Twelve Set Pieces for Raising Interplanetary Conciousness

1. Do the mad moonlight mambo in the dead of night with the feral cats in fedoras hanging out by the pool tables. If they refuse your request to dance, threaten to take away their cigarettes and catnip.

2. Drink two gallons of Cherry-Berry Kool-Aid as quickly as you can and wait at least 30 minutes without going to the bathroom. Go to the corner and walk down the street backwards while urinating. See if you can do this the whole way down the block without pissing on your suede shoes. Note: This piece does not work well for women, unless they were born in Southern New Jersey.

3. Creature comforts must all be left behind on the journey for personal and planetary perfection. Tighten your loincloth for the quest and take only what can be carried comfortably in the space between your spleen and your kidney. For safety, keep your passport hidden at all times in one of the folds in your large intestine.

4. Rave, rave, then rave some more…like the mad, manic ones who rule the galaxy from afar. If you rave loudly enough the mother ship will suddenly appear to take you back to your homeworld.

5. Every minute of your life is a swift descent into the grave. You can forestall the inevitable demise, but only if you follow the methods of the great Himalayan sadus: Go to the sacred spot on the river where they burn the shrouded corpses, strip down, and spread the ashes of the dead all over your body. Then start walking due north until you come to the place at the foot of the sacred mountain where the holy ones dwell. Stand there perfectly still until the end of the Kali Yuga in approximately 10,000 years. You will be old and decrepit by that time, but your thighs will be absolutely amazing from standing in one place for so long.

6. To prevent gaseous emission from occurring during interplanetary trips—totally unpleasant for your fellow travelers—be sure to get plenty of sleep the night before you depart, eat a healthy lunch of mustard greens with wasabi and ginger no more than two hours before you get on the spacecraft, take 6mgs of Lotromitiozol every four hours to prevent air pockets from forming in your bowls, and be sure to keep yourself properly hydrated during the flight by continuously drinking either diet Dr. Pepper or Orange Squeeze……Or just take a shit instead.

7. Above all else, never, and I mean never, try to kiss the thin-lipped octopuses who sunbathe in the rocky coves on the fifth continent of the third planet in the fourth solar system (no matter how cute they might seem in their bathing suits!) They rarely are satisfied with just a kiss, and you will inevitably loose your self-respect and your reputation. If you find it impossible to say no to their charms, at least insist that they buy you a drink afterwards.

8. It has been said that seed should never be scattered on rocky ground, but this is a lie. I say, scatter yours far and wide wherever you can, and watch as the evil yellow weeds creep up from the cracks in the ground where they fell. Those weeds are strong, much stronger than the shoots that spring from wimpy mustard seeds. They eat mustard plants for breakfast and small children for lunch.

9. Pull the daisy out of your ass. It has already been fertilized, so it should grow fairly quickly in properly prepared soil.

10. On one of the stalls in the men’s restroom at the rest stop off Route 111 on Seti 9 someone wrote: “For a good time, call Schlomo Golberg at 001-000472-234-7707." But anyone who knows Schlomo will tell you he’s definitely not worth the money, even with his additional fifth appendage.

11. When you get back home, and your mother asks you where you’ve been for the past three months, just tell her that you were on an interplanetary mission to explore strange new life on a planet called Earth in a distant solar system called the Milky Way. When your mother slaps you across your fifth cheek with her left dorsal fin for lying to her, tell her instead that you were out on a continual bender with the boys and were unconscious most of the time so you couldn’t call her. This should appease her and may spare you from getting your schnitzula beaten raw with her clitemzola minkscoffy.

12. When you see him, tell Pauley Ragutso that he still owes me $12.50 for the beer I got him last week. If he refuses to give you the money, tie him up in a sack with George W. Bush, and beat the sack vigorously at least 17 times with a tire iron. This will accomplish absolutely nothing but is great exercise for the shoulders and upper back.

Killing Robert Frost

Creative Writing Project Based on Robert Frost's "Stopping in the Woods on a Snowy Evening"

Submitted by: Billy Slotnick [7th Grade]

___________

"Whose woods are THESE

I think I know.

His house is by the village
.............................though (rhymes
..........with snnnnoooow
.............and woe,
.....................but also toe) [Very clever use of rhyme!!!]

