the Buddhas of this world.