SB 1070 was supposed to go into effect today. It won't thanks to the government's opposition to it and protesters as well as U.S. District Judge Susan Bolton. Bolton basically handed down her judgement that the law was unconstitutional since it's the federal government's job to enforce immigration and that if the states started doin' it themselves they'd get in the way.
The battle is far from over. There's still this idea in America right now that Latinos and Hispanics are somehow subhuman. Arizona will appeal. Sheriff Joe Arpaio is still roundin' up as many illegals as he can. Governor Jan Brewer still feels as though she was completely right.
I've read a lot of articles that say that we're just being used as a scapegoat. That we're essentially seen as new to this country, which isn't true for a lot of us, so it must be our fault that the economy is goin' to crap. It must be our fault that no one has work. If our borders were more secure we wouldn't have been attacked by terrorists. If that hadn't happened then we wouldn't be at war or have to go through hell at the airports or fear for our lives. We wouldn't have to be afraid of the Muslims. They're all terrorists now, too.
It's all bullshit. The economy is messed up for a dozen different reasons. We're at war over oil. Regardless of how secure the border is, somebody's gonna find a way through. Muslims are just a group of people, only different from you or me by the color of their skin and the God they worship. Should learn 'bout 'em if you get the chance. I don't know much about all those Middle-Eastern and Asian cultures but what I find out I usually find interestin'.
Not all of 'em are terrorists though. The terrorists are fighting America for a variety of reasons and it's not because they hate our freedoms. I was made aware of this by a comedian who said that in Amsterdam you could smoke pot, hire a prostitute, and hold a gay wedding all in the same building but nobody bombs them. (Forgive me if I can't remember the guy, I didn't know who he was at the time and it's been more than a week now so I can't give him credit.)
The point is there are nations more free than the U.S. and they don't have nearly as many enemies. I believe the difference is the arrogance of the U.S. Somehow our culture has always believed that we are right about everything and that everybody else is wrong and if you don't believe in that then you're a traitor to the nation. We go into other nations and tell them what to do and don't listen to anyone else from those other countries. Everybody else loves football, we call it soccer and say it's for sissies. We don't like dictators and killers so we go in take over their country by force, hang 'em, and put somebody in control that we like. We use an American standard form of measurement instead of the metric system everyone else uses. ('Cause hell Bill I already know this one why should I have to learn what they use in France?) It's the same attitude that comes to foreign languages. In Europe, traffic signs are in multiple languages and most everyone knows at least two of them. Here everybody better learn 'emselves some danged ol' American.
These "terrorists" while doing things in an extreme and violent way want a voice in the world and they directly oppose the wrong they feel Americans and the American government does. I don't encourage terrorism by any means. I merely support truth. We feel we were wronged by them they feel wronged by us and that's what starts a war. Wars don't settle those differences they just destroy one side or the other until there is no opposition. If we didn't agree that 2+2=4, you say it's 5 and I say it's 3, and I kill you or you kill me, we are still no closer to the correct answer. The truth is that we have a long way to go to make the world a peaceful place.
We still have a lot of tolerance and understanding that is needed to live with all the people of the world. We need education and independent thinking more than anything. We should stop taking pride in how ignorant we can be. Let's stop making excuses for all the work we don't wanna do to learn science, math, the metric system, or a new language.
There ain't nuthin' that you can know that ain't worth knowin'. No hay una cosa que puedes aprender que no tiene valor. There is nothing that you can know that isn't worth knowing.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100730/ap_on_re_us/us_arizona_immigration
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_arizona_immigration
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Deaths of Hector Morales
There's a wedding today and unfortunately I've been a lil busy this week so I'm gonna cheat this week. Here's a story I wrote some time ago. Hope you enjoy it.
Congratulations to the couple. Hope you have many, many, happy years together.
The Deaths of Hector Morales
Ever look back on your life and wonder if it was for anything? I think about that sometimes. I wonder to myself if any of the good shit or the bad shit I’ve ever done made a difference to anyone. It doesn’t always seem like it. A guy can do a lot of good for a person and never hear a single “Thank you.” Let him forget one woman’s birthday though. I’ll be damned if he doesn’t hear the end of that. So maybe it matters to someone, somewhere.
It doesn’t matter if it does mean anything but I think some people like to believe it’s all for something bigger. To some folks it’s comforting to think we’re pieces of a puzzle spilled on some big, black, starry night sky and not somebody’s knocked over trash spilling in a gutter. She’s definitely one of those people.
Her name is Alexis. I met her seven years ago. She was just an eleven year old girl then but she’s something else altogether now. She’s always been a little strange, far too hopeful to be born in this world. She never seems to think anyone can do any wrong. “They just do what they’re supposed to do.”, she’s often said to me. She believes in something the rest of us can’t. I don’t care if she is only a hundred and twenty-something pound teenage girl, that faith of hers makes her stronger than most.
