No, no, I completely agree with you. You see things just like they are. Let me know how things work out for you!
You ever see that movie "Maria Full Of Grace"? It's about this girl smuggling heroin in her stomach. So you see she wasn't full of grace AT ALL. It was heroin! These people are calling heroin a GOOD THING! That's just SICK! Fucking Hollywood! Word!
***
What do you mean my moustache looks like Hitler's? How dare you compare me to that monster! Some of my best friends are Jewish you racist son-a-bitch! I hope they put you in a concentration camp for calling me Hitler! I see right through you! Word!
***
I think all the people who go around bitching need to shut the fuck up! They're just pissed the world isn't the way they want it and then they go around telling everyone else how to act and even what to speak! The nerve! So shut the fuck up if you're not going say what I want! Word!
***
You just said a Bible quote! So you believe in priests molesting children, hating gays, burning people at the stake and a mythical space god! You're a total jerk for shoving your beliefs on everybody else! The Bible's all fairy tales and you better believe that! Word!
***
There is no truth, motherfucker! It's just you and your own personal fucking agenda making shit up to fit your biased point-of-view hoping that will somehow make you a good person! There is no objective truth that can be known! And that's the truth! Word!
***
What I can't stand is people that are naive and think everything should be all lovey-dovey. We gotta have war or we're doomed! There's bad people out there we have to fight - but I'm not one of them! We'll never be safe if we don't kill people! And I'm not just saying this because of the war that rages within me. Word!
----------------
Did I tell you about the militant peace protesters' march I saw the other day? Those guys mean business! They had all these great signs and chanted lovely slogans and made all sorts of insightful points how we need peace before it's too late. Then some guy on the sidewalk shouted out how he was for the war and they shot him.
"So it's come down to this, has it?" Frank stared at the gargoyle smile, neither smiling nor scowling, looking him in the eye with unexplained expectancy, a life on hold. Eyes hard as rails, forged from deep, grey stones pounded mercilessly by the clanging hammers of dead hearts. In this part of the country, explanations were hard to come by, like water from a rock. "It always does," concluded the gunman, heaving a sigh of relief; his greatest fear in facing a man uncorrupted.
"Man...an ancient race." Grey Eyes spoke just loud enough to be heard - or not heard - it mattered little. He spoke to the sky.
Frank wondered: Have I gone too far? He remembered sitting behind the Rich Man's desk feeling like a king of old, wallowing in the eternal lust of power. Rich Man asked the gunman how it felt. "Feels just like holding a gun," he marveled, running his hands along the edge of the smooth mahogany. "Only much more powerful." Thievery was one of many occupations listed on Frank's resume and the few seconds spent on the Rich Man's throne opened his eyes to the vast horizons of the plunder of the pen.
But the crown of decision sat uneasily on his head. More to shooting than just aiming straight. Man can't hit his target with his stomach in a knot - and Frank never had a tight gut. That was his advantage over the dead men he'd left behind. No, Frank was not a builder of empires, just a very useful tool. He needed the simple rules of the bullet. Games without rules left him naked and exposed as a baby.
Frank was sure he knew himself
Well, it's not like I've been beat by a man yet. Don't see why this one should be any different. But Grey Eyes was different - and Frank knew it. In the hard wasteland of killing, the steady hand won out. Frank had seen many faces of death. Men too scared to fight back, men too dumb not to run, men who wanted the glory of the kill without learning the skill. Just wantin' to kill, that's not enough. But the face before him now was a demon's mask with angel's eyes.
Grey Eyes had killed before; his other face of granite and ash. Some killers - most killers - plunged into the thrill of it, an adrenaline shot for the emerging Frankenstein. Going down that road put them out of the norm, out of sync, twisting life into warped and distorted images. Tightrope walkers don't dare become bored. And staying alert means finding another kill. But Grey Eyes killed only striking snakes, preserving life. He took pleasure in the preservation - and that was his advantage.
Frank's truest enemy was guilt. Guilt muddles the mind, causes hesitation to slow the killing hand. It's easy to pull the trigger on a bad man, giving him his just desserts. The weak get what they deserved too. But a killer who didn't need the killing. What was he like? Aren't you a cripple too? Gotta be! We all are. Them bullets don't just kill the other guy, they take a piece of you too. I bet you're no different than all the rest of us. Frank bet his life on it.