He will not see me

STOPPING SHOPPING here

to wacth [note typo!]
his woods fill up with
.........................snow" (also rhymes with
BLOW (ya know?) !!!!!!!!!
..........................!!!!!!!!!!! >>>>>>>>>>

>>>>>

>>>>>>>>>>>>

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

What sorta SHIT [avoid profanity!]

..............is this

ANY........................WAY

............................................????

Poetry should come from the

.............H

...............E

.................A

...................R

.....................T [very charming!]

or at least from

the little area

...............................between

your belly button

..................................and the

tip of yr -----> [Your what? Be explicit. Remember, poetry is all about detail.]

,not from yr gdamn head, [Use correct punctuation!]
.....................dumbass [Extremely offensive! Robert Frost is one of this country's greatest poets and a true American hero. How dare you besmirch his noble character in such a derogatory manner!]

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

^^^^

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Yr so-called posey
............................ain't worth
the price of a
.........diet coke

and that shit's

...poison anyway
just like yr
..................fucking writing
[Now you are insulting the Coca Cola Corporation - a fine American institution - as well as Mr. Frost. Shame on you! And, by the way, I myself am a fan of diet beverages, which I am forced to drink because of glandular problems!]

Frost,
you sorry old,
..........piece a,
..............................pot a,
................pile a
dried up

..........................................mildew, [Surprising imagery. very nice!]
drop the rhyme and meter
and just get on with
the D A M N

..............................point.

I get it

...........already...

The old bugger is

.........sad n lonely.

Well, so the fuck am I, [language!]

but you don't hear me

..................bitching bout it.

Die,

,,,,,,,,Robert Frost,

............. DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[If you were listening during class instead of doodling, you would realize that Mr. Frost died some time ago, although he lives on in the magnificent works of poetry which he has so generously bequeathed us.]

POETRY SUCKS!

METAL RULES! [A dubious proposition to be sure!]

__________________________

Billy, let's chat about this after school. Your poetry shows definite improvement since the beginning of the year, but I still think that you are bottling up your feelings too much. Remember, poetry is about catharsis. Let the lovely child inside of yourself come though in your writing. Why not try writing your next poem about flowers, a luscious verdant valley in springtime, or perhaps the sweet pangs of innocent first love? You might enjoy it!!!

- Mrs. Feldstein

Planet Killer

It just wasn’t right. In fact it would never be right again. The sky was blackened even though it was the middle of the day. The bodies of the fallen were lying on the streets in various stages of decay. The smell was unbearable.
.....All around him was death, destruction and utter devastation. The world he knew had disappeared, almost as though it had never really existed. Love, commitment, the small pleasures of family life….these all belonged to a past that was becoming a fading memory.

.....It was all blackness and despair.
.....But what made it even worse was the reality that he was the one who had caused all the misery around him. He was the destroyer. He was the cancer that doomed the planet.
.....It wasn’t supposed to be this way. All he ever wanted was to live a decent life, to fit in, to be a good American. Just like everyone else.
.....Those lying on the ground rotting were really the lucky ones. They didn’t have to see the fruits of the evil that he had released from the dark nether regions. He did.
.....He really couldn’t escape from the reality of the situation, no matter how hard he tried. Even if he put a bullet into his head, he would still be haunted forever—haunted by the realization that this tragedy could have turned out differently if he had just thought things through a bit more.
.....“If I had just not gone to McDonald's that day,” he thought to himself, “then none of this would have happened.” But the lure of the Big Mac Value meal ($4.99 including large fries and a soft drink) had gotten the best of him. Not only did he have the value meal, but he felt compelled to top it off with a McFlurry for dessert. “That’s what probably really did the planet in,” he speculated to himself. But in reality, any single part of that meal—the hamburger with the goopy sauce and wilted lettuce, the golden fries that tasted like no natural potatoes he ever tasted before, the supersized soda in the reusable “High School Musical” cup, or the sweet, delicious McFlurry with its irresistible toppings—any of these could have been the culprit.
.....He gorged himself that day until his belly felt ready to explode. It was then the strange sensation hit him all of a sudden and without any warning. He made it to the bathroom just in time and thought that his troubles were behind him. But he was wrong about that—tragically wrong. For out of his bowels that day sprang the hideous creature brought to life by the dark, secret experiments of the McDonald’s Corporation® (please note that neither the McDonalds Corporation nor any of its affiliates bears any responsibility for acts of planetary devastation caused by the consumption of its food products). That creature entered the sewer system and joined up with its fiendish friends who had escaped from the intestines of other value meal fans and linked up together to form