My name is Hector Morales. I ain’t her daddy, but I’ve been acting like I am for seven years and she’s been calling me that for just as long. I have no blood relation to the girl who wears the angel wings, but I take care of her. I’m all she has in this world. All she has is a short, scrawny, El Salvadoreño of a thief who’d punch the devil himself out if he tried to lay a hand on her. Did it for her to several others already today, what’s one more? I may just punch out El Diablo just to be able to tell people about it. Prison etiquette does say take out the biggest and baddest first.
Hell, the way I’m shot up now I probably don’t have much of a choice on that. One, two, three, three wonderful holes for leaky red stuff to drip out of ‘A ‘A ‘A. I always liked The Count. I wonder if he’s going to Hell too. I guess if a vampire who teaches kids to count is going to Hell a thuggish thief like myself ain’t got a prayer.
I’m dying and I’ve damned myself. I did it before I knew her but I’ve been trying to make up for it since. Dead criminals all usually go to the same place, whether they want to or not. Now at age thirty-three Mama Morales’ baby boy goes away again, forever. I’ve seen the book, I saw it written. Once something is written in that book it can’t be changed. I guess it’s a law of the universe. It’s also how I came back in the first place. That pissed a lot of people off. If I didn’t these guys have been fighting the wrong guy for seven years. Seven years of fighting both sides and anyone who thinks I’m nuts or a bad father.
These guys who shot me are the real bad guys. Not just because they shot me either. You can see it in their eyes. The flash of red like their murderous intentions can be seen. Kind of reminds me of the red eyes people get in bad pictures. Their eyes don’t stay like that. It comes and goes. The red eyes leave and that somebody forgets what he’s doing. This bunch hasn’t forgotten.
I sit here on this roof top bleeding. She’s fighting them off on her own. No weapons, no lethal moves, all heart. She’s doing well, too. She will tire soon though. The guy with the gun is getting up too. I better get moving, no time to bleed anymore. I’m damned and dying, she’s the only thing worth fighting for.
I hurl myself up and charge the weasel with the pistol. Before he can raise his bleeding arm I give him a right cross. As he goes down I take back my knife. I use the razor sharp blade to shred my opponents. By now we’ve attracted media attention. There’s a helicopter flying overhead with a spotlight shining down on us. The whole world will see my spectacular death. Hi, Mom.
Another knife is pulled by the woman at Alexis’ feet. I’m still twenty yards away. It strikes her dead center in the stomach. With an unnatural speed and strength I reach her as she falls. I pull the knife from my daughter and force it into the hand of her murderer. I’m surrounded by our assailants. “I’m okay.” she says. I believe her without wondering why.
The crowd around us dissipates. One familiar face is seen among them, a man who has hunted us for seven years. The rocker with the red eyes. He’s the one that really scares me. Not because he’s younger and faster than I am. Not because he’s an underground rocker with influence over a lot of people. Not because he carries a big “Dirty Harry” style magnum. Sure those things make him dangerous. But it’s the things that I’ve done to that man and the way he just keeps grinning and taking it.
Click-Clack. Boom!!!
Rock-salt seasons the creature. The pink haired, red-eyed rocker falls. The rock-salt makes his back sizzle before his wounds close back up. “Thanks, Mike, late’s better than never.”
Mike cocks his shotgun and points it at the rest of the crowd, smiling. He’s a happy kid most of the time. Today he’s happy to be doing some good. They screech like ungodliness, like rabbits being turned inside out. They screech and attack the young kid. He blasts again and again. His unholy victims begin to show their true forms, rotting corpses. They are twisted shells of greening meat, yellow eyes with teeth to match, they are only puppets controlled by the songbird. The poor bastards died only to be used as some twisted devil’s pawns. They’re strong. They don’t feel pain. They don’t stop coming unless their master says so.
The red-eyed man draws his pistol. I’m unarmed. Mike is being overrun by the ghouls. Alexis is wounded in my arms. She says she’s not dying and I believe her. She struggles to stand and does. “You will not take him today! Today the world will know of your deception and cast you from its flock.” She speaks but the voice doesn’t belong to her. It’s stronger. The voice carries unimaginable power behind it.
“Girl, I want to know your secret! It’s what I’ve always been after. How do you live here? How is it that you do not have a tell? No marks, no limitations to anything, you live as one of them.” The devil cocks his pistol ready to fire.
“I am one of them! This is my father and I will die protecting him as he will die protecting me! He is what this world has to offer in abundance. You and your kind can never over take them.” Her wound begins to shine. It’s as though a ray of sunlight were spilling out from inside her. She raises her hand and lightning flashes from it striking the corpses smothering Mike. They turn to smoking ashes.
“I want to know, girl. Tell me how you did it! How could you escape your shackles? I want to know!!!” BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The rocker fires into her before I can do anything about it.
