I cant say what it is: maybe its that I feel as though I am a tiny little heathen vying to be recognized for owning a status saved for people who don’t really care for it. I have this recurring vision that I’m a child sitting on my knees before an edge of a great abyss. I hear this voice and always she says ‘there you are child’; she smiles. I feel elated. Wow its powerful. She only smiles, and she doesn’t have a face or a form, but I seem to crawl into her arms anyways, an area as wide as space is deep and I feel so much relief, like what I experience when my mind forgives the germs and pardons my weakened feet from walking, sliding into a period open only for rest. Its pure forgiveness. Its peace. Its the reason I keep coming back.

But now I wonder why I even have the respect to write: my skin is heavy with filth and frowns, my mind is a steady torch growing tall in the articulated breeze that comes from the wicked west from where I hear my thoughts cheer ‘get real’ at a rally of long chins and gray faces. I react when I know I shouldn’t, I give in and give up and sulk on the bathroom floor; a cup of tea reminds me to work with something other than the mystery of my own mind. The vacancy sign is definitely on, waiting for ease to rent to room. Where is stillness now? I soak my head in chemicals to hide the markers of an aging crown and I frolic through the words that dump from me like an elephant takes a shit. I’m tempted to throw it all away, to burn the forest down before the wildfire devours his prize, to win the flow and to fuck it all, like an elephant takes a shit. God it must feel good to evacuate so much useless matter, to give it to the ground: I’ll give myself to the process, like an elephant takes a shit.

Where is the lesson in this?

Honesty.

I acted wrongly and perpetuated bastard energies. Time has asked me to stop yet now the mess is mercury hot, it begs to be removed from the nearness of the sun.

Run away tiny coyote! How many more forest friends will you consume before you belch the bones of your rancid ways?

Rain dance tonight! Ancient practice revives to cleanse the pollution of clumsy creations!

You say I’m so stubborn and cruel. Well then, I am so pleased to be yours and to have mine, let’s make more things to carry this crooked ship down the depths of uselessness.

But alas! A pirate with a pen, ravaging with words, a sentence he sharpens from the blade forged by many prophesying men: ‘death to things that make us feel weak, small and tired: that keep us on our feet! When what we require is a deep enough sleep, to drum a clear beat so the people can step dangerously in time with the ticking of the tides riding high on the moon’s backside and be free!’

Okay, I’m here. I am here! What spirit has called my attention at this place and at this hour and what must I do to appease your formless brew?

Listen you say, but instead I translate it as a condition of my diminishing physique; I nourish my bones with sweet and saucy, I lick my fingers when I should be licking the soles of Buddha’s feet; “don’t bother me! Pull the reigns of your fiery chariot and pierce your own heart; the arrow draws a string with which to pull the muscle from its nest, leave mine alone!.”

“Shut up and be still, this is why you were called, not for a culinary thrill, silly human.”

‘Okay!’ what now?!?!’ distractions arise from illusive shadows and thoughts generate to flush the intelligence of five senses: I ponder something besides my knowing of this realm. But the channel has been allowed by bundles of sage and narrow icicles of wax that beg for a chance to chase darkness away in a blaze.

Dear Journey,

Don’t write with confusion; write with clarity! Even poetry demands clarity, not in words and how they are presented, but poetry requires clarity of origin: this means not right nor wrong, but that the author is clear in representing confusion, sadness; what does this mean exactly? It means to be fully aware of yourself in the moment you grant for reflection and honesty (don’t worry, no one is watching) and be true to the experience as it is, raw and organic from your center, whatever it may be in the present moment. Be certain of the source and let the words form around them and align naturally in a march of syntax and prose; this is personal poetry, this is your gift, this is what you offer the world and it is beautiful because you made the space for it and it is authentically you.

Once the words are before you, these precious gems of absolute insight and depth, after you read them, separate from them: do not own them. You mustn’t feel responsible for their impact; disassociate from the words and they will inspire you in whatever way they do; your past self intended them as a guide, maybe for you, perhaps for another. The words are not yours; they belong to a greater source when they are born from clarity and consciousness. This way you can witness their power to unite and to change, phenomena which happens when and only when they are released.

