The Desire to Believe

All arguments for and against the existence of god aside, it is interesting that some people want to believe in the existence of a god, and that others want to believe that god does not exist.  It is obvious why people would want a god to exist: heaven, love, everlasting life, cool shit, the fact that there's a god out there is a pretty awesome idea.  How epic would it be to encounter a Galactus type character?  Very epic!  The desire/want to believe that god exists makes sense to me.  It is akin to wanting something cool to exist: I wish unicorns existed!  How much fun would it be to ride those motherfuckers around the sky?  I guess if they did exist though, we wouldn't be so impressed by them.  Look at whales and sharks and the universe!  They are insane!  They actually exist, yet we are hardly impressed by them!  How sad that we are so apathetic about all of creation; it's all so monotonous to us, despite how incredible and relentlessly unbelievable and staggering it all is.  Why would anyone want god to not exist?  I am only referring to people that--despite arguments for or against the existence of god--hate the idea of god existing.  Perhaps they do not want hell to exist, and so they don't want to believe in god; there are ideas of god that don't entail an everlasting hell, though, and yet these people would rather god did not exist.  I don't understand this aversion to the belief in god.  It seems like a more beautiful thing to at least want to believe in a good god; it is a more good thing for everyone; for although some people that don't believe in god claim love and goodness are objective things that come through evolution, those things are nonetheless relative and arbitrary--ultimately meaningless.  God provides a solid, real, non-arbitrary foundation for such things: goodness, love, etc.  To want to believe that god does not exist is FUCKING absurd, if you ask me.  It makes much more sense to at least want to believe that god exists.  Who wouldn't want to believe in the best possible reality, where there is a heaven, perfect justice, goodness, and meaning?  Apparently, there are some people that wouldn't want to.  I remember a fellow student once said, "If there is a god, I'd rather go to hell than to heaven."  Why people would rather believe in a meaningless universe and a meaningless life is a question psychologists can probably answer.  I do understand people not wanting to believe that god exists, because of different arguments, though; I can see them being agnostic on the issue.  It seems to me that atheism is dead, though.

I hear/read statements such as this one often: "We don't need god to answer or explain how the universe and life began to exist."  I don't know how anyone can know that for certain (just because you arrived at cool answers about the nature of the universe and life does not mean you arrived at those answers sans god).  In any case, people take such statements and really run with them!  People take that statement, and with it take it to mean that god does not exist, or that we don't need to believe in god, or that there are no good reasons to believe in god, or that we don't need to further argue the case for or against god.  That statement is not an argument for atheism.  I don't need my mother to explain how milk got into the refrigerator.  There are many ways in which the milk could have gotten there.  Sometimes it is not about what answer is needed.  Sometimes it's about which answer is the best answer or which answer is the most logical or which answer has the most evidence to support it.  You can just as well say, "We don't need the sciences to answer or explain how the universe and life began to exist."  Those kinds of statements don't really get us anywhere.

Of Mary and Abigail... and Me

It was the year 1800 (a brand new fucking century), and I was feeling good!  Part of it was that I had been drinking moonshine.  I was now twenty two years old, and I felt like a fucking man!  Luckily, I had been born into a semi-well-to-do family; I had the freedom to go to school.  I was going to finish law school and then figure shit out.  As for now, I thought it was a good time to find a wife!

This fucking farmer down the way had the most beautiful daughter in the world.  I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, but she had to be at least sixteen by now.  Her parents were very wealthy too, selling a bunch of produce and shit.  I think they'd like me.

I jumped on my horse Jumper and rode a couple laps around our property.  I loved the wind in my face, and I spread my arms out and acted as if I was flying.

"Fuck me!  I'm flying, mama!  I'm really flying, mama!"  I was feeling like I was on top of the world.  I wasn't sure why.  Oh ay, partly because of my swigging, but it was something else as well.  It was a prevailing mood in the air.  Things were going to be ok.  "I'm an American, mama!  I'm flying!"  I was yelling and being happy and silly and stupid.

I tied up the horse and went into my room in our big fucking cabin.  My whole fucking room was papered with drawings my brother had given to me.  I especially liked the ones of beautiful girls with big asses, small waists, big breasts, and long legs.  The whole fucking room was covered in drawings.

I got into bed and hoped to fall asleep quickly.

My brothers knocked and came into my room.

"What's up Merchant.  What's up Doctor."

"What's up Dan," both of them helloed me at the same time.

"Well, I'm in love.  Can you believe it?"

"I saved some crazy bastard today.  His arm was half off.  This guy was yelling his head off.  I thought he'd pass out, but he just stayed awake the whole time.  It was fucking crazy.  I had to snap his bone off, and he was like 'Ouch!'"  Doctor grabbed his own arm and did an impression of the guy, "Ouch!  And then I had to stop the bleeding.  Poor guy only has one arm now, but at least he's alive--I guess."

"Hey, if you're going to the city tomorrow, can you pick up some paint?"  Merchant was the artist.

"Ya, man.  That shit's crazy Doctor.  Did he yell the whole fucking time?"

"Ya, man.  When I was fixing his fucking arm, I thought I was going to choke him instead and just put him out!"

"He probably wanted his arm, huh?  Which arm was it?  Was he left or right handed?"

"He was right handed and he lost his right arm, so now he can't jack off, Merchant.  He was yelling the whole time 'Ah shit!  I won't be able to jack off any more!'  And he kept slapping his knee with his left hand," Doctor slapped his knee mimicking what his patient looked like.  He made a face like saying "Oh darn, I lost my right arm."  He continued, "Actually, that's why he was screaming, because he wasn't going to be able to jack off any more."

"Fuuuuck.  Well he can just get good at jacking off with his left hand.  Ha ha!  His left hand and arm are going to be all weak trying to jack off, he's gonna get all tired, and he's not going to be able to finish!  And fuck, imagine that?  Like he's not going to be able to grab his dick all hard with two hands when he's jizzing out--just one fuckin' weak left hand, squeezing all hard.  And then when he's grabbing some girl's ass he's gonna have to keep switching from the right butt cheek to the left butt cheek with one hand!"  He began mimicking a one armed man switching grabbing a girl's ass and making sex noises.  Merchant was on a roll.

"Ha ha!  If someone fucks him in the first place--fucking the one armed man.  At least girl's can see that shit right away!  It's not like he'll be flirting with some bitch, and he'll have to be all like, 'hey I have to tell you... I only have one arm.'"  This could have gone all night.

"So you're gonna see that girl tomorrow?"  Doc asked.

"Ya man.  I'm gonna go see her father or whatever the fuck, and then I'm gonna talk to her and see what the fuck.  I'm fully one hundred percent in love, and I'm ready to settle down."

"Who's the lucky lady?"  Merchant asked.

"Abigail Kent, from the town over."

"Oh nice!  That bitch sixteen now, I think."  Merchant and I liked the young ones.

"Shit.  I thought you liked that Mary girl.  Mary Green, was it?  She's probably better.  I think she's twenty four.  You should go for her, man."  Doctor was guided by prudence.

"Ya!  I like her too.  Maybe I'll try to see both of them tomorrow."

"How's your new song coming out?"

"Which one?  The one called 'Abigail Kent' or the one called 'Creep?'"

"I don't know."

"Ah, well they're both coming out fine.  'Creep' is about Mary.  I'm thinking of calling it 'Mary Green,' but they're both pretty much done."

"Alright, well I'm going to sleep now."

"Me too.  Goodnight, Dan."

"Goodnight, Doctor.  Goodnight, Merchant."

They went out, and they closed the door behind them.

It was a cold and bitter fucking night that night, but tomorrow I would call on the beautiful young ladies.  I was in love after all.  I slept like a fucking darling and had five strange, wild dreams...

I walked through a dense forest.  Only the path right in front of me was alighted.  I followed the path.  I came across a jungle cat, probably a panther.  Hello I said to her.  Hello she said back to me.  Come run your hand across my back.  Feel my smooth black body, and make me feel good.  I obliged.  We rolled around in the middle of a clearing of this strange and dark forest.  Say goodbye to me, she said.  I bid her farewell, and she told me she was happy.  What a strange cat, I thought to myself, what a beautiful panther woman.