A MONSTROUS AND DIABOLICAL ENTITY

THAT ENDED ALL LIFE ON EARTH

AS WE KNOW IT

...all life, that is, except that of the one man who had caused all this to happen in the first place. A man who ironically appeared to be resistant to the nasty pathogen that turned everyone else on the planet into those stinking heaps of genetically modified protein-like substance that were now rotting in the midday heat.
.....“If only I had thought things through,” he repeated to himself, “if only I had resisted the urge to fill my belly with cheap, unwholesome food, then quite possibly we’d all have been spared this. I suppose I could have had a bean burrito instead. As far as I know, there are no horrible, genetically fabricated monsters lurking in that kind of food.”
.....But it was too late for bean burritos now. Or tofu stirfrys. Or veggy lasagna. Or any heart-healthy, ecologically sustainable fare. He had to have McDonald's and now the entire world was doomed to a slow agonizing death and all human achievements were wiped out in the twinkling of an eye.
.....“Well,” he thought to himself, “if the world had to end anyway, I’m glad that I had the Big Mac and not just a Quarter Pounder with Cheese.”

Redemption

The women in the office keep telling me that I’m not sentimental enough. So to prove them wrong, I thought I’d try writing something romantic for a change.


Mr. Morris Jellenick was the ultimate nobody—the kind of fellow who inspired contempt in others because of the utter pointlessness of his life.
.....Every morning for the past thirty years, his wife, Costanza, would remind him of just how insignificant he actually was. “If you were any less of a man,” she’d say to him, “you’d have breasts and a vagina”. Or, “I’d tell you to grow a pair of testicles, but they wouldn’t be any use to you anyway.”
.....And every morning, he would try to ignore her rants, focusing with studied intensity on the high fiber, low fat breakfast cereal he was forced to eat to keep his cholesterol levels down. “I’m just going to eat my breakfast quietly and, as it is written in the Good Book, turn the other cheek,” he’d say to himself. But every time Morris tried to turn the other cheek to his wife’s incessant abuse, she would slap him across the face with her meaty hand.
.....At his job, working as a quality control manager at the local bubble-wrap factory, Morris was subject to similar abuse. “Hey, Morris, “ his colleagues would joke, “what sort of sick stuff do you do those rolls of bubble-wrap you’re always foolin’ around with in the back office?…I hear there’s a lonely roll in the warehouse that keeps askin’ for your telephone number. Har, har, har….”
.....But Morris ignored their cruel barbs and offered his sufferings up to Christ. “If our savior could endure the cross,” Morris would remind himself, “then surely I can suffer this with equanimity.” And he would go on examining roll after roll of bubble-wrap for defects, reciting the rosary in his head to drown out the endless insults of his coworkers.
.....Every Saturday morning, Morris would go to confession at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows Church in Perth Amboy to confess his sins to Fr. Marchese, the local parish priest. The problem was that Morris didn’t have any really interesting sins to confess and this irritated Fr. Marchese considerably. One day, Fr. Marchese had more than his normal usual amount of scotch for breakfast, and was feeling particularly sadistic when Morris came into the confessional.
.....“Bless me father for I have sinned,” Morris began as usual. “It has been one week since my last confession.”
.....“Lemme guess,” Fr. Marchese slurred, barely able to hold his head up from all the booze he had consumed. “You weren’t as understanding as you could have been with your bitch of a wife and you bought yourself a cup of coffee at Starbucks instead of putting the money into the collection plate.”
.....“How did you know father?” Morris asked with amazement.
.....“Because, you pathetic piece of shit,” snapped Fr. Marchese, unable to control himself any longer, “you come in here every week, and every week you have the same goddamn idiotic sins to confess. And the sad part is that they’re not really sins at all. I know 70 year old Italian widows who have more sordid things to confess than you do!”
.....“What are you trying to say, Father?” Morris asked completely befuddled.
.....“What I’m trying to say,” said Fr. Marchese, doing all he could to prevent himself from sliding out of his chair and onto the floor, “is that I don’t want to see you again until you have something to confess that is going to provide me some legitimate titillation. You think it’s easy being a priest. This is all I have—well this and the occasional altar boy—and if I don’t get to hear something really juicy, then, goddamn it, you are going to be banned from the confessional.” With that Fr. Marchese slumped over in his chair and began snoring loudly. Confession was over for that particular day.
.....“Well I guess that if a holy man like Fr. Marchese thinks that it would aid my spiritual life to commit some flagrant act of sin, then I suppose I should consider it,” Morris postulated. “Men of God always know what’s best for members of their flock.”
.....When he got home after Church, Morris locked himself in the bathroom to avoid being disturbed by his wife and thought carefully about all the possible sins he could commit. There were a number of options that he though might satisfy Fr. Marchese’s need for titillation. He quickly ruled out murder, blackmail and larceny, because he was just not that kind of person, and eventually settled on adultery as a suitably offensive choice. But who to have an affair with? He married his wife right out of college and hadn’t had much experience with women before or since. Mrs. Castorini, one of his neighbors was a definite possibility, but he struck her off his list when he remembered that she was a heavy drinker and he normally passed out after one or two glasses of wine.
