Archive for May, 2011

This one is gonna piss off Homeland Security…

May 31, 2011

Pro religion equates to anti spirituality in the post-modern man’s job fair of existence. Not necessarily because of unqualified or dispassionate pontiffs, nor due to a lack of diligence in analyzing ancient writings that provide the “validity of truth” for most of the world’s membership hungry religious organizations; the fallout is a result of the inkling over of “work world” mentalities into our  into our private “worship world.” We have high priest’d the life plans provided to us in an embossed company folder by the bi-weekly hair cut HR gentlemen with crisply pressed socks and we have granted permission to the SOPs and supervisor memos to bastardize every part of our existence.

Initialed, signed, and dated. Good documentation practices.

Why should a business plan equate to a life plan? And how did corporate sponsorship sneak its way up the communion aisle?

The enemy is not the man, but the corporate culture, created from throngs of distrusting, money starved, can’t piss if anyone is looking men who conglomerated and called their sex stench synergy and the solution, all the while double checking each other’s pay hikes and promotions and secretly loathing every success of the guy, or god forbid girl, in the cubicle next door. Corporations represent the death of the human individual and the rise of an invisible and evil one, one with more rights and more money than you and me and a whole hell of a lot more key information regarding what is really going on in this, the year of the depends undergarment 2011.

Sure CEO’s and their company retreats provide forums for collaboration and innovation, but at what cost? How many kinds of detergent and underwear and cell phones do we really need? Imagine what kind of real collaboration could be initiated if bottom lines didn’t exist and company logos didn’t play into high school social hierarchy models. Don’t try to win me over with “the good outweighs the evil” C.S. Lewis lemming response; the problem lies at a much simpler level and a more relevant one. It is the bane of mankind, in these times, of human beings as individuals, because we simply are losing the ability to connect on socio-emotional levels. We are linked into socio-digital communication, and it is destroying our souls.

And it is exactly what THEY want.

“Jimmy had good marks, but I really wish he could pick it up in CCD. You never know what could end up on his college transcript.” What the fuck does that even mean? How can they give a kid an F in religion class?  How can you even teach religion before spirituality? Religion is supposed to be a vehicle for human catharsis, for making sense of the various psychic holes that leaden our boots. Why aren’t the problems presented before the answers? Why do we lie to our kids and promise them a happy ending, Anglo-Christian dream rooted in discipline and belief that it will all work out in the end if we leave it to God and just keep typing away? Why can’t mom and dad tell Jimmy they despise this nonsense just as much as he does?

Because THEY don’t want you to focus on the problems. THEY want you to buy and try and then rebuy. Chase the next thing that will settle the ego warm front driven storms that ravage our contemporary noosphere. Suck down your breath as the card swipes, and gear up for another rat race.

Now serving the body and blood with your #4. Super Sized.

(THEY, by the way= probably you. If you’re a white college grad, or rich, or both, it’s probably you. If you trade in your leased car every year for the latest model, it’s probably you. If you want a nice wife and a house in the suburbs and a burgeoning business, it’s probably you. Even if you haven’t achieved these things yet, the fact you aim for them is creating more problems for the rest of us.)

Consumer culture is criminal, and at the end of all their transactions and facsimiles MONEY is all THEY promote. That is all THEY want. MONEY. MORE MONEY. MORE AND MORE AND MORE MONEY, so they can screw women hotter and tighter than their wives and burn up more gas in bigger cars and build multi-winged estates and train Derby bound Phillies on fresh dirt tracks. The idea of a human being accruing “meaningful” physical items over his/her lifetime is insanity. Western values and culture are off the deep end. We arrive naked and will leave naked, yet we are an incredible miracle in the face of nuclear forces Pixar couldn’t recreate with a bucketful of Owsley Stanley’s finest diethyl methyl’s. Our only transcendence occurs in our mental worlds, which at the present moment are under constant attack from an arsenal of zeitgeists and stimuli that make us crave Sprite with our fries.