You see, words are only sounds, particles, elements: they begin as a thought that forms from ingredients that interact in our minds, we send outward this energy in waves upon which we place words linearly, one word after the other, like our understanding of time, in a sequence like we see our own lives; but round is the actual order of things, infinity is the essence of higher planes of existence; our part is finite so we experience the beginning and the end of form and function, as we ourselves have a birth and death; but circularity is truth though ambiguous within the shallow measure of our immediate awareness.

To travel distances, to be said or written and heard and read, words must hitch a ride upon waves of energy that are continuous and infinite, floating and colliding and stemming from and branching off and bumping into other waves, like cellular waves, microwaves, brain waves, ocean waves, wind waves, emotional waves, static waves: with intention we send outwards our words like a message in a bottle atop a wave of energy that we have harnessed for the moment, attracted to us by the energies we have magnetically pulled and borrowed from this dimension (in conjunction with other dimensions?). The slower the wave the more direct from source, the more rapid the frequency the more momentum and force; these are the ones that require that the borrower use caution; they can cut and slice, they can tear and infiltrate and pass and influence, hurt and harm and devastate and destroy, much like ugly words with claws in waves whispered from the mouth of a conniving magician.

These high pitched waves are coming in at frequencies beyond which we can measure with our primary sense; we can neither see them nor predict them, therefore we can only cancel them by committing to impeccability; whole truths upon which we place words of a positive nature, honest and of the deepest blue; if you don’t make magic then magic is made upon you: saying love once invalidates the perpetuation of historic hatred and restores crystals to beauty and balance. Love yourself, love your energies, love the words as they are sent outwards and beyond the scope of control, let them surf the waves and purify the atmosphere of nonsense, chaos and confusion.

Be honest, source words from source, bow before your own energies, respect divine human potential; this is service of the highest self. Tentacles-waves are like wind; it carries dust that falls onto the lashes dropping center in a tear cried from the eyes of a weeping camel: it will find the earth and one day be carried again to grace the sky with its presence: every thing which is IS something which will connect to something else: nothing is ever truly free from belonging in the sense that it will inevitably serve as an influence or impression in this stage of reality. Even dust has a history, as do we, and so as wind drives sand so must we drive our words in a caravan towards LOVE.

-”This is for all them girls who have ever been made to feel ugly by an even uglier man”. – Violet

 I told a man to go fuck himself today; it was after he looked me deep in my eyes and whispered those sweet sweet words. It was after we made love. It was after he revoked the meaning of every meaningful thing he had ever revealed to me. It was after he draped a cloak around his secret vulnerability and reacted like the coward who fires his gun before the bear begins to charge; it was after he looked me deep in my eyes and whispered those nasty, nasty words. Ya’ll know what I mean, no matter the actual content it was the way he said it; I mean, he said a million things and acted a hundred colorful ways but I absorbed only the base line of his poisonous message and it went something like this: “boom boom, I don’t want you in my life, boom boom, I don’t want you in my life, boom boom…”. I felt it. It hurt. I felt ugly. I felt small. I felt like runnin’ and divin’ into the coldest water to freeze the growth of sensitivity and pain, but I didn’t. I just swallowed and smiled and said, “its alright boy. You are the last brother from the tribe of indifferent men that I will ever dance with. I can say a proper goodbye now. Thank you for the challenge mister, now go fuck yourself”.

 This is gon’ be my new way, I think, makin’ it my bus’ness to know where those men come from, and tellin’ ‘em how I truly feel. Ain’t like I’m doing nothin’ wrong, I mean I ain’t hurtin’ nobody really. It ain’t my problem if he takes it personally, right? I’m just livin’ my life is all, and he should know better anyhow. Its like, what do you think is gon’ happen when you wear your selfish expectations as openly as your troubled grin? I ain’t here to please nobody! I ain’t layin’ down the right to bear myself, no way am I gon’ spread my legs kindly so he can have a taste of true power. I ain’t givin’ nothin’ to nobody that ain’t already pourin’ freely from the flow of things; why force myself further? Ain’t enough you’ve got that girl between your legs you wanna sew her up after you done, you wanna brand your name like a pretty little scar that she’ll forever wear as a reminder that she’s a missin’ a piece of her heart to you.