.....But thinking about Mrs. Castorini made him think about another member of her family who might be open to his advances: Zoey, yes, sweet Zoey. Zoey, that wild young creature, whom he had admired for years from across his picket fence as she lounged in the sun on his neighbor’s lawn. Sure, she was a bit young for him, but that just made it all the more enticing.
.....“It’s set then,” he said to himself. “I’ll have an adulterous affair so that I can have at least one decent sin to confess to Fr. Marchese, and it will be with Zoey.” She was young; she was fresh; she was cute; she was feisty. She was everything that he could possibly want in an illicit sexual partner—the complete opposite of his wife in almost every way.
.....The fact that Zoey was the Castorini’s pet Shih Tzu made the prospect even more intriguing. “When I got married, I settled for a woman who was beneath me. If I’m going to have an affair,” he though, “it might as well be someone classy, someone with proper breeding.” And Zoey was definitely a pure breed through and through.
.....He wasted no time making his advances, treating Zoey to gourmet packets of Alpo’s finest treats, and buying her extravagant gifts, like a new diamond studded collar and designer lavender-scented flea powder. Although she resisted at first because of their obvious age difference, Zoey eventually became as smitten by Morris as he was by her. She was even willing to defy Mr. And Mrs. Castorini, who were dubious about the long-term prospects for the relationship. “He’s a married man,” Mr. Castorini would remind her. “And a member of a different species besides,” his wife added. But nothing the Castorinis said could dampen the ardor that had developed between Morris and Zoey.
.....When Mrs. Jellenick found out about the affair, she was shocked that someone as bland as her husband could attract an obviously upscale type like Zoey. “How can I possibly get him back from her,” she wined to her friends. “She’s so sophisticated. Her coat always has such a fine sheen.”
.....“Don’t worry, hon,” her best friend, Magda, counseled. “He’ll get tired of her kind eventually. She may be cute, but I hear from the girls in the neighborhood that she can be a real bitch.”
.....The guys at work were similarly amazed that a devout fellow like Morris would be bold enough to flaunt his adulterous liaison in public, and tried as best they could to downplay Zoey’s considerable charms.
.....“Everyone keeps talking about how hot she is,” said Tony Saccamano in shipping with utter contempt. “But personally I think she’s a fucking dog.”
.....“If I was going to have an affair,” added Bill from accounting, "it sure as hell wouldn’t be with any Shih Tzu. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a Yorkshire Terrier. Now, that’s real class.”
.....But as much as everyone kept trying to downplay Morris’ achievement in bagging a foxy young thing like Zoey, they really couldn’t help but notice the changes that had come over him as a result of his affair. Even Fr. Marchese was suitably impressed when Morris confessed his flagrante delicto to him during their next session in the confessional. “Well,” Fr. Marchese admitted grudgingly, “if you had to commit a sin, having an affair with an under-aged house pet is probably as good as any. I don’t remember any specific prohibitions against interspecies intimacy in either the Old or the New Testament, but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that this does qualify as a legitimate act of adultery. I’m giving you a 9/10 for the effort. Now say ten Hail Mary’s, five Our Father’s, and make sure to come back and see me next week to fill me in on any new developments.”
.....I wish that I could report that Morris and Zoey’s relationship remained as passionate as it was during the first few blissful weeks of their courtship. But Zoey, I’m afraid, was not by nature the monogamous type. One day, while Morris was out getting his morning newspaper, he accidentally spied her sniffing the crotch of a hunky neighborhood pit bull. And that was the end of their relationship.
.....Morris’ story did not turn out as badly as you might expect, however. Following the advice of Fr. Marchese, Morris started cruising the neighborhood in search of a new object for his affections. Although he had a few dates with a sultry iguana he met in a local pet store, he found kissing someone with such a long tongue surprisingly awkward. A blind date with a pot-bellied pig from the local petting zoo proved equally disappointing.
.....Then once day, when all hope seemed lost, Morris bumped into a pious little Chihuahua name Carmen during a novena he was attending at Church. Once they got beyond the language barrier and the obvious cultural differences, they discovered that they had an awful lot in common. Like Morris, Carmen had a special devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe and a sad history with prior relationships. She had dated a German shepherd, named Gert, off and on for many years, but her mother forced her to break off their engagement because he wasn’t Catholic.
.....Although she was a bit old by Morris’ standards—she had just turned eight in August—Carmen had the kind of maturity that someone like Zoey (for all her considerable charms) lacked. Besides, she made amazing churros. The two were married by Fr. Marchese on the Feast of the Circumcision and have been together ever since. You can often find them sitting hand-in-paw on the front porch together, lazily sipping tequila and lime, and, when the mood strikes them, howling at the moonlight in between decades of the rosary.

