I'm going to write about my dog because no one else follows me around like him. No one on this dying planet follows any one around like my dog follows me. Maybe that's a problem. Loyalty - maybe it's dead, maybe it's not. The way things have been going, I half-heartedly hope it's dead. Change happens when loyalty to the status quo, to tradition, to the past dies. Such blind loyalty is far, far worse than treacherous feats of mutiny and rebellion. Sadly, blind loyalty is what we have right now. Blindly loyal to the chumps running this place. To the corruption. To the manipulation. To the cancer. To it all. There are people willing to rebel, willing to rise to the mutinous occasion but none with the hard-nosed, fanatical earnestness that my dog shows when he follows me around. His jaw won't close properly so his tongue perpetually hangs from the side of his mouth. He snores and his nose is drier than your... ***. And he smells. Oh, Lord he smells of awful, disgusting things. He's gluttonous in his eating habits, naive in his endless wanderings. He watches tv like a child and is entirely untrusting of horses. His favorite foods are oranges and bananas. He's regularly tricked into lying under the warm sun for hours - never once, though, has he been burned. He doesn't know or care what I do. He just knows that he likes me so he follows. He'll follow until the day his heart stops. He's passionate, more so than any human I've met. A true artist. He is the kind of person* we need right now - because he's true and....well, he's Murph. And anyone Murph doesn't trust, I don't trust. I'm going to start following Murph.
Yesterday, right in front of me, a bird flew into a window. The flying beast bounced off the clear barrier and continued on. Last month, while walking along the side of a northern road, a chicken fumbled in its decision making, hesitated in its movement, and, right in front of me, was run over by a truck. Feathers fluttered, muscles twitched, the car rolled on.
The Death of Comro is the story of an owl and its death. The tragedy brings two very different men into conflict. The town of Costa Muerta is the setting.
Read Chuck, The Tailless Rat
by C.M. Stassel.
A new story
June 30, 2013.
The issue of SANCTIONS. Economic Sanctions. It's a cornerstone in our Diplomatic Policy, it's also a thorn in our side, a sponge in our mouth, and proof that we are chasing our own tails in the wrong direction. Take, for example, our relationship with Iraq. It's not a healthy one, it's not pleasurable, there's no frenching, no cuddling, no his needs - her needs, just full-on, ball-swinging, throat grabbing, ear biting brutemanship (and yes I've coined that term. Def: the art or skill of being a brute). In our filthy, jagged relationship with Iraq, we behaved masterly.
In 1990, we imposed harsh economic sanctions on Iraq. The goal was to isolate and cripple the nation economically, effectively forcing them to snap into shape and play by our rules - 'Reform!' was the cry we barked. However, such actions show a serious failure to come to grips with the reality of the world we live in - it's a clear example that we, the people, are not in control because I would never trudge through swamps with such heavy, thick feet. The sanctions are aimed at the leaders of the countries in hopes that once they see their people suffering, stricken by disease and malnutrition, struggling to even pull a trick (they're illusions, Michael!) for a Dinar (Iraqi dollar equivalent) - and also making it near impossible for the nation to operate the way it desires on the international scale - that their eyes will glisten with sympathy, they will open their arms and embrace their children, compromising, doing whatever they can to stop the suffering. Now, think back to Iraq........is this what happened? Did their leader, I won't say his name after the whole you-know fiasco, suddenly melt into a big softy, a sweet angel, a wide-eyed poet? The answer, simply, is NO. This is exactly what self-absorbed, hate-filled, power-hungry leaders want....the United States has played into their hands with unparalleled ease, unmatched unawareness. When children die and beggars beg, and disease sprints through the streets; when rats crawl, and bread stales, and water browns what, exactly, do you think they'll cry? Who do you think they'll blame? The sanctions don't affect the despotic, demon leaders of far-away countries; they affect its people....its everyday bakers, construction workers, farmers, seamstresses, artisans - it affects people like us. But we refuse to see that. We refuse to even try to see that.
So, now it's 1996. The sanctions have been in affect for 6 years. 5 years before that fateful day in September. Disease, malnutrition, all the things I spoke of are alive and thriving. The cries for help are heard, but by deaf men who sit in comfy chairs and wear suits to work. The anger is real, the betrayal they feel is real, the sadness, the death, it's all real and it's not the leaders who are feeling it. It's the people. We have created desperate people, and desperate people do desperate things. Desperate people turn into monsters. The leaders use the malnutrition as a senator, here, would use a late-night hooker against his opponent. How's the war on terror going? Well? Hmm. The next generation of terrorists, the same young people who lived through the nineties of isolation and disease and death, adults now, they are the leaders of the groups we fear, the people who haunt us. Who created them? The senators and the congressmen will tell you they were created poof! out of thin air, but I don't believe in magic.
Now, as new elections approach in Iran - keep in mind the leader of that nation - we've imposed harsh sanctions, once again. The people are hurting....let's hope we can illegally place a puppet in power over there, which is probably what will happen because if it doesn't, well, we've always been superb at creating desperate situations for regular people. Good luck negotiating with the new president over there - I wonder if the people will vote for a pro-western guy....i doubt it. Looks like a post-WWI, 1990s in Iraq kind of situation.
I just wish the United States would reevaluate its strategy. We don't act intelligently. We fail to see big pictures and we are oblivious to the effects of our actions. The Iron Law of Cause and Effect - you do this, and this will happen. It gets embarrassing, sometimes. We support monsanto and we walk through the world with the dumb, brick feet of Hodor....I want my nation to dance through the world with the elegance of Inigo Montoya....you killed my father, prepare to die.
This entry is about a friend. The location is Southern California. His name is unimportant. Before I tell you about him, I'd like to say this: IT MATTERS WHEN YOU CHUG WATER.
1. When you wake up.
It gets your system started, wakes up your organs and flushes out the debris and calories you burned in the night. Chug water in the morning.
2. Before meals.
Allows for a more responsible eating experience....don't be so gluttonous, have some water before your meal. Also very good for your stomach - makes digestion easier. Chug water before you eat.
3. Before and after you exercise.
I'm not even going to explain this one. Chug when you workout.
4. Every time you come into contact with children.
The 5 star hotels of disease and illness, you have two choices when it comes to CHILDREN: avoid them altogether or drink massive amounts of water before, during, and after you come into contact with them. Water fuels the immune system...'nough said. Chug when children are around. They're disgusting.
There are more times to strategically chug water like after a hot shower or during a power outage or even in the rain, but on with the story about the friend.
He neglected my advice, aggressively refusing to drink any water. He had been drinking vodka and various beers all day long. Words flowed effortlessly off his tongue, his demeanor was attractively careless, and he couldn't shake the dumb smile from his stupid face. He met a girl, and she liked him - or she liked the monster he had turned into that night. They left and went back to her place...a quaint, neatly decorated apartment on the second story of the building. Things became intimate but they quickly turned sleepy as the man passed out in the middle of it all. This would have been fine had he stayed asleep, but, in the middle of the night, he rolled off the bed, throwing up as he fell, covering the rug in whatever he had in his stomach. It wasn't over, though...he quickly fled to the balcony where he continued to eject his stomach onto the patio furniture below. The girl, also wildly intoxicated, didn't stir during the commotion. The man, thinking clearly*, snuggled back into bed until the morning. When confronted over the mess, he denied it all. Using the bathroom as an excuse he ducked out and ran to the nearest gas station. That's where I found him. Sleeping like a homeless man on the grassy knoll of a 76 station, shirt off, he was clearly in pain - crying it looked like. The man's name is....nah, that would cruel.
BUT, this all could have been avoided had he CHUGGED WATER.