Conscious Fraction

   I’ve only been alive around 23 years but sometimes I feel like that’s pretty old. I’m a young adult but in a way I’m not so young anymore. This heart has beaten for over 8,000 days, approximately one billion times. I have scars on my head, hands, arms and legs from days lived. I’m at that plateau where your body has stopped growing and levels out for a few years before it begins to decay. Time has begun to go so much faster. Today years pass like months did when I was a kid. The dropping seconds are adding up. The hourglass isn’t so empty anymore.

   As the years have gone by, I’ve developed an intensified gratitude of life, of consciousness. Sentience is rare in nature. Just think of everything we know in the world and beyond it that is inanimate: plants, mountains, volcanoes, the oceans, atoms, protons, neutrons, electrons, light, most matter, and the rest of the currently known Universe. Given the reality that we could have easily never existed, given that the odds stacked against us were so high, it is extremely special that we have come to know this beautiful thing called consciousness. Upon this reflection, I have found myself more often thinking how incredible it is that I am able to draw breath, to think, to move, to affect the world around me, and to enjoy it for a time. Although it’s not long enough (it never could be), the very fact that we can grasp this for even a fraction of a second is something for which to be extremely grateful. We aren’t even a flash in the pan, but for the microsecond we are burning, we are here. Of course, it would be incredible if Ray Kurzweil and Michio Kaku were right, and in the near future we decoded the multi-billion neural pathways that constitute human brain activity and developed the technology to download our brains’ electrical signals onto a memory card so we could live forever, but such technology is at least temporarily unavailable, and we have to make do with what we have in the meantime. Personally, I think stem cell research is promising.

We will never be satisfied with the time we have and will always be taunted by nature’s power and indifference. As we are born we are involuntarily pulled down the path of death. We seem to be nothing more than a link in nature’s chain; a natural process. Some say there is no point in living if we are just insignificant specks of dust in the face of an ancient monolithic Universe nearly 15 billion years old without a redeeming factor. Here is the redeeming factor: we are alive when we could have never been born; we are conscious when we could have been insentient. Life doesn’t owe us anything. When I think about life in this perspective, the seconds begin to slow down, and 23 years old doesn’t seem old at all anymore. I’m a fraction of a fraction of a fraction, and I’m okay with that. I’m just glad to be alive. There is no need to create or embellish; the truth is enough.

Pale Against a Green Backdrop

The cracked, ruinous brick barely holds on

The surface of the hardened red mixture breaks in aged gaps

And the grey of the time-warped cement pales towards collapse

One day the structure will give way and the architecture, gone

 

The all-enduring foundation of dirt the brick will fall upon

But the foundation will not decay; strength will not sway

It will weather anything time may bring forth; it will stay

The foundation outlast the red-hued artifice and consumes it for its own grandeur

 

Even a millennium of harsh, unrelenting passage can’t destroy something so pure

Green vines will grow and flowers will spawn from brick-ash compost

Where nature strengthens, man-made imitations prove ill-composed

The solid lines we draw blur and fade

 

A dam built in a river as the brick has been laid

Proves a meek effort of frailty to outlast

The unobstructed caustic power in water works so fast

Demonstrating that our creations are infinitesimal in the shadow of time

 

All constructs are subject to decay

As are we

Destruction from the Bottom Up

The lower class has largely become an entitlement society, sending us into depravity with every free-rider’s travesty. This is a problem with the people not the Government. The leech-like quality of these citizens is abhorrent. Welfare was not built to sustain the whole Nation. It is a safeguard from poverty, a fall-back to cushion those in need, not a medium through which to gain the majority of your salary. This is full-fledged abuse of the system. The free-riders spur the wave of self-destruction that floods the shores of the hard-working. The water will erode the structure and catalyze the decay of initiative. It will destroy the city from the bottom up.

Rhythms and Death

Irregularity is common and dull pain frequent

A constant reminder of the fragile state of life

My heart teeters on its track, a speeding train in reckless flight

Rapidly accelerating and bouncing on the rails, heading forward with no clear intent

Let me get inside the Conductor’s head

Just to see the map, and point to the destination with a semblance of certainty

The unpredictable nature of the course is what scares me

For a sharp angle, uneven ground, and ever-growing pace may leave me dead

 

Then the cars would break and bleed red gasoline

The wheels would spin untamed until momentum died

The engine would sputter out, quiet.

 

Glass shattered and ties torn at the seam

The rebellious organ from its prison pries

My heart sputters out, quiet.

If I Could Visualize Time

Time is a leech

It sinks its blood-encrusted teeth into all of life,

Lodging in the flesh of man and taking residence there

One row clenched on the hand and the second on the marred skin of the arm, 

Tearing through the surface, nestling between the hair

It has buried itself on the inside, not going anywhere.

The host is stuck in its permanent grip

He is corrupted, desensitized

Disillusioned, all-too-knowing of the imminent black rise

A thick, rusted shackle placed on the ankle

A life presumably stripped of worth

A time bomb set to explode; a shoreline for water to erode

It’ll take its last bite at the end of the road

 

Leech-like time, so corrosive

Nonetheless, we can never get a large enough dosage

 

 

The Snake

It is not the defense of marriage, it is the defense of oppression

Poisoning the purity of personal choice

Reconstruction is the antidote to regression

The snake slithers to you, restricting your voice

With fangs that drip bigotry and restrain individual beauty

The venom immobilizes the victims with its paralyzing course

Locking them in place with the bans that are enforced

 

Archaic beliefs based on intolerance created this atrocious circumstance

As the snake rears its head to strike again, take your stance

Refuse to let this liberty die. Refuse to accept the serpent’s bind

Deny, deny!

