Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Trial - Part Three

We entered into the courtroom with a renewed sense of....gusto or something. I walked up to the witness stand and took my seat. Tim sat down at the defense table. We looked at each other and nodded. I looked back over at Brick, ready to go. Tim dropped his head into his hands.

"I ask you again, Mr. Griffin. Did you kill Bob Hopper?" Brick questioned.

"Yes, he deserved to die and I hope he burns in Hell!" Wait, that was what I said in my head, in a perfect Samuel L. Jackson voice, but what came out in the courtroom was, "Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, yes, I stomped on Bob. I took my steel-toed, Wolverine work boot and dropped it right down on top of him. His guts spilled all over my driveway. But the real injustice is that I haven't had a place to park my car for over a week! The police have had the whole area taped off. I hear they even sent the body in for an autopsy. It seems to me that the law is going through way too much trouble for those people."

The crowd gasped.

"Those people, Mr. Griffin? I suppose you mean Latter Day Saints? Or are you referring to Bob's, may he rest in peace, homosexual son? Or perhaps you just hate Grasshoppers in general?"

I was wondering to myself why he capitalized 'grasshoppers'. But he was right up in my face now and the judge, jury and audience were all awaiting my response. I couldn't stay lost in syntax; no, I had to defend myself. "No, I don't hate Grasshoppers," I said, fully aware of my capitalization despite my beliefs against it, "Some of the best people I know are Grasshoppers....uh...Caine from Kung Fu...Jiminy Cricket."

The crowd gasped again.

Brick Johnson jumped on the opportunity, "I suppose Crickets and Grasshoppers are all the same to you, right Mr. Griffin?"

"Objection, your honor," Tim said. I wondered if he had been sleeping this whole time. "Counsel is being argumentative and is badgering my client."

"Objection sustained. Mr. Johnson, please refrain from attacking the defendant," said the judge.

Yes, do refrain from attacking me. This judge is a smart man.

"I'm sorry your honor," Brick said, "I have no further questions." He took a seat.

"We will now hear the closing arguements. Mr. Johnson." Judge Judge said.

Brick rose triumphantly. He took his place in front of the jury and delivered his speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The case you have heard today is one of great tragedy, a tragedy brought about my one man. An evil, vile man. A selfish and inconsiderate man. A man who can't even be called a man. But I ask you, don't let your emotions and personal hatred toward Mr. Griffin affect your judgment. Today's trial is about blame. Bob died, he was murdered. By whom? Who's to blame? We all know the answer to that. Mr. Griffin plead not guilty. He even lied on the stand about meeting Bob. However, only after having nowhere else to hide did he admit the truth. He killed Bob. He widowed the poor Mrs. Hopper. Now that you know who is to blame, bring back the emotion. Do you want a man like that out on the streets? Able to stomp at any moment? Supressing all our hops with his work boot of bigotry and evil. I'm a hoppy man today because I know what hoppened will not go unpunished. Our legal system will work. Justice will prevail!"

After a momentary gasp, the crowd broke out into thunderous applause. Brick took his seat, "Beat that, loser," he whispered to Tim.

"You have the floor, Mr. Pratt," said the judge.

Tim rose. He walked toward the jury as he began.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not going to fill my arguement with puns involving the word 'hop'. No, because to me, this case wasn't about the fact Bob Hopper was a Grasshopper. The prosecution won't let you forget it. They filled their case with propaganda, labeling my client a bigot who killed out of hatred of Grasshoppers. You see, my client admitted to stomping on Bob, but you have to keep in mind that my client is never serious about anything. He often times lies for the pure amusement of it. What he told you today was a lie. He did not stomp Bob. Even his foot lied to you when it fit in the boot. My client couldn't make a true statement if a life sentence depended on it. So it should be obvious to you that if my client, the liar that he is, said he killed Bob, then he couldn't have killed Bob and the true murderer is out there still. Only by aquitting Mr. Griffin can you begin to find who's really responsible. My client is confident you'll make the right decision because, as he put it, you're 'all a bunch of smart heads'. Prove to me and the world that you are the smart heads Mr. Griffin believes you to be and aquit my client of these preposterous and slanderous charges."