And then I was on top of a huge fucking mountain, and the wind was threatening to push me off the precipice.  And the wind spoke to me.  Hello Daniel, it said to me.  I responded, why are you trying to push me off this cliff Mighty Wind?  I yelled, Mighty Wind!  Be kind, Mighty Wind!  I cannot fight you!  I cannot even see you!  The wind replied, you better watch your step Daniel.  You better watch your fucking step.  Get off my mountain, Daniel.  With new braveness, I bellowed, this is MY mountain Mighty Wind!  Push me off, if you must!  I admire your foolish braveness Daniel.  Peace be with you... for now.

I was standing in the middle of a black, hard surface.  There were yellow and white lines running across the middle and sides of this strange hard surface.  I got down on my knees and smelled the surface, and it smelled sweet.  I heard the roaring of a hundred lions, and I stood up, but there were no lions to be found.  Far away, I saw two bright eyes racing toward me; I couldn't move.  The lights became angry lamps of fire.  I felt a deep fear, for I knew these lamps wanted to kill me.  I tried to move faster than I was, but I couldn't.  I tried to move, but I couldn't.  The racing lamps stopped in front of me, but its circular feet screeched, as if they had their own voices.  I walked around this metallic animal.  It roared and scared the shit out of me, and then it ran away.


A turtle shuffled slowly to the shore.  I think I was the turtle, but I couldn't be sure.  The ocean looked big.  The ocean looked blue as all hell.  As I entered the ocean, the salty salts of the salty ocean were awash in my maw; I dove deep.  Everything went black, but I felt safe.

Three hundred stars crashed down to Earth, but as they neared Earth they got smaller and smaller, until they became three hundred little stars that landed safely and peacefully on Earth.  I walked to the center of all the little stars.  They were the sizes of different sized humans.  They all gathered around me.  "You're a star, like us!"  They all fucking yelled loudly.  It was quite a fucking chant.  "You're a star like us!"  They shrunk even more until they were the sizes of different star fish.  Now, their chants sounded smaller and not so harsh.  They all jumped and attached themselves to me, one by one, until I was all fucking covered by star fish!  It was fucking scary, man!  I tried walking, but it was a laborious task.  They started making me float with their star powers.  Slowly, I was going into the atmosphere, and it seemed I was headed to outer space!  I started to panic and wriggle wildly.  "Don't fight it," one of the stars lashed evilly with his tongue into my ear, "You're a star, like us now.  Don't fucking fight it.  We're taking you home!"  No!  I yelled, "No!  No!  No!"  I began to not be able to breath!  And then they let me go, and I began falling back to Earth.  "You're one of us!"  They screeched as they slowly became bigger and bigger and traveled farther and farther away from Earth and back to where they came from.

When I woke up, I just wanted to be in the arms of the women I loved.  Motherfuck, I had a headache.  I went to the kitchen, found some semi-non-stale milk and chugged it, and then I went back to sleep.  When I woke up again, I felt much better.

I went out to the river, and bathed, and got dressed in my finest clothes.  I snuck (did you know snuck is not a word?  Maybe it is now, though?)... I sneaked into Doctor's chambers and used a whole grip of his pomade; I slicked my hair back, and I was ready to go.

I grabbed my great, grand, giant overcoat, jumped on my steed, and made my way over to ask for Miss Kent's hand in marriage.  I was sure her father would be impressed, for fuck's sake!

KNOCK!  KNOCK!  KNOCK, on the Kent's door.  I straightened my shit out.  "Who is it!" Came from inside.

Fuck me, "Uh..." I had to yell, because the call came from deep inside the house, "It's Danny from down the way!  It's Danny Castro!"  Fuck me.

"Uh huh!  Come back later!  It's too early!"  Gruff ass fucking voice.  Fuck me.  Fuck this.  I'm going home and never trying this shit again.  I'll just wait 'till some fucking bitch likes me, and I'll settle for that.  Shivers ran down my spine.  What the fuck was I thinking putting myself in a position to be rejected.  Fuck me.

I decided to hit the town.  It was a festive time of year, so I thought I'd enjoy some sweet bread or whatever the fuck they had to eat in the year 1800.  The clouds were still low, and the briskness of everything felt fucking great.  I ran my hands through my hair to smooth the shit out of it and keep it slicked back.

There were fancy decorations all over our small goddamn downtown.  It was sweet, and it made me feel all romantic and shit.  I saw a pharmacy that was open.  All the morning people were walking around and being all morning style and shit.

The ding of a bell dinged, as I walked into the pharmacy, announcing an arrival.

"Good morning, Danny!"

"Schaffer, good morning.  What's going on?  Mike and Elijah working this morning?"  Those motherfuckers were my age, and Schaffer was their dad.

"Oh, no no no no no no.  They're asleep upstairs still."

"Well, that's great.  Hey, do you have something to make me feel better?  I feel ok, but I think I might have a hangover... shit, for that matter, do you have anything to make me a little more confident?  I was going to ask for Abigail Kent's hand in marriage from her father this morning, but I bitched out!"

"Ha ha!  What happened?  She's sixteen now I think too."

"Oh the motherfucker didn't even answer the door.  He said to come back later because it was too early."

"Ha ha!  And that scared you off, huh?"

"Well, after knocking I realized what the fuck I was getting myself into, and then I started thinking that maybe she wouldn't even want to marry me.  I thought fuck it all.  This shit is embarrassing.  You know what I mean?"

"Oh!  I sure do, Danny."

"Ya, well who knows."

"But, how old are you?"

"I'm like twenty two or something.  I don't remember.  Somewhere 'round them parts."

"Well, what the fuck you worried about then?  Of course she'll want you.  And her father is just a serious man.  Of course he'll give you his blessing."

"Scary shit man.  Who even wants to get married anyway.  I'll just live in sin with all the slutty girls."

"Well, do whatever you want, but yes I do have some shit that will both take your hangover away and give you more confidence.  You should have confidence already with that mane of yours, though!"

"Oh shut the hell up, Schaffer.  Whatchu got?"

"Here," he reached under or some shit and pulled out a flask, "go out to the park down the way, drink half of this, take a nap, and when you wake up drink the other half.  You'll feel great, and you'll feel like you're a fucking king!  You'll go right up to the Kent home, you'll knock the goddamn door down, and you'll hoist little miss Kent over your shoulder, and ride into the sunset to fuck her!"

"Ha ha!  Ok!  What is this shit anyway?"

"Oh just some shit I got from down the way."

"Great!  Well, tell the guys I say hello, when they wake up."

"I'll drop by your place in a week or so, and you can pay me then.  See ya Danny."

"Thanks Schaffer.  See ya."

I walked over to the park.  A couple people were feeding the ducks at the pond.  I found a secluded area.  The air was brisk still, but it wasn't as cold.  It was a slightly windy and cool beautiful day.  I sat my ass down, and chugged half of the flask.  I coughed hard.  Did this motherfucker just give me a flask of whiskey?  Oh fuck it.  With my hands behind my head, I laid back and looked at the gray sky.  I started thinking great and fun things.  My eyes began to close on their own.  They closed all the way, and the wonderful thoughts kept flooding my mind.  I didn't really dream.  Instead, I kind of just thought great and happy fun things, but I wasn't quite awake awake.  It was strange but beautiful.

I put my arm around someone, as I continued my non-sleep sleep.  She put her arms around me and kissed my neck.  I lowered my face and kissed her lips.  This non-sleep was better than real sleep.  My thoughts carried me to faraway lands, where rivers and lakes were made of crystal clear waters and diamonds.  I rode through mountain passages and tunnels on a silver horse that had jet black hair and blue and green eyes.  I rode fast, and the woman held onto me.  I had philosophical conversations with lions and tigers over tea.  I led armies to victories against demons.  A band named Coldplay played epic and beautiful music, all the while.  And finally, I sat on a throne made of the swords of forefathers.