Instead of red, she bleeds light. Her true power is shining through. My baby girl is going to light up the sky. Her skin cracks and shatters. She is made of light. I’m almost blinded by her body as I watch her. She sprouts her wings finally. She’s been wearing fake ones for so long I bet she’s happy to have them. I might not have a camera but I guess I’ll have to ask the guys in the helicopter for a copy of the tape. She’s even got a crowd of cops gathered in the street to watch her dance. Her daddy is so proud of her.
Mr. Red-eye points his pistol at her. She shows him it’s a mistake. He sizzles with the beam of light that strikes him. He’s singed and pissed. His arms flame red and transform his pistol into a sword. He himself shows his true shape. The red-scaled demon roars with it’s claws clutching the sword. She strikes him with another beam of light. It doesn’t hurt him this time. He plunges towards Alexis with his blade. I take mine from the pile of ashes and leap into her light. I drive my blade into the belly of that beast and he drives his into mine. A light between us flashes and we separate in an explosion. We hit the rooftop at the same time. He’s human again with my knife still in him. I have a big gaping hole in my belly.
“You fool! She’s not supposed to be here and you know it. You protect her from us and them. You have no one on your side. It’s hopeless. You’re all damned if you think otherwise.” His eyes glow red and blood streams from his lips as he struggles to stand. He plucks my switchblade from his gut and drops it. Flames burst from his wound and consume him. His body is reduced to ashes fluttering like moths in the wind.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” I say to myself.
Alexis drops down gracefully like a setting sun. She kisses me once on the forehead and whispers, “I’ll see you later, Daddy. We both have places to go now but we will see each other again.”
I don’t doubt her for a second. “I know it, Darlin’. I love you. Take care of yourself.” She begins to cry and I wipe away her tears. My daughter disappears into the evening sky a thousand fireflies taking their place in the stars.
“Mike? Hey, Mike!” I shout.
The young guy under all the ashes slowly comes to. He spits the used-to-be-dead-people from his mouth and hacks on what he’s already swallowed. “Ugh.”
“You still alive, Mike?” I holler.
Mike sits up. “Yeah, are you?”
“Nope, not for long anyway. Sorry to leave you with the mess.”
“Hell, you didn’t really wanna clean up anyway. You two take of each other. I’ll take care of this here.” Mike, the kid with a crush on my eighteen-year-old daughter who’s risked his life time and time again to save me and her, is left alone on this world to pay the price of what we’ve done. He’s a good guy. She thinks he’s handsome too. She’s never said so, but a father can tell.
She’s gone and I’m about to be. He’ll ask himself as the cops bust through that door leading up to this rooftop, “Was all of this was worth it? Was any of this for anything?” I hope he’ll say yes and I hope he’ll understand what it’s all for.
Congratulations to the couple. Hope you have many, many, happy years together.
The Deaths of Hector Morales
Ever look back on your life and wonder if it was for anything? I think about that sometimes. I wonder to myself if any of the good shit or the bad shit I’ve ever done made a difference to anyone. It doesn’t always seem like it. A guy can do a lot of good for a person and never hear a single “Thank you.” Let him forget one woman’s birthday though. I’ll be damned if he doesn’t hear the end of that. So maybe it matters to someone, somewhere.
It doesn’t matter if it does mean anything but I think some people like to believe it’s all for something bigger. To some folks it’s comforting to think we’re pieces of a puzzle spilled on some big, black, starry night sky and not somebody’s knocked over trash spilling in a gutter. She’s definitely one of those people.
Her name is Alexis. I met her seven years ago. She was just an eleven year old girl then but she’s something else altogether now. She’s always been a little strange, far too hopeful to be born in this world. She never seems to think anyone can do any wrong. “They just do what they’re supposed to do.”, she’s often said to me. She believes in something the rest of us can’t. I don’t care if she is only a hundred and twenty-something pound teenage girl, that faith of hers makes her stronger than most.
My name is Hector Morales. I ain’t her daddy, but I’ve been acting like I am for seven years and she’s been calling me that for just as long. I have no blood relation to the girl who wears the angel wings, but I take care of her. I’m all she has in this world. All she has is a short, scrawny, El Salvadoreño of a thief who’d punch the devil himself out if he tried to lay a hand on her. Did it for her to several others already today, what’s one more? I may just punch out El Diablo just to be able to tell people about it. Prison etiquette does say take out the biggest and baddest first.
Hell, the way I’m shot up now I probably don’t have much of a choice on that. One, two, three, three wonderful holes for leaky red stuff to drip out of ‘A ‘A ‘A. I always liked The Count. I wonder if he’s going to Hell too. I guess if a vampire who teaches kids to count is going to Hell a thuggish thief like myself ain’t got a prayer.
I’m dying and I’ve damned myself. I did it before I knew her but I’ve been trying to make up for it since. Dead criminals all usually go to the same place, whether they want to or not. Now at age thirty-three Mama Morales’ baby boy goes away again, forever. I’ve seen the book, I saw it written. Once something is written in that book it can’t be changed. I guess it’s a law of the universe. It’s also how I came back in the first place. That pissed a lot of people off. If I didn’t these guys have been fighting the wrong guy for seven years. Seven years of fighting both sides and anyone who thinks I’m nuts or a bad father.