The Whore of New Orleans. The smoke of her eyes disarmed Frank of any gun not of his birth. Like diseased creatures stricken with desire, men flocked to her in helpless agony. Cloaks of deceit flung to the ground as pleading arms stretched out for a taste of her nurturing nectar. Once enflamed, words imprisoned in the dark stillness of night released their cry and she knew well the hidden voices of men. Like a beaten dog of the desert, she walked with wary steps at the sight of oncoming leggings.
Pressing her husband's killer against her lips she belched her weaknesses in open contempt. She could have caged them, owned them, left them to damage her organs. But she freed them right in front of Frank's hazing eyes leaving him to realize her death was his death, his bullets useless as his rotted love. She knew he'd come to rape her, to call her whore, to pray at her temple with a psalm of depravity. But in the facing of it she took away his pleasure. A whore no more.
Still, Frank need his raping, to show all the world the plight of his soul. He demanded her worldly possessions in lieu of her body. Having suffered the humiliation of marrying his gun, Frank crusaded his rifled religion with an evangelist's fervor. And like any religious zealot, he bore contempt on creeds of a differing stripe. Most importantly he craved the conquests as sacrifices to his god, to prove he'd not thrown his life away in vain. All he need do was win - every time.
Frank had had his chance to kill his competitor, had him cold and surrounded. But in flinty recognition Grey Eyes flashed Knowledge Of The Unknown and for Frank nothing blazed more preciously in his torment. "Don't punch him in the mouth," he ordered his men. "He needs to talk, and talk plenty." But Frank must first ride out if he were to grab onto the brass ring of his blossoming business career - but after having taken care of the confused plans of his heart, he'd wring the truth from behind those grey eyes and perhaps learn the secret to his freedom.
Didn't look like Frank was going to get that talk now. "Who are you?" he demanded of Grey Eyes. No, there was no backing down now but he'd lost his advantage. The only way to find out who this man was was to draw his gun. And yet...why this childlike need to talk? He fought back the urge, to fight two opponents was lethal. No, no need for words. I can kill him like always. Man that can be shot got no right to live no how. I'm gonna draw, simple as that. My head's clear enough. Now!
Man, an ancient race...modern in his methods, clichéd in his traits...men waiting to be proven true, men wanting to be proven liars...what's left to be done with nothing new under the sun?...time to return where it started, innocent children safe in Nature's hands...the rising sun mourns the forever folly of soil drained barren by weeds...someday avenging angels swoop in to save the flowers before it's too late...high and wide will be the mounds of pulled weeds as the angels lament, "Man...an ancient race."
Sometimes you just have to say something. Make a moral stand, I say! I try to be generous to my fellow man but comes a point where enough is enough! Must we listen and suffer the losers of this world forever? We winners are a patient lot but really, is it my fault your life sucks?
I think not!
Life is good aboard my luxury yacht, the S.S. Bailout. Bless those taxpayers' hearts. Finally they earn their keep! The world is of the rich, by the rich and for the rich. You know why? Because all good things come from us. Ain't no homeless bum going to give you a job to keep a roof over your head. Remember this: there's nothing more important in life than taking care of the rich.
And be honest, you know you want to be rich too! Ah, here comes one of my employees now, a Mexican boy I rescued from dire poverty who now gets seven whole dollars an hour! I really don't know where all this talk of racism comes from. I let all sorts of races toil for me.
"Hello, Pedro, how are you today?"
"It's Paco."
"Now listen, Pedro, you keep working hard and doing a good job washing my cars and someday you'll have a yacht like this too!"
"Yes, senor, everybody in America believe that."
"That's right! This is the land of opportunity! You just remember that, boy. Work! Work! Work! And everything will be fine."
On his way to his first million - if he does a good job!
Now, where was I? Ah yes, the abuse we rich have to endure. It's outrageous! Take that BP well that had that unfortunate one in a million act of God happen to it. What do people expect? Perfection? And they literally crucified my good friend Whatshisname the CEO. How disgusting. No one says a word about all the wells that don't leak do they? Damn liberal media!
