My Parallel Universe

The following is a very important public announcement:

I can't explain, only describe...


Last night in my sleep I started making my film. Spielberg was there, supporting me - reminding me of Jewish blessings - but mostly remaining wisely silent, watching me gain my sea legs, grasping what needed to be done. He let me vent my insecurities but he told me of a neat little trick to use. "You're not really making a film. It's just pretend." That took all the pressure off me and my mind opened up and I was like, "Oh, yeah, now I know what I wanted to do." I had a vision in my head of what I wanted the scene to be and that's what I would construct.

But of course, I don't have dreams, I have nightmares.

My "parents" showed up and they had fatally suffocating ideas on how the film should be. They reminded me I was in a Star Wars film as a child so I should do well as a filmmaker. I was too ashamed to tell them one had nothing to do with the other. Also, if I was in a film, I wanted to know why I wasn't paid for my part and how I sure could use that money now. Aren't all actors rich? But the truth is I was never in a movie.

But the theme of my dream was all things are out of reach.

"I'm not ready. I'm not ready." I kept telling everyone that over and over. No one would respond. My film, my beautiful film, the film to change all films to follow - was compelling me and driving me no matter what. This glorious act of love dragged me through the streets naked, dirty and crying, exposed as a perfidious loser for all to see. No one could help.

I ended up wandering around other films being shot and I watched in pained jealousy. I saw a funny South Park scene and after the enjoyment faded away, so did I. I resorted back to the despair of hanging out with those to whom I am opaque. They know not the dreams I'd destroyed so maybe I would find acceptance there. Problem was, though: they know not my dreams.


Some homeless people will ramble incessantly of their previous lives (sometimes their previous lies). What they're really talking about is the echo of shattered dreams hounding them in their head, the disconnect between where they are and where they need to be. The soul takes no prisoners. The definition of Hell is watching others live out your dreams of love and the flames burn most when you realize your unique dream can only be brought forth by you.

Wafting spring sweet smells,
Inspire desires in my cell;
Life's promises lost.
If O.J. were to confess his crimes, he'd be a free man. But no one believes my crimes because they can't see the dead bodies. Marooned on the moon, exiled by the shame of my choices, I see no sound stages here. No cameras, no fervor of life, not a whisper of hope. And no audience wants to come here anyway. You can change what is to be but you can't change what's meant to be. I'm a disaster - and you can't make a film without it being about yourself. But we all must carry on the charade, mustn't we?

Alright, Mr. Spielberg, I'm ready for my close-up.

A Clean Pig

He was the "Numbers Guy" - a man with no organic skills but a master of manipulation - and everyone loved him, for he kept their money safe and prosperous. His beloved keyboard kingdom - now hailed around the world - shielded him from inconvenient realities. For it was the evil in the world that he made work for him. And evil, of course, is the one thing we can always count on to exist. It's the safest bet of all - and the Numbers Guy only made good bets.

That tingling, almost giggling feeling, running up his spine and exploding inside was an addiction greater than any physical drug. They slapped him on the back and hailed him as wizard. He lectured others on his formulas and his insights into artifice. It was beautiful, like having sex with the world. And like the ancient alchemists who claimed to turn lead into gold, this medieval man also lured myth into reality: he'd found usefulness for his evil. It was a high like no other.

Yet he was a Clean Pig, a noble pig. As lesser pigs wallowed in the muck, his piggery remained pristine. Charities, the arts, reformist politicians - all were beneficiaries of his enlightened ways. While his cohorts engaged in sordid dealings - sucking blood from the lives of others - the Clean Pig remained outside it all, showering blessings down from his hilltop mansion (as he too benefited from the rapacious plundering). His starched white shirts and shiny black shoes made him presentable to all. And thus the pig was not a pig.


