me: define: intellectual masturbation

me: deriving pleasure from reading, then writing?

Andrea: no, just bullshitting peopel with accrued trivia and schooling

me: hahaha

blood on grass

Lights on.

A lies on ground, inert, dressed in white, facing the sky. Two onlookers stand around, a

few feet away.

B1: what do you think happened to him?

B2: I dunno… I saw him fall… I think he’s dead.

B1: he just fell?? You mean from a plane?

B2: no… I didn’t see anything… the sky was clear, and this white dot fell from the sky,

and now he’s here…

B1: who do you think we should call? How… what would we say happened?

[man’s toe twitches, catches B2s attention]

B2: (slowly steps closer to the body, murmurs) I… I think I just saw him move…

B1: (whispering) no way… (Raising his voice) there’s no fucking way that man could

have…

B2: (interrupts) LOOK! I’m telling you I just saw him move!!!

B1: (steps closer, next to B1)… no fucking way….. (Voice trails off)

[man twitches again. Moves foot… B1 steps back, afraid. Man turns on his side facing

them. Opens his eyes… The eyes are white.]

B2: (spills out a stream of every known obscenity, beginning with the word ‘holy’)

[A stretches left hand out towards B’s… Something terribly hurts him, he twists in

pain and holds his left shoulder with his right hand… Same pain penetrates his right

shoulder… He screams… in silence]

B1: (noticing the pain in the man’s face, wails in a mixture of sympathy and disgust…)

We have to do something...! (fear doesn’t allow them to move)

[B2 simply stares, shaking.]

[Man drops left hand and uses right hand to touch his back… He screams again… his

hand comes out smeared in blood. In a paranoid fashion, blind, he desperately tries to see

something around him, but is incapable of it. ]

B1: He’s bleeding… look at all that blood on his hand…

B2: [in anguished voice] We must help hiiim… there has to be something we can do…!?

[Man tries to stand, but is unable to, as if the legs are made of concrete. He coils and

slivers like a serpent. Two red blotches symmetrically mark each scapula (each side of

the back). He relaxes.]

[B’s remain silent as truth dawns upon them.]

[A minute of silence…]

B2: an angel… dude.. it’s an…

B1: ...angel... [shocked] is there anything we can do?

[Angel begins to tremble, even though it is warm outside. Heaven’s warmth is that of the

sun’s heat. ]

B2: he… he’s blind…

B1: paradise lost.

B2: how can you lose heaven?

B1: you betray god, or perhaps through a bureaucratic mistake.

B2: or he wanted to live again.

B1: no… (begins to cry).. no… no… no…

B2: what?

B1: this… this might be… the end of the world…

[a second of silence, as the idea sinks in… B2 begins to cry as well… sits on the grass,

watching the angel twitch in the cold]

B2: He’s suffering so much… Look at him.

B1: I know… there’s nothing we can do… not for him, not for ourselves…

B2: damn you, B1, there’s no reason god would kill us today… what kind of god would

do that anyway?

B1: the kind of god that tears the wings off angels and let’s them fall…

B2: (thinks for a minute) no… something isn’t right…

B1: what better explanation do you have?

B2: fuck if I know… this is unreal… I think I’m going crazy…

B1: no you’re not! Nooooooo… or else I wouldn’t see what you are seeing. Insanity

doesn’t usually work in pairs, unless we did some ‘shrooms… or acid…. Nooo… we

really are here, and that angel really is there, dieing. We have to help him.

B2: HOW? HOW? HOW?!?!?!?! HOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!?!?!?

B1: SHUT UP!!! Quit screaming!!!! Calm the fuck down!

B2: [unintelligibly screams]

[B1 launches himself towards B2’s face, trying to cover his mouth… B2, furious,

sees it coming and grabs the hand, throws B1 to the ground, and starts choking

him… The Angel grabs B2’s foot, which sends B2 screaming off B1 in fear.]

Character Development

Character Development. Who am I? Who is he? Who is she? Forget the

appearance. Character does not rely on appearance, although appearance influences

character. Vanity is a characteristic; a defect. Part of character, nonetheless.

