Honor Thy Mother and Father

TV Princess stared at the mess on the floor, not caring that it came from the same mother as her, disregarding the fact that the bloodied carcass, still seeping fluids by her feet, was the only soul that ever had any kind intention for her.

The gun smoke caused her eyes to water, and she needed to wash her hands. She was heading for the bathroom when she heard the slam, and then a slide. The slam came from a bleeding arm, carved into by a steak knife and high heels, and the slide came from the dragging, lifeless thing that used to be TV Princess' brother.

She turned around to vace him. The only feat she could recognize were the two eyes leering, helplessly at her, one of them dangling after being snagged on the spike of her heel. They didn't ask why, they didn't asky for what, the simply said, kill me, bitch. TV Princess listened to the eyes, pointed the gun at her brother's crimson soaked head, trying to get past that angry, dangling eye.

The thing that was her brother raised its other bloody arm, and slammed it down, dragging its bullet riddled self closer to TV Princess. It got so close, had it still had teeth after the pistolwhipping she'd given him, it would have charged into her ankle flesh, but the fractured bone sticking out of its pierced wrist made a nice shiv. TV Princess took too long, and the thing that used to be her brother lunged at her thigh, pierceing it, and letting it's weight and gravity force an artery severing gash down her left leg.

TV Princess fired, but the damage was done. As she felt her life leaving her body, she thought of the last words their mother said before she and their father abandoned their only two children.

"Do us a favor, die quietly."

This Monkey Has Claws

This week the U.N. is holding the 2006 Small Arms Review Conference or RevCon, targetting, pun intended, illegal gun trafficking; small arms trading, or as Executive V.P. of the N.R.A. Wayne LaPierre said:

"In U.N.-speak, a legal gun is a government gun, an illicit gun is a non-government gun. And that means individual citizens and it also means any freedom fighter that is opposing some genocidal government."

"...the U.N. philosophy is about governments. They don't think about individual rights. They don't think about individual freedoms. And there's not one of those countries coming to that conference that has a Bill of Rights like the U.S. does."

Taking this away leaves us as citizens completely defenseless, be it from the crackhead down the street, the thug in the neighborhood, the mass murderer that's joyriding across the country, or the extreme terrorist that's decided to actually take the fight to American soil.

If it becomes illegal for the average citizen to own a gun, that makes it more likely for those that break the laws to have them.

I'm not a gun owner (or am I?).
I don't like using guns, except to pistolwhip bodybuilders whose arms are so large they can't even reach around to wipe their ass anymore. Dear god, my dick had never been so huge.
I don't hunt animals, but my doggies enjoy human flesh, and my knives speak louder than any bullet, but if I want to go out and purchase a weapon for protecting my home, and that weapon requires bullets, and laser scope siting, and happens to be semi-automatic, then dammit, I should be allowed.

If the government wants my guns, they will have to blow my body to pieces, because they won't even be able to pry them from my cold, dead fingers, or my hot, throbbing penis, where I'll be keeping a .22 caliber to rub up against every time I take out an assailant.

Even now the government is spamming my computer.

"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State,the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed."
-Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution-

The second ammendment clearly says, as much as teachers and national officials would like to distort it, that Americans have the right to bear arms in case of governmental abuse. We have the right to take back our country; those running it right now do not want you to know it, so they constantly attack the first ammendmant, free speech, so that the second one will stay in the shadows, but now it's out.

We want our land back. ORRRRRRRRR, I need to learn Mandarin, quick.

Blank Page Dies At Sunrise

A writer's best friend and worst enemy is the blank page. It is the harshest critic, or greatest savior. I stare at blank pages all day and try to chip away, revealing the worlds behind them, the children they birth, and the nations they destroy.

You want war, it's in the blank. You want peace, you need to start the war first. Without the war, it's just bland.

I am at war with you blank page, and every night, I summon my artillery, and hope to the omniscients that I will destroy your nothingness. I'll burn your village, trade your patrons, and cook every animal in order to make you break, and once you've submitted to me, I'll place you in front of the world, and burn you at the stake so that someone on some television network can give me a shiny gold trophy, which I will then use to pummel the brains out the host.

Ratings, that's what I'll give them, and they will love me for it, and I'll have you to thank blank page. Thank you for the headaches, the blood, and the new uses for an eggbeater. The much, much more painful uses.

I love you blank page. We shall rest now. I'll destroy you in the morning.

Change

I lie awake at nights, even awaken in the morning, staying in bed, thinking about how offal this country has become; corrupt (more than before), full of greed, and outright betrayal by the government to its people.

