"How Do Thine Eyes See?"

Thugs and ogres came breaking through in the darkest of night. Rape lust raged fire in their hearts and fevered the brain. There was but one word and that word was "Kill!". The fire forever hunted fresh fuel and the more innocent the spirit dragged to conflagration, the higher the flames. Faces red with joy laughed as this innocent being recoiled in terror. For this was a sanctioned rape; a legal rape; even - some said- a necessary rape. "You're coming with us! You're charged with Failing to Agree in the First Degree."

The High Lords of the order served their gods well; bearing fruits of death. T'was a foul taste to stomach but faith must be maintained in the order. Some maintained it into death. Others served the same gods as the High Lords and bore the bitter fruit in treacherous defiance. But for many the taste became too ill to suffer and faith in these High Lords eroded. Even so, these was a sort who'd consume the deadly fruits if only the taste were of a more appetizing sort.

A firing squad of questions faced the captured dreamer. The bodies were separate but the mind was one. Behind them: mindless thugs, reveling in evil deemed holy. The Grand Inquisitor fired first, followed by the rest of the chambers:

"Speak truly, sir, for the truth is mine own; mine enemy."

"We are here to cast our sins upon you!"

"The worst time to say we're wrong is when we are!"

"We've not learned our lesson yet."

"How should we treat a dog that bites the feeding hand?

"The rebel yell fires doom's desire!"

"Come, and sing our victory song!"

Then, in unison: "Tell us why you declare the sky blue when the truth has decreed it black!"

A question unexpected. Had they not eyes in their head? "I say it because I see it?"

"See it? See it? Tell us: how is it you see thusly?"

Again, a question unexpected. "With mine eyes?"

The beauty of the Inquisition was to always know the answer before any was given. "'With thine eyes' he says! A soul placed above all others. Tell us, oh great soul, how do thine eyes see?"

Thus came the realization: t'was in playing the game was the losing.

The game of truth: a witch's haunt. Ere the truth will out, a vanity's rule of infamy, a fool's talk signifying nothing. Deeds in the dark deliver the doer's death at dawn's day. Best put the kingdom up for sale.

The Grand Inquisitor tired of his fool's errand but was stubborn in his path. "A foolish man to be so tethered to the truth." The pained smile of one whose time is short. "Destroy him. Justice cannot be served in a bent man's house."

"An ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own..."

"God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as
marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else
will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster."
As I sit here in the alley on a blessedly cool night, I'm ringed with delight and despair. The dumpster, the bolted door, the grease stained steps are my friends. They judge me not. The world passes by with nary a thought my way - such is my blanket. The pungent breeze wards off the interloper. Out there are the battles for the wealth of the world. My dreams went out with yesterday's trash.

My invisiblity is my protection. Here, I answer to no one. The claws of the world have no hold on me. It's a serenity that can't be bought, only found. I hear screeching voices and slamming car doors in the distance. Puppets on a string. You can never fully understand the insanity of it all until you've detached the strings and seen things from the other side. The end game has already been decided and yet we fight to keep the loss. Losers.

I had always thought money could bring me freedom, but now I see I was wrong. Show me a liar and I'll show you a prisoner. I need only obey the laws of Nature and with that comes the dreams and joys and light forever sought by Man. My thoughts are free, my feelings rejoicing and my soul has taken flight. My freedom is here and now. Yes! Yes! Me at last! Me at last! Thank God almighty, I'm me at last!

Fizbot Fun

With a slogan of "Keep Dallas Pretentious", we certainly have our share of local fizbots. Ross Perot has to be the biggest fizboter around here. The guy is a maniac! When I was working in computer tape libraries, I heard all about the way EDS (Perot's company) ran their tape room. Requiring tape operators to wear suits like it was a goddam wedding reception (it's the equivalent of suiting janitors). They said ol' H. Ross himself liked to come down and watch all the tape monkeys scurry around all nice and pretty. Prick.

Jerry Jones has certainly made a fizbot of the Cowboys. It's been fascinating to watch his transformations as it takes over his life. But the fizboter du jour is certainly Mark Cuban, the internet billionaire, our very own Jed Clampett. Now, there's lots to admire in Mark's fresh and original thinking, but he's fizbot all the way. He's the man on the white horse who's always got The Answer. This makes him a magnet for every kind of kooky scheme and harebrained proposal you can imagine. So into this crowded herd I jumped in with my stalking horse.

A life long schemer, Cuban's fizbot worship has entered the theater of the absurd: "It's a sweatshop here and we're proud of it." Who needs money when there's the glory of serving on such a wonderful plantation? The credo is simple and untethered: Be successful at being successful. Do whatever it takes. Assimilate to the Borg. Scary, huh?