 I’ve been had and I’ve been a means to an end for many a mischievous man but I say enough! They made me, ya know, as a girl comin’ up in this world, tricked by every fake kiss and every false prophecy spoken from the filthy grave of his soiled dreams; I believed that love was when your name felt safe in the mouth of a well-respected man. Uh, uh, no way; and now I’ve paid my dues and I have been God-honored with the authority to love nobody but myself, and if the mosquitoes want a taste of my blood then let them have it; they’ll prick the skin of another man soon, and that will be my victory when the shaft of his cock is swollen with regret of having behaved a devil’s fool; guilt itches, my friend. Itch it long and good, watch how it changes you, I’ll wear a rosy dress to celebrate the rise and fall of your oozing fantasies, ha! I’ll bite harder than any alligator I swear, I’m tired of resting in the swamps next to other second-hand ladies; through rouge and globs of lip paint they slur from too many sips of moonshine while the moonlight shines on their tears that the water beast dries with his yellow eyes.

 I ain’t one them girls who jus’ wanna man, ya hear? I ain’t wanna sit ’round, and sip tea and talk about fancy things with lace, and whisper lyrics and batter my eyes and smell nice things and have nice things: I ain’t lookin’ for nothing from you: not acceptance nor approval, not a warm blanket or a humble bed, not a compliment or a dare, not nothin’ you can do to change me slightly, not no way for you to keep me comin’ round cause I dance to the beat of distant drums, harmonic gifts of direction granted by higher things, higher than the way you feel when you see me smile that smile that ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, not no more; I’m stronger than I seem, grace is not weak but tender like a mother lion with her cubs. Don’t you know boy? When spirits are suppressed, when they are confined, ya see, they revolt to any extreme; the spirit knows only how to be itself and it will do so under any condition, under any circumstance, whether you speak its language or not it will rise within and swell like the tides of the sea when the full moon calls. It’s like, you can take a person and you can train them and mold them and teach them how you want them to be, you can tell them that some things jus’ ain’t right and others are plain wrong, but it ain’t no use; you only gonna make a murderer, or a liar, or a rapist, or a drunk; stiflin’ energies morph and manifest in unwholesome ways when left to rot on the shelves of a restricted heart.

 So, boy, I release myself from the bonds that have held me down; turns out they were of my own makin’; but ya’ll can’t convince me to stitch them again. No way, I have a voice as strong as a million angry bees and though my soul is lyin’ on the side of a road a ruby stone in my chest has been graciously restored. So again, i”ll say it with mighty conviction, those sweet sweet words I’ll whisper in your ear; “go fuck yourself”.

Letter From Anonymous:

“When I met your friend at (location not mentioned to protect identity of actual characters), he lightly patted me on the shoulder. Who does that? I almost laughed, I almost let my tongue free. It was insulting, and let me know that he is probably rich, definitely condescending, probably has a superiority complex, and is insecure. I noticed when you and I took a picture, you also were leaning on my shoulder. I thought to myself, do these folks go around feeling a little superior? Just food for thought ”.

Thanks for the food! Here’s the thought:

Every person you encounter is an amazing resource for something, and the instance you form a judgment, you have blocked the lesson; you have disrupted the flow. It takes more work to restore the flow than it does to disallow judgments.

