The China Syndrome, The Price Of Silence

"You ain't gonna get what you want. I'm not going to get what I want.
Nobody wins. Such is the price of Silence."

My grandfather said that just before he died. He was talking to God. I was just a kid from the city hiding in the barn just 'cause I wanted to hide out. Visits to Gramp's ranch were like heading to a foreign country, never really sure of the rules of engagement. I remember asking myself if it really was OK to live on such a wonderland ranch - there was so much room to dream.

But when I heard Gramps come slamming his way in it sucked all the air out of the barn and I naturally crouched down in curious fear. He grabbed a pitchfork and stabbed clumps of hay like he wanted to kill them, slinging them angrily from one spot to another. All I could think about was staying out of the way.

"Jesus!" he spat, stopping to gather himself.

Yup, something had set him off alright. Hoped to hell it wasn't something I did. I was known for always doing the wrong thing - The Worst Thing Possible usually. So as I listened to my grandfather continue his string of expletives I frantically scoured my mind for any possible transgressions I may have done. For the life of me I couldn’t come up with any - but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

Then Gramps started in having his conversation. I found out who he was mad at: God.

"You just fucking hate me, don't you you goddam bastard! Why don't you just come down here and kill me you want me dead so goddam bad? You still mad for what we did do Jesus? Is that it? Well, I guess you didn't like his goddam ass too much better considering what you let happen to him. Jesus, there's no living with you!"



Gramps was venting but the steam stayed trapped within, his face redder with each passing word. "What's he so mad for?" I whispered to myself, secretly hoping the words could reach his ears. Startled the crap out of me when he replied out of nowhere: "Why don't you shut the fuck up!" Not that it was truly physically possible, but I scooted back even further in my corner.

"You're so goddam fucking smart, tell me what the fuck I should do! Jesus, I wish I could stick a knife in you the way you stick one in me. I got no way outta this shit! Do you hear me you deaf fucking son-of-a-bitch? No fucking way out!" That's how I was starting to feel too, reluctant witness that I was.

Then he flung the pitchfork away like a hot potato and stilled himself into a volcanic statue. I stopped breathing as well. I thought maybe he was deciding if he was going to kill somebody or not. I'd taken myself off the suspect list at this point - I was annoying but not that annoying - but nearest I could figure he wanted to kill God. Or...

Shit, he wanted to kill himself! I tried brushing the thought away but its wind was too strong. So now what do I do? His agony was like a live wire, snapping and curling every which way and I didn't dare get close to it. Who am I to tell someone suffering this badly to live anyway? Heaven seems so finite while hell is without end. The China Syndrome.



I can't imagine the look on my face at that moment. When I first heard about the China Syndrome it scared the shit out of me, but to witness it? Terrifying. An older cousin told me about it once, me wide-eyed in fear no doubt. She was talking about when a nuclear reactor melts down and if they don't stop it in time then there's no stopping it at all - the core cuts all the way through to China. Had Gramps reached that point?

I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to rush out to him. We'd been famous friends at one point, with me practically begging for return trips. We rode for hours on horses together as I pretended I was Daniel Boone exploring countryside for the first time. Gramps and I were so much alike! He called bullshit on everything same as I did. I'd just grin away when he'd start one of his rants. And he was damn funny too. I smile even now with the remembrance.

But mine was a burning soul and I couldn't resist lighting flame to a grassy field, just to watch it burn in fascination. I can still see my evil little hands striking the matches, pretending they wouldn't really burn. It was never the same after that. Gramps wasn't near as mad as I thought he'd be, saying lightening could have done the same thing. But I didn't know that.

My world inverted. Gramps never said a word to my parents - or anyone - about what I did. Mom and Dad sent me back like usual for my visits, thinking it pleased me. I had bragged on my famous friendship so much there was no taking it back. It was a living thing, clearly meant to last forever. But I was the Judas who destroyed all that while my grandfather remained the fine and noble person I so dearly admired. I was mystified how he tolerated me at all...



Silence consumed every corner of the barn. But it was the silence of a man with a dagger stuck in him as his mouth opens but no words can escape. And that was exactly the look on my grandfather’s face at that moment. A thousand possible responses crossed my mind to speak - all of them wrong, I was not programmed for moments like this. Then Gramps gave me a clue.

"She's gone," he stonily muttered. "What am I supposed to do?"

Did he mean Grandma? But that was two years ago she died - a lifetime ago in the tormented years of my youth. He was still missing her? Needing her even now? Was God so cruel Gramps was to miss her forever? Didn't his needs stop when she died? That would only be fair if you asked me. Nobody did though.

