En fuego

The cold sun has set on Christmas Eve, and night has dawned.

I can already feel myself standing straighter, stretching, expanding. I’ve never felt truly at home in the day, as goth and weird as that sounds. I sit holding my cherry new copy of The Curse of Lono, holding it reverently. Thompson, you clever old bastard, of course I’m holding it reverently. You made the fucking thing as big as an Atlas, and big books can be held no other way. God knows if it’s a good book or not, I’m only three pages in. But you desperate fucker, you made sure everyone who held a copy would hold it with reverence just by fashioning the thing to such a scale. Nobody could toss your work about, bending and folding and mangling the thing; it must weigh fifteen god damn pounds. The wings of the book are immense; it’s like reading a dead condor. You’ve still got it, you vicious fucker. One step ahead of me every time. I salute you.


Strange and terrible visions last night… The cold and the strain of holiday life have wrought a wicked havoc on my subconscious, tearing things loose and muddying the waters. A meteor fell up north somewhere, Alaska or Canada… I was working near the edge of the blast radius. Few were killed, the area was so remote, but seeing the snow and forests seared off the landscape had a powerful effect on me, the air full of orange cinders and white snowflakes. Next I was in a room, or many rooms, with great hanging blue curtains. They shifted and concealed, but I didn’t feel too terribly ill at ease. Strange technologies lurked behind these curtains, beeping, blinking complexities that I failed to comprehend. A man, or what I mistook for a man, approached me. His red eyes and his halting speech gave him away, and when he reached to throttle me I kicked him in his temple hard enough to knock a red eye out of its socket. Screeching and murderous, the manthing choked me as I pummeled its iron ribcage. It spit and swore, assaulting me with accusations and lies in an alien language I couldn’t understand. We died at each other’s throats, bloody and snarling.

I awoke in my bed to Dean Martin crooning about a white Christmas, the pale daytime flooding my room.


Saw The Chronic (what?) cles of Narnia tonight, or as I like to call it, The Passion of the Lion, as is my Christian duty. Although it’s difficult to draw the line between what morality can be attributed to the fanatical C.S. hisself as opposed to the antideluvian werewolf demongods in charge of Walt Disney, the simple fact is that the movie drips with it even moreso than the books. I will say this: if you pureed a copy of Lord of the Rings and the King James Bible, then force-fed the mixture to Ron Howard until he shat himself, Chronicles might be mistaken for what he cleaned out of his pants. Regardless, it was enjoyable.


Another Christmas passes. All that’s left now is that sledgehammer pray-for-death mid-January hangover known as the Visa Bill.


We had a big, angry political discussion over dinner, always a recipe for disaster. Not necessarily for conflict, as my immediate family and I run along reasonably parallel political tracks, but simply a horrid thing to attempt on the holiday of peace and love.

I realize I haven’t told you this in a while… not nearly so often as I should. Eggnog and fudge have a way of bringing out my truest and purest feelings, however. Much like politics. And so, in a rare moment of honesty and sincerity, and in the spirit of holiday giving and American democracy, let me say this:

I truly and deeply fucking hate you all. You are all worthless swine scum shitbags and should be ashamed of yourselves.

I seem to remember a President being impeached for having his knob bobbed in the not too recent past. Remember that? Yeah. That. Now our current First Citizen, the fuck who brought you Iraq 2 – Son of Gulf War and the Miracle of Intelligent Design decides that it’s ok to spy on American citizens. Ain’t nobody calling for impeachment and homeboy is breaking the law.. Keep in mind that this is illegal. Moreso, keep in mind that this is illegal for a reason. So we go to war for no reason and Americans die. Big whoop. So he drives our economy into the ground and puts us in more debt than we could ever hope to recover from. Eh… everyone makes mistakes. So he defies the Geneva Convention and the United Nations, things created to prevent the atrocities of the last century from ever occurring again and usher in a new age of civilized living. Who cares. So he rapes the environment and spies on American citizens without warrants and tortures prisoners and promotes a fascist Christian agenda. This is America. It’ll all work out in the end, right?

You dumb motherfuckers.

I hate, I hate so much my ears bleed and my body shakes. I rage beyond description, as only the young and betrayed can rage. Not at the establishment however. Not at Bush, not at Cheney, not at Gonzalez, not at Viacom. At you. You.