"How do you do it? How do you beat the world?" asked his Worshipful Wife. "I'm way too stupid to be like you." He grinned in bed, marveling at the power of his magic formula: make your evil clean! Money, morality, matrimony - all the hallmarks of a good soul were his. Silently, he scoffed at the losers he read about in the paper scrambling for their lives, too naive of the world to be a pig like he. And the dirty pigs who choked on their own filth were equally stupid. Every pig needs mud - even the Clean Pig - but you can't just wallow in it! "Everyone's a moron but me."

Worldly woe brings laughter to worldly pigs. For precious pigs must never suffer the despair of the unwashed masses. For if one cannot aspire to be a pig, what is left to live for? But how much longer can the Age of Pigs last? Theirs is not a sustainable slope. As the world evolves into love, the pigs will embark on their inexorable slide into the dustbin of history. If we are to survive, then the time must come when we face the fact we cannot live as pigs or let pigs live among us. Not even clean ones.

Did I Win Or Did I Sin?

It's not uncommon to be picked up by some ad hoc truck to go do day labor and then have the employer never pay. They figure, "What can you do? Haha!" Who can you complain to? How can you exact any retribution at all? Their calculations tell them you can't. Most of the time it's too far away for you to even get back there even if you remember the way. So that, they figure, gives them a license to rape.

It's funny but I heard a couple of infamous Dallas radio rednecks discussing "the homeless" a couple of days ago. Truth is, the entire conversation was focused merely on panhandlers but their semantics viewed the two words as interchangeable. "Homeless", of course, is a term that encompasses women, children, disabled veterans and other victims of our presumptive "perfect society". But what was funny was by the time the conversation ended, the logic of their perverted minds had them describing the homeless to be "users". "They are just using us!" proclaimed one in righteous fury.

What a disconnected soul. Calling homeless people users is like a rapist claiming to be used by his victim. Conservatives truly do have dark minds. My solace comes in knowing they lace their words with their own destruction. My angst comes from the immediate suffering such vile commentary enables along with the fact their self-destruction robs us of what possible gifts they have to offer. It's a no-win situation that won't be realized as such until it's too late for everyone. Such are the beasts who surround me.

Knowing this, I am usually very careful who I work for and I put them through an internal vetting process before I put myself at their mercy. Their hard earned reputation is that of being guilty until proven innocent. Those without an established reputation I usually let my colleagues check out first before I commit myself. There are earmarks for both the good and bad kind of employers and it gets to the point where you can pretty much size up who's gonna rip you off. But the truth is, you never really can tell - and I forgot that.

I still say something doesn't add up about the guy, he seemed an established fellow. Bragging about his concealed weapon license certainly sent up a few red flags and his Christian bumper stickers were another warning sign. But I wanted some quick money and like anyone I tire of mistrusting all the time. Plus the work was in an area I was familiar with - a freaking perfect storm. Bottom line is, ol' Buzzcut Bob stiffed us and I got burned like I haven't been in a long time - which really put me in a spot.


My co-workers were mostly nonplussed by the scam and just sort of looked at it as the price of existence. A few made me smile as they exploded in foul mouthed anger but I knew once they erupted it was over for them. But I couldn't get past it. Part of me said let it go, another part kept picturing this guy ripping people off over and over with smirking impunity. This guys needs to be fucked, make him think twice about his dastardly deeds. After several days of going back and forth, I finally decided some people need to be reminded that when you play games, sooner or later you lose.

My account is still active with an online I service I used to track info on Debby. One thing it offers is a license place search and that's how I found fuckhead's address, which I saw to be within walking distance of a bus line. Yes, it would be a pain to get there and God knows what I would find when I did, but if things didn't look right, then what the hell, at least I tried and I could walk away knowing the fates had deemed it not to be. Turns out, though, the set up was near perfect.

I spent quite a while casing the neighborhood and I saw where I could approach the house and disappear from it quickly. It had been dark a couple of hours and I saw the notorious truck smugly parked in the street, scoffing at its houseless victims. I did a final check walking past the house one way and coming the back the other way to ensure it was all clear. I'd done all I could do so I decided to make my move. Purposefully, I walked up to a street side tire and slit the side with my box cutter. It was far easier than I expected it to be, so I did another. An then another - and then another after that. I wanted him to get the message that it would have been cheaper to pay us than to replace the tires.