I came across a posting of Cuban's on how best to get his attention. He said an email with a link is best so that's what I used. My role: Someone who seriously wants money (well, OK, got me there) but yet is afraid of rejection. The fear brings a defensive posture yet I'm still trying to sell my idea. Somehow, I also have to be blind to the insanity of turning over control of $200,000,000 to a homeless man! Reality is, of course, to gig his ass.

Dear Mark,

I guess in order to "get" you must first "give". So I give you this: Who is more free of money, the billionaire or the homeless man? Time will come when the money concept will go the way of witch burning and freedom will be redefined once more. And before you're tempted to lecture me on the virtues of capitalism (yawn), bear in mind I was a WSJ subscriber and stock owner at 17. I would probably end up adding points to your argument you had missed. But who wants to stay 17 in the head forever?? [This part had me laughing the most, dissing his fizbot and acting ignorant of his backgound]

But as money is the currently agreed upon vehicle of commerce, it is that of which I shall converse (it always comes back to money, doesn’t it? :) ). My idea is posted here:

http://sarcasmalley.blogspot.com/2006/07/osaka-castle.html

No kid seeing that castle keep could resist the urge to explore it. Blimp shots during Cowboy games would not be able to resist it either. If our local Cabela’s can pull in millions of visitors a year, so easily could The Japans. So what would you get for your $200,000,000? The profits for one, of course. One hell of a “making of” documentary on the Discovery Channel. And most importantly, a permanent memorial to be forever cherished. What you wouldn’t get is any creative control (ouch! deal breaker!). This ain’t no commercial enterprise. It’s a work of art. To put it in a sports perspective, it’s the players who are artists fans pay to see the most. The right way is the only way. [Here I make psuedo-logical points just so I can work in a shot at his creative tastes (see The Benefactor)]

Regardless, I have amused myself with this e-mail. It will probably get lost between penis enlargement and online medications ads. Who knows, maybe I’ll make a posting of this. It might be funny. Cheers. [What a smug ass I am!]

This was an idiotic thing to do, I admit. But sometimes I just can't help myself.

Good Times

"Does anybody really know what time it is?
"Does anybody really care?
"If so, I can't imagine why;
"We've all got time enough to cry."
-----------------------------------------

"Hey, pal, you got the time?"

The bus station was crowded with people pressed for time. A man with a watch responded: "Yes, it's noon, exactly."

A man on the bench took umbrage. "That ain't what my watch says! You sayin' your watch better'n mine??"

Disagreement came from all quarters. "Tain't what mine says neither, you racist bastard!"

"He's one of them high and mighty know-it-alls that's just always got to be right!"

Like a sweeping plague of fever, the argument infected and consumed the terminal. Later, after the riot squad and SWAT team left, somebody asked the time. No one answered.

-----------------------------------------


A slow rollin' machine made its intentions unmistakable with decibels to spare:

"Yo, I say 'Fuck God!'
"Don'tch ya know!
"Cuz when I pimp yo ass
"I'm God, ya know!"
An unarmed soul staring at the passing vehicle was accosted by three youths. "Hey, fool! Where's yo Glock?"

"I carry no firearms, sir."

"What? You got nothin'?? C'mon, nigga, you at least's got have a sling shot or somethin'!" The three youths cackled among themselves. "Don'tcha understands nothin'?? Either you pimpin' da bitch or you is da bitch!"

At that moment, two rival factions gathered at opposite ends of the street. It was the famous Cripples and Bloodied gangs. On one side the Crips rolled in on their wheelchairs, holding shotguns between their paralyzed legs. On the other side, the Bloods slowly limped up, aiming their 9mm's as they peeked through their bandages. Gunfire was exchanged and everyone lost.

The watching youths felt vindicated. "See, man? Dat's what the world is all about."

-----------------------------------------


Good afternoon, folks! This is Hate Radio AM, where it's "Be me or be wrong!" My, my, what a day it's been! First, a liberal started a riot in a bus station by forcing his agenda on his fellow travelers. When will these liberals learn? Always dividing us and fomenting dissent. We've got to get these people, eradicate them from the face of the earth!

In other news, two large groups of non-whites engaged in massive gangland style killings - again. I'm telling ya, folks: if you ain't white, you ain't right! How many times do we have to keep reading about such outrageousness? We need to arm our policemen with every gun, tank and chopper we can find to eradicate these people from the face of the earth!

Now, my friends, we all know how the lying media will try to spin these stories. They will try to pass off that poor little liberal as a victim who only made an innocent remark. And they'll whine about those poor little sharecroppers having no future in this great country of ours. Lucky for you, I'm here to give you the straight truth! This world is going to hell! And all the troublemakers need to be eradicated from the face of the earth!