Judgments are our way of making sense of things so we may understand them better. So often we form judgments, devaluing our experiences by valuing what we consider the validity of our observant and critical minds; we interpret and define, label and assess, dissect and pick apart; all so that we may form an idea of an experience or thing in the language of our thoughts and context of our personal histories. To this idea we become attached, perhaps for many reasons, though mostly because it feels good when the world fits our pre-established judgments of it; our learned, acquired, and adopted preconceptions that contribute to form what we call our reality. Our reality is not to be confused with reality; indeed, our reality means our interpretation of what is, but reality implies ‘what is’, and what ‘what is’ is pure being; it exists independently of our assessment of it, and is free standing and infinite. We come into the world and inhabit a tiny space for a small amount of time, and we are allowed the mental capacity to experience it with our senses and form ideas and thoughts, and figure stuff out, and communicate about how we lived it. That’s great, but it is not reality.

When we form judgments we take away from the thing being experienced; we pull it from its inherent reality (its pure being) and make it a form in our minds; it becomes like a test subject on the operating table of our imaginations, and we take from it and add to it until it resembles little of what it actually is because it is no longer real and it is no longer itself as it bears characteristics of our own personalities while missing aspects of its original form.

We now control it as we strive to control everything; through judgments we discover we can control everything because everything becomes something to which we can attach in some way or another.

It feels good when the world fits our pre-formed judgments of it; otherwise we experience FEAR. From fear is born the binding power of our own minds: from fear is born judgments. The unknown, the unfamiliar, the unsettling, the new; these types of experiences give rise to fear;fear sparks the desire to understand; desire to understand stimulates the process of forming judgment; judgment forms opinion; opinion becomes action and action leads us either to regret or embellish; either way, to act on a judgment is to act selfishly, trusting in the mind and allowing it the power to guide us in isolation from the guiding force of truth, actuality, and pure being. Selfish is to trust the mind and its judgments, to wander through life an ego on a spine, walking and talking and forming relationships as one sees fit; judging, therefore resenting, elaborating, denying, repulsing, blindly influencing and ignorantly interacting as though the head is impervious to all and all else is impervious to it.

This is not the case; a friend described people as having tentacles, and every word, action, interaction, smile, and look that manifests within us extends to affect others like the tentacles of an octopus extends through space, influencing the flow of the surrounding environment with only mild intention: we control the birth of the action or word, that is, we can decide to extend our tentacles, and we can direct it towards a desired result via intention by choosing how to deliver the word, action, interaction, or smile,  BUT how our tentacles are received is out of our control. Therefore, we mustn’t be careless with our tentacles; we must be impeccable with it. Never let loose a tentacle of judgment: from it can only be born more tentacles of judgment and more tentacles still until the original thing is so swallowed by tentacles it ceases to exist or has been sentenced to exist in a state of misery, or it passes us by like dissolved possibilities for great friendship, opportunities, adventure or service.

Tentacles are our connection to each other and our world: why spend them freely and carelessly? To feel safe from fear is the desired state: but when the bearer of thought is open to the truth of impermanence it seems that security is nothing but an adjective used to describe the way life sometimes is, sometimes isn’t. That’s all everything is really. It sometimes is this, and it sometimes isn’t. These are not judgments; they are affirmations of acceptance of the nature of life’s flow.

It doesn’t bother me when people share judgments, I simply don’t reply: when someone shares a judgment they have actually invited you to become impressed by their words whereby they expect some reaction: even when there is no reaction they interpret lack of action as reaction. If I choose to play, I can either defend myself against the judgment or partner with it, forming a judgment of the judgment either way, committing to a conversation bound for nothing but failure, amounting to little more than wasted time.

In order to maintain a peaceful presence, to engage humanity on a higher plane I smile at judgments and seek to offer these words as a reply, skipping gracefully over the sloppily strewn tentacles: ‘is that so’?

I hope people get it; with judgments, you move nowhere, you get nothing and your tentacles become so rotted that no other tentacles born from healthy beings are willing to unite; you will be alone with your tentacles in the company of other rotted tentacles. While all the life of the sea is available in limitless potentials those rotting tentacles will forever isolate you from the rest so long as judgments are allowed to maintain you, the bearer of precious consciousness.

