"Hi! I'm shit!"

Janitor Man hated his job, hated his life, hated himself - pretty much hated everything. And he definitely hated meeting new people. The new receptionist was working late and he had already altered his routine once to avoid her. But now he was trapped, only her trash remained.

Steeling himself, he approached the unmet enemy. Maybe he could just get away with a swapping of Hi's. God, I hate being civil, he thought. I hope there's no friggin' eye contact. Was an exchange of silence too much to hope for? Her perkiness did not bode well. Sure enough, she got off the first shot.

"Hi! I'm shit!"

Stunned - and uncomfortable - Janitor Man staggered back out a "Hi". She sensed his reluctance to speak.

"It's OK. You don't have to treat me like other people. I'm shit!"

For God's sake stop saying that! Jesus! Shit! Unnerved, Janitor Man struggled to keep his hand from shaking. At all costs, she must not see his consternation - the implications were disastrous. He would attempt a graceful exit.

"OK. Nice to meet you. Bye"

"You don't want to talk to me because I'm a girl."

I don't want to talk to you because you're a goddam freak! "Nah, it's just that I got so much work to do."

"Girls are shit. I see it in all the movies."

"Well, you can't believe everything you see." Maybe I can help this chick. Not really my place, though.

"Oh, it's true! And it's very exciting! My husband puts me in my place. I'm a dumb ol' girl! He sure knows how to humiliate me!"

"Must be true love," seethed the Janitor Man.

"Oh, yes. Just this last weekend we went paddle boating together. It was so romantic. Then we came home and he fucked me in the ass while I barked!"

"A marriage to be proud of."

"Marriage is holy. I truly believe that with all my heart. And I have been saved by Jesus. I'm lucky. My Daddy teaches religion and I love my Bible so. There's nothing more important to me than being a good person."

Janitor Man hated her. "Well, it's all so perfect. Perfect marriage, perfect life, perfect person."

"Oh, no," she demured, "I'm not perfect at all. There's always been this problem. I sell myself short; I don't give myself enough credit."

Suddenly, she was vulnerable. For the first time Janitor Man noticed an inner beauty within her, a dear person. "What if I said to you..." Her downcast eyes rose to look up into his. "What if I said you are a beautiful, sensitive and intelligent person. That's there's something unique and special about you."

"I'm NOT intelligent!" Her eyes shot back down.

Instinctively, Janitor Man stepped back, his heart pounding by the perceived rebuke. Had he done wrong? He defended his position to the last. "I see a dream in you. A dream not fulfilled."

"I am living my dream. Don't tell me what my life is. My husband wants me to be shit. My parents expect me to be shit. And the world likes me to be shit. If you think I'm going to give all that up just so I can say I'm not shit - you're out of your mind!"

Janitor Man hid his shaking hand. Why did she rattle him so?? She was the one acting insane and yet he felt stripped of all dignity. Meekly, he launched his last salvo before swearing never to talk to her again. (But he did and found his soul mate)

"Huh, so this is what it's like to be saved."

Dream On

In the beginning of Kurosawa's "Rashomon", a man sits at ruined temple gates bemoaning a witnessed evil. "I, for one, have seen hundreds of men dying like animals, but even I've never before heard anything as terrible as this. Horrible, it's horrible! There's never been anything, anything as terrible as this, never! It's worse than fires, wars, epidemics, or bandits!"

What was he describing? Kurosawa called it the "human ego", the inability to be honest with ourselves. We have to believe we are good. Anything that threatens that must be destroyed. That's how Jesus was killed. Truth as the enemy. Perverts perpetrating perfidy. Calling it holy to betray oneself. Problem is, it isn't just that the truth will set us free, it's that only the truth can set us free. Can't pray/hope/wish or buy our way out otherwise.

Am I trying to enlighten anyone here? No. Everyone already knows the truth. It's not they we don't know, it's that we don't care to see. Everyone's so on about how we must get the truth out so we can save the day. But check out this quote from 60 Minutes last Sunday by the former CIA head of European operations. He had direct evidence of our administration ignoring information that Saddam was not a threat. "The American people want to believe the president. I have relatives who I've tried to talk to about this who say, 'Well, no, you can’t tell me the president had this information and just ignored it.'" Funny, huh? You can tell them and they still won't know.