-----------------------------------------

"Does anybody really know what time it is?
"Does anybody really care?
"If so, I can't imagine why;
"We've all got time enough to die."

The Fizbot Formula

Ah, to have a precious fizbot! Rare is the man who can resist his very own fizbot, a bountiful benefactor, his own Horn of Plenty. Once a man finds this golden goose, he forever rejoices in victory and asks the world to celebrate along with him. “Isn’t this great!” he cheers. For his fizbot is his god. Worship a man's fizbot and he will welcome you with open arms.

So what is a fizbot? It is that which saves you. A janitorial company owner once heavily recruited me to serve his fizbot, telling me how I could share in its fruits if I did its bidding. Many small business owners make a fizbot of their company. But even something like a credit rating can be made a fizbot. I’ll never forget the phone conversation I had with a girl who refused me a credit card because of my lack of a rating. I wasn’t a bad risk but that rating was her god – her provider – and she could see only to serve it.

Nothing makes fizbot followers angrier than to show disrespect for their god. You become the enemy. Conversely, they adore fellow worshippers. In Being There, Chauncey is welcomed by the billionaire he befriends because the billionaire believes Chauncey to be the ideal person: a business owner. They worship the same fizbot and nothing is more comforting than to share that. America is the land of fizbots and attaining one even implies a certain morality in a person.

It's understandable to see a person have a loyalty to that which frees him from the bondage of money. They find a formula for success and spend the rest of their lives either trying to re-create it (the pet rock guy never had a second act) or perpetually feeding it (hallowed be thy Walmart), hoping somehow to relive the euphoria of the initial emancipation. The reality is the fizbot worshipper ends up stuck in a sort of twilight zone he can never leave, for it is his fizbot – he believes – that saves him.

D.O.A.

another boner at 4 AM...more silent screams...please let me go, please let me go...my body is all twisted, stomach in knots...God in Heaven says: where’s your family, your friends, your fucking...god of the world says: where’s your money, your power, your guns...I can satisfy neither...both pound at me until I just can’t feel anymore...I have zero interest in this life...I watch words drift out my mouth as those of another...it’s all so useless...my mind is elsewhere...a heart drowning in grief...a soul starving for salvation...too many days of empty deeds and binding lies...the future is what?...I am a destroyer and a wrecker...my rampage never ends...and I don’t know why...let me die...let me die...

Portrait of the Artist as a Prophet

"What a horrid, horrid man!"

Her hair was blue, her eyes were grey and her heart was black. She was sailing aboard the finest seagoing vessel ever built. And her precious party - the party that never ended - had been interrupted by one of those people.

A consoling man sauntered over. "It's the lower class, my sweets. They're simply so envious of us. They can't stand our success."

"But to say for us to come below and labor! Where do such creatures come from?"

"Class warfare, my dear. It's as ancient as the pyramids. There are always those looking to destroy the social order."

"That may be. But to say such things about our lovely ship! The nerve!"

"Nevermind the naysayers. It's their own failures they speak of. We are doing what's right. No need to change. It's all good."

A drunken voice cheered: "Now there's a good man! It's not the message, deary, it's the messenger. He's spinning the facts to fit his agenda."

The blue haired woman's granddaughter came running up. "Nana, is it true what that man said? What did he mean, 'You can be a fool for a while but not forever'? Are we really sinking?"

"Of course not, darling. His ship may be sinking, not ours."

"But aren't we all in the same boat?"

"No, he's in his own boat. Don't listen to that dreadful man. He was just trying to trick us. He thought he could stop our party with his untruths."

"Why would he want to do that?"

"Because he's a loser who can't face reality."

Down in the engine room futile pumps toiled against the rising water. The foreman saw his messenger return. "Well, what did they say?"

"I told them - and they still don't know."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, it was weird. When I told them there's a hole in the ship they took it all personal, like I was saying there's somethin' wrong with them."

"Bloody idiots! I could fix this if I had some help."

"I don't think they liked me interrupting their party - even though I was telling them a way to save it. Don't think you should have sent a loser like me."

"I don't care if I send a bleedin' chipmunk, they bloody well better listen!"


With all hope gone, the men scampered into the lifeboats, jeered and mocked by the upper decks.

"Run away, fools! You won't find a better ship than this one! HAHAHA!"

"Oh ye of little faith. You should have more faith in your Maker, He wants us to have a good life. But God has no mercy for the stiff-necked and hard of hearing!"

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Some people don't know when they have it good! Ingrates!"

As the lifeboats drifted away, they could only imagine the final, tragic moments of those aboard the great ship, screeching for help after it was too late.