Che

You often see Che Guevara's face on things.

Whatever else he was, Che was a rare man. As an author, renowned intellectual, physician, charismatic public speaker, consummate strategist and diplomat, he was certainly very skilled. But rarer than this was that he was truly a man who believed in things with an incredible passion.

I am a supporter of democracy. And as Che Guevara was a, more the, communist and Marxist, I don't believe he was right. I think communism is a poor system of government, too easily manipulated by strong leaders, as was the case in Che's Cuba.

But to say that he was a terrorist? No. I don't think that's true. He believed in his kind of freedom. Not my kind. To say that he was evil because of that is unfair.

That his face has become one of the most reproduced image in the western world would undoubtably break his heart. But that is what it has become.

He was executed at age thirty nine. His last words were as defiant as his whole life.

'Shoot coward. You are only going to kill a man.'

As human as they come, but as powerful as the human spirit is, it is broken with the human flesh.

I like Che, like many before me, not for what he believed in, but for the tenacious will that he believed in it with.

Cooling heart.

This earth has a heart.
This core stays apart.
Hot and red, round, soft and gold.
Deep far down, a billion years old.

This core stays apart.
The earth's breathing heart.

Sailing away on a cold river of souls.
A mother screams for her lost foals.
A maddened grieved mother cries,
As again and again her child dies.

What is it you do command?
What thoughts do you will?
On what land do you stand?
Is it fertile? Is it kind and still?

All what you have, all you gave,
All you left to come and save,
You can't glimmer, or touch?
Find the depths, and fear to clutch.

Dead lights! Morbidity surrounds.
Like strung up hopes, dancing clowns.

This core stays apart.
This cooling heart.

Mass Storage

Technology is cool.

This is my 32 Gigabyte usb drive. It's very small, many people mistake it for being a remote mouse port thing, for a wireless computer mouse. And just so you know, if you put a book in a text file, a whole book, it will take up about a megabyte of space.

For those of you who are blissfully unaware of what that means, which I hope is few, there are (roughly, not exactly) 1000 megabytes in a gigabyte. So, in my little drive, Most of which is taken up by the metal port, there is room for thirty two thousand books. I'd consider that to be a pretty decent sized library.

In that little tiny thing.

I'm impressed.

Big Arms

I'm weak. It isn't great. I hate it, in fact. I'd like to say that I walk through the world without noticing it, but it just isn't true. I'm weak. Weak as they come. They probably would have eaten me, in times gone by.

I don't know there's much I can do about it. Oh, I could go to the gym. I could make my arms big, and my legs strong, and my chest burst out of my shirts. But underneath, I know it, the weakness would still be there.

I sometimes wonder, what makes one weak like I am. Some people get angry. Other people break down. It's just a thing. Maybe if I had been brought up differently. Or if I had tried different things. But all this is just excuses.

So what's the conclusion? Nothing. Nothing at all. There is no conclusion. I've not resolved to do anything to change who I am, I wouldn't know where to start. I'm just going to stay like this. Until something happens. But I doubt it will.

Blurs On A Wall

I'm always surrounded.
By the lost, the floundered.
And faggot haters.
And class traitors.
Long lost causes,
Bright Rising stars.
Kids with jobs.
And fast red cars.
But with me,
If you can yet see,
The more you look.
The less there is.
The less there is.
I've known those happy.
And those damn dirt sad.
The kindest hearts.
And the very, very bad.
The whole world loves you,
If you do what we say.
Don't do that,
Don't do this,
Don't fight him,
Her, don't kiss.
So many things,
To do, or not.
Without, you're cold,
And under it's hot.
But with me,
If you still can't see.
The more you look.
The less there is.
The less there is.
Cruelty is cruel.
Wetness is wet.
Is everything fluid?
Are the pieces set?
Does Satan hate you?
Is there anything left to?
Farmers toil,
Soldiers fight,
Doctors heal,
And priests are right.
There's no room.
Click click, boom boom.
Click click, boom boom.
Do you hate us,
Mr Red?
Do you loathe us?
And want us dead?
Well, even with me.
For all to see.
The more you look.
The less there is.
The less there is.
Just blurs on a wall.
Not a mystery.
Not even at all.

Atom Heart Mother

Strange

The world is a strange place. I don't blame you for not understanding it.

Personally, I'd love to make my own world. A place where reward is given for being good. A place where those who deserve it, gain respect. A place where those who love are loved.

