the patron saint of lost causes...

it seems the rainy season has started back up in orlando. for the past week it's rained every day, starting around two in the afternoon, generally.
and it will continue for however long it wishes. it tends to bog a person down after a few months, but i appreciate the beginning of it all.
a melancholic washing of the land every afternoon.

i have this tremendous pressure coming at me from all angles, at all times. the nights i do sleep i've found the pressure creeping into bed with me, twisting its fingers around my skull. when i wake up, i feel i haven't even been sleeping, it's like someone else has been using my body those few short hours i blacked out. my shoulders are tight, muscles slightly aching, generally drenched in sweat like never before. somebody told me once i probably had someone else living inside of me, seemed like a plausible notion, but that was years ago... wouldn't i know by now?
i think so.

i don't recall dreams, if i have them. i can't remember the last dream i had.
it's been well over two years since i've remembered one.

told an old friend the other night i've felt blank, empty, it's why i hadn't written anything on this in a long while. while i do this, it still feels that way, as i sit here struggling to put some damn words down. in the past the words helped, we've come across writers block or what have you of course, but eventually the words pull you back up. back into something you're familiar with.
but this... this is like hell.

all i can think of is a woman in sarasota from years ago, before i moved to orlando. i was at a celebratory dinner with my parents and at one point i went outside by myself. as i sat outside this woman passing by told me i had the most empty eyes she'd ever seen.
"they aren't even filled with pain," she said.
"just, empty. like a corpse," she said. worse than any dead persons even, and she wished there was something she could do to help me. she seemed sincere.
"but how do you save a lost cause?"

one trillion dollars could buy most anything...

this past saturday i received a small package in the mail from my grandmother. inside was an old leather wallet, my grandfathers before he passed away. within the wallet was a note, and tucked inside the soft worn leather there was a dollar bill. this dollar could barely be considered green, you could tell it had been carried around for some time. the note she wrote says she thinks it may be signed by some of my grandfather's war buddies (he fought in World War II), that he carried it around in his wallet for luck all the years after he came back.

so now, here i am with it. not sure what to do, except sit in awe.
some pictures? sure.



the front of the bill. you can see on the left side some writing where the signatures have worn down over the years.



the back. the designs on the back of this bill are nearly identical to a current dollar, minus hawaii across the entire bill.




closeup of the least faded signature.



notice it's a silver certificate, not a federal reserve note...

worth a dollar of silver.

the year of printing and the secretary of the treasury.

as you can see it's in a fragile state, a piece of it already torn off. it had been sitting inside a wallet folded for many years, so it's understandable.
i've put it behind glass for now so it won't take any more damage. at least, none i'm aware of.
something about the dollar has triggered in my brain, opening a strange door i'd never considered. it's dragged this monstrous idea from the shadows. i've been sitting with it, poking the beast with a stick, watching how it reacts.
i've come to this conclusion: he is lazaruz.

for vanity sake...

look at that. fancy new graphic. how bold.

i had a call in to a friend that was supposed to draw me an original picture for the top, but considering the track record of all my friends, i figured it wasn't likely. what do you know...?

thus, i created the image brazenly displayed at the top of this page. it's a picture of infinite simplicity, but therein lies the complex root of it's meaning. it's a hint. if you really want to call it that.

now it's time for my good friend diphenhydramine to take over.
i've a 9:00am appointment on the other side of orlando. not even orlando, to be completely honest about the situation.

bless me, dark father, for i have sinned...

watched Religulous earlier this evening, and i suggest you do the same whenever you get the chance. it's an interesting film dealing with religion and how it is constantly propelling the world to the end of days. something i've been saying for years.

the movie touches on a rather wide topic area regarding religion, not just how these closed minded individuals have found a way to take control of nearly everything in the world. at times it's a rather frightening thought that the people running the major countries of the world are blindly following various religions with little to no physical evidence proving their beliefs. their reasons for belief all come down to a single word: faith. "you must simply have faith," a great deal of them say without attempting to back up the statement with valid reasons for putting your faith in an invisible force that resides somewhere above the clouds. that isn't a simple thing for me to do. it is the very definition of absurdity, and while watching the film you can't help but feel like the people on screen are actors saying lines children wrote in response to the questions bill maher is asking. but they aren't. they are senators, millionaire evangelical preachers, actors portraying jesus, and simple american citizens on vacation in a christian themed amusement park (the holy land experience, a twenty-five minute drive from my home).

