Archive for February, 2008
Forget The Platitudes, I’ve Got Platforms!
So If I were President…
Iraq Policy: The war in Iraq has divided us. It has done irreparable damage to the triumphalist narrative which has guided us from the conquest of the frontier through the “Good War” of the 1940s. What Korea and Vietnam began, this war in the sands of Iraq has completed: the sewing of a narrative of defeat. Through this war we have lost faith in our ability to triumph. There will be no new children’s games in the vein of the Iraqi conflict, for Cowboys and Indians will dominate our youth for yet another century. There will be no fantastic movies portraying the great American victory, for none exists. It is time my people, my children indeed, to decide. I leave it to you. Within three weeks we will vote. Not the Congress, for their failure is complete. But you, your loved ones, our men and women overseas–yes, we will all vote. A referendum to invoke popular will. The choice is simple: stay indefinitely and attempt to fix the situation or leave immediately. For there can be no other option. I am bound to you and your voice. Let me hear it. Let it ring loudly and with the triumphant spirit of the American way. I am your servant…allow me to serve your will…
Foreign Policy at large: The age of American Empire is over, and I will be its executor. We currently have troops on the ground of 130 of the 191 countries of the world. It costs you, us, over one trillion dollars a year to manage this imperial force, and today it ends. I am pulling troops out of old Cold War hot spots. Hot spots…the name infers heat, conflict, and trouble. For there is no trouble any longer. The age of antagonism in the Middle East and around the world ends now! We together will usher in an era where all world leaders are welcome into our home and to sit at our table to discuss the prosperity of all nations. No longer will non-democratic, Muslim, or Communist regimes be met with hostility. For not every one is American, and we should feel extremely privileged that we can claim as such. You are special–for we are the Shining City Upon a Hill, and our greatness will no longer be spread by violence and at the point of a gun, but by trade, openness, and a basic understanding of our goodnesses place within the world. We will come home, we will defend our borders and respect the integrity of this nation from invasion and undocumented immigration. We will come home, and we will spend our monies on roads, and food, and public works, and we shall return our house to the greatness it once was. The age of American Empire is over, and we will all stand before the warmth of the next century with no enemies, no entangling alliances–and we will show the world the true quality of our character.
Civil Liberties: The age of legislating our morality shall end. I will veto any normative judgment upon your life. I will elevate judges who respect civil liberties above all else. Your body is your temple, and you possess the unalterable right to improve and destroy it. If you choose to use drugs, then so be it. The War on Drugs and its wasteful spending and unreasonable and unjust incarcerations end today. I will attempt to decriminalize all drugs in the United States and if the Congress fails to acquiesce than I will dismantle the Federal Agencies that execute the laws on the books. It ends. If you so choose to sell your bodies, than please proceed, for your body is the property of no one but yourself, and certainly no government. If you choose to marry a person of the same sex, then I say so be it. Find a Church, be wed, and live an amazing life. You do not exist to serve this government, or to fear it…your choices are your own. Simply do not harm others or infringe upon their right to act freely and we will all live as we are, not as we are made to be.
Taxation: I am closing the IRS. The income tax will no longer be collected. Your work is your property and I will not allow our government to waste your labors. With the end of American Empire and the War on Drugs we will surely be fine, as the income tax only collects around a trillion dollars a year. Fear not, your roads will be serviced, your utilities will remain on. I am giving you back what is yours. The age of Government Ownership ends. You are not a wage slave; you exist as a freeman and I will return you to such heights of celestial madness. Our government will exact taxes as the Constitution clearly outlines and we will prosper. I do not own you; we do not own you–or your work.
Abortion/Capital Punishment/Euthanasia: Without the right to life, there exists no other right. I support the abolition of both state-sponsored abortion and termination. The federal government will no longer contribute to any destruction of life. No dollar will destroy an infant’s life. No dollar will send toxic fluids into the arm of a citizen. It is a hard decision for me, my children. Those convicted of heinous crimes sometimes deserve to be expelled from our society. They have rejected our goodness and have embraced depravity and madness. Yet, if we execute one innocent man…one man who lived a good life, and did the right thing, but was failed by our justice system, then I tell you that is simply one too many. When someone is dead there is no going back. And although we can never give someone back the years, if we do not destroy their life, there is only a chance for redemption. The principle is equal on the issue of abortion. Those without a voice, without the ability to enact their will, are guilty of no crime. We will support their birth and bring them into a new world. And we will find them homes. We will allow all people seeking a child an honest chance. We will teach true sex education in our schools and decrease the number of unwanted pregnancies. We will do what is right. In doing what is right…we will also allow you to make the ultimate decision: whether this life, or its current quality, is something you still desire. The integrity of life is not the domain of the state, only the protection of the powerless and the innocent. If one, under their own volition, wishes to meet their maker, we shall allow them to do so. Your life is your own.
