The Art of Saying Nothing in 500 words or less.

Like light and dark, what we love and hate are inextricably interwoven in the very fabric of the universe. The push and pull of that which we do and do not desire drives every waking moment in one way or another. It is natural to assume that all that is good and right with the world is each and eveyone's goal, but of course, this is not actually the case at all. Imbued with a survival instinct above all else, our reactions are not nearly as measured as we would like to believe. One needs a certain amount of leisure to formulate rationals for acts that are little more than blatant displays of selfishness or cruelty. For though our brutish spasms are just as vulgar and base with or without such explanation, somehow we deign to manifest elaborate philosophical concoctions to defang our desires after the dirty deeds are done.

Flashlights of the Gods

There's little to quibble on when counting blessings, lest one questions the benefit of anything that extends the torment of existence. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune notwithstanding, such bleating is best left to those whose with no taste for battle. For this twisted circus is jam-packed with conflict, both material and mental, awash in a tempest of desires straining for what small victory a memory can contain. What fine blessing can become a relentless struggle, born of tears and blood only to end in few words unheard before dust claims it's own? What window dressing validates these scenes of bearable cruelty, cast with impertinent clowns whose incomprehensible antics mock the very meaning of fulfillment in their hapless fumble for what tiny attentions quell their miseries for a moment? Blessings they may be though, if they ease this torturous tumult in any fashion, be it a mere flirty distraction from the ubiquitous horror or some kind of quaint accessory whose flair lends itself to such monstrous depictions. If there is there any glory in this decaying orbit, it lies in one's ability to set aside that which is not onslaught, and claim it as sacred, despite it's origin.

Yodelling for Dummies

Discovering a sense of purpose amidst the societal flotsam and jetsam of this modern age is oft an elusive object of desire, depending on one's discrimination. Upon stabilizing one's day-to-day survival mechanisms (a daunting task in and of itself), an individual faces the plethora of intricacies that make an insect colony look like the simplest of equations in comparison. Guided by ancestral hit-and-miss policies, personal preferences, and the limitations of one's immediate environment, one may foray into this morass of life-altering choices either armed to the teeth with knowledge, or blithely blind as a fool counting clouds.

Yet, the essence of this situation remains similar regardless of one's approach. Any cost/benefit analysis is deceptively comforting as the fool's glib optimism, when one considers how often a studied approach leads to circumstances just as unexpected and potentially unsatisfactory as any state of unpreparedness might. Still, whilst one wheedles one's way along their journey to Lord-knows-what, even a misguided sense of purpose provides said individual with a framework with which to cloak the ultimate randomness of the oncoming future. Accomplishment of a series of duties that lead to an expected conclusion aside, one must consider the basis for completing a task as a seperate effort.

Is thought is the substance of reality?

Reality requires a certain amount pf culpability on the part of the party establishing such as a state of being. Seemingly obvious, a participant often assumes the sense receptors of their corporal form is a rational basis with which one can grasp the standard model that presents itself as such. Interpretation of said reality is not the question here, rather the very existence of a collection of stimuli purporting to be that which is 'real'. Of course, like most concepts, reality must have an opposite, namely that which is 'unreal'. Clearly, the elimination of that which is unreal should leave us with only that which is real, unless like light and dark (or should I say 'light and not so much?'), varying degrees of each state exist in all situations. This conclusion, though inherently problematic logistically, is fairly sensible in relation to the idea that thoughts determine reality. Still, we are left with the disturbing inconclusiveness of exactly when and where something ceases to be real, or becomes real. Suddenly, the parental catchphrase, "Because I said so" looms large as a reasonable definer of what is, and is not, reality.