Some would argue that it's still the best place to live. I disagree. In a place where the laws set forth by the founders are being bastardized, lobotomized, and rearranged every day to suit the needs of the few, I will stand up high, and tell you, you are wrong.

I hear police sirens cutting through the night air, and I thin, well, there they go, chasing after a misdemeanor while a capital murder is being commited a block away from where they were. They glance over this because it's easier to put the repeat offender in jail, and collect a larger revenue for the state, rather than waste time trying to prove did they or did they not kill. Check the data. Prisons are the largest moneymakers, and fastest growing sources of profit in the country.

As a whole, we are closer to being a police state than we truly realize. As a few, we realize, it's time for a change. Everything needs to be undone; everything.

Change starts at the top. Not just one, but all.

It all needs to come down.

Cure

"Where are you?"

"In the rain"

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't rain indoors. Unless I blow holes in the roof with my shotgun, but that's what got me kicked out of my last home. The nurses were kind enough to stuff the pills in my coat before security threw me through the glass door, though."

"Won't you get sick?"

"I think I'm already sick."

"You should get inside then. You might get pneumonia."

"I might find a cure too. I might find a reflection. I might find a bird that can avoid raindrops. I might find, ooh..."

"What? What is it?"

"I found a quarter. The cure is working."

Back to Work

Three hours of sleep in two days.

I should be running down the street, shaving a mowhawk on my sac, singing Madonna's "Who's That Girl" any hour now.

I think it's some holiday today. If it doesn't involve countries united by shaving their groin areas, I'm not interested.

Scared. Pead Myself a Bit

The wind howls outside. I'm hoping it will bring the wet things that fall when the sky meets clouds and moisture, that way I can mask the tears about the cluelessness of where my life is going right now.

I'm in complete control, and it's scary. I like scary; means change is afoot.

Nature Doesn't Want You In Its Yard

I love animals

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeE2lKhpnxM

For This Evening's Delight...

Back At the Office

Went ahead and gave Passion o/t Christ another view. Good movie, well acted, but I don't like being preached too. I've never disliked a Mel Gibson directed movie, and I'm looking forward to Apocalyptico.

My Boondocks Season 1: Uncensored and Unedited didn't come in. Somewhere, someone's breaking out in combustible spores.

Working on a new project in the vein of Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland. Looking forward to Alan Moore's Lost Girls, by the way. This project was supposed to be just a short story, but has blossomed into something more; alot more. I'm liking it very, very much, at least until I get into the final editing stages. Then, it'll be the cursed, brain-breaking, sweat-spouting bastard demon that I love to hate.

Back to work.

