Thinking back to a place I used to lived where life is great.  OK I admit it things were wonderful sometimes in that country, but just hearing some music in a language of that country brings me back to the wholesome innocence of those people.  Myself included. Which brings me to an idea I’ve been tossing around about the media.  A large percentage of religious people in the US who believe in the bible

You ever notice people say the world is getting worse?  Well I say the media is getting worse, and there is too much of it.  You can constantly view some apocalyptic videos around the world 24 hours a day if you want.  How do you think the world will look if all you view is disaster news backing up your theory that the end is coming soon?

Meanwhile there may be nothing going on out your window.

The deal is this.  The cops have to publish the plans or else the plans are carried out.  That is one angle anyway.  It could be more intense perhaps if the plans were carried out in secret and then the book arrives to the police.  The murderer tells them he will turn himself in if they publish the book.

The entire time this idea revolved around the desire to take crime fiction to a new level where it spills into the real world.  The book becomes a part of a crime.  Now anything that gets escape velocity on the web, eventually is very difficult to censor.

Of course, I’m just writing about the idea, not actually doing it because who would be crazy enough to do that?  The trick is to make it seem believable that maybe the book really was the writing of some murderer who blackmailed the cops into publishing his work to prevent future murders.

Part of the fun of writing a story like this, for anyone interested in stealing my idea, you’d have to play act as if planning murderers.  Since you’re crazy who cares who they are?  They could be your own family for all it matters.  Those type of murderers are usually disturbing senseless enough to sell books.

So you tell the cops and the world your plan to hop in a car and travel to various locations in your home country, hunting down all those who wronged you in the past.  Each person gets a special revenge.  For example, the first victim lives in a mountainos area where there house is remote.  But you don’t know for sure they live there, so you go to his work and stalk him awhile.  It isn’t hard to get ahold of a hunting rifle in on scenario, or a taser in another.  If using a taser, you show up at their door dressed well, with a briefcase.  They open the door and are shocked to see you.  You’ve not talked for a awhile over a money argument.  You pretend you want to pay the money you owe.  They bring you in to the dining room.  You open the briefcase with the money supposedly in there.  Even better if you really have about ten grand or so.   Just when they think they are getting money from you in payment for the debt you never really believed you owed to him in the first place, you bust out the taser and floor them.  Pull out the handcuffs for the wrists and feet.

Bust out the LSD and force them to take the LSD.  Now begin the experiments in torture.  Not very pretty I know but you don’t know the pain this man has caused.  So use your imagination on the type of tortures you could pursue while your victim in on waaaay too much acid.  You could model your work after the CIA.  Put them in a pitch dark room for weeks on acid playing the recording ‘your mother hates you’.  Whatever it takes.  It is for the betterment of human kind in the end.

you might think I’m disturbed writing these things but I’m not.  I am actually quite compassionate to all people including the worst of the worst.  It is my special talent.  To love the worst of the worst.

I’m partially kidding by the way.  Who would say such things?

Let’s move onto the next victim.  This is a depraved and rare treat for the sickest pervert out there.  If you aren’t a sick mind, then don’t read on and don’t blame me for your inability to deal with fantasy.

So the murder decides one of his plans will include kidnapping a young girl who he will use for an elaborate ritual sacrice. Before you think ‘Satanism’ consider the details of the ritual.  In some schools of ceremonial magick, concentration on a sigil during some climactic event, can open up a possibility of affecting reality in line with your will.

The more dramatic the ritual, the more significant and powerful the moment of internalizing the sigil and making it’s meaning manifest in the real world. So what better approach than to break multiple taboos?  To start the young girl should be a relative.  Consider how this delicate creature must be of the reactive type who whines about the littlest thing.  This will assure their screams of death occur at the moment of your climax.

Sick I know, but anyone who dares to do a ritual like this involving perhaps a sixteen year old relative you bind, and ritually fuck from behind while yanking there hair back , gazing at the sigil you etched into her flesh that is bleeding now, for you to lap up as you fuck her ass.

Lap that bloody slit as you fuck her ass and yank her hair.  Listen to her screams as you fuck her harder, pushing into her ass, yanking her hair, and lapping up the blood from the cuts in her back.

I don’t usually drink, but my viewing of Into Darkness started two hours later than planned so I decided to past the time with a carafe of Japanese Rice Wine, a pint of Sapporo, a pint of some hippy home brew, and, finally, a shot of southern comfort.