These guys who shot me are the real bad guys. Not just because they shot me either. You can see it in their eyes. The flash of red like their murderous intentions can be seen. Kind of reminds me of the red eyes people get in bad pictures. Their eyes don’t stay like that. It comes and goes. The red eyes leave and that somebody forgets what he’s doing. This bunch hasn’t forgotten.
I sit here on this roof top bleeding. She’s fighting them off on her own. No weapons, no lethal moves, all heart. She’s doing well, too. She will tire soon though. The guy with the gun is getting up too. I better get moving, no time to bleed anymore. I’m damned and dying, she’s the only thing worth fighting for.
I hurl myself up and charge the weasel with the pistol. Before he can raise his bleeding arm I give him a right cross. As he goes down I take back my knife. I use the razor sharp blade to shred my opponents. By now we’ve attracted media attention. There’s a helicopter flying overhead with a spotlight shining down on us. The whole world will see my spectacular death. Hi, Mom.
Another knife is pulled by the woman at Alexis’ feet. I’m still twenty yards away. It strikes her dead center in the stomach. With an unnatural speed and strength I reach her as she falls. I pull the knife from my daughter and force it into the hand of her murderer. I’m surrounded by our assailants. “I’m okay.” she says. I believe her without wondering why.
The crowd around us dissipates. One familiar face is seen among them, a man who has hunted us for seven years. The rocker with the red eyes. He’s the one that really scares me. Not because he’s younger and faster than I am. Not because he’s an underground rocker with influence over a lot of people. Not because he carries a big “Dirty Harry” style magnum. Sure those things make him dangerous. But it’s the things that I’ve done to that man and the way he just keeps grinning and taking it.
Click-Clack. Boom!!!
Rock-salt seasons the creature. The pink haired, red-eyed rocker falls. The rock-salt makes his back sizzle before his wounds close back up. “Thanks, Mike, late’s better than never.”
Mike cocks his shotgun and points it at the rest of the crowd, smiling. He’s a happy kid most of the time. Today he’s happy to be doing some good. They screech like ungodliness, like rabbits being turned inside out. They screech and attack the young kid. He blasts again and again. His unholy victims begin to show their true forms, rotting corpses. They are twisted shells of greening meat, yellow eyes with teeth to match, they are only puppets controlled by the songbird. The poor bastards died only to be used as some twisted devil’s pawns. They’re strong. They don’t feel pain. They don’t stop coming unless their master says so.
The red-eyed man draws his pistol. I’m unarmed. Mike is being overrun by the ghouls. Alexis is wounded in my arms. She says she’s not dying and I believe her. She struggles to stand and does. “You will not take him today! Today the world will know of your deception and cast you from its flock.” She speaks but the voice doesn’t belong to her. It’s stronger. The voice carries unimaginable power behind it.
“Girl, I want to know your secret! It’s what I’ve always been after. How do you live here? How is it that you do not have a tell? No marks, no limitations to anything, you live as one of them.” The devil cocks his pistol ready to fire.
“I am one of them! This is my father and I will die protecting him as he will die protecting me! He is what this world has to offer in abundance. You and your kind can never over take them.” Her wound begins to shine. It’s as though a ray of sunlight were spilling out from inside her. She raises her hand and lightning flashes from it striking the corpses smothering Mike. They turn to smoking ashes.
“I want to know, girl. Tell me how you did it! How could you escape your shackles? I want to know!!!” BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The rocker fires into her before I can do anything about it.
Instead of red, she bleeds light. Her true power is shining through. My baby girl is going to light up the sky. Her skin cracks and shatters. She is made of light. I’m almost blinded by her body as I watch her. She sprouts her wings finally. She’s been wearing fake ones for so long I bet she’s happy to have them. I might not have a camera but I guess I’ll have to ask the guys in the helicopter for a copy of the tape. She’s even got a crowd of cops gathered in the street to watch her dance. Her daddy is so proud of her.
Mr. Red-eye points his pistol at her. She shows him it’s a mistake. He sizzles with the beam of light that strikes him. He’s singed and pissed. His arms flame red and transform his pistol into a sword. He himself shows his true shape. The red-scaled demon roars with it’s claws clutching the sword. She strikes him with another beam of light. It doesn’t hurt him this time. He plunges towards Alexis with his blade. I take mine from the pile of ashes and leap into her light. I drive my blade into the belly of that beast and he drives his into mine. A light between us flashes and we separate in an explosion. We hit the rooftop at the same time. He’s human again with my knife still in him. I have a big gaping hole in my belly.
“You fool! She’s not supposed to be here and you know it. You protect her from us and them. You have no one on your side. It’s hopeless. You’re all damned if you think otherwise.” His eyes glow red and blood streams from his lips as he struggles to stand. He plucks my switchblade from his gut and drops it. Flames burst from his wound and consume him. His body is reduced to ashes fluttering like moths in the wind.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” I say to myself.