Nature Is Showing You Who's Boss

Terrible mutations may turn humans into plants or animals
20.12.2005
Source:
URL: http://english.pravda.ru/science/health/9418-mutation-0
Herbal cells may settle down and parasitize on the organism of a human or an animal
Geneticists say that mutations seriously change the set of chromosomes, and people with mutations can thus hardly be called humans. In Yerevan in the former Soviet republic of Armenia, 18-year-old girl Narine Aivasyan shocked doctors with her unusual disease. The girl complained about an abscess on her wrist that had been hurting her for a long period already. When doctors opened the bandage on Narine's hand they saw two very thin thorns sticking out of the hand.
The girl failed to enter a higher education institution after she left school, and had to help her mother about the house and assisted her in a store where the woman worked. The girl was fond of pot plants and devoted much time to looking after her plants. Once, Narine pricked herself on a cactus while watering plants. Some thorns got stuck in her wrist. The parents immediately disinfected the wound but it still festered and even expanded. Narine was reluctant to visit a doctor. She had to go to a hospital in a month when a point of a thorn emerged on the skin right on the place of the red wound. Doctors easily removed the strange object, but more thorns turned up on the same spot soon.
Head of the immunology and virology laboratory at the Armenia research center Tigran Davtyan says the world medicine has never known before that herbal cells may settle down and parasitize on the organism of a human or an animal. Deeper study of the thorns removed out of the girl's wrist confirmed their vegetative origin. It turned out that the thorns belonged to a cactus that many people had at home.
The only way to save the girl was to perform an operation to remove the fistula to stop the cactus from parasitizing all about the organism. The wound healed up after the operation and did not trouble the girl for four years.
Narine's mother says the girl could not recover from the shock for a very long period and feared that the thorns might reappear. The tragedy made the girl reserved and unsociable. But still she kept on looking after her pot plants.
One day Narine noticed her wrist turned red once again but she would not confess to her parents that the disease reappeared. The girl felt her forearm swell and soon a thorn as thick as a match burst her skin.
This time a fistula appeared in a sinew zone. Narine clenched her fists, the muscles pushed new thorns out and doctors removed them with pincers. At that, the wound was not bleeding. Doctors removed from 70 to 100 thorns from the girl's arm every day. But they still appeared later, which suggested there were two or three parasite cells still staying in the girl's organism. Doctors from many countries stated there was not a surgical but rather a microbiological problem.
When researchers studied the bigger thorns they arrived at a conclusion that they were no longer of vegetative origin. As a result of mutation, the patient got new unknown cells, some sort of a hybrid of a human and a plant. In other words, the young girl was turning into a cactus.
Experts believe the terrible metamorphosis sounds warning for mankind. “Evolution and progress seriously damage the human immune system. People become more vulnerable to unknown parasites and viruses,” Tigran Davtyan says.
Now the girl is 26. When Narine had blood poisoning some people rumored she died. But parents of the girl told doctors Narine was alive but felt too bed. The strange disease made her extremely apathetic and pessimistic as she knows that doctors obviously cannot help her.
In Kazakhstan, a woman from a remote village gave birth to her third son who turned out to be a very unusual being. The baby was covered with hair from top to toe. Only his cry resembling that of a normal baby proved that he was a human being. Ayaulym, the mother of the unusual baby did not reject him. She took the boy to the village where her family lived. The baby suffers from hypertrichosis, an infrequent genetic disease described in medicine literature. Patients suffering from it have too much hair on the face and body. There are just few people in the world having the diagnosis. Unfortunately, there is still no treatment for the disease.
Until the boy turned five, his parents did not take him to doctors. Being absolutely despaired they had no notion that some treatment for the disease could actually exist. The family lived in isolation, but neighbors soon learnt that a strange being resembling a monkey but speaking the human language was living next door.
Doctors say the boy did not at all feel shy when parents took him to the hospital for the first time. Ablai, this is the name of the unusual boy, is a very active child. Other children staying on treatment at the hospital got used to the unusual boy and even played together. Now the boy is nine years old. Unfortunately, Ablai cannot go to a public school. The local administration sent the boy to a correction educational institution though his intellectual abilities are normal.
People in Kazakhstan have already got used to the fact that healthy parents may from time to time give birth to abnormal babies. They explain the phenomenon with closeness to nuclear testing areas. There are 19 nuclear testing areas in the republic.
Student Alexander Rybakov from the University of St.Petersburg usually feels hurt when strangers mistake him for an old man. Sometimes even co-students at the University think he is an old professor because the young man looks very much like an elderly. At the age of eight Alexander for the first time felt he had some cardiovascular system problems. At the age of twelve, the boy had a bald spot on the head; the face was covered with a web of wrinkles by the age of sixteen. It seemed Alexander jumped over the traditional maturing stages and turned into a pensioner right after being a teenager.
At first, doctors registered that Alexander's internal organs were wearing out too quickly. At the age of 14 the boy's height was much lower than that of other children of his age. Many of callous senior students at school mocked at the boy. But Alexander was very wise for his young age and never took the mockery very much to heart. After graduation from the university Alexander will become a programmer which will give him a chance to work at home.
Viktor Michelson from the Russian Academy of Sciences Cytology Institute says there are two varieties of the ageing syndrome. When patients suffer from Werner's disease they all of a sudden begin to grow old in the young age. When patients have progeria, they look like very old people already at the age of 12. In both cases, people have their ageing gene affected. In other words, their biological clock goes several times quicker. The only treatment that medicine offers to children who turn into elderly is cure of senile diseases typical of the syndrome.
Several months ago, a 13-year-old girl who looked like a very old woman died of a stroke in the city of Orenburg. A boy from Kazakhstan became wrinkled overnight at the age of four.
Some researchers believe that decoding the ageing gene may solve the secret of eternal youth.
It is not clear for sure why babies come to this world being invalids. Geneticists state that inheritance and parents' mode of living are the cause of babies' inborn disability just in fifty percent of instances. It is known that 90 mothers of 100 reject their babies with inborn pathologies right after childbirth.
Doctors say that today half of babies in children's homes in Russia have inborn pathologies. It is typical of modern young mothers to reject their unhealthy babies. These young mothers at the age of 15-18 as a rule smoke a lot, take drugs and suffer from anemia and consequently cannot give birth to healthy babies. Even doctors persuade young mothers to reject their abnormal babies. It is a heavy burden for parents in this country to bring up invalid and abnormal children. The government pays miserable disability pension. Children having abnormalities will not be accepted to public schools even if they have normal intellectual abilities. But if attending a correction school, these children will never have a chance to enter a higher education institution and thus will not have a proper profession and employment. It is particularly distressing that children suffering from diseases and abnormalities unknown to medicine do not have a chance to be accepted in the society even as invalids.
Parents who reject their babies because of their abnormality do not realize that they deprive them of normal life immediately after birth. Parents should remember that they are responsible for their babies' fates. Even abnormal and invalid babies need love and care to survive in the world. Today, medicine may help cure many of slight inborn pathologies to give a happy life to parents and their babies. Parents are the only people who may help children with pathologies be brave and optimistic when they are not welcomed in the society.