I have to admit I was pretty damn nervous as I scampered onto my escape route and I'm sure I looked like the guilty figure I was. But I had counted on needing that anonymity and I made it back to the bus stop without the fickle finger of fate tripping me up. I had a lot of mixed emotions on the ride back - none of them good or satisfactory. It was a nasty business and engaging in that kind of behavior left me feeling raw and empty. I'd done this on the bet it was the thing I most could live with, but then I remembered my own axiom: it's not how you bet your life, it's if you bet your life that matters. Betting is not fun.

But I don't like getting fucked.


Some kid on the bus had the basketball game on his radio and I imagined Redneck Rip-off watching it also, cheering and rejoicing in the victory, enjoying the privileges of polite society and a sanctified home. And I wondered if he'd get that terrible feeling of separation that I live with when he came outside and saw his truck - when he found out he's not so much a part of society as he thought. How would he explain how his truck was singled out? Hey, bud, you didn't do anything to piss anyone off, did ya? Of course he'd answer "no", but the minute he does that he's no longer one of genteel folk but a committed predator. Yes, it's a good bet that most losers won't stand up for themselves but when they do remember one thing: we've got nothing to lose.

So did I win or did I sin? My deed left me feeling foul and dirty and if I had the good life with Debby I wouldn't stoop to such a thing - I wouldn't waste my time. But as a lost loner, the call to vengeance was too loud and I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is without that in my ears - not that I'm sleeping well now, peering over my shoulder half-expecting an angry truck to arrive. Monsters don't learn lessons, they just react. Now I have to live with a beast gunning for me even if I am the only one who knows it. I've told no one of my crusade.

Who knows, maybe I really was an instrument of God and a taste of retribution and rape served as medicine for the violator’s soul. All I really know is what I have to live with - and that's a life alone.

A Tilting of the World

Edgar Cayce said the end of the world would come about by a tilting of the world's axis by a few degrees. It doesn't sound like a lot, but a few degree change in the angle of our rotation would pretty much wipe us out. And if I remember right, there's actual physical evidence right now that points towards this happening. One little flick from the hand of God and all that was will be no more.

Unemployment is also like that, one small change in direction and suddenly doom destroys your destiny. The world spins out of control and you ride along as its helpless, hapless passenger, wondering how one can stop the earth from spinning. You can't, of course. You just die.

As your perspective shifts, your foundations shift also. Dreams dissolve into nightmares. Cherished hopes morph into an aching echo. The very idea of reality falls into question. The freefall into darkness suffocates you with fear. Had you not been holding onto something real all along??


And so the inside reverts to the outside. You're kicked out of the club of the thriving and surviving. Physically, your presence has not changed. But the conversations don't include you anymore. Who cares for the voice that's no longer a part of the productive? The wall of communal guilt cannot be breached as the survivors silently suspect society. No one, after all, truly believes our well being depends on a system that prevents willing souls from work. Yes indeed, your body is still there - but you are not.

Drifting further into space, farther and farther away from the mother ship, the universal freeze ices your heart. Safely removed from our sight, we in the mother ship celebrate our fortune and argue over which funny movie to see next. We comfort ourselves with lies of your demise: "They can make it if they want to...Where there's a will there's a way!...I bet they don't really want to work anyway." Floating in the great void, with pounding heart, you read the lips of soundless voices through the windows and know your fate is on your own.

"What can I do?" Can I learn a sport and have it made? Will God save me by the lottery? How come no one on sitcoms is unemployed? Why is it so easy for everyone else to have a job? These suit people on the streets, they walk with a purpose. That used to be me! Funny, I never noticed us aimless wanderers before. I'll never be able to walk the streets the same way again. Is not reality true from all angles?"
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Numbers in our head. I see headlines with "realities" that exist nowhere but in our heads and those numbers possess us. We stop making cars yet we still need to drive. The farmers can't farm yet we still need to eat. Dreams are not pragmatic but a living hell is? We are defiant in our defense of death. But these numbers in our heads won't save us. If we all had a mutual amnesia, we'd be back to work tomorrow.