Like who can make a well not leak if the good Lord makes safety too expensive? You people so wronged a good man. Life is certainly cruel sometimes. I hear all this hullabaloo about some fisherman who offed himself. Why? Because he cares so much about the fish he brings up to kill? I think not! Darwin explained this long ago. Nature dictated he should die - not our artificial economic system. And - oh wait - a phone call.
Speak of the devil! It's my good friend, BP CEO guy.
"Hey, guy, what's going on?...You quit? Why? You had it made?...Well, at least I hope they made it worth your while...Eh, 18 million is better than nothing I guess. At least now you can get your life back!...I told you not to say "little people". They hate being reminded of that!...What firm do you have doing your lying for you?...Those guys? Those cocksuckers couldn't lie their way out of a paper bag. I got a neo-con that will blow your mind!...Hell yeah, he got us into Iraq, didn't he? He's one helluva liar!...Can you hold a sec, I'm doing a very important blog."
He's feeling really down everyone. Hope you're fucking happy ruining a man's life like this, mocking him for one little mistake. You dirty, little people!
Do I really look sincere?
"Nah, nobody important. I got to put these malcontents and losers in their place. I'm sick of all this whining. I want to see happy shiny faces around me!...You're right! It's that bastard Obama's fault. Fucking liberals are destroying this country! I worked hard for my ill-gotten gains...Yup, I saw those tea partiers on TV. There's nothing they don't hate!...I know! Makes me want to join too! We need more useful idiots like that. We should encourage them...Wow, you really are feeling low...Well, I'd hold off before I sold the Ferrari. Don't do anything rash!...Look, I'd love to stay and chat but I have a girl here and she gives one hellacious blow job!...Alcohol and sleeping pills? That might do the trick. Let me know if you survive!"
What a depressing guy! I can't stand people who go on and on about their conscience. Has anyone ever actually seen one? Just a bunch of bullshit poor people make up. Problem with this country is all the broken homes we got. We need more stand up parents like mine. Mom always said I'd never amount to anything without selling my soul. She was right! What a useless thing a soul is!
And remember this you lovely pot scrubbers you: money worship is the only way! Anything else is just suicide and chaos and will destroy the whole planet - not like now! I just love the free-to-fuck-you system. Hold steady to that and I'll be just fine. Shit, that reminds me, I gotta call my broker. "Hey you, darkie, bring my phone so you'll have a purpose in life."
"Yes, yes, buy me that munitions stock. We're going to need guns and bullets for a long time to come!...Hehe, that's funny! They'll be so goddam hungry they won't be able to shoot straight!...Too true! Like they can even afford them anyway! God I just love it when I see cops beating up the poor...I know! It's a free country. They can buy stocks too...Some people you just can't help. I asked my gardener about his portfolio and you know what he said? 'I done sprayed for that already, boss!' What can you do?...Oh, Obama, he's been a godsend. Badmouthing us on one hand and kissing our ass with the other. That boy knows where his bread is buttered! But all his high talk got people thinking he's doing something real, hehe...I completely agree. Never give a sucker an even break!"
Bottom line is this: I don't know what everyone is bitching about! I'm going to be just fine. Sometimes you just have to thin the herd, cut out those who aren't pulling their weight - and their children too. It's great to be me! And after all, I didn't invent the system we live by. The minute we change our minds is the minute things change. But don't do that! Don't ever change! All the bad shit that happened this time will never happen again. Thank God we saved the system! Keep everything just like it is! After all, what else is there to live for but to be rich?
Hush little children, Put your head to sleep; Forget the world's sorrows, Let the darkness creep.
Forget all the analysis. Forget the false parsing, the breaking down of strategy and useless political wrangling. Forget all the slick propaganda - even your own. And ask yourself: why do we wage war?
There's no honest socially acceptable answer. But there are many socially acceptable answers we forgive: "To preserve freedom", "To fight terrorism", or the very desperate lie: "To fight the good fight". We know that's not the truth but it's most comforting when one can spread lies with impunity. Makes you can think you can lie about most anything and get away with it. And of course you can - for a time.
But we also know lies must be carried on the backs of people, that someone must pay for our sins. We certainly don't want our own lives and loves gutted in the name of Today's Big Lie, but someone must bear that cost. We are the carriers of war, spreading it like a disease hoping the symptoms never touch us. But that's hoping against hope.
