Monday, March 21, 2005

Satori # 99

Man, above all the creatures of the Earth, has the singular ability of destroying himself.

We are all damaged goods.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Death is to love like hate is to...

Carpacci grabbed the radio phone and screamed into the receiver as a hail of lead bullets tore apart the sky above him.

"Black hawk down! Repeat, black hawk down! We are bein' overwhelmed!"

That code, singular among the U.S. military, sent a shock wave through the chain of command.

Base Center Zero. Being overrun.

General Andrew's airmobile division -- essentially a squadron of attack choppers, backed by the 1st and 31st Cavalry -- dropped in behind the front lines, deploying a fresh regiment of armed troopers.

A volley of rockets, launched from a hidden silo, hissed through atmosphere. Explosive shells detonated against reinforced armor, and the attack 'copters erupted into a half-dozen balls of flame.

The soldiers already deployed clicked off their safety levers and squeezed their triggers. A satanic fury of depleted uranium shells tore the now-exposed rocket launchers to pieces.

They had landed amidst the heart, the very heart, of the enemy. Jaxon, their radio controller, was down with a bullet wound in the throat. Carpacci, the grunt from Alabama, stooped over the receiver, pleading for more reinforcements. They were hopeless, without a leader... The major had bought it during the drop; an anti-aircraft shell, 6 inches in diameter, had blown a hole through his torso, shredding the tender meat of his body into fleshy chunks.

An earnest private pulled Carpacci from the trench and screamed over the hail of concentrated destruction: "She's a tough nut to crack, sir." The private died moments later, a bullet lodged into the back of his skull.

Carpacci, king of corpses, lifted the phone's receiver to his mouth to speak his final words:

"We are being overrrun. Attack has failed. They were just too smart for us, sir. They knew our weaknesses and exploited them. We've been reduced to less than half our initial strike force. Everyone's dead. Dead. Dead."

Command understood. The assault was pointless. Somewhere a general nodded and it was all over.

As the relief chopper carried me back to Base, a single thought played over and over in my head like a broken record:

"They will forever be fortified. No offensive, no matter how intricately planned, will penetrate their defenses. Nukes are useless. Atomic destruction will not suffice."

And thus the enemy overtook us. Special forces fell in, their guerilla warriors overhanding grenades and burrying mines.

All love, all hope... most importantly... all love... had been destroyed.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

The Wonder Years

I found a box full of old cassette tapes the other day. It was like digging up a long-hidden treasure chest.

Most of them were indie Christian rock bands from the early to mid-90's, like The Prayer Chain, Hoi Polloi, The Throes, Deitiphobia, Lost Dogs, Dead Artists Syndrome, Mortal, Poor Old Lu... You've probably never heard of most of them... or all of them. But I can tell you they still stand the test of time as far as good rock n' roll goes.

Cassette tapes. When was the last time you listened to one? I don't own a tape player anymore. My last one was a Walkman, and it broke the other day in a hysterical fit when I spilled some water on my favorite books. Do they even sell them anymore? I don't remember seeing them in the mall or at Best Buy the last times I went there. Phased completely out of existence... like the 8-track got phased out around '86, '87...

And listening to these bands brings me back to a comfortable, safe (tho adventurous), time in my life... High school... Those three and a half years of Christian camps, trips to Gatlinburg, lock-ins, concerts, youth group functions... Or swapping band names during late night coffee melees at the Frontier House.

Somewhere around my sophomore year, four of my high school friends started a rock band called The Sullivans. Dave Phillips played acoustic guitar and sang, Jamie Smith played drums, Jim Barnett played electric guitar, and Adam Newport played bass. I met Jim and Adam in my Art I class earlier in the year. Adam Newport came from the outskirts of an underdeveloped town north of Dayton, Tennessee, called Spring City. He had a thick drawl and he moved with the slow yet smooth precision of Southern gentlemen. But he had a keen mind for art and music, and he excelled at both. Naturally, being a bassist, he loved Primus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a lot of jazz-funk. Jim Barnett, on the other hand, was, and still is, hard to describe. He came from that pseudo-Brit stalk, obsessed with The Cure, The Smiths, New Order, Joy Divsion, Bauhaus, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, U2, Suede... He loved artists like Robert Crumb, Tim Burton, and Edward Gorey. And yet he wasn't Goth at all (Goth, as it's now known, hadn't quite set in until my junior summer). He had more of a glam-punk feel... Mod hair and thick black Buddy Holly glasses. It's hard to describe Jim without pigeonholing him, and I blame that on my lack of descriptive skills.