More News of the World

Le Femme are chiding me mightily after my appearance on Oprah, which of course, is amusing me to no end. You go, girls! Let me have it! Only it ain't me you're protesting - rather it's your own sense of irresponsibility. And it's always music to my ears to hear someone finally admit that (which is why you never hear a word from Debby on anything - she's hip to this game). For those who missed it, it went something like this:

HH: I don't want to say you're anti-male on this show but I saw a woman come on here and describe men as subhuman when compared to women - probably because of all our destructive behavior. To which I can only say it sure says a lot about you when you call us evil one moment and spread your legs for us the next. But if you want to take the whole "subhuman" argument logically, then it's women who are subhuman because they have no human needs. It's men who disintegrate when alone. It's men who have needs outside themselves. It's women who don't need sex."

[Audience uproar. Me with shit eating grin]

Oprah: Oh really? That's quite a statement. So tell me why you don't think women like sex - or is it women just don't like sex with you?"

[Wild applause from audience. Me still with shit eating grin. In fact, I'm chuckling.]

HH: That's funny - you completely agree with me!

Oprah: I really don't think I'm agreeing with you at all.

HH: People never do. [To audience] Did anyone else catch it? Did you see what she said?

[Nervous murmurs from the crowd]

Oprah: I guess you'll have to enlighten us to what I said.

HH: OK. Lets have this conversation again, only this time we'll change the subject to water. "I don't think women need water."

Oprah: Well, that's completely absurd. Of course women need water, just like men do.

HH: See? See? You did it again. Nobody sees the difference do they? [I'm smirking like a total jack ass at this point]. You switched the words. When I said women don't need sex, you responded with: Why don't women like sex? When I said women don't need water, you responded: Why don't women need water? When you believe it's a need, you respond with that same word, when you believed it was just a desire, you again responded likewise.

Oprah: I see.

HH: That's the big communication gap. Maybe 5 percent of women truly understand men. And thank dear God Jesus in heaven for them! But the rest just think men really like sex because that what it is for them: a desire. Sex for men is like food. Sex for women is like dessert. You can live without one but not the other. Women confuse what they want - what they like - with what they need. And then automatically assume men are doing the same thing. And where illusions go, trouble follows.

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She said it was her convenience to believe I was doing fine. Never did I trust her again.

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"Thank you, sir. May I please have another sip of Kool Aid?"

I caught a little bit of Lou Dobb's CNN show. I don't know what it's called, "Crabfire" or something like that. Anyway, they had some woman on there who lost her job. She has five kids. Her husband lost his job months ago. They moved in with her mom. Her mom's house is being foreclosed upon and the sheriff has notified them of the final date for occupancy. To which I can only say: Hey lady, wait till you see the shelter! Welcome to my hell!

Again I ask: what kind of system prevents people from working who want to? Do we need less cars now than a year ago? Or less food? Or less anything (excluding Britney)?? It's all a gigantic childish farce. Every human being has an irresistible urge to serve something greater than himself. This is all part of our charade of pretending money is more important than we are. As I've said before: there's nothing more dangerous than being conviction-less. Still think serving love is optional? Then come join me and the lady with five squalling brats at the shelter! Fuckers...

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Show me a conservative...and I'll show you a freak.

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The Fried Piper

I could do a poem on this but I'm too tired. I saw a headline on some psycho Blackwater lunatics being charged with throwing grenades at unarmed Iraqis - nothing unusual there except the evildoers got charged. Which leads me to the great Evildoer Leader himself: our 43rd President. And while I do think it would be hilarious to no end to see some Islamic justice done to those Blackwater traitors (cut their hands off!), I couldn't help but conjure up a vision of our Fried Piper President leading these rats astray.