I don't say these words in condemnation, but to bring salvation.
War porn
I ask you again: why do we wage war?
What is to be gained from sacrificing the truth? Who are we fighting? When does it end? Where does true hope lie for our future?
I met a man once, a man who wanted only one thing in life: to be something he was not. He relentlessly sought to accomplish this impossibility and if he pulled it off, he'd be the greatest man in history. Quite a prize! Everywhere he went he carried two things: a square peg and a round hole. Each day he'd try to fit that square peg into the hole, and in times of stress - a.k.a. encroaching reality - he'd squeak the loudest. Most annoying!
He loved to hear the naysayers, feeding off their negativity, proclaiming himself an eternal optimist, a man of courageous heart. "I don't cut and run!" Success was always just around the corner, today's progress made it only that much closer! He was fighting the good fight to benefit all mankind, for if one lie can be true they all could. Dreams of a madman, wasting precious time, funded by blood and misery.
There's only one enemy to destroy and that's the lie within. It is ourselves with whom we wrestle and do battle. That's a struggle that cannot be won by the military. Peace is a byproduct of commitment. It cannot be negotiated, it doesn't require treaties; it's just facing the fact you have to have it in order to live. One by one we'll realize this and turn around, starting the long journey back. How long and painful that journey is is up to us.
"You see, under these new chartered accountancy rules, in some scenarios where the depreciation has exceeded the norm - but not in a way as to trigger a Rule 8 Burden Of Proof certificate - but still outside the established fluctuation boundaries in a multi-year drawdown will require a special parsing evaluation all the way to the item master level of the components so as to compare the unassembled scenario versus assembled scenario with labor counting - and here's the tricky part - on a daily ad hoc basis so as to determine an ongoing mean over the reporting period but with no historical statistical data kept allowing for backtracking calculations this will have to be done on an inputted process without fail each day so that we can build a database for quarter-to-quarter and year-to-year comparisons which will give us standardization for a baseline for our depreciation rates.
"But, haha, we need to know those scenarios don't we!" (Peter always liked to inject a bit of whimsy)
"So what I'm going to need from you is a report listing those scenarios driven from a new depreciation scenarios table to be derived from each manufacturer's requirements (this you will need to painstakingly gather and I have a list of contacts you will need to contact) which will then need to be verified according to which method of principles we decide to choose - I know we haven't chosen that yet but I want you to get started anyway and at some point the CIO will make a final determination for the formulas which you will then need to incorporate - but you don't need the formulas, of course, to create an overall structural design analysis of the design which needs to be able to plug into the profit-and-loss statement module on a dynamic level forthwith. This project shall be your purpose in life for the next six weeks.
"Oh, and don't put too many dots on the label extensions to the data columns - it makes things look too stuffy!"
Bernie the Blogger hated his life. And what he hated most of all was his dreary job, a slow tortuous death bleeding him into oblivion one maddening day after another. But he did have the power of the pen to strike back against the injustices of the world! He scribbled furiously a burning epithet of modern society with a post titled, "An Open Letter To God", which read like this:
"Dear God,
Suck my dick! This whole goddam planet sucks. You think it's such a fucking picnic you come down here and live with these assholes! Who gave them the right to decide my fucking life? Why do I have to pay just because some fartheads think they got it all figured out and I should have to live by their bullshit ideas? Got an answer for that, motherfucker?
Yeah, didn't think so.
So get off your goddam ass and start zapping some of these sons-a-bitches putting a gun to my head and a knife in my back. Shit, I'd do the same for you and here you won't throw me one fucking lifeline when I'm here drowning in drivel. Just what does that say about this piece-of-shit world you supposedly want to save??"
Bernie was ecstatic. He got 17 comments lustily approving of his rant, with very often the exact words "Good rant!" being used. He got three more comments telling him he was the one whom God would zap - and that he damn well deserved it. And he also got a final comment on where he could buy cheap Ugg boots online.
But even with this modest success, Bernie still found himself crushed by the tidal wave of tedium his job so mercilessly produced. Crawling on the floor of his one bedroom apartment - who's only furniture consisted of a bean bag, an outdated Nintendo and wide screen TV - he switched on the set with his last remaining gasp. And there he found Magic Mike speaking words of wisdom.
