Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Stabbing people in the eye-for-an-eye

Jesus walked around selling books to folks, turning water to wine for a hot meal and a lap dance, and then there's that dirty bum who pretended to be blind, and when Jesus paid him a never-ending fish-and-loaf-of-bread-combo, the blind man explained to the world, "I can see." So, Jesus, while being one of the saviors of modern mankind, was also the greatest con in the world. Greater than Milli Vanilli, Pop rocks, richard Nixon, Coke-a-Cola, and Rosie O'Donnell all rolled into one. Well, maybe Rosie trumps Jesus in stature. She's so damn nasty. Anyhoo, here I am to ponder why man is such a bundled lump of ass-hair, when the idea comes to me. The world being so nasty and inflated (much like a larger version of Rosie O'Donnell), I think taking Jesus and Hammarabi and Gandhi and Thoreau's logic about giving and eye for an eye should be extended. For instance, instead of waiting to be kicked in the groin while I use the manner's I was raised with by holding open a door for a lady, I shall kick her in her groin, then gently roll her through the door I open. And at work, when someone calls bitching and moaning about what a terrible service my department offers them (that they use so freely) I should sayeth this, "Hey-HEY. Shut the fuck up. Yeah, you say another word, I will hunt you down using this crappy system's information about you and duct-tape you family to the kitchen pipes, then pour honey on they bodies and let three hungry monkeys into the house. then I'll set you up to watch, covered in mushed banana. Now will you let me do my job, or do I have to pay you a housecall?" Or, if an unruly midget co-worker drinks himself into a stuper the night before and mistakes letterman's for the voice of God (thus deeming himself, in his drunken state, the left-over genetics of Jesus) and name me Spunky- this Spunky co-worker would lash out at the unfair world, and I would tell him, "hey, chill out. Your life sucks. You can't do anything about it. Most people, they have a shot at change. You- you better just accept it and hope you find someone as unhappy as you to make each other miserable for the rest of your lives. then you will leave everyone else alone." Or, if on a date going badly, I'd say, "Listen, honnie- listen sweet-ass. I don't want any trouble, but I'm gonna throw this water on the front of your blouse because I'm going to pretend I'm mad. You'd have done it anyway. So I'll just role reverse, call you a dumb bitch (as I would have rightly been called an insensitive bastard) and storm away, pretending that I didn't even leave you stuck with the bill, as well as water all over yourself, as well as no chance for sex tonight. That will teach you, lady." Or I can just chew off my own arm like that guy that was too dumb to just wait and die while his arm was trapped under a boulder. Might as well chew through your own pecker. I refuse to believe that he could not have held out another hours or two until the rescue crew found him. And whatever happened to the strength of ten men when in trouble, about mother's lifting cars off their babies? What happens to miracles? We need jesus at card games, at GlobbTrotter pick-up games, at bikini model's refrigderators, doing everything in his poewr to make things appear one way, when they really are something else entirely. I sound cynical, I know, but I am serious. We need Jesus, or a Jesus-Knock-off David-Blaine-Wannabee to come and provoke, to astonish the world. We need more miracles. We doubt too much as a people. We want to look under each nut, to find the mode that tricks up, the reason why birds fly, the reason why an anglefish can change the shape and intensity of it fishing-lure light. We wonder, but too much wonder can infect our sense of mystery. We enjoy mystery out of others, the intangible that draws us to them. But in things and animals, we trying to dissect, over-analyze and cut up until our view of things is unrecognizable. We lose sight, but what's worse is we lose focus. Our vision is blurred and we struggle to focus on the importance out of life. We glance around, we wash our hands, we dry them, we shield our eyes from the sky and stay indoors most of the day. Where is the mystery in this? Mystery is there, and instead of being curious of all things around us, we must have answers, we must have answers until the questions are defeated. Until the questions are useless. So we lose ourselves and our childlike interrogations of the world. We are broken as a people, and most of those who resemble complete people, live a meager and quiet life. They are, for lack of a better word, the meek. And so, there are men like me, that will plunder and pillage before being myself, thus plund-ed and pill-ed, but I will one day not think so harshly on the laws of good men and on good men themselves. But mostly, I can't stand the way people treat one another. I want to stick a fork in their eye, as they have blurred my vision irrepairable, it seems. I want to do the same to all of them, the stupid people to stupid to know thta we all know so little. We all know nothing compared the the totality of knowledge as a complete and round concept. We know nothing of the whole knowledge of the world. We know nothing at all really, and for that- for thinking we are smarter than we are (and in turn, breaking the souls of plants and animals and mother earth and people worldwide)- God will make us all suffer. He will take the same weight of an eye we stole from him. And believe me, he will not be so kind as to use a fork. He'll probably use a tree branch, if I had to guess. I just hope the asshole go first, so I can watch. I'm done.

