Day: September 27, 2006

  • “If I were an Al Qaeda asset, you’d all be screwed.”

     -my opening statement at a convocation of future suicide-bomber fundamentalist Islamic Boy Scouts.

     

    I’m looking for self-enhancement and self-improvement opportunities.  Only qualified multiple other personalities need self-apply.

     

    For most people, beyond a certain point in life, incredulity sets in (like death’s rigor mortis) regarding many previously kindly-considered things.  Like the virtue of innocence, the ultimate prevalence of goodness,  and the possibilities for true love.  That point is the exact point where most people finally and tragically fail forever more to fully trust themselves.

     

     I refuse to subscribe to the current regime’s descriptor (echoed by the preponderance of the news’ re-echoing) of “The War on Terror”.  Why?   Because, from a state-power perspective, that’s tantamount to always backing the status quo, which by definition, has the most to fear from terror.  Terror is often just a guerrilla tactic.  Sometimes it is a guerrilla strategy.  Sometimes it is a despotic-state strategy such as Ivan the Terrible and Saddam Hussein unleashed upon their own citizenry.  In any case, a War on a Tactic or a War on a Strategy  makes no sense whatsoever.  If someday a radical, militant fundamentalist Islamic tyranny seizes hold of America, you can be damn sure that I’d be quite engaged as a guerrilla in demonstrating at great cost to them what real  terror is.   So let’s stop resorting to this sloganistic misnomer of "The War on Terror".   Call it what it is:  The Virtual Evisceration of Radical Militant Islamic Nihilism (The Vermin).

  • (This account is from last evening.  Already a new sun has risen - time to shine on and leave these words here.  Behind... )

     

    Who sent the news crew?  No running x-miles in Dreamland today.

     

    Just got to my favorite Dreamland haunt to jog about this evening and found a film crew lingering even though it’s after hours and the cemetery gates are locked for the night.  While I really don’t believe they were there to cover my special ops regimen (running, popping a beer, and blogging—in that order), I decided to change up, wander off elsewhere, and quietly engage in the latter two-thirds of the fore-mentioned guerrilla training. 

     

    And as I now sit on the base of the obelisk of John D. Rockefeller, I must remark about my running:  I’m tired.  I think I’ll go home now.

     

    Yeah.  Right.  Over John D’s grave.   But, I’ll be back tomorrow.  Either going to run twice as far as my discipline stipulates—or just as far, but as fast as I possibly can.

     

    Oh hell.  A little red fox, unsuspecting of my presence, just ran past me ten feet away, then saw me and jumped frightened  into the woods.  Now three squirrels in the immediate environ are all chirping their “don’t fuck with me” chirp.  Things seem a bit odd and a’kilter all around.  Too much activity for a non-thinking man such as myself to process.  I non-think it’s time to slip unnoticed back into the world of the living…  Yes, your world.  And mine.

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