I felt incredibly relaxed, and reenergized, and at peace.  My eyes were still closed, but now I was awake.  I didn't move.  Something was wrong.

My mind raced...

Holy shit.  I kept my eyes closed.  I'm really holding someone.  What the fuck!?  Oh shit.  What do I do?  I can't open my eyes.  This is fucked up!  MotherFUCK me!

The person kissed my neck again.  I'm fucking dead.  I'm going to fucking kill Schaffer.  I am going to kill Schaffer.  Someone is fucking with me.  Motherfuckers.  The person kissed me again.  This bitch BETTER fucking be a woman!

The person's head was resting near my neck and chest, so I slightly peeked through eyelid slits at the top of the person's head, without moving my own head.  I closed my eyes again.

I had gotten a look at some skin--maybe an arm.  It was dark skin.  The hair was long.  I was pretty sure it was a woman.  Something was familiar about her.  FUCK IT.

I pounced off of it and then got on top and pinned its arms down.  MARY!

"Mary!  What the fuck!  You scared the shit out of me!"  I was still on top of her.

She contemplated me with critical eyes and then BAM!  As fast as lightning, she kissed me hard on the lips!

I let her go and threw myself back.  She sat up and sat Indian style, giggling and gazing at me, "Do I scare you?"

I sat down.  I searched for the bottle.  I found it.  I finished it off.  "No... I just didn't know... what the fuck are you doing hugging me, while I'm sleeping?"

"Oh you looked so adorable and alone!  I couldn't help myself."  She smiled fiercely, and brilliantly, and brightly, "it was nice, wasn't it?"  She teased me, and my heart was telling me to love her forever.

"Were you kissing me!?"

"Maybe," she giggled, "were you kissing me?"

"Shit I don't know.  I was asleep!"

"Well, maybe you were," she smiled, and I felt like a king.

"Well... hey... it's good to see you... but... I was on my way to ask for Abigail Kent's hand in marriage today--"

"Oh!"  She cut me off, and then she covered her mouth with both her hands to stifle the laughter.

I looked at her, seriously and confused.  And then I caught her take the slightest of glances above me and to my left.  Still laughing mutely, Mary looked straight down.  My eyes went wide.  Oh shit.

ABIGAIL!  I stood up and turned around.  There she was.  Her eyes were as opened wide as mine were.  She blushed as all hell.  She turned around and walked as fast as she could, without running, away from us.  I turned hard to face Mary Green.

She was wearing a slight, sad smile on her beautiful face now, "Well, go after her..." with downcast eyes.

What a strange creature.  I gave her a puzzled look.  I turned and slowly walked in the direction Abigail had gone.

I finally saw her far off and a little past the downtown area.  I sped up.  I felt like a king.  I walked past Schaffer's store; Schaffer and his sons saw me walk by; I waved and they gave me thumbs up.

I caught up to her, "Abigail?"  I don't know why it was a fucking question.  She kept walking and looked away from me, "are you crying?  Abigail?"  I grabbed her hand, "Abigail?"  She pulled her hand away and stopped.  We were in the middle of a field; she was on her way home.  She was crying and sobbing and weeping and who knows what the hell else.  "Abigail?  Why are you crying?"

Finally, she looked at me.  Boy she was beautiful, and I felt like a fucking king!  She grabbed both of my hands, "do you really want to marry me?  Do you love me?"

"Yes!  I was going to talk to your father this morning, but he told me to come back later, so I took a nap in the park.  Do you love me back?"

"Yes!"  She hugged me like crazy, throwing her arms around my neck and crying into my neck.

"Listen.  Go home, and I will come up and talk to your father."  She was crying happily, "I love you." I felt like a goddamn king.

"Ok!"  She held onto me and looked me in the fucking eyes, "I love you," and she gave me a perfect kiss on the cheek.  She ran off in her 1800s dress, homeward bound.

Fuck me.  Wow.  Everything is going perfectly.  Fucking Schaffer.  I owe that motherfucker.  I stood paralyzed in that said field.  Oh shit!... Mary!  What the fuck was all that about?  I ran back to the park; I had left my steed there anyway.

There she was.  Mary was caressing my horse.  She looked perfect in the perfect light that filtered through the perfect, leafy, Green arbor.  I stood afar, delighting in her beauty, and then she saw me.  She smiled and then went back to petting the stallion.  I slowly made my way next to her, and it felt incredible.  I felt like I was on fire, in a good way.  I was completely aflame.

"How did it go?" She asked in a hushed, subdued voice, not looking at me.  She continued caressing.  Her face was serious and almost sad.

I didn't say shit.  I laced my fingers through her dark fingers.  I admired our interwoven hands.  I leaned my head on my horse's head and put my arm around his neck, still holding Mary's hand.

The Green Eyed Bum Woman and the Beautiful Bug

Well, we made a bunch of love, but good thing we never made any babies.

I loved her, and she loved me, and one time we were in the throes of love and passion.  She kissed my whole face, and I held her like we were dying, which we were.  The whole world shook, and we shook the whole world.  We ate until we were full.

Naked and happy we laid, my dick flaccid and her breasts askew.

She got up and flew to take a shower.  I turned over and looked out the open doors and past the veranda.  Fez, Morocco was beautiful tonight.  The sky was deep purples and blues.  The clouds were slight and made of benign shapes and SILVER.

An evil wind blew the curtains around the whole fucking bedchamber.

I saw a deceptively diminutive bug riding that awesome wind, and slowly it made its way toward me. Slowly it made its way into my mouth and down my throat and into mine gut, me being paralyzed by its awesome colors shining into mine eyes; the moon was powerfully scintillating that night, and it had thrown the bug's awesome colors all over the goddamn room.  The room was now painted in awesome, bright and beautiful, deep, pastel colors!

The bug deliquesced in the acid of my gut, and it made its way throughout my blood vessels.

When the sweet woman came out of the shower, smelling sweetly, she found me coughing and blue of skin.  We had only been married for ten years at that point.

Five years of coughing later, she finally said to me, "I just can't do this any more.  You've been coughing for five years now!  You cough in your fucking sleep!  You cough while you eat!  I know it's not your fault, but it's driving me mad!  I'm so sorry!  I AM GOING INSANE!  I'm only 35 years old!  I'm so sorry, but I can't do this any more."

I coughed, "I don't blame you."  I coughed.

"I love you.  Take care of yourself.  Goodbye."

I coughed, "I love you too.  Goodbye."  I coughed.

She finally left me.  Well of course she would leave me.  I had been coughing for five years straight now!  It could have driven me insane.  It could have, certainly.

I crept into some alleyway, and a nice, beautiful, orphan woman took care of me, until I coughed no more.

I remembered my patient and loving ex.  I didn't hold it against her... my ex leaving me.  I thanked the beautiful, green-eyed, orphan woman.

I went on my way.  I would see her again, under different circumstances.

I sang.

Pugilistic

I had been blacked out until just now.  I don't even remember the music I had come out to.  I think it was probably the Batman Begins theme song by Hans Zimmer.  Anyway, I became un-blacked out when...

"Hey champ!  You're a prizefighter!  Don't forget your training!"  My coach was yelling loud as fuck at me, and I looked around.  I was bouncing up and down and hitting my gloves together.  I was facing my opponent who was on the other side of the ring.

Oh shit.  What am I doing?  Why the fuck do I get myself into these damned things.  I thought the same thing every fight.  Fuck it.  I looked around the arena, but it was too dark to see anything.  I looked at my opponent.  What's up, little bitch?

"Hey!  Don't forget your training!"

I turned around and leaned toward my coach, "Hey!  I think I'm just gonna rush in and beat him in the first round!"

"No!  Hey!  You stupid motherfucker!  Hey..."

I turned back around and ignored the coach.  I continued bouncing, biting my mouthpiece, and staring at my opponent.  I didn't care anymore.  I didn't want to fight anymore.  I wanted to get this fight over with.  I never wanted to fight again.  Ever.  Like, ever.