You piece of shit.

There will always be villains, as there always have been. Seldom have the villains ever had it so easy, however. When someone tramples your rights and gets away with it, they are not to blame. You are. Our Fair Government, whose agents pillage and torture and spy and coerce at home and abroad, is there but for the grace of your cowardice. Yours. Every Iraqi orphan who grows up hating America because his daddy was killed by a piece of shrapnel from a hand grenade is your fault. Every tortured prisoner, screaming unheard despair in a cold and bloody cell in Afghanistan is your fault. Every terrified librarian forced to hand over book records to the FBI, every child confused by religion in her public schools, every 22 year old wife waiting by her screen door in Topeka for the day she finds out she’s a widow is your fault. No one else’s, not Bush’s not Satan’s not Bill O’Reilly’s not Eminem’s, yours. Because you fucking idiots let it happen, in America, once the brightest light in a dark and dingy world.

Whether you’re too busy watching wrestling and jacking off and making fun of all those fags going to see Brokeback Mountain and complaining about the Browns losing and hating your stupid job to open your simple-ass waterhead feeb eyes to what’s going on around you or not, it’s your fault. The Ignorant Armies that fill the benches, at trendy churches in Orange County, at Hometown Buffet in Houston, at the Nascar tracks in Virginia, they are to blame.

You twats that think watching The Daily Show and not peeling the Kerry sticker off the back of your Subaru is the same as making a stand against injustice, you are to blame. You despair that free elections have not created the secular democracy in Iraq that you hoped. You fucking idiots, we don’t even have a secular democracy here, let alone in our occupied territory. You dismiss my hate as young angst, as the brazen self-righteousness of an undeveloped mind. There are certain types of poor vision that even those thick bifocals cannot correct, old man. You’ve lived under the yoke of injustice and stupidity far longer than I; my spine is still straight and I haven’t learned to bear such a black burden with such pathetic resolve. Yet.

Every citizen that bends over to take it from these evil, evil motherfuckers is to blame, not just the yokels and fanatics and warmongers that voted them in.

Fucking christ I hate you all.

The world will not wait for you to see the error of your ways. When the dollar collapses and intellectual property is exposed as the fuckup farce it really is and Red armies march across American soil and we take our place in the Third World, it will not be a tragedy.

Tragedy is when bad things happen to good people. When bad things happen to ignorant complacent asswads like you it is not tragic. It is ironic. It is just. It is life.

Every American citizen who doesn’t hate, or worse hates and doesn’t act on it, deserves such a fate.

And when the day comes, and the fires burn and you cry out woe and beg god to tell you how things could have gotten so bad so fast, I will be there. I will laugh in your fat slob face and spit on you. I will dance naked on the corpses of the apathetic millions, and piss on the ruins of our new Babylon. I will shriek with awful glee and kick every one of you fuckups in the festering wounds you’re sure to have, and smile and tell you I told you so. The last thing you’ll see before the world goes blank is that dark boy with the liar’s eyes and the long legs running down your street, cursing your name, hating you.

The meek shall inherit jack fucking shit.

Protect your rights and your brains, shiteyes, lest you get what you deserve.

You fucking idiots.




Christmas is a beautiful time of year. The sun’s out, it’s warm, thankfully. Cold, worse, snow is a horrid thing. Midwesterners grow to love their snow by the same psychology that kidnap victims grow to love their captors, no matter what manner of awful cruelties they perpetrate. Tomorrow, well today I guess, as midnight just passed, today is another Christmas. Another Christmas.

Newly presented, clothed, and equipped, it’s time to look forward.

More on that another time. My disgust and loathing has made me weary, and I fear I must retire. Great and terrible things lie ahead, friend. For both of us. Perhaps now, at high noon and the top of my game, I will do that which I have always threatened. Perhaps it’s time to walk that last, dangerous mile, and see what really lies at the end of the road.

Make it happen, motherfucker.

Make it happen.

Merry Christmas, everybody.


“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to light out after it with a club.” – Jack London
“In a democracy, people usually get the kind of government they deserve, and they deserve what they get.” – HST, circa 1970


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