Violence

Caiphus: If men are inherently violent, then what affect does the efficiency thereof have on our perception of violence?

Moralam: It is true that all men are prone towards violence; furthermore, it is also true that, given the lack of a spear a man will turn to a stone to bash his enemy's head in. However, is it not true that the death by spear is a more humane death?

Caiphus: I believe that that is a misleading phrase - there is no such thing as a humane death.

Moralam: Explain.

Caiphus: How can death be humane at all? Is not all forced death a violation of life, and therefore painful to the environment in which we are immersed?

Moralam: Death is a natural part of life - there is no question of death's certainty, only of its timing. Even death by old age is a death caused by some rapid change. It is just as forced as when one's life is ended by a weapon; therefore, all death is violent. Because all men are violent, and prone towards violence, it is fitting that their lives should end violently. Given that something "humane" is something that represents the epitome of human achievement, and that there is only one sort of death possible, a violent one, I know that the absolute best possible death is still the worst, and this makes it impossible for one kind of death to be better than another, except in the instances of pain during life.

Caiphus: So when you speak of a humane death, you are making reference to that death which is preceded by the least amount of suffering while that person is still living.

Moralam: Yes. Now, to return to what we were discussing: does more efficient violence begat more violence, or does it simply make deaths easier to bear?

Caiphus: Are you arguing that efficiency makes deaths more humane?

Moralam: I was considering it; however, after much deliberation and examination of the evidence I have found that it is the cruelty of the man behind the weapon that determines the suffering incurred, and not the efficiency of that weapon.

Caiphus: Indeed, even the smashing of one's head with a stone can be merciful when compared to the ritualistic tortures of the spear.

An Ode of Anxiety

Gradually you begin to feel your veins
Inside your mind,


You've come to find,
There's not enough room in your brain


Though everything is so dimly lit,
And all the world opens her arms
wide,

You fear to come
inside,

Welcome,

To the world as we know it . . .

Righteous In Loneliness

Morals were a cautious dam,
When released the land caught fire,
But who can know when the dam will go,
And free hedonistic desire?

If just one man,
Or woman stands,
Before the dam's untapped flow,
Then would not the fire,
Be forced into place,
That, molded, it would glow,
And shed the light,
That, calm this night,
Our innocence dissuaded.

And silently the townsfolk sleep,
Protected in illumination,
For all it took,
Was a worried look,
To enforce what we created.

Prison Invisible

I knew it was only a dream.

That's all I am after all, a lonely dreamer, afloat in a sea of tranquility. They thought I was crazy, but it doesn't matter. I made them in my mind, made them up. I breathed life into them, every one. The mailman, the lonely collegiate girl, the elderly woman who set aside a portion of her meager income to pay for birdseed . . .

They are mine.

They would argue, have tried to argue with me, but how can you argue with a dreamer? Speak not to me; I am only a corpse in this world. I am only a corpse to this world. That is why I am here, in this morgue of men.

How I got here I do not know, that part of this dream is vague and difficult to remember. My mind is clouded and filled to bursting, bursting like a can of beans dropped carelessly in the path of an oncoming train.

There are other corpses here . . . I can sense them. Some of them live with me, even after death they live. I am pleased that this is only a dream, for when I live I may control my fate, but in my dreams I am powerless, powerless in this prison invisible.

War of Science

He struggles,
Every pore
Poured out onto the workbench,
Coarse hands shaken,
Shaking,
As, caustic,
It is administered,
Carefully measured
One increment at a time,
Closer and closer,
To more efficient violence.

Ode to the Children

It is,
The most beautiful thing,
When together they sit,
All alone on the swing,

Not a moment is shared,
Like the one come before,
And each moment is shared,
Before an open door,

Yet each kiss and each touch,
Enters muffled and hoarse,
While his legs become rough,
And her smile grows coarse

When into the room,
They leap,
Where does innocence sleep?

Religion, Faith, and Spirituality

Caiphus: What is the relationship between faith and religion?

Moralam: Religion is the unfortunate byproduct of mankind's attempt to instill faith in others. Unfortunately this is futile: it only summons the barest mist of faith to hover about for a while, concealing an individual's true nature.

Caiphus: But what of faith?

Moralam: By faith I assume that you mean spirituality, that being the search for any ultimate truth. This search may take many different forms, but can only have one outcome. If this were not so, then that truth would no longer be ultimate, and would therefore be useless.

Caiphus: How does religion come into existence then?

Moralam: Religion is created when an individual believes that they have come to the conclusion of this spiritual journey, and therefore have nothing more to seek.

Caiphus: How sad.

Moralam: A better word might be pitiable.

Love and Life Lost

Oh how I long,
For dawn's lovely grin,

To wipe out the scourge,
Of dusk's only sin,

That it brings back my life,
The one I tried to rescind,

When I would spend many nights,
Sitting 'lone in the dark,
Waiting for the day to begin.

Love, Mathematically Speaking

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Two is to three,
As I am to you.

<3

The Obvious

You cannot help,
What you cannot hope to hold back.

You cannot contribute,
To what you cannot contain.

And:

You cannot show,
What you cannot see.

Power through knowledge,
From whence does knowledge arrive?
Knowledge through power.

The Antisocial Response

Then they finally came into view.