So, I braced myself.  My coach's voice faded away.  I would rush in and use all my energy in the first round.  This motherfucker wouldn't know what hit him.

I remembered something.  I looked nearly, around the seats around the ring.  There she was: Taylor Swift.  I waved at her.  She blew me a kiss.

I immediately forgot her.  I went up to my opponent.  We smashed gloves and went back to our corners.  It was almost time.  It was time.

BING! BING!

I rushed forward.  I blocked my left and threw a wild, hard right hook that smashed into my opponents head.  The crowd went wild.  Everybody was standing up yelling, and telling me what to do next.  They were like absolutely insane, caged animals--like monkeys mixed with hyenas that had absolutely lost their minds.

I covered my right, and with all my might I threw eight jabs into the other pugilist's face.  A couple of them made it through, and it seemed as if he was about to turn around and ask his coach what to do about me.  I decided I was done, so I would use all my force on my next two punches.  The crowd was roaring, and I was certain I wouldn't make it out of the arena alive.

I used my whole fucking body.  Covering both sides, I cocked to the right and threw the hardest, biggest, strongest body shot I could imagine and that I had ever thrown.  My opponent's body was jolted, buckled, and he looked as if he was going to fall.  He was slightly leaning toward me, not knowing what to do with his hands and arms.  Within a millisecond we caught eyes, and our souls spoke to one another.  As you know, souls operate in a different space/time world.

"Your eyes are full of fire," my opponent said.

"It's not because of you.  Your eyes are full of fear and confusion.  You look like you're about to drop out," we were being cordial.

"Yes... well... you kind of blindsided me.  We had been studying your tapes, and you have never fought like this.  It's as if you're absolutely mad... like the audience here."

"It's just that I'm done fighting.  I never want to fight again.  Like, ever."

"I see.  Well fucking-a.  You caught me off guard, but I should have been ready for anything."

"You'll have plenty of fights yet.  As for me, I am done.  I'm going to walk off into the sunset with Taylor Swift over there.  Did you see her?  Did you bring a date?  I hope you don't feel embarrassed.  I've been the champ for a long time now.  There's no shame in losing to me.  Hell, there's no shame in losing to anyone.  Fighting is crazy."

"Yes, I saw your Taylor Swift over there.  She looks great.  Yes, I brought a Victoria's Secret model.  She's not that famous yet, but her name is Doutzen Kroes."

"Oh ya.  I know her.  She's hot as fuck."

"Why are your eyes full of fire?"

"I don't know."

"Shall we get on with this?"

"Sure.  Thanks for being my last fight mate."

"No problem."

I threw an insane liver punch.  It was as if my left became a viper and a scorpion at the same time.  The other pugilist's eyes went dark, and then they went white, and then they closed.  I stepped out of the way and down he went, and he would not get up before the count of ten.

I went to my corner.  I waited.  The fight was over.  The crowd swarmed into the ring, but I didn't care about anything anymore.  I didn't even put on the promotional t-shirt.  I stood there motionless, with my stupid arms hanging down, with my stupid hands with stupid gloves on.

Oh well.  I thought, and I just looked around, like a confused man--a pugilist.  Taylor Swift joined my side

The fight was over.

Finally, I wasn't fighting anymore.  I took a long walk.

The Beggar Man

It was wet and raining and cold outside, and the beggar man was outside.

The sky was gray with gray clouds gray from all the sadness in the world.  The whole world was gray.

Well the beggar man looked up at the sky and smiled.  He knew that where there were clouds, there were silver linings.

He looked and looked and looked and looked and looked and looked for the silver linings.

His brow creased, his eyes narrowed, his lips turned downward, and he started getting choked up.  And then, he really started getting choked up.  And then he began to sob lightly, but he was trying not to cry.  You know how that goes?  When you're really trying to hold it back.  And then, through the tears, he looked up at the sky, again.  He squinted and looked hard for the silver lining--there was none.

And then he let go.  He began to cry and sob hard, and the tears came flowing out like the rivers of the Ganges.  He reeled back as if he was hit, until his back hit a wall, and then he felt along until the wall led him to the nearest alleyway; he crept in and slid down against the wall.  He cried and cried.

He slid over to his side, huddled up in the fetal position and cried some more, until he fell asleep.

He woke up, as it was raining, very windy, and had become nighttime.  He was soaked.  It was freezing.

He struggled to his feet, felt around his big empty pockets for his flask, until he found it.  It had been a dreamless sleep.  He took a small swig and began to cry again.  He made his way to the main street, which was empty.  He was a weak beggar man.  His back hurt.  His fingers were creaky.  His nails were black.  His face was nothing but creases from his youth when he used to laugh and smile all the time and from his old age cringing.

He looked around, and it was dark all around.

Afar, he saw a lone light.  His stomach grumbled.  Underneath all the layers of black, shit clothing that he was wearing was a saggy body with shitty bones.  Well, he made his way to the light, to beg for food, of course, because he was hungry... you see?

It took him an hour to get there, and it got darker and scarier every second he traveled.  He was sure he would not make it this time, and he was not sure that this light would be very welcoming.

Knock, knock, knock, at the light's door.

He propped himself against the door jamb, and took his flask out.  He emptied it into his mouth.

Finally, the door opened, and there stood an extravagant looking man.  He was tall, young and handsome, and strong, and his hair was perfect, and he looked brave like a lion.  He was wearing a grand, fine robe of many deep colors, and he was holding two swords.  He smiled at the beggar man.

"Well, look at you!  What are you doing at my door?" He looked around outside and around the beggar man, "Are you alone?  Well, look at you, won't you?"  He sure was a happy looking man.

"Your light was on."

"Oh!  Ok."

"Mister?"

"Yes?"

"Were you awake today during the day?  Were you around town?"

"Oh, no.  Not me.  I was asleep.  Not today.  I slept all through today, and just woke up when you did, at nighttime.  It's a dark night ain't it?  I like it."  He shivered, "So, how can I help you beggar man?"

"There weren't any silver linings in the clouds earlier today during the day."

The grand man looked at the beggar man in the face, and he put his right hand up to his closed mouth, as if he were studying his face.  He had a serious countenance now.  "Well, look at you beggar man, won't you?  How can I help you?"

"I'm hungry."

"I see," he repeated a couple times and thought some more, "no silver lining in the clouds today huh?"

"None."

"What do you think that meant?"

"That there was nothing good to be found.  That it was just a gray, unforgiving world, where you can't find nothing good nowhere.  Not even in all the shit we live in, can we find a glimmer of hope.  That everything is always going to be shit, and nothing is ever going to change, is what I think it meant."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, that may be so, that may be so," the grand man mused for a while, and then, "Hah!  Well ok!  Who knows, right?"  He had alighted again.  He was bright and cheery again, "that's very interesting.  Who knows, right?  Maybe that is so!  But, look at you, won't you?  For now, why don't you come in and eat?  You said you're hungry did you not?  So, what are you waiting for?  You even look like you're hurting!  I have a whole mess hall of food that I just made with my butler and my cook!  We're just hanging out!  We'll talk about all that shit you just said!  You must be a philosopher or something, you crazy fucking beggar man!"  The man was yelling at this point.

"Thank you."

Well, the beggar man went in and ate a whole mess of fucking food, and he was full.

I Never Asked to be Born! Stations in Life!

I grabbed my skull.  Oh!  I grabbed my skull!  But I didn't quite grab my skull.  I only put both of my hands on my head, and my head was made out of skin, hair, and all sorts of other shit, including a skull and a brain.  In that manner, I grabbed my skull.

And I huddled in a corner.  This corner was in a corner of a dimly lit room.  Yes, there was some light in there.  I didn't know where it was coming from.

What's my name!?  I didn't only ask the question in my head... I shouted it.  Well, my name is Danny Castro, and my name is Daniel Castro on my birth certificate, but I go by Danny.  Ok.  My name is Danny.