Revenge Agenda

Poking the bear even if you are a giant could result in your downfall

For the beast has a jaw ready to sink into flesh as deep as you are tall

A single prod could set it off into a furied frenzy of violence

The fickle foe does not practice temperance

Yet we badger the bear and regard not possible retaliation

Much to our demise, we exacerbate the situation–a dangerous slope of elevation

Why trample on the territory when there is nothing left to save? Revenge agenda pushed too far; scapegoat craze

The beast is unrestrained and will knaw at the legs of the giant until it topples down

 

 

My Thoughts on Gay Marriage

   In the United States of America, citizens have the luxury of freedoms and liberties that others don’t have. A man can speak his mind without persecution, bear arms, refuse to house soldiers, and has the right to an attorney in court. In today’s society, these rights, and every other given to citizens in the Bill of Rights, are pushed to the limits. A woman can now sue McDonald’s for spilling a hot coffee on herself. A burglar can sue the tenant of the house he was robbing for falling on a knife as he was trying to sneak in. Journalists can make up lies about celebrities on a daily basis and publicize it nationally without being accused of libel, and Muslims can build a mosque next to the wreckage of the World Trade Towers, but two men still can’t marry each other in most states. In the 21^st century, it is surprising that this is such a big issue considering how much more liberal America is in relation to the past. The crux of the gay marriage issue is how marriage is defined. In federal law, marriage is defined as the union of a man and a woman. The government for the most part does not want to change that, or add on to it by allowing marriage to be between two men or two women for a number of reasons: it is thought that gay marriage undermines the special act of traditional marriage, that it is unnatural and therefore should not be allowed, and that two people of the same sex are do not establish a good environment for raising children. But as an American, as a human being, someone should have the right to marry anyone of either sex on the grounds that it is an expression of love that any person should have the right to, that it does not erode the sacrosanct values of the union between a man and a woman, nor is it wrong due to being unnatural, nor does it establish an environment unfit to raise a child.

   Homophobes  don’t like the idea of two men marrying each other (or even being romantically involved, for that matter) because they find it disgusting. The anatomical problems of homosexual encounters are obvious, and people are simply uncomfortable with the thought and want nothing further to do with it. If it were legal, chances are, they’d see or hear more of gay couples, and people want to avoid what they don’t like. The most efficient way to avoid it is to make sure it is illegal by voting conservative politicians into office that they think like they do. This helps ensure that they don’t have to wrestle with the idea of couples going to bed at night as husband and husband or wife and wife. Others feel that there are more serious issues to deal with when talking about gay marriage. Some are concerned that if a gay couple seeks to have a child, the adopted child, aside from being estranged from their biological parents, will be raised in an unfit environment because there is not a mother and a father figure in their life. Two fathers or two mothers are not sufficient in many people’s eyes. Their argument is this: humans were made to be nurtured by the mother and need the love and guidance of a father, lest the offspring end up sexually confused when they grow up or, due to a deficiency of proper parenting, lack certain life skills that children raised by a man and a woman have. People making this argument believe that by allowing same-sex marriage, adoption by gay partners is encouraged. Other arguments against gay marriage are largely based on theology. That is to say, some people don’t think gay marriage is right or should not be permitted because of personal religious beliefs. Christians are among the top of the group when it comes to debating the morality of being gay. Any “good” Christian, by popular modern standards, believes that God does not like homosexuals. Moreover, they believe gay people will not be accepted into Heaven because of their sins of sexuality. To put it simply, many Christians believe that homosexuals are doomed to eternally burn in the fiery depths of Hell. Consequently, the Bible—since it is considered to be the word of God– serves as the Christians’ Constitution, so to speak, barring two people in love from getting married solely because they are of the same sex. The words, “love thy neighbor as thyself,” are contradicted; the sacred morality of Christianity undermined. The phrase means that if you want people to respect your way of life, you should respect everybody else’s way of life. By prohibiting someone to marry whom they love and condemning gays for expressing that love is not respect. It’s discrimination, which sheds light onto another hypocrisy of the Christian’s anti-gay argument. Christians take pride in loving everyone. The Bible preaches that people should be accepting of others despite their differences. It is akin to one of the five pillars of Islam. It’s what being a Christian is all about. Yet they seem to forget about it when considering same-sex marriage. Either this is an example of an oversight or a major flaw in Christian thinking. Either way, their argument loses credibility when they begin to contradict the very belief system they base their life on. There are more arguments against gay marriage, but to name each and every one would mean to ask everyone in the nation why they are against it. To do so would be impractical.

  At the beginning, I said that most states do not permit same-sex marriage. As of June 2011, twelve states prohibit same-sex marriage by statute and twenty nine prohibit it through the state constitution. That is forty one states that do not permit same-sex marriage. The federal government doesn’t recognize it at all. In fact, the DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) defined marriage between a man and a woman during Bill Clinton’s presidency in 1996, in an attempt to prevent gay marriage. As a result, finding a place to get married as a homosexual is hard to come by. However, since most states do not permit same-sex marriage, that by definition means that some do. To date, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, Vermont, and New Hampshire along with the District of Columbia recognize same-sex marriage. New Mexico has no specific prohibition or recognition of gay marriage, and the remaining states recognize same-sex marriage performed elsewhere or recognize gay unions. ­­­­So what’s the big deal? So what if it is illegal in forty one states, as long as homosexuals can get married somewhere, what’s the problem? The problem is that as an American citizen, one should retain the right to marry without having to travel to a state that allows same-sex marriage. Heterosexual people don’t have to travel far and wide to marry their high school sweethearts, so why should homosexuals? It is recognized that being of homosexual nature is different, but the United States is a nation founded on the principle of freedom—the freedom to be different, and with the freedom to be different comes the choice to love whomever one’s heart desires, and if marriage is the ultimate end of that love, so be it. To deny such a thing is to deny the essence of freedom in America.

   But the masses still persist that gay marriage should not be permitted. The over-arching or “politically correct” argument propagated by the Government is that same-sex marriage erodes the union between man and woman. To people who believe in accordance with this proposal, gay marriage is corrosive; it’s acidic; it’s poison. It’s the venom in the veins of love and if left alone, will strike at the heart and destroy everything romance ever stood for. ­­Banning same-sex marriage is the cure, the preventative medicine. For advocates of this argument, by not recognizing gay marriage, traditional marriage is free of the affliction. But is gay marriage, or the “poison”, venomous enough to hurt what conventions and nature have carved into stone? The weakness in this argument is that it suggests traditional marriage is susceptible to same-sex marriage, meaning that same-sex marriage is prevalent and potent enough to threaten the integrity of traditional marriage. Furthermore, it suggests that maybe the marriage between man and woman isn’t as sacrosanct as it is regarded to be if it can be eroded by the marriage of homosexuals. If traditional marriage were as special as everyone thinks it is, wouldn’t it be immune to erosion? In other words, nothing could make it less special, or less meaningful. Advocates of this argument may not have as much belief in traditional marriage as they think they do. Also, even if the government keeps same-sex marriage illegal, homosexuals are still going live together, love each other, and adopt children together, and so on. Not letting them getting married isn’t helping the opposition’s cause, because in all reality, homosexuals are still going to live their lives the way they want to. Homosexuals are like fleas on a dog: the dog will bite and scratch all he wants to try to get the fleas off  him, but they won’t go; they won’t die—and even if for a little while the dog gets rid of them, they will always come back, and in greater numbers, stronger than before. So in the end, the government is just hurting people.