Each character has a past. Develop a past for each character. Whether they were

born into a poor, rich, or middle-class family. What were the parents of the character like?

Or did the character grow up an orphan? If he had, were they abusive, lenient, gentle,

respectable, vicious, lazy, paranoid… how were they?

Think of episodes of life which might affect the further decisions of the character

you are trying to develop. How were the grades in school of this character? How did he/

she get along with the rest? Think about the genetics and its influence in behavior. As a

writer, one must have a firm understanding of experience. Firm. Were one to misrepresent

a character, the character would lose credibility, and the story would always miss

something. It is the reason Dan Brown sucked and Henry James was praised. The

characters in the story must leave a long-lasting impression in the mind.

How does the character speak? Why does the character speak like that? Did it

grow up on the streets, among snobs, is it trying to fit in or is it part of a complex

developed from the repercussions of shyness? If the character is deaf-mute, was it born

that way, was it the product of an accident, or is it just acting that way?

What is the characters perception of reality? What are its philosophies? Is it

thoughtful, materialistic, apathetic, or insane? Develop a mind. The mind is the self. The

appearance is simply a vehicle for the mind. The mind is responsible for the actions in the

past, for the past, and the actions have molded the future decisions for the mind to act

upon.

For a character, you must develop the mind, the past, and the surroundings.

Characteristics must be emphasized throughout the story to burn the created character into

the mind of the reader. Without character development, the book will always miss

something.

Pioneers

Instructions

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/03/19/arts/design/20100319-museum-slideshow_6.html

If you cannot see the purpose why these three pictures were placed together on the same page, please close your eyes for a second, open them once more and reconsider its purpose.

If you cannot understand why evolutionary followers believe we descended from monkeys, please see the three pictures presented in the link. Please observe the similarities between the bone structures, the placement of bones, the sockets, between humans and apes.

If you fail to see similarities in the bone structures, but rather rely on the differences in size, intelligence, and Biblical history, please take a second to review the pictures above. Repeat action until you see the similarities in bone structure.

If you think, "Ok... the apes bone structure resembles man because ape was also created by God." Please review Bible to find where a female ape was created from a male apes rib. Repeat as needed, for every animal in the animal kingdom where male and female genders exist.

The Laughing Jew

NYTimes: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/17/world/middleeast/17mideast.html?hp

Here, again, is an example of the US position in the face of Israel's insolence. The decide to build on Palestinian land while Joe Biden is visiting the country, them possibly making a statement and he trying to get a working relationship working between the foes.

Done in all insolence

From the NYTimes:

"Last Tuesday the Israeli Interior Ministry announced 1,600 new housing units for Jews in Ramat Shlomo, another part of East Jerusalem, acutely embarrassing Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr., who was on a visit here. The move infuriated the Obama administration, coming soon after it had announced the start of American-brokered Israeli-Palestinian indirect peace talks, the first in more than a year.
Mr. Netanyahu apologized for the timing of the announcement and called it a mistake “done in all innocence.” But he has not shifted regarding Israel’s insistence on its right to continue building in all of Jerusalem. "

AMERICA the ophtalmologist trying to correct two blind eyes. We need a deo ex machina like old times to step in and stomp on civilization pick them up in arms impregnate a few for demigods for his entertainment so perhaps we can have more shows like hercules or xena on tv instead of this god awful war of sticks and stones and a well trained well armed well funded israeli army.

Israel has a bomb. It is a big big bomb. Back from the good ole days of proliferation. I sit and roll my hand into a fist and place it under my chin one foot reclined onto the side of the stone where I sit naked, thinking: Man, we've seen the things these human beings have built, created: lollipops, cotton balls, genetically modified thornless roses, and here else they're pasting metal, screwing screws, encasing plutonium in cute little bubbles, capable of reminding the world of those two Japanese incidents mentioned semi-proudly in American history books.

Well, everyone has one. India has one. North Korea has one. France has a few. Britain. Etc.