I grabbed my skull in the aforementioned manner.  I thought about my brother Ismael and all his wild ideas about light, color, and sight.  On his own, he had figured out that we never really see anything but reflections of light.  I never get to see Ismael Ismael, and Ismael never gets to see me me.  I tightened the grip on my skull.  Let me explain.

The human eye can only see because light shines into it.  If there were no light, the human eye would not be able to see what it sees.  The human eye is a mechanism that picks up light.  That light--and the colors and gradations of that light--is then interpreted by different parts of the brain, and then we "see" what light has reflected.  I'll try again.

If there is no light whatsoever, our eyes see nothing: only darkness.  They see nothing because no light enters into our eyes, and our eyes need light in order to see things.  So, all our eyes really see is light.  So, when there is light, what our eyes see is light reflected off of other things.  The sun shines on different parts of Ismael, and those are the parts that I see, so then I "see" Ismael, but what I really see is a reflection of Ismael.  The light.  Our eyes only see light.

I thought about that because, when I thought I was grabbing my skull, I was really grabbing a bunch of different things.  And when I think I am looking at something, I'm really only looking at the reflection of light off of that thing.

Oh!  Strange things filled my mind.  The room was empty, but there was a dim light coming from somewhere, and I was in a corner grabbing my skull.

All this honesty was thrashing around in my mind.

"What do I do?"  I thought to myself.  "I didn't ask to be born into this."  Outside of the door was waiting my normal life.  I was born in Southern California, and my parents loved me, and it was hard to swallow, because so many people were suffering around the world.

"I didn't ask to be born!"  My mind raged.

I imagined a twelve year old girl born with AIDS in Africa.  There in my corner all huddled up and grabbing my skull fiercely, I thought about her (I also thought about my perfect grammar).  She was poor.  She has had AIDS since she was born, and I forced myself to think hard about this.

She sat in an empty room clutching her skull.  Outside, there was chaos, and there were her siblings waiting for her to take care of them, because their parents were long dead.  The HIV had taken them away.  And her mind raged, "I didn't ask to be born!"

"What is fair?" I thought to myself.  Nothing is fair.  Is it fair that I was born in Southern California to a nice family and she was born in subsaharan Africa with AIDS?  Who the fuck decided to put us where we were born?  Why wasn't I born in subsaharan Africa, and why wasn't she born in Southern California?  Maybe she was?  Maybe I was?  Maybe we were all everybody, and maybe everybody was everybody else!  Why was I thinking so abstractly?  Mark done said, "Love your neighbor as yourself."  Maybe everybody was everybody!

I clutched, and I was losing my mind.  Nobody deserves anything.  I thought hard, and I thought logically.  There must be a god.  Ipso facto, when/how/why/where we were born was not arbitrary, nor meaningless.  Considering the massive implications of all of this, I came to a conclusion.

We are all orphans, to an extent.  What do we deserve?  Almost nothing.  But not nothing.  Something. We deserve something.  For he we are!  We exist!  What do we deserve?  Do we deserve to be rich?  Do we deserve to be poor?  We can't deserve those things, for we had no say in which station we should be born into.  What do we deserve then?  For, we do deserve something.

We deserve love.  Every single one of us deserves love from everyone else.  And we deserve to love everyone.  "Love your neighbor as yourself."  We should be hard on ourselves and on everyone else, in a loving way!  That's the way we should love ourselves and others!

We deserve the chance to be loved.  More importantly, we deserve the chance to love others.

And most importantly, we deserve the chance to be saved.

And so have we been.  Drowning and seemingly without hope for one last gasp of air, we have been saved.

Although it seems that nothing in this life is fair, there is hope and at least we do deserve something and not nothing.  That is fair.

I let go of my skull.  I walked out of my room.  I hugged my family.  I got on my computer.  I sent a couple bucks to whatever organization givewell.org told me to.

I went back to my room.  I closed the door.  I got on my knees.  I was humbled.  I don't deserve any of this.  Hell, I don't even deserve to be alive, probably.  I thanked god and I took George Harrison's advice: "Everything else can wait, but the search for God cannot wait; and love one another."

I heard U2 in the background.

I went back on my computer and thought about true love.

The Opera of the Proletariat

I was about 32 years old.  It was a beautiful day, ironically, as you shall see.  Casually strolling down a beautiful avenue, busy with fine automobiles, I was mulling over which café I'd choose: order a bold black and find an advantageous vantage perch from which to perv on some fine ass chicks.  I preferred crazy, silly, bouncy, bright-eyed, long-haired, blonde girls that enjoyed not being inhibited by the invention of habiliments and thus were hardly hindered by donning hardly any of it at all.  I wasn't picky though, as long as they were beautiful.  Call me what you must.

Having improved my gait over the years by meticulously studying the most fashionable modus operandi of the day concerning detached coolness, I sauntered down the boulevard with panache.

I saw an old man and a young boy walking toward me.  They looked like they belonged in a different era--perhaps 1960s Italy.  And then everything slowed down.  Two British thugs ran up behind the grandpa and the grandson.  One of the maniacs shoved the old man against a parked car, and the poor old man crumpled to the concrete.

The other fuck had grabbed the child.  The kid must have been around three feet tall, and he was slight of frame, with shaggy black hair and a fair complexion; he had no clue what was happening.  And now this British-looking fellow was about to run past me, but everything was in slow motion...

I transmogrified into an elite Israeli Mossad agent; I stuck an insane Krav Maga fist into the pirate's throat before he could escape with his adolescent stolen treasure.  The boy was under the pirate's arm.  I took the ability to breath away from the assailant and shocked terror into him.  He spun wildly around and accidentally flung the boy with accidental incredible force over a parked car and into traffic.  The pirate was forced down to his knees, making strange and terrible sounds as he grasped his shattered throat.  He dove face first into the concrete, hacking blood all over the fucking place.

The other British pirate, the grandpa, and I stood paralyzed, as we watched the grandson fly gloriously into the running of the fine vehicles: he crashed onto terra firma, and then a beautiful, elegant, exotic machine took his ability to be alive away by crashing him and making him die.

Slowly, I looked at the other pirate--I mean this guy was wearing a leather jacket and everything.  Slowly the pirate looked at me.  Slowly he lifted his right arm and pointed at me with his index finger.  Then he spun around, looked at the old grandpa, pulled a gun out of somewhere, pointed it at Grandpa, and let a single bullet fly, but not before I shattered a giant, sturdy, ceramic flagon that I got from somewhere over his bald stupid head.  Who knows which way that fierce, angry little bullet went off flying?  I sure don't.

I killed two pirates in all.  At the hospital, the old man held my hand and cried, telling me that his grandson and he had been the only people left alive in his family, and now his little relative was very much dead.  "I don't want to live anymore," he sobbed.  "Thank you for putting your life at risk and trying to help us."

"I don't know what came over me.  I'm sure anyone would've done the same thing," I responded.

"Who knows.  Thanks again, young man."

I told him he could call me if he needed anything, but he died a couple days later.

And a couple days after that, I found out that he left me everything that his family had acquired: all told, I became thirty-seven billion dollars richer that day.

So here I was two years later, about 35.  I stood in my insane suite, who knows how many stories up in who knows what building, overlooking New York City.  I was looking over the whole city is what I mean.

Look at all those poor people down there, I thought to myself.

That night, I would have the same dream I had been having since I had become super very rich.  A dream about desperately poor people performing a very elaborate, genius, and quite beautiful, but sad opera, that was what I saw during REM sleep.  The cast was immense; if not infinite, almost infinite; if that's possible.  At the end, they all amassed on the immense, almost infinitely big, stage, faced me, and bowed.  I was always the only person at this opera of the proletariat.  Crying, I would give them a standing ovation, and I would whistle, cheer, and clap loudly.  My cheering sounded like oceans of praise.  And then I would wake up.

Still I hoped that a crazy, silly, bouncy, bright-eyed, long-haired, blonde girl that enjoys not being inhibited by the invention of habiliments and thus is hardly hindered by donning hardly any of it at all would join me for the magnificent and magnificently tragic and melancholy opera.

And then I hoped she would join me in real life too.