The strangest claim I have heard social scientists make is that we live in a social era. The most connected peoples’ in history? What are we connecting ourselves with? Celebrity relationship histories, iPhone updates, Alaskan cruises, what AOL/Time Warner last split at, how big our erect phalluses are? Look at the fabric of your relationships.

Pretty shoddy.

What get’s you through the work day? I am scared to death by the buzzing and hurried young people around me who laugh when I talk about not wanting to finish out my student loans and roll off into the woods to hack stumps with Justin Vernon. Do they really think continuing in this fictitious power pole contest is going to pay off, that Einstein’s universal constant is going to even all this out at the end of the day?

It certainly will keep them distracted.

Christianity is a tool for the wealthy in America, plain and simple. It is the golden, all recompensing eraser. It ensures that the sign of the cross outweighs a federally ordered audit (albeit of a Christian corporation). It prioritizes “family values” far more than inalienable freedoms. It keeps kids going to schools and taking out loans and keenly observing Pops haggle with the car salesman over APR points. It commands that we ignore injustice now in hopes of eternal justice tomorrow. It praises those who max out on their commissions and gives them a pass if they happen to smack their four year old daughters after an all niter of Cuervo.

The church disguises itself as a unifier, when in fact it is no worse off than the boil covered Nazi pig separating the survivors from their gas chambered brothers. They have been publishing books and an infinite string of second editions (much to the delight of university bookstores) regarding your one way ticket to St. Peter’s doorstep for years. If you’re not white, clean cut, taxpaying, church married and corporate ladder climbing, you don’t get into their club. They disguise all this bullshit as hard work and the human spirit. It’s fucking disgusting how a person silently wades into the shallow, piss warm pools of cog-dom.

Sitting at a desk for six years letting your soul slowly dampen your chair is neither honorable nor worthy of consecration.

It is a joke to think that any Christian American in political or financial power could in any way accurately represent the invisible saint of their super ego’s. A total, fucking, joke. These people are nothing like Jesus. They want you to follow their version of him, the one that worked for them (and thus should work for everyone else, duh). They are self righteous assessors of humanity, pensively scrunching to themselves “f I could see the light, then surely they can! Let me see here, yes, yes I’ll write a book about it and form a reformist church pillared by annual dues and DVD sales from the gift shop.”

Beware of their opportunistic nature…

The end of days? Newsflash Walter Cronkite, the apocalypse is here. Happening. Now. Mankind is inhaling resources, the planet earth is badly scarred, and the Christian rich are resembling their Middle Aged crusade wielding kin, except with more influence and nuclear warheads and an impetuous desire to greet their 2012 savior in the true Holy Land. If you’re waiting for things to get worse, there isn’t much further to go. Wake up and smell the bad vibes.

We could become God. We are our own creators. We should become God. But we need to kill him first. We need to destroy the system whose justification stems from thousand year old doctrines and constant, unmovable fear of what the Jones’ are storing up in the rafters of their garage. Religion has always played the role of a mass collector and an organizer and a unifier and was important early in our collective history when no other forces would bring peoples of different races and tribes together. Now we are all born painfully aware of our neighbors, or at least of their status updates. But what about their eccentricities and shortcomings and strangeness and weakness, all variants of our own quirks that represent the real binding forces human beings can relate to? We don’t need broadband connections and ubiquitous obedience and a further stratification of how we socialize, we need honesty and hope and a desire to create a planet that foster’s a man’s mind to identify the incredible coherence and miracle that is life on Earth. And it will not be done through status updates.

Capitalism and religion cannot function properly hand in hand, as each separately was intended to. Once their ideologies are married, the madness ensues.

At some point the willing, and the earnest, are going to be forced to accept the necessity for wildfire. It will not be easy, because foundationally we must all come from a place of love with a motivation to transcend our own minds and that of the collective mind.

But what has to be done has to be done.

My torch burns brightly. Come find me in the dead of night.


