Death without death

“The priests would have you believe have you believe that life is linear, with no deviations or side trips.  Just birth to death to after-life, that’s it, with an eternity of waiting for whatever comes next.  Personally I don’t think it’s that simple.  I think it’s more like a stone infinitely skipping over an endless lake, birth to death to birth to death, an endless cycle of lives. Some of the stones are jagged and they drag in the water, while some of the stones are smooth and they glide effortlessly.  Sometimes the lake is rough and the skip is short, sometimes the lake is placid and the skip seems to last forever.  Sometimes, if we are very fortunate, two stones align and skip together.  Mass and energy and time are neither created nor destroyed, they remain constant.  We are composed of mass and energy and time, why shouldn’t it be the same for us?”  From the diary of Ray Travis

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The Leader

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Editor’s note: The election ran “smoothly”, but there’s still time…

A big win, a big win it was,
Monumental, all would agree,
A new start for America,
A new start for the land of the free.
The country waited and wondered,
If all the promises made would be kept,
In anticipation of the inauguration,
The women openly wept.
January twentieth was brisk and sunny,
The promise of new day in the air,
All the governors and congressmen and senators,
And dignitaries and press corps were there.
To witness the rise of our Leader,
But wait, had something gone wrong?
An explosion, followed by another,
Torn flesh and blood in the air,
Terror unleashed on our nation,
People were dead everywhere.
But our Leader was master of the moment,
He was ready for such an event,
A battalion of special operations soldiers,
Swept in to arrest the opposition threat.
First they arrested all of the Muslims,
Then they beat and detained all the Jews,
They locked up all of the liberals,
And they took control of the news.
From the inaugural pulpit,
The dictum went out through the land:
Martial law for the sake of our country,
And security throughout the land!
The court system was suspended,
The Congress and Senate dissolved,
As rife with dissension and treason,
Until the terror was solved.
A single hand at the helm of the country,
To keep the homeland secure and safe,
Trade our freedom for our security,
Was such a small price to pay.
And the godless foreign terrorists,
Were found and got their due,
But with the world sworn to destroy us,
We could not stop with those few.
Anyone who questioned authority,
Be they blacks, Muslims, or Jews—Or Mexicans, liberals, homosexuals, the list goes on and on,
Were concentrated to serve at hard labor—Deportation was too expensive!
Or be shot—they could rarely choose.
And a wall built saved us from immigrants,
And oh the jobs it provided,
For the Americans managing slave-labor,
With the Leader were clearly delighted.
And Mexico did pay for the wall,
In exchange for the Great Leader’s favor,
New resorts with his brand and buildings galore—Really, really big ones!
All built with Mexican labor.
And America became a fortress,
To defend against threats from abroad,
But extended military compassion,
To its neighbors both big and small.
North and South America united,
A mighty market for the brand,
But the rest of the world was no matter to him,
There was no profit in taking a stand—They’re all yours, Vladimir!
And profits, oh my, for himself and his family,
For his trophy wife, and his excess life,
It was all about building his brand,
And his brand was on the presidency.
Building his brand for his daughters and sons,
Groomed, a hand-chosen dynasty,
In black, red, and white.
And all the white folks praised him,
And some Hispanics and blacks,
Anyone who had not felt the whip on their back.
And the brand lives on,
That shouldn’t come as a surprise,
It’s all peace and calm with shutters on your eyes.
Now somewhere in the distance,
We can hear the people sing,
Praises to the Leader,
And hear their voices ring:
Hail to the Leader! Hail to the Leader! Hail to the Leader!
One people! One country! One king!
And of their God,
There is only one,
With the churches converted to condominiums,
And worship centers bearing his brand.
Praise the name of Jesus,
Religion is a business,
A component for the security of the state.
And so may our Leader’s flag wave on through the night,
And we may live to remember that George Orwell was right,
“War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.”

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Passing The Time With Research

Okay, so what’s the best way for a writer to pass the time when he’s recovering from a second heart surgery, research of course!  And watching the X-Files on Netflix.

My current line of inquiry has to deal with the relationship between Theosophists and Nazi Occultism.  The stuff I’ve found–both on the internet and in legitimate academic papers–is a mix of facts, theory, and myth, as you might expect.

For a fiction writer, all this is pure gold waiting to be harvested.  This isn’t a new area for exploration and exploitation by any means.  Thousands of books, movies, graphic novels, and plays have been generated with storylines based on the occult, Nazis, or some combination of both.

Typically the Nazis are evil and the occult aspects are sinister, all very stereotype. The challenge is to work the fantastic into a storyline that isn’t just black and white, good versus evil, and set in a world that is both recognizable and empathetic to the human condition.

I have the shell of the basic story written.  Every time I turn a corner though, I find some other aspect or avenue to explore, something else to give the story depth and a greater sense of reality. 

So now that I  have a few days, which I must see as an opportunity and take advantage of, I will keep researching and pushing ahead with the story.

Are you doing the same?

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So I Had Surgery A Few Days Ago…

So I had surgery a few days ago and my wife heard me in the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I was walking to get some exercise and noticed the paper towel holder was empty,” I said, “so I was replacing them.”
“You’re not supposed to be doing that,” she chastised.
“Alright,” I responded, “then I’m going back to my office to write the great American novel so I can make millions with spin-off movies and soundtracks and fan fiction will appropriate my characters and violate the established canon of their universe.”
And I thought, wouldn’t that be cool!

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“I’m not a writer,” he said, “not a real one.  If I were a real writer I could pour whiskey in one end and shit novels out the other.”  From the diary of Ray Travis.

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“In retrospect,” he said, “I think that Mr. Black Widow got the better part of the deal.”

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Epitaph of the Common Man

He was born.
He accomplished nothing of significance.
He died.

If I have learned nothing else, it is that Thoreau was right.

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