   Still people persist that gay marriage shouldn’t be legal anywhere. They fear it as if by allowing two homosexuals to be recognized as legal spouses, it would set in motion a horrible landslide of events that would potentially lead to a world where everyone is gay and nobody is attracted to the opposite sex anymore, thus spelling the end of humanity because nobody will procreate. To set those people straight: homosexuality is an abnormality, a genetic mutation. It will not become a certain trait of a new wave of human beings. Anti-gay believers might ask why there are more homosexuals in the 21^st century as opposed to one hundred years ago. The answer is because these are modern, relatively progressive times, and although being gay is often frowned upon, it is tolerated. Consequently, homosexuals are more likely to show their true selves today than they were in the 20^th century when being homosexual was considered a crime. In all reality, they aren’t any more homosexuals now than there ever were. What it comes down to is how afraid people are of change and how intolerant people are of differences. If something seems odd, or different, it must be bad. It seems it must be something necessary to prevent. “If most people aren’t gay,” someone may say, “then there must be a good reason why.” That is an example of the logical fallacy of appeal to popularity, though in reverse form. It is faulty logic. Therefore, without having to go any further into detail to prove the statement wrong, it is not sufficient to make the argument that “there is something wrong with being gay because most people aren’t” for the sole reason that the argument is based upon faulty logic. On the contrary, yes, there is a perfectly good scientific explanation as to why most people aren’t gay, but the statement, “there is a good reason why people are not,” suggests that there is a choice involved in being gay or not being gay, hence invalidating the statement, “if most people aren’t gay, then there must be a good reason why not,” because there is no cognitive decision to become truly homosexual. The fact of the matter is that people are born heterosexual or homosexual. There is no choice. I digress that in today’s age since homosexuality is so publicized, especially in social media, some heterosexuals may choose to experiment with homosexuality, but that is different than being homosexual. People that dabble in homosexual acts are not seeking to get married. So by proposing that homosexuality is wrong, is proposing that a homosexual was born less moral, or somehow less right than heterosexuals. That is blatant discrimination, racism in a different form. Yet it shares the same malicious nature of animosity and intolerance. It is directly due to such discrimination that same-sex marriage isn’t legal in most states. Two people who love each other dearly cannot unite as one through the act of marriage because the people of this country have prejudices against them. The case is reminiscent of what it was half a century ago when Martin Luther King Jr. fought for the civil rights of the Blacks, but the white people didn’t believe they should give them equal rights because of prejudices they held against them, largely because of the color of the Blacks’ skin. It is also similar to the women’s rights struggle of the late 19^th century and early 20^th century. For decades, women were denied the right to vote in elections because of their sex. Protests, legal battles, court cases, and the like were part of the fight for the right of women’s suffrage. In the end, “Blacks” got equal rights and women got the right to vote because the Government and people of the nation realized that it was wrong to discriminate. Can’t humanity learn from its mistakes and break out of the vicious cycle of history? Humanity is stronger than the centripetal force that keeps us locked in place, running in circles. We just haven’t realized it yet.

   The fight for gay rights is by no means a new one though. It’s a battle homosexuals have been fighting for nearly a century. Dating back to the 1920’s, activists have fought for the cause. In 1924, the Society for Human Rights was established in Chicago as the first known gay rights organization. It was founded by Henry Gerber and was recognized by the state of Illinois.  However, the society was short lived because some of its members got arrested for homosexual crimes and the remaining members did not continue for fear of persecution. In 1951, Harry Hay formed the Mattachine Society, the first national gay rights organization. The main goals of the organization were to unify homosexuals, assist gays that were victims of oppression and discrimination, and to educate homosexuals and heterosexuals alike in order to create a homosexual culture that was deemed ethical by everyone. The Society was a progressive group at the time and the first major organization since the Society for Human Rights. In 1962, Illinois became the first state to decriminalize homosexual acts between consenting adults. In 1969, the Stonewall riots in New York caused an explosion in gay rights activism and landed the protests on the front page of newspapers nationwide. They occurred on June 27^th in Greenwich Village at the Stonewall Inn, when police invaded the gay bar and persecuted every homosexual in the building. The event resulted in three days of riots. Ever since homosexuality became an issue, gays were discriminated against and sought to rectify the situation. Multiple gay rights organizations were established over the decades and dozens upon dozens of protests took place, and just as they took one step forward, they were pushed back three. In 1993, the infamous “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy was enforced for the United States military which restricted homosexuals from openly sharing their sexual orientation with anyone while on the job. The policy led to the discharge of thousands of men and women. However, recently in 2011, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was repealed and homosexuals no longer have to hide their sexual orientation. In 1996, the important Supreme Court case of Romer vs. Evans ruled that gays were protected against discrimination in the state of Colorado. Prior to the case, the 2^nd amendment of the state constitution stated that gays and lesbians were denied protection on the grounds that those were “special rights”. Romer vs. Evans set the stage for the 2003 Supreme Court case Lawrence vs. Texas, which overruled the 1986 case of Bower vs. Hardwick that stated laws against sodomy were constitutional. Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy determined that “liberty presumes an autonomy of self that includes freedom of thought, belief, expression, and certain intimate conduct.” In 2008, widely covered in the news, the highly controversial decision of the California Supreme Court had many up in arms. On May 15^th, the court ruled that same-sex couples have a constitutional right to get married. Over the next six months, nearly 18, 000 homosexuals got married. However, on November 4^th, Proposition 8 was passed by the state legislature, once again banning same-sex marriage. California reverted to its typical status-quo of intolerance and many protests were made. Many supporters of gay marriage targeted the Mormon Church for raising $20 million of the $75 million that was spent on promotion of the conservative campaign against same-sex marriage. Proposition 8 has yet to be overruled. There is some good news, however.  In 2011, New York became the largest state to allow same-sex marriage and has become a dream come true for thousands of gay and lesbian couples. As time goes on, the public is becoming more lenient and more tolerant. Eventually, as in the past, the oppressors will have a change of heart and the oppressed will obtain what they deserve.

