this is the kind of day where usually I decline to write why because the thick swamp of what that'd be same same same how's that same is the biggest illusion of all where the shoulder of paranoia provides cover is here here I am and later later I will tell you more



***********************



I wonder, why can't I just get back into that head I can have of glib cynical hyperbolic violence, and then I am confronted with a paragraph such as this:







In Nasiriyah, only Kadem Hashem and his youngest daughter survived when a U.S. missile struck their house. His wife Salima, five of their children, and six other family members who happened to be in the house at the time were killed. Finding a photograph in the debris of his house, Hashem told reporter Ed Vulliamy of The Observer: "This was my middle daughter, Hamadi. I found her burnt to death by that doorway, she had shrunk to about a metre tall." His one surviving daughter, Bedour, described now as "what remains of a beautiful girl," lies on the floor of a relative's house. "She is shrivelled and petrified like a dead cat. Her skin is like scorched parchment folded over her bones. Unable to move, she appears as if in some troubled coma, but opens her eyes, with difficulty, to issue an indecipherable cry like a wounded animal." Hashem dug a mass grave for his family in a nearby holy city. "I collected them all and put them in a single grave at Najaf; my money was burnt, too, and I couldn't afford to bury them separately."







For further articles and studies, see OnPower.org.







Reprinted from The Independent Institute:



http://independent.org/tii/news/040510Higgs.html





















This article comes from The Smirking Chimp



http://www.SmirkingChimp.com







The URL for this story is:



http://www.SmirkingChimp.com/article.php?sid=16122







Robert Higgs: 'The crimes at Abu Ghraib are not the worst'



************************



every time I ever lived in the fast lane



I veered and crashed







but the shit part is here I am now still



burning



why







and



my question is now, if I am as unmanacled from pretension now as I wasn't then then now that the cuffs are gone to mail,



can I beat them into



daggers & shuriken



or do I or could I or has it happened already







yes



no



maybe



fuck



shut up







if I ever had salt enough to just tell about daytoday how would that be?:







I drank 5 beers



I loved my dog



I felt rage at some situation



I schemed to get away to fish and get sparchy



I felt estranged



I felt stuck



I felt isolated by what and how much I know about this and this



the sun felt good



I smoked an American Spirit Light



I was alone



I looked at a woman's body and yearned



I felt sad love for the woman I live with and felt like I could cry







my main qualification for being a writer is that all I want to do is sit in a room and drink with you and tell you lies all night then slip in a true story that happened to me once and see if and what it does to your eyes

one day



motivation crept back in complaining

of my absent pedigree

I told that wench

run bring me a beer she said you'll never win the title match drinking a hundred now



this is all prelude to me telling you the story of Mercygraft Hill and the old red house, that ancient neighborhood, abandoned by all and for dozens of years save for the old woman's mutant children, numbering 2



one was a bird the color of tarnished copper with a perpetually open beak and 2 human feet emerging, human yelps and mumbling coming horrible from inside its gullet and as I looked closely I saw that the creature's intelligence was somehow fused in there



my companion told me he'd been sitting atop the ruined roof of the house for as long as anyone knew. the danger he presents to himself is a danger to us all



we had earlier climbed the hill, the oldest and highest in town, up a steep road as steep as to be nearly useless in the effort it took to ascend



we scaled some rocky ledge the better to go unobserved and from up there I looked down on the grassy outskirts of the town, the rusty rails of the blasted tracks running far out under tunnellike green and sward canopy of trees and grass and yet curiously to me the view included no vista: I could not see the ocean nor the distant encampents of the armies, armies of men, armies of beasts



(then shift into a battle on a rooftop down in the city, this battle also a wild party for spectators and participants both, and at a certain point I go running off to this artist studio apartment house to do a few things there to use the bathroom being one of them but and of course there is a girl, there is a bunch of other dudes, there are black and red curtains, there is a friend I once betrayed, there is aloofness, everyone there wants to be famous as do I, there is some shame and there are some further inscrutable lessons)



I'm getting ahead of myself



this is all just a prelude. motivation crept back in unannounced sometime in the night last night,



let me tell you friends that I've been down, I've been hurting, I've been fucked up disturbed walking headshot in the morning streets, smoking cigarettes, wondering why how and is it too late well no, no not at all, so I am back here to tell you, writing in stealth, and at 8:12am



bless the hour



****************************



11:16am on the other hand can be a most debilitating hour

reading of war crimes perpetrated by your own countrymen and women and plenty of them

now maybe that is a mind too far but how can it be? all the information is right here

all the details, all the photos and movies



digression is the context in this case



the debiltating minutes; feel myself slipping to the torpor

but then I put a few words in this box unbeknownst and that is some hope



**********************



Some parts of the dream are ridiculous as parts of the life though always more entertaining



the dream runs the life limps perhaps I will carve you an elegy of images tonight



perhaps not



****************************



I have no pedigree and slight precedent in my history for success but what I do have is bezel in the blood enough and obstinacy to decline defeat



my insane ways the massive vanity

the paradox, self-destruction



self-creation



the will to do This



****************************



Cheat the Muse or get

bitch to surrender



either way

will do



long as you

get in



**************************



the schematic aftertaste

grinning



cloven head

carrion twisting



bloody ribbons

on the flagpole



*************************



I said earlier on here that there would be a battle, a battle of men versus animals yeh now aint that just the case

how'd I get so remote. I don't know

paranoia from your hand in the dark.

i think it is a cat. no I think I am one



such a fine sunny day and here I am inside

how'd I get so remote. and yet it was the plan

for me. laid out. fuck. remote. how'd I get so



if I say it it is true. I am insane. one eighth

not enough for anything but to be remote.

history. aboriginals. go in the woods.



I can't all I can do is stare at pines. from here.

they are remote. guess what else is. I should have

wrote instead about my heart. who broke it



I broke it myself. It keeps happening. The rage of a king

the plate

of a beggar



who broke it



me

a dream of you entwined

some Indian style with another guy

as I walked away well

that was a pretty bad dream



and then I thought about having no morals

but couldn't get there not the way

I have in dreams where I cheated

on you



hey everyone feels like their life is empty

now and then, me same as you same

as anyone



In different age I want to kill the motherfuckers

who hurt us and can't see us, want to kill and humiliate

but in this our age of killing and humiliation

(hey this is our age, same as the last)



nah. what I want is a modest sum,

enough to take you and I even farther away

from the rest of people, to some quiet space

among trees and sun and snow



when it comes. the world is done

but not us, and not a lot of people

just like us. I'm a cynic

a hyperbolist a jerk



and I drink too much but you can't

get past God

and Love God and Love

in some true way which is you have to get away



away from this dead world

and into some



light

what I enjoy now fucks is the liberty to say fuck

to my own past psychotic peccadillos



nothin will compare to Abu Grahib cept past

death sick peccadillos perpetrated all long down and

across time



shit drunk and not saying what I came here to say --



mass absolution insanity productivity for everyone like me



that's my prayer



(for everyone else:



the prayer is:



there is a God

and It is

a citizen



of



Love