BUT, with openness and a willingness to see beyond what you think is, or perceive as, or assume to be; to recognize the power of your tentacles and to accept that the ways in which we all collide in thought and action are inevitable and constant, though changing and with variance, you can have EVERYTHING.

Energy is precious, life is priceless, and though love is infinite our bodies are not: I choose to engage people in conversations of betterment and progress: undress the mind, simplify, and practice practice practice laying those tentacles with pure intention and grace. “Watch as the whole world becomes you friend”, is what was said to me. It truly has. It can be for you too.

So!

Dear Anonymous,

I will neither embrace your judgment nor deny it; it is neither right nor wrong; it merely has no place. If we were face-to-face, I would have swallowed my pride (as I am a beginner in studying the art of ‘being human’), and replied, ‘is that so’?  And, despite the context of your message and message of the subsequent discussion, I love you, anonymous you who has lit my fire and allowed me hours of pleasurable writing. I love all of you. You see: Love is not limited, it certainly is not founded in judgment: to say I can not love this thing because I am already in love with this thing is a gross misunderstanding of love. Love is not mine to decide the quantity, it is not born in me and requires no rules of distribution to be felt and experienced. Love is not to be rationed or controlled or denied or accepted. Love is. I am love. I don’t need love. I don’t want love. I have nothing to do with love. Love is greater than me. I am small, but I am loved, whether I exist or not.

Namaste,

Rasham Writes

Be the Love you Wish to Receive

Hug a Cow, Save the World

DISCLAIMER: I’ve no interest in policing the people of the state, of harnessing their hearts and demanding commitment and loyalty. I have no interest in profiting from financial contributions, or in funding the extravagancies of a starlet reflection.

All I Want to Do is Hug a Cow.

I was sitting in a warm space on an autumn morning when I became suddenly emotional: staring at the waxy coat of earthen greens on my plate I was engrossed by memories of grazing dairy cows and calves I had visually experienced in the early morning fog. This is a common sight on the hillsides bordering a California highway and so I didn’t treat it as phenomena worth attention at the time. But as I sat in the cafe with a warm bowl of sautéed chards and brown rice, my subconscious harmonized with the voice of Elliot Smith resonating in the atmosphere and I began to cry.

They were cows on the hillside, yes, but so much more than that: they were living symbols of the human force of ignorance, control, manipulation, greed, and cruelty.

They were mothers and their offspring surviving merely to meet the demands we have placed upon them, doomed to a fate as gruesome as the intentions that brought them to life. In that moment I felt as though I possessed a connection to these creatures, a responsibility to every cow, calf, pig, goat, lamb, dog, horse, reptile, cat, dolphin, whale; every living creature whose force of life had been exploited to supply our modern world with its accessories, extras and extravagancies.

I had decided long ago that I wouldn’t eat them, nor wear them, nor include their harvested ingredients in any facet of my life. But now it occurred to me that I could provide a service on behalf of all the mistreated creatures of the world in another form: I could hug them.

A hug may not seem an intelligible solution to the issues stirring around the farm and the factory, but I dare challenge that preconception. The power of a hug has many implications, many colors and shades, many layers of expression. It is its most precious manifestation that I aim to expound: compassion, acceptance, and most importantly, love.

Real World Animal Cruelty

Most animal-cruelty, vegetarian and vegan campaigns expose the brutality of the associated industries by publishing graphic images and investigative reports of animal abuse and neglect, torment and pain. To these I am open, but I can only take them in small doses, sipping an image for a few emotional tick tocks, and cherry-picking words from the horror scripts of the ‘Real World; animal mutilation and probing’. I applaud all those who are willing to withstand these truths and who are brave enough to absorb them as such.

For those who deny themselves the displeasures of an animal rights reality check I place no blame: people choose their cause in this world, whatever it may be, and hopefully it is to a positive cause they remain committed.

It’s also not surprising that ordinary folk choose to leave the blood, guts, and gore outside of their mental living rooms: no one feels they deserve to be the victim of blunt-force ‘FYI’ trauma, and so they treat it as they would the news of foreign war casualties from a battle afar; by turning it off and tuning it out.