i can't help but fall back to the concept of religious individuals being of a child-like mindset. it seems awful to say, but think about it for a moment. it's a tenant of the christian faith that any person is capable of speaking to and being heard by God. i accept that. now, santa claus. he travels around the entire world in a single night, visiting every home to slide down their chimney in order to lay out presents. i don't accept that. after we get to a certain age we learn this is false, a simple child's fantasy story to make an evening magical for twelve or so years. the concept of a man traveling all over the world and delivering presents to every child becomes absurd. yet, God, described as being manlike (considering man is made in his image, we're lead to assume God takes the near same form as humans, though he is obviously capable of greater feats.) is able to hear every person on earth speaking to him simutaneously? even for an omnipotent being that seems somehow impossible. that is 6,706,993,152 voices in His head at once. why is the notion of santa claus so far fetched in comparison to this? bill maher uses this example in the movie and none of the interviewees seem to have a response other than dagger eyes.

seems like a simple question to me.

my biggest issue with religions is their inability to accept people unlike them. it baffles me when the ideology of peace, love, and acceptance of all mankind preached by jesus christ (one of the big names in christianity, if you weren't aware) isn't practiced by those supposedly following his teachings.
it bothers me when a religious fanatic glares at me with disdain because of my appearance when i'm out in public. i'm used to being stared at for various reasons (apparently there aren't many wheelchair bound tattooed individuals in the world), and i'm keenly aware of the different types of stares a person can send your way. curious, confused, shocked, even disgust and hatred; you can see it in the eyes and the way they move their mouth while they watch you. it unnerves me to a degree, i can't imagine anyone would find any of my visible tattoo's that insulting, so it has only to do with the fact that they are present. this level of judgment based on physical appearance is pathetic, yet we find these are the people leading our nation in a variety of different ways. they are our religious leaders, our politicians, our teachers, our mothers and fathers, grand-mothers and grand-fathers, they are our bosses and oddly enough sometimes it's the janitors. they are everywhere, around every corner, casting judgment based on skin color (hoho! a twist on the old).

anyway, here we are, amidst the self fulfilling prophecies of our holy leaders.
personally, i can't wait for Armageddon. it'll be god-damn interesting. get it?
godspeed to all you're after. is this a life left just to remember?

bang bang, shoot shoot...

i was presented with an article about the decline of our fair language and how those interested in it's manipulation are handling it. it's an intriguing read for a few reasons, but i think it fails to capture the true reasons wordophiles across the nation are revolting.

the article touches on a few reasons for people correcting these spelling errors, things like obsession or empowerment. seems like naive reporting, to me.
for me these errors come across mostly as insulting. surely people make mistakes, everyone is bound to screw up the "your" and "you're" at some point. but the fact remains, they let these mistakes out. it is within their power to read over the words they've put down, to edit before publishing, as it were. if people took a minute to read over what they've written a great number of those mistakes would be caught. it's a simple matter of laziness in regards to the english language, brought on by lack of respect for the language and of all things technology.

on the technology side, we have these devices that were meant to propel us forward into the future. we've established human connectivity to a disturbing level. we're able to locate people instantly, tracking with gps or satellites, cellphones, anything with a digital signal. and with pinpoint accuracy.
you can contact anyone at any point of the day, considering cellphones are now just as mandatory to the human system as say, the heart. it is these devices that have stunted our wordplay. rather than giving people the opportunity to express themselves verbally they have instead molested our understanding of the language and how it operates.
letters dropped from words, all for the sake of speed? that text message about where you are really should be sent out within the next fifteen seconds. imagine, if it wasn't sent out within thirty seconds ...? well, fuck. i don't even want to think about the destructive possibilities of an event like that.
the devices built to connect us have done just that, but in the process they've disconnected us from our language.

but what can you expect from a country like this? we fail to see the importance of language on any level. we refuse to teach our children other languages in schools, though the majority of nations outside the united states have children study multiple languages in their early years. instead we're interviewed on local television stations saying things like,"they should all just learn to speak american!"
if we don't even have the foresight/intelligence/decency to learn the languages of the other countries we share this limited space with what reason do we have to invest time in our own language?

just feels like we're loading a few more bullets into the chamber for that final game of russian roulette.

and on the tv screen? diversion and aversion, flavors of the day...

