Posts Tagged ‘conspiracy’

Welcome Everyone, Ha, Ha, Ha,
Down for the count

1… Ha, Ha,Ha! 2… Ha, Ha, Ha! 3…

Hey, Big Bird — can’t I just suck his blood now?

This counting is taking forever…

Ha, ha, ha!

(Alright, so I’m feeling a little cheeky today.)

🙂

You know, Readers… life can be unforgiving at times. One bad move with, say, oh, I don’t know… — a horrific, cringe inducing portrayal of a “Teen” Vampire that also happens to glorify abusive relationships, (hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge…) — and people might just cease to trust you. You’re credibility’s shot. Suddenly, you’re Carlos Mencia.

Go Figure…

There can’t always be “Happy Endings” for everyone.

Anyway, keep that in the back of your mind… This week’s short came from a simple, innocuous writing prompt — something I hope to do more and more as time goes on, as it was quite fun for me to piece together. The prompt? “I Like Cheese”. A phrase uttered rather drunkenly, (and wholly non-sequiturly), by my younger cousin on a visit to my place in Queens, which led promptly (get it?) to uproarious bouts of laughter… and me sneaking inside to write down those three simple words.

I’d go on, but I don’t want to give anything away…

PLUS — I have guacamole to make for the Superbowl!

And Jell-O shots to drink

And Slaps to take.

(Don’t ask…)

So, and without further ado, I give you: “I Like Cheese”.

(Thanks, Andy)

 Enjoy, ~J

I Like Cheese!

Cheese

I like cheese.

What’s in my pockets? Let’s see. Hmmm… Feels like, Messy Granola — psssh, that’s not cheese! Anddd… Yuck! Sticky Jelly Beans — too sweet! Anddd… A Big Bag of Fishies? They taste like cheese, but they’re not CHEESE, cheese…

…Soooo, I have NO cheese.

Looks like I have to go out and find some!

Maybe if I go outside those happy people in the parade celebration can help me!

It’s too noisy here anyway. I wish the noisy animals would just be quiet!

The ground outside is so squishy. It’s fun to dig my toes into the grass. Squish, Splash, Swoosh — I splash a big puddle! Yay! So fun! I don’t remember rain, but I sure hope rain did not fall on everyone’s parade. That would be sad. But it is OK, everyone looks so happy. Some people even had so much fun that they fell asleep on the grass. Silly-Heads!

All the people look so glad — smiling wide with all of their teeth, and hands above their heads in joy. Some people wear silly costumes too, with wiggle-waggle arms and funny-duddy glasses — even the Van-tree-lo-list man’s here too, with his hand inside that big scary doll. I don’t like that big scary doll, though. It looks too real…

I hear a big BOOM from up above, and look up to see pretty fireworks explode in the sky way up high over my head — WOW. They better be careful not to burst the big parade floats with all those neat lights! There sure are a lot of pretty floats this year. Everyone looks like they’re having so much fun, and so I run to catch up with them because I want to have fun too! I skip into the crowd, cheering and shouting like everyone, and slap High-Fives to all the fat people i catch up with that don’t run so fast.

Then someone pushes me — which is not very nice — and I fall into a big red puddle and hurt my own bum. OW! I look for the meanie when I get up, but I guess he already left cuz’ he, and all the slow fat people too, are already gone… Now my Lalergez must be bad toady, cause I felt the dust hit my face and then I sneezed real big-like. Ah-Choo! I wipe the dust away, and then shove the tears away too, and then see that the parade is already gone around the block. All’s I can see still is the big, tall man on his long skinny stilts, and his neat flashing lights like on the floats — but then the trees block him too!

Oh, well! So, now the people are all gone. And the Parade is gone too.

POO!

But, look! Across the street is the Stupor Mawrket!

Hurray! My cheese is there!

I wait at the traffic spot, but the light is too little to see, I think. Or, it’s not there. I don’t know. I don’t see it. What should I do? How long am I supposed I wait?

This is taking Foooorrrreeeevvveeerrr! Ugh.

Soooo… I know it’s naughty, but I’m gonna cross anyways.

Hehe.

(I looked left and right!)

Look

I try to walk into the store like I always does, but the door doesn’t see me today and so I hit my head on the glass. BANG! Ow… Now my head hurts because I walked into the door. But it is kinda funny… Then I have to pull the doors open, and they’re reallllyyy heavy — but the cheese is there, so I pull hard!

It’s weird not seeing anyone in the Stupor Mawrket, but I guess they’re all at the parade so it’s OK! Asides, More Cheese for me!

I call for the Deli-man when I go in the back, past the cereal aisle with all my Favowrite-ist cartoons from TV, but no white man shows up. Nobody comes for a Reaalllyy long time, and I Reaalllyy want some cheese.

“Hello?”

          “HELLO!”, I scream!

                    “Hello?!”

But, nobody ever comes.

So… Then I’m bad again and go to where the people stand… and get it myself. But then when I go back there there’s the white Deli-Man taking a nap on the floor! Silly-Billy!

I put all my paper in his pocket, next to the metal pointy thing with the watch on top — I hope it’s enough — and take a big bite from the corner of the biggest, bestest, cheese-block I’ve ever tasted in my whole, entire life!

Yumm…

……

………

Ugh… Where am I? My head… Why am I holding a brick of American cheese? Is this the supermarket across from the lab? What am I doing here? How did I get here? Why am I behind the Deli? Why is my lab coat red?

“BOOM!”

That earth-shattering crash outside… could it be that the invasion..? So, it wasn’t a dream after all. Mankind is…

“BOOM!”

Sigh…

They must’ve come for me, and I must’ve ingested a test capsule. Well, it didn’t kill me — that, at least, answers that… Wait. That’s right… The pills. The plan!

Hurriedly I pad my pockets, quickly remembering that before I’d taken my pill I’d begun to affect a plan.

I first trace the familiar rectangular outline of my GPS monitor, bought for my Rhesus population’s tracking, and my chest tightens at the implications of how I’d planned to use it for the early stages of the coup.

Listen to me… a coup? A revolution with one man?! What can I possibly hope to do alone..?

The next thing my fingers find is the loose collection of bean-like, sugar-coated, distilled cannabinoid capsules, which my cartload loved so much, bulging out at the bottom of my pocket.

The very thing that must have saved my life… Provided my Intelligence Theory is correct. Looks like it’s gaining steam…

I remember the final object before my fingers dance across it, my peevish plan then crashing back into my psyche like a frightful tsunami — The Trackers…

Just then, something next to me coughs.

There’s a man in a Deli smock lying on the ground next to me — a huge wad of greenbacks sticking out of his chest pocket next to a meat thermometer — and he’s still breathing! Though alive, his breaths are dangerously shallow, and so I sit him upright and get some water from a nearby shelf to pour over his face.

Water pouring from bottle

Cough, Cough…

“Thank you”, he begins, his words fighting their way out through intermittent coughs. “Who are you?” Cough. “What’s going on?” Cough, cough.

I take a deep breath, how am I supposed to even begin to explain this..? One step at a time, I guess. Here goes nothing…

“Well, you see… My name is Doctor. Nyguen, and I work just across the street. I conduct classified governmental research for…” But here I find myself falter…  My cocked and loaded stock description of my livelihood unable to fire, being wholly unsuited for the world’s current predicament. “I do pot research on monkeys.” I conclude. “Please, tell me, what’s your name? Tell me everything you remember.”

The man blinks, adding after a minute, “Ron. My name is Ron Ballast. I, um… I work the Deli counter…”

“I know, I just stole some of your Yellow American.” I tell Ron, indicating the Brick of Cheese on the floor between us, and he flashes me a wide smile — a promising sign.

Suddenly the word “electrolytes” flashes in my mind, and I realize why I’d sought out the cheese. My subconscious mind had wanted to regain its facilities… simple salts. Brain fodder. Hydration.

“I don’t remember much.” He continues weakly. “There was this weird announcement that came over the stores speakers, but past that…”

That’s right, “The Announcement”. Their first strike toward the intelligence of this world.

Instinctively I glance over my shoulder, approximating the man’s custom perspective from behind the counter, and find I can easily see the background static of a warped Tellevision being poorly reflected by the stores wide-angle mirror.

So he hadn’t gotten a full dose of whatever they’d done to us. He’d survived the first wave, which means… There must be others then, too.

“…Past that I don’t remember anything until you doused me.” Ron concludes.

And, how could he? His brain was likely seizing, and he was likely well on his way to unconsciousness.

“Ron?” I begin softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to tell you now what’s going on.”

“Ok…” He agrees meekly, peering up at me with eyes deep-set in their sockets. Frightened. Cowering.

“But, listen… I need you to know that it’s not going to be an easy thing to accept, what you’re about to hear. OK? But I’m going to need you to listen anyway, and to be strong. You need to trust me. Think you can do that?”

Ron blinks and nods.

“Because…” I stammer, knowing this bit would be the roughest… “Because, well — to be frank? We may be the only ones left.”

Ron blinks again, swallowing hard. “What… what do you mean by that..?”

No other way to do this but to just begin…

“Ok… Here goes.” I heave a deep breath — knowing full-well this wont be easy for either of us to hear… “Roughly twelve hours ago — maybe more, maybe less, it’s hard for me to tell, I was drugged — Earth was… invaded.”

Ron’s eyes begin to shimmer, going wide and wet, and a large chunk of dried rheum tumbles down his cheek, carried on the back of a single groggy tear.

After I knew for sure the crux had sunk, I plodded on, “Now past that all I have is conjecture, but here’s what I think I’ve figured out so far — and working off this is what’s kept me alive. I believe they’ve launched an attack on humanity’s intelligence, Ron. And, when you think about it, this makes a certain amount of sense… that is if they want us, or at least the simpleminded among us whom they can easily control — children, the mentally challenged, and likely intelligent animals — to be obedient to them. Subservient. Sycophantic. Loyal. I learned this strategy well with my work in primate research: Remove the Alpha, and you become the Alpha. Basically, they’re looking to make us into a race of slaves.”

Ron merely stares at me with saucers which pierce my heart.

Maybe I should stop. Maybe it’s too much. I don’t want to hurt this man, do I? Isn’t there some other way? No, it isn’t about that and I know it — I must go on. He needs to hear it; the truth. State it plainly, Bill. Like ripping off a band-aide… Like plucking a hair…

“Thus, Ron, my preliminary conclusion is as follows: they wish to make slaves of us. In their eyes, those among us with intelligence are likely to revolt… and so they were executed right away. Or will be, and soon. But, and this is the important bit, they also believe that all of us below this particular threshold should be mailable enough for them to aptly control — to invariably brainwash — and so they are spared… So that they might someday become the seeds of future slaves.”