"Hi, folks! Is your life a dead end? Do you work and work and work and never get anywhere? Are you searching for meaning in a world gone mad? Have you lost all hope? Do you feel that no matter how hard you try, how sincere your efforts or how vital the truth you speak that it will always come to nothing? Do you lie awake at night envying your pet?
"If so, you're not alone! I have an answer for you, one that will turn your life around, show you how to overcome those obstacles you thought you never could. Become one of the successful people you see every day. And I tell you it's far easier than you think!"
I applaud me
Bernie the convert repented to his Maker. "Thank you, God! This is exactly what I needed. I know I thought you let me down, but I was in so much pain, overwhelmed by the blackness and bleak horror of my life. It's hell in that windowless room with those suffocating walls and being forever poked and prodded by mindless minions who don't even know what's best for them. I felt like Napoleon trapped in a loony boon for fake Napoleons, no one ever believing me no matter what the truth is.
"But I should have known better, that would separate the wheat from the chaff and set me free! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
Magic Mike was a man of plastic hair and plastic words, both of which seemed shiny and real at first glance. "Now, I'm going to give you this very simple answer, one that took me a lifetime to find, for I too was once in your shoes, downtrodden and stuck in a one room shack, broke and filled with despair. My prospects were less than zero." Bernie giggled. Wow, he had it worse than I do! "But there is an answer, my friends, to start living the life you deserve, the good life, the life God meant you to live." Bernie was literally salivating at this point. "And that answer is simply to give me money. Do that and your life will improve in vast in dramatic ways. Only a complete and hopeless idiot loser wouldn't benefit from this - and if you are such a soul I have a 3 day back money guarantee minus the initial processing fees."
Bernie slammed off his TV. "I hate you, God! Bet you're really laughing now, aren't you? Suckered me good! Well, I'm going to get you - and your Magic Mike too!"
Bernie's keyboard crackled as his fists of fury pounded out a long and deranged diatribe proclaiming among other things, "I've seen the light! I'm a reborn atheist! I have proof God does not exist!" and repulsive ramblings on "that fraud fucker Magic Mike whose only possible use as a human being would be to use his head as an ass wipe." And with his exposure of these two great deceptions of our times, Bernie was featured on Blog-Of-The-Day.com, got over a hundred positive comments as well as receiving an award as a pseudo-journalist from a pseudo-journalism web site.
Heady times for Bernie. But eighteen hours later nobody gave a shit on what had passed on the raging white-water rapids of the blogging river that stops for no man. And his life was still shit. Thus a flounce was born.
"You're all shit! You don't know shit! You don't appreciate shit! You smell like shit! You make everything into shit! And did I tell you don't know shit? Well, guess what fuckermothers, I don't need your shit!"
That sure caused some shit as most bloggers were in the shit-selling business and very desperately needed their shit to be needed. Many sympathetic supplications and moving moments of impending mourning convinced Bernie to stay as everyone joined in the virtual group hug. (Although there was also a consistent thread of comments stating, "Go ahead! Jump!", Bernie decided to gloss over those.)
And so Bernie went to work the next day just a little bit deader than before, musing on his next post, and he kept on that way until all the life was finally hammered out of him.
"Hey, did you hear what happened to Conversation Guy?"
I was my usual flippant self: "What? He finally found a wall that talked back?"
"No, he tried to kill himself. He's in the hospital right now."
"Oh," I said at the news this world of ours had shed one more tear. "I guess it had to come to that, didn't it?"
***
Street people talk to themselves a lot and outsiders find that "scary". And usually, the older a person is, the more prevalent the self-dialog. The young are in no less pain but still have something left in the tank to absorb the blows of the street. But comes a point when you're all tapped out, trapped and terrified you'll never have another human connection ever again. So you have to start talking, to keep your racing mind company and hopefully maybe stay one step ahead of the wolves of insanity barking at your heels.
I read about people who are experiencing long term unemployment for the first time. They talk about being invisible, feeling separated while standing in line for movie tickets, thinking: "I'm not one of them anymore, spending money without giving it a second thought. I'm a secret outcast." Suddenly, certain places are forbidden to you as you notice the upscale restaurant you can no longer frequent. In fact, forbidden zones are everywhere for the moneyless. It gets worse over time.
