Monday, May 30, 2016

Vol. 197: What if I told You......

            An original "something in the works........"


            An elderly gentleman with shiny silver hair, dressed in a crisp dark suit sat on the park bench watching pigeons scrounge for crumbs from middle class employees on their lunch break. A well polished mahogany cane rested at his left side and a large red rose was pinned against his right breast as he sat with his well manicured hands in a pose of silent prayer. His lips moved but uttered no sound as he watched strangers pass by, catching the bright red rose out of the corner of their eyes; he smiled. The clouds appeared to be threatening rain. The city hall’s clock tower chimed noon. The elderly gentleman checked his gold watch that was attached to his left breast pocket and motioned his left hand in a wave. The nearby pigeons acquiesced and flew away toward the large elm trees that surrounded the small stone circle of the park.
            A younger man approached wearing a new cream colored suit, tailored to accentuate his youth and appreciation for physical fitness. His bright green eyes displayed eagerness as he saw the older man sitting on the park bench.
            “Stephen, I am glad you came to join me. I have been watching your progress at the firm over these past couple months and I’m impressed with what I have seen,” the gentleman said with a slight British accent.
            “Mr. Hermes, please, you are too kind,” the young man blushed.
            “Here, have a seat next to me. I was hoping we could have a chat this afternoon. There is no need to worry. I’ve spoken to the other partners and they are aware and most comfortable with giving you some time away from the desk,” he patted the empty space on the bench next to him, noticing the hesitation in the young man’s gesture.
            “Really, after all that the markets have been through the past couple of days?”
            “The markets will be there when you get back. Please, have a seat.”
            Stephen sat down next to the old man and out of the corner of his eye noticed a man wearing what looked to be a standard government issued dark suit on the park bench adjacent, staring at them. Stephen brushed it away from his mind and thought nothing more of it. He took a long sip from his overpriced cup of coffee and sat down.
            “Stephen, how long have you been with the firm? Six months, right?”
            “Yes, it will be six months in July. Why do you ask?”
            “Do you plan on staying with us and making a name for yourself at the firm, or are you like so many of these millenials today? Are you going to jump ship the first chance you get at making more money?”
            Stephen hadn’t been expecting this to be the conversation when he received the email earlier that morning. The subject line was something about a “bright future.”
            “Well, yes Mr. Hermes, I do plan on staying with the firm as long as possible. That’s of course if my work is up to their standards.”
            “Stephen, my dear boy, I don’t think that will be an issue. But truly, I didn’t want to talk to you about the firm’s position in the market or your ‘career’ with us. What I’m interested in to know is …how well can you keep a secret?”
            “Well, I guess.”
            “Well, I was hoping for something better than just ‘well’ my dear boy.”
            “I mean, I was in the brotherhood at college. But I guess you and the other partners already know that. So, yes, absolutely I can keep a secret.”
            “Good, that’s very good Stephen,” Mr. Hermes replied as he patted the bright red rose pinned to his right breast. “The reason being Stephen, is that there is something I need to tell you; something of the utmost importance. Something that will undoubtedly take up a great deal of your time away from the firm’s ‘official’ business, but what will help us maintain our position in the global markets for years to come.”
            “I don’t follow you sir. Pardon my hesitation but, if it’s not ‘official’ business, how can it be sanctioned by the firm and not only that, how can it benefit the firm’s position in the market?”
            “My dear boy, we are not talking about anything illegal in any shape or form. What I am talking about is something of such importance that the fate of the world as we know it, depends upon its safe keeping. What if I told you that there is a book that exists. A book so old, so rare and so powerful that he or she that has it and knows of it’s true purpose, well, he or she can, it’s fair to say, make dreams come true, or nightmares, depending on the color of the work.”
            “Mr. Hermes, sir, excuse me, but are you sure you’re feeling well?”
            “Please Stephen, what I’m trying to tell you is important. I need to tell you this and I need to know that I can trust you. Do you see that man over there, the one with the cheap suit and note pad?”
            “Yes, why?”
            “He’s been watching me for quite some time.”
            “Today? I noticed him when I got here, why?”
            “Not just today Stephen, for years.”
            “Years?”
            “Years. He is part of a secret group of men and women whose only agenda is to take possession of the book. They think I have it and they have been watching me for years, trying to ascertain its location.”
            “Mr. Hermes, I think you need to see a doctor. I honestly don’t think you’re thinking clearly.”
            “Why would I lie? I’m an old man in search of someone that I can pass this information on to. Someone that I can trust with my life. With all of our lives. Stephen, I know of the book’s location and I need for you to get it for me. Can you do that for me? Will you do that for me?”
            “Mr. Hermes, please, I think you need to lie down for a spell.”
            “Spell, precisely. Watch this. I’ll buy us a little more privacy and for your sake, maybe a little trust.” Mr. Hermes grabbed his cane, motioned it back and forth and muttered something in a low voice. The man in the cheap suit fell over on his side in an instant and began immediately snoring. “Now, what were you saying?”