I find a few drinks helps me think more clearly and feel more openly movies I view.  The pot I smoked before driving 30 minutes to the theater helped as well.  By the time I got in there I was ready for Star Tours at Disneyland I assure you.

You can’t discount the inner geek child pleading to see movies like Into Darkness based on ads, and ignorance of the history of Star Trek.  JJ Abrams started this young man’s interest in Star Trek.

I hate to tell you Trekkies, but the movie purportedly tells the early history of one of our favorite star trek villans who I cannot reveal to you.  There are alot of them so don’t think you know.

I’d like to segueway for a moment to discuss a phenomenon I’ve noticed when smoking or eating alot of pot.  I call the experience ‘The I Love Yous’.  After taking a bit too much pot, the stoner begins to feel like the pot is too strong.  This means you’re feeling out of control and worrying about your mortality.  This fear of mortality leads to a regression into  childhood religious rituals (if you had a religious background that is), or at least some sort-of semi-recent spiritual interest.  One feels afraid of their death due to a nervous anxiety attack, a panic attack.  This feeling leads to a need to ‘fix’ the problem out of desperation as it were.

In some cases, the pot head who smoked too much seeks to focus on helping others instead of worrying about the self–which may be perishing anyway.

In my case, the nearest person who I can help is my girlfried.  So I begin to treat her in a way that I imagine is how she wants to be treated.  But it is deeper than that even.  Many of our human problems come from disconnection from one another emotionally and mentally.  ‘TILY’ helps the, for lack of a better word, ‘victim’, convert nervous energy into love for another.  The fear of self-harm turns into the pursuit of pleasing a loved one.  But because of the almost desperate nature of this effect, it becomes apparent in time that the feeling is a fleeting, drug-induced reaction.  Beware though this can lead to marriages, engagements, and the desire for a child.

Or it can lead to prayer to whatever you think is above, for mercy or for strength or the ability to convert your terror into love and compassion for all human kind.
For when the world is falling apart, the only thing that will matter is love and compassion for your fellow human being — for all beings ideally.

But once the effect fades, you come back to a more stable reality and wonder ‘what the hell was that all about’?

Limited time in life is always the real clencher.  Some view this idea as morbid, depressing, or ‘negative’.  In some ways it is, but that is how things are to some degree.  Looking at the greenery along the road, and the work put into building steps, roads, buildings, gardens — the whole gamut.  Think of how people spent their lives building civilization as we know it.

They didn’t waste time but I wonder if they did what they truly desired in life.  That is another clencher.   Sure we can do work that provides security, safety, regularity, peace of mind even if it does seem like you’re getting paid to sit through an adult version of detention til the day you die.

I remember rewriting all the commonly misspelled words in the English language thousands of times.

I don’t recall getting along so poorly with humanity back in high school though.  I guess one doesn’t think too much about discontent, until you can’t ignore it anymore that is.

Still, one must remember all the good in life from time to time.  The beauty, peace, tranquillity, the awe that anything exists at all.

Sure life is grating, brutal, and soul-sucking from time to time.  I mean don’t we all get so frustrated from time to time that we just hate life for a brief moment?

Take work the other day.  I spend two hours moving things from one place to another while getting micromanaged on the lamest shit that anyone can figure out.  But no this guy who I work with decides to just micromanage shit like unplugging a cable.  I tolerated it for awhile treating him like he was a stress case.  Finally though after waiting around for the arrival of a ride to move stuff, then carrying it all up stairs, and set back up.  Then I walk back, leave the car so he can get back easier.  The final straw is when  I go back a second time by car to pick up more crap, bring it back, carry it up.  After that he starts coming up with more shit.  Tell this person this, go do this.  He tells me to multitask.  That is when I get fed up.  I tell him in a loud voice.  NO!  Why don’t YOU multitask?  I get more shite come back up stairs.  Then say I’m leaving.  I say ‘WHERE IS THE KEY?’

Its in the car

ARE YOU SURE?  I need to check because you’re always losing keys.  Then someone wants to find him so I tell him he’s there, the MAAHSTAH.

Then when leaving I just say ….BS.  MAASTAH OF BS.

Don’t worry my dear sensitive souls. This is nothing but annoyance which I’m soon over.

closure ground wisdom clearing

Granted you knew what the hell you talk about it all the time.