Poem # 1742
in which the poet, a brooding fellow, who never forgets a previous slight, cynically reflects upon the ultimate act of betrayal in his life using crass metaphors, vulgar illusions, and just a touch of profanity in order to appeal to the MTV generation.

POW
BLAM

the assault
weapon
inside
me
exploded
yesterday
without any
warning…
POW
BLAM
guts
all over
the floor
and
assorted
bodily fluids—
red, white, and green
just like
the Italian
flag—
splattered
in odd
misshapen
patterns
on the
drab
cement walls
outside my
quaint little
workspace.

it
was
she
who
caused
me
to
internally
erupt
like
a volcano
that had been
dormant
for
centuries,
suddenly
and without
any real
warning
vomiting
it’s sulfuric
shit
into the
stratosphere.
POW
BLAM
the remains
of yesterdays
hastily consumed
big mac
and fries
smeared grotesquely
on
the sidewalk
where passersby
do a little jig
to avoid getting
blood and gunk
and putrid puss
on their fancy
italian leather
loafers.

young children
walk by
and stare at
my scattered
remains
hanging like
christmas
ornaments
on the trees
and shrubs,
and chuckle
innocently
as they use
my bloated heart
as a makeshift
soccer ball.
POW
BLAM
i want to tell
them that this
is a cautionary
tale of
misplaced trust
and
vicious betrayal
and that they should
never,
ever,
let their
hearts
become
too fond
or too open.
but
my
vocal cords
were severed
in the blast
and so the
little bastards
will just have
to learn
for themselves
how fucking
heartless
some people
can be.

it’s a lesson
we all need to learn
eventually,
i suppose,
but few of us
ever do…
until it is
much,
much
too
late