This morning on the radio, local rednecks were mocking the idea of global warming. "Every time something bad happens like a hurricane, we've just got to blame somebody. That's what this is all about." By golly, I can get in my car, drive to the store, pick up cold beer(!) and drink it right there in front of my TV. Ain't nothing wrong with this world! Anyone who sez diff'rent is just a troublemaker!

Wow, what a cold, empty outlook that is.

Things will get worse as facts become more irrefutable. The need to divert blame will grow stronger among the unrighteous. Fears of the futureless path will invade our souls, driving us to further terror. So what do I say to those who have chosen both poorly and holy?

Dream on.

A Prisoner Released

I saw a man jump off a cliff, A thousand foot, no more; Falling to a jagged death A gruesome fate in store. We had wandered through sad lands With stone so cold and barren; Another quest for happiness In reality a fool's errand. My stupid friend cajoling me, "Seek and ye shall find!"; What possessed me to listen To what that bakana opined? I watched, as a drowning man, Sinking in the mud; I've gone as far as I can go Now it's time for blood. But shocking was the jumping man, Jumping from on high; For though he fell a thousand feet He bothered not to die. For when the ground came rushing near He turned to see the sky; His smile as a Cheshire's As he began to fly. I yelled with unbelieving eyes, "Morty, you're a moron. You know you should have died!" He replied so sarcastic, "Thank you for the info! Your faith you cannot hide!" Morty was a shooting star Slicing through the clouds; Leaving me to ponder How my death be not proud. Morty jumped the chasm To face a land unknown; Never would I follow And lose all I have known. Finally there comes a point Where everything is lost; And though my life I'm wanting I just cannot bear the cost. Such was on my feckless mind As I watched my friend soaring; Reflecting on a wasted life Basically spent whoring. Then Morty shot out of the sky Into the space above; Something he was yelling, I think it's, "Life is love!" Fearlessly, he trekked the stars, The universe his home; Gleefully, two angels came, So rarely to be shown. With every burst of energy Holy colors streamed; A hidden wonderland That every eye should see. An ancient star was calling, A place of dreams to share; Feeling as a prophet Morty's soul was bare. Angelic hands guided him To the source of all men's dreams; Do you know this place? they asked, Where all is at it seems? Morty was rejoicing, "I know exactly where I am!" "This is the place where "The lion sleeps with the lamb." And though he felt eternal praise And saw God in every leaf; Morty then remembered me - Lost in mud and grief. So the shooting star returned, Touching till the end; The warm and graceful hands Of his angelic friends. "You're a sorry fucker!" I said, Descending into my fright; "You're never fucking happy "Until you prove you're right!" But this only made him smile, "Of course you shouldn't leap! "You really should stay over there "And stay feeling like a creep!" I really wanted to strangle him, I really wanted to shout; But gone from me were reasons To remain a prisoner of doubt. So I too leapt the chasm, Into the land unknown. No longer am I master But I just might find a home.

A Life Not Lived

In a weird but of irony the other day, I got hit up for money by a homeless con at a hotel I was walking out of. If only he knew! Truth is, I spotted him on the way in. There was some student at the front desk carrying on about how she had the wrong card key and he was standing in the background. He had on a polo shirt and looked very sharp and well groomed. I thought "coach" for some reason, figuring the girl was part of a team staying at the hotel. As an authority figure, I made a note to avoid him.

After doing my business in the bathroom, he was still lurking in the lobby. The key thing in these hotels is to not draw attention to yourself, so I was exiting stage left post haste. But this guy makes a bee-line for me, catching me right before I get to the sensor operated doors. Strangely, I didn't feel threatened by his approach. Curious is a better word. What could this guy possibly have to say to me?? "Hey, could you help me out? I just got off work and need some gas money to get home." Wow, my cover must work better than I thought!

Fact is, we had both fooled each other. Kudos to his appearance. Now it was a simple case of con vs. con. His line was so unoriginal, though, he was easy to swat away. I told him I couldn't help him and right away he starts in with "Right, whatever" - like he can use yuppie guilt on me! So to really stick it to him I told him he should "try the front desk. Maybe they can help." That stopped him cold. It was then I noticed a thermos and a couple of other small accoutrements sitting in the corner. As I departed I spied him picking them up before making his hasty retreat.