May showers bring serious depressive tendencies and suicidal blueberry afterthoughts

May 27, 2011

The truth will set you free

Money is love and love is sex and money aint free

neither is time, drank a fifth during the corporate lunch break, the airline’s sales operator calculating my return trip fare into my ear because I need a return trip whenever I see her

Alone in a Parking lot

The fare hike killed me; I botched the original dates, stoned probably scrolling around naked cross-eye strafing online, bargaining for a glass of mint tea


Made me think that money is just sex which is just fuck which is just ego

so Money is ego and death and airline operators, fucking

Stuttering in half speak about a return trip rescheduling that is gonna cost me

pretty pennies


A news flash. The headline is that I don’t love her anymore,

or maybe I loathe money too much,

But money is fucking and I know I enjoy that, so I probably don’t love her

and I just want to fuck.

and that’s never free. So why am I so pissed?

Absurdism, or some shit

May 20, 2011

“You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.”- Albert Camus

Our conscious collective, or collective unconscious (depending on how much Jung you are willing to concede to), has been polluted by itself, by ourselves, by the culture and society we have created and continue to strive towards. Omega is getting more distant, more fractured. It is obvious Western man’s system of perceived success and obligatory happiness and career and churchgoing and the drive to push our kids past ourselves is not functional; neuroses and terror and fear are abounding. Very few people are truly happy, if at all even satisfied. Most lock three or four sets of doors between themselves and their lawns manicured by men they’ve never spoken to.

Where has our happiness vanished to? It has fled and scurried and burrowed into cinderblock cracks within the space of our minds that is constantly demolished and reconstructed by thoughts on what life is, what it means, and why we are in it. The search for a grand equation, a meta-equalizer, is one end of a potentially destructive spectrum, for at the same time we cannot accept ignorance at the immediate levels of our human being. The bliss of ignorance is only a tribal mask for the permanent death, the REMless coma Satan spins us in. We must find our center and clear the sweat from our bow’s that we spill over concerning grand processes while staying vigilant to avoid complete obliviousness towards the most fundamental of our interactions.

It is often the case when we examine the mess of things around us and how to fix them at meta levels, the more we bring ourselves away from the immediate challenge of reconciling our actions with the undeniable fact that death will render all of us null and void.  Camus could be accused of being hedonistic, to be sure, but it his approach is practical. And healthy. It tells the depressed man to stop wallowing in his depression, trying to analyze it and surrender it to microscopy, each realm of his being another slide. Stop, and be. Embrace the transience, explore and breathe in each moment. It tells the teleological-ly obsessive compulsive poet to take a day off. To give up the search and allow the illusion to show itself, and to enjoy the picture.

Questioning everything will only lead to more questions; acceptance will lead to peace. Acceptance, however, is not passive resistance; it is identifying the borders of one’s influence and then militarizing up to each one of them. It is working within and through oneself in accordance with how the universe would have us do so. We have all been equipped with the right instruments to tell if we are doing a good job at this, and they reside for the most part in our guts.

Absurdism is not finding pleasure amongst the concertos of meaningless rabble, argument for its own sake. It is not chastising those who seek the hangman behind life’s noose. It is finding the humor in a shirt stain; figuring out that “god” usually works in three’s. It is appreciating that we can have hope within us, if not now then in the near future, and acknowledging it at its most basic level of life giving essentiality. It is beautiful to exist; sum ergo speciosus. The immediacy of our own lives needs to be the concrete that mold us together. The dawn is drawing and we must smile as the cave is illuminated.

The Absurdism Camus explains to us is that which I speak of now to you: attempting to make sense of any of it. He wants us to enjoy, taking things in stride and being practical, and to live fully within ourselves. None of us are meant to be creator’s of anything. We are transmitters at best. But it does not render the whole dog and pony show unimportant and unworthy of emotional connection, because it is absurd not to think that the billions of cells working in unison and conjunction to keep us slobbering down Happy Meals are doing so by chance. It is absurd to think that the nightly fuckings of your parents propelled you outwards into this incident by accident. And their parent’s theirs. Assuming the pyramids are a natural byproduct of the universe’s mechanisms. Dismissing the Friday drive to work, the one where an exploding blood red Cardinal flew in front of your windshield for the third day in a row, the same day your grandmother passes to the other side, that is absurd.