Unbelievability is the Hallmark of Truth

Naturally inclined to obsess upon that which right before our noses, we have a tendency to take in all other stimuli with an air of cognitive dissonance insofar as any effect said phenomena might have upon us in the future. The same could be said for our influence, be it physical or otherwise, on the surrounding environment. Whether we consider such interplay as vital or moot, it seems the essence of experience weaves along this vaguely defined line that divides 'us' from that which is 'not us'. Empirically, our experience begins and ends at the sensory receptors, with the interpretive mind hopefully organizing this information into an easily-digested mental meal that serves to nourish that which is basically non-physical, namely our thoughts. And whose soul doesn't wrest with the limitations of this material scenario? The world, like words upon a page, encoded with cryptic symbolism, defies simplistic interpretation. How learned must an entity be to decipher mysteries seemingly beyond comprehension? Thus, we share the most basic explanations based not in truth, but a rather shadowy mixture of myth and morality. This compounds the natural obfuscation of said dilemma with yet another sheath of interpretive abstraction, which often is mistaken for the thing itself. To 'understand' is to understand only that which is comprehensible within this construct, an ephemeral ladder to the stars if there ever was one.

Wheedling for everlasting glee

Faced with the magnificence of all that is noticeable in the general vicinity, the absolute truth still remains somewhat negligible in comparison. Reflections aside, this presentation overwhelms puny perception in its meticulous omnipresence. For what am I, but a fleck of synapse flatulence glorified by my own petard? Nary a questionable assessment flogs my consciousness as I surmise the situation at hand.

Casual gestures can invigorate your presentation.

This wisdom goes beyond the beginning and into the very winnowing of sin. Therein lies the quintessential rub of the ages, the very heart of all that is holy, so forth and so on. This world's friction bears witness to the unforgiving conditions we wrest with daily. What soundness in our girth gives us allowance to ponder such origins? Perhaps only the scant flicker of an eyelid can contain the endless stream of interpretation that is existence in this waking life. But soft, what struggle from yonder scene beckons to thee? 'Tis only one that you have brought with you.

"Oh yeah?" blurted Snurkle, balancing his Vietnam-era B-15 bomber fuselage between his glue-splattered cephalopod-like appendages. "I bet YOU think EVERYONE just loves your psuedo-spiritual claptrap splattering against the walls of their ideologies!"

"Um, it's not quite like that..."

"Maybe for YOU, but for the rest of us carbon-based life forms," Snurkle hesitated, turned and spat an unidentifiable object into the next room, then returned to his diatribe. "With such sanctimonious drivel the writer is literally urinating on the reader. I'll have no part of it!"

"Snurkle, don't you think you're overstating it a bit?"

The model plane part snapped with a loud report. the beast stared at the broken bits of plastic in his hands.

"I really don't think so," he said sighed, "but if you insist, I'll downgrade it to farting on the reader."

"Gee, I feel less cornholed than ever! Thank you ever so deeply, mollusk-breath!"

"I'm just trying to save us all some time, Flintstone," Snurkle replied," After all, my stock is down, and chillin' with you ain't exactly a futures investment, despite the fact I am a product of your imagination."

Needlessly Impolite Awakening

In a flurry of oddities that may seem normal in these times of seemingly infinite suppositions and their consequences, we find ourselves lost in a morass of choices that are tied to one another by one mutual aspect. Namely, not one of them is really a reasonable alternative to our current self-destructive manifesto. Perhaps in our zealousness to engage some kind of control of a situation that has no predictable outcome, there has been an abandonment of our ability to properly assess our worldly experience. The flashing lights and color bedazzling our befuddled gray matter these days may not allow for much original thinking, but as we begin to choke down more and more of our own tail, a growing sobriety will surely occur. Whether we awaken before this point is somewhat moot, as the natural unfolding of the universe does not make exceptions for the best intentions, sincere or otherwise.

Attack of the 500 lb. Chihuahua

The issue of immigration reform has taken on the unenviable quality of an ugly blind date. One is obligated to participate in an activity that is not to one's liking, or appear as shallow and ill-mannered as one actually is. But far as illegal immigration is concerned, the date is long over and they've moved in and are inviting the relatives over for Cinco de Mayo barbeque. It’s a bit late to be questioning one's decision-making process, thus the damage-control mode we are currently engaged in. With all the grace of an alcoholic awakening from a bender, we feign surprise to any involvement with the snoozing creature cuddled up against us in bed. At this point, one has two choices... participate in an activity that is not to one's liking, or appear as shallow and ill-mannered as one actually is.