Grandfather pleaded to the ceiling. "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do." Then he crumpled to the ground in defeat, spirit wolves tearing his flesh apart, eating him alive. I know what my innocent soul would have done. An innocent soul would have rushed to his grandfather's huddled body and protected him. But I couldn't leave my prison of shame - giving me further sentence, staining my soul. Then I heard his final words on God's silence and how nobody wins...

He'd been funny that morning, cracking me up. I told him I wanted my eggs over easy but he was scrambling them instead, telling me in an accented voice, "We must cook the eggs this way or we lose the war!" It was in reference to his regiment's foreign born cook in WWII, whose excuse for everything was the outcome of the war depended on him doing things his way. Gramps loved the genius of his absurd argument and made the man mythic in my mind. Gramps made everyone seem mythic. To think he put on such a show for me when he was dying inside.

I've been running ever since that moment in the barn, never confessing my crime of silence. Afterwards, if someone gave me something I didn't want, I very politely said thank you. If I got something dear to me, I'd say nothing. I went the opposite way of my feelings before I could betray them like I had my famous friendship - the last of its kind for me. Yes, silence is like the China Syndrome - the destruction never stops.

Therapy Man Meets a Man In Need!

I'm alright!

It's good to be fixed! And it's good to have Answers. We like answers in this world of ours. Nice, simple ones to quell our disturbing minds. "Get thee to a therapist!" we like to say. And to hell if it really works for everyone or not.

Therapy just makes me want to go back to smoking pot. I heard it's improved in the last twenty years.

But sheep that I am, I succumb to peer pressure, put on a happy face and claim to be fixed. Gosh, just like being home all over again. Meet the new parent, same as the old parent. But secretly, way down deep inside, I still think ya'll are a bunch of lying, cocksucking assholes. But I don't say anything because I need a job. (Is that why you require jobs, so people will speak well of you even when undeserved?)

So dear friends I got the chance to put your alleged reality to the test yesterday when I passed some poor bastard hanging on the side of a cliff, moaning and groaning. "He needs therapy!" I thought. Hold on, dude, wisdom is just a word away!

"Help me! I'm going to die!'

"Shit, man, I know that feeling. It sucks! But one thing you need to know: you're not alone!"

"Aren't you going to help me the fuck out of here??"

"Sorry. I'm not the fixing lives business. You're on your own, pal."

"Heeeeelp!"

"Have you tried deep breathing? That helps."

"Deep breathing? Are you an idiot?"

"Name calling helps nothing and is an indication of immaturity. Here's a chance for you to grow up and listen to someone else."

"Deep breathing won't save me! I can't hold on forever."

"That's future-thinking! Stay in the now."

"Do you know what the word 'need' means? I need help. I can't get out of this position without help. Who can survive without their needs being met?"

"Interesting philosophy!"

"It's not philosophy! It's reality!"

"Oh, who's to say one person's version of reality is more true than another's? Tell me, have you tried prescription medications?"

"How can I call a doctor from here! I can't even move. My hands are killing me!"

Are you on any prescription medications?

"Precisely why medication will help. You're holding on to your pain. Meds will help you feel nothing at all."

"That's a total denial of reality!"

"Da Nile is a river in Egypt! Hahahaha!"

"You're mad!"

"No sir, you're projecting yourself onto me. Laughter's good for the soul!"

"This is not the time for laughing!"

"Dude, you can't keep feeding your negativity like that. No one's going to want to be friends with a sourpuss. C'mon, gimme a grin!"

"Your words are wasting time. I'm losing my grip listening to them!"

"Refusing therapy will most certainly cause you to lose your grip. Frankly, I don't know how you ever expect to feel better without diligent compliance."

"I just need a hand out of here."

"Now if I give a hand to you, then I'll have to give a hand to the next guy, and the guy after that and pretty soon there'll be no time left for me!"

"I'm so confused! Why are saying these things to me?"

"Therapy will help with your confusion."

"Fuck you! You don't understand anything!"

"Well, I certainly don't have to stand here and listen to that! I'm setting boundaries with you until you change your attitude. That is best for both you and for me."

"I hate you! I hate my life! I hate this whole fucking world!"

"Just not going to change that negative self-talk are you? OK, I give up. I see perfectly clear what you need now."

"Yes! Finally!"

"What you need is someone to talk to."

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Strap your hands across my engines

May I Borrow Five Pound And Two?

May I borrow five pound and two?
I'll write a lovely poem for you!
May I motor in your car?
I'll sing your praises as a star!