   I wholeheartedly believe that same-sex marriage should be legal nationwide with no restrictions. There is no single legitimate reason why it should not be. Nobody should have the right to decide that two people should not be wed because it ultimately has nothing to do with outsiders. If someone doesn’t like it, they can turn the other way. Romance is nobody’s business except for the ones involved in the relationship. Control over something that which is not yours is not just. Oppression leads to destruction and degradation. Discrimination thrives in society devoid of tolerance. Tolerance dies in a nation consumed with bigotry and close-mindedness. For some reason, this is hard for humanity to see. People have an innate desire to control everything. We truly do lust for power: we lust for the power of control, for the control over others and their actions, for the control to force-fit the ideals of others into a box that we, individually, made for ourselves to house our values and our morals and everything that we personally hold close. But everyone’s box is different. Same-sex marriage is different than traditional marriage, but one is not higher up on the totem pole than the other. Love is love, and in America, of all places, people should be able to freely express their love for another human being no matter the sex or orientation.

   The only solution to the problem is to keep pushing, to keep protesting, and to keep seeking the goal. Times are changing, and the masses are slowly but surely becoming more and more liberal. When examining the timeline of events since the 1920’s, a lot has happened in the way of progress. Each year the homosexual population comes closer and closer to attaining the right to marry anywhere in the United States. Everyday more gays and lesbians are coming out of the shadows to unite for the cause. Liberal politicians are gaining recognition (some of which are gay themselves) and rising to the frontlines of the war against the anti-gay campaigners as homosexuals garner support. In due time, the negative stigma associated with same-sex marriage will dissolve, and people will come to accept each other for who they are. What the public wants, the public eventually gets. As long as there are enough people out there who want gay marriage to become legal nationwide, it will happen. After all, love is love.

The American Greed

Where am I?  I can’t see anything. I feel excruciating pain in my abdomen. I’m disoriented, scared, and cold, abandoned on what feels like a cement floor. I don’t know much. I don’t know where I am and I don’t know why I’m here. But what I do know is bleak: I’m bound by my hands and feet; there is a blindfold covering my tired eyes, and what tastes like a dirty sock has been shoved into the close-hamper that is my mouth. I’ve been kidnapped. As if that’s not enough, I believe I’ve been shot. Whoever was after me got me, and got me good. I rack my brain, trying to figure out just what the hell has happened, trying to put method to the madness.

    I was at the bar last night and had two drinks. Everything was normal.

                                                                       INSURANCE AGENTS:

   The bar was adorned with two flat screen televisions and Oliver was half paying attention to the commercial on the screen nearest him. There was an all-too-happy insurance agent talking to a couple of potential customers. The agent was trying to butter-up the bread-bringers with a cheap savings pitch and they were completely buying it. “If you switch to Smart Drivers Car Care you will save 25% percent per year, no matter what company you are with now, guaranteed.” The soon-to-be customers gullibly believed everything verbatim. The image on the screen changed and Oliver asked for another drink. He had a lot to celebrate.

   Sitting on the seat to his left was Robert Phillips. Oliver knew him from work and saw him at church on the few occasions he showed up. He was a genuinely nice guy but rubbed Oliver the wrong way. Something about him, the aura he emitted, perhaps was too strong. It was as if light shone from his skin, ejected outwards and permeated all dark, at least that’s how he carried himself. He was your Class-A model citizen: from volunteering at homeless shelters to contributing generously to charities, he had a good heart and a love for others.

   He notices Oliver.

   “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said.

   “Hey, how are you doing?” Oliver says with as much reluctance as one can harbor. It was not a question he really wanted to know the answer to. It was simply a mandatory action one must commit if one seeks to live in society. He was just going through the motions.

   “I can’t complain. I’m fortunate enough to have a roof over my head and a safe environment to raise my children,” he said with a serious, kind hearted heir, yet Oliver found it pretentious and headstrong. Phillips had just come back from a missionary trip to Haiti to spread the word of God to earthquake victims.

   Oliver only nodded, not amused.

   “I’m making another trip next month with the East Coast Baptist Church. It would be great if you could come along, Oliver.”

   Is he really asking me to do this?

   “Or if you can’t make it down, we are always accepting donations. All funds go to either rebuilding or feeding victims. We need all the help we can get.”

   “I’ll think about it,” replied Oliver. He had no intention of even considering giving up anything of his for people thousands of miles away that he didn’t know. Sure, it was unfortunate that such a disaster could happen to undeserving people. But because of their misfortune, was he to give up his time or earnings? He thought he deserved to keep what he had.

   Phillips seemed to see right through him. He stared at him glumly. “One day you’ll regret being so selfish. When you are in need, do you expect others to step up and save you? Because most people won’t, Oliver. Most people will turn a blind eye. However, you can make amends. You can save yourself. I think you need someone to talk to. Come to church this Sunday, please. Open your heart to Jesus.” And with that, he got up and took his leave.

   Oliver couldn’t take being insulted in such a way. He called after him: “Take your hocus-pocus theology elsewhere. I’ve got everything I need.”

   Phillips glanced back grimly, as if to say, “Money can’t save you.”

                                                                       A STICKY SITUATION:

 Things may have been normal last night (or were they?) but they most definitely were not so normal now. I’m panicking. The pain in my abdomen isn’t subsiding. If anything it’s gotten worse. I can feel a warm, sticky substance where it hurts and I know immediately that it’s blood.  For God’s sake, I’m bleeding out. I was sitting at the bar like any other night and now I’m bleeding out! That was the panic speaking, because I was not dying, yet. I thought that if I were to die I would’ve been dead already; at least that is what I convinced myself. The blood wasn’t dripping, and by not dripping, I mean not copiously flowing. I knew that much without the luxury of vision, which must mean I had been shot some time ago. From what I could tell, I wasn’t dead—unless I was in some sort of sick purgatory. The blood had started to dry in some places. Hopefully I will be alive long enough for the blood to turn to scab, and the scab into fresh, scarred skin. For some strange reason the notion gave me hope. I had to escape.