Alexis drops down gracefully like a setting sun. She kisses me once on the forehead and whispers, “I’ll see you later, Daddy. We both have places to go now but we will see each other again.”
I don’t doubt her for a second. “I know it, Darlin’. I love you. Take care of yourself.” She begins to cry and I wipe away her tears. My daughter disappears into the evening sky a thousand fireflies taking their place in the stars.
“Mike? Hey, Mike!” I shout.
The young guy under all the ashes slowly comes to. He spits the used-to-be-dead-people from his mouth and hacks on what he’s already swallowed. “Ugh.”
“You still alive, Mike?” I holler.
Mike sits up. “Yeah, are you?”
“Nope, not for long anyway. Sorry to leave you with the mess.”
“Hell, you didn’t really wanna clean up anyway. You two take of each other. I’ll take care of this here.” Mike, the kid with a crush on my eighteen-year-old daughter who’s risked his life time and time again to save me and her, is left alone on this world to pay the price of what we’ve done. He’s a good guy. She thinks he’s handsome too. She’s never said so, but a father can tell.
She’s gone and I’m about to be. He’ll ask himself as the cops bust through that door leading up to this rooftop, “Was all of this was worth it? Was any of this for anything?” I hope he’ll say yes and I hope he’ll understand what it’s all for.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Hellfire & Brimstone
You know I what I love about so many religions?
The hypocrisy.
God is supposed to be infallible but all of us are so very much the opposite. We are wrong about so much and our pitiful fears and hopes and conflicts play such a big part in who we are that religion itself is more like a play than an actual philosophy. You show up dressed for the part of good Christian or whatever else you may be and you go through the motions, you read your lines, you do everything the way you're expected to do. Then you come home the dress robes come off and your tattoos and piercings are shown, you have a drink while listenin' to the devil's music, and lookin' up Internet porn.
Who you are in church is never who you really are. You will never be a complete person unless you have a complete range of experiences and you're prolly the only person that can say what a complete range of experiences really is for you. A lotta people drink themselves into a stupor at least once. They smoke a lil pot in college. They may take time to question their sexuality. They can listen to crap music or wear hideous clothes that they thought were cool at the time. They will most likely do sumthin' they'll regret and carry with them forever. But all of that is their freedom.
I have found that religion, while a nice device for advice and guidance, should never be taken to be the end all be all of all your life. There will never be one book, The Bible or otherwise, that should dominate your life. I don't remember findin' calculus in The Bible and I think keepin' my track of my money is a lil important. The Bible can't tell you everything you need to know, The Qur'an, or Cat's Cradle either. I recommend readin' everything you can. I recommend doin' anything you can so long as it's not harmful to you. I don't recommend smokin' but I do it. I don't recommend havin' a few drinks and drivin' but I've done it. I don't recommend heroin and I've never touched the stuff but I hear it's too much trouble to even sound appealin' to me. There are things you are gonna try for yourself whether they're stupid or not and nuthin's gonna change your mind about it 'cept your own bad experiences with it.
As people we are very much fallible, fragile, stupid, stubborn creatures. We must first admit this to ourselves. Then we can acknowledge that we can be better and probably should at least try to be. But never should we condemn those around us for makin' different choices than we have or even the same mistakes that we did.
It's that hypocrisy that amuses me so much about all different religions. If we don't adhere and believe and follow as sheep then we are going to Hell in the afterlife or must at least be stoned ,sometimes literally, to learn that our difference of opinions will not be tolerated.
I can't help but laugh at a high and mighty who oppresses and brainwashes his flock while he is thinkin' about naked men or rubbin' one out to this month's Victoria Secret catalog. Sex isn't a sin, it's the root of life and an important part of love. Gay, straight, Bi, or whatever is fine so long as it's consensual. Love is love and there's too little of it in this world as it is, find it with whomever you can.
I can't help but feel sorry for those in that flock bein' suppressed into bein' someone they ain't. Missin' out on your prime years of dancin' drinkin' and havin' some crazy but safe fun to sit at home readin' a book that you find yourself disagreein' with more and more. There's a whole world out there, some of it dangerous, some of it heavenly, all of it just outside your doorstep. There's no hidin' from it. Embrace it and learn to stand on your own two feet for the parts you love and against the parts that promate hate and pain.
And that's what I dislike most about these saintly types. Some of them are so genuine. Some of them love everyone regardless of social class or misdeeds of the past. That is wonderful and refreshing. Spritual tyrants turn their religion into vocal whips and chains of the mind with which to control people that would otherwise be much happier bein' free and creative. The Bible was never meant to be an atom bomb against the soul. You can't pray the gay away. Jesus drank wine, why be opposed to my beer? Mary Magdelene was never called a "slut" by Jesus. He was born the lowly son of a carpenter and defender of mankind not an elitest punk kid of a closet racist senator.