As the so-called original U.S. citizens, these are basically the camps we have divided into. At Camp Denial, we don't even recognize that illegal immigration is a problem, and go about our activities as though the campers that sneak into camp have the same rights and privileges as those who paid for camp. At Camp Defender, we shoot anyone who even looks like someone who might sneak into our camp. At Camp Denial, all activities are voluntary and therefore rather slipshod in their execution, if they happen at all. At Camp Defender, your bunk is made and gun cleaned by 6 a.m., or you spend the day in the hole. All though it can be debated which camp is less fun, there is no argument that both have aspects that make staying home attractive.

So, just like the blind date analogy, the two camps analogy leads to the same conclusion... what the hell was we thinkin'? By hiring illegal immigrants, businesses opened the barn door wide in order to make a decent profit. By looking the other way, government allowed business to actually remove the barn door and place a sign up that said "Barn Door". This may be a clever enough ruse to fool suburban socialites, but farm workers are rather pragmatic when it comes to reality. Even when the words 'Barn Door' were eventually written in Spanish, somehow workers noticed there was no barn door. "Don't let the barn door hit you on the way in" became a running joke in the fields and low-paying job sites north of the border. Meanwhile, business and government snoozed comfortably in their luxury bedding.

Sometime in the 80's., the alarm went off and the boss was caught sleeping with the help. What they general public didn't realize immediately, is that a slew of offspring had already been produced that, according to established law, were U.S. citizens. This complicated things incredibly for business and government. But, rather than deal with the ugly reality of their indiscretions, they decided to build Camp Denial and Camp Defender. By sending (what they considered to be) their legitimate children to Camp Defender, and sending their illegitimate children to Camp Denial, they managed to stave off their comeuppance for one more generation. Camp Denial proved to be quite popular, with it's lack of rules and free taco nights. Camp Defender relied on it's exclusive status, namely that it wasn't Camp Denial. As Camp Denial became overpopulated and financially unsustainable, Camp Defender grew in popularity despite it's rather ornery reputation. Now, even though today Camp Defender is considered elitist and politically incorrect, nobody really wants to be part of Camp Denial, which grows more akin to the Superdome after Katrina everyday.

So, how do you get a 500 lb. chihuahua into your living room? You feed him. How do you get a 500 lb. chihuahua OUT of your living room? Ummm... let me get back to you on that.
Border patrols, walls, and immigration laws aside, finding a so-called 'solution' to the immigration issue is like curing rain. Nobody wants to get rained on, but everyone knows it is gonna happen and it is a necessary event in nature. The real issue here is 'borders' and whether they really mean anything in relation to people needing to go where they can survive and thrive.

I postulate that there are two basic positions, believing "It's Dog-Eat-Dog" and believing "We Are the World". Most folks tend to apply these beliefs on an issue by issue basis, depending on personal integrity and/or who's paying attention. Because most dyed-in-the-wool "Dog-Eat-Dog"-ers are militaristic fascists, and truly devoted "We Are The World"-ers are bleeding heart space cadets, no one can embrace either belief wholly and not be marginalized. Yet, in essence, these two philosophies personify the conflict that the immigration issue brings up for most of us.
The "Dog-Eat-Dog"-ers would literally live up to their namesake and kill and eat the 500 lb. chihuahua in the living room. Unfortunately, in the process they would develop a taste for such and hunt chihuahuas into extinction. The "We Are The World"-ers would actually move out of their house, and continue to feed "L'il Pero' until he exploded and made the whole place unlivable anyway. Is there a compromise here? Yes, but it's not a simple one.
Who's gonna tell a 500 lb. chihuahua he's gotta go on a diet?

In the 80s, musician Sting penned “I will turn your face to alabaster, when you will find your servant is your master”, (from Synchroncity 's "Wrapped Around Your Finger") and probably was not referring to illegal immigration, but these words epitomize the concerns of those who must make decisions in this matter. As our electorate becomes increasingly diverse, it is unlikely that their faces will be turning to alabaster any time soon. And for those holed-up in Camp Defender, it’s practically the school color.