Feeling as though on a ship to sea

with inky, blinky, and moo.

whoever the hell they are.

They watch expecting greatness

but laugh at the stupidity of the verse

never reading another word

spending their life viewing it with mockery and contempt

always alone upon the only road I know

but sometimes there are others out there as I am

but not always

It hurts how much society expects of a person these days. All for money. Bio survival anxiety abatement tokens as Robert Anton Wilson once called them.
I’m turning into an angry person. What can I do? Sometimes anger is a natural reaction to a particular problem of the mind. Besides, anger and humor are lovers. Don’t you laugh at campy movies because they mock anger with bizarre melodramas of the endpoint of psychotic rage. Why not make it a source of creativity? Just get audition for a play with a role to let you get out all those negative emotions in a healthy way.
Why write unless it is something that shakes up the world a little? I mean what have I got to lose, as rotten a person I may be. Rotten by some arbitrary standard I made up for myself which is not too easy to shake loose. I don’t have to though because it makes more sense to maintain some semblance of structure in life. Been there. Done that. Shaken it all off.
I hear you now saying how too much structure will hinder creativity. You know this from personal experience perhaps?

Never trust personal experience unless you are the person who experienced it. DUH!

That was my deep thought for the day just now. I hope you appreciated it. It was plopped out like a egg from a golden chicken with the words ‘Faust’ enscribed upon its chest. The chicken leaves the egg and moves back to the yard. You wander about thinking if maybe you are hallucinating. There are no golden chickens.

Let it rest. So much happened in this lifetime, that it takes a whole lifetime just to write about it. Why spend my life writing about the thing I am supposed to be living?

Maybe that is one reason some choose to stop writing for good.
At the same time some stick with it and deserver respect assuming what they say makes sense to you.

In closing, I leave this moment to a computer upgrade.

open wide

http://www.findyourfate.com/deathmeter/time.jsp?id=May,18,2058,12:00:00

Shoo shoo I say to the hornets
Imaginary hornets conjured by a cop
In a go-cart wrapped in table cloth
Covers my drunk criminal head
At this resort a blue hunchback bled
Awkward and limping through the explosions
Adapting and training in hostile sands

Who are the new Gods of America?
They await your worship
They sustain your dreams
Marijuana seed in the bathroom lay
Bisexual security guard teaching Japanese in Malay
Entering screens flying near the out of the cave
Under starlight police hornets slaves
The dark night at the console
Too busy for my song
About the identity of a wife who was wronged
Patio of a colored gaseous cloud
Tattoos of death burnt flesh of the proud
Burnt flesh stolen from graphic novels
Troubling foreigners with tales of H.S.Thompson
Warning there are plagues come from the mouth of the tomb
Prescient dedication to those in jail

in the beginning
hops and passion flower
so start at the end
and sing
contradict
complain
about every offender personality
that bleeds like a head wound
until you wind down Friday morning
whine with the passion of a survival instinct
fight and screech in the court
about how life is short

I’m by your side
I cover up
your cosmic
dirty plate
my adventurous son
drives to work
as he spouts gallows humor
with the thought
you can’t beat the past

but time is like
the flesh wounds of
reckless expectation
you can smell time
like an infectious gash
yet it is a part of All
during the course
of our future-romance
oh well
up her ass and cunt
in front
that’s how to handle
the election of Being
you groan
and to think Being
is banned

but such phraseology bolsters
the political stance
of the son
from a
pink apartment
in Chicago
and hankies satisfy
when a straight guy
gets it
when he gets it
like a song of water falls
upon
splinters of heaving
arctic ice
on troubled
sweaty skin

sail in search of confirmation
but your ships lay waste
to the world
you may find the new world
at the end of the journey
so celebrate
for we all leave celebrations
slightly sad

hey you powerful man
give yourself up
to the continuum
and gain all power
you may grow thinner
or die fatter
but you do not need
food or water
now
unless some phrases
are illegal
some symbols too expansive
for the schedule
like waterfalls
this poem-throne of fluff
pon’ which I sit
disqualifies me
from the recitation of
the vast swipe of a moment
yet the moment
incites these words
your insides condensate
yet you’re a part of the One
under
It’s
constant smile
as
It
feeds you
plasma intravenously
along with all the stars
that expand their coronaries
like a prophet in a stupor
and comatose
two nights ago
thanks to a
pool of effective customer service
and the wine
yet at the same time
I openly admit
the symbol of the All
hidden in 3-D V.R.
where I jack-in for peace
while at the same time
convinced of my own Mind

alas and alack
piles of brown
turn inwards
into themselves
while I return
to the old schedule
with pants off
living in an America
of pink lights
and restless words
that revolve around a glass box
and underneath
who knows?