i tuned into the super-bowl for a majority of the fourth quarter, feeling some sort of obligation to at least know the outcome. it always seems the days after these types of things the only type of common courtesy conversation that takes place out in the wild revolves around this over glorified sporting event. to appear normal one must be able to accurately bullshit their way through a modicum of banter regarding the outcome, or maybe just some spectacular highlights.
the wonderful part about sports is you don't need to watch an entire game to understand what took place. it's all a matter of simple observation in the final quarter, reading people and their actions. i don't care about the players, or the score, they mean absolutely nothing. you get the true story of the game from watching the faces of the fans. the zealots ridiculous enough to dole out a small fortune for tickets, camouflaged in absurd colors and attire, blaring their lungs as the cameramen swoop past their seats. these people physically feel the loss of their team, a sport induced depression settles into their bones and from that grows anger and rivalry for other teams. it's disturbing, in a truly fascinating way.

but america clings to the wrong sports. we worship false gods, paying them millions of dollars for doing something they supposedly enjoy. it's true for all of the big major sports in this country; football, basketball, baseball. their seems little room left in these sports for true love of the game. like most things it's shifted towards greed, and now it's for love of the money one gets for playing the sport they maybe loved as a child.
how cynical is this? the current generation of children, will they even care about the sports? we all grew up saying we want to be sports-stars, rock-stars, movie-stars. maybe you never said it aloud, but you thought it, even if just for a second. did that desire stem from the wealth you'd ultimately acquire? no, i don't think so. it was the allure of being known, that idea of a perfect life, that sadistic american dream. but kids now? after pressing through the marketing and advertising, maybe they'll see a game being played on the field. or maybe they'll see some men in uniforms, doing their job so they can collect a massive fucking paycheck.

i find myself at cvs around 1:00 in the morning and one of the homeless guys that stands against the side of the building on occasion says, "what about those cardinals?"
"tiny red birds shouldn't play with metal men," i tell him.
"i think it's sad," he takes a swill from his brown bag, "sad, no lie."
"but it's no fun to tell the truth."

the perplexities of the human condition...

what benefit arises from owning a rooster when not living in an agricultural community?

waking up is hard to do...

these are the nights i question. there must be some force looming inside my skull that keeps me awake. it wants something, but it's pride is far too strong to simply tell anyone. it's a puzzle.

we love mysteries.

but then you have to wonder... it's only these nights i find myself drawn so strongly to the words. they drag my hands to the keyboard, my body sits and waits for them to finish their task. that's the way it is. that's the way it's been.

i'm a creature more comfortable within the cover of night. the daylight irks me in a way that i can't fully explain. since i can remember it's been this way, and i've thrived during the hours most people are fast asleep. my body doesn't truthfully begin working properly until the sun has gone down. my thoughts become more precise, i'm able to articulate in a more succinct manner. it feels as if the darkness lets loose some bonds within me and once the sun has fallen behind the horizon completely i can begin.

the sleepers out there, they'd never understand.
i don't think.

for a bit, i envied the people that sleep well. i thought, maybe i'm missing something. it wasn't until recently i came to the realization, it's all of you missing something... but if you knew that, it wouldn't be quite as wonderful. the darkness would be ruined. it's beauty coming from it's absent nature. that is, the absence of life, the absence of futile chaos. don't get me wrong, i'm a fan of random chaos. it's how this world works. but at times, i need nothing more than absolutely nothing. literally. while you all slumber away, the streets are barren, neighborhoods simply sketches of what humanity exists within (if any). buildings shut tightly, parking lots vacated. have you ever been in the center of an enormous parking lot alone? one so large you can't see anything but emptiness to fill? it's a strange and wonderful experience, feeling like the only living creature on the planet.

the darkness is empty. it is void.
as i said; beautiful.

all this simplicity leaves room to breath calmly. it leaves room for the strange and odd, those things too terrified to come out in daylight. it leaves room, and that's enough.

a cleansing bred of needle and ink...

these are strange times filled with wicked deeds done by men and women of all shape and creed. we've all been dragged into this state of existence, forced to survive by whatever means necessary. one can quite literally feel the weight of it all upon stepping outside. even the weather pushes down on your shoulders after you leave the safety of your home. maybe there isn't any safe zone anymore, just less mind-numbingly disastrous on a variant scale of Armageddon. were there ever safe zones?

and yet, i find myself feeling resolute. championed. madness, you'll say. surely a just assumption, considering the reality of the staggering nation. but i'm breaking out of old skin here (literally), shedding the past and staring at the future's throat, hoping soon enough the warm taste of iron will coat my mouth. then again, this plan is only surface.