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Monday, March 7, 2016

Vol. 196: It's Your Party...........

Vol.196: It's Your Party......



               Spread the Outrage. Spread the Truth.

"My God, what have we done??"
Their scorched carcasses were scattered in every direction as if picked up by a large carnivore and tossed like shredded toys; instead of strands of fuzz, bloodied limbs and pieces of scalp hung from tree branches. The scene was shrouded by the moans of bystanders and the screams of grown men and women rising to towards the heavens. 
"What have we done!!!"
The smell of burnt plastic and feces invaded their nostrils. Pieces of dollar bills fluttered in the wind like confetti.  
"Please, please, please help us."
"Somebody do something!"
"Medic! Medic!"
The spinning sirens of emergency vehicles and police cars piled up in jagged lines surrounded by hurried fire trucks as television cameras remained rolling. 
The clock at the bottom of the screen read 9:33pm as the ticker scrolled from left to right. 
Young children with their mouths hanging open held the hands of strangers. Candy wrappers and empty gas station coffee cups like shrapnel littered the ground. 
It was there they stood at the edge of the crater as they peered down into its cavernous center. A group of adults who shuffled to the site pointed at the carved out earth, kicking clumps of dirt and grass out of the way of their shaky steps, doing their best to balance themselves amidst the small puddles of blood they saw everywhere. 
"This is where it happened. Right down there."
"Tell me, tell me what happened."
"Who saw it? Who saw what happened here?"
"We all saw it happen. Christ, it was live on television every single day. Hell, they said biggest audience ever."
"Please somebody tell me, I'm losing my patience over here." 
"Take a breath and relax." 
"It's hard for me to explain. You might be too young to understand."
"Please, I want to know. We need to know what happened?"
"My God. This is unbelievable."
"Alright, I will give it a try. That right there, that is where the remains of the Republican party lay," a grey haired man stated, as he wiped away the tears from the corner of his tired eyes. He was comforted by the hands of a disheveled woman who rubbed his shoulders. The two of them teetered on the breeze from the stench of the echoes of his gregarious boasts. His long stray locks of bleached blond hair were scattered to the wind, taunting in his achievement as clumps of it hung from empty tree limbs as if flags of his bombastic victory. 
A couple of southern professor looking types fell to their knees and threw their hands to the skies, wailing in pain. 
"He was a grenade and he destroyed everything we held dear."
"Why oh why didn't one of them jump on it? If only one of them would of sacrificed themselves for the greater good of the party, none of this would of happened. Why didn't they do anything?"
"Hubris. Ignorance. Pride? I'm not quite sure anymore honey."
"I don't think anyone took him seriously. He was supposed to be just a passing fad. But, you have to realize, the attention spans of the American public wouldn't have lasted as long as they did, under normal circumstances."
"The media, the media is to blame. The liberal media has been loving every second of it too, haven't they?"
"What will we do? Now who's going to stop the Whore of Babylon from ascending to the throne?"
"I don't know. I simply don't know."
"Well, maybe there is comfort in the good book? Maybe all of this is supposed to happen. Trust in the Lord, I guess?"
No one said another word, but simply bowed their heads and one by one, left the scene in disbelief. 