In closing, I wish to express my deepest gratitude to all of you. For you will truly become the American dream. I will awaken you from your enslaved slumber and give you wings in which to fly. I do not want to run the world. I do not want to run your lives. I want to empower you, because I believe in each and everyone of you. I know we have but only scratched the surface of the issues that we face today, but I want you to know with every stroke of my pen, with every echo of my voice, I will work to bring liberty to your doorstep. And She will knock, allowing you the chance, the hope, to allow Her into your life. Cast aside your bigotries, your hatreds, and truly understand that no one is identical…no one believes or shares in the same things. Not at home or abroad. Together we will prosper, with an understanding of our individual uniqueness and our collective purpose. We are brothers, sisters, comrades in the struggle to build a more perfect society. Catholics, protestants, Muslims, nonbelievers….homo and heterosexuals….man and woman…child and elder…black, white, and all the colors of the world…I ask you all to stand with me. I ask to be able to stand with you…
And together we shall stand tall and shake the foundations of Heaven, creating Eden again on Earth… a paradise of both temporal and eternal freedom.
Will you let me serve you..?
The Earth Is Not A Cold Place
Days like today are rare. Everything seems in place. The weather is beautiful. And I am all alone.
But not for long. Soon…a collection of the best friends I have will brave the world and soon join me for nights not so long gone.
Yet for now, I enjoy the solitude. The calm before the storm you could say. Music and sun light fill my room, as well as the rustle of pets, equally sharing in the warmth of today’s gifts.
I’ve spent the first bit of today cleaning and between cigarettes I read past entries to this website and on a fundamental level I am saddened. For the memory is weak, and words written do not lie. I feel my own pain–the pain of growing up and figuring it all out. The pain of failure and doubt, of loneliness and dejection. These are my pains, yet now…they seem so distant.
I love where I am. I share a space, a pile of junk with a roof, with two of the best people I have ever met. I never doubted our success as roommates, but the last two months together has confirmed everything: we are so different, but we fit so well together. A collective…dare I say communion, where every man is equal and every one gives what they can, even if its small. Here, the thought truly counts.
They make my life tolerable when it seems so insufferable. And I would say I’m thankful, but thanks means nothing next to the comfort of this home.
I read about the anger and malaise in which I conduct my job–the occupational depression that keeps these lights on–and again I am saddened. I do so truly despise what I do. If not for its utter frustration, for its complete and total pointlessness. I want to move worlds. I want to change universes. I want so much more than…this…
But I sit here, hours before an interview at another company, and I find some level of discomfiture at the prospect of leaving my job. Perhaps its the pleasure of the familiar, the ease of routine…
Or maybe I am simply scared of exploring a new world. Fear is so completely powerful. I simply do not know.
I read about the hole within my heart, that bleeds for so many. Pouring out my love upon the world, I find in my writings a constant regret. And it is not relative to one woman or one place–but a universally explicit sadness. In previous entries I chastise those who abuse the word ‘love,’ and yet I must question if I myself am guilty as well.
My love is eternal. It is so much bigger than the sum of my parts. My love can move worlds. My love can change universes. If only I could focus this energy…harness its greatness and deliver it to the one or ones that deserve such potency. I suppose its more of a force than an emotion. I suppose my love is in all actuality my will, and I, at my core of cores, am a truly good person. I want nothing. I want nothing but your happiness. I think I would gladly die for it.
On the subject of love, I find my writings about previous relationships somewhat tough to swallow. I think about what went wrong with these women and I know it was most specifically my fault. I do sabotage good things; I do push away good people. But I think it is more than that. I think on some subconscious level they failed–they failed to deserve me and my force of will. They reject my universe in its entirety and for that their role has ended….even if they are truly good people…
You see, my existence is incompatible with society, but today that is alright. Because there are people, and there is a girl, who love me for the maelstrom of humanity that I have become. They recognize and accept me fully, and without question. And if I die possessing only one friend, one girl, than I have died a complete man–for I only need one person to accept me to validate my time on this planet.