   I wriggled my hands to try by some miracle to get free. I twisted my wrists left and right, left and right, back and forth in a furious motion until my skin was rubbed raw: Rope burn at its finest. I tried to scream but needless to say my cry didn’t even get beyond my uvula; the gag was damn good at insulating. Panic evolved into an elevated manic state. Where there were rain clouds there were now blackened skies and monsoons that brought waves of hail-sized droplets of destruction. My heart raced as fast as a cheetah chases down its prey. Beads of sweat surfaced on places of my body that I didn’t even know I had. The beads turned into stains on my clothing and I started to feel a throb in the center of my forehead. When was the last time I had something to drink? I was surely dehydrated; however, last night I had my fill of alcohol.

                                                                          BACK AT THE BAR:

   “Get me another round, bartender,” says Oliver. Now that Phillips had left, he was fixated on a business proposition he had been fortunate enough to be presented with two weeks prior. He’s the CEO of CNB (Chesterfield National Bank) and has worked there for eleven years, eight of which in his executive position. He is thirty nine years old and lives in a grand townhouse outside of Chesterfield, South Carolina. The house is embellished by a generous front lawn, the kind that was big enough to drive a 7 Iron on. There was a semi-circle white pebbled driveway in the center of it. Oliver particularly liked the pebbles because it made him think of a high-end English mansion he had once visited as a younger boy, the driveway of which was pebbled much like his own. “It just has the element of richness, that heir of royalty about it,” he would boast to his friends. “It adds that final touch to my humble abode.” Only a pompous, facetious ass would front his fortune with such sarcasm as that last comment. His “humble abode” was enclosed by a white picket fence: an eternal symbol of the American Dream, and Oliver was standard case of the dream gone awry. Sure, he had more money than all his friends, a nice sports car, and more preserved wine than the most enthusiastic collector, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. His greed was as bottomless as the national debt, and nothing would squelch the desire to have more except to have more. Oliver is an addict, but his drug is green, and with one score his zealous-like passion (and need) for it would grow exponentially and carve out a little bit more of his sensibility with every binge. He is a walking ATM and all he can think about or take pride in is how much money he has inside his vault. Did I say ATM? I’m sorry, ATM’s spit money out. Oliver keeps his money locked in. He’s a walking safe withholding a plethora of jewelry and no one knows the lock combination. Not that it would matter; if someone did he’d just switch the lock and keeps the door shut forever, until he wanted more. And he would want more. He always does.

   That’s what he was thinking about at the bar. He had been approached by a man recently, a deal-maker, a miracle worker of sorts, at least in Oliver’s world. This man had stepped into Oliver’s office and presented himself as an aspiring bank executive from Russia that came to The United States to start a new life, as his wife left him and consequently left him nothing but desolation. He called himself Parkonov and claimed to be the son of royalty.

“My father is Czar of the Parkonov dynasty, and his father was Czar before him, and presided over the east lands and much of Prussia.” His voice was laced with a thick accent and at first it was hard for Oliver to grasp what he was saying, but after a moment’s time he came to think of his voice as distinguished, and subconsciously, persuasive.

   “After my wife left I needed to get away. The money didn’t matter nor did the potential for power. I know you think I’m crazy: My father is now Czar and I’d be next in line; however, without my love beside me I don’t have the will to stay,” said Parkonov.

   Oliver was quite puzzled over the thought of anyone giving up such a vast expanse of wealth for a fresh start, for any reason for that matter. Wealth was all Oliver wanted. It was everything he dreamed. He’d dig his own grave for a million bucks. Hell, he’d contort into a human pretzel for a million bucks. But nonetheless, Oliver wanted to see where this was going. Maybe it was greed; maybe it was intuition. Or both.

   “Go on,” said Oliver.

   “So I came to you for a job.”

   “Why me? Why give up everything?” asked Oliver, giving Parkonov an inquisitive look.

   “Well, other than my wife, accounting and finance have always been a hobby of mine. Do you think I wanted to sit on my ass all my life and make everyone kiss my feet? As a kid, I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to work hard and earn what I had. I don’t feel like I’m royalty. I don’t even know if I believe in it, so I want to get away. And banking was a natural choice for me because I was always the mathematician in my family. ” At this point, Parkonov leaned forward in his chair and put his arms on Oliver’s desk, clasping his hands together as if he were about to plead.

   “Look, I heard you are a business man who can’t refuse a good proposition,” said Parkonov.

   Oliver was roped in like a cow. “Where is this leading?”

   “I can’t just leave my position in Russia without a replacement.”

   “Please, frankness would be appreciated. Get to the bottom of this.” Oliver was so interested that he could not wait a second longer to hear what Parkonov’s proposition was. He felt good about this.

   Parkonov looked him in the eye. “I’m asking you to switch places with me.”

   Oliver didn’t blink. His heart skipped a beat. Is this man really asking what I think he is?

   “I desperately want this job. It’ll be what I always wanted. And you, sir, will obtain all the wealth you could ever imagine.”

   “Is this some sort of trick?” Oliver searched Parkonov’s eyes for deception. Whether it was present or not, all Oliver could see was genuine honesty. That’s all he could see because that’s all he wanted to see. If Parkonov was telling the truth then he would be rich; he would be royalty. He would have power. The monster inside him was telling, no, demanding him to accept this proposal. The green monster that stood 5’10” but felt 6’9” rendered Oliver’s free will obsolete. He was a sucker for the feeling of a bulging wallet of cash hanging in his back pocket; the leather so heavy with currency that the thread pocket threatened to give way.

   “No,” said Parkonov staring intently back into Oliver’s eyes.  “I assure you this is a genuine proposal.”

