Anti-Fashion has its genesis in oppression.  Austin aside, the South has never been kind to the punk scene.  Being a punk in Dallas, for instance, meant being starved out by corporate employers, harassed and possibly beaten by police, and socially shunned by polite society.  Thus, it was pragmatically impossible for punk fans and even the musicians themselves to express themselves through fashion in the typical ways most punks do.

In the late 80’s and early 90’s in Dallas, punk/skinhead skirmishes were causing such a ruckus in Deep Ellum that it was deemed a problem by the municipal government.  Police action was initiated to resolve the situation and restore commerce to the Arts district.  The police analyzed the situation and decided to side with the skinheads.  This came as no surprise as many of the cops were skinheads themselves or related to skinheads somehow.  When Terrel Bolton was made Chief of Police in 2004, I remember a lot of cops quitting because they didn’t want to work for a black man.  It was a big deal.

And so, neon hair, mohawks, spikes, chains, and certain t-shirts were unofficially illegal in Dallas, and slowly all the punks were run out of town, often violently.  Dallas literally had a fashion police, which is a testament to how one-dimensional the people who run that shithole are.  The most extreme-looking people were ostracized and only the fashion moderates survived.  Some of them retreated to the suburbs, and I came into contact with a group of them in Richardson, Garland, and Greenville in the mid/lateish 90’s.  I had always been interested in punk music as a child, which drew dubious stares from my parents when I told them I wanted to grow a mowhawk.  Luckily for them the mainstream music scene kept me from hearing any real punk until the early 90’s, when Kurt Cobain’s name dropping in interviews started cluing hopelessly uncool yuppie larvae suburbanites like me into what real punk music was.

The mid and late 90’s brought a punk revival of sorts.  Since original hardcore artists had influenced so many grunge rockers, people started becoming interested in it again.  Bands like Operation Ivy, Rancid, and NoFX were starting to blow up.  The older peeps who had been punks in the 80’s thought it was cute to see teenagers dying and spiking their hair, and dressing like punks, but were quick to warn us that we wouldn’t be winning any praise from the powers that be.  Knowledge of punk music was not hoarded or kept secret, indeed anyone who wanted to learn about it was warmly accepted by old gutterpunks, trying to keep their scene alive.

They dressed in a style which was pretty generic to the time, I guess what you would call ‘alternative’ or ‘grunge’.  They didn’t really have a style.  They had bands and parties, and played punk music but never called it punk.  Rather than call a punk band a punk band, they just called it ‘a band’.  Most of these old punks were just as into Primus, Soundgarden, and Screaming Trees as they were into Bad Brains, Dead Kennedys, and the Circle Jerks.  As a scene, it seemed to be the ‘last stop’ for a lot of them, as many of them were older and started dropping out of the party scene, mostly due to kids, career, etc…  I didn’t ever even really consider it a ‘scene’, per se:  there were no real venues, and most performances were at keggers in back yards.  It was really just hanging out with co-workers and people I met that shared my obscure taste in dead music.  Nobody was trying to set the world on fire, nor would it have been wise for anyone to make such an attempt.  Rock venues did not book local punk bands, so true fans performed on private residences or in dive bars, ‘just for the lulz’.  Shows were often all-ages so that older folks could bring their kids.

We certainly didn’t have an Emo’s, Red 7, or Mowhak’s.  Instead we had Brian’s garage and Billy’s backyard.  We had the filthiest little shoebox venues like the Palladium and the Galaxy, where the stage was made of plywood spray-painted black, and it shook so hard when we moshed, I sometimes thought it would collapse.  This was back in the days when the Stagehand Union was still going and a lot of the guys I knew were running lights and sound for big acts as a means of paying the bills and keeping their own little local scenes alive.  There were only a few places in town where freaky-looking people could get a job, the Stagehand Union was one and Whole Foods was another.  I worked for both companies at one point or another.

This was the era of the Late 90’s Jock/Freak feuds and fights.  For us it wasn’t so much skinheads we had to worry about, as in the 90’s, racism wasn’t that overt.  It was really just jocks and rednecks that would fuck with anyone who looked freaky, be they punks, goths, hippies, or even ravers.    The jocks basically considered themselves a gang.  There would often be Jock/Freak group fights on the football field after school, with one side squaring off against the other.  One punker kid even got his eyes gouged out, was blind for the rest of his life, and the police didn’t even do shit about it!  They were just like: “Boys will be boys.”

