Chapter I: The Beginning

He awoke with a start.

Almost violently, he sucked the cold night’s air into his lungs as he lurched forward. The synapses in his brain remembering life. It took a moment for his mind to register its surroundings.

He stared out the passenger’s side window of the pick-up truck at a black murky night. The inky darkness stretched as long as the eye could see along the cold flat desert.

The vehicle sped along a lone two-way road, its headlights the only sign of life in the alien environment. The dark starless sky canvassed the entire night with an eerie dead silence.

Rotating his neck to the left, the man saw there was no driver. The truck propelled itself silently down the road at a solid 70-miles-per-hour as if set into motion by God himself. The man, with no memory of how this came to be, looked forward again out the windshield.

A tiny light appeared off in the distance.                                                                                                                  

Miles down the road, to the west, the glowing light grew moving towards the road. As the truck sped forward it became clear the light was that of a train. Like the truck, it too silently traveled through the dark desert on cold hard steel towards the asphalt road.

The man calmly leaned forward watching as the train and the truck neared an intersecting point. Soon it became clear that the two creatures of the night were on a collision course.

The man slid across the bench seat to his left and pumped the breaks.

Nothing.  

He pulled on the gearshift and yanked the hand break.

Nothing.

He slammed the horn with a clenched fist.

Nothing.

The ominous dark train chugged along, like a steel snake, through the black soulless sand. And there was nothing the man could say or do to stop it.

In a motion so fluid it would make the most skilled assassin weep, the truck and the train intersected.

The man refused to blink as the dark world burst to white.

And then nothing.

 

   

Closer

Sonic boom in the night its too late but she wont hate the voice in your eyes that says its o but the truth is it will never be and I don’t know what to make of the rest of the time that we spend sailing through the rain of life that shudders inside like a closed clock of dust that never sees the face of time in destiny for we have nothing more to say to each other and when the aim swells to the point of unbearable scorching screaming inside like a cast of iron from the aces where we can never go an end the veins of clouds that float inside my head make me wonder if I’m dead but the truth is that I can’t die anymore than you can fly and that scares the skin that lines the stomach that sits within and now I know that when you tell me spoken words of days since past that leave me wondering where we will last but that never makes any sort of sense and as the liquor fills my veins and I sit here in a stupor of pain like the blood pooling in a drain that has no end in sight and I will tell you thru truth that transcends all hope of life and death and pan and strife and life and crisis that wall never leave because here wean re I a pot of nothing and a space in time before it is all gone but tat makes it seem as I there is something more to say but white light binding like the sight of past pointed spikes inside the head of some giant man who never ran a day in his life but question things like gravity because here we are sitting in a sort of parallel life unknown to those who can’t understand the way we look to be and never want to know how in the world we are her but kindness is the antithesis to this life that we see unfolding in front of me on a daily basis like a baseless fool in the desert left to mend the place behind the awe of nothing more in wonder and lust that makes us trust in something more than just us but I won’t be that man who never felt the way that you do right now in the middle of this pasty place of traced back to some sort o origin more over than the clouds in the sky they fill with wear from the tears of giants whose made of butter like the boy from the back of my main fat rat cat never beer here before no non no know but here they know the truth before you even get to live it rattle those bones I could not taste it if I were round the bend it would make for a taste of lie that we had never known existed until this sex is on fire lore the trial of nail of the long long day and I won’t fight in that higher that you can survive without that make you act the way you act in place of the madness that controls the rat indeed that mind it turns on pain like some sort of bloody mass of peril never to return again but I’ll let it got I never knew you the way you knew me like I love you inside of places that stray from the norm but never go back to there for here but now I say that we are the ones who will run and never look back but on top of this mess it sees so sea like clear in the place of oceans bleeding wine into the soul of a jerk sucking this life dry in place the mice return to feast on the bones of kings that rattle inside the gates of iron combined with rusty dementia nothing will ever be clear years of death inside this house makes it ideal for this process of love in place of knowing more than a hat inside the roots of by the gone of this world to ask for something more to ask for the key to a door to look beyond a hill to walk and not to fill by drain on a daily basis like the rocks that hit your head inside the bloody time frame of this mug that makes all rot and ask for more like the war that rages and will near go into become a conflict with the words that define the space and tie inside this place where I willing give race to some who ask for more but the truth was never self evident in the place where you can’t even discuss this great world of death and grace and space that gives way to nothing more than the end of time I this dawn of kind till the point of trees in bindings click in to tea locks of know no wow but if you ever see the truth it will not only make you see but true place of my face no answers for this man who sees so clearly when the pressures on no way to tell

Muxtape

My muxtape

Sasquatch

He's back. Bigfoot himself was reportedly photographed in Ridgeway, Pa by hunter Rick Jacobs who mounted a camera to a tree in hopes of photographing deer.

Jacobs did'nt photograph any deer, however he did get an image of a furry image walking on all fours.

Bear or Sasquatch? You decide.

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,307020,00.html

For the Love

There is the whole ritual of dating filled with awkward gaffs, meeting the parents and inevitably copious amounts of cheap wine.

Who needs a significant other when you have the Internet?

A Zogby International and communications consultancy, 463 Communications, http://www.zogby.com/, poll released this week reveals that one in four Americans say the Internet can serve as a substitute for a significant other.

The online survey, perhaps making it biased to begin with, conducted Oct. 4-8, included 9,743 adult respondents nationwide.


The survey signifies a dynamic shift in this country's sociological mindset.A once open armed, chat with your neighbors culture has manifested itself into a digital avatar life that is replacing the core of human existence — physical, a.k.a.. real, relationships. The survey reports 24 percent of Americans said the Internet could serve as a replacement for a significant other. And while highest among singles, there was no difference between males and females openness to the idea of the Internet as a surrogete partner.