   “How is any of this possible? I’m not royalty,”—oh, but he would be—“I don’t think your family will appreciate me stepping in your place. I know nothing about Russian politics and I—“

   “Look, Mr. Benjamin, I’ve got everything under control. I am a prince, and I don’t have any influence over the Government until I’m Czar. My father is alive and well so there is no possibility of succession for decades to come. You will be a wealthy prince and your only requirement during that time will be to sit alongside the Czar during public addresses and ceremonies: a small price to pay for the benefits, I assure you. I’ve pulled a few strings and my family will be relieved that I didn’t leave without a replacement.”

  “But you could have anybody. There have to be better people,” said Oliver.

   “Ah, but no one else deserves it. My life is invaluable, and you are helping me get it back together. If you ask me that deserves a grand gesture.”

   Oliver couldn’t say no. The monster wouldn’t let him even if he wanted to.

                                                                     BEWILDERMENT BY BLINDFOLD:

 My head is throbbing. I’m trying to piece back together the parts of my psyche and unravel the mystery of how I ended up here, which is a nearly impossible task; the threads are tangled and knotted in a clump of confusion—it’d take an epiphany to clean up such a mangled mess. I know I was on my way to the airport, ready to board a flight that was to take me to a new life, a richer life. I can remember the limo I was in and I can remember stopping for gas, but even those simple memories are vague and far away.

   The pain’s not far away though. It is real and it’s hitting real hard. The bullet wound is deep and I’m on the verge of passing out.  My resolve is a gas tank and I’m running on empty. It’s safe to say I feel like total shit. Aside from the bullet wound, my head feels like a bad hangover times ten, my wrists are raw from the ropes (my feet are getting that way), my jaw is sore from being stuck open from the gag for god knows how long, and my eyes are craving sunlight. If I could just see…If I could just see maybe I could break out of here, wherever here is. In a desperate attempt to roll over, I feel mind-numbing pain from the gunshot. I grunt and groan and with one determined effort, I roll on my stomach. I put my head to the ground and move my chin to my chest try and slide the blindfold over my eyes. First try, second try, third try, failure. It’s tied tightly and it doesn’t move. What did I expect? I try again. Persistence never hurt me before.

   Oh yeah, what about your persistent greed? Your persistence to acquire as much money as possible, no matter the costs? Isn’t that what got you in this position?

   I press my head harder against the floor, it was cold.

   Cold like your heart.

   I felt the blood pulse in my throbbing skull.

   Do you have a pulse, or are you just a money eating machine?

   I pull my head to my chin.

   Because people hang their heads when they are ashamed.

   The blindfold doesn’t loosen.

   Greed’s grip on you doesn’t either.

   Tears begin soaking the black cloth like dog piss in a sponge. He’s going nowhere, and he knows it.

   His conscience knows the reality, and it slams truth on the cerebral desk of its vessel:

   You don’t deserve to get out. Oliver Benjamin is nothing but a selfish money-grubbing jerk. He has never known compassion. He only knows self-gain, self-satisfaction, and self-adoration. Someone put you here because either they recognize you for the monster you are and want you to suffer, or they want to save you by teaching you the true value of life, something more valuable than currency. I doubt it’s the latter. Who would save the one who would sell out the entire human race for an increase in gross profit? Nobody. Not even you, Oliver. You couldn’t even save yourself.  It’s funny how you have always done everything for the man in the mirror, but it is that same man who cracks the mirror and destroys his own image, his own essence, his own validity. The jagged pieces are falling to the ground in a barrage of broken man; a hailstorm of partial, lifeless images of someone who desperately needs something to keep the pieces together. The man looks down at the broken shards of glass and realizes that without compassion, a man cannot survive. Compassion is the industrial glue that will make those jagged edges parts of a bigger, better, and smoother whole—flaws and idiosyncrasies won’t undermine the entirety of the man. When the elements are held together by one common bond, they stand strong. Greed serves as the acid that eats through that common bond and ruins the integrity of the whole. Oliver, your veins are ripe with that greed. It has spread from your fingertips to your heart, in one ventricle and pumped out the other. It thrives in the deepest recesses of your brain. It lives in you, and you give it strength. You feed its fire with green fuel of  soul-sucking magnitude. Somewhere along the way you let your defenses down and were overrun by a virus; a virus that tells you that enough is never enough, that more is good and even more is better. Yet it doesn’t tell you that it will destroy its host from the inside out. It has torn you apart and chewed up the shredded remains. It has burnt the defecation and charred the ashes. Overkill doesn’t exist in its viral vernacular. It just does what it does best, if you let it. Oliver Benjamin is infected. The final push over the edge will shatter the mirror and send the pieces to the ground to shatter into hundreds more. When that happens, there is no going back. Going forward is even in question.

   What just happened? Oliver had a total mental breakdown—or breakthrough. The tangled threads of his consciousness were now unwoven and in perfect patterned alignment. The mangled mess that was his psyche was now cleansed. Oliver’s despair had seemingly led him to self-enlightenment; the one “self” characteristic that proved useful. The lights had turned on, illuminating all dark and bringing with it vivid memory full of visuals and contextual information. He knew what had happened, but his conscience was still gunning it pedal to the medal.

   Are you greedy, Oliver? Are you greedy for anything while you lay there, bound and shot and forgotten? I bet you are greedy for redemption, aren’t you?

   It was taunting him now.

   Greed was all you were ever good for.

   (What is this?)

   It was all you were ever built for.

   (Stop!)

   I built you.

   (I swear I’ll tear you down)

   You don’t have the strength. I sewed you with the callousness of apathy and filled you with cold-hearted egocentricity. You are my teddy bear, Oliver. You always were. The only way to escape is to rip the stitches from your spine. And let me tell you, you don’t have the backbone for that.

   Greed’s voice whispered these words cold and clear. The hair on Oliver’s neck pried itself from its fleshy prison.

   You are wrapped in a greed-stricken skin, laced in tragedy. You are my plaything.

   The monster gripped him, and vowed to never let go. The virus was in his system and there was no way to stop the internal pandemic.