Like I said, hopefully nobody is going to find a solution to rain. People are going to continue to try and make lives for themselves regardless of restrictions business and government impose upon the populace, illegal or otherwise. As Camp Denial spills over its own fencing and merges with the surroundings, it is likely Camp Defender will soon be surrounded. Although it is in great “Dog-Eat-Dog” tradition to go out in a blaze of glory, I have a feeling that when faced with the inevitable, they may balk. After all, between the two, which kind of person would you want living next door to you?

Cash: The Epitome of Diplomacy

Let us not forget amid this cavalcade of financial crises resulting from the surreptitious manipulations of scheming speculators, that business is still pretty simple. I have something you want and/or you have something I want and we cut a deal. Of course, finesse in these matters is no less than an art form, practiced by businesspeople throughout history to the nth degree and beyond. Yet the basic tenets remain plain. There is an agreement.

This is why cash is the epitome of diplomacy. Empirically, money is the human measure of a thing's worth (a 'thing' being an object or service) and as such, a physical manifestation of the most basic business agreement. Whether coinage or paper, it documents the essential essence of business, namely getting paid.

Perhaps since the flurry of stocks and bonds, credit/debit cards, and electronic banking descended upon our financial world, we may have somehow displaced our faith in currency. With convoluted loan and interest structures, as well as intricate legal language interwoven into the financial documents of today, the idea of cash as an agreement seems almost quaint. IF it weren't for the fact that these pieces of paper and metal are physically traded amongst billions of us every second of everyday, one could argue that dollars and cents are an antiquated form of exchange. That's what we call a big "IF", by the way.

With humble beginnings as simple record keepers, bankers quickly blossomed into a full-blown economic mafia complete with strong arms and territories. And this was before the written word, mind you! The first accountants were scrawling their calculations into stone long before the Mesopotamians started dotting i's and crossing t's. The machinations of this industry rely on a simple truth, namely, some people are smarter than other people.

It works like this. I come up with a deal that benefits you in the initial short run, but benefits me more than you in the long run. We shake hands, sign papers, do the hokey-pokey or whatever symbolizes this understanding. The bottom line is there is a record of this agreement, thus if you fail to fulfill the latter portion of the bargain, I get to whoop ass. This has been the basic arrangement since counting was standardized.

This concept really gathered steam after writing came into being. With an absolutely huge contingent of humanity unable to read at all, much less even wanting to, the smarter people had a big advantage when it came to writing and writing legal documents and recording agreements. To make a long story short, this is basically what goes on today, with lawyers as the primary translators of a meticulously twisted code. Along with these changes, the 'ass-whooping' aspect has taken on infinitely complicated permutations, including such morally awkward aspects as rewriting the terms of any agreement that led to the ass-whooping currently in progress.

Now this is where the situation begins to unravel. As the plethora of financial agreements grow in number and complexity, the ability of the system to 'whoop ass' properly in a timely manner becomes unmanageable. Soon, far too many agreements become unenforceable and wa-lah... fiscal meltdown! Welcome to the "Smart People/Stupid Choices" portion of the program, where otherwise pragmatic beings compete for cash and prizes in lieu of common sense. The major problem with this process is that it is all ultimately based on promises, which I have been told, is hardly the most reliable of currencies.

The point is... IF we had stuck to the simple agreement, (cash only) the likelihood of said disaster decreases one hell of a lot. That's another big IF, folks. Unfortunately, it is the rear-view mirror kind, unless you are one of those that think printing more money makes you richer. In that case, you probably shouldn’t be handling a spork, much less a pen to sign financial papers. Yet, outrageously enough, this is the very course of action we see our leaders promoting today!
Therefore, my initial hypotheses, although accurate, needs to be footnoted with " ...of course, there is good diplomacy and bad diplomacy". This is due to the fact that even cash can lose its meaning as an agreement if enough people contend otherwise. However, by the time that scenerio arises, most thinking individuals have returned to the more traditional forms of 'whooping ass' to get their needs met. It's not a pretty picture, but one worth a thousand words... of warning.

I cannot imagine that the perpetrators of the demise of world financial markets can even comprehend the ramifications of their actions. Lost in the manufactured tunnels and gilded caves of a metropolitan hamster cage, how can we expect such illusion-drunk corporate chattel to understand anything but what's put in the trough for them? The unfortunate reality is that one can be clever, without being wise. A disfunction that seems increasingly prevalent the higher one goes in financial circles.

