Terry, brotha, we do not have a democracy, come on, you know this. We have as much freedom as they'll let us have. It's not a bad gig actually. At least our McDonald's cheesburgers are still less than a dollar . . . last time I checked.

SO we all have a choice. We can live in this ostensibly free and democratic place, or we can march around holding signs that no one gives a fuck about. Regardless what we believe, at this point, and since the Civil War (I am not a confederate by any stretch of the imagination, I'm a Yankee through an through, but there is a school of thought that with the south losing, as they should have, so too was lost the idea to challenge your government), we have limited choices.

I think Twain said it best: Love for your country always. Love for your government when it deserves it.

Here's a way to look at it (this was once told to me by a professor in college. It was probably the most useful information I got out of RIT). . . you wake up one day in the pitch black (very Poe)and you know two things. ONE, behind you is a blade on a pendulum, but you don't know how far back, and TWO, in front of you is a river of shit, but you don't know how deep.
You need to go somewhere, so where do you go?

answer below . . .






life sucks, deal with it.


We all have to swallow medicine sometimes brother. But hey I say, that if you want to not vote, or to vote for Nader, do it! It's your conscience that you have to deal with, no ours.

Godspeed.

Dylan tomorrow.

Let's all get a drink and toast the demise of this once great country.

I did it. After doing it for so long, every month or so, it becomes less meaningful. The first time was absolutely terrible, but now I have to say I'm damn good. Especially at the details. Hell, I don't even have to ask the someone else how they like it anymore, because honestly it's me who I need to impress. We've all been there - you stop,look in the mirror, walk around and if need be, you're right back at it. It used to be life changing, but now it's just something I do.

So. If you see a really good looking guy walk down the street, with a slick new haircut, I'm the other guy leaning against a building thinking, "Next time, I'll pay for mine."

It's neither hair nor there.

HA.

I now have to venture into the mind of someone who knows for a fact that he, one way or another, will, poetically speaking, shuffle off this mortal coil within moments. You can see why I'm not exactly diving into this shit infested, maniacal, but very real pool. I'd rather dwell here for a bit, so if you'll have me, I am yours.

Distractions. They are what separates the sane from the absurd. Case in point. I type here and NOT in Act 1, Scene 1 of the new and original play, Hostage.

But of course, I have a question. Some of you are self proclaimed artists. Some of you dabble conceptual art, and to actually be moved by something like that gives you major points on my Clue check-off list. Who hasn't seen Kosuth's three chairs and has not left thinking, which one is real? Powerful stuff and I applaud y'all for drifting into a profession that can only be understood if you use your head.

My question is simply: Will you ever be satisfied? And secondly, would you want to be satisfied?

I toy with actually becoming happy, but then, my writing will suffer. I'm serious. So again it's the language or the kiss (anyone get the reference?). I will be up sorting through the scum covered boxes in my mind, looking for that thing. You know . . . the thing. Haven't found it yet. I'm going to look in a minute.

I now know I need artists in my life. I miss design school and the legitimately free thinkers there. There are to many carpet salesman for my taste right now.

Interested applicants are encouraged to meet at a bar eventually, to talk about random shit that will change our lives forever.

The woods are lovely dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Cliche, but goddamn, if there ever was a thought in my head, it's that.

Ajay brotha, I will definitely take you up on your offer for TAL shows. Details will follow. I'm just not in the right mindset to talk about a drop off. I trust you understand. Mental note is made.

I do appreciate it though my friend.

God speed and may you not have to see the Passion to renew your faith . . . in where ever your faith dwells.

I did see the movie, not because I had to, but because I wanted to see if it moved me.

It moved me to think about how fast I would probably kill Jesus Christ.

See, I am very spiritual and Jesus is pretty much the man to me, and yet leaving the theater, I was not inspired in the least. I agree with most critics that it was an excercise in sado-masochism. There was no glory in Gibson's dipiction.

I went in not knowing the ending, which helps . . . very Sixth-Sense. Really, I suppose that I was looking to be inspired, but what simply happened was that I was left empty and unfulfilled, akin to going to Lundy's Lane to see the ballet. Does it need to be seen? Sure. It was interesting, and as the Pope said, "It is as it was." Because obviously he was there.

You'd do better to see Jesus Christ Superstar, because at least there is glory in that. You empathize (as if it's possible) with Christ. When the cross is lifted, the music takes your breath away, and you understand. When it is lifted in Gibson's version, the thought was, "Die already . . . for Christ's sake."

Besides, he changed lines in the Bible, which isn't a big deal, and yet, I prefer, "It is finished," as compared to, "It is accomplished."

It just doesn't have the same ring to it.