“Oh…” Added Ron, crestfallen. “Then does… does that mean… Does that mean I’m stupid? Was I below the threshold?”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. Look, their assault was first launched through our media; Television, radio, cell-phone’s — anything that they could broadcast on. I was busy conducting research in my basement, the screams of my caged test subjects acting as an unlikely buffer to whatever pervasive announcement they’d made. You, for your part, were likely deafened by the simple whir of a Deli blade — and, if we’ve survived on… happenstance, then there must be others as well. And we must find them.”

“Right…” he answered, absently.

“Listen to me. Right now, what we have to do is try and carve out a place to exist, Ron. That’s step one.” I pull out the packet of capsules from my pocket, presenting them. “These are experimental drugs — meant for monkeys but safe for us too — which work by binding with the cannabinoid receptors of our brains. Long story short, they make us stupid. Stupid enough to survive. They make their detectors skip over us, and they make their kind ignore us. However, they’ll also incapacitate us while we’re under the influence. Also, we may… wander — I’ve recently discovered — which can be a problem. We’ll have to work on that.” I then pull out the GPS tracker, and the baggie of round GPS tags, holding them out for Ron to examine. “These are tags and a tracker which I’d bought for my Monkeys, in case they’d ever gotten away. If we could, somehow — I don’t know how yet, but we’ll work on that when we get there — tag the foot soldiers, we can then keep track of their whereabouts, and, at least, be able to avoid them until we can figure out what to do next.”

“Right…” Ron said again, clearly a Galaxy away…

In what sad state is this man’s mind?

“Is all this true?” He added finally. “How can I know what you’re saying isn’t… well… you know?”

It made sense for him to be skeptical, after all, this was near insurmountable… even for me. And I hadn’t just had a seizure… and likely a stroke or two.

“Can you walk?” I ask, tenderly as I can muster. And at Ron’s simple encouraging nod, I help him to his feet.

Together we shuffle toward the front of the store, being careful to stay hidden from prying eyes behind a shelf or two, and find, beyond the supermarket’s wide, and blood-streaked front glass window, a scene of devastation surreal and complete. I had to brace myself on a nearby shelf to prevent feinting while squared off to the sheer horror of it all…

shockedeye

We really are big meat sacks full of blood…

All the streets were flooded, sewage grates clogged inexorably with errant clothing and limbs, with what looked to be red sewage — and I knew it to be mostly human gore. Everywhere an eye was cast bodies were slumped and strewn haphazardly — screwed onto fence posts, draped over traffic lights, tangled in power lines — as if a tornado had come about and flung them all around whimsically. The immediate dead and writhing, those clearly visible from our vantage through the horrific show-window, seemed maligned by a type of savage burn the likes of which I’d never seen — ghastly, still embering pink stumps of ash were all that remained where limbs ought to be… clearly the work of some technology of ungodly, unearthly origin. Troops of soldiers jogged and splashed up and down the streets, rifles held tightly in four arms and across impossibly broad chests.”

The work of DNA manipulation, no doubt. Our petty sanctions seem awful peevish and foolish, now — don’t they, congressmen?

Up in the sky, organized fleets of cubed cruisers marched mightily in a row, while smaller smiling arches, likely scout vessels, buzzed in, out, and about their ranks. And, in the distance, some sort of robotic walker, a five legged monolithic monstrosity — easily thirty stories tall — could be seen crushing and then scanning houses. Likely seeking out humanity’s remnants…

“No…” Ron breathed, taking his weight off me. Fighting to stand on his own.

“NO!” He then bellowed.

“Be quiet.” I warn him in a rasped whisper, “They’ll find us!”

I reached for his wrist, but he was already lunging for the window.

“Why?” he demanded, while beating the glass with his fists. “WHY!?”

I palmed a pill in my hand and clapped it into Ron’s mouth, hearing him choke on it and swallow — before wheeling on me, fiery malice in his gaze.

I was set to run — pivoting my heel, weight leaning in — when the Building violently shook and tossed us both to the floor. Fearing the worst, I jammed a pill into my own mouth, just before seeing Ron’s eyes roll to the back of his head, stoned.

So this is what I’d done to my pets…

……

………

Yawwwnnn… That was a good nap. Boy, the air sure is dusty. Ah-Choo. I sneeze from my Lalergez. Up in the sky, there is a hole in the roof. And a big Bo-bot is peeking his head through.

“Hello!” I say.

Then somebody grabs me rough and picks me up by my neck. Meanie! And someone else is here too. The bad costume man is hurting my neck AND his. He looks at me long with his kitty-eyes, and then bangs my head into the other man.

We look at each other, and I say, “Hi. I like cheese.”

And he says, “I like cheese too.”

_________________________________________________________________

~Fin

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Happy New year, Everyone!

Good_News_Everyone_by_martynasx

Hey there, everyon… Woh!

Heh. Sorry about that. You caught me off guard. No offense intended here, but… you sure put on some weight over these last few weeks. (I barely recognized ya’!). I mean, you’re still dead sexy, Readers… My readers ARE the sexiest group of readers on the planet… but come on! Let’s get with it! It’s time to kick this thang off right!

Anywho, no matter really — we’re all allowed a bit of leeway around the holidays. In fact I believe I’ve missed two weekends worth of stories, myself.

(Tsk, Tsk…)

And so, I thought I’d make up for it today.

This story needs little to no introduction, as I’ve written it, re-written it — and then deleted everything I had because it was crap and re-wrote it yet again!

And now I think I’ve finally got something of merit.

🙂

WARNING: For those of you that live with ADD (like myself) you may want to break this story up — it’s mostly why I add the pictures FYI… ‘Virtual Bookmarks’.

This story was inspired by three splinters that, despite how many times I’d removed them from my thumb over the course of a week, continued to appear. So, as inspiration goes, this was… queer… but I really had a lot of fun with what i came up with here, and believe I nailed the syllogism I was after in the end (if I do say so myself)…

Let’s see if you can catch it!

Please enjoy.

~J

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evolution

Ominous_Mist_by_clacier

He felt it wake up…

He always did…

It wouldn’t be long now…

Hurriedly, abruptly, Hickey threw out excuses, ended conversations, and broke away from the gaggle of foreign nurses and technicians which had congregated around him.

It knew. It surged within him, flaring up from the nape of his neck and growing quickly around his shoulders to embrace his chest and ribs. His eyes watered, blurring his view, as he made his way, serpentine, toward the Janitor, entrusted today with keys that had never before been used.

“I’d like to be let in”, requested Hickey, meekly. His face down and his hands jammed far too deeply into his pockets — feeling more vulnerable than an assistant to a post op, carpel tunnel knife-thrower on a spin-wheel, he told himself.

Wait, what? Where did that come from, he wondered frantically…

Fanning the flames of his fear…

Unknowingly Feeding his demon…

Far too slowly, the Janitor raked a suspicious eye across Hickey from head to toe — it took hours. This is insane, he thought. It was calling again — of course it would, once awake it never stopped — and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to resist. He needed to get away. Now. It didn’t know what today was, and Hickey didn’t know what it was, to be fair… not for certain at least. But he simply couldn’t let his peers see him like this; in this sad, weakened state. No way he could let this ruin him. It was a cutthroat industry they worked in, and he remembered well what it had taken to get himself to the top — and he was now, undoubtedly, at the top. He’d arrived. The big dog, chosen alone for this special patient. Looking over toward the crowd of his contemporaries, Hickey thought, All they’d need is a little leverage, and all my life’s work

“You alright, Dr. H.?” finally, the Janitor spoke, “Normally you’re the last one in the OR.”

The overly familiar tone hit a chord within Hickey, making him tic, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly… before something behind his eyes snapped. Suddenly, with deft, explosive speed, he reached out, seizing the man’s Adam’s apple in his fist — gripping it with tremendous force — before proceeding to tear his entire esophagus out through his throat with a violent jerk. He hoisted it then above his head, his slick and throbbing trophy, while letting its fresh, warm blood trickle freely down and across his wildly grinning visage.

Seriously_Scary_by_steelgohst

It’s not real, Sam… It’s your imagination…

You know that it is…

Fight it.

He snapped back to reality, “I’m fine, thanks. Maybe it’s the locked door, George.” He said, selling the ersatz politeness like a veteran used car salesman, motioning toward the door. “It’s… unnerving. Would you mind?”

“Of course, Sam. Of course.” Said George, expertly fishing a weighty, triple-decker key-ring off his belt loop in a smooth and well-practiced motion, before beginning to rifle through the keys. “Hey, did you catch that Re-run of, “House” last night by any chance?”

“No, George” replied Hickey, far more edge to his voice than intended. “I’ve told you, I don’t watch T.V.”.

George tried a wide, bronzed key in the knob — no good. “I know what you say, Dr.H… but everybody watches T.V.”.

“Well… not me”, Hickey answered, saddened somewhat by the prospect of this simple normalcy which had always eluded him.

“That Dr. House, he reminds me a lot of you. You know?” George continued as he tried a dull silver key in the handle to no avail — and as Hickey saw a flash of himself gutting him with all the subsequent wrong choices. “He never gives up, that House. And, like you,” he glanced back at Hickey, “He’d rather be good at what he does, than be healthy”. Finally, his third try, George got the right key. He stepped into the prep room, holding the door for Hickey, and used his custom key to flip the light switches on. ” You look like you need some sleep, Dr.H…”, he concluded.

“I’m fine”, said Hickey, abruptly — before slamming the door shut in George’s face.

Violently, without hesitation, Hickey clawed frantically at his neck, eventually quieting, for but a moment, the crippling familiar which now resided therein. How much longer can this possibly last, he wondered. What have I done to deserve this? Fuck that damned rat, he thought, punctuating each word in turn within his mind… before beginning to feel a familiar warmth radiate from his chest. Returned from their charge, and speedily en-route to engage their fresh one, his hands came back from behind his head contorted, crooked, and, to his great horror, bloodied — which stopped them dead in their tracks before awestruck eyes.

Just then the light in the adjacent OR flipped on, and through the semi-transparent waved glass, just beyond the gap between his stained, seized-up hands, he saw the silhouette of the mystery man, the man who was to be his patient, being wheeled into the room.

Running to the sink, his demon momentarily forgotten, Hickey flushed his hands under the cool water, liberating them from their red coat… only to unearth a brass substrate beneath.

No… It can’t be.

Not today!

His demon laughed at this, and swelled.