be still O happiness
for a British schoolboy
responds to you
quietly
he evades conventional
outmoded glaucoma
like the Greek monuments that stand
between periods of abstinence
like fine objects
reminders of office supplies
it’s not over
now I dig a grave
and invite an enemy
to a bit of my heart muscle
on a hero for the journey
the object of this earth
is to lie to the institute
but be at peace
and drive
alcohol poisoning
and teriyaki
I was told later
prompts a smile
until the desire for union
shines
and rejuvenates the elections
barely into the ocean of ’86
I find G_d
He is a white rancher
forever great
who treads in black socks
before the Truth
the poem of the air
he throws flowers up there
to float with impulses
that pulse
like belief
like air in the bloodstream
as we sit in misery
on His earth
beneath His Generous Buttocks
of the Ages
for he sees things as they are
after words
and as we write the words
uttered by The Mechanical Tongue
of His own
out-there reality
calm and courageous
along the way
the truth comes forth
bellows
and flaps
with strength
but the Parthenon is superior
studies show
with it’s air of enigma
beyond even the creator
but here back on earth
I ride the bus
walk in the forest
drive by
as I hear a roar overhead
and think,
does she see as I vomit?
again and again?
at least it wasn’t
on the blessed veranda
that divine dump
but never mind
with confidence
return to acceptance
to ensure survival
lure me in
from the murky hours of 3AM
with its
late staggerings
by the side
of The Great and Meaningless Void
that Hungrily Awaits for No Reason
as I cry from atop the hotels
as a drunk cycles around trailers
as I wonder about the fire
of the present
that burns
out
so what if one shoves
a child
as he visits his proud defender
in a bar
in San Francisco
and onto Fremont
blooming
on the bank
of love-lakes
but the fact is
we deny instincts
that salivate over a fight
and assemble thoughts
together randomly
the cruel fertilization
for the seed-soul of wonder
while the family
implores you pause
before you act
or speak
from within the light
of your own insight
poems of influence
are a muscular system
that thrive
where ‘they’ ban the light
so let the specialists protect my rights
as I’m drunk
on lakes of my best interest
see
the sun set
my joy in red

so I do it all
pursue the wealth
through seasons numerous
become my own experience
once I even work wearing a collar
until the Parthenon spake
thusly
look with your eyes
saw off your hand
if not in tune
with the Higher Truth Beyond
the lamppost
encircled in vines
beside
a young child in San Francisco
I must report
that I set many a trap
for at least ten people
while ‘happy’ at a bar
with lectures
you might expect from an officer
who reports
the discovery
of a conspiracy
of a thought-filled insurrection
doubling as disinformation
yet here in Union Square
I cannot bear family
that is how the hangover starts
unconscious
somewhere

Jung-freaks have opinions

Like everyone else

Bu thanks to the concept

‘projections’

Jung-freaks eschew reasons

Especially if your tone is

Too aggressive

Or incisive

Wondering what is

behind their opinions

They protect their ego

Through the brilliant

Ability to detect

When one is ‘projecting’

Since their viewpoints

Do not require explanations

And they’re above reproach

Just because they are

Who they are

And because they believe what they believe

Or since they

Must avoid disagreement

Out of fear

Or depending on their current

Emotional state

their only recourse

Is to ‘diagnose’ those who disagree

With the magic phrase

‘You’re projecting’

‘You’re projecting’

Like a doctor diagnosing

Rectal cancer

Or the flu

But they are more like

Doctors who

Diagnose a person

With

Alcoholism

When anyone with

A brain knows

That alcoholism is not a disease

It is merely a bad habit

That has gone so far

That the drunk

Thinks he can’t control himself

Anymore

And so he can’t

That’s what he’s told himself for years

you are what you think

And he doesn’t think

He just does

What his subconscious program

Dictates

The program he chose

For himself of course

And reinforced over and over

Until the program

Took over

Like a virus

Or spyware

It runs there in the background

Sapping your performance

That’s why people

Invented God

God is just a new program

That eventually works

In the background

The more you reinforce the habit

Of using God as a means to an end

It’s much like disassociating

From a poorly written program

Though sometimes admirable

Sign of your own

Personal creativity

And boldness

And replacing it with

A user-friendly

Corporate

Program with little room

For invention

Or innovation.