I keep a blog on the internet,
It's sure to change the world I bet!
My words are the way to worldly riches!
(And maybe even hotty bitches!)

It's just a matter of time, you see
Before my big discovery!
To be called smart in your time
You'll wisely lend me your last dime.

I don't mean to cause undue pressure,
But my talent is one to treasure!
My dreams are beautiful, bright and true!
Just imagine what one more quid would do!

Let me take you to soaring new heights!
Words of love, the eternal delight!
Are not my entreaties a fun-fun thing?
Timeless art awaits your funding.

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The 21st Century as a Star Wars Movie

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...


Sith Lords, long thought dead and vanquished, stage a devastating attack on the Alderon system, the crown jewel of the republic. Outrage enflamed the galaxy from one end to the other as the cry for war drowned out all other voices.

The Age of Peace and Prosperity was over, proven illusory. A New Order was demanded - by faces shrouded in secrecy. The fabric of the galaxy unraveled exactly as the Sith Lords had designed. This change - a warping in the path of the universe - came in the twinkling of an eye.

Luke Streetwalker, abandoned and outcast for his warnings against the Sith Lords during the Age of Prosperity, seeks to piece together a rebel alliance to restore a time of love. But though his message on the Sith Lords is now heeded, Luke fights an uphill battle to stop the spread of war fever which will ravage the Alderon system even further...

"Luke, you pussy! We have to have war! Don't be so naive!"

The chastising came from a right-wing droid. (All droids were right-wing by virtue of their programming coming from eGeeks, a malcontent, anti-social and masturbatory lot bent on running the universe from their mother's basement). Luke rummaged through the remains of his home, furious at the insanity of it - yet determined to stop it. The droid prattled on. "You just going to stand there and take it? Time for war! Yeehaw!"

Annoyed, Luke switched off the Beck droid knowing it's pointless to argue with a mindless entity. But words of war surrounded him wherever he went. Even the local cantina played war songs and sold "freedom food" in honor of the new sentiment. Though having been right on the Sith Lords - that being out of sight meant only the greed ran deeper - his message for fighting them was lost all over again. Reason had died with the attack.


Luke cried as he saw precious farmland poured over in concrete as munitions plants replaced nature's plants. Just as he feared, food production fell but with the storehouses still full from the Age of Prosperity no one concerned themselves such troubling trivialities. Luke knew he would need help and he found it in his reprogrammed droid R2Cat2 bringing him a message from Princess SlayYa, telling him of another voice speaking out against the war: barack-wan kenobi.

An alliance was formed. Princess SlayYa, renowned across the galaxy as the finest fencer with a light sabre ("You can't hope to win - only for a draw."), teamed with Luke in search of barack-wan and his audacious powers of hope. Time did not stand still, however, as the sky darkened with fighters launching off to battle cheered by droids and eGeeks and the rest of the simple-minded. In the Imperial Senate, the President declared the end of democracy - and that too was cheered.

The war had begun; the war declared done; the war never won.

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The Drone Wars and a Horrible Truth Is Revealed

As the republic became an empire bound by war and famine...


War begat war. And even after victory declared, more and more troops were demanded until even the mercenary forces of Blackwater Fett were called in. Still, war lust ran high in the Alderon system, no one questioning the ever increasing powers of the Emperor-President or conduct of the attacks. The rebel alliance reached its darkest hour.

But with the flow of body bags returning and reports of hundreds of thousands of deaths infecting the Alderon soul, an ill feeling arose in far off segments of the galactic front. But though support was fading at the edges, a searing core of hatred propelled the wars forward against all dissent.

The Imperial Senate lost all power, cowering before the Emperor-President. Had the Alderon system gone too far? Were its motives as pure as claimed? Quietly, the rebel alliance investigated the truth as reality strayed further and further from the Official Explanations. As the anti-war movement gained a foothold, the rebels discover a secret too terrible to be believed...

Contact had been made with barack-wan kenobi, his campaign to enter the Imperial Senate a successful one. But with all power stripped from the governing body, he was forced to use the power of his Jedi mind, swaying millions with his words. "Hope," he said, "is not lost." Talks brewed of his possible takeover of the Presidency.

"This is Princess SlayYa," introduced Luke, "be stupid at your own peril." Using her unparalleled skill, her lightening sabre cut through all idiotic arguments, exposing the illogic of war for war's sake. But it was like fighting a hydra, another false argument popping up with each one slayed. "Victory" could only be seen in the shrillness of each new contention for the wars, hysterical and out of touch. In a fatal error, the people of the Alderon system soon disengaged from the debate, hoping both sides were wrong.