Now, visible throughout the tips of each of his fingers, were tiny, filament like shards of browned steel. Most lay flat beneath his flesh, glimmering under the surface against the pulsating fluorescents above, but some jutted out straight, little daggers planted firmly in his skin — their tips sharp, foreboding, and now fairly obviously the reason behind all the blood. Without much thought, he jammed his fingers into his mouth, clamped his eyes shut, and felt about with his teeth and tongue for anything protruding… before yanking them out one by one as they were found, and spitting them into the basin.

Ting… Bing… Splat…

He had to hurry.

Ting… Bing… Splat…

They’d not be far behind…

His humanity was fading. This, perhaps, was the only bit of higher reasoning that remained with him — that he was losing his mind. Whatever he had been, prior to the Rat invasion only two weeks past, he now no longer was. Doctor, Leader, Boss, Friend… The best at what he does… These titles meant nothing to him now. Now, he was nothing but a rabid animal — cleansing himself with his teeth, and using the finished bits to slake away tiny increments of his primitive, senseless urge. God, did he itch! It was nary unbearable. But he had to hold out just a little bit longer. After all, he could always stop the bleeding on his neck, but he could never take the hue out from his scrubs. He just needed to finish the extractions, wash his hands, and put on the gloves. Then, none would be the wiser. Nobody would know. He could finish the surgery in half the time he’d quoted, rush off home to be alone, as he always was, and then calculate his next step.

Just one step at a time, he assured himself.

Just one thing, and then the next, and then… eventually…

…I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of this.

Licking his fingertips once again reminded him of the devolved state he’d been forced to adapt, but also proved to him that he was now, finally, finished with his task. And as soon as this realization hit, like a green light after a year and a half of sitting at an intersection, he jammed on the gas, succumbed to his need, and worked himself into a tizzy — scratching this way and that, up and down, left and right, and turning about while contorting his shape in order to reach more and more exotic locations… feeling, all the while, like the Tasmanian Devil he’d loved so very much as a child.

What a stupid thing for a kid to idolize, he thought. A mindless, spinning, inexhaustible appetite with eyes. A creature of pure instinct, with no situational awareness whatsoever…

“Sam, what are you doing?” Demanded Ann in a whisper from behind his shoulder — shattering his thoughts, ceasing his motion, and causing him to leap from fear and land on the Moon. Her voice continued on then as an omnipresent echo, a hushed thunder that rang out all across the surface of the great cheese ball where now he stood, agape and staring up at a half-lit Earth, “You’re bleeding…”.

At once, the room he’d forgotten came back into focus, and Hickey soon realized, much to his chagrin, that he’d been doing the ole’, “Hokey-Pokey-Tasmanian-Devil-Itchy-Dance” right before all his contemporaries while they washed in the sink and prepped for surgery — precisely what he’d been planning to avoid.

Well, you got your leverage, he thought morosely, closing his fists to hide his shame, now let’s see if you spineless invertebrates will do anything with it.

“Come here”, insisted Ann, her hand spinning him by the hip to face the crowd, hiding the blood behind his neck as she wiped it tenderly with a paper towel. “What did you do?”

He faltered. “I, uh. I had an itch…”

Gently she grabbed his wrist, as she simultaneously conducted her blind cleaning, saying softly, “Stop. Sam, we don’t have to do this. You look like shit. We don’t know any of these people. Hell, we don’t even know the patient! What are we doing?

“We’re doing the surgery, Ann.” He said plainly, noticing an eavesdropping technician over her shoulder, holding the door for the bulk of the flock as they migrated into the adjacent E.R.. His gaze darted as it met Hickeys, but he was sure he’d sensed a healthy modicum of self-pity in those eyes before they had. Likely trying to justify why it was Hickey and not him — or at least one of their own, this supposed celebrities’ entourage — chosen to perform the surgery.

Because he was the best, he assured himself.

Not anymore, came his unconscious response.

His demon cackled heartily.

“What, were you up all night working on your book again?” Ann inquired as the room finished clearing out, successfully fishing him from the void once more.

“No. I just…. I can’t sleep at all anymore. I actually finished all three a couple weeks ago.”

“Edits and all?”

“Edits and all.”

“So… What is it?” She inquired rather tenderly. “I am so proud of you by the way, Sam… I mean, Doctor Hickey. Truly.”

Her eyes penetrated him thoroughly, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded. Proud? Who was she to care about him? He returned her direct gaze with one of his own, and their eyes began a waltz, chaperoned by dueling smiles. “Well, actually, that night… the night I’d finished, that’s when this all started. I finished typing in the final edits, clicked save, stretched back into my chair — the most relaxed I’d felt in months, honestly — and that’s when I saw it. A rat. A big, brown, bulbous-assed rat, scurrying across my kitchen floor, right in my peripheral vision.”

“Sounds like you need a woman’s touch around there.” She teased.

“I maintain a VERY clean home, thank you” He defended, quickly staving off the worst of his demanding flesh as he rubbed hurriedly at his thigh, hoping not to be noticed.

paranoia-melissa-dzierlatka

The demon was starting to win.

He had to get this going.

…But, what of Ann?

“I meant no offense, Doctor.”

“Never fear.” He assured her, feeling her draw away some. He picked up the pace of the story now, to try and win her back. “Anyway, I did a bit of quick research and found a simple solution: Steel wool. So, I bought a few cheap boxes up the block, scoured my home for any tiny passages, and shoved a ball or two of the stuff into all the spaces.”

“I don’t understand. So… What happened to you, exactly?”

“That’s just it… I’m not really sure.” He distractedly scratched at his belly,  “I woke up the next morning itchy, with a shard of steel sticking out of my thumb — so I figured it must’ve been the steel wool, right?”

“Sure.”

“Only this shard… was brown. And also… there were more.”

“More?”

“Yes. Many more… More buried in my palm. More stuck into my thighs, and my legs, and neck… and even certain… delicate areas. I mean, I did a bit of juggling at one point as I wandered about from room to room, stupid in hindsight, but this seemed… strange. Obviously. To say the least…”

“I’ll say, but…” She trailed off, noticing his balled hands held firm against his waist. “Wait, it’s happening right now, isn’t it?” Hickey didn’t answer, but his skittish countenance said all she needed to hear. She laced her fingers tenderly about his hands. “Sam, let me take a look…”

“No. It’s… it’s nothing. I’m fine. Let’s just head in and get this over with.”

“Sam Hickey,” she began, in a tone which mirrored that of his mothers when he was in trouble as a boy, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you choose me… correction, you fought this celebrity douchebag tooth and nail to have one of your own in the room with you, and you made that person me… and you don’t trust me?” Verily, heartily, Ann was offended. “I trust you…”

Gazing into her thoughtful, deep emerald eyes Hickey felt an immense sense of guilt wash over him. He desperately wanted to relent, but the urge was reaching critical mass within him. Besides, this issue was no simple matter, not that she knew that, or even could know — and time was of the essence.  At once, he broke away and crossed the room, headed over toward the box of sterile blue gloves, saying simply over his shoulder for closure, “After surgery”.

The other side of the room fell cripplingly silent.

She hates me… He thought.

Well… What else is new?

Without looking back, Sam Hickey threw on his gloves, entered the OR, and left Ann behind in the prep room… as she silently began to weep.

In the room, everything was prepared. The patient was drugged, unconscious and entubated, and the impromptu staff had taken their proper places around the patient’s table. The head laparoscopic assisting technician was extending a scalpel in his direction, and Hickey could sense the sneer aimed at him even through the surgical mask.

Well no matter…

Let’s get this done with…

Time to begin.

Looking back over his shoulder, hoping that the soul vestige of his team would soon be at his side, Hickey saw the shadow of Ann grow through the dense and waved glass. Slowly it moved toward the OR door, placing a tentative a hand on it’s flat face, before hesitating, and then slowly retreating back away from it… eventually leaving the prep room entirely to head back out toward the hall. He sighed, and, after a long beat of hesitation, reluctantly accepted the scalpel… just as the sole of his right foot began to flare.

This surgery was going to be a test of will he wasn’t sure he’d pass…

His foot, engulfed in flame, beckoned him…

The demon was growing inpatient.

In his distraction, he never noticed the patient sit up, nor plunge the needle into his neck.

Before he could react, the group of strangers leapt at him, arresting his limbs.

He suddenly grew tired…

His demon assuaged…

Then… Reality grew dark.

Hickey slumped to the floor.

Businessman laying down on white background

The next thing he knew, Hickey was strapped to a massive, upright rotary sander, the pad wildly spinning, wobbling off axis, and making him vomitous. Across from him, on a belt sander, stood Ann, chucking scalpels at him underhand in a windmill softball fashion and missing repeatedly by mere millimeters. Then the queer, detached, markedly unenthused voice of a Man neatly broke his stupor, saying levelly, “Sam? Sam are you there? Wake up, my friend. there is much to discuss.”

Hickey’s eyes cracked open in a flash, his illusion neatly rippling into reality while fear slowly washed over him — as he soon realized that he recognized nothing of his surroundings. He sat limp, exhausted, and cotton-mouthed on an ultra modern, cloyingly adorned, white chaise lounge, amidst an expensive, well furnished, wood finished office, and just before an impossibly wide, somewhat garish, highly polished oak and birch trimmed desk. Behind the desk sat the man who he was scheduled to operate on, a man who had only gone only by the pseudonym, ‘Bojangles’.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” spoke the mystery man from behind his small fortress. “How are you feeling?”

Groggily, he pushed himself up easy on the sofa, and then swung his legs off to the side to sit upright — and he couldn’t help but notice that his palms hadn’t stuck to the lounger as they sought comfort to lie in his lap. Turning over his palms confirmed his suspicion: there, at the end of his wrist, was bone, blood, dermis, epidermis, nails and knuckles and hair… but no steel. Not one single fiber... He shot a wary, frightened look across the room to the man behind the imposingly wide desk.

“We’ve given you a drug that can stave off the metamorphosis, but only for a little while. You’ll likely need more soon.”

“metamorphosis?” Said Hickey weakly, with a voice around three pitches below the one he was accustom to.

“Yes. Congratulations, Sam Hickey. You’re evolving. And, very likely — if you’re anything like the others — dying. Rather painfully, I’d imagine. I’m so sorry.”

Hickey’s brow knotted.

Dying…?

Evolving…?

Others…!?

Hickey was at a loss. What was he to make of all this? Could he trust this man? This imposter, who’d drugged him, and kidnapped him, and brought him… here. Wherever the hell here was.