And so I always saw the Dallas scene as truly underground.  The people who were into punk did so with great caution and at great personal risk and expense.  It wasn’t a great way to make friends and most people either wouldn’t know what the hell you were talking about or look down on you for being into it.  There was no need for backbiting, cliquishness or elitism, because the social environment was just so shitty for punks already.  The tendency was to stick together and be helpful to eachother.  Although I was too young to have been subjected to police brutality, I have gotten in fistfights over fashion, much in the same way that gangsters get shot over flying the wrong colors on the wrong block.  I certainly lost more than a few job opportunities due to being blacklisted for my punk-inspired progressive politics, so sticking together with like-minded individuals was often necessary for employment and survival.  New members to the scene were welcomed if only for the benefit of strength in numbers.

But it was never a dominant scene and Dallas became better known for it’s prog-metal and rave scenes, the latter of which eventually coming under fire and being hunted into extinction as well, which is a whole other tale.  But when I look at the modern punk scene, it is strange to me.  Its like a retro revival of the early/mid 80’s.  The fashion is so vibrant and alive, the people so juvenile, the politics so trifling, it startles me.  I guess in Austin, anyone with the money to buy the clothes, tickets, and drugs can be a punk.  But in Dallas, it was a hard-fought victory just to survive.  The Austin scene survives and flourishes because the police and money are tolerant of it.  If there were a crackdown, it would be too soft to survive.

So, young whipper snappers, go back to Westlake and dye your hair, wear your recently-purchased vintage punk gear.  I don’t know who you are trying to impress with your derivative music, over-priced drinks, and “friends”.  But I remember a time when people paid in blood for their tastes and their politics, only to grow up, become a regular working stiff, move to trendy, Hollywood-ized Austin and get hated on by a bunch of fashionistas, holier-than-thou sanctimonious liberals, and scenesters.  Sorry I don’t respect your quiet derision, behind-the-back shit talking, and cock-blocking.  I used to get beaten up and starved because I shared your taste in music and politics, so I really could not care less who you are connected to or whether or not you think I’m cool enough to be here.  If anything, you should respect me if you were at all genuine about what you profess to believe.

-Religious Freedom: for some-

Sometimes, people tell me I should feel grateful to live in a country where we are free to worship God in any way we choose.  These statements always burn me from the inside out, like acid in my veins.

People mistake their personal situation for the general situation.  They think that, because they are free, the entire country is free.  The truth is, if you are a white Christian of a recognized denomination, you ARE free to practice your religion in America.  But if you choose a different faith, there’s a gun butt to your jaw and a dank, dirty jail cell waiting for you.

In Rastafari culture, there is a very important religious ceremony known as a ‘Reasoning’.  A reasoning is a simple event where the Rastas gather; smoke ganja; and discuss ethical, social and religious issues.  Many people do this in America as well, without even realizing it is a sacred religious ritual.  Unfortunately, reasoning is illegal in America.

There exists in America a similar custom which is tolerated by the law.  It’s called ‘Holy Communion’.  A Holy Communion is a simple event where the Christians gather, drink alcohol, and discuss ethical, social, and religious issues.  Sound familiar?

My question is: What is the difference between the Communion and the Reasoning?  If your mind is free of prejudice, there is no difference.  But the bigots that comprise the ‘powers that be’ will always try to ‘teach’ you by installing their prejudice in your mind.

They say that cannabis is an evil plant that has no spiritual value, but my life experience says otherwise.  These old eyes have personally witnessed the mystical effects of cannabis on the hearts and minds of my fellow humanity.  I have seen ganja impart empathy and conscience to those who previously had none.  Cannabis has transformed simpletons and petty materialists into theologians with complex philosophical ideas.  Ganja has awakened the spirit of individualism and free thinking in those who were previously hard-coded robots.  It has broadened the perspectives of many, and turned those who partook into better people than they were before they tried it.

Do you ever wonder why hippies care about the environment?  Its because they have been reminded of their responsibility to it through the smoking of the sacred herb. Some people don’t smoke cannabis, and instead prefer alcohol.  These tend to be the ones who care nothing of the fate of humanity.  They are cut off and numb to the world, and spiritually dead inside.

Not to bag on alcohol too much, we all need a drink now and then, but I’m tired of this commonly propagated lie that alcohol is harmless and cannabis has no value.  They say that cannabis is a petty escape from reality.  That may be true of alcohol, but not of the sacred herb.  Cannabis is a mild psychedelic.  It is not an escape from reality, and anyone who uses it with that intention will be sorely disappointed.  Cannabis amplifies reality.  And if you have any skeletons in your closet, cannabis will shove them right in your face.  That is why the evil ones cannot partake in it.