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Sunday, December 13, 2015

Vol.195: How Much I Feel



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Ladies and gentlemen, Theona Donther here with a venomous release of bile that can no longer be withheld. The scabs upon my once bloodied knees can be itched and bandaged no further. There is something that I must confess and that is, there is a malignant tumor upon American Politics that has been the result of a freakish 21st Century metamorphic wedding of Frankensteinian proportions between celebrity and avarice.

His disgusting hovel of windswept combed-over hair rose from the leftover remains of an economy's car crash of unbridled greed of the 1980's as it slammed into the technology of the 90's somehow giving birth to the test tube reality television curse of celebrity; where Kardashians are considered royalty and shame is something to be confessed and then forgotten during a television news-public relations conference, because the attention span of the masses lasts no longer than the latest 24 hour news cycle.

You can smell his fascist cologne as it leaves chem-trails in the polluted skies. Whether it be through his private jet coated in gold or a helicopter dragging the subtext banner of what truly is his campaign slogan, "Make the Plantation great again," the future remains to be seen but the ends will never justify his monstrous means.

He is the bloviated white head on the face of our all too proud gun carrying country of simple minded neophytes, where most of us spend our lives wandering in the darkness of fear and ignorance, stumbling as we search for crumbs of truth among the wasteland of defeated dreams of the middle class.

The first day of his campaign should have been the last as condemned an entire portion of society, "but mostly are good people," only to move on to the nearest and dearest of the Neo-Cons hawkish attitudes in their love affair with the military-industrial-complex; the altar is in place and the scapegoats are ready for their throats to be slit.

My only wish this Christmas is to let the stain of cowardice wash-over the American media that has slovenly given him pass because he creates a never-ending desire for coverage from the press.

There is no need to speak his name, it's on everything he's ever created.



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Thursday, November 19, 2015

Vol.194: Instant Karma

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Ladies and gentlemen, Thelonius Ronscpiacy back from the front lines of Paris with urgent commentary that needs to be divulged and comprehended by the masses. Now I don't have to tell you that we are living in perilous times. All you have to do is turn on the television set or lap top or glance at the Facebook posts to get a rise in bile at the back of your throat.


Ladies and gentlemen, you and I know it, we can feel it, taste it, touch it, see it and breathe it; we are at war. Whether you like it or not, we are living in World War III right now as I type these words. A sad truth of our current predicament is that it hasn't been labeled in the media, magazines or newspapers, but make no mistake about it, we are at war and it all began on that sunny Tuesday morning in September of 2001. Those were the bells that rung the opening salvos in the now all too real slow death march into the abyss, some of us walking hand in hand, others shouting at the top of their lungs as people wade single file to stand in line before the rising of the sun for the next technological epiphany promising salvation that can be purchased for only a couple hundred dollars.

Ladies and gentlemen, we became distracted from commercials and regurgitated superhero movies to witness as Osama Bin Laden reared his ugly head from a shadowy cave in Afghanistan and the race was on. The shots had been fired. And as a result of one too many pokes from a stick had awakened the angry and bitter dragon of a lost Vietnam war and the largest military force the world has ever seen was let loose upon the Middle East and sadly the only winners seem to be the oil and gas companies and the rest of the military industrial complex (your welcome Dick Cheney).
I wouldn't want this guy at the Thanksgiving table; although he does have a lot to be thankful for. 

Saddam Hussein was captured and killed, Iraq was turned into rubble and the snakes of ISIS were born from their viper pit of hell. Now the music of cable news twenty four hour talking heads and pundits cacophony beat the drums while the thousand year old battles of the Sunni vs. Shia continue their sideshow act of visible ignorance, all the while, smiling eyes in Israel expand their grip around the noose of feebly armed Palestinians. The oil slick of poverty and injustice spreads like an airborne virus in a tidal wave of apathy.




But nonetheless, the fight is on.


