Saturday, February 25, 2017

The Holy Man

The holy man full of mendacity mesmerized the gathering crowd. They all came to hear, but mostly the poor, the forgotten, the oppressed. Out of a milieu of desolation came souls barely alive with false hope. If nothing else, at least this life could offer empty words to believe in. Spiritual words of esoteric meaning divinely inspired.  The crowd stood patiently as do all people with nothing in their hearts, nothing to hope for, nothing to dream.  The walking dead arrived with blank stares and a collective hollowness to hear the spirit of God speak to them. The holy man spoke of all things holy and wonderful and everlasting; and then suddenly dropped dead. The people turned and slowly dwindled away into the vastness of life. Later at a well as he drew water for his dry mouth, a man whispered; “I am still young, maybe the next one.”   He then paused as the bright sun above heated the afternoon with whiteness and clarity. “Another one will come,” he thought .And went on his way. 

Friday, February 24, 2017

Crime Don't Pay

Time to build more prisons. Many more. The lesser beings on earth just don’t get it. Incarceration in brutal prisons is the only answer. Criminals should have no rights. None. They should be fed dog food and given water. And worked to death twelve hours a day. Can’t work? You don’t eat. Even dog food. Starve to death motherf**kers.  The message? Crime don’t pay. Period. 

The Moment

Not The Government

They meet monthly. Sit around a nice big room and talk. Very informal. There is no leader. The discussion is always the same. Contingencies. And preparation. All survival is on a local level. Food water and firepower. And night vision equipment. For hunting. How to maintain order locally after an event.  Katrina proved local law enforcement are undependable at best. Criminal at worst.  They could be used as backup. At least for resources. A few on the list would have to be detained. Little men with guns. Never good in a crisis. The jail would be useful once secured. We need man power. Without it, it’s a defensive posture. I agree. We all know it’s the one issue, the most important one we face. Without numbers everything else is SOP. Yes. But expanding the membership really isn’t viable. It’s how we present ourselves to the pubic after the event that will amass support. It’s a logical sequence. Actually a classic technical maneuver, I might add. Done all the time. (pause) Did you ever follow through with the leaflet prototype?  Without electricity the community will need to know we are organized and ready to lead. I thought that idea was very good. Because without the electronic media including the internet people will be peeking out their front doors by the thousands. Possession is nine tenths of the law. Once they have a pamphlet in hand, they’ll know we are in charge of restoring normalcy. Not the government.  

Light of a Courtroom

Police jargon. He’s wrapped tight. Ready to go off. All the signs are there. Hasn’t committed a crime yet, but. He’ll be in the news. A lone wolf. Believes in his destiny. He came into the world to make a difference, so he thinks. A true whack-a-doo. All that rhetoric about aberrant social subjugation. An obsessed lunatic. Should drop his ass in Aleppo.  Lol. People. People are just stupid. Morons. All of them. We need a war. A big war. Clean house. Mandatory draft. All the misfits go first. Right to the front line. Drug addicts, drunks, perverts. Lol. Liberals. Yea. Load up the buses and take em all to the airport. LSD in the Kool-aid. Lots of pretzels. No parachutes. Just like the old days.  Jump. Like that Pointer Sisters song. Jump in. Into hell. Lol. (pause) As soon as this guy hints at a violent act he’s going down.  Street justice delivered blitzkrieg style. Give him a memory. Yea. Something learned. He’ll screw up. They all do. Push freedom of speech to the limit. Always stretching the borders of the Constitution. Civil brinkmanship. They expect the backlash.  He’ll get it, trust me. Lol. Lots of alligators here. Hungry big ones. People go missing all the time. Yea they do. Even writers. Anti-government provocateurs. Always stirring up trouble. That’s okay. The swamps are full of bones. Good for Cypress trees. It’s just a matter of time. We’re watching. He’ll never see the light of a court room.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Might Makes Right

He balked at being called a fatalist. He did. It all depends on who the puppet masters are, he thought. He knew where the bomb grade material was stored. He knew how much had been pilfered. He knew the why and what of the business. Big money. A lot of buyers. Lined up like voters for the death penalty. An all inclusive group betting on personal survival. He knew it was coming soon. The studies clearly predicted the domino effect would end in a world without edible food or drinkable water. It would take a hundred years to get the electrical grid up. Earth would become hell. But none the less almost a billion people would survive. Living underground for the most part.  Most not in well stocked bunkers, but in caves and quarries and mines throughout the world.  Tens of millions waiting in vain.  The slow genocide of lesser beings already in their graves.  But the logarithms didn’t include the thousands of unused nuclear missiles silently waiting to be found. This bothered him. And someone will indeed find them. It doesn’t matter anyway, he thought. A new earth, a new people, a jump in the evolutionary process.  The Great Cleansing. Yes.  Finally a world governed by a superior race. Might makes right.  


Have all the stories really been written? Not sure. They say no two snowflakes are alike. I believe no two lives are alike. Or souls. It’s early. Sipping on fresh coffee. Smells great. The puppy is brushing her teeth. Green doggie biscuits. She loves them. An eighty pound pit-bull named Merry. A Blue. The delicate flow of a piano rings in the background. Morning serenity. There is something about music that is spiritual. Music is movement; like life. Every home should have music. It is life nurturing. A home without music is a tomb.