Believe Me

Golf is better than work.

But only for me, not that other guy…

He showed us his birth certificate but “MY” tax returns are private.

Because I’m a “REAL” ‘Murican.

There are “fine” people on both sides of the argument.

Unless they listen to “Fake News.”

He “knew what he was signing up for.”

I myself, found ways to not sign up.

“I’ll build a Great Wall.”

Between myself and reality.

My travel ban is not religious discrimination.

I’m just afraid of Muslims like the rest of my voters.

I do not sexually harass women, I just “grab’em by the pussy”.

I’m rich so it’s ok.

Let’s “Make America Great Again!”

Great at destroying the environment.

Great at defunding social programs.

Great at destroying education.

Great at pissing off the rest of the world.

Great at making the rich richer and the poor poorer.

Great at Hate!

I’m the Smartest! Believe Me!

My I.Q. is one of the highest! Believe Me!

I had the Biggest turnout! Believe Me!

I have the Greatest chemistry with ALL of the Leaders! Believe Me!

I build the Greatest walls! Believe Me!

I have the Greatest relationship with Blacks! Believe Me!

I will be Phenomenal to the women! Believe Me!

Believe Me!

Believe Me!

Believe Me!

Addictions of the Past

Addictions of the Past           

   “Careful now, you’re not digging a well. I’ve told you before, this is delicate work. You must use gentle pressure on the spade. You need to feel the blade cut through each millimeter of soil as well as feel the texture of the material sliding along its surface. Place your awareness into the tools as well as into your hands. That’s the only way to guarantee a clean and safe excavation.

   How many other digs have you been on? One? Two? Well don’t be discouraged by my grumblings. I’m obsessed with these finds, ask anyone. They’ll tell you I eat, sleep and shit ancient artifacts. And they’re pretty much right. I don’t even own a home. I live on the dig sites and occasionally in my office at the university when I have to report back in there for a few days. I just can’t stay away. It’s a sickness you know. And it’s contagious if you are the least bit susceptible. 

   Sure, go ahead and laugh, it is funny. But it’s true. Look around you. How many people are around us? And how many of them are living in tents and look like all their meals come out of a tin can. Actually, most of us are using MRE’s now. God bless military surplus. My point is, if you ask around just about eighty-five percent of the people on this dig have been here from the beginning of the find 2 years ago. And I would hazard a guess that ninety percent of those came here directly from a previous dig. 

   I’ll let you in on the secret. The ‘sickness’ is an addiction. Pure chemical addiction. And we do it to ourselves. No, we aren’t taking drugs or anything. Adrenaline. That’s what it is my friend, adrenaline. Now you’re asking how can sitting in a cramped hole, scraping away miniscule amounts of dirt and debris minute by minute for days on end create adrenaline? Simple. It’s intellectually stimulated adrenaline. Before I came over here what were your thoughts? Were you focusing on the literal task? Thinking about moving that spade of dirt up and out of this hole? Or were you imagining what is buried under this dirt you are moving? Seeing in your mind’s eye the people that once lived here? The houses they lived in, the tools they used. Were you imagining a day in the life?

   As you were imagining all of that was another part of your brain cataloging the items we have already found? The bits and pieces of broken crockery. The oxidized tools. Were you wondering how they all fit together to form a complete image of the people who lived here so long ago? And did your heart speed up a little when you were thinking about all of this? See? Adrenaline. 

   That’s not where it ends either. Adrenaline also comes into play when your digging touches something. When you feel that ancient resistance to your probing. In the moment when the tip of your spade makes contact with whatever it is you’ve found the world disappears and for half a heartbeat it’s just you and the artifact. You’re the only two things in existence. Then the adrenaline comes rushing through your brain and you become excited and afraid and anxious and shaky and sweaty and so many other things. Your back and shoulders stop hurting. Your neck no longer has that irritating cramp in it. All is right in the world and your total focus is on clearing the artifact.

   So you have the adrenaline of anticipation and the adrenaline of discovery. Both are addictive and incurable. 

   Now then, I’ve distracted you long enough. I’ll let you get back to your digging and sifting. Just remember, immerse your focus into the earth and your tools. And try not to let the whispers of the past get your heart pumping too fast.”

Batshit Crazy

Into your wide open eyes I fall staring.

My voice drops lightly, 
octave by octave.

Holding onto the concrete edge…

of Insanity.

I pull down the veil as darkness ascends.

PASSION,

Clawing my throat open.

Pure...
Agonizing…

Relief?

My mouth, 
a graveyard rent…

Asunder.

Open your dead ears.

Trenches filled with Echoing…

Universal…

silence.

Ants continue to walk across the windowsill,

oblivious to my...RAGE!
My Pain!

My Hunger!

My Answer!

My death….

Spinning razors cut to the beginning.

The contractions of the soul.

Tight bands pressing through my brain…

dividing my thoughts in half...

and half again.

Can you hear the Raven’s call?

Can you see the Black Cowl smile?

Can you Know Peace?

…Not if you’re BATSHIT CRAZY!