That Hustle Mama

My eyes popped off right open and wide opened.  Them lids just flashed back just like that.  Shit was quiet all around and it was only ten days before Christmas.  I was keeping track of the days 'till Christmas, and I was keeping track of that fat wad of cash that was growing under my mattress.

I stared down that motherfucker Alarm Clock.  It was 4:58am.  Why does my brain always turn on right before the alarm clock goes off?  Something about an internal clock.  Whatever.

4:59 and 43 seconds... 4:59 and 51 seconds... I turned it off before it went off.  No use in waking my baby too.  There was enough suffering in the world with me waking up.  No need to compound the misery that the world groans under by waking up my baby too.  Nobody ever really wants to wake up, do they?  Don't we all just want to be peacefully asleep for like ever and dreaming cool, nice dreams?  I don't know.

My kid walked up to my bed and tugged at the sheets.

"Momma, you awake?  Are you leaving now?  Are you going to work?  It's almost Christmas, right?"

"Yes, I'm up.  You have an internal alarm clock too?"

"Yes.  What is a manternal-ma-long-block, mama?"

The tap, tap, tap came at the door.  I let the neighbor in.  Our apartments weren't too bad.  She lived a couple floors up, and she took care of my daughter, for real fucking cheap.

"Be nice to Consuela Ju-Ju-Bee.  I'll see you when I get back from work.  Thanks, Consuela.  See ya later."

"No problem miss Avenger."  They left, and I went back to my room to get dressed.

Miss Avenger: I gave her a fake name for no fucking reason.  I don't know why I did that--just being silly I guess.  It sounded more bad ass than miss Minchin; that's for sure.  That wasn't my name either--just saying.  I noticed myself in a mirror and thought: my name should be miss Hot Mess.  Fuck it.

I was dressed and ready to serve the world, to get mine.  I reached in between my mattress and box-spring and pulled out my fat, black glock; I admired it.  Either this city was going to eat my daughter and me alive, or I was going to end up having to use this motherfucker.  A false dichotomy?  No.  This city is a rampaging monster, but I'm a mad woman.

I walked out of my apartment, and into the indoor hallway of our building.  I locked up behind me and heard a voice down the way, "Excuse me, do you know where the bathroom is?"

This guy looked worse than I did, and he was walking fast toward me.

I pulled my gun out, and he just kept coming, "Hey stop right there!"  No.  He just kept coming.

"What are you going to do wit dat?  Come here honey.  I'm a rapist!  Arg!"  Stumbling and falling toward me, that's what rapists say, right before they rape you.

Then my ears started ringing from all the lead I was unloading on him.

Deaf, I looked up.  Suddenly, it occurred to me that it probably wasn't a good idea to try to shoot someone, while closing my eyes, head cocked downward.

I saw this wild man on the ground holding his belly and grunting like a dying man.  I had blasted the poor old rapist in the gut!  There was blood everywhere!  "Help me... you old... haggard... bitch!  Help me please."  As he sat up against the wall, his belly was vomiting blood all over the goddamn place.  I sat down next to him; he smelled like shit and alcohol.  I was sitting in a pool of blood.  I placed my left palm flat on the ground, immersing it in blood.  I was beside myself--don't you understand that I was in shock?  "Help me," the old fool died out.

I whispered, "I killed you, you old fool," as I put my left arm around his shoulders, the gun hanging loosely in my right hand.

An old ass Asian lady (she must have been 73) neighbor came out and saw us, "You kill him."  And she pointed at me.

I was exhausted, "Yes."

"Give gun to me.  Policeman come.  You no want to be trouble," she said gravely and Asian-ly, as her eyes widened.  She bent over; she took the gun; she put it in her apron.  I was starting to black out.  The lady said, "You lie to policeman when he come.  I give back you gun when safe.  Fuck the policeman.  They always trouble me when I play my rock and roll loud," and she was gone.

I heard the police coming up the stairs.  I pushed the old fool over and started frantically searching his pockets for any money.  I pulled out two giant stacks of cash and shoved them deep into my purse.  Then I pulled my wallet out and left it next to my purse.  I closed my purse and jumped on top of the old fool and tried to cover his stomach wounds with my hands, "help!"

"Ma'am!  What happened here?"  Human police dogs.

"Some crazy man shot this man and ran off!  He went down the stairwell that leads to the alleyway!  This man is dying!"  I just kept pushing hard on his wounds.  "He's bleeding out!"

"Ma'am.  Step away.  He's dead.  You were very lucky.  We have been looking for this man for a long time.  He has raped many women and robbed many rich people in the last couple of days.  He went by The Rape Thief."

I looked blankly at the cop, and then I fainted.  I woke up sitting against the wall, and a paramedic was taking care of me.

"Miss..."

"My husband's name was William Tully."

"Mrs. William Tully, is your husband--"

"He's been dead a long time.  Someone killed him, and he couldn't stop himself from being killed."

"Mrs. Tully, you're in shock.  Please try to relax.  Here's some drugs.  Eat up."

All I could see was blood, and I wondered when I would get the chance to kill again.  Gotta hustle around here.  Now I had some extra capital to add to my wad.  I had some money to spend for Christmas and hopefully some money to get out of this shit hole.  My daughter would be so happy.  I put my left palm to my face.  The blood was still hot.

The Lieutenant, Hemingway, and Darwin: Ch. 1

Chapter 1

Oh shit, I thought to myself.  I didn't open my eyes yet, as I started waking up.  I didn't know where I was yet, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

With my eyes half closed, I threw my arms wide and felt around for a bottle.  Shit.  No bottle.  I opened my eyes fully and sat the fuck up on whatever bed I was in.  I looked around.  Very good.  Very good.  I was in my quarters.  I stretched out hard, and looked at the clock: 0500 on the dot.

Ok.  Fuck it.  I'll take a break from the bottle, for now.

Hungover or still drunk, I got up and stumbled around for the shower, then I stopped, stood erect, and looked around to see if anybody else was in the room.  There was a body under the sheets in the bed.  Fuck.

Then, BANG, BANG, BANG, motherfucking, BANG, BANG, BANG, at the fucking door.  It startled the shit out of me, and I clasped my ears with my filthy, hungover hands.

"What?" I roared out.

"Second Lieutenant, we're ready for you."

"Son of a bitch!  Just call me Lieutenant, you bastard!  Who are you?"

"It's Sergeant DeMatteo, sir."

"Get the fuck in here, you son of a bitch."

"Yes sir."

DeMatteo stepped inside, ready and dressed for combat, "Second... I mean, Lieutenant?"  He looked away at my impressive nudity.

"Sergeant, sneak the young lady out of my quarters, right now.  I don't give a fuck if anyone sees.  Just sneak her out."

"Did you have a good time last night, sir?"

"You bet I did... Well, I think I did.  Yes.  Yes I did."

"That's great sir.  I'll sneak her out, and we'll be waiting outside."

"Alright.  Get the fuck out of here you son of a bitch Sergeant DeMatteo, if that is your real name," I was more on the drunk side than on the hungover side.

The sergeant grabbed the young lady's clothes, and then roughly threw her over his shoulder, "Sir,"  and began making his way out.

"Goddamnit, DeMatteo, you fucking guinea spic.  Keep it down, and sneak her out, you bastard."

"Yes sir, Second Lieutenant," he smiled.  Her tits were flying everywhere, and she was grumbling, almost inaudibly, and then they were out the door.

Motherfucker that spic.  Goddamn local beauties.  I should be more careful.  I hoped she would be ok.

I made some coffee.  I drank it.  It was black and hot as hell.  I took a bunch of Advil.  I took one Xanax.  I jumped into the shower, shaved, and, standing there, I dozed off a couple of times.  Finally, I got out of the shower and into my combat gear.  I ate some cold, leftover eggs and a bagel, drank some dirty water, walked outside, and got blinded by the sun.