Ladies and gentlemen, whether you want to admit to it or not, the war is between two dying religions and their fading points of view; the western world's commercialized Christianity and the Middle East's 3rd world version of radical Islam on steroids. Two bedrocks that have fought against one another since the Crusades are clinging with their dirtied fingernails to the cliffs of the past, wishing for gloried days gone by. It may be the burning of a witch, owning slave or stoning a woman for driving a car, you can almost hear their whimpering cries of denial, the disgust at the ever growing truth that they are slowly dying on the vine of religious intolerance.

Ladies and gentlemen, whether you want to pick up a gun or build higher walls or perhaps keep a closer eye on your sketchy neighbor, it's entirely up to each and every one of you to choose how to act, as best as each and everyone of you see fit. Or you may be simply inconvenienced by the realization that things change, that people change and the world you now inhabit isn't the one you grew up in or have been told is the best one that there is to offer so don't go chasing rainbows. While sides are being taken and lines are being drawn across the ever changing sands of the political landscape, what is abundantly clear is that the choices are ours to make.




Ladies and gentlemen, there are no easy answers to any of this. There is no magical crystal ball to peer into the future and see how all of this turns out, and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe not knowing is all a better situation than knowing that Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton will be our next President? Either way, some proud people are going to be really, really, really upset. To tell you the truth, I am very much looking forward to those debates; Superbowl ratings will rain down from the eternal universe upon the television networks that have them like manna upon the ancient Israelites during their exodus from Egypt.  Or maybe it will turn out that a newly established Caliphate will occupy Jerusalem and spread like a virus across the globe and we will all be held under the domineering hands of Sharia law?  Frankly, I have had my popcorn ready for quite some time and I look forward to possibly watching the two opposing forces destroy themselves while a new world, a world free from ignorance and pollution grows in their stead; a world that will evolutionarily allow all of humanity to continue in the struggle to reach our full potential.



Until then, Happy Everything.



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Sunday, November 8, 2015

Vol. 193: Catharsis



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     Ladies and gentlemen, friends, relatives and neighbors, hear the bells of truth ringing in your ears as the Holiday season is fast approaching. Let the echoes of their past reverberations be felt on the distant horizon of possibilities and storytelling's often times ludicrous imagination. For I have awakened from a dream and have a truth to tell and it will no longer lay resting in silent ambivalence.

     It was first noticeable when I was a much younger child and the need to escape was at times, too much to bear, that it's hold would suddenly come upon me and cause me to threaten running away and instead go and sit on the curb at the corner of the yard on 105th Ave and Washington. It was there you could find me, tennis shoe sneakered feet on the gravel pavement, black nylon backpack resting at my side and tears streaming down my face. What or who it was that set me off, I do not remember, only the unmistakable urge to vanish from my surroundings.

     As I grew older and the changes around me were no longer just physical but spiritual and parental as well, the need to escape would take the shape of talking to myself or others who were able to hear me when I would be planted in right field during a youth baseball game. The chattering monkey unable to keep quiet always resting upon my shoulders, my eyes and ears absorbing the next pitch and possible need to take action in the game. When the games stopped the self medicating took over and for many years they held me in their purchased arms while I navigated the streams of consciousness in classroom after classroom waiting for the bells to ring.

     Looking back, it is noticeable to me now that I, like so many others, have a minor case of mental illness. As a result, I do not any longer back away from the undesired truth but bare witness to it sitting with me wherever I go. I have come to appreciate that idols and icons have all been touched since the beginning of time and it is nothing more than a blessing and a curse to endure until we reach the ether of humanity's eternal universe.

     Ernest Hemingway would have been appalled that a male aspiring writer such as myself would bare witness to these mental dry heaves of psychosis and wish to lay bare for the public to dissect, but such is life in the pharmaceutical 21st Century.  But please, friends, relatives, neighbors and future co-workers, rest assured that it isn't anything major, or for anyone to be truly worried about. There is no need to tip toe around the next time we meet; but I do know this, I am far from normal and that will be for the rest of my waking life, okay. It is a necessary struggle I will continue to have for the rest of my life, but I am content in knowing that in a world as crazy as this one has become, if I wasn't a little bit touched in the head, then something truly, truly would be wrong. And for the rest of those that have known me for so long, this all comes as very little surprise, I suppose.