Self-actualization in this country is in limbo, and the Internet is redefining individual relationships at an alarming rate.More than one in four Americans has a social networking profile such as MySpace or Facebook, according to the survey. And of the 78 percent of 18 to 24-year-olds who report having a social networking profile, more are starting to refer to that as their social life.

As frightening as the fact that one-quarter of America would prefer to eat dinner with a computer rather than a member of the opposite sex, perhaps even more fighting is the fact that Americans support using this technology to create an Orwellian future. More than half of Americans said Internet content, such as video, should be controlled in some way by the government. Twenty-nine percent said it should be regulated just like television content, according to the survey. While 24 percent said government should institute an online rating system similar to the one used by the movie industry. Only 36 percent said the blocking of Internet video would be unconstitutional.

And while Americans apparently want government to monitor what they watch for them, parents are open to the idea of monitoring their children via tracking devices. One in five Americans said they would be willing to insert a chip into a child, 13 or younger, to help track them if they are lost, abducted, or just tend not to be where they are supposed to be. What kind of Draconian Big Brother reality do we live in when people are ready to treat their children like cocker-spaniels.

This isn't some science fiction Robert Ludlum novel, these are real people wanting to institute real technology to make a generation, dependent on computers, more dependent on technology. Imagine if you will a not so distant future where our children, implanted with tracking chips, sit in front of their computers interacting with their significant other aptly named the Web.

I need some cheap wine.

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. 1922 - 2007

Raise a glass to a man who knew no bounds...

To Pierce or Not to Pierce? Is That Really the Question?

I accepted a long time ago that I couldn't get a piercing.

My reasoning, if you’re tough enough to have a piercing you should be tough enough to take a punch.

I have never been very good at taking a punch. I curl into a ball and wheeze like a broken bagpipe.

But that’s not to say I don’t empathize with my pierced brethren who are afraid to express themselves via a stud in the nose.
I too, know all too well what it is like to have to modify your appearance for the sake of “professionalism.”

I happen to be partial to a certain type of hairstyle known as the “mullet.” But as you can imagine the office doesn't lend itself to this particular look.

However, my hairstyle is not the point here. The real point is where does the office end and personal life begin?

Odds are very few employees out there are able to entirely be themselves in the workplace.
Majority of businesses’ exert some sort of dress code or policy on its employees.

But exactly how much control does a company hold over its workforce?
While an organization wants to present a professional image, whose to say someone who doesn't fit those conventional “norms” can’t be perfectly professional with a giant tattoo and tongue ring.

On the same token, when you go in for surgery would it make you comfortable if the last thing you saw was the doctor’s nose ring dangling above your head?
The core of this issue isn't piercings, tattoos or even hairstyles. It is people’s preconceived
notions.

Everyone has a stereotype in their mind about individuals based on appearance, whether they want to admit it or not.
Mine is that you have to be “tough” to get a piercing. That’s clearly absurd. I’ve seen infants with pierced ears.

And while a younger generation of workers may look different than their predecessors, odds are those professional stigmas and stereotypes will always exist in some form.
Which means no matter how much the work place evolves, there will still be some sort of restrictions placed on employees appearance.

Whether that is right or wrong is up to each individual to decide. Then celebrate that decision with a nose piercing or custom tattoo.

White Kids Indeed love Hip Hop

How many rap show end with the rapper getting a titty-twister from some zit-faced teenager in the crowd?

Can you imagine 50 Cent finishing off his set, covered in sweat no shirt muscles bulging, when some fan jumps up yanks his nipple and runs off?

50 Cent would shoot him dead right there, along with half the audience and about 30 members of his entourage. The kid would be Swiss cheese.

But that is exactly what happened Tuesday night at the mc Chris show in Denver. Some random kid felt it was necessary to tweak mc’s nipple as he bid farewell.

It’s just one of many things you see at a mc chris show that would never happen to any other rapper.

Mc Chris, real name Chris Ward from Illinois, persona is far from the image most have in their mind from his squeaky high rhymes on his record.

The 32-year-old rapper strolls out on stage plops down his Apple notebook pulls up I-tunes and plugs I his mic. Frankly the short little white guy looks like any one of ten guys at the bar drinking cheap beer, which chris was most likely doing prior to going on stage.

After cuing up the ghost buster theme song and firing off a few quick lyrics, mc tells the audience, composed mostly off overweight Star Wars fans and skinny stoners, to shut up while he tests his levels.

Chris is quick on his feet and a genuinely good rapper, but it is hard to the where the persona ends and the character begins.

Most of his songs revolve around comic books, Star Wars, getting beat up and marijuana. But then keep in mind he got his start in the music business as the MC Pee Pants, a rapping spider on the Carton Network’s Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
Over the course of his half an hour show at Denver’s Marquee Theater, Chris talks as much as he raps, including a five-minute tirade about how much it sucks that they killed off Captain America.

“If you don’t read comic books now would be a good time to get a beer or talk to a girl,” Chris yelled, before going into his tirade

It’s also worth noting mc chris was the opening act for Piebald, and by the time Piebald hit the stage majority of the crowd was gone.

Mc’s fan base runs deep and is loyal, because the bottom line is he is entertaining That’s why a 12-year-old hip hop fan can stand next to a 30-year-old Star Wars fan, whose only similarity is they both still live with there parents, and appreciate a middle-aged white guy joke about the cops not finding his stash.

Surreal? Perhaps, but his favorite kind of nut is the macadamia, so what are you going to do?