But that isn't our world. Our world is so much stranger. And wilder. And crueler. A place where you can sell a human child into a world of rape for shiny objects.

You're not stupid because you don't understand your environment. I don't either. I just play along and smile and nod where it seems appropriate.

I dream of a world of heroes. But that isn't what we have here. We have what we have. Instead of heroes, we have you, me, your friends (fine people one and all, but heroes? No.) your family, and those other people.

I'm sorry. Please keep living though. Things might get better. Things might get worse. But it won't matter if you don't sit here, and watch events unfold.

That might not not be enough for you. But it'd be a damn sorry thing if no one ever says a sunrise was beautiful, because no one was there to see it.

Slumber

You who fear death,
Know that you fear,
For the best reasons.
Who among us can step,
Fearlessly, faultlessly,
Uncaring and heedless,
Into utter, endless darkness?
Raving Madmen. Fools.
And the dispossessed.
You fear death for that,
You stay alive for something.
You love, hate, and hurt.
And for this you live.
For this you do not die.

You are wise to fear death,
And to bask in your livingness.

Why Manson Was Wrong

This post might seem about on my faith in God, but it's really about my faith in people. If you're offended by my faith in God, or my faith in people, you can go fuck yourself.

Jesus once said this:

"Love your enemies"

And Marilyn Manson then said this in response:

"If you are taught to love everyone, to love your enemies, what value does that place on love?"

That was paraphrased, but that's the crux of what he said.

I don't think he's any more or less worse than any other celebrity. Some of his music is pretty cool, but I wouldn't call myself a Manson fanatic. He's a Shock-Rocker. He aims to make a scene. He's made a lot of money out if it.

The problem with your view Marilyn, is that it implies that when you 'love' in the sense you are talking about, you loose a certain amount of love each time you do it. That isn't the case. If you are generous with kindness, which is really what this is about, it encourages the growth of kindness. Love begets love.

If you hit a dog once, hard, it becomes afraid of you. Do it a few more times and you start to fuck up the dog. And soon you have a horrible snarling monster that bites and barks at everyone that approaches it.

If you treat a that dog well, it might become a nice animal once again. It might not. But it doesn't hurt to try, provided you put a muzzle on him.

And if you are kind from the beginning, then it won't happen at all.

People are no different. If you are good to someone, regardless of whether or not they are a dick, it won't ensure they'll be nice to you. But it won't hurt your chances. And it won't make the world a worse place.

But being horrible over again? That will. And then what? What have you gained by refusing kindness to everyone?

I'm not saying you should let people walk all over you. I'm saying you shouldn't walk all over people.

It's really not that complex.

My Facebook.

What I see when I look at my Facebook news feed most of the time (just the statuses):

I'm a whiny bitch.

I'm a whiny bitch.

I'm a whiny bitch.

This status doesn't make sense!

I'm a whiny bitch.

Some song lyrics!

Genuinely amusing.

I'm a whiny bitch.

Some song lyrics!

This status doesn't make sense!

Some song lyrics!

I'm a whiny bitch.

Topical discussion on something I may care for.

I'm a whiny bitch.

I'm a whiny bitch.

A close friend saying something I care about.

I'm a whiny bitch.

This status makes no sense!

Some song lyrics!

I'm a whiny, whiny, bitchy bitch. Love me or I'll cut myself.

Pride In A New Breed

I'm getting older.

So are you.

So are we all.

Slowly, but not slow enough.

Are we worth all this expense?

Is our sharpness, or keenness,

Our wit, our stings,

And the mastery we built,

Is any of it worth this?

This dying earth,

These crushed things.

Bent in the dirt.

Will these cities outlast us,

Will a new race of man look up,

On a new, green day,

With flowers sprouting through asphalt,

With strange new mammals,

Galloping through empty urban landscape.

And sunbeams shooting through clean air,

Will there be the ruins of skyscrapers swaying,
Hollow for a thousand years,

In the breeze of a better time?

Will the shells of cars rust in the dawn of a new age?

Will there be grass again?

Will the seas be blue again?

Will the earth heal?

Will the life come back,

Will the breed that comes after us,

Look up and out and around,

At the ruin of the old world?

Will they be better?

Will they outlast their cities,

And their star?

Would I be proud of them?

What are we breeding?

Will they learn from us,

As we didn't.