No gasping. Complete silence filled the room as Tim took his seat.

"Alright then," said the judge, "The jury can now go into deliberation. We will convene back here once a decision is..."

"Your honor," one of the jury said, "We've reached a verdict."

"Well, that was unusually quick. How do you find the defendant?"

"Um, I guess we'd use the phone book, but if he's not listed, then I have no idea."

"I mean what's your verdict?"

"Oh. We the jury find the defendant not guilty on all counts."

The courtroom burst into an uproarous fit. I gave Tim a high five.

Stunned, the judge asked, "Why?"

"Well, we didn't really like the DA's name. Brick? What kind of name is that?"

Ah, finally, justice prevails.


Friday, September 29, 2006

The Trial - Part Two

Finally, it was our turn. The moment for which Tim and I had prepared for so long.

"Is the defense ready to call its first witness?" asked Judge Judge.

"Yes, your honor," Tim said.

Time for our secret weapon!

"We would like to call our secret weapon, Clayburn Griffin, to the stand."

The secret weapon, which at this point has sort of lost its secret status, provoked a large gasp from the bewildered and stunned audience. They braced themselves for what the weapon, once secret, had to offer.

"Ladies and gentlemen. My client has large, manly feet. Not no little nine and a halves. The defense would like to enter into evidence a size nine and half steel-toed Wolverine work boot and have my client try it on here today. If the boot doesn't fit, you must aquit."

Here a gasp, there a gasp, everywhere a gasp gasp.

"Very well. You may proceed, Mr. Pratt."

Tim brought the boot up to the witness stand and handed it to me. I took off my right shoe and tossed it to the side. Then I tried on the boot. My foot slipped perfectly into it.

Damn! It fits.

"Damn! It fits," Tim said. "Your honor, I ask that that, and everything leading up to that, be stricken from the record."

"Request denied, Mr. Pratt. You may continue questioning your witness."

"Uh, no further questions, your honor."

"Your witness, Mr. Johnson."

Brick stood up with an evil smile on his face. It gave me the shivers. Or maybe it was the coldness of the courtroom. It's practically Fall and they're still running the air conditioners!

"I know you killed Bob. Marlene knows you killed Bob. The jury knows you killed Bob. Tell me, then, what do you think killed Bob?"

The crowd let out a poorly executed gasp.

"Uh, natural causes?" I said.

"Natural causes? Squished by old age, perhaps?"


"After harassing Mrs. Hopper, you ran into Bob, correct?"

"No, I've never met Bob."

"So what did happen after the talk with Mrs. Hopper?"

"I checked my mail and then, I uh, I..."

I ran into Bob. Then I stomped him! I can't say that though. So what do I say I did? I know, I was mowing my grass! But wait, my grass isn't mowed, they could check it. I know....I started to mow my grass, but my lawn mower died. That's it!

"I decided to mow my grass because Bob was making fun of..."

Ah, crap! Let's get the gasping over with.

Gasping, quite enthusiastic gasping I might add.

"So, indeed you did meet Bob!" Brick yelled at me.

"Uh, well, yeah, sort of."

Brick nodded pensively. He put his palms together, tapping his index fingers together. Slowly, his hands lowered. He glanced over at the jury, taking a moment to look each of the twelve in the eyes. Then, looking back at me he said, "Did you kill Bob Hopper?"

Stalling, I said, "Um." Then I started to scratch my right ear with my left hand and poke myself in the chest with my right thumb while rolling my eyes. Tim jumped to his feet, instantly recognizing our secret signal.

"Your honor, in light of recent evidence and quid pro quo and such, I ask for a short recess so that the defense may reexamine its case."

Judge Judge granted the request. Tim and I met in the courthouse restroom to discuss a change in our strategy and pee.


Thursday, September 28, 2006

The Trial - Part One

The courtroom was silent, except for the quiet sobbing of Marlene Hopper who sat in the front pew. I sat at the defendant table with my lawyer, Tim Pratt. We all awaited the arrival of the judge. "Please rise for the Honorable Judge Herbert Judge," said the bailiff. We stood.