April Showers bring May flash floods

May 7, 2011

I think its still good to carry a little teenage angst with you into the rest of your life journey. Your brain is the most plastic in your teenage years and is prone to creativity and fresh ways of wiring itself. I think these are good things, because concrete sets and then it cracks. Nirvana should be gradual; there is still much to do.


I’m sick of party politics, of parties for politicians dripping with free booze and stinking of burnt earth.

Big whigs in broad suits one upping each other in displays of polishing cutlery and lying to their wives.

They squawk at us, run to school dig loans binge drink graduate, then the postman brings their bill while their steel wires rip off value sized portions of our stubby pay checks, all in the name of democracy. All for our voice.

And we’re supposed to vote, supposed to care what these assholes do, supposed to give up even more of our time that we’re already forced to waste so we can keep the pie in the oven?

You’re kidding yourself.

We aren’t like you.

We charge souls, not electronics.

Capital doesn’t translate into smiles.

Your voice is not ours.

We decide the bottom line at the end of the night when the amp is still scratching and you can taste your neighbor’s beer sweat on your upper lip.

Career public servants survive on untaxed underthetable deals, I get it. Necessary evils et al ad finitum. But when it’s at our expense?

That’s personal.

When you want me stuck and fucked and depressed, popping dopamine analogs and buying condoms to use on women afraid of turkey sandwiches made without surgical gloves so I can finally get some rest in front of the television…

That’s an attack.

On my freedom, on my parties, on my tomorrow, on my comrades who haven’t leased ecofriendlycars or highceilingedcondos, circled together in some basement spinning vinyl and burning earth, waiting out the depth charges from above the table, wondering why the fuck our parents let things get the way they did?

Wondering why the fuck our generation keeps letting the same nonsense and jetsam and flotsam pass unnoticed, screenstuck and stupid and caught in the tidepool?

Wondering why the fuck everyone is social networking without saying a word?

Wondering why the fuck you’d want to go back to a for profit education market so you can for profit another man for your services?

Wondering why the fuck you’re twenty two and married and haven’t seen a goddamn thing other than the prom queen’s slit and the bathroom wall at whatever pub you call home?

Wondering why the fuck a piece of cadmium and selenium and alloy and sparkle and sound can reflect your personality?

Wondering why the fuck people listen to other people just because they’re ON AIR?

I’m losing air. Losing hope losing space losing momentum losing focus. I’m losing and wondering.

But still I move my feet.

Because soon we’ll all be old and even more fucked, having switched from Zoloft to Viagara on the cruise ship of our golden years, and we’ll forget about this piss stinging fire ant scab on our necks and arms and heart RIGHT NOW that makes us clench up when we forget about how we’re really wired to interact in this world.

To open a door for an old widow and look her in the eyes and smile and say have a nice day and mean it.

To wait for the girl to get into her house before you pull away, humming unknowingly.

To ask the kids smoking a joint in the park for a hit.

To sit alone under a bus stop overhang in a thick summer thunderstorm smoking a cigarette and smiling about that joke you told years ago.

To play football with our brothers on Sundays and drink beer with them and their wives and enjoy the conviviality of a moment in time further than we could have ever imagined reaching.

To breath it in and hold it and put the incoherence aside for a moment and feel the center of our soul sticking to everyone else’s in permanent omega.

So I put the pills back and vow to you and to me to remember the pain and rage and hate and I know to stay patient, stay huddled past the midnight because their fires are out there somewhere.

And we will snuff them out.


My mind’s loaded, six chambers

double barrelled, a broken

Christmas toy, some

flashed up streetwalker,

just happenin’ by. My mind’s

stuck to itself, like the insides

of some busted Metra Card dispenser,

at 2AM, just fucked up. Don’t

look anywhere

for anymore order. My

mind don’t do that. Because it’s a twisted

sort of fucker, gnarly skinscab, poison spirit

barb. An unamenable

criminal. Parole denied.

I’ll be here