The point is, my friendship with these two led into a whole new aspect of my high school life; that is, rock n' roll. Albeit Christian rock. Or at least rock n' roll made by Christians. Whatever. Some of the bandmembers were Christian, some weren't, which wasn't so uncommon in a Southern town.

The time was ripe for "Christian" rock and roll. A brand new indie music label, Tooth & Nail Records, came out of nowhere, putting out one amazing record after another. Pretty soon everybody was gobbling up copies of Starflyer 59, Luxury, MxPx, Unashamed, Mike Knott, Blenderhead, Plankeye, and every single hardcore band ever released, ever.

And then came the First Dayton Renaissance, the initial wave of bands that popped up after the spear-head of The Sullivans. And these forces combined with a handful of bands from Hamilton County; pretty soon we were all taking car-pool trips to the Metro Cafe in downtown Chattanooga every other weekend.

Almost ten years later, the Metro's come and gone. Now it's a bar or dance club or something... I can't remember anymore. It's been renovated too may times, and I've been gone too long. Funny thing is, though... they built a Chili's directly across the street from where the Metro used to be, there on Market Street. I mean, directly across the street. I was among the first crew of servers to open that restaurant, back in 2003. It used to be a parking lot. And I can remember that parking lot clearly. All of us underclassman would be shivering in Dave Phillip's car, waiting for him to stop stop talking to the cluster of young girls surrounding him and get his ass into the car so we could leave at the end of the night (all of our parents -- and grandparents -- were worried).

The first couple of times I went to the Metro, I musta been fifteen, sixteen... it was magical. It was cold... and it was nighttime. Everywhere there were lights, and they sparkled. I was far, far from home... the farthest I'd ever been without an adult... And we were in the city... Everything looked bigger, faster, brighter... On a slightly grander scale. This was downtown Chattanooga, you know, not Atlanta or New York City or anything.

The First Renaissance lasted from mid-'96 to early-'99. I call it the First Renaissance because I feel like there's something brewing in the 423 area again and I can only wish I was there to fan the flame.

...

In '97, my oldest best friend, Steve Sapp, and I, took a weekend off to go see Joy Electric (my all-time favorite band, ever) in Memphis. We had to cajole, and then beg, his mother to let us use her truck... Finally she capitulated and let us have it, but on one insane condition: we had to locate a spare tire for the truck in case one of them blew out on the way there. So we scurried back and forth across Dayton looking for a place that would sell us a tire for less than $20... but that attempt was laughable. Through some fortunate twist of luck, however, a gentleman at the Frontier House overheard us rueing over our situation (we throught we weren't going to go, so we'd stopped for coffee) and he offered us the use of his spare tire. He had the same model truck as Steve's mom, and he said we could use the spare as long as we brought it back to the Frontier House when we were done with it. The trip was on.

We drove all that night and slept in a hotel in Nashville under the names General Duke and Lt. Cmdr. Wallace or something juvenile like that (we heard somewhere that you could check into hotels under false names). The only room available was a three-bedroom suite, so we both woke up twice in the night to switch beds -- to get our full money's worth (no, we didn't sleep in the same bed, we alternated, one in each bed, and we switched twice.) We also stole the shampoo, the soap, the towels, even the little toothbrushes.

The next day was pure hell. The truck's engine was close to over-heating, so we had to ride with the heat on full blast, with only the windows rolled down to let in the dry Tennessee summer wind. We were drenched in sweat the whole way there.