His lip twitched…

No. He had to get away. Surely his life was in danger. He shot a glance behind him, discovering the door, and sprang to his feet to dash toward it, quickly finding the floor — which was a surprising outcome…

Speaking relaxed and unhurried from behind him, the man said, “Try again in about ten minutes, the drug is an intense muscle relaxer. You’ll only hurt yourself otherwise.”

Though he couldn’t move to look, Hickey heard the voice of the man grow, and visualized his approach from behind the desk. Soon there was an easy hand snaking its way under his shoulders, which then helped him back up and into the comfort of the Chaise lounge. The man dragged a simple steel folding chair over from the corner of the room, and set it up to sit next to Hickey now.

“Here’s the deal,” Began Bojangles, an older, silver-eyed, bald-headed man, with liver spots and tired sunk-down eyes, wearing a sad, simple smile, “You can never go back to the world.”

Hickey’s eyes went wide, quavering.

“Now you’re a doctor, so I’m going to explain this under the assumption that you know the terms I’m about to use. Have you any questions, let me know at the end, and I will answer them with complete candor. I want you to know, that I am on your side. Alright?”

Hickey eased some, and nodded — knowing that without motor function, he didn’t have much other choice.

At least my mystery has a solution, he thought, …or at least an explanation.

“Very well.” Began Mr.Bojangles, before pausing to clear his throat from what sounded like a golf ball-sized lump of phlegm — which Hickey then involuntarily visualized kicking clear out of his mouth to land a Hole-In-One out the window, which didn’t exist, on a golf course he didn’t know was there.

It had awakened…

The demon yet lived…

It was merely coping with the soporific drug’s effects, itself…

Reaper_155

Bojangles continued, wholly ignorant to his own death and rebirth that had just transpired in the last second, “Lamarckism is true, and it stacks with Epigenetics. Your father, Ron, was a very hard worker, indeed… as was your mother, Diane. As a matter of fact, we followed your genealogy back to the middle ages, and found mostly scholars along the way. Long story short, you’ve tripped an evolutionary trigger. Something you did recently, I’d say about a week ago, maybe more, filled your RNA to capacity. The reaction you’re experiencing is your body’s response to a need for more storage space. An updating of the brain, as it were, which seems to uniformly take place in its oldest region: the Medulla Oblongata.”

Hickey just stared in awe, rapt at attention.

Feeling it was OK to proceed, Bojangles forged on ahead. “Psychologically speaking, who you are is not a single entity. You are the manifestation of three — well, mostly three — distinct personalities: each arising in the major regions of the brain. This happens in any sufficiently interconnected system, given enough time and exposure to the world; consciousness forms. Here is where the problem arises. Feeling itself falling into a death spiral… The brain stem has begun fighting back. The effects can normally be felt as psychotic hallucinations, paranoia, withdrawal from society, and extreme discomfort. Without fail, these symptoms will continue to get worse, and worse, until one day you will snap… and likely go on a killing spree. This is why we must remove you from society.”

Hickey blinked… Then blinked again. Nodding then, ever so slightly, for the man to continue.

“Right.”

Here, Bojangles took a deep breath. To Hickey, he seemed redolent to dive into this next bit. He steeled his mind as best he could to accept what was to come…

Bojangles went on, holding out his fist, “Here’s the deal.” slowly, he upturned his palm and opened his fingers in turn to reveal a tiny purple pill in his hand. “This is the medication we gave to you. It has the power to stop the changes. But there’s a catch. Ultimately, it’ll be your decision whether or not to take it.”

Summoning the whole of his lungs volume to formulate his words, Hickey took the bait, “What’s the catch?”.

“The medication will insure your sanity, granting you the ability to exist without all the pain and mental torture you’ve endured as of late. However, the way it does this is by attacking the culprit at the source… it will erode your Brain stem.”

“Meaning my heart…” Hickey ran short of breath.

“Will eventually stop, yes. And you will perish…. Years from now, though. Probably twenty, maybe more… I don’t know. It’s different for everyone.” He paused here, letting the last bit catch up fully, before moving on. “Moreover, and if I’ve extrapolated properly from your case file, the bit you’ll find most pertinent… because the drug is engineered to pass the blood brain barrier, the other regions of your brain will be subject to the same fate. Basically, your brain will deteriorate. You’ll be alive, yes, but you wont be yourself. We’ll take care of you, we’ll feed you, house you, clothe you, clean you — permit you endless entertainment — but what you must know before agreeing to taking this pill, is that you will cease being who you presently are. But, from what I can gather, this option is far preferable to the alternative; remaining who you are, yes, but being all the while trapped in your mind, as your reptile brain tries to take over, and you journey along the hellfire on a spiraling journey to certain madness…”

Again, all Hickey could do was blink. This was unacceptable. Inconceivable. How could he, or anyone for that matter, willingly give up their humanity just… to be alive. Some lump on a couch with a TV… All that had ever mattered to him was improving himself, and helping others — he’d never even invested the time in someone else to have a meaningful relationship — his brain had always taken precedence… and here he sat, numb, lost, and facing nothing but a choice to give all that up… Meanwhile, in this perspective, he still had so much living to do.

He’d left so much undone in his life…

Ann’s beautiful face flashed before his eyes…

A single tear rolled toward the tip of her attractive, aquiline nose…

His ire at the prospect gave him the strength to speak, “You said I had a choice. This… this is no choice. Nobody would take that offer.”

Bojangles looked to the floor, rubbing at the back of his head with his free hand, “Everyone has taken the offer. Give it time… The pain will return, and you’ll remember why it is that you’re here, speaking with me.”

And it was true. Even as the air passed his lips, a meager flare-up, no larger than a pimple, was forming at the base of Hickey’s skull. Already he could feel it grow. Had all the others actually chosen mental suicide, he wondered? It seemed rather hard to believe, being that these individuals, like him, had reached this end due to a generationally passed down passion for knowledge. Could he really take the comfort of death, over the pain of living?

His mind was made up.

He reached out for Bojangles, lithe, arthritic hand…

And closed the man’s delicate fingers back around the pill.

“I refuse” Said Hickey plainly. “I choose knowledge. I choose myself over some lifeless husk. Even if that means constant torture…”

Bojangles looked up from the floor, and searched throughout Hickey’s eyes for even the briefest glimmer of doubt –smiling broadly when he found that none existed.

“We’ll have to cut you off from the world — you know that don’t you? If you continue learning, you’ll only accelerate the process.”

“All I require is paper, and pen” Explained Hickey, “I will make it to the other side of this… if even that place exists.”

“There is no evidence to that fact…” Explained Bojangles, the hope in his eyes and inflection to his voice mismatched to the words implication.

“Regardless… I want you to observe me. I believe that, over time, being that I now know what it is that ails me, I can conquer this…” And, as he made the claim, almost as a test, a fresh hallucination was unfolding before his eyes — Bojangles made for a very uncomfortable trench-coat, as it turned out… however, Hickey moved on. “I will do my best to document my experience, and I hope, over time, you may come to trust me enough to permit me back into society.”

Now it was Bojangles who could only blink… And with the heavy crease at his eyes, it was nary unnoticeable. Eventually, he said “Very well. The choice is yours, after all.”. Suddenly light poured in from the now open portal behind them, and two imposing men carrying shackles came to stand behind them. “You’re a braver man than me, Sam Hickey. You may always change your mind…”

“I’d like that option to be taken off the table.” Said, Hickey, cutting him off. “Who knows what I’ll say under duress?”

Bojangles looked him over, saying eventually, “Fine. That’s fine. Of course you’d say that. It’s not protocol, but… I’ll make certain that it’s so.” The both of them stood, and embraced, like old friends, before the security detail began to gently bind Hickey’s limbs.

“And… Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks” he said, while being escorted out the door. Adding, beyond Bojangles sight, while walking down the hall and toward a padded cell. “It’ll never win you friends — but somebody’s always got to be the first, before anything can ever move forward.”

Bojangles wished for something to say, something that may carry this brave man through the harrowing years that were sure to come, but failed before the sheer intimidation of what this all represented. Instead, here merely fell to his hands and knees, knowing this to be all too true.

"Thank you..."

He whispered, “Thank you”, just before hearing the bolt of Sam’s cell drive home.

“Thank you…”

“Good luck…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for your time, everyone.

Hope you enjoyed the read.

Opinions are relished.

Have a great day.

~J

Salutations, superb supercilious simians!

How’s it hanging? Short shriveled and always to the left?

(I know, I know — a monkey throwback joke AND a “Liar, Liar” reference — 2 jokes in the first 10 words..! There, there *hugs you into my bountiful bosom* I know. It’s going to be all right. I know. Welcome home…)

I had been reading a wonderfully thorough, thoughtful, and honest account of a scientists changed perspective, surrounding whats happening to the brain while on psychedelic drugs, over on Reddit recently… hang on, lemme find the link… — HERE — and it really got me to thinking about all the unique compositions that our brains must take, enabling us to perform certain complex tasks. That line of thinking led me down yet another rabbit hole, circumscribing a series of questions surrounding one central idea, I.E.: what exotic and unique combinations of neuronal activity have we, as a species, yet to stumble upon… and what might these altered states allow us to do. Think of functional autism… Know how some days you’re the man? While others may find you boulder shouldered with a clipped tongue? What if you had a choice? The ability to shift gears, as it were — at will.

What else may you gain control over..?

Taking all this to its logical end, (and if you’re following my insanity at all up to this point, you deserve a gold star), I began my daily writing… and worked my way backwards from there…. I sure hope you enjoy.

~J

“The Day her life began”

Time retreated back to the unknown depths from whence it came.

The very fabric of the universe was undone.

God had been slain…

“BLAM”

"..."

“…”

The barrel rolled. The tension released. The hammer flew. Somewhere nearby, a universe sprang into existence which would support a host of tinkerers, gunsmiths, and engineers of myriad persuasions.

Slowly, with holy reverence, she lifted the pistol which now lay by her side, and greeted the frigid barrel with rattly, unsure teeth. Her tongue, acting of its own accord, probed the metallic stranger before reeling back frightened — arched as a hissing cat back in the furthermost recesses of the uncannily parched cavity. Tentatively she squeezed at the trigger, observing, with silent admiration, the hammers smooth and precising draw: a simple, momentary, accidental homage to the beauty of design.

No, this she couldn’t handle. This was the domain of wiser people, not her: some drug-addict waste of a life. She knew what had to be done…

There was no other choice. She’d never even wanted a child, (even when it easily could’ve changed her life with any one of over a dozen men…), the responsibility, she knew, would simply be more than her fragile psyche could support. The very thought of it paralyzed her — let alone pondering the mothering of full fresh galaxies, worlds, and people… Even now new forms of life, from the accidental warblings of her imaginative mind, sprang up all around her as her thoughts raced — neatly bifurcating into both matter and antimatter before disappearing into the thin ether all around, phasing down into their proper dimensions; the only stable places where they could grow, evolve, and prosper. Somehow, intrinsically, she knew all this.