Luke, meanwhile, penetrated the highest echelons of the empire in an attempt to find the truth for the escalations. Good news was not expected when he found he could slide his way in by using a cloak of evil. With anxious ears Luke listened to words of infamy hissed from the newly declared Emperor.


"Everything is going as planned, Darth Cheney!" The Vice-President a Sith Lord! Can't be! "Our profit per soldier is skyrocketing. The more we get killed the more the manipulated masses insist we stay! It's like a dream come true! Money! Death! Power! And how can they speak against us without speaking against themselves? We are the greatest liars in history! The Force is with us!"

Darth Cheney bowed before his master who had escaped all blame in the intentionally botched battles. Such was his master's powers, no criticism could touch him, responsibility deflected to "bad advisors" for this "well-meaning" man. Perversion gripped the solar system as incompetence was sympathized, greed normalized, and wishful thinking worshipped as the truth. The dark lord Cheney brought more good news.

"There's a resolution before the Senate to raise you from Emperor to Daddy. Once done, our rule will be permanent - barring the sheep actually grow up."

Luke's worst fears had been confirmed. Those immature bastards! They've taken over everything! It's true after all: our Daddy is a Sith Lord!

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Episode III: Return Of The Big Lie

Pain has come to the empire. Starvation is spreading even as wars carry on unabated. A cry for change rings out...


With suffering came a call for change. barack-wan kenobi's star rose as an anxious empire sought salvation from the unbearable Sith overlords. Princess SlayYa rallied support for a new hope with her impeccable logic finally grinding away at the consciousness of the Alderon people. At long last the winds of war were changing direction.

Tears of joy flowed and fireworks exploded with barack-wan's toppling of the reviled Sith lords. Order and respect were deemed restored in the empire. Years of blatant corruption rotted the infrastructure, money-lenders had hoodwinked millions with governmental complicity, and a war-weary populace ached for relief. Overflowing crowds applauded the new Daddy (barack-wan retained the Sith Lord's powers).

But Luke Streeetwalker never saw a change in the hearts of his Alderon cohabitants, observing rather a mere reaction to their newfound anguish. Was true change on the horizon - or simply a mirage? Was this as times before, when the Sith Lords appeared overthrown but in reality still ruled from the shadows? Luke had to find the answers to these questions before his soul could rest with the Force.

With the promise of change, the anti-war movement died down even with a waxing of the wars. The economy of the Alderon system had collapsed under the weight of greed unleashed by the Sith Lords. And yet even more was taken from the needy and given to profiteers - with nary a whisper of serious dissent. The power seized by the Sith Lords was not only not returned, but increased. But the new Official Story was things had changed for the better, no need to worry. From the Dark Side of the Force a knowing laughter could be heard.

Yes, the Sith Lords had won once again by going underground. barack-wan kenobi used his mind tricks for what he said he believed was good. "These are not the banks you're looking for. Move right along," he soothed to a group of infuriated Sand Traders whose land had been swindled. Useless Idiots screamed in fanaticism to support barack-wan or the evil Sith Lords would return to power and all would be lost. The policies did not stop but the protests did. The Grand Deception sealed with a kiss.

The last of the Jedi of the Light, Luke walked a lonely road. He frowned as children were pushed away by their parents. "Stop your whining, brats! Everything is fine! Now shut up or no one will love you!" Later, he saw those same parents pushed away by the Imperial Senate - only this time the parents were told to shut up or be unloved. They complied lest their own words be used against them, the Grand Deception upheld. From tangled webs as these did still the Sith Lords pull the strings. Nothing had changed and the Word was neither spoken nor heard.


So what will they do when they do when they find their money and their military won't save them?

A Presidential Conversation

Who am I?

The one true leader for these times

Who am I?

A uniter, not a divider

Who am I?

The agent for change that must happen

Who am I?

A practical man who knows the real solutions

Who am I?

A dreamer of people's hopes!

Who am I?

The voice of integrity, exposing corruption

Who am I?

A dedicated soul, willing to sacrifice myself for the good of all

Who am I?

A man unafraid of making unpopular decisions

Who am I?

A man for reform and new beginnings

Who am I?

A savior of the nation, the world, and mankind itself!

May I ask: who is telling me these things?

Uh, well, it's not God...


Funny, last guy had this same conversation every day

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Signs Of The Wind

Touching of two souls;
Tenderness lost in the wind;
Broken heart remains.

_________________________________


There once was a time when a grown man could squat down in the grocery store in front of a small child and say, "Hello, little girl!" and the mother would say, "What a nice man!"