                                                                    BAD KARMA:

   We had just stopped at a gas station. I was being escorted to the airport, courtesy of Prince Parkonov (soon to be former Prince Parkonov). The driver had stepped inside to pay. Meanwhile I twiddled my thumbs, playing around with a new smart phone I picked up a few days ago. I have a Wall-Street application, that’s how I monitor stocks when I’m on the go. At this point in time, I have not invested any money in the Market but I was heavily examining a company or two. NASDAQ is up $5000 from last month and experts say that number is only going to increase. The other one I’m interested in is Berkshire Hathaway. Warren Buffet, regarded as the smartest player in the game, started this company so others could get rich just like him. Right? Or am I wrong? I digress, Buffet probably created BH as a means for his own profit; but hey, every rich man for himself right? What a world we live in, where “haves” can get their hands on more than anyone could need, while the “have nots” can’t get enough of what they need. Those who struggle are lazy, though, and deserve their mediocre life with their mediocre home, complete with a mediocre coffee-maker. It’s not my fault I’m smart enough to make a name for myself. Maybe it’s genetics. Maybe genetics are to blame for making people too stupid to make ends meet. So why should the Warren Buffets of the planet feel an ounce of guilt? We don’t feel sorry for murderers, and they’re stupid enough to kill. What’s the difference? This is survival of the fittest and a dollar can make you or break you. It just so happens that I’ve got hundreds of thousands tucked away, and million in inheritance. I call it good karma.

   It’s taking the driver a while to come back. I look outside and see nothing except a man driving a red pickup truck pull to a pump. To my right I can see through the window by the cashier and notice there is a line. The driver is three or four people back. To my left is the highway, the road to the airport, the ticket to my new life. I turn my head; behind me the parking lot stretches two dozen feet or so before it runs into a wooden fence. My eyes follow the fence left, down the side of building, and into a dark pathway that must lead to a dumpster or something.

   You’re going to end up in that dumpster.

   I shuddered. The thought had no reason to be in my mind, and I can’t cognitively trace its source. I don’t know what’s scarier: The fact that I had the thought, or I don’t know where it came from. Either way, I try to push it as far out of my skull as possible. I’m uneasy. I look to my right through the window and the driver is now behind two customers. He can’t move fast enough. Something has me shaken up, and I don’t want to be alone.

   You’re never alone. You’ve got your money, Oliver.

   The man with the pickup is gone. He probably paid with a credit card then left. I’m the only one outside. The driver looks through the window and sees me staring at him. He nods as if to say “Hey, how are you doing?.” Such casual mannerisms didn’t seem to fit the situation. Something about being right here right now irked me. I feel anything but casual. It’s not like I’m at a Sunday luncheon with my friends. I’m at a gas station after sundown. Bad things happen at these places, that’s why they only keep fifty dollars in the register. I thought of myself dead in a dumpster! My pulse resembles the bass in a dub step track, heavy and pounding and overly emphasized every beat. It’s the slow part of the song, but they get faster. They always get faster.

   Before I have time to react, the door is ripped open, all I see is the rushing blur of a black silhouette. I’m roughly grabbed by the collar of my shirt and yanked out of the limo as a hand is clasped over my mouth. The driver was nodding at whoever is taking me away. It was a cue! I’m thrown into a car and blindfolded. I hear the engine start and off I go. If this were a dub step track, the bass would be at two hundred beats per minute. If this were a rave, the party would be off the hook.

                                                                        EAVESDROPPING:

   Unfortunately my dance floor is this cold, hard ground. The only sounds I hear are water dripping from the ceiling and the hum of traffic in the distance. My memory has returned, though. After the initial trauma my dysfunctional brain sequenced events and regained a sense of chronology, tied occurrences together and worked like a new computer built with a top-of-the-line processor.

   Last night after being thrown in the car I stayed quiet. I figured fighting my kidnapper would be useless. My vision was compromised and I didn’t know what weapons he might have in his arsenal. So I lay low, feeling out the situation, because that’s all I could do.

   “Where are we taking him?” said the driver to someone undetected. The man had a thick accent and sounded like someone I knew, or had at least spoken to.

   “We went over this,” said another familiar voice. This one was smoother, yet pretentious. “We drop him off at the old warehouse downtown. But rough him up first, will you?

   “As you wish. The payment will be expected soon Phillips.”

   Phillips? Didn’t I just see him at the bar last night?

   “Just do what we talked about and you’ll be paid in full.”

The car wheels to the right around a corner. The tires squeal and every bump jostles me halfway across the back seat.

   I can’t wrap my head around why Phillips would be involved in something like this. Shouldn’t he be on a mission trip or praying in the sanctuary or something? Isn’t he supposed to love everyone? I think kidnapping is against the Christian code of conduct. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Hypocrisy is as common as a zit on an adolescent’s face. Each blemish is as obvious as the next and it doesn’t matter how hard you try to hide them; they are always noticeable. You can use skin care products or pop them every time you have an outbreak, but in the end all you can do is confess that you have ugly, red sores on your face that keep coming back. Just as sin comes back. No matter what you do you are a living, breathing sin machine. We sin every day, whether we like to admit it or not, no matter how we try to cover it up. Being Christian doesn’t save you; being Jewish doesn’t save you; being atheist doesn’t save you. We all make mistakes. So pretending that you are better than it all with a label doesn’t prove anything except your naivety. Maybe I was naïve for thinking that Phillips was above this. Whatever the case, I’m under his control now.

   After the short exchange, the car falls silent until they reach their destination. I’m about to piss my pants. What on earth is going on here? Why am I being taking away? Exactly how is the man in the passenger seat going to “rough me up”? There are too many questions without answers. I feel like I’m on Who Wants to be a Millionaire?, and I’ve got no lifelines left. With that thought, the brain train makes its way down a dark track of dismay, through tunnels of utter black and out into a barren wasteland; a track that trails behind a gas station to a dumpster where Oliver Benjamin lay face down,  infested with maggots like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving. I shudder and my skin turns to ice. Frozen, I sit in the back seat awaiting an unknown, an unknown end to this awful night.

   The car comes to a stop. I hear indistinguishable whispers from the front row. The passenger door opens and a short moment later I’m torn from the vehicle and thrown on the ground. I scream in a combination of fear and pain. The man with the accent shoves a dirty sock in my mouth and smacks me across the face. I yell once more but this time my cries are muffled. I’m then bound by my hands and feet. I’m the human guinea pig, their pet.

   You’re my pet, Oliver. The monster spoke to me. I’m why you are here.