……. I AM GOD!

It had all begun innocuously enough. Another night fleeing in desperate fear from her potential — she had come to terms with this cold reality some time ago, a brief silver lining to her staunch and stubborn nature, which otherwise had only served to deliver her precisely where was — chasing the bottom of an aged oak stock, paired with much smoke, and, the real culprit she’d now realized, the psychedelic mushrooms… Without that particular happenstance catalyst, she peevishly postulated, the seed of that thought would never have taken root in her. Sulking now, she wished she’d attributed, like all the others, that feeling of, “oneness with everything” to lend undeniable credence toward the thought of an all-encompassing God. But, no. Evidently her troublesome mind, and its own meddling realization here, was destined to grasp a truth so potentially devastating in its scope, that it threatened to destroy everything and everyone

Realizations, echoed on hollowed, tinny voices from ever-changing corners of her skull, began relaying a rapid fire series of truths directly into her psychological matrix. “The mind cannot exist in a state that the machinery itself cannot manifest, or support.”, They began. “Thus, every human experience hinges on all the exotic, common, and influenced ways that the brains neurons fire. It follows than, that reality starts between your ears, and extends to a world made up of nearly nothing. So why, if the potential exists, could not ones own thoughts manifest into the physical?”

So now, drawing on her studies of satellite imagery and maps of late, Melissa exploded upward on a rocket, quickly traversing the rotted roof over the abandoned squat, effortlessly accepting the house, block, town, and, before long, the entirety of New York state into her very being, just as soon as these things came into view. States seamlessly became Countries. Countries rapidly swelled to Continents. Continents yielded to the oceans, and jutted up once more upon the opposing shores. Before long, the entirety of the planet itself was in her game. She lived in it for a time, patiently breathing and letting her soul expand to fill the void. Finally now, as the full soul of the planet, she conceived a beam of energy, originating from the earths molten core, flowing outward as an explosive band — outward in every direction, out into the furthest regions of space… pulsating… feeling… expanding far beyond distances her human mind could ever hope to grasp… until, of its own accord, the feeling eased to a stop, draining her mind completely. Then, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, one whispering thought, peeking its head into the whitewashed room of her mind and then passing the threshold with its head held high, tiptoed graciously, comfortably, across her state of zen: “If the theory she’d designed, in lieu of the divine line of reasoning, were true, and she could think her way into the proper mindset while sober, the true configuration of the universal fabric would become her reality”. Surely there would be answers there to glean.

Breathing solely through her nostrils, attention focused only on her breath, Melissa attempted to embrace the air flowing across her exposed flesh. She languished over the sensation, imposed only at first, that her skin had begun to radiate at its edge — blending with the world around her in the strange, love imbued way she could still vaguely recall from the night only just passed. Suddenly, somehow, she felt she’d accepted the surprisingly plush, tattered and stained red terry-cloth carpet as part of her expanding aura. She accepted its blemishes, they became endearing. She accepted its limitations, and became its friend. Imagining that each and every fiber, each and every strand, had now become an extension of her own body, made it so. Then, moving on, she perceived the tangible breeze licking heavily over her corporeal form, and the wind too became part of her energy, its trajectory acknowledged and absorbed by her creeping, steadfast awareness. It danced through limber, forest-like woolen passages below, darting to and fro, and tickling freshly raw and delicate nerves by the million. Before long, she found she was both aware of every distinct object in the room, and also, without a glimmer of doubt, certain that they were also an intractable part of herself.

She sat down, neatly crossed her legs, upturned her palms, and began to make her best attempt at meditation.

Melissa’s eyes cracked open, panic-stricken in her post sleep drug induced hypnagogic haze, deeply frightened, and ailed by amnesia as to where she was. Quickly scanning the dilapidated room, she soon identified the three lifeless bodies slung over the random bug infested, water-rot, furniture they’d together dragged into the squat from the curb the night before — fellow junkies, people she was calling, “friends” these days. Her heart went back to base from snare, and, as the vice subsided, the memory of the night before flooded back in full. Immediately she knew, the feeling had remained after all. Today was surely the day she’d have the strength to face the one thing that frightened her most — her own mind. Finally she could begin fresh. At last she’d stare down her demons, one-by-one, determine their vulnerabilities, and strike without mercy. This time, without fail, she would move on. This time she could get to the core of it all, her own subconscious, and finally address the fear. Whatever it was, fortified in the back of her mind, it couldn’t hurt her anymore. No, not today. Today, she would live — really live! — believing in her own potential to be great, and ability to achieve whatever she truly desired from life. By the time she got up, her life would truly begin…

Aw crap — that did it…
LOOK OUT EVERYONE,
The Grammar Nazis are coming!

Not to worry, good reader, it’s all going to be OK — I’ve got a plan!

Just hurry up, grab the women, and come with me!

There should be a trap door here someplace…

GOT IT!

*Click*

Now hurry up and get in!

*Slam*

Phew…

You can breathe easy, friend, we’re good now. This is my old WWII Nuclear Bunker. She ain’t pretty, but we’ll be safe here. We’ve got enough supplies on those shelves to last us months — maybe even years. Ladies, grab us a couple of Schlitz, would you? Yep, not even those bastard Nazis would be stubborn enough to wait here that long. Oh, and don’t worry about them breaking down the door either. That thing we just shut behind us is eight inches of solid steel. I reinforced the floor too. They don’t stand a chance…

What do you mean, who are they?

You’ve never heard of the, “Grammar Nazis”?

Have you ever even been on the internet?

No, they’re not exclusive to the net — they’re right outside the door, you dullard. They’re Grammar Nazis! They’re the secret police force of language, working either for, or in league with the dastardly Webster cooperation, and they’re on a clandestine mission for a unilateral totalitarian regime-like standard for talking, writing, and, soon, overall expression.

Somebody call me?

See, language is smooshed, shortened, squeezed, tightened, altered, cramped, clipped, cut, “lol’d”, and “haha’d” more and more, each and every day — and the Nazi’s can’t stand this…

They prefer to work under the stringent principles of their sacred symbol, the four spoked, red and white, “W” (believing that the rest of us should fall in line as well), which states that they will simply not accept anything but perfection — and all the WTF’s, LOL’s, HAHA’s, OMG’s and ZOMG’s of this modern-day just won’t fit into their narrow, Webster defined, Aryan-like list of acceptable words. Never mind that these particular terms are acronyms, allowing for faster points to be made, (saving us all some valuable time in a minute-by-minute world), these sycophants toward Webster simply do not care. A word is only a word, when it’s a word written in one of their holy books.

But, hell, I say words should be words when they properly convey a thought — AmIrite?

The way I look at it, language shouldn’t be held to such rigorous standards.

*Pound, pound, pound*

“Nein. Speak properly — we can hear you in there!”

“Quiet out there, Krauss! This is between us men.”

Nein, nein, nein, nein, nein, nein, nein!”

*Pound, pound, pound*

“Not to worry, they’ll get tuckered out soon enough…”

See, friend, in its essence, language is just a place-keeper tool, used in lieu of mind reading. Seriously, no joke — look it up! Take a look into the Shannon Weaver model of language, which is the linguistic basis for all communication, and you’ll see just what I’m talking about. Basically, when a person wishes to share a thought, it first has to formulate somewhere, right? Namely, their head — and then you need someone else to share with (otherwise it’s just thinking). If the thought is complex, and hard to describe with non verbal cues alone, well than we have to encode our thoughts into words, and then speak them through a medium — in the case of speech, air — which it then travels through to reach your ear, and you can interpret it in any way you see fit.

Now, if I could read your mind, none of this would be necessary.

Yes, I'm bald under the hat. Is that ALL you ever think about?

But I can’t, and likely won’t be able to for a long while.

(Not until the singularity, at least)

So, in the mean time, I’m left to communicate crudely, pruning bits of my original thoughts to suffice ever-dwindling attention spans and time budgets…

HEY — pay attention!

I know they’re cute, but there’s no rush, we’ll be down here for weeks… plenty of time to charm them over.

However… Ladies? Could you tie up the robes? It’s distracting. Thanks! (Love ya!)

Now where was I?

Right!

IMHO, language is inefficient enough while spoken, and, when we talk, we’ve got emotion, inflection, pacing, gesticulation, eye contact, and body language backing us up. Also, because of all these things, all these cues we’re reading into, we get a general idea of the listener’s attention, which, then in turn, helps us to adjust accordingly to entertain (and, thus, know that we’re being heard — we’ve always got an ear while we’re entertaining).

Chappelle, please come back -- We miss you...

When we write though — which is just the same as speech in terms of communication, save for the changing of the medium; from air, to paper or computer screens — the inefficiencies of language are really highlighted, and to an extreme. That’s because, while writing, we don’t have the crutches of audible pacing or inflection to help place emphasis on our words, we’re left to use only the Nazis goosestepping mantras — the finite words and ways found in their dictatorial dictionary’s, and proper grammar propaganda texts — to convey our thoughts.

But they’re our thoughts!

And , I don’t know about you, (I mean, you look like a nice fellow — just not very bright…), but my thoughts are often wild, eccentric, interconnected to many things, and, because of all this, wholly difficult to express in this stiflingly rigid way. Being stuck crafting true communication with words which must interlock in a specific way, like Lego blocks, can sometimes hinder full elucidation. I mean, who really cares if I follow “proper sentence structure” (or use of quotes), just so long as you understand me, right?

Now, don’t get me wrong good buddy… Oop — Hang on.

Ladies, another brewski por-favor.

Better make it two.

Grassy ass.

Ahhh, that’s better… Anyway, I’m not saying that we should all just make up words, all willy-nilly like — nobody would understand us — but I am saying that there’s nothing wrong with a little tweak here and there. After all, that’s how language was devised in the first place. Playing around. Otherwise, I mean, what? We’re just done? So, that’s it? We did it? *Language complete*?

No! No effing way.

Language is alive. It’s living. It’s breathing. It has a heartbeat to match the times and trials it goes through, just like we do — or at least it should — and when jerks, like the ones outside this door, try to arrest the language, the only thing really getting locked away is true communication, ya dig?

This is why I’m saying that, “Irregardless” is, most certainly, a word.

Nazis, Kitty. "Take that Nazis"... Sorry, he's drunk -- again...