You pretend that

someone else can

until you eventually

change your habit

What they really mean

Is that they feel

Their pet theories

Are threatened

By another’s doubts

They mean

You caught them

Believing things

That they never

Questioned before

You came along

Or they mean

They can’t bear to

Reveal their ignorance

On a subject

That they suppose themselves

An authority on

Or they mean

They’re scared of

domination

By your

Extensive knowledge

And the confidence it brings

They resent the

Insolent presumption

Of one who knows

Thanks to hard work

And study

Yet regardless of the soundness of

Your logic

Or knowledge

And their impotence

They believe their

Unfounded beliefs

Deserve respect

Just because they hold

Those beliefs

With little understanding

Of why they believe

So they say

You’re projecting

You’re projecting

And they say it

With a cool smile

their fears and doubts

Allayed

For now their opponent

Is not misinformed

Or illogical

Or ignorant

Now they

Have a psychological ‘condition’

And who better to

Reveal this condition

Than the Jung-freak?

Its how Jung-freaks

Look down on the people

They disagree with

Instead of backing up their views

With reasons

And facts

While the rest of us

Know

you don’t need

to prove you are a better

person than someone else

out of some hidden sense

of personal inferiority

but rather you need

to discover what the truth

is about any given question

because you know

you have the ability to do it

and you have done it before

Poor ol Jung

His ghost weeps over the

Casual misuse of his

Concept of projection

By so-called

Faux Seekers of self-realization

Who thumb through his books

Like a good beach read

Grasping onto

Any psychological theory

That rids them of the need

To do their homework

For projection is not a

Tool one uses as a wild card

in a debate

Or an argument

It is something that happens

Between the analyst and the patient

Which helps both of them

To bring

Subconscious thoughts

And feelings

To the surface

In an atmosphere

of trust

openness

and wisdom

A true analyst uncovers

The projections

That really matter

Over long periods

Of analysis

They take their time

Like a master on

A sculpture

They do not use projection

To conceal their own

Failings

Ignorance

And self-doubt

When confronted with

Someone who questions or

Doubts one of their sacred cows

Not at all.

Even worse,

Projection is based on that

Soft science called

Psychology

Yet it’s adheres invoke

Projection

Like it is the law

Electromagnetism

Or the germ theory

While in reality

In the hands of

An armchair psychologist

Who reads Jung casually

Without much rigor

Or focus

It might as well be

A ten year old

Yelling no

No no no no

Or I want what I want

Or a Father who says

It’s true because I say it’s true

Or it’s true because so and so

Said it’s true

but instead they say it like this

I think you’re projecting

You’re just projecting

If they are insecure enough

To take everything personally

And to be at a loss

For an explanation

They try to act as if

They are beyond explanations

Beyond answering questions

Beyond stating their case

As if they’ve reached some pinnacle

Which no one can grasp

Or understand

Some revolutionary hunch

Beyond trifling little

Debates and arguments

And the more they try to

Convince you

And themselves

The more obvious the lie

Becomes

And if they act like

Jesus on his way to the cross

The lamb to the slaughter

Never defending themselves

You know they want the truth too

But they’re not willing to

Push themselves to get it

Instead they meekly go along

With whatever you say

Patronizing and condescending

With an air of

Invincibility

And at some point during

The Pop Jung-Freak’s

Faux elevation

Into the netherspere

Of transcendent wisdom

They wait for you to

Become irritated

And bewildered

At their spectacle

Of fraud

Deceit

Delusion

And self-confirmed

Attainment

Of nothing less

Than the emperor’s new clothes

Or the alchemical transformation

Of base metal into gold

While evading the real issue

And then state in their

Ridiculous and maddening way

Don’t you think you’re projecting?

Don’t you think you’re projecting?

You’re projecting

Instead of stopping to

Reconsider their unfounded

Beliefs

Or stopping to consider

Maybe their opponent has a point

And they should go back to the drawing board

But no

All they can say is

You’re projecting

You’re projecting

And with that

They think they have completely

Gotten to the bottom

Of the real reason

Behind their opponent’s

questions

contradictions

and doubts

and justified annoyance

at unfounded beliefs