When we finally arrived, the venue was in the basement of a church. Roughly fifty or sixty kids had shown up. It was the first time I'd ever seen Joy Electric live, and he was, and still is, my music hero, so I was awestruck.

I had to go to the bathroom before the show, and while I was standing in front of the john, Ronnie Martin, who is basically Joy Electric (it's a one-man gig) walked in and stood at the john next to me. I started to panic. There he was... my hero. Taking a leak right beside me. I thought about striking up a conversation with him, but decided against it. It would've been a little awkward for him, I guess, talking to a rabid fan while taking a leak in a bathroom stall.

He threw a killer show that night, and to this day I remember every song, every sound. I think I bought over a hundred bucks of merch from him after the set.

I saw him again last year, but it wasn't the same. I think some of the adventurousness and exuberance of youth has left me. He still sounded fantasic, though, almost ten years later.

...

Flash forward to today. March, 2005. I'm in Ohio with my sister; I still haven't graduated; I'm still serving tables. Adam Newport still lives at home in Spring City. I can't remember what he's doing for a job, but it's I'm pretty sure it's lucrative. And he's got another band going, The Radiofix. After a harrowing couple of years, Jim Barnett's settled down with a wife and five-year-old child. He still dabbles in music, and he's still an amazing artist. Right before moving away last year, he showed me some of his artwork, and I couldn't believe he actually drew them. They were beyond mind-blowing. I chanced upon Dave Phillips one day a year and a half ago while working at the aforementioned Chili's. He was sitting at the bar reading some 12-year-old kid's fantasy novel. (I mean, literally, a 12-year-old had written a fantasy novel and got it published. I can't remember the name of it.) He came over that night to hang out, but the night quickly took a bad turn when my ex-neighbor and his old girl-interest, Maria, showed up. I haven't seen or spoken to him since. I can only imagine what he's told people about me.

I can look back now, over the course of a decade, and see where these people have affected me. I can see, now, the intricate web -- the pattern -- that they've made, weaving in and out of my life. I can see, now, where their influence has touched something off in me, and where those influences eventually led. I wonder who I'll meet next, and where it will lead me.

Enough rambling and reminiscing.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Thought Experiment

America today.

* The average household owns 3 television sets. Which means one in every living room.

* All living room furniture, unless you live in a mansion, is angled towards the television set.

* Your television (approx. all 3 of them) receives electromagnetic waves, broadcast at the speed of light (186,000 miles per second), which are displayed via cathode ray tubes (or light-emitting diodes or ionized gas) as moving pictures; 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

* You spend approximately 10 hours a day consuming junk food and gazing into the television. While watching TV, your brain enters the alpha state of consciousness, in which it works no harder than if it were asleep.

* During this time, your brain, reduced to alpha-consciousness, is bombarded with rapid-fire television imagry laced with suggestive themes and flashy visuals designed to attack and infiltrate not only your mind but your emotions, as well. Why else would women cry during a Tampax commercial?

* Millions upon millions of dollars are poured into ad campaigns, spear-headed by psychologists who know more about yourself than you do. These ad campaigns take the form of TV commercials, and, yes, even sitcoms.

* Millions upon millions of Americans tune in every night to watch insipid and uninspired "reality" shows. They also watch neat, cool shows like CSI, BSG, uhm... and channels like TDC and THC (heheheheheheh!!!!!!).

* People believe anything on TV.

Thus... I can take control of a substantial population of the United States via television. I only need funding.

Maybe I can get this new chick to dig me...

Friday, March 11, 2005

I Am Finally Broken-Hearted

So you moved to Chicago with Aaron, the tattoo artist (you've known him for years, I guess.) That's it. The end of that story. Three years ago I never would've guessed you'd be there, with him. I wanted you to be an old maid forever, with a thousand cats and a broken, bitter heart. Right now, though, it's me feeling a pain... a pain I cannot describe. God, Time heals all wounds, but I fear this news has killed something deep down inside me. Every thought is a bullet, every memory a knife. This will hurt me forever.