There's no doubting the skill and maniacal devotion of the Piper's call of deeming evil to be good. Eighty percent of the country heard this call and responded, "Hell, yeah!" Hell indeed, mein kampfs. But while some have revolted from the Piper's path, others went whole hog - and the Piper loves this! For he ensured his own well-being before embarking on his road to perdition but the poor fools who followed - haha! - he gets to watch you roast for his sins. Sort of reminds me of how the other Notorious Terrorist bragged after 9/11 that some of the perpetrators didn't even know they were on a suicide mission.

The same voices of evil and love have been with us since the beginning of time. These voices rise and fall according to the people around them.

Veni Vidi Vici, A Love Poem

Veni Vidi Vici

A Love Poem by Julius Caesar

Hail I, mighty Caesar
Hero of the world!
I silence crying babies
And weep the old man's girl!

See the hollow losers
Seeking ecstasy;
But love is for us winners
Receiving sextacy!

No war is unholy
As I lick the feet of glory;
Bare breasted mothers run
To find their true love whorey.

The eyes of jealous husbands
Watch and masturbate;
Do not fear their rape:
It's themselves they most hate!

It amazes even me,
This worshipped, golden shlong;
Love is for the taker,
Love is for the strong.


Simple-minded soldiers
Tell tales of lovely woe;
But only of conquering
Do I wish to know.

T'was once a darling lass -
She cared not for my path;
"Rulers make bad lovers" -
The world since feels my wrath!

...I cherish not
Your loving hopes.
...Pyrrhic dreams
Of daily soaps.

I love my lusty living
Soaring ever higher!
Burning fame's fortune
Keeps my soul a-fire!

Gods of divinity
Perched me where I am:
Every woman's man
And every man's woman.

"Wow, Beav, that was really good!"
"Gee, thanks Wally."

The Loser's Meal

They said it couldn't be done. Not for a man like me. Not for someone in my position. Not only that, something like this wasn't meant for a soul such as mine. And yet, it happened: I lived like they do.

My attire - both inside and outside - was impeccable. I glided into the restaurant - this place reserved only for whom fortune favored - and with one eye in the mirror I watched myself go by. The eating alone bit was difficult but I knew if I showed no qualms then no qualms would come to be. When one belongs, one merely takes one's place - it's expected. And thus, brilliantly, a homeless man arrived to expectedly take his place among the allegedly high and mighty.

It had been days in the making. Before I made my entrance I was going to need to move my mind to a better neighborhood. The zip code I joined was of the well-to-do professional. I could never fake having Old Money and besides, I saw those people as useless. My internal character was daring, scaring me to even think it. I was a hot, young writer - I had "it" - and everyone knew it. "Listen to this guy, he's got something." Most of all, I knew it too for my talent was no lie. Lord, does it feel better when you have something to bring to the table!

I didn't have to be super-famous but rather a star among my own colleagues, a man of respect. My air reeked of a bright, soaring future. My clothes were meticulously prepared and sealed in my rental storage unit. And while it's true that during these preparations a little voice was chiding me for my efforts, I merely smirked and put it down to jealously. This victory was going to be my own and not an ill-favored thing. Both the gods of earth's hell and God in heaven would taste the bitterness of my defiance. Sweet!

I have to admit, sitting at the finely laid table, despite my graceful entry and interaction with the waitress, I still held gnawing doubts as to the wisdom of ignoring the little voice. But I'm tired of hearing about all the things I don't deserve. Fuck you assholes! I deserve good things too. You sorry fucks are no better than me. I'm not fooled for a minute! You just think I can't see through you. I found out long ago, it's you who cannot see your reality - it's the one thing I can afford that you cannot.


I researched the menu online so I already knew what I wanted. My confident order was that of one who'd eaten here many times before. Mere routine. This is my world, honey. Heck, my act was so good even I started to wonder who I really am. I truly had slipped into this new skin and perhaps I found a part of me I never knew I had. "Maybe I really do have something?" If only I really was this person. If only I really did bring something to the table.