POW
BLAM

Listening In

Yea? / Okay, 15 minutes / I should be ready by then / We’re all out of tahini, so don’t expect any hummus for dinner tonight / Just bring some home from the store / You have to pass by it anyhow on your way home / What are you talking about…It’s right on your fucking way home / GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER! / No, not you…It’s just the damn cat climbing on the counter again / I know he’s your baby, but he’s still a royal pain in my ass / No, I haven’t fed him yet…I just got home / Gimme a minute to unwind first, will you? / What? / What’s that? / I don’t give a shit…Just get whatever you want / What? / I told you I don’t give a shit / Well, who the fuck cares about that right now / If you want it, then get it…just quit harping about it / I’m not cursing / Stop overreacting will you, I’m…. / ….course I love ya, baby; you know I do… / I know I’m tense lately / …. what with all the bullshit I’ve been having to deal with at work / Yea, I’m pouring myself one right now / I know / I know / I SAID I FUCKIN’ KNOW! / When you get home we’ll… / I promise baby / What? / All right, I’m willing to do it, but just once tonight, ok? / I’ve still got sores from the last time / Wait a minute / Hear that? / I think someone is listening in on us again / It’s not just my fucking imagination! / I know what the doctor says, but he’s an asshole / Oh, so just because someone has an M.D., that means they can’t be an asshole? / I know plenty of assholes with higher degrees / What? / Don’t get fucking started with that! / I’ve only had two or three since I got home / I KNOW WHAT IT DOES TO ME! / Just get the hell off my case right now / There’s that sound again / Don’t fucking tell me that someone isn’t listening in on this conversation! / No, I’m not being paranoid / I don’t know who it could be….Maybe it’s the fucking CIA for all I know / Oh, so I’m not important enough for the fucking CIA to be tapping my phone, is that it? / Shows what you know / I had a subscription to Mother Jones in college / Bet they have a dossier on me a mile wide / Stop fucking laughing, you bitch / I tell you I can hear someone breathing on the line / No, not you / It’s a man’s breathing / You bet your ass I can tell the difference between the sound of a man’s breathing and a woman’s / ‘Cause I’ve got a fucking brain, that’s why / Jesus Christ, this is driving me crazy! / I can’t talk any more / I gotta get off the phone and try to figure out why someone would wanna listen to my telephone conversations / Oh, yea, I forgot…dinner…right / Sure, that’s fine with me / If you can’t get any tahini, just get some store-bought hummus / What? / I don’t care what kind…Just get whatever kind you want / What? / No, definitely not that kind / ‘Cause it tastes like shit, that’s why / I know I just told you to get whatever kind you want…just don’t get that kind / What? / ….or that kind either / Stop screaming / Yea, red pepper is fine, but be sure it’s Ten Sheiks, not the store brand / ‘Cause the store brand has transfats, and I’m trying to watch my weight / I’m not being picky / There’s that fucking sound again / Love you too, babe / I’ll have the radishes waiting for you when you get home / You know I do, baby / Click /

Special Operations Report
Date: 11/12/07
Submitted by: Agt. Warren Schiffler

Report Summary: Conversation between suspect and his girlfriend. As always the two argued about the suspect’s paranoid tendencies, but reconciled sufficiently enough to plan intimate activities involving radishes (most likely of the daikon variety). Although there was some evidence of animal neglect, the lack of meat-based protein on the suspect’s dinner menu is highly suspicious. I believe that the two may indeed be planning to move in the direction of a vegetarian, or possibly even a vegan, diet in the future. The suspect definitely fits the profile of a typical enemy of the industrial food complex—overly educated, liberal, effete, and far too health conscious for his own good. If he continues to acquire the majority of his protein from beans and legumes, it could pose a potential threat to our American way of life. I recommend that the suspect continue to be monitored carefully, and, if he persists in his wanton disregard for the well-being of the pork and beef industry, that we consider terminating him and deprogramming his girlfriend.

A Poem About the Meaning of Life

there once was a philosopher who spent his days

in contemplation of the meaning of life,
for he was told that rational contemplation was the key
to understanding the deep mysteries of the universe/

and as he contemplated, he listened for

the voice of Higher Wisdom,
but he was always met by a strange, terrible silence /
and the more he contemplated, the louder this silence became /

and he searched some sign of order in the cosmos,

.....but could never seem to find any amidst the chaos
and he searched for truth,

.....but the acquisition of truth stubbornly remained elusive
and he searched for beauty,

.....but there was none to be found in the plastic world he inhabited
and he searched for goodness,

....but was horrified to discover that good and evil

.....were often one and the same /

and he looked to the great sages who came before him

for answers to his many questions,
but they had no answers to offer him

…only idle words on so many, many pages of dusty texts /

and he strove to make the right conclusions and the proper deductions—
as if that would be enough to lead him to the light of Wisdom—
but all his conclusions were proven unsound

and all his deductions insanely fallacious /

and still he clung tenaciously to logic and reason

as his anchor in this topsy-turvy universe
but all his logic and all his reason in the end

were shown to be sadly impotent
when confronted with the vast void

of meaningless and absurdity that constituted reality/

and, just when he thought he had

finally, finally begun to make some sense of things,
he was stricken by a horrific illness,

...........died,

......................and was completely and totally
FORGOTTEN.

d a r k n e s s

......................from far across
....................the open field
.................i saw her there
...............tiny as a child
............and just as frightened
.........(of what?
......i wondered
...to myself) /
......and i walked across
.........the overgrown lawn
...........till I came to
..............the spot where she stood
.................deep in her own
.....................anguished thoughts
..........................and I told her
........................................................to take
........................................................my hand
........................................................in hers
..........................and everything would
.....................be completely fine /
..................but she looked at me
...............with the sad eyes
............of perfect realization
.........and said

......in a trembling voice
...that nothing would
......ever be the same again /
..........i tried to give her
.............some small shred of hope,
.................but in my heart
....................i knew full well
.......................that she was right /
........................................................and then
........................................................the darkness
........................................................came.