    Happy Holidays!!!!



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Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Vol.192: We Want the Pope, Gotta have that Pope


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Tears of Joy or Tears of Shame or Both?

     The United States has been witness to some pomp and circumstance in the past, but nothing like we've seen in the previous week. It was history in the making. It was Fonzi jumping the shark. It was the introduction of PacMan to the Atari 2600 and released upon the sprawling suburbia of early 80's America. It was the all of that, wrapped into the release of Star Wars in May of 1977. It was of course, the visit of his holiness, Pope Francis of the Holy See. Word is, according to his deep web Twitter account that his new album should be dropping in the weeks to come, and for the record from someone close to his holiness he has already negotiated a contract with Richard Branson to get his own, Led Zeppelin sized personal jet; we must admit, the man is a rock star. For many of us that have bore witness and past recollections of Popes from the previous era, never before has there been the common sense of this one that has seemed to openly embrace the times and the ever changing world in which he is living, and for that, we can all say, Amen to that.
                                         

     The same old song and dance continues at the United Nations where industrialized countries puff their cigars and demand peace at costs only they can pay, but instead would rather place upon someone else; there they sit, the climate change deniers continuing on with the shrugging of their shoulders and their exhaled pffts of disgust at the thought that they have anything to do with the rising of temperatures, the melting of ice caps and the continual destruction of our tiny little marble in the eternity of our Universe. All of this with Hurricane Joaquin heading it's way up the coast. Ignore that and be reminded with the fact that with Mars having water, we can all look forward to moving back to where we quite possibly have come from in the first place. What is so remarkable, is the fact that many of these climate change deniers have no problem believing, placing their faith in the altogether scientifically unproven existence of an all encompassing benevolent ruler of our entire being of space and time. Maybe the two sides should agree to disagree but at the same time laugh at the irony of it all?

     All of this continues as migrants and refugees from a destabilized Middle East stream into Europe, across the Mediterranean and over mountains of capitalism's selfish excess and inhospitable countries in search of a new life, food and enough shelter. The fear of terrorism, the overpopulation and austerity measures imposed on these European nations has their citizens unable to take the next steps and let these people in without the humiliation and taunts targeted at their tired and struggling backs as they carry family members in their arms, only to be tripped by immoral camera women.  Now with the great global chess play of Putin in Syria, it is about to get even messier. Europe will have to face some serious consequences. Wasn't this once the Holy Roman Empire of Christianity?
                                                                               

     He may have come and died for our sins if you believe in that sort of thing and which since that time have piled up in size like the national debt; the least we can do is act like he would have wanted us to. To love our neighbor, not fear them. To feed the hungry, not starve them for lack of employment or money, the color of their skin or the language they speak, and finally instead forgive the debts of those we have imposed debts upon; for we have more than enough in the world, we just have to look at ourselves in the mirror for a long time in order to realize that we are each responsible for making the world a truly wonderful Kingdom of God. Until then, are we going to continue putting up walls?


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Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Vol.191: Citizens United: An American Definition of Oxymoron


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     There is a giant pig stretched out across the American landscape that encompasses all within, from sea to shining sea. The Supreme Court having given birth to its round taut pink fat ballooned body after having created it through its genetic corporate act of manipulated reproduction, it now lays languid in the dog days of summer as one by one her children of Moloch come to suck from her teats to feed their morally malnourished bodies. Never before have we seen so many, so early in the campaign season writhing in the mud. Yet they continue to grovel and fight among themselves for the best position while high above, their mutated dragon like offspring floats with the currents of the ever changing wind through his billion dollar comb-over, laughing and bullying along the way as he spews dissension and whatever will grab the headlines for that particular day. Even the anointed one has been seen finding her place within the grovel that are her current counterparts, sucking from each well fought for teat for the campaign sustaining fluids that are the lifeblood of their ever developing macabre like circus. Reports say that record numbers are being siphoned off each quarter; stay tuned ladies and gentlemen, because we still have a long way to go.





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