Knowing that seeds become plants isn't the same as thing as being able to grow your own dinner. Hunting and gathering, and even farming have becoming lost arts for the majority of us. If cash becomes valueless, most of us will be at a loss to provide for ourselves. Despite assurances of so-called ‘smarter’ people to the contrary, this system seems destined to collapse under the weight of it's unfulfilled obligations. This “breakdown in diplomatic relations” means that all prior agreements are non-binding, effective immediately.

Still, it is human greed, rather than banking itself, greasing the rails to economic Ragnarok. Financial agreements are needed for civilized society to function, and cash on the barrelhead, although the most basic and proven financial agreement of all, does not serve the overwrought expectations of expanding oligarchies. Perhaps the rise and fall of civilizations are as cyclical as day and night, and this rollercoaster to financial devastation is not new. Evidence would seem to bear out that this crisis is not the end of the human race, only a massive portion of it- which is just fine... they probably owed us money anyway.

Goodness Sakes

When you own the world, baby

It won't mean a thing

The terror you inspire, baby

Worn like a wedding ring

The lights go up and down and out

And slap the face of time

I might just want a bite of you

But it's never to be mine

Forever caught in this prison of thoughts

I just can't  seem to come clean

Why is it I never do as I ought?

For goodness sakes, I don't know what it means

When you understand, baby

All you've got is regret

The horror of our memories

Are a matching set

Life goes on, around and round

And fills the space between

What is lost and what is found

Is it just another dream?

Forever caged in this stage of desire

I just act as though I care

Why is it I can't feel what I inspire?

For goodness sakes, I don't know what it means

Lego Semantics for Anti-Absolutists

The actuality of focused manifestation depends entirely on one's perception of a given situation in relation to former scenerios of similar ilk. An original point of motivation reflects the usual survival mechanisms of not only oneself, but that of one's forebears. Poised for glory of any level, our drive to achieve some kind of advancement can range from that which is merely different, to that which is world-changing. The positive or negative aspects of any change has less bearing on the actual process than that certain indefinable need to experience some sort of happening new to the body/mind/soul. It seems a rather unique quality that we are capable of perceiving the slightest variation of any given cycle or routine as progress, if for no other reason than it has taken place at different time-which is probably the ONLY constant, as nothing can occur twice in the same moment. Think about THAT as your Froot Loops go soggy!

The Center Is Everywhere

Although it SEEMS improbable that nothing is happening at all, this is the paradox that confronts anyone seeking enlightenment. Whatever we may IMAGINE we are doing is totally reliant on THOUGHT, rather than the so-called physical universe. Whatever ambition drives us toward enlightenment becomes as illusory as the rest of the universe if one actually progresses at all, which of course is an illusion as well. It is our ATTACHMENT that allows us to continue to validate experiences as "real" or mere "thoughts".

The biggest joke of all is the illusion of "others". Through our belief in TIME, we separate ourselves from the great unity of all in order to struggle to reunite something that has never been divided. In our hunger to experience anything but true clarity, we will suffer evermore with longing.

Well, that is, until we relinquish identity - which is probably not going to occur in the foreseeable future.

Personal Responsibility Trainwreck in Super Slow Motion

With mass variety of temporal indulgences to choose from, it is often difficult to ascertain the true value of each experience. In this world where we exchange our time of our lives (work) for material goods, it seems rather awkward to think of what people put themselves (and everyone else) through to achieve acceptable product purchasing power. Entrenched in endless 'earning', yearning time, as we give it away for a someday something soon. Choosing between short sharp shocks and the array of long term comforts, we sell our future for what the market bears. The illusion of time cannot be divided into 'work','play' and 'rest' as easily as one might imagine. Upon waking, we have a certain amount of time to achieve anything before 'rest' overtakes us in the form of sleep. Some might say that for some life is all work and no play, and for others the opposite, but upon closer examination these terms (work,play) become more and more meaningless in relation to the value of a given experience to the individual. Societal pressures play a huge role in the valuation process, as does the immediate comfort of said individual. With these thoughts in mind, assessing the current human state on planet Earth, I would venture that we have given ourselves over to the pursuit of worldly goods to the detriment of our world, neighbors, friends, families and selves.