Visions of India

I'm delighted to report that I have survived my second trip to India. Sure, I got the requisite bout of dysentery--on the very day I was supposed to deliver my paper at the conference I was attenting--and suffered the entire time from what I call TIC (Typical India Crud) from the incessent pollution...but, thankfully, I returned with my health more or less intact.

As usual with these kinds of trips, I went bonkers photographing just about everything I saw. But this time, for a change, I also shot a considerable amount of video on my camera. The resulting ten minute montage I put together gives a sense of what I experienced, but to fully appreciate the indescribable mayhem that is South Asia, you really have to go there for youself.

You never fully get what you expect from India. I spent hours on the Ganges watching the bodies burn and participating every chance I got in the ancient ganga aarti cermonies in Rishikesh, Haridwar, and Varanasi. I hung out with the sadhus and woke up at a miserably early time to do yoga and meditation with some very serious--and some seriously freaky--people from all over the world. And I discovered, much to my amazement, that I probably didn't need to travel to the other side of the world to discover higher truths about life and death. I already knew everything important I needed to know before I ever left home.

So, no, I really didn't need to go back to India after all. But I'm glad I did anyway. Sometimes you need a complete and total change of scenery to remind you of what you already know.

Enjoy the movie!

Sunt Lacrima Rerum

There are tears of things
That forever haunt
The fragile human heart

Tears of deeds performed by
Our primeval ancestors
In the mindless madness of
Ancient times

Tears of horrific things that happened
Long before we were ever even
Conceived in our parent's imaginations

Tears of childhood agonies,
Those god awful adolescent follies,
And the pangs of painful losses
That can never be replaced
In this life or the next.

No world without tears
No life without endless sorrows.
It is our human lot,
The price we pay
For our parking space
On this stinking planet.

Erotic Landscapes

he / stuck / the / ragged / end
of / the / cigarette / between / his/ lips
and / sucked / as / much
of / the / sweet / acrid / nicotine
as / he / could / into / his
hungry / lungs /
soon / he / felt / the / usual
burning / sensation / ravaging / through
his / embattled / chest
like / a / sulfur / flare / had / been
set / off / inside / of / him
then / the / violent / cough / cough
and / the / spewing / of / crimson
tissue / out / of / his / mouth
the / gasping / for / air / to / keep / him
alive / for / just / a little / bit / longer /
he / knew / his / habit / would / soon
snuff / the / life / right / out / of / him
but / at / that / particular / moment
(and / what / other / moment
is / there / anyway?)
all / he / could / think / about
was / how / many / more / drags / were / left
on / the / gnarly / cigarette / dangling / from
his / bloody / lips

Therapy Session

The Doctor: How are your feeling this week?
The Patient: The same as always.
The Doctor: And how is that?
The Patient: You know, I still can’t help feeling that life is fundamentally absurd and meaningless.
The Doctor: And?
The Patient: And I just don’t see what the point of all this is.
The Doctor: The point?
The Patient: Yes, what is the point anyway?
The Doctor: The point is to somehow manage to survive it.
The Patient: That’s it? Brute survival…just like any other animal?
The Doctor: Exactly.
The Patient: But I am surviving.

The Doctor: And so your life is not pointless. I think we’ve finished our work here.

Phantasm

There is a nuclear power plant
.......in the pit of my guts,
and ice cold steel in my heart.
If you’re looking for pity,
.......look somewhere else;
if you want someone to listen
to your tales of woe,
.......I’m definitely not your man.
I’ve got more than enough
.......shit of my own
and I don’t need any of yours
.......piled on top.

I have heard the wails of
.......the bleeding fetus
ripped out of his mother belly;
I have seen the outstretched hands
.......of the naked poor
begging for scraps of food
to feed their starving children;
I have tasted the stray tears
of the oppressed,
.......the persecuted,
..............the martyred,
and I’ve turned away,
completely unmoved.

I am a mere phantasm
of a human being,
a thin shell covering
.......sinews and bone,
................but lacking vital organs.
So if you are looking for
A touch of humanity,
then go look
for a human being;
there’s no one like that
.......around here….
just dust and debris,
the tattered remnants of
some feeling creature
who ceased to exist
.............long ago.