Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Atheistic Optimism

So, Let's assume for arguement that there is no God.

Many theists would feel sorry for us because that in their eyes precludes a vision of the hereafter, and that may be sad. Not neccessarily true. But in their eyes, sad.

But take heart!

Let us assume that through no divine intervention, masses of gasses and masses of atoms swirled and whirled through a black void and became the universe we know today. Science tells us eventually these things will all blow up and scatter again becoming masses and masses of atoms and gases once more. And again they will coalesce. And again they will blow up.

Now on an infinite timeline this will take forever, but eventually it will all be as it was once more and we will find ourselves in the same exact positions we are in today. And with large gaps in between this will happen indefinitely.

So, death is not an end, but a waiting period because we were here before, we will be here once more.

Bad de ja vu?

Sunday, November 13, 2005


Let's talk about religion for a moment shall we. Religion is one of the subjects they warn friends not to discuss. That is probably because they may end up killing each other during the discussion.

Has there ever been a more legitimized excuse for wholesale slaughter than religion?

"My God is better than your God! Na na na na na na"

What is this nonsense and what makes us mush minded humans buy into it so easily? Is it mob mentality? Is it wanting to belong? Is it realizing that none of us is any better than the other and we want to bring up our feelings of self worth by saying our God is better?

From the beginning of time man has done extremely cruel and mean things to each other in the name of God and religion. When will it stop?

Let us take a moment to try and conceive of how many humans have perished in the name of God. Then let us assess if it was worth it.

Human sacrifice takes place before recorded history is documented. In many cases a warring tribe eradicates another and kills their survivors in thanks to their God granting them victory. Human blood is spilt to ensure a hearty crop. The west coast tribes of South America draw pictures showing their flayed and conquered displayed to appease the Gods. Sacrifices are tossed into the volcanoes of the South Sea islands. Virgins are sacrificed in Europe to see what the Gods have in store for them. In Africa, laughing sickness comes from the ritual consumption of too many human brains. In South America heads are shrunk. Aztecs rip out hearts to assure corn growth. These are multitudes which we cannot begin to assess.

And we move into more modern times, where the Romans in their spectacles feed Christians to the lions, where the Crusades consume thousands because the Mohammedan Infidels have over taken the Holy Land and that puts a bug up the Christians asses. And let us not forget the saints, most of whom were martyred for their cause. And that takes us to missionaries that slaughtered the indigenous tribes who just didn't get the the concept that "OUR GOD IS BETTER THAN YOUR GOD.......Na na na na na na." And this is now counting the dead humans into the millions.

So keeping on the reigious persecution theme let us whiz over to the INQUISITION. Yes, no one expects the Inquisition. Ha ha. Where Catholics killed Jews because.......Well, just because. I guess it was fashionable. And on to Emerald Isle, where Irish Catholics and Irish Protestants kill each other off because......well, again, just because. And now we go to Germany, land of beer and ovens, where 6 million more are added to our totals because they were Jewish, and back to America where gathering to see a witch burn is a community calendar event.

And moving into more present day, the Holy Jihad pits Muslims against Christians once more in the middle east, where they seem to have grown a little weary of slaughtering Isrealites and realized that the Christians have been neglected since the Crusades, it must be their turn again, so lets take things to America where there are so many Red States we're bound to be able to stir them into retaliation, to prove once again that "OUR GOD IS BETTER THAN YOUR GOD........NA Na na na na na!" And the World Trade Centers and a few planes up the religious casualty totals once more.

When is this madness going to stop? When will we tell God (if he does in fact exist) enough is enough, we will not shed blood for you in this argument any longer. If you created us, then we have more intrinsic value than to be wasted in a GUESS WHO BLED FOR ME contest between factions worshipping what for all intents and purposes may be the same God under different names.

Praise GOD and Pass the ammunition!

Grow up people!

Monday, November 07, 2005


I was cold
and it was dark
on the highway.
My heart was on the double yellow line.
And you over ran it.
It was hit and run.
I never saw it coming.
Now I am bleeding in the sun.
And I didn't even plan it.
I'm roadkill.
I'm roadkill.
Zooming down the highway,
just like you always do.
Didn't put the brakes on,
just booked right on through.
95 miles an hour,
and my head is still spinning.
I can't tell if I am losing,
But I don't think I am winning.
I'm roadkill.
I'm roadkill.
Bowled over and flat,
you just left me like that.
I can't make it to the shoulder.
I'm roadkill.
I'm roadkill.
No one stops to pick up the pieces.
No one glances twice.
You don't know about your actions,
don't own up to your life.
Probably didn't feel the bump.
Couldn't hear the splat.
Now I'm bowled over,
lying here all flat,
and I can't make it to the shoulder.
I'm roadkill.
I'm roadkill.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

about face

Late at night. Most people would be sleeping by now, but not him. He's waiting for something. He's waiting for someone. A non-specific time of arrival keeps him on the edge of his seat.

What if they don't show? What if he is boring? What if he looks like shit? Is everything perfect?

The fireplace is burning. There is a loud crack of wood. Flames dance across the walls. There's a primal glow to the whole room. It is soothing. Open fires bring out primal instincts.