When explorers traverse over large blocks of ice they stay linked together by a rope in case a crack forms and one of them falls through. The lifeline will save them. America doesn't believe in lifelines, everyone has to "Pull their own weight" as a sign of alleged virtue. It's why we have the highest anxiety in the world. We pretend we're so strong no crack can come along to hurt us and if it does, then you must be doing something wrong. Leaving someone to die like that is a form of rape, America's true pastime.
Oh sure, we do a little of what I call "Jew hiding" like in WWII, giving shelter to those who would be crushed. Donate some money, fund a shelter and you hide a Jew from the Nazis of capitalism. But while that has to be done, it does no good if no one is fighting the Nazis - or even admit they exist! You can't stop the bleeding if you never heal the wound. Now you see why good deeds won't get us to heaven - we only do them so we won't have to change our wicked, wicked ways.
Ever been inside an ice schism? It's very cold and very lonely. And very quickly you realize your life depends on others to help. There is no possible worse feeling than that in America with its despicable code words like "individual responsibility" i.e. "You're on your own, pal!". Not what you want to hear as the ice walls close in and no matter how loudly you scream, no one will ever hear you. I know it's radical beyond all current norms of modern thought, but abandoning people is not my idea of being responsible. We are bloodthirsty savages in three piece suits, clawing and slashing to keep our futureless fantasy.
Conversation Guy had long ago fell through the crack, the ice splitting open right in the middle of his conversation. And to keep himself going, he never stopped having that discussion, he just kept talking away, desperately clinging to the hope he'd be pulled right back up and could continue along as if nothing had ever happened. We'd made a game of trying to deduce the original subject of his conversation, making a sort of "Who's on first?" routine out of it. All we really knew was it was about a relationship he'd once had or was having with a woman.
It's a long fall from feeling outcast standing in the check out lane to losing everything and walking the streets in complete despair. Somewhere along the way you lose your mind imprisoned between the relentless, unforgiving perils of the ice walls. They say when you reach the end of your rope to tie a knot in it. Conversation Guy did that, he survived the best he could hiding from the Nazis, but with no one fighting the good fight his strength to hold on finally gave way.
"Peace stopping the war! You've gotta be kidding me!" I knew sooner or later somebody was going to fuck with the guy, standing all alone on the corner, and in this redneck city - oh yeah. "What's the deal, man? All the whales been saved?"
The taunter had two companions cut up from the same cloth, mockingbirds to echo their loser leader. All three liked shaved heads and tattoos. But these weren't the scary kind of skinheads, more like the kind who wanted to look badass as an identity for acceptance. Think Vanilla Ice and his two retarded cousins. Original thoughts hard to come by in this threesome.
The sign holder looked like a reject from a hippie nursing home, replete with bandana and denim vest. I winced at first glance, thinking, "Sheesh, dude, at least clean up a little and don't look so much the stereotype of the burned out sixties beatnik." It's why I never watch American Idol, I can't stand for people to make themselves targets. But he was rigid in his stance and not a man of fear like me. "More power to ya," I said to myself. "But I sure wouldn't want to deal with the morons that sign is sure to attract."
The protester was at a busy off ramp from the highway, a place usually reserved for panhandlers. With nothing better to do in my godforsaken life this early morn, I claimed a shady spot and decided to watch this one act play. I saw only one angry confrontation as the words got heated between the protester and a BMW driver. Suddenly I noticed the hippie disengaging as the driver still barked his argument. The hippie just started smiling and flashed a peace sign as the guy screeched away.
This is how BMW asshole parked later on
Interesting. Maybe this guy's got something. Made me feel guilty for not doing more.
I also saw signs of support which he gratefully acknowledged and some others who were genuine in their disagreement and felt the need to say their peace. But the only real anger I saw was from the Beemer driver and I began to think I'd misjudged the maturity level of my fellow Dallasites. Turns out it had just taken the morons a while to find him...
Taunters 2 and 3 joined the fray.
"Yeah, man, save the dolphins too!"
"And maybe goldfish cuz he's caring like that!"
The three were most self-congratulatory in their supposed wit and giggled appropriately. Protest Man didn't move. I'm not sure he even blinked, looking at them with the wariness as one would an overhead pigeon who's about to poop. I did notice he saw no reason to answer them. The leader resumed his self-mockery.