And when I die, and I stand before God, I will remember everyone, the one, or possibly no one at all. The earth is not a cold dead place, or more truly, it does not have to be. As long as I have just one…
And I am fortunate…for I have many.
I’m going to go now.
Goodbye.
Goodnight.
Good luck.
Of Heroes and Martyrs
I stand upon the stage. The red-crushed velvet curtain walls me in towards the crowd. The crowd. For I see no one, nothing but darkness beyond the amber light which illuminates me for the world to see. I shuffle papers…papers I’ve never read, but I hold them all the tighter. Walking up to the lone microphone, I clear my throat and begin…
“My name is Elliott James Griffin. And this is how I die.”
…
We’re driving. My god what a beautiful day. Windows-down doesn’t even begin to describe it. Crisp, warm air flows between us while the sun shines its wondrous rays upon the Earth, warming that in which temperature has no domain. You look so beautiful. Hair wisping across your face, picking pieces out of your laughing mouth. We were born for this.
We’re talking but I do not hear the words. I suppose I wasn’t meant to–I didn’t need to. My hand in yours; my hand upon yours. I glance over to catch your presence, which you so magnanimously have given me, and I am stricken with fear. In the corner of my eye I see a large truck collide with an oncoming car.
I slam on my brakes, but we speed towards chaos. The trucks cargo, hundreds of large metal pipes, begin peppering the ground. And we are headed right for them.
I do not think. I cannot think. I grab your head and force you to duck…and everything turns black.
But the world is not gone. Slowly it fades into view–very slowly indeed. We are stopped. Glass is everywhere. Your gorgeous face is cut. But you are ok…
Thank god you are ok.
But my comfort soon turns to fear, as you stare at me–shocked and horrified. You begin to tremble and pull away from my hand. I lean to grab you, to console you, and make you feel the thankfulness I feel. But I do not move. I simply cannot move. Looking down I see two pipes buried deep inside my chest. My clothes are soaked so deeply they appear purple.
Grabbing one of them with my two hands, I utter the first audible words of our journey…”This cannot be fixed.” You’re still trembling and sobbing…you crawl across your seat and place your hands upon mine, just like we were, and slowly peel them back. You hold my hand in yours and bury your face into them, and your sobbing turns to hysteria.
I take a deep breath and in the distance see the flashing lights of salvation, but nothing can save me on this day. So I turn to you…
Your name is Hero, the heroine of my life. The one who has saved me from hurt, from pain, from fearing that nothing in this world will ever understand me. Yes, I turn to you.
I ask for you to look at me and your cries reach out the further. I whisper it again, but indeed I am truly begging. For this is my last moment, and I want it to be within your eyes…
You look up and those amazing pools of blue, flooded with tears, have never looked more breathtaking. I take her hand and place it over my heart…and I tell my one and only heroine…
“Do you feel that? Do you feel this beating..? For as long as I can remember, this has existed for you. I have existed for you. I never told you how much you meant to me. Words could never express what I possess for you. Words can never express what I hold for you. I am going to die. But I am glad I could be with you, here, at the end of all things…Never forget the way this feels, never forget how much this heart held for you. It will stop soon, it will stop forever…but I will never stop loving you. In this world and the next. I was born for you. I was always born…for…you…”
And the beating stops. Not with a thud, but with a decrescendo…the evaporation of my life. The last thing I see is the wrinkles of her sweet hand–the ear piece which finally gave her the message I could never.
And everything fades to white…
No, everything faded to light…
And I was dead.
Somewhere In The Between
I wake up. Or maybe I was never asleep. I’m naked, covered only by crummy sheets and the darkness of my room. Watching the fan spin, seemingly without purpose, I am saturated in sweat. Maybe it was the X, or maybe the three hour fuck…
I look to the girl on my left…rolled in to the most innocent of human balls. She’s been here forever; she’s been in my life forever. A punk rock girl with big ideas and no motivation…the perfect match for a punk rock boy with no purpose. I slide out of bed and she sleepily looks up to me, pulling her blonde and blue hair back from her face. I hate her hair. I hate so much about her, but she’s been here for so long…
Pulling a pant of stained jeans on, I tell her to go back to bed. I think I’ve worn this pair for the last three days. Days. I have no concept of time; my entire life is a vortex of hard drugs and harder sex. I am the American Dream. I pull on a shirt and throw on my jacket. Popping the collar, I sort through the items on my dresser. Piece. Keys. Cigarettes. Assorted pills. Condoms.