I know I should wish you both well, but instead I can only wish you in hell...

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Rods of Death

For those of you who haven't been reading this blog from its inception five months ago, I'll fill you in: I'm obsessed with outer space.

Astronomy, astrophysics, general relativity, cosmology, quantum mechanics... it's all fasincating to me. I have a very limited grasp of mathematics, but I understand the basic theories and proofs of principle behind the majority of these findings.

I went back and read my blog and found a post from November highlighting USA's current domination of space.

And it brings me back to the current status on the war with the Middle East.

Bush is obsessed with being the man who spreads democracy throughout the world. Maybe it's his Christian beliefs that drive him towards this goal; but in the end, I (and the rest of the country) can see that this goal is actually his way of indoctrinating the world's population into America's world view of utter and complete domination (whether it comes from military or financial strength).

Well, if that's the case, I have an idea. A military idea. One that could maintain our nation's 2 and 5:

Drop bundles of super-dense rods onto the city from high orbit. That's right. Drop a couple hundred depleted-uranium metal poles from space. By the time they reach the inner atmosphere, they're travelling at 9.8 meters a second, squared, which means they're 30 feet faster than they were a second before. Launching them via magnetic fields will only increase their acceleration, essentially creating hundreds of individual comets. A dense cloud of metallic rods falling at several times the speed of sound makes a difficult target to destroy; and a couple of falling rods, gaining sufficient kinetic energy, could level an entire compound within seconds.

Getting stuff into orbit is difficult. It's one of the major drawbacks to the US's race for space defense. So far we have a limited number of contractors, with a limited amount of equipment, to shuffel our stuff into space. And each trip requires millions upon millions of dollars. If required, however, several shuttles (with their cargo bays devoid of superfluous equipment) could ferry these "weapons rods" into place, and drop them onto their target on a whim. You actually think the Middle East has a space program going on?! Or missile emplacements that could effectively stop a "falling rod" engagement? HAH!

An object, however small, traveling at 14 KPS (kilometers per second -- roughly 6.8 miles per second -- my math may be horribly wrong), will strike a stationary target with as much energy as a thermonuclear device. Why spend millions upon millions of dollars coming up with missile technology and ECCM when you can simply drop a couple thousand ultra-dense metallic rods onto the target with the same result? Plus, you don't have to worry about enemy ground-based lasers or countermissiles shooting your bird down before it lands. Or radiation fall-out.

I swear, I should be a military advisor.

Don't you put me on the back-burner...

Trying to capture the joy and exuberance of a new relationship is like trying to bottle white-water rapids. Everything is moving, transient, overwhelming in strength and power, and as you struggle to encapsulate it, it washes you away.

There's hesitancy when it comes to talking about meeting someone new. The familiar fears of "jinxing" the situation bars a lot of people from shouting from the rooftops about how much fun they've had. But I can't help it, the brim is overflowing. I had an excellent weekend and it deserves mention.

Several weeks ago, I met a girl. I'll forego mentioning her name, but I will say that she's friends with my sister and she teaches 2nd grade at the same elementary school. When I first saw her, I couldn't help but notice her striking resemblance to a certain ex of mine (who shall also remain nameless). At first this resemblance bothered me, but as time progressed I decided it was all in my head, and I shouldn't superimpose someone else's personality onto a complete stranger.

Two tension-filled weeks crept by, and our date for Sunday finally rolled around. I could spend an hour recounting the entire evening, but I'll spare you the details and cut right to the heart: we had a good time.

I won't lie. I'm excited. I'm nervous. I'm anxious and a little worried. This is a major find, and I'm trying to keep my head on straight. Messing things up now wouldn't do well for my emotional well-being. I don't find what I like very often, and when I do, it takes everything in my will-power to keep myself in check. I'm very specific in what I'm looking for when it comes to the ladies, which (invariably) limits my options. Stumbling upon someone who fits these standards impels me to actions inexplicable, and I let my guard drop, exposing the weakest side of me.

Hope for the best... prepare for the worst.
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