Judge Judge came out of his little door and took his seat behind the bench. We all sat. "Would the defendant please rise?" the judge asked.

Gah, isn't this why I stopped going to church? I stood up, along with Tim.

"You have been charged with three counts of harassment and one count of intentional grasshopper slaughter. How do you plead?"

Tim leaned toward me and whispered, "Pretend I'm saying something relating to the case. Think about what I'm saying, then come to a conclusion to agree with it." It was a good thing I took an acting class before.

Tim leaned back away and I said, "Not guilty."

The audience gasped. Marlene shouted out, "Not guilty, my foot! You killed him, you killed Bob!" and burst into tears. The judge called for order and the courtroom quieted down.

After some rather routine opening statements, full of things like, "Bob hopped his last hop" and "I hop, for your sake, this man is put away for a long, long time," District Attorney Brick Johnson was asked to call his first witness.

Dr. Hal Levin took the stand. "First, Dr. Levin, would you mind telling the court your qualifications?"

"Why, certainly sir. I have long been a leading forensic expert in this country, as well as Mexico and Zimbabwe. In the last 20 years I had decided to devote myself to crimes concerning herbivorous insects of the suborder Caelifera in the order Orthoptera. I have two doctorates, one from Harvard, the other from the University of Kentucky. I have served as an expert witness in over 200 cases, half of those concerning hate crimes toward insects."

"And could you tell us your involvement with this case?"

"I was called in by the Hobbs Police Department. They said they had what looked to be a homocide disquised as a suicide. Apparently the crime scene was made to imply Mr. Hopper had jumped off the roof of Mr. Griffin's house, killing himself on impact. However, I found prints around the body, belonging to a size nine and a half steel-toed Wolverine workboot. Upon closer examination of the body I found that it was indeed a homicide."

Another gasp.

Brick looked over at the jury, comprised of five men, four women, two centipedes and a worm. He looked at them as if he were holding back a tear, shook his head and said, "Going by the autopsy, who killed Bob Hopper?"

"Clayburn Griffin," he stated.

Believe it or not, the audience gasped another time.

The doctor continued, "The prints matched those we also found throughout Mr. Griffin's house and, judging by the...well...the disfigurements of the body, it can be determined that Mr. Hopper's stomper was physically weak and relied predominantly on the force of gravity to land the fatal blow."

Dr. Levin talked for what seemed like hours about all the icky details of the murder. The jury seemed particularly disturbed by the fact one of Mr. Hopper's legs was never found. "No doubt taken as a trophy," as Dr. Levin put it.

Brick Johnson brought up several more so-called expert witnesses. Each provided more boring evidence than the one preceding him.

Finally, Brick called Marlene Hopper to the stand. She hippity-hopped her way up to the witness chair.

"When did you first meet the defendant?"

"It was September 26th, 2006. I'll never forget it. It was the day my husband was murdered!"

Gasping galore.

"Could you tell me about that encounter?"

"Mr. Griffin was mighty mean. He ridiculed and mocked my homosexual son and our religion. I'm a good Christian lady, and it's not like myself to get all up in a temper, but after talking to Mr. Griffin I couldn't help myself. I said a few mean things myself, which I have reptented a thousand times for since."

"What else do you know about him?"

"Well, I've never once seen him leave for church on a Sunday morning."

The spectators let out a gasp, or maybe a wheeze, I couldn't tell.

"No more questions, your honor," Brick announced.

"Mr. Pratt, do you wish to cross-examine?" the judge asked.

Tim stood and said, "Yes, your honor." He walked over to the witness stand. "Mrs. Hopper, did you see who killed your husband?"

"No, sir."

"What exactly was your husband out doing the day he was supposedly murdered?"

"I don't rightly know."

"He didn't tell you why he left?"

"No, sir."

"How long had he been gone?"

"I'm not sure, a few days I suppose."

"So your husband left for a few days without telling you anything about his trip?"

"That's right."

"Mrs. Hopper, isn't it true that Bob was having an affair and you found out, so you killed him and framed Mr. Griffin whom you had just recently met?"