Surprised at my own easiness, my nerves dissipating completely for the moment, it got me to thinking. At first I was giggling. "How do you like me now, world? Eat it, you fuckers! I'm having everything you said I couldn't have! Like you deserve any more than I! Drop dead, bitches, turns out you don't know so much after all." I craved this. I want this meal every night and if I could get my hands on enough money, my victory would be permanent and irrevocable. Money is their hallmark of success.

But God has not lead me to money. Yet, neither has God delivered me from evil. For that, I cry out each day, to be lifted from the torments of the earth. But I have a pet theory about my conundrum. God knows I'm going to be faithful to whatever delivers me from this hell. It's a simple human condition. If money does it, I'll be faithful to money. If love does it, I'll be faithful to love. Because whatever delivers me is whatever I'll know truly works. And despite pretense to the contrary, every soul makes his choices based on two things: what it truly knows and faith. Problem is, both love and money require things I cannot provide.


My steak was served in full and glorious splendor. I had wondered if God were going to extract His revenge by fouling my food. But once again, I had victory as I savored every delicious bite - even though I still chewed on the thoughts of how I never wanted to be delivered from evil by just money and yet still could not ask to not be delivered. Yet with every passing morsel I laughed louder at my opponents seated around me. I mocked them and their exclusionary ways - ways that I defeated! Haha! "Fuck man, I'm doing this again. Money well worth gambled. It's not often I can give the finger to every god in the universe. At last, an outlet for my anger, for my living - if only a very occasional one."

I tipped generously - as every winner does - and even brazenly stopped in the bathroom on my way out. Bathrooms are a special place to the homeless, we use them as retreats and every homeless person instantly sizes up every one he enters. I tried to fight that - I was not homeless that night - but I was alone and I decided what the fuck. Look at that marble sink. The place was spotless and filled with air freshener. Just imagine if this were my own personal, private domain! I know, I know - true winners would not have gone through this thought process but I couldn't help indulging myself. I lingered a few moments before bracing myself to the return to my life of the public restrooms I normally endure.

I saw myself with a rare smile in the mirror as I washed my hands and exited. My calculations of defiance had been perfect and not one thing was to be found to quibble with on this near-magical evening. Next time, it would be magic because I had found a spot at last. And then it happened. "Dear God, Jesus!" I ducked back into the hallway leading to the bathrooms. "Dear God, don't let anyone see me now!" Shattered, sickened and destroyed, my body physically shook. And naturally some older businessman passes me by and I have to put up a failed smile for him. My facade has only seconds to remain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I should have known! You fucking idiot, moron fraud!"


Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe guilt has me imagining things. Safely after the couple was escorted to their table, I asked the hostess out of burning curiosity and fear: "That couple looks familiar to me. Do you know their name?" "Oh yes, that's Mr. and Mrs. Hanssen," - then the knife stuck in further - "They eat here quite often. Do you wish to sit with them?" I managed a "No, thank you," and took my pounding heart out the door and didn't stop walking until I found a nice, safe alley, back where I belonged; the restaurant now one more shameful stain on my resume.

The meal I pretended as routine, was routine for her. My stolen moment of victory was an everyday occurrence for her. Her life required no pretence. Who would want to pretend anyway? There is no defying the gods. Why do I keep searching for that as the answer?? Debby had done things right. I just hate admitting it. It truly, truly sticks in my craw. I looked down at my hand in the shadows and it was shaking. I wanted all the world to see me as a winner. But from somewhere up in the heavens, they could look down and see a scared, lonely man trembling in a half-lit alley, hoping to fool the world.

Post Script: Later, I realized my mistake. It was lingering in the bathroom that got me. Yes, I was alone and no one could possibly know I'd dropped my facade, but had I not spent those few extra moments, I'd have never crossed paths with the Perfect Pair and their royal procession. My illusion would have remained intact. But this is what happens when your "success" exists only in the minds of others. Once again, I sabotage my own efforts. But then again, illusion is so overrated.