I heard some shuffling, as the small band of Marines I was in charge of came together and made a weak attempt at military formalities.  We had been lost; shot at; starving; and sleepless for a long time--now you know why we were all so tired; it was hard to maintain military customs.  As I waited for my eyes to not be blacked out, I shouted out, "Ten-hut motherfucks!  Attention!"  I rubbed my eyes, and then I squinted until I could see, using one of my hands to try and shade my eyes from the omnipresent sun.

"Sergeant DeMatteo!  Someone speak up!  Where is the Gunny?"  I could see better now, and I saw that we all looked terrible.

"Sir!  The Gunny took thirty men northwest, to look for more men and weapons and to weed out more of the enemy, per your directions from yesterday, sir."

"How many of us are left, Garbanzo Bean?"

"Sir, with the two Privates that just showed up..."

"Fuck.  Go on."

"Sir, that makes eighteen of us, including you."

"I'm in no mood GB.  I'm no mood to hang out with all of you.  We'll be going north.  Contact the Gunny and tell him we'll all be meeting at the rendezvous past the two hills and right of the three trees, but left of the seven goats.  There should be a couple of mansions with electricity and water there, hopefully as nice as this one.  We'll rest there.  The trip is about thirty miles for all of us.  GB you will take the north route; kill all enemy; bring women and children with you, if possible.  If not, kill them.  Bring all weapons you find.  Let DeMatteo know that my orders for him are to bring all enemy and our own POWs he encounters and to kill all civilians.  GB, you take the fourteen men with you.  I will take the two Privates, go northeast, and then we'll turn northwest and meet up with the rest of the company.  Where are those two fucks?"

"Sir, are you sure you don't want a couple extra men, sir?"

"Sergeant Gallo, you take the fourteen men with you and head straight north.  What time is it, anybody?"

"Sir, zero seven hundred, sir."

"Ok, thank you Sergeant."

"Sir, yes sir.  Hemingway!  Darwin!  Sir, see you tonight, sir."

"Be safe, Sergeant.  Thank you."

Two friends came around a corner, dressed in their combat gear and looking fresh and clean, as DB's troop jog-trotted north.  They stopped in front of me and looked straight ahead.  They were still very disciplined.  They must have not been out here long.  Fucking privates.

"I don't mean to put you two in danger, and I'm sorry to your mothers, but it is best if you get a crash course in surviving out here.  No gradual acclimating out here.  You'll die within a couple hours if we take it slow.  You'll probably die during this crash course, but it gives you better odds than slowly learning how to survive this hell hole.  That is why I decided for only the three of us to go west.  Being only three, we are much more vulnerable, so you will have to learn fast or die.  You must be sharp at all times.  You must be stressed at all times.  I need you both to turn into thirty-five year old war-hardened veterans, within a couple days, or you will die.  I'm not going to die, but you might.  So stay sharp.  Fucking Privates.  You have to be kidding me."

"Sir, yes sir," both of them.

"What are you guys fucking best friends, or what?"

"Sir, we're friends sir," Hemingway confidently.

"Private Hemingway, what is your first name?"

"Erne--"

"Never mind.  I don't want to know."

"Private Darwin, is that your first or last name?"

"Sir, I only have one name, sir."

"Well you seem like a depressed fuck, Private Darwin.  Fuck it.  I'm not going to ask.  One of you, tell me how you ended up joining my diminished company."

"Well Second Lieutenant--," 

"Lieutenant.  Call me Lieutenant."

"Sir, we landed about ten miles east of here, about--"

"Shut up Darwin.  Hemingway, tell me what happened."

"Sir, we landed a bit off from here.  Right when we landed mortar fire hit us from every direction.  I saw Darwin on the ground.  I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder.  I ran toward the enemy.  I asked them to fix Darwin.  They fixed him and told me he'd be alright.  They thanked me and went north.  I looked back and saw all of our men dead and in bits.  We went the opposite way of the enemy, and your company found us, sir."

"Interesting," I was spacing the fuck out, staring into the deep blue and bright sky.  "Alright privates.  Give me fifty, and then we'll get going."  They gave me fifty, and then we got going.

But I Love You So Much: Who Am I? Madness.

"But... but... but I love you so much."

I cringed hard.  What the fuck could I say back to her?  There was that ever so familiar silence over the damned phone.  Fuck me this sucks.

Fuck it, I thought.

"Well, you won't love me so much very soon," I said.  Well that kind of felt good, I thought.

"You're an ASSHOLE!  You know that?  Why don't you love me back?  What's wrong with me?  I'm pretty, and I'm smart."

She sounded so desperate, and that made me kind of like her.  She was like a wounded little bird that you just want to take care of and love.

Silence.

"I never said I wasn't an asshole.  I'm sorry."

"Listen.  Listen for a second," her voice was kind of shaking.

I listened.

"Are you still there?"  Her voice was still shaking, and she might have been crying.  She was probably crying.  For sure she was crying.  She was probably crying.  I wondered if she was crying.

"Ya."

"Listen... just please... please love me back.  Please?  What can I do?  I'll do anything... you know there's always going to be other women, no matter who you're with... prettier women.  Why not me?  No one will ever love you like I love you.  I'll love you forever, Danny,"  The desperation was seeping through her voice, but toward the end there... there was some resignation.

"I'm sorry..." and, well, she hung up the damned phone just like that.

I put the phone down.  I took my stupid glasses off and rubbed my face hard with my palms, "Fuck me.  Fuck me for sure."  I glanced at my haggard face in a mirror.  I sat down somewhere.

I just sat there.

"Fuck man.  What a bitch."

A thought flashed into my head: I wondered if I would call her sometime in the near future.  As fast as that thought flashed into my head, it was gone, and I was thinking about something else.

A couple months later, she popped into my head.  One millisecond later, she popped out of my head.

Years later, she might have popped into my head, but I couldn't be sure.  How can one be sure about such things?

Some time later--probably years--I stared into my mirror (I had bought it with money earned, so it was mine).  I looked at my face.  I took off my glasses.  I rubbed my face hard, and it felt good.  I leaned closer into the mirror.  I admired my full head of hair.  I was thirty-five years old.  I was handsome, as I'd always be.

"Who am I?"

"Honey!  We have to go!  We're going to be late!"  My beautiful wife's breathtaking voice joyfully bounced off the tall walls of our massive and massively elegant mansion and reached and soothed and massaged my thirty-five year old ears.  Her face flashed in my mind--my wife's face that is.

Leaning closer to the mirror, "Who am I?"

She floated into our bright, fresh, airy room, like a good wind, "We're going to be late, and you're the guest of honor?"

"Showing up late is showing up early.  You know that," I smiled at her.

"Let's go," she kissed onto my lips.

"Let's stay here and have sex," I countered.

"After.  Let's do that after.  The limo is waiting, and the champagne is on ice," she was so happy, and she loved me perfectly and as much as is humanly possible (that is she loved me maximally), and my love for her was equal in measure.  This was the truth.  Let no man or woman doubt it.  We loved no others, as we loved each other, and we never would; and neither could we either; nor would we ever want to.  EVER.

"Okay, I'll be right down.  Wait for me in the car.  I'll lock up."

"Hurry," she hugged me hard and kissed my left cheek.  She floated away.  She looked perfect, as all heaven.  I waited until I bet myself that she was in the car.

I stared at the mirror, without expression on my face, "Who am I?"

 Madness.

 I knew she would always love me.

A Quick/Short Word on Abortion: VP Debate 2012

I just wanted to say some things about things that were said at the 2012 Vice Presidential debate.

I paraphrase.

Paul Ryan said that he believes life begins at conception.  He said he does not just believe this because of his Catholic beliefs; he also believes this because of what the sciences have shown and because of morality.  So, he said that if Mitt Romney was elected they would make abortion illegal, except in cases of rape, incest, and threat to the mother's life.

If one believes that life begins at conception (that, once a sperm gets into an egg, the union is a human, as much a human as a full, grown ass human), then Ryan's beliefs make sense.  You think something is wrong, so you act against it.  You believe something is a human, and you believe it is wrong to kill innocent humans, so you make it illegal to kill (abort) humans.  That makes sense.