"No it's not true or no it is true?"

"No, it's not true."

"So you admit you killed him then?"

"No. Mr. Griffin killed him."

"But why would my client care that he was having an affair?"

"He wasn't having an affair. Bob would never cheat on me."

"Because he knew you'd kill him if he did, right?"

"No, because he was a good husband."

"Are you aware that's an oxymoron?"

"You, sir, are an oxymoron."

Tim seemed hurt by the statement. He looked as though he would start to cry. Sniffing he said, "No more questions," and sat down.

"Mr. Johnson, next witness?" the judge said.

"The prosecution rests, your honor," Brick responded.


Wednesday, September 27, 2006


Yesterday, I stomped on Bob. Unfortunately, there's going to be a murder trial. I'll let you know how that goes.

But today, I'm not really thinking about Bob. I'm not sure what I'm thinking about. It's a difficult task to go to work in the morning, even though I know that once there, things will be easy. I find myself sleeping in, despite knowing I should go in on time once in a while. It's been a long while since I've been in at 7:30.

I like to sleep. Sleep is wonderful. When I first awake, it's the only thing I desire.

But I can't sleep forever. I have to do stuff. Stuff won't do itself, afterall. I'm not sure what, if any, stuff I do. It doesn't seem like I've accomplished much of anything. I've bought a house. I have a well-paying job. I write web log posts often. I take a couple of classes at the JC. I'm even maintaining a long-distance relationship.

Still, I don't feel satisfied. I'd rather be sleeping.

The only thing that satisfies me is entertainment. I feel fine when I'm watching a movie or playing a game or even writing a web log post, though the entertainment value is questionable. I like to be entertained, but the most entertaining thing to me is entertaining others. I need to find others to entertain.

When I sleep, I have great dreams. Good or bad, they're entertaining.

Today I'm stuck at work for a while. I'll most likely remain here late into the night. However, I have a goal: To Entertain People. Which people though? Any people, I suppose. People are here for my amusement. So, if you're wondering what your purpose in life is, that's it! To assist in my amusement. So, today I'll be amused, tonight I'll sleep.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Randy's Concrete Jungle

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon. I took a step out my front door, looked up into the sky and stretched. "Today I think I'll visit some crazy imaginary place, as if I were high...high on the stinky weed of life," I said and walked over to my driveway.

There she stood, or sat, I suppose. A little grasshopper, wearing a flat straw hat with a pink band.

"Hello there," I said.

"Oh, my!" the grasshopper replied, "You startled me."

"I'm sorry. I was just wondering what you were doing in my driveway, uh, ma'am."

"The name's Marlene Hopper. You can call me Mrs. Hopper."

She sure sounds pretentious. "Well, Mrs. Hopper, if you don't mind me asking, what brings you to my driveway?"

"I'm looking for my husband."

"Oh, what's he look like?"

"A grasshopper, you dern fool, what else?"

I wanted to stomp her after that, but I didn't. "But how can you tell him from other grasshoppers?"

"He'd be the one all hopped up on drugs."

"Oh, he's an addict?"

"No! He's on medication. His psychiatrist prescribed it to him."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him. He's just a tad obsessive and unfocused. He gets one thing on his mind and that's it, at least for a week or so, then it's something else. He doesn't accomplish much of anything. Why, the other day I found him trying to get into the Steinhouses' yard. He couldn't jump high enough though and kept smacking his head on the fence. Finally, I told him to stop with that nonsense and look after Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?"

"Charlie's my boy. He's not doing too well. He's got aids."

"Oh, he's gay?"

"As a matter of fact he is. But homosexuals aren't the only ones with aids, you know."

"Yeah, but if you see a man with 10 wives, you assume he's a Mormon."

"We prefer to be called Latter Day Saints."

"Isn't having a gay son a problem for you, with your Mormon beliefs?"

"The good Lord made my baby the way he is and there ain't nothing wrong with that. Maybe if you actually attended church you'd know what real Christianity is about."

"How do you know I don't attend church?"

"If you see a self-absorbed, superficial punk you assume he's not a church-goer."

"You know, you're very mean for a Christian grasshopper."