I mean everyone. The phrase at hand "Don't do onto other masses what we wouldn't like done onto us (at the hands of the few governing, of course)"

It is amazing they haven't made pocket sized a-bombs. Each one of us carrying one of those little Plutonium balls in our pockets, fully exercising a twist off the second amendment.

SO: Based on Murphy's Law those bombs will go off sometime. You know it won't be you or I that will be responsible. Possible, the domino theory will not be whose turning red or blue, but rather, one goes off here, the next one goes off there, and there, and there, and there until no one is left to utter a simple sweet word as 'om'.

Hamas throws stones at the Police.
The Police beat Hamas.
Hamas throws stones at the Police.
The Police beat H mas.
H mas throws stones at the Police.
The Police beat H ma .
H ma th o s st n s t the Police.
The Police beat H m .
H m t o s n the Police.
The Police beat m .
m o n the Police.
The Police beat
the Police.
The Police
the Police
The Police
The Police
The Police

Socioeconomicpoliticoreligiocultural myopia rules at the end of the day.

Meta-article: Nigerians Recount...

I see: An article recounting the mass murder of 500 Christian Nigerians by Muslim tribesmen. You can e-mail, send to phone, print, reprint, and share this article with family, friends, and acquaintances. 10 men sit on the ground of the picture, two framed pictures in the background portray two angles of the same child- a girl in a puffy white dress. More pictures hang pinned onto panels on the wall. A few of them stare at you, most stare off to the side. Many of them appear to be military. There is a possibility that it is one or a handful of men represented in the pictures. Many wear military uniforms, from pins to berets with indeterminate insignias. If the world were reflected by what is seen on these pictures, the phrase “it’s a man’s world” wouldn’t be far from the truth. The oxymoronic essence is not apparent: the military- symbols of restrained, constrained, destroyed childhoods repressed by uniforms and strict thoughts: the child below, unaware of a world where there is need for military, free in the little white dress barely discovering the world around her.
The men on the floor, detained as guilty, offer different faces for the camera. To think they were once children… Yet, to see and report was is seen is not to assume pasts or presume futures. The truth: Two men, two women, one stick, one short knife resulting in three dead one living, a crime.
I often think the dead don’t worry, the dead don’t judge, the dead don’t suffer. The living do.
I see: A web-ad to ‘PACQUIAO-CLOTTEY: THE EVENT’. The sport: BOXING. Here, in an article about 500 killings, is included an ad to a boxing match. Pacquiao and Clottey both stare at you with the same grim, intense look as some of the men in the picture below. Our souls deep inside wonder what have we done to create a world where faces must thus look at you.
The other ad, showing a dirty Caucasian man with a look of anguish on his face appeals you to click on the box to play a snippet from HBO’s ‘The Pacific.’ The Subject: War. More precisely: WWII. And what did we do, as readers, to ask to be furthered directed towards death?! Isn’t war about death? Some would say war is more about ideals. Are we better because of it? Some would say yes. However, I must not indulge in speculation, rather speak of what I further see.
I see an ad that simply says CYRUS, July 9. It holds no appeal. Good luck getting my accidental click. Slightly down, off to the right, an actress from “The Miracle Worker” also carries an anguished, insane look on her face: the shivering lips, the disheveled curls of the hair, the square chin, the exposed lobe…
Focus back on the article, you read about the weapons confiscated- “14 machetes, 26 bows, arrows, 3 axes, 4 spears, and 44 guns.” (Play chess for chrissakes!)To think that these had often been used as tools rather than weapons; as tools for hunting, tools for clearing the ground for agriculture, tools. But I forget, tribal was is as old as sand. Tribes have been dispersed and urbanized only fairly recently in history. Tribes still persist in some areas, i.e. Afghanistan. Tribes, once romanticized by their sense of communal support, by their long folkloric traditions, by their unique languages and habits, now struggle to remain as tribes in the face of global urbanization (globalization), at the hand of a new world order- yes, I said new world order, meaning not the apocalyptic, deliberately conceived rule of one central world government, but rather a gradual loss of specific cultures developed by isolation exchanged for a modern, interconnected eclectic culture blending in the most prevalent languages and cultural habits (Nihau where hello stood, forks were chopsticks stood, soy where barley stood), or the Darwinian rule applied to cultural survival as tied to political powers and economics.
Like a thief in the night they stole into cots and shot and cut without mercy.
Like the Trojan horse they waited till nightfall to turns dreams into nightmares.
Will it be eye for eye? We will see.