There is a saying amongst potheads: “Man made beer, and God made pot.  God is perfect, man is not.”

But whatever your opinions of cannabis and alcohol are, there is one argument you must consider:  The first amendment to the Constitution says that the government cannot prohibit anyone from the free exercise of their religion. Considering the fact that many religions view cannabis as a sacrament (including certain sects of Christianity), shouldn’t this make anti-pot laws unconstitutional?

Why should some denominations of Christianity be able to get together on Sunday, drink alcohol, say that it is a sacrament that helps them commune with the Holy Spirit, and that’s fine with the law. But if a Gnostic or Rastafarian church wants to do the same thing with pot, its a crime? Is this not a clear cut case of religious discrimination, and a government that prohibits the free exercise of one religion while legally respecting another?

Sadly, the pro-cannabis religions are a tiny minority, and their rights are swept under the rug. The problem is, anyone who isn’t directly effected by prohibition could really give a rat’s ass about someone else’s rights. People who aren’t effected by an unjust law are not going to fight it on general principle. Johnny Wasp, as he sips his wine after church, doesn’t care at all that the government violates the civil liberties of Rastafarians by locking them up for pot. It doesn’t effect him.

And our Supreme Court, composed of Justices who are supposedly our wise and uncorruptable social and intellectual betters, doesn’t give a rat’s ass either.  They are so Eurocentric that they cannot even comprehend why cannabis could be considered a religious sacrament.  And they are further motivated by psychological evidence that suggests pot users are more sympathetic to certain political causes.  Political causes that the Justice’s wealthy constituents view as a threat (ie- socialism).  Once again, capitalism trumps religion in America.

We live in a country where selfishness is our only principal. With that weak of a foundation, of course minority rights will be trampled by the ensconced majority culture. If it were THEIR church being raided with SWAT teams and THEIR holy sacrament confiscated, there would be a countrywide revolution the next day. But they could give a fuck if it happens to their neighbor, whose unconventional beliefs seem weird, scary, and mockable.

The truth is, the persecution of cannabis users is just a small part of a much bigger plot to completely eliminate certain trains of thought from the minds of humanity.  This coincides with the systematic genocide of the world’s indigenous cultures.  Religions have existed for millenia that consider certain plants sacred and holy.  Then, the white man stole their land and made their culture against the law.

But the genocide of the Native American and other indigenous races isn’t enough for the American Government. They also feel the need to completely eliminate indigenous cultures from American society. They won’t be satisfied until the last member of these races is dead, and all records of their culture’s existence is destroyed.  They do not want these cultures’ ideas to ‘pollute’ our minds and jeopardize the control that our leaders have over us.

The last thing the ‘powers that be’ want is for members of their own race to convert to these alien ways of thinking.  Thus, they do not recognize the rights of white people to partake in the cultures of other races.  This runs contrary to our country’s professed ideals of many races and cultures coexisting harmoniously.

We live in a multicultural melting pot society, which means that different people living beside eachother will eventually adopt eachother’s customs. Although I am white, I am not strictly the product of white society. MTV and the public school system raised me, just as much as my parents did.

I see American society as a kind of cultural buffet. As an American citizen, I feel entitled to pick and choose which cultural customs to adopt personally. Thus, its unfair for the government or anyone else to say that I am not a Rasta, just because I am white. To me, a person who decides to follow a particular religion is a legitimate practitioner of said religion, regardless of race or cultural heritage. If a fat, rich white kid from New Jersey truly believes in Rasta ideals, then he IS a Rasta.

Sadly, the religious organizations controlled by indigenous races are so scarred by the white man’s transgressions, they tend to distrust us.  This is exemplified by my quest to consume and understand the mystical and hallucinogenic catcus known as Peyote.

I tried everywhere to get this stuff.  No one cold get it.  Not hippies, not gangstas, not even the Mafia!  Finally, I came to the conclusion that the only person who could hook me up was a real bonafide Native American.

So I went to their churches, and got the door slammed in my face many times.  I asked Native Americans that I knew in every day life to let me in, and they angrily spurned my attempts.

Eventually, I got close enough to one of these guys to get him to really talk to me about it.  But he was still reluctant to take me to his tribe’s peyote ceremony.  When I asked him why, he would always respond:

“Its ours.  Its not for your kind.”