He sits down and hems two pairs of pants while he waits. He hates to sew. He does it well though. He does anything well if it is a one time occurence.

Finished he puts them on, walks out of the room, stands in front of a mirror. Not too bad looking.

He turns on the tube. Depressing fiction from another's mind fuels his own personal fire of insecurity. He sits in the chair and smokes.

It's still later. The doorbell rings. He jumps to attention and answers the door.

Eyes that are bluer than blue greet him. And a smile. The eyes are tired but striking still. 5'11" of gangling youth are in the hall. Perfect face, perfect teeth, perfect eyes are in his doorway. "Enter and sign in please." he says.

Seconds pass and Face enters, He's stretched out on the couch even quicker.

"The fire is nice."
"Are you hungry?"

Stretched on the couch, basking the fire glow, he receives a Pepsi (never Coke) and some chips, always sour cream cheddar.

"Snack on this. I'll make something."

Seering beef smells fill the apartment. Fragrant spices cause salivation.

Slowly he eats his steak. Is our hero pushing it down or really enjoying it? You can tell he is tired. He eats only two thirds. This is not unususal.

He stretches out on the the couch again, Right knee of ripped jeans against the upright cushions, he burrows the back of his head into a pillow.

"Is the TV too loud?"

Stillness abounds. Serenity is fallen. He goes back to his chair and smokes, watches the show.

"If I nod off, wake me at quarter to."

Regular breathing sounds signal sleep. He smokes and watches, He feels comfortable. It is very satisfying. It is very transient,

"It's quarter to."

Face rises and within seconds he is just a warm spot left on the couch and an empty spot in a heart.


Of Dogfood and Knuckle Dragging and Koolaid with a Hardon

I'm Not Really Bitter
I'm not really bitter
because the world gave me a hickey
on the ass.
It only shows when I want it to.
And the man I have been oggling all night
leaves with dogfood.
Dogfood that will soon be crawling
into his shorts
And resting that BARFORAMA
face against that muscled inner thigh.
And my eyeliner's running.
But that's okay.
Cause one of my girlfriends has more.
But all of my girlfriends are guys.
And this is the men's room where I sit crying.
And my last roach just fell into the urinal,
where it sleeps with the pubic hairs.
Jello Is Koolaid With A Hardon
He cracks his knuckles.
And she cracks her gum.
They are a happy couple.
As happy as they come.
There's a certain charm
in a man who drags his knuckles
when he walks.
There's a certain charm to a girl
who shits when she talks.
The tropic of illusion.
The land of the lounge lizards.
Jello is Koolaid with a hardon.

poetry for reflection on a rusty razorblade

Moths like snowflakes
fill the air
infinite numbers
like daydreams are there.
Dance as they will
and flutter around,
land on the water to
flutter and drown.

One can hope and dream forever
and the dreams will fade away.
And the hopes become naught.
Who and Why, are but the questions of a fool.
And it all boils down to me and to you.
And its just fingernails on a chalkboard.
It makes no sense.

There are days, (but mostly hours)
when forgetting makes it all rosy again.
But there's unsatisfied hunger clawing
at the back of your throat.
Thinking about it brings the
painful, aching bite of tears.
And there's only one answer left to explore.
And that is the infinite.

Beyond life.
But, what if that's worse?
So you sit back and wait.
And each day dawns bright with promise.
And each promise is made to be broken
by nightfall.

New things can make you forget.
But they get old very quickly.
And even silver tarnishes over time.
And things cannot buy happiness.
Only people can bring you happiness.
And sometimes they don't want to.

Sometimes tomorrow never comes.
And sometimes it is better that way.
There is no time like the present.
Never gonna let love get in the way again.
If I could only get this one to end.
Well, maybe tomorrow.
Home Is Where The Hearth Is

The fields are barren waiting to be turned.
The trees are bare of leaves.
The days are shorter.
The streams flow ice.
Crisp and clean is the air.
And inside the hearth doesn't burn.
There is no homey cheer.
Deep inside, the ice crystals
have turned you to your fears.

My Life's A Book Of Matches

My life's a book of matches,
Burning one or two at a time,
Everything I've done til now
Had no scheme or rhyme.
Once in a great while,
I had a reason to live.
And I'd burn a few more matches,
A brighter light I'd give.
Now I've reached a turning point,
with half my matches gone,
And your smile was the spark,
that turned the other half on.
With ten out, burned to a crisp,
and the last ten, full a flame,
In the darkness that comes next,
I doubt I'll find a way.
With a the time before the spark,
there were ten others left to light.
But when you blow these out,
There'll be darkness through the night.

The end?

Friday, November 04, 2005

A feast of depression, a banquet of despair

Sleeping sadness settles like groundfog into the forest of my soul.

Sometimes when I am alone
and only my heart listens,
I speak to my regrets,
nurturing and nurishing each and every one,
Lest they fail to thrive
and drive
and prosper;
diminish and disappear,
into the wasteland they have made for me,
barren and childless.
No, not alone!
I have my despair and self pity
to see me through
into a bleakness dawning brightly
upon a horizon of thorns,
each pruned and trained!
Cultivated, they serve me well
within this lavish country garden
of my own personal Hell.

To be continued.........