perhaps it's all my perspective. for the past few weeks i've been working on character biographies and general storyline for a video game based around the criminal element. junkies, thieves, murderers, they lurk around every corner. and i created every single one of them. these people watch me from the inside, whispering my horrible secrets to me, laughing sharply from the dark. each one of them steals a small part of me, absorbing every abstract particle and manipulating it to suit their personal desires. nothing else will ever be so clear. there are some days i wish to simply disappear, observing these creatures in a chaotic environment they have no understanding of. i become an omnipotent mist, my only intention being study. take away the brain and the body just fades into nothing.

appropriate.

is the world really coming to an end before my eyes? perhaps it's all my perspective.

and yet again, here i am. championed and no fucking apologies. the insomniatic nights are gone for now, i've had my release. since thursday i have glided through days effortlessly. frozen florida winds tearing through the streets haven't even hindered my mood, though they effect my chemistry - a few extra strength excedrin have been companion enough to stave off the back pangs.

lo and behold, jolly! triumph! we're doing fine, quite literally.

after receiving my needle and ink therapy early thursday afternoon there are few worries that cross my path. even after, sitting out front of trinity tattoo in the cold breeze, i could feel the warmth from my knee spreading across my consciousness. i could feel that cleansing wash of needle and ink, and i calmed.

so where's the lesson you ask?
the lesson is a map.
the map is me.
just, do me a favor... don't stare awkwardly. you can ask what it is.
i won't kill you.
not for that.

a brave new world, precisely like the last...

this post is a test, of sorts. all sorts, really. an operational test, word-usage test, typing test, to name the first few.
everything is in tact so far, few minor snags along the way. although, the title did stump me for a while. until i landed squarely on this, "five dead zebra." how do we like it? seemed appropriate to me somehow, and maybe to you, which is unlikely. but i think with time you'll see that it makes sense. especially in regards to this chaos.

this first night i can't truly think of anything to write. there's too much clawing to get outside of my head again. maybe i can just sum up the past for now, the past until now. i found this writing on my computer that should do it, at least it will attempt to. it's nothing fancy, just this:

"We are a generation of children left to our own devices in a world supposedly over flowing with possibilities for the future. The Baby Boomers presented us the entire world on a golden platter saying, “Anything you see, you can have, or be.” So we reached our hands out, extending our fingers towards those few morsels we each felt a strange draw to, and for a while the future was a brilliant light in a one-way tunnel that we knew we’d eventually reach. A few years later their promises fell through and the tunnel collapsed in, ultimately stranding us in our belief that the world had no meaning. Suddenly our direction changed and instead of heading straight for the light at the end of that tunnel, we decided to stay in the darkness and absorb all that it had to offer us. Trapped in our darkness, we found tranquility.

Now our existence is simple. Our reasons are simple and knowing there is no truer moment than the one at hand means absolutely nothing can stop us. We were driven by desperation to find something better than being the lost generation; a twenty-year time span filled with degenerates and guinea pigs, hybrids of the era. We party hard, we break our ribs and wrists in mosh pits, we cover our skin in tattoos. We’ve lost our hope and no longer have any reason to wish for hope. Still, we stand at the brink of this world staring into the void, refusing to turn away out of simple stubbornness.

For us the American Dream is dead; a long extinct ideal the prehistoric nation clings to for posterity sake. During our childhood it was dangled in front of our faces and touted as fact. Yet we were witness to the dreams of the Baby Boomers crumbling to dust around them, trapping them in the ruins of a fantasy gone awry. The outcome: Millions of dysfunctional-pill-popping families huddled around reruns of American Idol searching for warmth and that feeling of Blissful American Connectivity. That feeling may simply not exist any longer. These Baby Boomers are our parents, our grandparents, our aunts and uncles. And for years we’ve watched them feed off one another, intent on surviving, whatever the cost – foe, friend, or family. The shattered reality of their lives has warped the next generation, my generation. It's warped the world we live in, tragically creating mass quantities of numb and careless monsters roaming the nation pretending to be human. The American Dream destroyed the lives of our parents and role models with false promises spat at them with propagandic vigor. What could possibly convince us to hand our lives over in the same misguided way as those before us? Not a god-damn thing. Every day we watch the collapse of civilization approach, in these fatal Oil-War-Years, and nothing else feels quite as good as telling the entire world to go fuck itself."

and i suppose that, is that.





they lied when they said the good die young.