I mean, sure, we’ve already got “Regardless”. But, as a word, doesn’t that sound a bit clipped to you? Curt, even? Go ahead, try saying “Regardless” without sounding like a prick. Narry impossible, I tell ya! But, “Irregardless”… now that’s sexy. It’s not quite as sharp either. It’s almost like it’s laughing at itself in its own usage.

If “Regardless” were a warden dismissing evidence at a parole hearing, thus denying an early release, “Irregardless” would be a wild haired and wizened Scientist, mucking up a great point with a bit of unessential information and a tangent off topic, and thus, a wave of his hand and a muttering of the word can get him back to his point.

Why can’t there be room for both?

Now, again, if we could read minds, than none of this would matter. But we can’t. And, since spoken language has the monopoly on inflection and timbre, I say that the written word should be a little looser. Give us scribes a touch more elbow room to show you just what we mean — and how we mean to say it.

Ya feel me?!

Speaking of which, did you know that there used to be such a thing as an, “Interrobang“, which was a mixture of a question mark and an exclamation point (just like what I had to use two symbols to accomplish in the previous sentence) yep, you guessed it — killed by the Nazis.

As a matter of fact there was once this crazy guy, named, Hervé Bazin, who’d extended the idea of an, “Irony mark”, first proposed by the late 19th century french poet, Alcanter de Brahm, into a series of other punctuations, including; an authority point, a certitude point, a doubt point, indignation, love — and many more.

Wanna guess what happened to him?

Danm Nazis…

Look, as we move along, and evolve as a culture — we naturally gain knowledge. With knowledge, naturally comes preference. And, with preference, reason. Naturally. Thus, ample deliberation becomes a necessity to the newer, preference ridden, thought processes of the world — as, there is simply more to say. And, aside from just talking, there is much more going on — words trigger emotions.

Whether it’s “Irregardless” you’d want to use, to soften up the sound of your meaning, or “Spoked” (which appeared at the top of this page — got ya!) to describe something with spokes, or “Disinscent” to describe something with a removed incentive, or LOL to say that you’re laughing out loud, I say — SCREW THE NAZIS, and SCREW WEBSTER, you communicate however you’d like!

*Pound, Pound, Pound*

“We’ve come back!”

“We don’t care”

“We a have a plasma cutter”

(Oh crap)

“We heard what you were saying about us.”

“Oh yea, what do you think, Sauerkraut?”

“I think I can’t wait until I get home, to tell my wife all about how I squoze your scrawny, little, stupid neck”

“Bad news for you then, buddy”

“what”

“Squoze isn’t a word”

*Bang!, bang!, bang!*

“Guess we won’t have to worry about ole’ Krauss anymore…”

*Fluouoshhhh!!!*

“But it sound’s like his cronies are still lighting that torch, crap… Looks like we’re in for a shootout, friend.”

“Ladies, take cover. Friend, take this gun — YKWTD

~J

 

Hey there fellow Nutcases;

Genius and Insane time-travelers alike — traveling inexorably from the past to the future!

😉

Welcome back to the blog for the Deranged and Enlightened

A heads up:  Today we’re going to focus more-so on the Deranged and Insane’ie side of things, rather than the Enlightened, and Genius’ey side, (sorry you two, better luck next week…), as we attempt what some might tout as impossible — to delve deep into the mind, of a Psychopath.

🙂    So if that’s not your cup of tea, (but you keep reading anyhow), don’t say I didn’t warn you    🙂

😉

Now then,

The term itself, “Psychopath” is used loosely in society (all willie-nillie like), and is one that I’m sure you’ve heard often. Generally speaking we’re rather adept at identifying and steering clear of these societal parasites, because more often than not they stick out like Giant Horse-fly’s atop a freshly baked Coconut Creme Custard Pie.

(WTF? I have no idea where I got that analogy…)

Perhaps you’ll encounter them as they’re cutting you off in traffic — honking wildly and flipping you off, as if you’d been the one who’d made the mistake; or maybe you might stumble across a few while they’re throwing punches and starting an unruly mosh pit at your favorite concert — yet, you went to see Taylor Swift; you might even notice them at the edge of a child’s playground, watching furtively from the hatch of their big white van — waiting for just the right moment to offer some candy to a hapless little girl.

Yes indeed, each of these individuals would be marvelous human-meat potential nominees for candidacy to the heralded position of Psychopath, but today I’d like to make you all aware of the fact that most insidious Psychopath’s of all are not quite that easy to identify. The people I’m talking about have taken this “disorder” to new heights, as they are not easily spotted Grade “A” A-Holes, Ahem… Jerks, but rather; Charismatic, Intelligent, Witty, Wealthy, Affable and productive members of society — the ideal double agent.

Agent 00-Mittens here, I'm headed back to HQ. Make sure that the litter is clean and my milk-bowl is full upon my return -- shaken not stirred. Thanks, Money-Fuzzy.

So, how can you hope to ever know who you’re dealing with than?

How do you know who’s a Psychopath and who’s not?

Well… How about a definition?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psychopathy: A personality disorder characterized primarily by a lack of empathy and remorse, shallow emotions, egocentricity, and deception.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So there it is, and upon further examination I think that the whole lot can be summed up in merely three words of all its original prime constituents,

“A Lack of Empathy”

So now, Have you ever met someone like this?

I know I have…

STORY TIME!

That’s right kiddies! Grab your lunchables and your juice-boxes and meet me under that big ole’ colorful tarp, it’s Story Time.  I don’t think I’ve ever shared with you all the story of how I (barely) made it here to NYC…  Now this won’t be the whole story mind you, as it would be wholly off topic and wasteful of your precious little time — I’d hate to take you away from finger-painting those god-awful hand-turkeys you love SO much — but there is a relevant bit I would like to share, so here’s an excerpt…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I was younger — as in, finishing up high-school with a Eminem’esque blonde streak running through my hair; and as in, I hadn’t yet required an entire pot of coffee to be half-way lucid, younger — I didn’t exactly have the most stellar driving record. It was bad luck really, I had 3 — COUNT EM 3! — Zero fault accidents, (meaning they were decidedly NOT MY FAULT), but still, given my insurance providers three strikes and you’re out policy (why people make policy based on baseball euphemisms I’ll never understand…) the costs of my insurance went through the roof! Like over 8-grand a year… OUCH!

Anyway, tuck that in the back of your mind

That's right... tuck it back there... deeeepppp back there...

So as you might expect this necessitated that I begin working at a young age, but working just one job wasn’t enough — oh no — I often had to keep up two, sometimes even three or more just to keep my chin up.

Fast forward now to the end of high school,

Where, unlike my peers, I had no idea what I’d wanted to do with my life. So, rather than going to some perfectly matched College that I had been courting for years, I instead went to the default local Community College, one coined as “13th grade” by my Ex-Classmates — and one which I didn’t take seriously for a second… I laughed, I cried, I partied (like it was 1999), I had a profitable relationship with a smokable product — and I nearly flunked out. I was subsequently warned by my parents that if didn’t straighten out that they would cut me off just as easily as Jacko did his nose, Yikes.

Being faced with the prospect of paying for school myself, I began a spiritual’esque journey to discover who I was — and soon found my love of Acting and the stage. I then spent the next two semesters cleaning up the mess I’d made, I.E. the 1.2 GPA, and working toward an Associates in acting — so that I could, hopefully after College, move west to NYC and begin my brand new life as Brad Pitt’s protegé. (What? A man can dream can’t he?)

I finally had a direction after all that mess,

I finally had a purpose to my life!

But I still had a big problem…

My car and all it’s costs were crippling me…

Here I found myself in a delicate situation. I needed to save money to move to NYC, my goal was $10,000, but I had those crazy high bills to pay — plus gas, going out (a tween requisite), food, other car expenses (The damn lemon kept having problems…) — not to mention everything else life had been throwing at me, too innumerous to mention! So, even though I finally had something in life which I cared about, and was willing to pursue at any cost, how in the hell could I ever do it?

It was then that I’d made a bold decision…

I sold the car, and took up riding a bicycle — and did it for 2 whole years to save up cash

NOTE: Drunken biking “Party hopping” across multiple towns is NOT advisable…

(but is occasionally rather fun, and always somewhat wavy)

Anyway, it was a hell of a sacrifice at that age for me, but I finally hit my marker of Ten Grand, and was now, finally, poised to move to the BIG city!

Right?

Right!

But what the heck did I know about life as an actor? Sure I’d been through a lot to earn that cash, but without a proper direction I would be going nowhere… I knew I needed to audition to land a gig — TV had taught me that — but a quick web search taught me that I first needed an Agent, who would then allot me the privilege of meeting a Casting Director; the ones who were actually auditioning people. So… I began looking up Agencies, thinking that this than must be the key to it all — and I quickly learned that none would take me on without a resume…

So, let me get this straight:

I need Credits to get Credits? But I can’t get Credits without Credits. And to have any, I needed to see a Casting Director, and I couldn’t meet with one of those without an Agent, and I wouldn’t be able to court an Agent without credits?

(And round, and round it goes…)

Well if that’s true, how do I EVER get credit numero Uno!?

Enter Agent X; the Psychopath

Well he looked trustworthy to me...

I found “Agent X” in a brief ad at the back of my local newspaper. Serendipitous I thought, as I never read much of anything at all back then — what were the odds? I had a few head-shots to show (thanks Mom), and, having sent over a few, and having harassed his secretary daily about if she’d received them, he soon agreed to meet with me!

Sweet right? (Just wait…) I was driven to his office, super excited for the meeting. I went inside. I sat down.

And the meeting began.

He started brusquely, claiming that, “his time was brief” as he had some important, “something-or-other” to attend to — typical fare for a Hollywood type I figured — so he started then firing off the bulleted information low-down in rapid succession. Something like this, (*Note* MUST be read with a Dick Tracy mobster accent),

“I’ve got connections, kid, see? Connections you need. Now, if you want my endorsement, you’ll join my website, see? I’m only giving you this opportunity cause I like ya, kid, see? Ya got the look, ya got the moxie, ya got a spark to ya. A spark I want, see? Now you do what you will, but remember, you’ll only get this one shot to see me, see? I only see potential clients once a year — Let me repeat that, kid, you look sorta-slow, see? ONCE A YEAR! And I cant guarantee I’ll see you next year either, been thinkin about Acapulco, see? Heard it’s nice this time of year. So, yea, that’s the deal…  see? Now the cost to join my upstanding operation here is non-negotiable, see? $2,600 smackers, (at which point I’d swallowed my gum in shock…), now, if you’re in, sign on the X here, and here, and here, initial here, draw a picture of a unicorn here, write down the name you’ve picked for your first-born here, and….. — that’s it, kid, we’re good! See? Now that’s the ticket, kid, you’re in. Now you’ve got it!”