The weight of the world is always the same
Depending on where you stand
The way that it turns, one can't ascertain
Whether gravity is in command

Process

If it is all in our heads, then it's all in our hands
The future is ours, if this we understand
What we nurture will grow, whether it's good or bad
In the end what we know is all that we have

Wriggling on the Edge of Uncertainty

There's a bit of luck involved for those bumbling along the time line towards some kind of eventual epiphany. Spiritual distractions raise their pretty little heads like pop-up menus in reality, diverting our determination with their effusive, but vapid displays. Be they in the form of our fellow earthlings, or some kind of mechanization created by such, their pandering interruptions can waylay the most disciplined seeker. For they are not always so obvious at first, often cloaking their true nature in well-intentioned forays that appear to be valid pursuits, until one finds oneself again staring at a spiritual dead-end.

Unbelievability and Chemically Induced Spasms

Current conditions are ripening at an unprecedented pace. Prophecy notwithstanding, observation would lend one to surmise that at our present rate of accelerated existence, there can't be much more random interaction left in relation to the time remaining to experience such. This revelation, though problematic in any reasonable application, is reassuring in it's confirmation that we are not going mad, the universe is mad and we are beginning to make sense of that.

Meanwhile, hormonal flare-ups and doltish behavior do not mix well, and are best avoided by good Christians and brutish mongols alike. Unfortunately, unlike spirituality, the baser thrills are pretty much mainstay product for most of us, lost in our personal turgid romances. The backasswards sensibilities enabled in said sport are at best a difficult alliance of empirical thinking and great shrieking winds of unbridled emotion tearing away the very landscape of your soul. A questionable endeavor, to be sure. However, it can be a trip to the moon on gossamer wings, I have heard.

So within the remaining spin allowed, let us join together in peace and harmony, knowing that this physical world is what we make it. So love without taking too much, if you can.

Supersize Your Brain

It appears that, all things being equal, what lies before us now is nothing more than time unfolding. Our ability to perceive so-called 'reality' could actually be the exact opposite procedure occurring forthwith. The necessity of individual existence in this particular juxtaposition of particle/wave formations seems rather indulgent in some kind of cosmic-justice way. Still, we cling to our material world, addicted to the very substance that leads to one's own demise.

It is actually amazing to me that we've been around as long as we have, considering the fury of the universe. My life, my little slice of this grandiose human experience, seems so all-consuming for me. My survival antics are a wonderful interweaving of physical necessity and emotional urges that play out pretty well in my natural environment. Striving for comfort and the assurance of continued comfort for our physical entities is job #1 here, and beyond that is mostly God.

Misplacing the Mission Credibility Report

Awaiting the interest of that which yet unveiled, the spurious exchange ensued. Although, in light of time, I hesitate to meander verbally, still the very nature of my experience encourages a lackadaisical attitude when regarding such matters. Thrust into the world of inconclusive presuppositions and outright falsehoods regarding key elements of survival, one might think the field is tilted favorably for me totally getting my ass kicked.

Froopy Addendums

As hapless magicians bumble about in reckless confusion, we stand at before the abyss of our own uncertain future, unconvinced of our eternal infinite power. The deluge of nonsense must be overwhelming before anyone cares to mention we are drowning in our own debauchery. Still, amidst the bells and whistles of modern living, it could be argued that our wanton wastefulness is merely a phase in a series of phases that compromise the entirety of existence.

Really Bad Poem (with excruciatingly earnest intentions)

Lush is this textured trilobite
Amidst the glazed sunset
Love comes at the speed of light
And its good as it can get

Flush is more of what's not enough
Adrift in a haze of desire
Fulfillment is made of such stuff
Such a daze cannot acquire

Hush the world of reckless fervor
Absorbed with trivialities
Love comes at the speed of light
And forms everything we sees

"Wert thou more fickle than the restless sea,
Still should I love thee, knowing thee for such"
- William Morris (1834–1896)