   The man with the accent grabs me by the collar and drags me forward and through a door. I fight, but there is only so much I can do. I must look like a snake wriggling around, trying to free itself from the grips of a snake tamer. That’s all I was, really, a snake doing the dance of submission and control, led by a flute of sonic subversion. The song was morbid and I could either comply or die. I’m dropped to the ground like a puppet on a string; the threads cut by a puppeteer ready to trash the old model and make way for the new.

   “Do you know what is happening to you?” yelled the man with accent. I know that voice. I know I do. How was I supposed to answer his question, though? I’m bound and gagged.

   “I said do you know what is happening to you?” He repeated impatiently. “Nod yes or no!”

   Scared out of my wits, I shook my head. I hadn’t the slightest clue about what was happening, but I remembered who that voice belonged to. It was Parkonov’s.

   “Some people don’t think you deserve to live, Mr. Benjamin. Some people want you dead.” Those words pierced me like nine inch nails through my skull, driven deep into flesh, through bone and out the other end. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. He scammed me. The proposition he presented to me some days ago was a farce. It was a trick. A trap set for a greedy old bastard like me. And I fell for it. Hard. I heard footsteps behind me as Phillips came in. I could smell the sweat leaking from his pores. He was worked up.

 “Do you know why I want you dead?” asked Phillips. “You are so devoid of sympathy, so stricken by selfishness and greed that you lack a level of compassion that is necessary to call you a human being. Instead, you are a creature representative of a pandemic widespread, one of many whom only seek self-gain, self-attainment, monsters defined by self-absorption. Do you get it?”

   I nodded. What he is saying may be true, but there is such a thing as redemption, isn’t there? Aren’t people given second chances? I want to say these things but am restricted by the gag.

   As if reading my mind he said, “You have had chance upon chance to change your ways. Every day there was something you could have done to show the world that Oliver Benjamin is a caring person, that he has heart, that he is generous. Eight years of running a bank and stacking up the money piles, you have given nothing, not one penny to a homeless man; instead you kept every penny for yourself. You are defined by selfish acts of apathetic disgust. I have tried time after time to show you the light, given you chance after chance to renounce your sinful ways, to reject your diabolical, deluded perspective on life. But test after test, you have failed. You have failed to show the world that you are human. We all need money, Oliver, yet we all need a common bond to hold us together. Whether you see it or not, we are a community, a collection of living beings that need each other to lean on. If one of us is in need, someone else comes to help.”

   Phillips was pacing around Oliver, circling him like a vulture circles its food. His voice is strong, shaky—no doubt due to the amount of endorphins the adrenaline is pumping through his body—but strong. It still has that pretentiousness about it that Oliver despises.

   “We are called upon by our brothers, our sisters, and the right thing to do is help. There are too many things going on in this world, too many disasters, too much violence, too many deaths, for everyone to turn a blind eye like you have. The world could go up in flames tomorrow and the only thing you’d be worried about is spraying your money with fire-retardant.”

   He is a lot closer to me now, and he is screaming at the top of his lungs. His spit lands on my face and I can nearly smell his breathe.

   “You are past the point of forgiveness. I want you dead.” He turned to Parkonov. “Make him suffer.” I hear Phillips walk out from where I came in. Was he right about me? I knew I was no saint, but I’d never viewed myself in this light before. I guess my life was in dire need of re-evaluation. What matters in his happiness, finding a purpose, and sticking to the path that is right for you, as long as it doesn’t harm others. It’s not about money or royalty, or pebbled driveways. I only wish I’d learned that sooner. I don’t know if I’d ever get a chance to change.

   The snake reared its vicious head, and opened its mouth to show its fangs. My puppet, it’s time to cut the strings. I am the three sisters of fate. I decide when you die. The virus that has lived so long inside you will kill you. You’ve been a good host, malleable, moldable, and weak enough to control without trouble. I’ll soon latch onto another man, another woman, and corrupt an entire nation. I drive the world. I’ve always been behind the wheel. It’s pathetic how far someone must be pushed down to realize how low they are. You are not the only one. I will destroy generations to come and feed humanity with enough of me to fuel wars and destruction for millennia to come. There is no hope of change as long as man submits to my power. All hope dies in men like you, who’ve learned too little too late.

   I hear a gunshot and lose consciousness.

                                                                      JUSTIFICATION:

   So here I am, broken, defeated, and alone. No one is coming to save me. I’ve been left to die like a soldier in the heat of battle, except comparing myself to a soldier sheds me in a positive light. I’m much less honorable than a soldier, if at all. They give up their lives for strangers. I won’t even give a dime. They fight for a cause; they live with purpose. I fight for a check and live by the purchase. They bleed for freedom and I bleed for the Lincoln. What a sick, depraved soul I am. What a sick soul I must be to turn my back on my fellow man for material possessions. I’ve lived a superficial life, one of triviality. I’ve failed to see the deeper meaning, the love, the compassion, the brotherhood, the common purpose we all share: The purpose to progress, to grow, to push onward and better ourselves with every breath. I’ve stood as nothing more than an obstruction, a road block. I’m a dirt section of road on the Autobahn, a spike strip on the pavement to a brighter tomorrow. I deserve the hand I’ve been dealt, because I’ve dealt some shitty hands myself, grimy hands contaminated with a poison. A poison from the fangs of a ruthless snake. A snake I know all too well. I hope you never get to know him.

Ensnared

A vacant stare, gasping for air

Without you all I know is despair

Encapsulate my mind, every thought you ensare

Stumbling through the forest, something makes me stop,

Something makes me pause

It seems I’ve been caught in the grip of a metal clamps claws

Who put it there? Did you, or did I?

It speckles in the setting sun and reminds me of the sparkle in your eyes

I wish I could see it with mine, in all its glory,

And see what’s to come of our untold story

Though I have a good idea of where it’s going,

Who can be sure? There’s no way of knowing

But this thing, this thing we have has an aura,

And it’s glowing and ever brightly growing

Larger than the sun and as warm as the summer to come,

I welcome it and it beckons me home

The clamp lets go and I wisp away

The moon rising high,

My gaze is fixed upon a blue-patterned butterfly,

And I swear I could feel his fluttering wings in the pit of my stomach

So, this is love.