Oh I got it alright…

I got it good…

Sure it had felt a little fishy, but I wasn’t worried — so far as I knew, I was more than covered by the fact that I’d paid in plastic. I had always heard that, regardless of the amount of times I’d signed my name, my credit card would back me up unwaveringly, so long as I cancelled the transaction within 48-hours — plus this guy seemed legit, I always imagined the industry to be full of movers and shakers like him, and if this is what I wanted from life, than I’d have to get used to it.

So I thought, “what the hay?”, and I signed, signed, signed, initialed, unicorned, and wrote the damn name, See?

What did I have to lose, right?

Wrong…

When I got home I immediately went to his site — super stoked to see what I’d bought — (which I couldn’t have looked at ahead of time as you needed an, “Industry” password to access it), and when I finally got there I realized — that it Suuuucked! I mean it sucked super Hardcore. Like one of those newfangled Dysons, sucked!

I IMMEDIATELY called my card to cancel the order, and they said that they saw the transaction, but couldn’t do anything about it unless I first tried to settle the issue with the merchant, as they were in business with him as well… Wonderful!.. So I called the merchant, Mr.X, and got the receptionist instead. “He’s out”, she said, “He’ll be back later”, she said, “Click” the phone said… Sigh.

And I did, I tried again…

And again, and again… And again — still no answer.

I seemed now to remember noticing a caller ID on her desk, and thinking it Odd that there was a handwritten list of names next to it…

I tried again… No answer.

I tried again… No answer…

Finally I called back my card, and they said they would put my dispute of the contract on file, and see what they could do. In the end though, it turned out that the contract was impregnable. Ironclad. Jotted on paper made of human flesh, written in a burnt script, and drawn with the tip of a trident that had been heated by the fires of Hades itself — for all I knew, this Mr.X person might have even been Satan himself (I couldn’t see under his desk to spy for his cloven hooves…).

But that was that.

I had worked hard for my money, arguably all through college and for two years on a bicycle, and what had it gotten me?

Boned.

This lovely metal chap was part of Mr.X's entorague

Meanwhile there was this Prick, Jerk, who had done nothing at all for me and had cheated his way through life, and what had it gotten him?

$2,600 smackers…

It was then that I knew that I had joined in a long, proud legacy of prestigious actors that had come before me,

I had been scammed.

And now had barely enough cash left to have a proper beginning to my life’s journey…

Think about it: Start with $10,000, subtract $1,200 monthly rent, plus last month: $1,200, plus security: $1,200, plus moving costs $300, plus this A-Hole Jerk and his scam, $2,600 — and all I was left with was: $3,500. And let me tell you, in a strange city; one month of acclimation is not the same as four. I was screwed. I had met an emotionless monster, and me, being who I was (and sadly no longer am) trusted him — which is precisely what had given him his power. This man had no remorse what-so-ever for what he had done, and, even though I called them EVERY DAY to destroy the contract, there was no simply way out.

1:100

Today, the number of psychopaths among us is growing faster than ever, and it currently stands at 1:100. One out of every hundred children born, now comes to existence without remorse. That is, if you accept that this is a disease…

In fact, it is not a disease.

It’s evolution

Evolutionary Biologists call it “Frequency Dependence” — basically, the rarer the trait, the more it pays off.

So in a society of trusting people, having one in a hundred psychos around is greatly beneficial to them, as they can scam and often not get caught.

In the past, when people’s psychopathic tendencies effected the whole of the group, we kicked their asses to the curb — Post Haste! — and then they starved because they relied on us! With negative social ramifications in place to defend us from being preyed upon by these psychopaths, not many could exist because it was a very poor lifestyle choice. These days though, people aren’t lumped into one big category — you know, like “PEOPLE” — there’s bankers, and cops, and TSA agents, and Politicians, and Executives, and Board members… and NONE OF THEM have to deal with negative societal ramifications for being emotionless. They’re emotionally isolated within their own groups… They support one another…

Nobody is, “Kicking them out”, nobody is even, “Chastising them“, nope — Instead, they thrive!

They’re praised even!

Today, we’re all lumped into isolated bubbles: Upper, middle, and lower class, and each finds it hard to associate or empathize with the other.

This needs to stop, but it’s the only protection that we have, particularly when success if marked by the highest stack of paper…

And it’s all thanks to Capitalism!

(Yay!…)

We all watched our parents struggle while growing up — some took shortcuts, and some lived on the straight and narrow. I happened to be born as a prodiginy to a straight and narrow type, but I knew plenty of the other type, as I’m sure you did as well. When you watch your parents be monetarily rewarded for cheating others, and when you watch them seemingly show no remorse for their behavior, the kin of that individual has less empathy than their parents, because that’s just the way the developing mind works as it’s forging the many truths which will make up the whole of that individual.

The really crazy part about all this comes to light when we think about what happens to these cheaters, who are really empathy-less Psychos — it’s not all that bad. Sure they’re fired (sometimes), and they get a slap on the wrist, but oftentimes they’ve done such a good job of tucking money in mason jars, under pillows, and in offshore accounts — not to mention the money they earn with the stolen cash before they’re caught — that their families become RICH as a result, or at the very least famous…

Whereas once we literally had given someone a death sentence for this behavior — today we reward them!

And it’s all only possible because of what money does.

My scammer saw a need in society and pretended to fill it, and he got rich for the effort.

He never got caught, he’s not in jail, and he scammed hundreds!

I, on the other hand, am broke.

I worked my ass off = Nothing (yet).

He Cheated = Win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psychopathy and Capitalism: An atypical Love story without a happy ending…

Not coming soon, but already here!

And Playing in neighborhoods everywhere…

~J

Once again — no hesitation — here we go!

“Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it.” ~ Mark Twain

In honor of this — here’s ten reasons why our Government doesn’t deserve our support lately 😉

(Sidenote: WE BEAT SOPA TODAY!!!!! Now, help keep it that way.)

~~~~~ This Final Post is in 3 Parts — here’s part-1 to get you properly started! ~~~~~

Here’s my Top Ten — cause who doesn’t like a good list 😉 !?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remember; Of the people, by the people, and for the people — makes no mention of government or business…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1- Overturn corporate personhood, or “Citizens United” ruling: Why should corporations be granted the same rights of a citizen under the 1st amendment? This is the Bill of Rights, it’s for people — not businesses! Do I really need to list the differences? Also, in the meantime, how about we force our elected officials to wear a sewn on brand name logo for each of their sponsors — just like NASCAR drivers — so that we really know who’s pulling their strings!

2- Overturn Buckley VS Valeo: Money is not speech. Because if it were, those with it could talk, while those without — like myself — become mute. It’s an insane loophole, and wholly nonsensical.

3- Stop allowing patents that limit invention: Company’s are currently allowed to make faulty products, and control their competition, through buying up patents that would allow competitors to gain a leg up, and/or invent something that would do the job better. This is insane! How can we allow a patent to be placed on a product, so that it WONT be built!? This is backwards logic! With the goal of creation held above all else, this is completely against progress! Ideas should be free — take any of mine if you wish, I offer them freely — as only the best end product should rule the day. Heck, I have half a mind to outlaw patents all together, due to their ability to stop others from using an invention to create something better for us all. Perhaps a residual scale would be more prudent, like in my acting world, as a way to better promote innovation, and acknowledge inventors, than disallowing use of their invention altogether.

4- Congressional seats cost Millions to run for, Presidential races — Billions: NO!, no wayyyy! You want to call yourself a Democracy America, and you want to spread this “pure and perfect philosophy” of yours around the world, yet this can happen? We better perfect this method at home first, before we go spreading it around the Globe. What if I wanted to run? How could I possibly finance my way there? Beg borrow and steal, and owe allegiances to those 400 people mentioned before? No thank you! Limit the amount that can be spent, to — oh i don’t know — nothing… Nothing but what you can prove comes from your own pocket? How awesome to see You-Tube videos of the possible nominees…

5- Abolish the 2 party system: As I’ve mentioned before, uniting under a banner prevents organic thought. It’s like the Yankees VS the Mets, but this isn’t sports! Nobody agrees with EVERYTHING that either party stands for, and if they do, than they aren’t thinking hard enough, nor for themselves — nor divergently, which is the most important of all. I suggest that we disallow candidates from announcing their party whatsoever, and make the people vote not on individuals — but issues. The person who is most aligned with the answers to this, “Voting test”  that people will take, on current issues around the world, will in turn place a vote in the name of the candidate who is most closely aligned with your beliefs. However… if we can’t abolish it, lets add to it! — If we can’t remove the two-party system, I suggest a new party — “The Intellectual party”; who will make smart and just decisions that have only the people’s needs at heart.

6- Balance the budget: Look, a government should not be able to live beyond its means — just like a person. We can’t get credit lines when we don’t pay our bills, and a nation should be no different in this regard — particularly when we, the people, foot the bill. We need to pay off our national debts, and eliminate the FED and this debt-built system once and for all! Let’s get, “in the green” again. How? Make a new currency that we own, that is OURS, “The Peoples Paper” perhaps, whatever, and make it more valuable than the old Federal Reserve Notes, and then — simply pay them off! Thank you — please (don’t) come again!

7- No more hiding the truth: No more lies, no more clandestine plans, no more making decisions without our consent. Everything we do needs to be made public. We need to be able to know, quickly and coherently (and without lawyer babble), what’s going on with us as a nation, and why we are doing the things that we do. And, if we don’t agree, we should have the right to a public veto which could even overrule the president/monarch him/herself! All this should be a part of the new Data.gov proposed governmental website!

8- Limit insane lawsuits, a type of tort reform: People these days are being rewarded for not thinking and acting the fool. If you cut yourself while breaking into a building to rob the joint, how is it OK that you can then sue the business? How about a, “Common-Sense Law”! Also, much like our friends across the pond, the person who’d dragged everyone away from their jobs to sit on a jury, for this BS case, so that they could try this ridiculous money-making scheme (which will surely pervert the bill of rights to their greedy whim), should have to pay everyone present for their time — after being kicked out! The Judge, the lawyers, the jury, the bailiff — EVERYONE! We’ll see if that wont make people think twice about this type of malarkey!

9- Legalize it: Legalize all drugs. Seriously. We’re still consuming them, people get them when they want them, and by having them be Illegal, A) we’re forcing people who want them, perhaps for just an experiment, to become part of a criminal syndicate to do so, AND, B) We’re causing a war in Mexico, as the cartel has come about as a direct result of our undying need for all things illegal and druggy. I hate to sound callous, but choosing your own destiny is an inherent right of a truly free and sovereign people, and if an adult chooses to live his/her life in the dregs, just for that next hit — well, than, I’m sorry… but that’s their prerogative. If everyone’s truly equal, than we can’t assume ourselves “Better qualified” to tell others how to lead their lives. If they die, they die, and it was meant to be… However, I have a feeling that family and community will take personal interest in these lost souls — especially when there isn’t a criminal factor involved — and with the right support, and the right conditions in the world, these people wont want to live life this way at all.

10- Stop bailing out businesses with our money, abolish wall street: It’s legalized gambling… with our money… and it’s unessential! How is it OK to have enough of our money tied up in this, that it can affect our very economic strength/stability — when these people are merely placing bets on how a Company will do within the next few seconds? Do all the research you want, it’s a guess. And research has proven that outside factors can influence these people on “The Floor”, which can alter their practices, and cause them to influence markets around the world. It’s too much power to be placed in a silly gambling hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NO -- I will not Pay! (OK maybe I will, I don't like prison. Bullies.....)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These changes are a start, but let’s remember our ULTIMATE GOAL: that high fiving, free society, that’s been smart in its investing, and has permitted its people to “Retire”. There’s a funny thing about retirement though, people don’t just stop living — they finally find a passion and pursue it. Imagine what this World could be, if people could do that from birth?

Let’s get back to the ways of the founding fathers: of, by, and for US — THE PEOPLE!

Protests in the US are not low-level terrorism!

OWS protests in the UK are not part of a terrorist regime!

The “Detention bill” is INSANE!

Our governments influence has grown far too large in some regards, and has shrunk far too small with others, particularly with what really matters — serving the people! This is not a Democracy we have here — it’s a corporate dictatorship; only concerned with the bottom line. Again I’ll say — Surely we can have a loftier goal for mankind than amassing stacks of greenbacks. The game’s rigged people, and we’re all playing as the away team –whilst somehow still being on our own turf…

EVERYBODY MATTERS, EVERY VOICE SHOULD HAVE IT’S CHANCE TO BE HEARD!

So, Surprisingly, in the end — maybe the Mafia had the right idea. Perhaps giving power to individuals voices to effect change is the right way to go. Maybe we should have a leader on every floor of an apartment, on the corner of every street, and have them alternate to avoid corruption. These people can then have two meetings, two times a week, where we can address our needs, if we have any — and if they can’t handle this issue of ours, they can pitch it up the chain of command either as our representative, or if we’re more knowledgeable, we would go ourselves. From the block, to the town, to the city, to the county, to the state, to the time-zone, to the country — and right on up to the White houses door, should this individual and his/her question go, if it can’t be solved along the way. And in this way, they can finally hear about, and efficiently deal with, the bastards who are slashing our tires!

But who knows….

Certainly not me.

I’ve written over a tenth of a novel on this subject by now,

and am confident that it COULD be done…. But will it?

That, my friends, is the question that truly needs answering.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Well that, and will anybody ever read this?)

Who knows, but I’d guess — probably not 😉

~J

No waiting — we’re getting right back into this:

~~~~~ This Final Post is in 3 Parts — here’s part-1 to get you properly started! ~~~~~

~ So Far! ~

Grow up or die; A message to the world ~ This is truly the first post in my TGR project, (even though it didn’t bear the title) as it set the stage for what was to come by directly naming the catalyst of what’s happening to cause all the unbalance that we’re witnessing — with the riots, the occupy movements, and the 99% talk around the globe — Oil. More specifically it’s the idea that we need to add the driving force of energy, as well ecology (which supports the energy), to the infinite growth model of society we’ve worked under for years. For if we don’t add these factors to the equation, many lives will perish in the violent transition which is to come…

The Headline of Tomorrow — “Video games saved the world!” ~ Rather than trying to untangle the crazy mess of a knot we find ourselves pinned under, and intertwined betwixt, let’s imagine that it was all gone — let’s hit “Reset” — and plan a new world, from scratch, using what we now know about existence. When we plan where we want to be in this way, and acknowledge where we are presently, a golden path leading to the door of prosperity will open up, and we can all easily travel along it.

TGR Part 1: Food, Water, and Shelter ~ No longer can fear rule the day. Fear can only manifest in the face of misunderstanding, and its high time that we all wake up, pay attention to what’s going on, and ignore all the lies that are told to us in an effort to control us like a herd of incapable sheep. We’re all full well capable of plenty, including the ability to ignore our, “Mob mentality” instinct, and to think like individuals — with unique and valuable opinions that need to be shared — so let’s.

TGR Part 2: Goals ~ We have to stop the blame game! We need everybody’s help to fix this mess, and in truth its nobody’s fault — we just did as we had to up until now in order to survive. However, survival has long slipped from being our most pressing concern. Now we consume to overabundance, and if we maintain this path it will ultimately lead to our undoing. This overabundance, this “Buying crap we don’t need, to impress people we don’t like” mentality is born of our strict capitalistic ways, and has bred selfish, hoarding, and self-centered individuals — and has stymied evolution (which, remember, is invention). We need a goal above merely amassing stacks of paper, so how about invention, and in order to foster a situation in this world where everybody has a chance to add to the conversation, we need to plan ahead and attempt to provide ALL with the basic needs of survival so that they might rise above merely surviving — and begin striving!

TGR Part 3: Evolution, or the Burj Khalifa ~ We need energy to live, but we also need to get off our most used source in order to survive — Oil — so let’s make something with the remaining oil that will take us off its dependence once and for all! Embracing natural, renewable, and clean energy TODAY will be a huge coo in getting us there. Efficiency will as well. So, I invented a city. And believe it or not — it would work! (How hard was that?). All I had to do was take our defense budget, and turn it around into an offensive strategy that serves our true goals as a species. We can make a place to live for us all that provides for its people, runs itself, and frees us all from the shackles of modern living — where people would be free to do things other than work their entire lives for the bare essentials of life. If we’ve reached a point in history where the work of our forefathers is finally poised to pay off, we would do well to take advantage of their legacy.

TGR Part 4: Thinking about thinking ~ The society we would like to build would be awesome, but one of the first and hardest things to do is to show people around the globe why this way of thinking and being is actually PREFERABLE to the way they’d thought and been in the past. It’s hard for a fish to imagine life outside the bowl, as it’s all the little guy’s ever known, but if we shift to divergent, over the current convergent, education practices, people all around the globe will not only see why this way is better, but they will — each and every one of them — find greater satisfaction out of life, and be more productive and happy citizens by doing so. We must value creativity and uniqueness over all, as the pursuit of ones own passions satisfies much more deeply than the pursuit of someone else’s.

TGR Part 5: Government Cheese ~ Despite all these lofty and idealistic changes that CAN be made to society, we can’t do a thing these days without governmental consent — as they pull the strings. But should they? And can they? Here, I explored the roots of government itself, and our leaders; where they came from, what purpose they serve, and what it is — exactly — that they do, and should do. The truth: we run this place. WE give it power. The government is here to support the people, not the other way around! Same goes for the banks, and all the businesses which we support. We have the power to change the government because of our founding fathers constitution and the power granted therein, and if the people in our ranks up-high wont change their ways, than it is our duty to lay out another way of being, and enact it — which is precisely what I’m doing!

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TLDR — We can build a better society, with more free time, smarter/healthier people, clean energy, smaller environmental impact, less war, more peace and worldwide sustainability — if only we think about what we want and actively go after it!

First things first

If we accept that we are all equal from birth, and all valued members of this community whom all contribute equally to the survival of the group as a whole, than no one member can be held above the rest — especially when that/those people are given this power by something as powerless as a government, who at its core should be a representative of the people alone. Thus, we must ask ourselves today, “What are the best possible conditions we can create in this world to make a thriving people?”

Now we have our goal: Create a perfect world.

But what is a perfect world?

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Seriously — I’m not going to tell you just yet. Lean back in your chair and think on it for a minute. Make your own decisions before you read on. Create a mental image…..

How do you see an average day playing out, for a person who lives in a perfect society?

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………….

….

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Do you imagine them not spending time with their family?

Do you imagine them wasting away on a couch for hours on end?

Or, as an old friend of mine “Mattie Guns” once suggested, would it be slow-motion highball toasting over a roaring bar-b-que, with throngs of friends around, music playing in the background, and smiles plastered across all the faces?

Yea, Yea, THAT ONE.

I mean, I don’t want to impose my own thoughts on you, but I sure-as-heck would choose door number three here.

But how do we get there? That’s the problem. We need a highball glass maker, we need a farmer for the fares on the grill, we need musicians to fill the air with sweet, sweet melodies, and we need dentists to keep those smiles A-Glimmerin’! Something in this society still needs to work — like a job — bummer right?

Not so much…

Remember, many jobs today can be replaced with computers, some 40% currently, and I’d bet much, much more too if we’d only invest some effort into actively pursuing this as a goal — that’s amazing!! Like I said before — its high time that the work of our forefathers starts paying off!

But here’s the problem, progress is slow, and invention and creativity are not our highest priority… Though I bet, at 28, if we’d invest our efforts into this endeavor full force, we could achieve this vision by the time I’d naturally retire.

Not the way we’re going though,

Not when 400 people hold half the wealth of our country.

Not when we reward businesses, with 500-bil in tax breaks over 10 years for outsourcing,

Not when 16% are unemployed, and can’t live within this system.

Not when about 50% (some suggest more), are underemployed.

Not with 46-million Americans living below the poverty line.

And certainly not with 22% of children living in squalor.

This is not OK.

This is not OK.

THIS IS NOT OK!

Getting from here to there may seem impossible, but it’s not. The first thing that has to change is YOU — YES YOU — the person reading this!

Every single time that people say something’s impossible they reinforce it to themselves, and to all who are listening — and trust me, people are listening. This needs to stop, and, if you’ve read all the posts in this series thus far, you know why. This is a shift in the very mental construct of the people we’re talking about here, and we need all the help we can get. So join the cause, and spread the word of hope!

We want you, to help prevent forest fires! (Wait... that's not right...) TO EFFECT CHANGE! (there we are 🙂 )

(Yes, yes, I know — I suck at Photoshop!)

Now to get from where we are, to where we want to be — to the type of world that invests in our future, the people’s future, the masses future, and does not live under the delusion that a select few are more valued/valuable than the whole — there are a few immediate changes to be made that would greatly help! And once again, as this is a BEASTLY post, click on the right arrow below when you’re ready — I got a top ten list waiting for ya on the other side 😉 .