But he knew that I was sensitive to the Native Americans’ plight, and he knew I understood that their race was dying.  And so I said to him:

“If you don’t share your culture with me, then it dies with you.”

Understanding that all I wanted was to understand, he let me into the inner circle.  Realizing that I was truly with them in Spirit, my friend and his tribe allowed me to partake.  And I learned much wisdom that I will never forget, and carry with me into the world at large.

By converting followers of different races, the Native Americans can ensure that their culture lives on, even if their race dies out. One of the great things about culture is that it outlives the people who create it.  Unfortunately, Rastafarians can be victim to this same paranoia about white people, but I have won their trust as well in times past.

The knowledge that curiosity about other peoples’ ways of thinking has given me has transformed me into a much better person than I used to be.   And I credit both that and my complex understanding of theology to the consumption of entheogenic substances.  So you’re never going to convince me that  these chemicals don’t have spiritual value.

Instead, I will know that I am oppressed, and that Freedom of Religion in this country is a lie and a sham.  It is yet another benefit of conformity that belongs to everyone else but me and the people I care about.  I will know that I am a slave to a system which does not just try to control my body, but my mind and soul as well.  I will know that not only my behavior, but my very way of thinking is being controlled by a crooked organization that is trying to fuck me and everyone else.  And I will know that this is bullshit.

And whenever someone congratulates me on living in the Land of the Free where everything is gorgeous and rosy, I will always feel a mixture of both sadness and anger in my heart.


The Enemy

I’ve seen an infinite source of energy
Used to decimate our enemy
I’ve seen rockets that could reach the depths of space
We spat them in our enemy’s face
I’ve seen wealth that belonged to me and you
Appropriated by a selected few
I’ve seen speakers of truth crucified
By those who would rather believe in lies
Between Angels and Demons, Heaven and Hell
Our greatest enemy is ourselves.

Obituary for Michael Jackson

Originally posted on June 26th, 2009:

Yeah, that’s right.  I like to kick ’em when they’re down…

This morning when I woke up, I couldn’t help but notice that the grass was a little greener, and the sky was a little bluer.  Everything smelled and tasted better.  It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  Why, you ask?  Because Michael Jackson is DEAD!!!  WOOOOOOOOOO!!!  Put on ‘Thriller’, I’m ready to dance!

If I were to say something like:  “Michael Jackson represents the complete failure of Western Society, and that his popularity and success is a depressingly poignant reminder of the depths of human stupidity, and the failure of Freedom, Capitalism, and Democracy,” you might think I was being a little melodramatic.

But consider this:  When I was a child in the 1980’s, Michael Jackson RAPED ME (with bad music).  Can you imagine what it would be like to NOT be a Michael Jackson fan in the 80’s?  I was utterly screwed.  That shit was everywhere.  You couldn’t NOT listen to it.  There was no escape from the bad taste of millions of people.  I remember when, in some misguided attempt to make school relevant to 80’s youth, THEY MADE US SING AND DANCE TO CRAPPY MICHAEL JACKSON MUSIC AGAINST OUR WILL!  AND FILMED IT!!!  (thank Jesus that those video tapes were all destroyed in Hurricane Ivan).  Seriously though, forcing a child who hates Michael Jackson to sing and dance to his terrible music is probably a far worse crime than forcing an Athiest child to say “one nation under God” while reciting the Pledge of Allegience.  Sadly, the Supreme Court did not get involved in my case.

Because of the prevalence of “artists” like Michael Jackson, my first impression of what humans call “music” was not a positive one. Truly, Pop is the NewSpeak of music.  Suppress the good music and relentlessly promote the bad music, and soon people will forget that music can be anything other than synthesized theatrically contrived meaningless drivel.  It wasn’t until 1992, when Nirvana broke through the suburban barrier, that I realized that music didn’t have to be over-produced, meaningless, false-idol worship.

By 1996, if you asked someone what kind of music they liked, and they responded “Michael Jackson”, you knew that there was something seriously wrong with that person.  MJ was such a symbol of the 80’s, Reaganomics, the Cold War: he truly was the embodiment of one of the most tasteless, opulent, destructively decadent time periods in American culture.  He had no credibility in the 90’s.

But even when I moved on to better tunes, the threat of Michael’s music was still ubiquitous.  Relatives from the backwoods, who thought it was still the 80’s would send me his CD’s every Christmas and birthday.  “Here you go little J”, they said,”Here’s some of that dang ol Michael Jackson.  You should listen to this with all your friends.  You’ll be gettin all the girls with these jams.”