If religion should teach the people anything it's to be open-minded, loving, forgiving, and respectful. All important lessons but still not all a person needs to truly live.
The hypocrisy.
God is supposed to be infallible but all of us are so very much the opposite. We are wrong about so much and our pitiful fears and hopes and conflicts play such a big part in who we are that religion itself is more like a play than an actual philosophy. You show up dressed for the part of good Christian or whatever else you may be and you go through the motions, you read your lines, you do everything the way you're expected to do. Then you come home the dress robes come off and your tattoos and piercings are shown, you have a drink while listenin' to the devil's music, and lookin' up Internet porn.
Who you are in church is never who you really are. You will never be a complete person unless you have a complete range of experiences and you're prolly the only person that can say what a complete range of experiences really is for you. A lotta people drink themselves into a stupor at least once. They smoke a lil pot in college. They may take time to question their sexuality. They can listen to crap music or wear hideous clothes that they thought were cool at the time. They will most likely do sumthin' they'll regret and carry with them forever. But all of that is their freedom.
I have found that religion, while a nice device for advice and guidance, should never be taken to be the end all be all of all your life. There will never be one book, The Bible or otherwise, that should dominate your life. I don't remember findin' calculus in The Bible and I think keepin' my track of my money is a lil important. The Bible can't tell you everything you need to know, The Qur'an, or Cat's Cradle either. I recommend readin' everything you can. I recommend doin' anything you can so long as it's not harmful to you. I don't recommend smokin' but I do it. I don't recommend havin' a few drinks and drivin' but I've done it. I don't recommend heroin and I've never touched the stuff but I hear it's too much trouble to even sound appealin' to me. There are things you are gonna try for yourself whether they're stupid or not and nuthin's gonna change your mind about it 'cept your own bad experiences with it.
As people we are very much fallible, fragile, stupid, stubborn creatures. We must first admit this to ourselves. Then we can acknowledge that we can be better and probably should at least try to be. But never should we condemn those around us for makin' different choices than we have or even the same mistakes that we did.
It's that hypocrisy that amuses me so much about all different religions. If we don't adhere and believe and follow as sheep then we are going to Hell in the afterlife or must at least be stoned ,sometimes literally, to learn that our difference of opinions will not be tolerated.
I can't help but laugh at a high and mighty who oppresses and brainwashes his flock while he is thinkin' about naked men or rubbin' one out to this month's Victoria Secret catalog. Sex isn't a sin, it's the root of life and an important part of love. Gay, straight, Bi, or whatever is fine so long as it's consensual. Love is love and there's too little of it in this world as it is, find it with whomever you can.
I can't help but feel sorry for those in that flock bein' suppressed into bein' someone they ain't. Missin' out on your prime years of dancin' drinkin' and havin' some crazy but safe fun to sit at home readin' a book that you find yourself disagreein' with more and more. There's a whole world out there, some of it dangerous, some of it heavenly, all of it just outside your doorstep. There's no hidin' from it. Embrace it and learn to stand on your own two feet for the parts you love and against the parts that promate hate and pain.
And that's what I dislike most about these saintly types. Some of them are so genuine. Some of them love everyone regardless of social class or misdeeds of the past. That is wonderful and refreshing. Spritual tyrants turn their religion into vocal whips and chains of the mind with which to control people that would otherwise be much happier bein' free and creative. The Bible was never meant to be an atom bomb against the soul. You can't pray the gay away. Jesus drank wine, why be opposed to my beer? Mary Magdelene was never called a "slut" by Jesus. He was born the lowly son of a carpenter and defender of mankind not an elitest punk kid of a closet racist senator.
If religion should teach the people anything it's to be open-minded, loving, forgiving, and respectful. All important lessons but still not all a person needs to truly live.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Like Brothers
In my life, friends have always been few and far between. I'm not very talkative until you get to know me. I generally don't like havin' to meet new people. I'm not comfortable with it. I don't like puttin' myself out there. I'd rather mind my own business and hang out quietly in a corner at a party.
But I did make one particular friend more than a decade ago. He's my best friend and he's also prolly the biggest dick you could ever meet. He's hard headed and opinionated. He's become somewhat religious in the last few years without really developin' a sense of strong morality. Not a criminal by any means but not even close to a saint. He's twenty-eight with no career, little work experience, and he's sumthin' of a mama's boy.
How'd he get to be like this? It's easy enough to explain.
When he was young, I guess about seven or eight, his dad split. That left him the only guy in a houseful of women. It was him, his mom, and his big sister born with special needs. I'm not sure exactly what the term was for what was wrong with his sister, she had limited and involuntary movements, she couldn't form sentences. She could laugh, though. And like many in these predicaments showed more personality than a lotta people walkin' around with ease. The sister spent a good chunk of time at a center where she could be cared for. He spent a lot of time with his mom learnin' how to be a grown up and, I believe, developing his flaws.