"I think it's best I leave now. You bring out the worst in me. Besides, I need to find Bob." She hopped off into the tall grass.

I really need to mow my yard. I walked over to my mailbox. No mail. I headed back for my door, then I saw another grasshopper. I couldn't tell if it was a male or female one, so I just assumed it's a male. He didn't notice me.

"Hey, grasshopper. Are you a dude or a lady?"

"What kind of question is that? I'm a guy, it's obvious! What are you?"

"I'm a guy, but my Anima is female."

"Um...are you on drugs?"

"No. Are you?"

"Actually, yeah. Medication from my psychiatrist."

"Oh, you're Bob!"

"Yeah, I am. How'd you know?"

"I just met Marlene."

"Oh, yeah?"

"She was looking for you."

"I haven't been home for a few days. You see, I got this raise at work..."

Like I care.

"...And I decided to go buy a nice ring for Marlene. But I couldn't find the jewelry store. I got lost in all this grass. Somebody needs to mow once in a while."

"I'm sure they have their reasons for not being able to."

"Like what? It's not tough to mow a yard."

"Maybe they work all week."

"Yeah, but there's the weekend."

"Maybe they go to church and volunteer in the community on the weekend."

"Yeah, maybe. My guess is they're just a lazy bum."


Okay. I know you're thinking what I did was mean. It was. You're saying that I killed Bob because he and Marlene told me the truth about me and I couldn't handle it. Not true. I know I'm a self-absorbed, UnChristian, lazy bum. I'm also selfish and inconsiderate. But a grasshopper who hops around on other people's driveways giving them lawn care advice is just asking to be squished.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Why Believe?

Nobody seems to know how to live life themselves. I suppose it's natural to seek out mentors, to find people who have lived life and learn from them. However, today people seem to throw themselves blindly at anything that's been around for a while.

Growing up in America, the obvious way to live life is that of a good Christian. However, when one realizes that doesn't cut it for them, they seek out other ways. Sometimes they can't give up their Christian beliefs, not because of their faith, but because having faith is right, has been right for so long, and doing so would be wrong. We can never be wrong.

Some people seek out other religions, the most common for Americans is Buddhism. It seems right. We see Buddhist monks walking around without a care in the world. They are much more devoted than Christians. They must be right.

We spend a great deal of our time wondering what is right, where is right. However, instead of developing right on our own, creating it for ourselves, we use what others have found to be right. When you have faith in God, whom do you really have faith in? The authors of the Bible. The pastor at your church. Your own parents. You can't trust me to ask you about your day, but you trust them when they tell you how it is.

"How was your day?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"The Bible is God's word."

"Oh, ok. Can we commence with the killing of the Muslims?"

(Yes, that was hyperbole.)

Why? Such a terrible word. It has its uses, its purpose, but today it is way overplayed. When somebody tells me they want to be a writer, or that they enjoy writing, I don't ask them why. I trust them. I usually figure the reason is they need an outlet to spout their wisdom to the ignorant masses. But why doesn't matter. They like to write, they should write. They must follow their bliss.

Religion teaches us to follow God's bliss, yet we can't ask him why. We have to trust and have faith. The problem with living your life for God is it's not doing anything for you. If I offered you a candy bar to never write again, would you take it? Sure, you'd be giving up your life's bliss, but after it's over, you get a candy bar! Wait, a candy bar doesn't compare to an enternity of bliss? Alright then, when you die, I'll give you an enternity of bliss if you never write ever again. Deal? Great.

I think instead of wondering who's right and wrong, we should wonder whose life is ours. I believe that if people know which life they're in control of and who's in control of their life, they'll do a much better job of living.

Why do we write? To tell others how to live their lives. Why do we believe? To be told how to live our lives.

Fighting the Narrow Mind,

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Change is for Vending Machines

I'm lucky enough to have a Gmail account, Blogger account and even an Orkut account. These are the best in their fields. I try to share them with everyone and offer to send invitations, but people aren't interested. They already have several emails and have signed up for dozens of those social networking sites, like MySpace.