Forecast Shows: A Whole Lotta Gray

I'm watching The Passion of the Christ for the first time; trying to watch, I should say. I know the story, I know what happens, I read the book. The gore's nice, well acted, but much like the book - - boooooooooooring.

It wasn't even twenty minutes into the flick when I started working on some projects that have needed serious attention. I kept it on as background noise, but that's about all it's been.

It was loaned to me by a friend who is a devout spiritualist. He and his wife keep jumping from church to church, which is the best way to do it, I feel. They prefer a denomination that sticks to the bible, and has a pasture who knows, feels, and accentuates the words within.

With football season approaching, we'll see how heavy his faith stays. Last season he saw maybe two games. I was impressed.

**********
I hate men; typical men. The ones that have ruined the love lives of guys like me for the rest of eternity, or at least until the nuclear winter erupts.

I hate women, because the majority of them fall for the typical male.

I hate people because people are stupid. Persons, individuals, I adore. If you don't understand what I just said, sorry, that's all your getting.

I miss pillow talk.
I miss holding hands.
I don't miss being cheated on.
I don't miss breaking up with a girl because I don't care about her anymore.
I really miss pillow talk.
I miss kissing a woman's shoulder.
I miss pecking a woman's hand with my lips.
I miss biting her in the tushi.
I miss being bitten (Just a bit, not too rough. [usually]).

Reasons I Am Evil

I have a friend that is a Registured Nurse. He works in the pediatrics division. He told us about a seven year old that was administred. His mother had been vacumming the room, the chord tangled around a coat rack, she tugged, it fell, hitting her son on the head, cracking his skull.

I started laughing when he told me that the kid fell and broke his leg.

Dammit, I'm laughing again.

Something Like That

I'm watching Nobody's Fool, which is secretly one of my favorite movies. It's so secret not even I fully knew it. I'd hinted the idea to myself, but it never fully flourished. Watching it now, there's a scene that reflects how I feel everyday, everywhere.

Paul Newman's at his ex-wives home. His son had invited him for Thanksgiving, but everyone assumed he wasn't going to show up. He barely says five words when all hell breaks loose, and you have a naked four year old running out of the bathroom because his brother just slammed the toilet seat down on his privates. He runs into the ex, knocking over Thanksgiving side dishes, making room for the daughter-in-law and the ex-wife to get into it.

Newman stays quiet, and with the slickness of a three-legged cat, he quietly slips out the front door.

That's how I feel whenever I'm with people. That and the one line "Fuck him eternally," it just echoes around my ear canal.

This movie's too good to have been origina. It was lifted from a novel by Richard Russo, but once I see a movie, I won't read the book, although I should. The book's are far more informative than any DVD ever could be.

** - "Don't tell me she's pregnant?"

## - "Knocked up like a cheerleader."

(Laughter)

## - "I suppose you want to be godfather?"

** - "Hey, I can't be the father and godfather?"

There're better lines. This is the scene I'm on right now.

Music Stuff

Listening to the new Keane album. I'm enjoying it as much as i didn't want to enjoy the first one, and yet still did.

Where the first one was a cry for Coldplay ripoff, but still held enough integrity to warrant praise, this one seems to follow the same vein, just incorporating some more electronic sounds into the mix. It's very standard and very good, which follows my yelp for bands being good instead of trying to be different.

For the best in keyboard centered contemporary music, I encourage you to try Chroma Key. It's Kevin Moore, formerly of Dream Theater. Once he left, that band was clueless, and they've never recovered, but rather seeped into the same running rhythms and tempo changes of progressive rock hell.

Chroma Key and O.S.I. (Kevin Moore's side project). They show no mercy and offer so much more.