It seems common to me that when people split, single parents try to make up for the loss by spoilin' the children. Dad might buy big expensive toys. Mom might let him pick what to eat for dinner all the time. They both might treat him like a prince. I'm not sure how his dad treated him, I can only theorize, I never even saw a picture of him in the years I've know my best friend. It makes sense to me that his mom treated him this way, she still does. She treats all of her kids very well, maybe too well.
His mom met his step-dad years before she was married the first time. I guess the story there was pretty simple. They come across each other again, she's single, he's single they hook up. Some time later, my best friend has a lil sister. They need a bigger place so they move from Houston to the town I lived in.
This'd be the part where we became friends. He moved in to the house right across the street from me. I remember our first time hangin' out we went to play basketball at the local court. I don't remember much other than the feelin' that he wasn't impressed by what I had to offer. We kept hangin' out anyway since we were the only kids in the neighborhood not on or sellin' drugs. I remember it was several months later before he introduced me to someone as his friend. Before that I was just "my neighbor."
My friend does have a lot of good qualities and it was always those that kept me around. He was always funny. He and I could joke for hours upon hours and never really be bored. He was very confident. This I think more than anything had an influence on me. Somehow, possibly through years of never be good enough for my mother, I never had the kind of confidence to throw a successful party at my place or pick up the girls I really wanted to date. He had that confidence and more. He's always been pretty arrogant, actually. He was also on the soccer team in highschool. He was a pretty decent player. This allowed him to make more friends than my boxing did. Boxin' is a one man sport and anybody you do meet is generally tryin' to pound your face in. So through Sam I got to meet a lot of people and somehow everybody seemed to think he was cool. I got to be a part of that which made me feel better about me.
I was never very confident. I was always a lil chubby, so I didn't think I was good lookin'. I never had many friends so I didn't think anybody would ever wanna be my friend. I was funny though. I'm fuckin' hilarious now, given a proper level of comfort. I've gained some confidence and am apparently better lookin' than anybody ever gave me credit for. Some of it came from my friend, some from me bein' tired of not gettin' what I deserve. I gained a lot from our friendship.
To say what I gave him as a friend isn't fair for me to say. I could say that I helped him be a better person but I don't think that's true. I helped him with homework and relationships. I'm sure he found me entertainin'. But still I think he felt like it was a privilege to be his friend.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not the way he really feels about it. But I've known him for about 14 years now. I should have a decent understandin' of him if anybody does.
To help me with a project he burned some songs on a cd and had it ready for me the next mornin'. He's good and dependable, just like when I helped him move his fiance into her new apartment.
When I would make jokes that he didn't like concernin' his mother or himself he lock my outta his mom's van and try to leave me somewhere but not for long.
When we were messin around with a collection of weapons in my room I managed to cut his thumb with a sword. He still has a scar.
We bought tickets to go see a movie with some friends. We had time to kill and he wanted to go for a swim in a pool without anybody havin' a swimsuit and the movie startin' in about 30 minutes, he got voted down and was pissy the rest of the night.
We went fishin' and I caught my first fish with him on a cool August day. Shortly after I fell in the river and was pissy the rest of the day. Three more hours while he fished and I sat shivering in a van.
I could go over the stories all day long and still not be able to decide if he is really a good person. I enjoyed his company then but not this new person he's become. I don't like his criticism of my campin' trip with my girlfriend and our gay friends. I don't like that we don't joke the same way we used to. I don't like that he seems to believe himself infallible. It's usually those people that have dangerous flaws.
I know I'm not perfect. I know I could've been a better friend to him. I know I have my own flaws. But I'd like to think I'll own up to 'em. I believe that if I was doin' harm to our friendship that I'd do sumthin' to change.
I'm s'posed to be his best man in October. He wants me to go to Costa Rica with him for his weddin'. He told me I can't bring my girl 'cause he doesn't like her. He's got some guy I never met throwin' him a bachelor party which last I heard was my resposibility as his best man. His mom's throwin' him one too. He's got no clue about prices or where to get the suits. He's got me roomin' with guys I don't particularly like. Every time I turn around he's tellin' me there's sumthin' he wants me to change for him. Dad thinks he might be settin' me up to look like a fool.
I don't know what I wanna do. Is it selfish to not go be my bestfriend's best man? Is it selfish for him to leave me hangin' with lil more than a weddin' date? Is he changin' or is this the person he's always been? Is he a good friend or am I just a fool that puts up with his abuse? How can anybody judge anybody else on any of that?
I don't know what I'm gonna do.
But I did make one particular friend more than a decade ago. He's my best friend and he's also prolly the biggest dick you could ever meet. He's hard headed and opinionated. He's become somewhat religious in the last few years without really developin' a sense of strong morality. Not a criminal by any means but not even close to a saint. He's twenty-eight with no career, little work experience, and he's sumthin' of a mama's boy.
How'd he get to be like this? It's easy enough to explain.