I would think it would be a good time to organize things. I had a lot of email addresses before, but now I only use my Gmail account for email. It's great. I still have my Hotmail account, but I don't ever check it; I just use it for the Messenger. (And eventually Google Talk will be better than MSN Messenger).

MySpace, as I've said before, sucks. There's a ton of problems. People stick with it because they don't know any better and there's 60 million people using it. Orkut is way better, but not as many people are on it yet because it's by invitation only.

The main problem for Orkut and Gmail is that they would require people changing their ways.

People seem to resist change. The goal in life is to become right and stick with it. If you believe you're right, then any change would be wrong, evil, bad. Of course, being under the false impression you are right is far more destructive than possibly being wrong.

I think most everyone, being the good and humble people they are, would not claim to be perfect. This would imply some (be it miniscule) room for improvement. So it seems to me that the goal would be to improve. Yet to improve, you must change. Without change, you'll only be as good as you are now and with the rate of inflation, you'll be pretty much worthless in a few months.

Have your cake,

Wednesday, September 20, 2006


There's this guy, his name is Randy, but he's not important. What IS important is that he has a web log that I occasionally find worth reading. The problem is he does it all in html, so his web log is a single web page. This makes it difficult for me to refer you to a specific entry.

Randy has talked about some design changes, but I think he's somewhat of a procrastinator. If he was a troubled teen, he'd come to his 20th Class Reunion and shoot everyone. Hopefully I can convince him to get a little design implemented into his web log. I think that he enjoys the artistic quality of being nothing more than black text on a white page.

When I'm done with this blabber, I plan to give you the link to his website. (It can also be found on the right side of my web log, no, your other right, yeah, that's it. But pay attention to this post, don't click it yet!)

I first want to say that I think there might be some interesting interactivity between our web logs. While I can't promise you it'll be interesting, I can promise you it'll be something. So be sure to check out each of our web logs daily.

Here it is, the friggin' link: (formerly

Clicking here opens it in a NEW (and improved) window!


Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The Institute

When you read any of my posts, do comment on them. I'd like criticism of any sort. My goal is to revise much of my work in hopes of making it better, so let me know your thoughts.

I walked in the building and stared at the walls

Power was here in this place, within it all

With grains of knowledge and truth and majesty

Came the beautiful sirens' sweet calls

Doing their deeds brought me wealth and love

Especially from the great mystery above

The people all seemed to know and agree

With all of the thoughts I was thinking of

My ultimate task came with much anticipation

Yet it led ultimately to my moral dissipation

After feuding against the angst within me

I settled against the evil temptation

And yet when I returned to my beloved institute

I found the foundation quite resolute

They looked upon me as a common gypsy

I was said to be flawed and ill repute

My mind was estranged much to its remorse

And my heart was uncertain in its course

Realization came intuitively

That Evil is here, the system's its source

Thursday, September 14, 2006

In Your Eyes

In your eyes
I'm reminded of our tragic lives. Sitting, rowing.
Fishing to survive.
Why did we leave?
I suppose we chose to be naive.

In your eyes
I see the remnants of our great fortune,
Like the diamonds I bought you, sparkling in the sun.
Hired help won't help us now.
And what was money anyhow?
It did not save us, now that's obvious.

In your eyes
I sense the glamorous social boon.
We had obtained it without knowing it would lead to doom.
Talking and joking; Laughing and smiling.
What ever did it mean?
Jokingly faking; Laughs beguiling.

In your eyes
I know the goodness of our so-called souls. Charitable deeds that greatly pleased those who sought to judge.
If we took, we gave. Properly we would behave.
But now who cares?
They still disdain us. My, how they hate us.

In your eyes
I enjoy the wonderful tragedy of our lives, the only life I want to live.
Floating atop the dark abyss, our love, our raft persists.
Is this good enough?
Enough to make small stuff vanish, like true love they all sought to banish.

In your eyes
I feel our epic descent's lovely pain.
Perhaps our passion was a poisoned potion, ensuring our deaths out on the ocean.
Would I make that mistake again?
Gladly again and endlessly,
for in your eyes
reflects me
looking in your eyes happily.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Photo Caption Contest #3

John was the winner of Photo Caption Contest #2. For your hard work and funny caption, you're awarded with some pointless recognition. Yay, John!