Then came a time when a grown man would squat down in the grocery store in front of a small child and the mother would whisk her away, telling her daughter, "Don't talk to strangers!"

Now when a grown man squats down in the grocery store in front of a small child and says, "Hello, little girl!" he is whisked away and charged as a pedophile and branded 'sex offender' for life.

This is the sign of a growing soul?

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There once was a time war profiteering was considered high treason, a betrayal of the public trust and the most cowardly of acts.

Then came a time when peace was more feared than war and the profiteering became a "necessary evil" in the partnership of dealing death.

Now war is an addiction, endless and always needing to up the dosage; waged solely for profit.

This is the sign of a growing soul?

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There once was a time a man could work well and make a social contract for living, his common fortune raising the boats of everyone.

Then came a time the boats of others mattered no more, each man concerned with his fate alone, lowering the tide of every man's living.

Now the water is evaporating, the social contract long ripped to shreds and what boats are left demand the remaining water for themselves - and get it.

This is the sign of a growing soul?

_________________________________


Blame it on policies or politics or pettiness - but those too are mere signs of the wind. There are those who weave the fabric of society and those who tear it apart - each side calling the other the enemy of good. I know I cannot change which way the wind blows, but if my wind blows true this feather will land where it belongs.

He is a feather in the wind

Death By Salvation

500 years ago the most dominant force on the planet was religion. Wars were raged and lives tortured over whose version of God was correct. (Of course, this still goes on today, just in a different form, in case you're tempted to feel morally superior). Kings were obliged to the Pope and killing infidels was not only common but considered necessary to our survival. The logic being, of course, that without God's approval one has no future - so destroy all those who disagree as to whether God approves of you! And that is how Father Domingo came to be in a Japanese prison in the year 1600 AD.

The Portuguese came to Japan in 1549 along with their Catholic fever. But even within their own religion were factions: the Jesuits and the Franciscans. Father Domingo was a Franciscan monk which was unfortunate since the Jesuits had the upper hand in Japan, didn't like his teachings and had him dispatched forthwith into prison. Inside this living hell, he made converts of what prisoners he could, preparing them for the unusually cruel version of Japanese crucifixion.

Each morning came the man with the List. If your name was called, time to die - slowly over days. The Father would bless the poor bastards and send them out. This he had done for two years when one day a sailor was brought in who had wrecked upon the Japanese shores. His name was Blackthorne, the ship's pilot, who'd just came from a visit with the powerful Lord Toranaga. But the Catholic priests hated this heretic Protestant pilot who washed up on their private little domain of Christianity, reviling Blackthorne for revealing to Toranaga more than one version of Christianity existed.


So Lord Toranaga jailed him in apparent appeasement - all the while knowing the monk was imprisoned there already. Father Domingo gave the Pilot an education on Japan and the inner workings of the Portuguese trading. He also taught him conversational Japanese to help him get by. What Blackthorne learned in that prison would have remained hidden from him forever had the Jesuit priests had their way. But learn he did - until the day came his name was called out by the man with the List.

With grave fear Blackthorne approached the exit of the foul den of sick and dying bodies, following the List Man - to his happy surprise - all the way to the prison gate. He was being released! An escort waited for him to take him back to the castle where Lord Toranaga awaited. Blackthorne was bathed and set in luxury. Toranaga explained he needed Blackthorne in prison as a ruse to keep him safe from his rivals. The Lord then whisked away the ship's pilot to safe territory.

Father Domingo - though he had done right in his heart - had betrayed Jesuit secrets to Blackthorne, aiding an enemy to his oppressors. So what must have he thought when a few days after the Pilot's departure his name was called on the morning list. After hundreds of days of dodging the bullet and preparing others for an unspeakable fate, Father Domingo was unable to prepare himself. His old and tired body would wilt painfully when stapled to the cross in the searing sun. And the thought of that fatally seized his heart, collapsing him to the ground dead.


Father Domingo was not a happy camper as he confronted his Maker. "You bastard motherfucker! It's HELL down there. You leave me to live at the mercy of animals with no way out? YOU try living down there sometime! Jesus fucking Christ, it's a madhouse! I believe in love, I really do! But for what? To be gutted like a pig? You say I deserve that, so be it. But I can only stand so much! Damn, you're one hard son-of-a-bitch!"

God then revealed to Domingo the truth, showing him Blackthorne pleading to Lord Toranaga for the father's release and return to stature. Toranaga was more than happy to oblige and thus sent the order for the padre to be set free. For while death seemed to surround the monk whichever way he turned, his inner fidelity to life had actually saved him.

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