Monday, August 15, 2005


Her hair might have smelled of lavender, or maybe turpentine. I never met her face to face. But she did barrade my email, my facebook posting. I answered a call from her at work. Her voice as young and giddy, restless and bored. A Pandora's Baby Blanket of odd smells waiting to expose their source. So she tells me she has no internet connection and I spend more than 30 minutes trouble shooting, when she asks me to call her. I tell her I don't mix work with personal stuff; that work is important to me. She says I can call her afterward. I say, no thanks. So she calls back, tells me (after we find no solution) that she let her ethernet cord unplugged. Silly, silly freshmen. It used to be (when I was new to A&M) that seniors took in freshmen, taught then how to live correctly. By that term 'correctly' I mean to say correctness is different for each person, but there are certain tenets of behavior a young person learns at A&M. Respect for life, respect for tradition and age. But now, after the fall and removal of bonfire, students don't know this. They walk, aimlessly with their head down, and when I make eye-contact, there are no eyes to meet my gaze. Let me be angry a moment: fuck them. Fuck them for not fighting for more from this campus. The Regents, the higher-ups are only doing their jobs. They struggle to keep what we've had, to create also a new environment for more diverse people on-campus, but they can't seem to find a decent medium between the two. SO here I am, voicing as best I can, the inadaquicies of the world I live in for the next year, for the past three. Sure, children grow, but here they grew well for the most part. Now, they just grow, like any other university and each tradition loses value as its participants lose personality. Right now, I'll say I don't care. To care is to have my heart broken each moment I walk on campus. So much so, I don't want to attend class. Hell, I don't want to anyways, but there used to be a reason. The commeraderie. The bousterous nature of the Aggie Spirit. Now, a dying flame. But this chica- I don't know her name because I don't remember her name and feel no emotion about the lapse- she takes the advice I give her as ciriticism, and then just end sup being mean. Calling me a tea sipper. Fine, call me whatever you want. I've been struggling to fight for the salvation of this damn University for three years now, and I'm done for the moment. Tomorrow I'll return to my mentality of salvation, but tonight I'll baste myself in teh shame of a freshman's poor attempt at a verbal abuse. Tea sipper I am tonight. Aimlessly fighting my school and my classmates, my patrons in education. I am the definition of a tea sipper tonight. I'm lost and pretending to know the way. I'm all flash and no substance. Tea sippers will cheers me as their new found friend and curse me behind my back. Aggies- the whole damn lot of them in school today- are sipping tea with me tonight. They don't know the meaning of the Spirit of an Aggie. Shit, this is depressing. So the truth can't be denied. Things are changing. Soon, I will have the mindset not to get down about it, to fight my way through doubt and self-doubt. I'll not fall to my knees and shake, as I do tonight. What a world. What a place this is; humans bending, breaking, shattering and others slow down to watch the ambulance and the police acting calm, desensitized and disingenuine. No, I don't want my old University back. I just want the Spirit to return in whatever form it should rightly take. And when the freshmen enter THAT world, they'll know to bad-mouth an upperclassman without just cause (calling them out on breaking Aggie code or conduct) is to slight the Spirit itself. Stupid freshmen, don't even know where the term tea-sip comes from. I'd sigh if I wanted to waste another breath. I'm already ashamed of what I've written thus far. I'm done.

The Retarded Lance Armstrong

He whirred by me- me in my car and him in his bike. Cars screeched their tires, but he, the delicate marvel, kept riding across the street without notice of the world around. I thought him a daredevil (before finding out his retardedness). I pulled in my parking spot (the one I always park in front of the liqour store) to grab a few things fromt he grocery. And this is where he, also pulling in, watches the front of my car come to a stop.
"Stupid mutha-fukka," he says.
I smile and chuckle to myself, the way a confident man does, or a stupid man does.
As he is chaining his bike up I notice something not quite right about him. He watches me, as a cat might (or a naughty puppy) from the corner of his eyes, pretending to work something on this bike, but really doing nothing. So he is putting on an act while he watches me walk toward him, walk toward the doors that split open automatically. But he is not convincing, even half-so, as most Americans are at watching the world while pretending to be doing something else. This mindset is an agreement with all of North America to be the 'rugged individualist' but really only feigning what the phrase means. So as I get closer (still not realizing this man is retarded) I ask him if he has something to say. His response:
"Dumm Mutha-Fukka; I'll bust your head open."
I continue on to buy my little things, thinking that if he did strike me, if he did make this ''mutha-fukka's" head part like a coconut, then I'd calmly get a grocery worker, tell him there is a beligerant retarded man outside, and that I did not hit him back. Why? Because he is much like a child, the way he acts, but how horrid it must be to be stuck as a child for a lifetime. How nerve-racking to have complex emotions and not have an outlet, a proper outlet, to expose them. So I shop, and leave, and watch him at the candy machines near the entrance, pulling out a giant gumball and smiling. I think what a wonderful thing it must be too. To be a child for a lifetime. But like anything, the good and the bad points kill each other, and the question of the day, year, and second is this: what's left when the dust settles?