Thank God for CD Warehouse, where I would trade this crap in for $5 a CD, so I could go around the corner and buy smack cut with Tylenol PM, which I felt was very effective in helping me escape from a cruel world where Michael Jackson can get away with raping an entire generation.

But Michael, being the liscense whore that he is, expanded his product lines into everything.  At one point I was even given (or maybe I earned it with Pepsi points) the Michael Jackson Moonwalker video game, which bordeom and a sense of camp value caused me to play all the way through.

In this video game, MJ’s job is to rescue little kids from an evil crime boss, but in hindsight it was probably the evil crime boss doing the rescuing.  To anyone who is wondering how the hell Michael Jackson could possibly beat up a whole nightclub full of gangsters, well, it turns out the MJ is himself a gangster:  A magical gangster who draws his power from shooting stars.  Using his special ability forced all the other gangsters on the screen to start dancing like Jackson, then at the end of the song they all die for some reason.  This is much like the way I was forced to dance like MJ in my youth, except unfortunately I didn’t die when the song ended.  Also, I remember if you got the right powerups in the right order, MJ would turn into a Robot that could shoot lasers from his eyes.  Then, he would turn into a spaceship for the final battle with Mr Big piloting a robo-mecha-spider.  yes, apparently Michael Jackson possesses the ability to turn into a spaceship.

And I’m tired of hearing all this crap about how Jackson was good for race relations because he had “crossover” appeal.  Let me tell you something:  white people were perfectly capable of enjoying black music before Michael Jackson.  Actually, I find some of Jackson’s videos in the 80’s to be purely blaxploitive.  “Smooth Criminal”, “Beat It”, “Bad”, “Dangerous” all featured Jackson acting like a gangster, though i suspect that child star Michael had never even been within a mile of a gangster.  All of these videos depicted and promoted the most negative black stereotypes, all for the benefit of Jackson’s precious image.  This man literally sold out his culture for his own glory and wealth.  And then in the 90’s he tried to redeem himself by smashing up that car in that superbowl video, then morphing into a black panther and leaping away.  WTF was that?   Even my pro-MJ hillbilly relatives were scared and confused by that performance.

Michael Jackson’s success and popularity have seriously shaken my faith in Freedom, Democracy, and Capitalism.  Let me just say, that if people were intelligent and had good taste, Capitalism, Freedom, and Democracy might just work.  But people are stupid and have horrible taste, and thus, they will EAT SHIT and LIKE IT as long as it is marketed to them correctly.  The scary thing is, this applies to politicians just as much as it does to musicians.  Jackson’s life is also a great example of how everything is for sale in America.  You too can get away with molesting little boys…  for the right price you pay to their fathers out of court.

One reporter lamented that Michael Jackson’s death meant the Death of Pop Music.  God, I hope he’s right.  I’m so happy that, for once in my lifetime, the CRAPPY musical Artists (BackStreet Boys, Lindsay Lohan, etc…) have lost one of their Idols.  Hopefully this loss will demoralize them to the point where they can no longer put out their crappy music.  It is a serious cosmic injustice to me that we lost Cobain, Morrison, Lane Staley, Lennon, Tupac, Hendrix, Biggie, and a whole bunch of other great musicians at such a young age, but we had to wade through 50 years of paparazzi tabloid filth to see Michael Jackson die.  My question is simply this:  How much brilliant talent has gone overlooked and unappreciated by the unified corporate media system so that Michael Jackson could hog the spotlioght for 30 uneccesary years?

But I must say, though I am enjoying the media circus surrounding his death, particularly the emergence of conspiracy theories and speculation about how long it will take his face to decay (plastic lasts 1,000 years, right?), what I’m really anticipating is the time coming in the very near future where I will no longer have to hear ANYTHING about Michael Jackson.  I won’t have to hear his crappy music, I won’t have to hear about his sham marriages, botched plastic surgeries, child molestation and abuse, bubbles the chimp, or any of that shit EVER AGAIN.  There will only be silence, blessed silence.  Because Michael Jackson is one of those musicians who makes the value of silence go through the roof.

So if you see me on 6th Street tonight, I will be wasted and singing Michael Jackson songs, giving the man’s work one last hoorah before I gleefully close the door on this terrible moment in American culture FOREVER.  I just wish I could moonwalk on his grave.

PS:  To all my black friends…  We’re still cool, right?  What, too soon?

The Spiritual Deficit of America

As I begin my day, I am struck by how my life revolves around the intake of chemicals.