I'm not someone who asks for money. I hate you assholes too much to think I'd ever be indebted to you. But to those that do, more power to ya. But this little bizarre encounter did jar me. I started having flashes of another me, one who is comfortable in his skin. One who doesn't apologize because he's smarter. One who lives in a world many cannot understand. It was a unique insight to see a me not a war with myself. I wonder how I get to that place, it seems so far away.

The Mind Fuck

"And in the naked light I saw
"Ten thousand people maybe more
"People talking without speaking
"People hearing without listening
"People writing songs that voices never shared
"No one dared
"Disturb the sound of silence"
Simon and Garfunkel, "Sounds of Silence"
     "Sheesh!" she sneered as Albert walked by. "What's wrong with him?"
     "Oh, him," soothed her friend, "He's like some sort of emotional retard or something. Doesn't interact with anyone." Silently, they watched him continue on his way.
     Albert was an enigma. On one hand was his good paying job, a luxury condo and his oft-professed interests in poetry and the imagination. On the other hand, he spoke mysteriously of "bad decisions" and a vague unhappiness others did not fathom; a job to him which was only labor. And each day he died.
     It was useless trying to explain. His family was comfortably blind. "Oh, he's fine. He has a nice car." A co-worker was incredulous. "You're unhappy? Well, you're doing good work." Albert even tried mightily with a therapist. "But at least you can hold a job," she asserted. "That's a good thing." "A job! Jobs are the bane of my existence."
     To Albert, all things were meaningless. He couldn't explain who he should be because he did not know. He just knew he wasn't this. Why the good Lord had cursed him with such an impossible quandray he could not understand. Had his mistakes cost him his identity? No way of knowing.
     The miasma of confusion eventually overtook him. The more he tried to explain himself, the more lost he became. He spoke less and less, coming to believe he was a nobody after all. He had just wanted to believe he was somebody, that he was special. After all, truly great people don't run away from life as he had.
     In the end, he was driven by the idea of "coming clean". People had to know the truth about him. But he was a man trapped between who he thought he was and who he was. In one final stab to cut through the fog, he devised his own gravestone epitaph:
"Here lies Albert Einstien
He was nobody."

8 Simple Rules to be a Terrorist

1. Hate yourself. All terrorism starts from here: self-hatred. That is your power. It's what gives you an edge over weak, stupid people who value life and want to live. You must somehow believe the power of death is greater than the power of life. You've got to be able to answer "yes" to this question: "Is my life worthless?"
2. Lie to yourself. In order to give a meaningless act meaning, you must be able to lie to yourself. You know, "This will make God love me" or some such garbage.
3. Have a good story. Your explanation cannot be "I hate myself and my life has no meaning". You have to say you're doing it for the cause of (fill in the blank). "I am really outraged by..."
4. Get 60 Minutes to interview you. Or at least find some schmuck willing to buy what you have to sell. Really muddies the water as to your motivations and gives an air of legitimacy to your alleged cause.
5. Blame others. See, if only these other people would change, then you wouldn't be forced to commit such acts, dang it. This is your bit to right the wrongs of the world!
6. You too have been hurt. Somehow, you have to find a claim where you can say "your" innocent people were killed. Makes your "anger" so much more understandable.
7. Don't laugh. If anyone suspects you're making all this up, all is lost! Rehearse your story over and over, working in all sorts of pseudo-logic and reasoned language.
8. Know the alternative. You're a loser. Why else would you be in this racket? So do you really want to go to all the trouble of fixing your life?? Is it even possible? Give up on you, give up on life, give up on the world - it's either that or grow up.

The Blessings of Plastic Moses

"God wants you to have money...making money makes you good...loving money is good...money is good...if you have made money you have made love...no one is good without money.


"The world is yours...you have been given dominion over all...do with it as you please...if it were wrong to take the riches you not be allowed to do it...all things are here to serve you.


"Keep things good...it is your right and your duty...might does make right...you are the good guys...whatever is done to keep things good is always righteous...you can trust me, I am the mouthpiece of God."


                Part of a continuing series on the wisdom of Plastic Moses