"Aw, I think he's gonna cry! Is that a tear I see?"
"I think he's going to start chanting or something!"
"Maybe he's going to sing a song for us! Come on, dude, sing out Paperback Writer."
Both the war protester and I had WTF expressions on our faces. Paperback Writer? Where the hell did that come from? That his idea of a sixties protest song? Or maybe just the only sixties song he knew? Weird things people say. People are so inconvenient when they don't stay pigeonholed.
The continual non-response caused an escalation of the leader's earnestness.
"You gotta be hard, man." Each of the three said "man" in the mocking tone of a sixties relic. "It's dog-eat-dog out there and your little pussy sign ain't gonna make one fucking bit of difference! It's take or be taken."
Quick! Tell me what to think!
The leader of the brats was genuinely perturbed by the sign. I'd seen it before: the protester touched something off in the boy's latent idealism. I wondered if his background was more suburban than urban.
Seeing something real to respond to, Sign Man replied. "He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword."
Predictably, twisted sister wasn't going to take that. "You don't got a sword you're just gonna be somebody's bitch. You don't understand nothin', man."
Finding a concept they could grasp, the two tagalongs added further pearls of wisdom. "We gonna cut you up, dude. What you think of that?"
"What you gonna do? Hug us to death, old man? Live in the real world, ya dumb fuck!"
Like a District Attorney who's made his case, the leader folded his arms and waited for the accused to defend himself against the charges. I was thinking; "Fuck! Wish I had a video camera!"
The Protester looked into the eyes of each of his counterprotesters, sizing them up. Was he going to run in the better part of discretion? Or did he see something worthwhile in their eyes? This guy's really got me intrigued. What scars had he born? Was he truly stupid enough to think one little sign would make a difference? Or had he read "Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals" and acted in such a way that if everyone did it it would make a difference? I'd really like to pick his brain.
I hushed my thoughts as he replied.
"Why choose the sword when you know it will only kill you?"
The logic paused the boys, Larry and Curly looking to Moe to respond. He came up with this: "Cause I ain't gonna be nobody's bitch! Better dead then a bitch!"
I dearly wanted to correct his grammar but I noticed the body language of the three unwise men was not so confident now, hanging on the hippie's response like children to a father.
"You'll always be the sword's bitch. I'm a free man. Kill me and I die a free man."
Respect. The lost boys had found a home in his words and though they struggled not to show it they hungered to walk further down this road. A road to manhood. A road with a future (not having one being their true argument). I watched the inward struggle between their pride and their desires and how tempting they found it to give up the "hard man" routine and give in to life. But the guardian of fear kept them from crossing that bridge.
"OK, dude. You wanna die, have it your way. You're one dumb motherfucker, you know that?"
Hippie man smiled at the veiled compliment, knowing what the boy truly wished to say. But taunter #3 halted in his retreat. While taunter #2 was clearly a follower all the way, #3 had his own intelligence if not the kind that can stand on its own. He was literally just smart enough to be dangerous and I feared for the protester who stood naked with his reason.
And I was right.
I jumped up, taking several steps forward as I saw #3 rush the greybeard. But the reply was swift and well-aimed. In a defensive move, a thrusting heel went straight into the thigh of the bullheaded boy. Another well placed kick to the abdomen left him howling doubly in pain, not knowing where to clutch. I'd seen a guy heel-kicked before and it put him on crutches for three days. So I knew the boy was hurting. The last shot to the boy was verbal.
"War hurts. Do you want it to stop?" The boy's pride held him in its grip even then, refusing to repent. "Well, do you?" The voice made it clear more pain was to come.
"Yes. Yes I want it to stop."
Sign Man stepped back. "Me too."
I was beside myself. "Jesus, I can't believe that just happened! I wish the whole world could see this! Damn!"
The two punksters who could still walk helped up their moaning friend and slinked away educated if not awake. But you figure something would stick from all that. My gaze went back to the enigmatic protester but he was walking away too - holding no joy or victory on his face. He'd been forced into violence; he'd lost. Suddenly the sign seemed to mock him and he left to find a better way.
No, no, I completely agree with you.