I wake up and get in the shower.  I rub some chemicals into my hair and all over my body.  I get out of the shower, rub some more chemicals under my arms and spray them on my chest.  Then I eat breakfast, intaking the proteins and carbohydrates that sustain my existence in this material plane.

By the time I’m at my desk at work, I’ve already popped the tab on a soda: more chemicals.  By 9AM, I start to get antsy and go outside for a cigarette.  I’m inhaling more chemicals.  Even when I put the cigarette out, I’m breathing oxygen: yet another chemical my body requires.

Now, some would say that there is nothing wrong with this, other than the cigarette.  But to me, its all wrong.  Why should I need sustenance from the outside world simply to continue existing?  I guess the question I’m really asking is: Who is keeping me in debt?

Some people ask me why I am so skinny.  Its because I don’t enjoy eating.  Why?  Because I’m not used to it.  Because I remember what so many have forgotten:  the higher spiritual realms where you don’t need to eat, drink, breathe, or imbibe, because you already have everything you need.  States of intoxication, joy, and inspiration are not dependent upon the ingestion of specific chemicals, but rather they are instantly and infinitely accessible to the whim of the mind.

In India, ascetics are revered.  Holy men wander the land with few if any possessions, in search of enlightenment, and they are aided in their quest by the entire community.  Some of these holy men ascend to the level of guru, and they go into the mountains to die, for they are no longer attached to the material plane: they know that they do not need it.  The people of the land will then seek these gurus out so that they may learn their wisdom so the cycle can continue.  Ordinary people will surround these gurus, feeding and clothing them, so that the guru will be karmically obliged to continue existing in the material plane.

Why are the gurus so valuable to the people?  Because they speak the truth.  We live in a matrix of lies and deception.  Materiality can trick even the brightest of minds, swindling us all into buying into the ultimate lie: That its us or them.  That everything is finite, so keep your hands off mine.  That money and power are more important than people.  Luxury and decadence tempt us, so we need the wisdom of the enlightened to remember that this world is just an illusion, merely a prelude to something much better.  We need someone to remind us that material rewards are not really rewards at all.  Ultimately, they are punishments.

What a stark contrast India is to America, the land of tyranny and the home of the slave.  Where our material wealth is only matched by our spiritual deficit.  In India, enlightened gurus are respected and revered.  In America, such people are cast out and shunned.  They are persecuted, even.

Why?  Because in a society based on lies and deception, an honest man is very dangerous.  He might upset the very foundations of such a society, toppling its towers and unseating its evil Princes, Archons, and Demiurges.

You wanna be a bully and blow stuff up?  Here’s a gun store on every corner, and ammo is cheap.  You wanna be an insurance salesman, swindle everyone out of their money?  Here’s a billion dollars.  You want to be a crooked CEO, abuse your authority, and  have sex with all the lower level employees’ wives?  Here’s that promotion you’ve been angling for.  In America, people are allowed to dig themselves into some very deep holes.  Some of the debts that people create for themselves, they will never be able to repay.

But if you want to tell the truth in America, you are fucked.  Your reward is poverty, disease, imprisonment, and ultimately: death.  You want to be a good person in this country?  Prepare for a life fraught with hardships and obstacles.  You want to be honest?  Here’s last place in the election.  Here’s a jail cell.  Here’s assassination.

This American system we live in is Satanic fascism, plain and simple.  Money controls our lives, influences our decisions, and ultimately keeps us in debt, both spiritually and materially.  And most people gamely accept the myth that you are either Type A or Type B, that you either fuck people or get fucked.  Given the opportunity, most Type Bs would “move up” to Type A status.  In other words, they don’t hate the game, they hate the players, because they are jealous of them.  Why do so few people see through this duality, and stand up for themselves, their values, and eachother?  The system is at fault, and has to change.  But the ones with the power to change it are having too much fun at everyone else’s expense to do so.  You come into this world with good intentions, and you go right to the top, but that power corrupts, and then you become what you’ve been fighting all along.

And that’s why I say that America is the poorest country in the world.  Sure we have gold, money, cars, fancy clothes, fancy food.  But spiritually, so many are bankrupt.  Not because their souls have been stolen from them, but simply because they have thrown their souls away in exchange for material things that rot and rust and decay, and ultimately end up as nothing.  What a sad consequence to a bargain with the devil.

And so I close this post with questions that often plague me: In America, you can be anything you want to be, so why do so many people choose to be idiots?  Is freedom a failure?  Why have we fallen so far, and is there any way back up?