"A gun that is? Or happy to see me you are?"

Here's the new Photo! Take a look, think hard and post your captions.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Spiritual Bouquet

Through stained binoculars I could see
That perfection was waiting for me
Across the rugged terrain of my heart
Thought it was where I wanted to be

I traveled alone for miles and miles
Ignoring the guardians' poisoned smiles
Searching for something state of the art
Ignoring my blind Freudian styles

Great treasures came to me on the way
The most treasured of all I would say
To dig into
And construe,
To fall through
And outdo,
Was you
You became my spiritual bouquet

Through the breviloquent cold weather
With dedictation we went together
Then I realized you're the component part
Planted in me like a Princess Feather

Transcendant flowers along the way
The most beautiful one I could say
Is you
You became my spiritual bouquet

Closer to the perfect location
I made a crucial observation
I couldn't admit but knew from the start
The journey was the destination

Great treasures came to me on the way
The most treasured of all I would say
A transcendant flower I met one day
The beautiful girl with whom I stay
You became my spiritual bouquet
Yes you
You are and will be always
Eternally my spiritual bouquet

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

The Word of the Day

Some people like to sign up for those "Word of the Day" things. They get a new word in their email everyday, or it's displayed on their start page. I don't mind learning new ones from time to time, but I don't need a website to tell me what the word of the day is.

I'd much rather make up my own words. Coinage is fun! So, today I'm going to post a few words of the day. Use them in sentences and you can splendicate yourself to your friends!

Sophistocrat - A pretentious, and stereotypical, member of societies upper-class. Often seen wearing a top hat. Let's tar and feather that sophistocrat!

Pundicity - Capacity for using puns, humorously and appropriately. He's been reading the dictionary to improve his pundicity.

Splendicate - An act of instilling a feeling that something (or someone) is splendid. Often used to imply devious means, such as propaganda. I tell people my house is worth $195,000 to splendicate it, and myself.

Spit - Slang for shit. He be all crazy an' spit

Got some words of your own? Comment them.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Too Sad to Post

There was a tragedy on Labor Day. Steve Irwin was killed by a sting ray while filming a documentary. I realize of course that I didn't know him, yet I'm still very saddened by his death. I'm not a big fan of his show, but anytime I'd catch him on Conan or Leno or something he was always so much fun to watch. The Crocodile Hunter was probably one of the most enthusiastic, positive and happy people on Earth.

At first his death seemed too obvious. The idea of a guy who constantly places himself around dangerous animals being killed by one of those's as if God had writer's block. But as I type this, I realize that his death wasn't such a sad thing. We all die eventually and his death is definately a loss to all of us. But he did die doing what he loved. I feel like he got what he wanted out of life. He accomplished so much, with his TV show, his zoo, his character, his family.

Perhaps the death of a man who lived his life isn't a tragedy.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Bloody Pricks

There's this really crazy idea called "Unconditional Positive Regard". It means that you regard people positively, without conditions. It's basically the opposite of what our society is used to today. People don't like someone when they're bad, but they like them when they're good. Bad people are punished, good people are rewarded. Yet is a bad person not good? Is a good person bad?

The problem is in how we perceive duality. The Universe contains everything and its opposite. The idea of the Tao is a balance of the opposing energies. Instead of one destroying the other, they are integrated into the whole.

Imagine a circle with a line drawn across its diameter. The top of the diameter is white, the bottom is black. If the background is white, you have half a circle. If the background is black, you get the same results. Is one part more a circle than the other part? Of course not, neither side is a circle without the other.

People should be looked at in the same manner, of course, they're more complex than a circle with two halves. The idea is to look at the person as a complete entity and realize they are human. They are not bad. They are not good. They are human.

This doesn't mean that one shouldn't dislike anyone. Some people deserve to be punched in the nose.

Here's a quote from the Merchant of Venice, a play by Shakespeare:

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs
dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
subject to the same diseases, heal'd by the same means,
warm'd and cool'd by the same winter and summer
as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us,
do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?