When he was young, I guess about seven or eight, his dad split. That left him the only guy in a houseful of women. It was him, his mom, and his big sister born with special needs. I'm not sure exactly what the term was for what was wrong with his sister, she had limited and involuntary movements, she couldn't form sentences. She could laugh, though. And like many in these predicaments showed more personality than a lotta people walkin' around with ease. The sister spent a good chunk of time at a center where she could be cared for. He spent a lot of time with his mom learnin' how to be a grown up and, I believe, developing his flaws.
It seems common to me that when people split, single parents try to make up for the loss by spoilin' the children. Dad might buy big expensive toys. Mom might let him pick what to eat for dinner all the time. They both might treat him like a prince. I'm not sure how his dad treated him, I can only theorize, I never even saw a picture of him in the years I've know my best friend. It makes sense to me that his mom treated him this way, she still does. She treats all of her kids very well, maybe too well.
His mom met his step-dad years before she was married the first time. I guess the story there was pretty simple. They come across each other again, she's single, he's single they hook up. Some time later, my best friend has a lil sister. They need a bigger place so they move from Houston to the town I lived in.
This'd be the part where we became friends. He moved in to the house right across the street from me. I remember our first time hangin' out we went to play basketball at the local court. I don't remember much other than the feelin' that he wasn't impressed by what I had to offer. We kept hangin' out anyway since we were the only kids in the neighborhood not on or sellin' drugs. I remember it was several months later before he introduced me to someone as his friend. Before that I was just "my neighbor."
My friend does have a lot of good qualities and it was always those that kept me around. He was always funny. He and I could joke for hours upon hours and never really be bored. He was very confident. This I think more than anything had an influence on me. Somehow, possibly through years of never be good enough for my mother, I never had the kind of confidence to throw a successful party at my place or pick up the girls I really wanted to date. He had that confidence and more. He's always been pretty arrogant, actually. He was also on the soccer team in highschool. He was a pretty decent player. This allowed him to make more friends than my boxing did. Boxin' is a one man sport and anybody you do meet is generally tryin' to pound your face in. So through Sam I got to meet a lot of people and somehow everybody seemed to think he was cool. I got to be a part of that which made me feel better about me.
I was never very confident. I was always a lil chubby, so I didn't think I was good lookin'. I never had many friends so I didn't think anybody would ever wanna be my friend. I was funny though. I'm fuckin' hilarious now, given a proper level of comfort. I've gained some confidence and am apparently better lookin' than anybody ever gave me credit for. Some of it came from my friend, some from me bein' tired of not gettin' what I deserve. I gained a lot from our friendship.
To say what I gave him as a friend isn't fair for me to say. I could say that I helped him be a better person but I don't think that's true. I helped him with homework and relationships. I'm sure he found me entertainin'. But still I think he felt like it was a privilege to be his friend.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not the way he really feels about it. But I've known him for about 14 years now. I should have a decent understandin' of him if anybody does.
To help me with a project he burned some songs on a cd and had it ready for me the next mornin'. He's good and dependable, just like when I helped him move his fiance into her new apartment.
When I would make jokes that he didn't like concernin' his mother or himself he lock my outta his mom's van and try to leave me somewhere but not for long.
When we were messin around with a collection of weapons in my room I managed to cut his thumb with a sword. He still has a scar.
We bought tickets to go see a movie with some friends. We had time to kill and he wanted to go for a swim in a pool without anybody havin' a swimsuit and the movie startin' in about 30 minutes, he got voted down and was pissy the rest of the night.
We went fishin' and I caught my first fish with him on a cool August day. Shortly after I fell in the river and was pissy the rest of the day. Three more hours while he fished and I sat shivering in a van.
I could go over the stories all day long and still not be able to decide if he is really a good person. I enjoyed his company then but not this new person he's become. I don't like his criticism of my campin' trip with my girlfriend and our gay friends. I don't like that we don't joke the same way we used to. I don't like that he seems to believe himself infallible. It's usually those people that have dangerous flaws.
I know I'm not perfect. I know I could've been a better friend to him. I know I have my own flaws. But I'd like to think I'll own up to 'em. I believe that if I was doin' harm to our friendship that I'd do sumthin' to change.
I'm s'posed to be his best man in October. He wants me to go to Costa Rica with him for his weddin'. He told me I can't bring my girl 'cause he doesn't like her. He's got some guy I never met throwin' him a bachelor party which last I heard was my resposibility as his best man. His mom's throwin' him one too. He's got no clue about prices or where to get the suits. He's got me roomin' with guys I don't particularly like. Every time I turn around he's tellin' me there's sumthin' he wants me to change for him. Dad thinks he might be settin' me up to look like a fool.
I don't know what I wanna do. Is it selfish to not go be my bestfriend's best man? Is it selfish for him to leave me hangin' with lil more than a weddin' date? Is he changin' or is this the person he's always been? Is he a good friend or am I just a fool that puts up with his abuse? How can anybody judge anybody else on any of that?
I don't know what I'm gonna do.
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