IR Rrrrrrrrrrr

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8558347.stm
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/08/world/asia/08china.html?scp=2&sq=china&st=cse

US-Israel-China

Where is the glory of AMERICA? WHERE IT BE?! See here!?
They will do what they want to do because we are not as large as we used to be.
We will wave our index finger at them, vicariously through Rice or Clinton or whomever, and they will insolently nod at our boldness; they will nod and think how pathetic we look waving that finger up and down in that “do this and do that” fashion, meanwhile staring at the holes in our pockets, at our liquid money dripping like piss down our pants onto some cracked floor.
Rename ourselves America the humble; no longer America the proud.
Who is proud?! I have heard the proud sing the National Anthem drunk in a frat boy’s basement! Now THERE’s your source of pride. THERE ARE YOUR GMS, YOUR FORDS, YOUR CHEVYS, YOUR JEEPS. THERE YOUR MASSIVE F250s COMPETING FOR QUICK ON THE FAST LANE, while the rest of us sweat and pray sweat and pray oh god please don’t let those idiots crash in front of me!
I have seen the proud grow heavy at the anxious munching,
The proud complain about the diversity of language,
the proud refusing to believe that things
are changing,
can change,
will change.
Rename ourselves America the humble, and work towards raising the land once more, once more to the land our father’s remember, a land of freshly paved highways, spearheading technology, producing, exporting, having the authority and SENSE to REASON, having the patience to once again rediscover our neighbors, having the ability to understand that reality is not you nor I, but we and us. US.

El callejon de mi abuela.

Era en el callejon de mi abuela donde las cenizas
se tiraban y estrechaban
Dispersaban y mojaban
Y de vez en cuando los chiquillos
Alli mismo orinaban.

El callejon encajado :
Entre un muro de ladrillos
De la Ferreteria de los Yuja-

Al otro lado,
el muro de barro
Lleno de huecos y recuerdos
De oscuridades y memorias
De ecos de sonidos ya olvidados.

Desde alli, los desfiles pasaban
Como pasan los pajaros
Por veces volando
Bajo un cielo nublado.

Nos trepabamos al muro
Sostenidos del tejado,
Las tejas vestian de moho
Y un opaco anaranjado.

Cuantas lluvias aguantaron
Cuantos soles descarados
Cuantas noches sin luna
Cuantos gatos alli posaron.

Callejon de mi vida,
Callejon de la memoria,
Donde las cenizas se tiraban
Se apagaban y dispersaban.

time and time again

How curious, the Christians and the Jews and the Muslims and the Hindi and the Evangelists and the Catholics and the Buddhists and the Jainists, and on and on and on into sects and cults and on into time. Talk about cats and tigers and ocelots and lions and juagarundis and bobcats and leopards and cougars. How about the time that sifts between your fingers- 1000 years, 2000, 3... all onto 10 and 20 millenia. Who will hold the truth in 20 mil? Will we have understood by then the core concepts of ethics, of morality? Will we have learned by then that the sun is the sun and the moon the moon and without the sun the moon doesn't shine, the earth becomes ice and nothing matters? What will the words of the prophets mean when the sun blows? what is a god without life to praise his name? if one day, and one day it will, all goes silent, will the om resurrect from the universal buzz? Somewhere else, I suppose, someone else will seek salvation, and the eternal balance will be left undisturbed.

huh

Japan loves the Beatles.
Yoko married Lennon.
Yoko married Lennon.
Yoko married Lennon.