I take only my cigarettes.
Hitting the tenement hallway, I light up…striking a match along its hard plaster wall. I do not know where I’m going, but anywhere but here sounds good. As far away from my dank existence and the girl who loves someone with so little to offer. I walk down the stairs–the elevators never work here. Nothing works here. I pass addicts and derelicts. People cut from the same dirty cloth as me. I blow my smoke in the still air and it hangs like the Fifth of November. I poke at its amorphous haze, punching holes through it like the moon blocking the sun. It is so stuffy…it is so hot.
My sweaty hands stain the walls as I circle endlessly into the pits of urban hell. Smears of slick biology, marking my descent into Dante’s world. A place that has forgotten the urbane, and replaced it, almost gleefully, with the filth of our humanity.
I hit the doors and look in both directions. The lampposts cry and the streets all conspire. Yes, the lampposts weep golden light onto the desolate concrete, blacked and browned by human waste. I go left, or was it right..? Direction is for the weak. Its so cold out here, but its nice being out of wet sheets and wetter women. Counting the cracks on the sidewalk entertains me; counting the homeless would be far too hard. They ask for change, but I’m looking for change of a different kind. I pause to strike another match on a sad lamppost and fan out the piece of hell I’ve created. The view is infinite…a spreading network of broken dreams, pavement and tenements…
I walk by women of the night who grab my cock as I pass. I shrug by them, although the X is still flowing through my veins and even their repulsive hands cause pleasure. They call me a faggot and the world keeps turning.
The neon signs burn my eyes. My arm and nose hurts. The wounds of addicted life. I am self-destruction, and self-aware. The sweat makes it so much colder.
I find myself in front of a large church, a cathedral in the fifth layer of Dante’s world. I am possessed and I want to go inside, but the doors are locked. I tug on the handle at first calmly, but soon I am pulling with all my strength, franticly beating on the gateway to my desires. I want so badly to get in, and I do not know why…
Noticing a small lock with a number pad, I stare at it for what may be an eternity and finally enter “2,8,4,6.” The door clicks open. Yes…2,8,4,6…the Sign of the Cross for the digital age…
I go inside and find a small sanctuary–candles and Christ. I strike a match and light another cigarette, inviting hell even here. I smoke slowly…my mind still a confused and defunct vessel. I look at the idol before me through the plumes of smoke, but see nothing…nothing but the life I will never know. I walk to the display of candles and bend down, lighting one with the cherry of my cigarette. I do not pray, for I do not remember how…
I sit for hours, staring blankly. I do not want to leave, as nothing awaits me on the outside. But there is nothing for me here either. I decide that I must do what must be done. I walk back to the door and cast one last stolen glance at the savior behind me. “See you soon,” he seemed to say…
I hit the streets again. It is still dark. Is it night…or early morning..?
Finding a pay phone, I dial my parents collect. We haven’t spoken in years…not since I used the money they sent for eyeglasses on meph. Not since I violated their trust for the last time.
My mother picks up and is so glad to hear my voice, but I interrupt her platitudes to tell her how sorry I am. How sorry I am for hurting her and Dad, for destroying the beautiful little boy they created. I tell her not to worry anymore. I tell her that I’m going to get better, that she will no longer have to wonder about the streets eating me alive ever again.
She’s sobbing and attempts to speak, but I tell her that I love her and hang up.
Hang up.
I look all around, and find a sad lamppost to the right. Or was it my left..? Taking my belt from my waist, I climb up the weeping wonder. With one hand holding me steady, the other prepares my salvation. Knotting it once, I slide my head through the smooth leather, and let go.
Hanged up.
Indeed, the lampposts cried, and the streets all conspired. Networks of broken dreams, and hanging children…lost forever.
The last thing my mind’s eye sees is my girl, blonded and blued.
I hate her hair. I hate so much about her.