As creatures prone to unconscious bouts of self-pity, we usually have little to spare. And though we may feel sorry for the animals, this sorrow isn’t enough to ignite the rebirth of thought.

About this ‘in your face approach’: it has the potential to perpetuate intolerance, to stifle opportunities for change by its aggressive undertones that outline its methodology. These wavelengths reveal the truth, yes, as an unrevised and unedited window into the world of our scientific, culinary, and fashion communities. But are we ready for it?

In my experience I find that people do not appreciate being told what to do, nor do they like to be smacked in the face with accusations of having been wrong in choosing this, or bad in doing that. It is hate and power and greed and inhumanity and injustice and selfishness which have manifested mankind as the greatest detriment to his habitat, the greatest threat to all of earth’s species. I don’t think that any ‘global cure’ could contain notes of these characteristic elements; rather, I believe that love is the only way to absolve 2400 years of harmful habits and ignorant consciousness. We simply don’t need to survive in this manner anymore; perpetuating hostility and wastefulness towards animals and earth simply serves no further purpose other than to lead mankind down an irrevocable path of monumental error and spiritual abolishment.

All You Need Is Love to Lift the Burden of Suffering

Love has the power to infiltrate every person’s inherent capacity to reconnect with humanity and re-engage his commitment to the earth and all her creatures. By expounding upon the belief in the power of love, I believe the individual mind will be offered a probable solution to the dichotomy that is currently seeping through the veins of mainstream mindfulness.

In order to access this love, a lot must be un-done, relearned, re emphasized; perhaps the most important of these lessons is to attend the task of re-defining our relationship with food.

During its process from plant/animal to supermarket the origins of our meals has become obscured. The meat section of any outlet doesn’t give reason for the consumer to think of it as anything other than edible protein, appearing in perfect geometrical shapes colored in blush and marked by tags that bear little implication of it having once been a vital part of a living animal.

In all aspects of our consumer lifestyle we lack the thoughtful ability to read past the labels and analyze for ourselves the value of suffering of any particular product. Fur is still a popular trim for coats and boots, leather for belts and jacket hooks, reptile skin for shoes, animal oils for beauty products; the list continues into and beyond infinity.

Whether bargain hunting for the winter ball or shopping for the backyard barbeque bash, we fail to relate our part in the process of purchase, we neglect the power of consumerism to survive these crimes because we simply aren’t conditioned in shopping with an animal-friendly aura. We don’t see a whimpering Husky when we see a fur-trimmed coat. We don’t see an image of a cow when shopping for belts, and we certainly don’t understand the process of turning Emu into Emu oil.  Though the origin of most of our modern commodities is animal-derived, that link that would afford us knowledge of this fact is compromised during the complicated process of mass production. Business is so big it is difficult to trace the birthplace of, say, ground beef; a single burger patty may in fact contain the meat from one hundred different cows along with trace elements of contaminants and rodent feces, all which form the final product on behalf of the sloppy yet profitable large-scale operations of modern corporate industry.

Of course a slaughterhouse image may surface in the mind of a wary consumer when shopping for animal-wares; but how does one make the link between an animal suffering and a cheeseburger? What does the cow on the hill have anything to do with my super value meal, and why should I ditch my winter wardrobe because my hoodie has hair?

Most of us are aware of the current condition of animal suffering; thanks to PETA and Certified Humane and other organizations with similar goals the media conscious does receive fair contribution from Team ‘Animal Welfare’. But it still remains a predominant disposition in the greater social conscious that we tend to not sympathize with the moral of these organizations because we demand the respect of the innocent; we refuse to accept that we may be the cause of the problem; we thus classify the solutions they offer as ‘unreasonable’ and ‘impossible’. Go vegan? “I would sooner die”, says you, “than live vegan”.

There couldn’t be a bigger lie than the one coming from the uneducated consumer when his motives are questioned; he has a thousand reasons to justify his actions, a thousand excuses in answer to the question “why not live animal-friendly”?