Joe Biden said that he also believes life begins at conception.  He said he believes this, because he accepts the Catholic church's position/beliefs about this.  After saying this, he said that he does not believe in telling women what they can and cannot do with/to their bodies (it's between them and their doctors, he said).  He said he doesn't believe in forcing his religious beliefs on others.  He completely changed the subject.  He hid behind his religion; in essence, he made abortion a religious issue, so that he wouldn't have to defend it, and so Obama and he wouldn't have to hold people accountable for their actions.  If abortion is a religious issue, then Biden doesn't have to push it on anyone.  How can someone say that they believe that life (being human) starts at conception (for whatever reason: religious or scientific), and then say it's ok for people to kill (abort) those humans?  Is Biden ok with people killing each other?  Maybe he doesn't want to push his religious beliefs that say killing innocent people is wrong on others.  Maybe he thinks murder is a religious issue too.

Also, if life begins at conception (according to both candidates), then the issue is not one of what women can and cannot do to/with their bodies.  The issue is about what people can and cannot do about a human that is growing in a women or wherever; no one agrees that mothers should have the choice to kill a life.  People say 'pro choice,' as if it is solely about a woman doing something to her body--it is not the case that she is only affecting her body, though.  I don't think women should be forced to have babies, if they don't want to, but I don't think lives should be terminated.  Freeze them maybe?  Or maybe pick the lesser of two evils: force women and men to have the babies they 'accidentally' created; do this, at the cost of taking some freedoms away--life vs some freedom.

In my opinion the issue is a scientific and philosophical one.  If one cannot draw a non-arbitrary line where life begins, then life begins at conception.  This is the case, so life begins at conception.  That means that when sperm enters an egg it becomes fully human and should be entitled to all the rights that all humans should have.

Ryan made abortion a scientific and moral issue.  I commend him for that, and I agree with him.

Whether you are for or against abortion, at least be consistent and have good reasons for believing what you believe.

By the way, you don't have to be a woman to talk about abortion.  I didn't ask to be born, or to be a man (boy?), or to be so handsome.  All people should be free to think philosophically and critically about all issues: this promotes critical and new ways of thinking about things.  Obviously, it affects women in more and different ways, but abortion can affect everyone: woman and man.

Everything can be made into a religious issue, and many things can be considered non-religious issues.  If you believe such things as stealing, raping, physically hurting others, deceiving, killing, lying, cheating, being rich, being skinny and hot are moral issues that governments can address outside of religion--leaving religion out of it--then abortion isn't a religious issue at all.  It is a scientific and moral issue that should be dealt with by a just and moral government that is for and by the people and that protects ALL of its people.

If you're reading this, you weren't aborted... just sayin'.  You might wish you had been aborted, but ya... you weren't.  Weird, huh?  Not weird because I think you should have been aborted, existing is just so strange in general... sometimes--to me at least.

Look at these un-aborted humans--so handsome!

I Have to Tell Her That I Love Her

"I love you," I said to her.

"Oh.  See what you've done?  Now I have to tell you that I love you too.  What did you do that for?"

"Not so that you would say it back to me.  You don't have to say it back.  Anyway, I gotta go.  Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up and started doing something.  I scrolled through some pages online, and then I started writing in my blog or whatever the fuck I usually do, when I'm not really doing anything.  Sometimes I like not really doing anything.

I found a picture of her.

I just looked at it and loved trying to memorize it.  She is so beautiful, and I thought about that for a while.  That's really cool that she looks so good to me, I thought.

And then I had shitty thoughts.

If she got married, I thought, I would definitely wait for her to get divorced or for her husband to die, and then I would hit on her again.  I wonder if she really knows that I try to hit on her sometimes.  I wonder if she likes me at all.

I thought, if I ever marry someone else, and she marries someone else, I'd divorce my wife, as soon as she wasn't married any more.  I would totally do that for her.  But if I married her, I would never want to divorce her.

That's pretty shitty.  Don't you think?

I'm just going to keep looking at how beautiful she is.  I'll probably tell her I love her.  I have to tell her that I love her.

I feel like love can be a mean thing sometimes, for some reason.

The Nun in the Cellar

It was raining so I put on a hooded jacket and a beanie--I fixed the beanie on my head like Enrique Iglesias does--then I turned off the lights and lied down again.  The grey light sifted through my shades into my room.

My homie started banging on the window and yelling to let him in.  I cooly walked to the door that led into my room from outside and said what's up and let him.

"Hey man, I know this big ass Catholic church we can sneak into right now and there's no one there and I know where they keep all the money--let's go rob that shit!"

"No no no.  I ain't robbing shit.  I'll go with you if you want, but I don't want to rob shit tonight.  I'm not in the mood."  I lied back down and stared at the wall and enjoyed the fact that it was raining outside.  I breathed in real deep.

"Ok, well, fuck it.  Let's go!"

I got up, and we went out, and I locked my door.  I felt like horsing around, so I danced around as we walked to the empty church.  It was behind some broken down and abandoned buildings, mostly where bums hung out.

"Shit man," I said, "You should have told me there were bums over here!  I would have come even more than I did come!  I would have been here more than I'm here right now!  But I'm super here now!"  I ran over to one of the bums and shoved her, "Hey!  Tell me something crazy!"

I turned around and saw my good friend walking around to the back of the church, so I left the bum, "I'll be back for you!  You better have some good bum stories for me when I get back!  I'll give you a sandwich!"

I ran over to behind the church just in time to see my friend throw an awesome, big, dark orange brick through a stained glass window.  SMASH!  I picked up a stick and cleared all the jagged glass still left on the frame of the window and we climbed in.  Once inside the church, we high-fived each other.

"This way!" My buddy whispered super fucking loud.

Down some awesome stone stairs we went, and there were candles everywhere lit.

"Why there candles lit, if no one here, dude?"

"Just shut up, dude.  We'll get the money, and we'll get the fuck out of here, and we can pay rent for like three more months!"

"Whatever."  I stuck my hands in my pockets and enjoyed the fact that it was grey and raining outside.  I thought about it as we slowly walked and carefully walked down the stone stairway steps.  I became a poet.

Rain.
Why do I love thee much?
Pain.
Does thou inflict it much?
Not me.
Bring me grey happiness.
Be-ing.
Three, me you do so bless.

We reached the bottom--it must have been the basement of the church or something cool.  My buddy was right in front of me, and then WHACK!  A stick came out nowhere and hit my stupid buddy right in the face and down he went.

"Wow!  You got hit!"

"Let's go!"  My good friend ran away, but I stayed; I stared; I liked the golden light that lit this bottom floor.  A feeble drunk voice spoke to me.

"Are you going to run too?"

"Are you going to smack me too?"

A pause.

"No.  I'm not going to whack you."

"There is so much wine down here.  You sound drunk."

"Mmmmmmmmmm.  I AM drunk.  I think I'll stay this way, but you cannot have the money of the church."

"I don't want the money.  Can I have some wine?  Are you a nun?"

"Good.  Yes, and yes."

"You're a drunken old nun!"

This old nun was wearing the whole nun get-up.  It was great.  She walked over, grabbed a bottle of wine for me, and one for her, and we walked over to some corner of the wine cellar.  We slouched down to the floor and sat on the floor with our legs out in front of us.  We became old drinking buddies within a couple seconds.

"This is great isn't it?"

"Sure it is."

"This wine is great madam nun."

She put her hand frailly on my shoulder; she looked at me gravely; she looked right into mine eyes; the buzz was getting on in my brain; I looked at her; she was old as hell; she had maintained her beauty very well.

A pause... "Well?  Are you gonna tell me something?"  I laughed.

"Because it is literally the blood of Christ, this wine is great."  Her eyes widened, and she nodded at me as if to say, "It's TRUE!"  Her mouth opened a little too.

I laughed, "Hey!  You're drunk!"  And I slapped her back kind of hard.

She laughed good and long, and I did too.

"I AM drunk!  Jesus makes me drunk, sometimes."

"Me sometimes too."