Forgiveness

Listening to Heroin,
While sipping on Kool Aid,
In the darkest rooms,
While my mother waits for my father,
and my father waits for his son.

His son,
His seed,
It drains my conscience,
But I gave up thinking,
When I decided on the knee jerk reaction.

I want it back,
That warm feeling,
I want to hold it in my arms,
And kiss it on the cheek,
Tell it that everything will be OK.

But I decided on the knee jerk,
It was a mistake I know,
and I pay for it every second,
that I live for myself,
and forget who is the mother.

And the son,
And the father,
And the panicked noises,
And the seeds,
And the trees.

How strange it all is,
How terrible that I must forgive.

Lost Cause and Writing

The ceiling fan spiraled out of control and landed on the head of a lost cause.

The lost cause was knocked out instantly but recovered, only to learn that his cause was indeed lost after all.

That is the beginning of the end of a non-important, metaphorical entry into a diary of misunderstood vignettes. So strange how we almost forget that there is someone behind it.

But the truth is that I don’t even know where it all comes from. I only know where it will end up—but sometimes I don’t know even that.

So I say to myself, as a sit in a library typing away nonsense that earns me neither fame nor fortune, but which is as necessary to me as food. At this point, the lost cause can only stagger and fall, but then he will have to either get up or lay there and die. As for the ceiling fan? It is just a random act of violence, committed by an inanimate object for the purpose of setting up my analysis of the pointlessness of existence.

Still, I suppose that is why I write. If my existence is pointless, then I have to occupy my time one way or another. That’s the truth: sad, but true.

And we all do it—even if we don’t always admit it.DSC_0001

Is the “Mainstream Media” Out of Touch with the Mainstream?

While casually browsing the news channels, I noticed a disturbing trend: the coverage of the latest NSA revelations were simultaneously being “analyzed” by Alan Dershowitz on CNN and Peter King on MSNBC. Both of these “analysts” were giving the establishment opinion and seemed to downplay the significance of these revelations, even defending the NSA to some extent, especially King. According to the Columbia Journalism Review, however, Americans are more likely to be opposed to the Surveillance apparatus rather than be supportive of it. So why then are these networks not at least presenting a more balanced view?

To those of us who have been following politics for awhile, this may seem a stupid question. The fact is that these media giants are owned and run as a kind of government/corporate propaganda machine. I have long since accepted this fact, but I still watching CNN especially now and then, not for their “thoughtful analysis” but rather to see how the government plans to screw us this week. In a weird way, it reminds me of the fifth book of Harry Potter when Hermione reads the Daily Prophet even though she knows its propaganda. She wanted to know what the enemy was saying. Similar if Obama was a psychopathic, evil wizard which–who knows–maybe he is.

But I digress: the “Mainstream Media” can hardly be called mainstream any longer. It’s views and opinions which it espouses are simply not in line with ordinary working people of America, or at least as far as the Spying Apparatus is concerned.

The only question now is what will be the last straw?

Thoughts on the Criminalization of Protest

10 Arrests in 83 Minutes: A Close Analysis of NYPD Crowd Dispersal Tactics from paul sullivan on Vimeo.

Even though Occupy Wall Street has disintegrated, its downward spiral was not purely self inflicted. Since day one, the protesters dealt with harassment, targeted arrests, and violence of a level that was shocking to Americans who had never experienced violence at the hands of the police before. Of course, to black and Latino Americans, it was preaching to the choir.

Even so, there is something disturbing not only about the violence and the arrests, but simply the way the police regard the protesters. You can see it in their sheer numbers: trouble is expected from the protesters. In other words, protesting is a criminal act, perhaps not in law but in practice. There is something wrong when the police outnumber the protesters by a large margin. It is not just a public safety matter but rather it is a show of strength.

That’s why when the police use criminal tactics to suppress protest, it is enthusiastically defended by public officials such as Bloomberg and, of course, Ray Kelly. This not only gives their tactics a stamp of approval, but also encourages more behavior. In essence, it becomes more profitable to pay off lawsuits then to admit to wrong-doing. There have been stories about Occupy protesters who waded through endless waiting in order to bring their cases before a judge, only to have them thrown because the prosecutors took too long. Outrageous to think that one has to seek justice as a defendant, and cannot even be faced by their accusers openly.This is becoming the standard norm for dealing with protesters across the country. Unfortunately, little will be done because most people don’t protest. However, an apathetic stance will only make the situation worse. Unfortunately, this lack of near-sightedness is going to cost our country tenfold.

The Ghost

The ghost speaks to me. He tells me good news. The ghost knows no trouble; the ghost feels no pain.

I stare at the ghost. He looks solid but he can’t possibly be real.

I’m in Queens? That is what you told me. I’m beginning to realize something about that interesting place. It’s only ten minutes away but my dreams of it seem so distant now.

But the ghost smiles and tells me its okay.

I cry. I never understood a friendship until it was gone.

I had trouble trusting.

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Thinking on her dreams (Poem)

My faults,
reflected within her,
mirror my discomfort.

As I gaze at deep lakes,
pools of bliss and goodness,
nothing but lies.

What more can I offer?
What more is there to me?
I ask myself.

On those windy evenings,
When she is right here,
but so distant.

I dreamed this tale would end,
But I can see it’s only just begun,
Am I setting myself up?

Am I honest,
Am I willing,
To accept my doubts?

So I ask myself,
On a windy evening,
When she is right here,

And I’m thinking on her dreams.

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