We undermine the power of ourselves as members of this ‘merican life, indeed we are the problem from which is fortunately derived the antidote. They give us what we want; this is the structure of our consumerist society. If we demand cheap labor and cheap meat, then this is what will continue to plague our societies and fatten our children. If, however, we demand animal rights and better options, they will have no choice but to re-define the laws and re-establish the practices which currently serve as foot rests for the counsel of  federal/state departments. How do we demand this? How does the average Joe wield his wand of wonderful capacities?

The answer to these questions can be found in the most fascinating, most beautiful and universally recognizable force of nature; love.

Its simple; the mission is to remind people that we too are animals, that we live and breath and are born and die the same as our earthbound companions.

Love is in a simple gesture of compassion from one human being to another living being, to see an animal and to see some life form worthy of the same care and compassion we would provide our children, our pets, our lovers and our friends.

See the Animal, Not the Aftermath

I wish that we could see an animal and see that it is indeed an animal! I wish that we could see a steak and see that it is indeed an animal! I wish that we could see a fuzzy boot and see that it is indeed an animal! When we trace the lineage of our things, I wish that we could trace them to an image of an animal, calm and watchful while in the embrace of a human willing to sacrifice all notions of  superiority for the sake of promoting awareness and instigating change.

All I really want to do is hug a cow. All I really ever wanted to be was love.

And for some these truths are too uncomfortable; they simmer in the back-lot of the mind and before they are able to guide sprouting thoughts to a probable solution something else wins the attention of the eye and all potential for consideration is snuffed.

But for most these truths come as an overwhelming antonym to the sugarcoated illusions we are so mercilessly fed. We know so little of the origins of the contents of our lives, assuming that because we pay fair price, there is little need for concern. Why should we challenge those who produce the source of our livelihoods? We are taught that harm comes to those who are ill-deserving: when we live decently and minimally, we assume that the fruits of our efforts are and can be trusted. We don’t question the reality within which we live because in it we are comfortable, complacent, settled, surviving to the best of our knowledge and wanting nothing beyond what is within the immediacy of our grasp.

But we are being harmed in the most disturbing of ways, back-stabbed by our fellows and misguided by those whom we have elected to lead. We eat what is sold, we drink what is poured, we buy what is discounted and rarely do we hesitate, do we meditate on the possibility that things aren’t as ritually pure as they seem. 

What is the benefit of such a world? I doubt it is the literal manifestation of an entrepreneur’s ideals, but with the origins of our nation there are the perpetuated frequencies of cruelty and unnecessary slaughter: history provides the view that from the initial patriotic practices of a developing nation our fathers perfected the art of heartlessness and cruelty: we are merely surviving the tradition as manifest destiny is still very much alive between the synthetic threads of our liberal quilt. It is a popular sport to believe in the personal pursuit of riches, power, and fame: an even more popular sport is to believe in the pursuit of these ends at any cost, no matter the lives wasted, the earth spoiled, the people sickened, the masses poisoned, the youths stunted, the animals rotted, the oceans scoured, the hearts hardened. We have been searching and striving and growing and expanding for so many years and now we stand as a crowd of defective and debilitated people with the bloody flesh of our earth companions rotting between the soured crevices of our cavernous teeth: what now? 

If it were possible that every human being alive within the borders of our country could witness the gross processes which fund our modern existence I think, I hope that every individual would weep at the disturbing loss of humanity, and would praise the liberating revelation as the source of all illness, disease, plague and misery becomes vividly apparent.

There are choices you can make and I hope you do. There are some who would rather soak in the shallow waters of commercialism, who could and would wield a wand and commit all of earth’s children to burn in the fiery eruption of the devil’s orgasm. I hope that we all do not become what every mainstream horror flick portends: infected and enraged beasts that pillage and plunder in search of just one more taste of blood. Then again, isn’t that what we have always been? Happy Columbus Day, Columbus without whom we wouldn’t have corn, the root of all that sustains us.