What I'm Enjoying...

Jamming on a Friday

I love being on the road during the heart of nightime, the one that pulsates with mystery, keeps you wondering where the evil in the world went, then, realizing it's right behind you.

Usually, I'm in the car when I see the cadavers piling up at the edge of sidewalks, but once in a while you'll find me on foot. I can walk down the main street of my neighborhood and find many thresholds of the stores occupied by the homeless, drunk, missing, and dead. If I thread through the bodycount lightly, I can come out with an extra fifty dollars, lifting it from the lifeless ones, but that was when money mattered. Now, when I die, just find a hole and toss me in.

What intrigued me the most were the screams. Where were the screams coming from? Men's and women's, sometimes children. I couldn't pinpoin the area because when the air grabs a hold of the noise, of all the voices held inside of its confines, it spins them around, cycles them through al the channels, and it sounds like you're being bombarded from all around; everyone's nightmare is attacking you all at once. All you can do is run, but I don't. I stand there, and I listen. I listen and savor the experience, hold it with me, keep it next to my heart, and once I return home, I bed and have nightmares of my own.

I wonder if people hear my screams?

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

Shopping for groceries, I'm listening to Pennywise's first album, the self-titled one. It's a brutal, brilliant piece of work, and every single song is a warrior's anthem. I still attribute it to being their best album. It's punk at it's fastest and most honest, emanating in the early 90's, back when punk was going through an identity crisis, then a blender, and came out as something horrible and cheeky.

I stand by Pennywise and Bad Religion, but when you say punk, all anyone with a humble thought can seem to conjure up is The Ramones. I'll give them their respect, they earned it, but there is so much more out there. NOFX of course, Minor Threat (always underrated), and, yes, The Sex Pistols, but they hated everything, including punk, and including themselves, and while they too have earned my respect, don't be surprised if I leave them out of the MP3 player for a while.

I'm not the biggest fan of the punk genre, but I know what sucks, what's true, and what's trying too hard to be something different. Stop trying to be different, and just try to be good. People want the notoriety without honing their talent. Only in America can this work, but how much respect does a musician really want to gain in America when the album charts reads like a Teen Spleen magazine?

Give me Europe's sense of music any day. Although, this does leave the richness of the underground scene in America something to value.

Call My House Phone. I Dare You.

I am a telemarketers worst nightmare. I spent an hour with one this evening. I demanded they convince me not to get a sex change.

They failed, and felt very, very bad about it. It's been a long time since I've made a grown man cry. I forgot how invigorating it can be.

Alone Again

Been feeling lonely.

Everyone's married or pregnant; notice I'm saying either and not both.

I'm not going to get in the way of their lives. The family bit has never been my forte', and I'm not going to try and understand it. It's just not my thing. I love those that love me. That's the extent of my belief.

I've been keeping busy with designing the cover to my first book, and working on my first comic. I couldn't find an artist willing to take their head out of their asses or a beer bong long enough to do some worthwhile task, so I'm doing it all myself. Truthfully, that's how I always intended for it to happen, but I wanted to save a lot of time.

I've read two books in less than a week; Neil Gaiman's Coraline and Stephen King's Cell. Both were good, not great. Cell was much better than King's previous six or ten years worth of material. Gaiman always delivers, but now I know Coraline's being made into a feature film, so I'm not too sure what to think about it. Everything we love is ruined somehow.

I suddenly feel like watching Thundarr the Barbarian. I loved that show.

Finished my collection of Friends DVD's (YES, THAT FRIENDS. You gonna do something about it?). I have them all and had myself a marathon while finishing some work. Boondocks (NO. Not Boondock Saints, which is so overrated the Irish are begging forgiveness by commitng mass suicide in front of their local churches and considering it a pittance) will be coming out soon, unedited and uncensored. I love the strip. I love the show. It doesn't get enough respect. Until it gets a Peabody or Nobel, then I will consider it being pissed on and everyone's children to be genetically malformed for not watching it. I would launch aerial screens to hover in the air, and a broadcast satellite into space so everyone could see it and crash their cars while driving on the freeway if it meant getting this show out to people.

For some reason, people tend to look at me in an odd manner when I'm having conversations with acquaintences. I guess because these acquaintences reside in my own head isn't good enough for spectators. They need something tangible. You know what IS tangible? That fork that could be inserted into so many regions of their body, and that's after they swallow it.

Jesus crapped himself after dying on the cross. Hitler crapped himself after blowing his brains out. You will crap your pants when you die. I find it strange that no one talks about these things.