One of his buddies was with him, riding a low-cal dirtbike behind his ATV, kicking up dust with the indifference of someone who believes that he owns that which he beholds. They stopped, the older one's tagalong, not taking the hint, abruptly braked and squealed past me, managing to avoid an awkward collision. I turned my back on him - he wasn't particularly concerning, and fourwheels obviously had some mischief in mind.

"Hey kid." Fair enough, I probably didn't look that much older than him.

"Yeah."

"You got any gum?" Gum? What? Obviously not the brightest cherry on this branch of Rednecksville, U.S.A.

"No."

"Well me and my buddy here think it might be best for you if you did." At this point he took off his helmet and I got a good look at his face. Not hard to tell that he was new at this - his blotchy cheek was smooth like fresh laundry. At this point I knew his friend was probably getting ready to bean me with a crowbar or something, so I threw him a bone I knew he couldn't resist.

"What, you can't take me by yourself?" His face got even more blotchy.

"Sure 'nuff I can."

"Lets see it."

"Don't be dumb, I ain't no fool." He took a step back. "Y'all got a switchblade or something and I'm not gonna' step up to no ghetto kid with no switchblade."

"So you're scared?" His fists clenched.

"Look, you asking for a fight?" This was it, this was his loophole.

"No man, I don't wanna' fight you." He managed to look relieved and dissatisfied at the same time.

"Good," he said, spitting. "I wouldn't want to fight me neither!"

And then the fun began.

"Bet you couldn't." The total confusion that wiggled its way through his features filled me with malevolent glee.

"Couldn't what?"

"Fight yourself."

"What the hell are you talkin' about? You sure is dumb, t'aint nobody can fight themselves."

"You're just saying that because you can't. You're weak."

"Excuse me?" A cool wind started blowing, and I wished I'd worn a sweater. Oh well, the fires of hell are pretty warm, and it's pretty certain that that's where I'll be headed after today.

"You heard me. You're weak: you can't hack it. Back where I come from a boy's gotta' beat himself before he becomes a man." His eyes widened just a little, but he kept his cool.

"I'm more man 'n you, that's for sure."

"Well then, prove it."

"Alright then I will!" He looked down at his fist, hesitantly, as if unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do. I let him figure it out.

After the third hit he was on the ground, scrabbling with himself, clawing and shaking like a possessed animal. It didn't take quite three leaps and I was seated in the saddle of his still-running ATV, stamping on the gas. I think I might have broken a couple of his ribs when I ran over him, I but I couldn't be sure. By this time his cohort was jumping on his bike, starting it, preparing to give chase.

It wouldn't be hard to track me on these dusty roads, so I did what little I could to shake him before I stopped completely and bailed. Unfortunately for him my prediction was correct: his reflexes failed him and he glided through the air awkwardly, like a stork. Yes, a strange breed of stork that crumples into an unmoving ball where it lands. I considered consoling him; reminding him that the dust would clot the blood quickly, and he might not die; but the wind was picking up, and I didn't wear a sweater.

Ego

The whole nation celebrated when the news hit. And did they ever celebrate. News anchors drank on live television while the streets overflowed with dancing, laughing, overjoyed Americans. For the next day or so the roadways were so crowded it was impossible to drive anywhere. Not that anyone cared. There was much cause for jubilation, and the president agreed, officially marking that day, January 26th, as a national holiday. Soon the street fiestas abated, and life went on. Or perhaps it began anew, new in the hearts and minds of the people, new in the way cautious smiles were reciprocated by total strangers.

Elsewhere there was a similar initial reaction. When Studebaker and his colleagues had taken the stand and announced themselves cancer free the whole world had taken a collective intake of breath. Surprisingly calm, Studebaker himself had followed up the announcement with his proclamation that administration of the drug would start immediately, as soon as the pharmaceutical megacorporations could be shipped the ingredients necessary to begin manufacturing.

It took four full days to create enough of the tonic to begin application, and another week went by before anyone realized the truth. And it didn't take long before people started reacting. Not the Americans of course, they had all the medication they needed. No, it was the Japanese who struck first. First it was a hospital in South Carolina, then one in Texas. Russia followed this with a daring attack on the Grand Central Hospital of New York. Nation after nation began to invade in a concerted effort to acquire this miracle drug, the cure for man's most dogged, seemingly insatiable disease.

We never even put up a fight.

Five hundred thousand died over the space of a week, unbelievable numbers I know. I cannot even go outside anymore, the carnage is too great. Our once great country has been ripped to shreds by greed. Not their greed, no, they were just doing what they needed to in order to survive. No, it was our greed, our insatiable hunger to be on top, to be the best. Well it seems we pushed them a little too far. Our capitalistic attitude wasn't even the worst; it was when we restricted access that things changed. I wish there was someone else to hold responsible, someone else to blame: but I know, deep down, there's no one.

So as I, James T. Ross, huddle closer to the monitor of my laptop and pray that the power holds out just a little bit longer, I needs must confess: I knew why we were so easily defeated. I knew then, and I know now that all over the world, millions - no, billions of people are experiencing the very same thing. This miracle drug, this cure-all, is a poison to the mind. It eats away, not at the physical body, but at the soul of a human being. It makes us passive . . . weak.

I can feel the ground shaking now, at precisely seven-second intervals. It's probably the Germans; they've been bombing the area for weeks now. As it stands those few pilots buzzing overhead and myself are probably the only ones on earth who are still capable. Coherent.

Alive.

My Hat

Rumpled and black,
Lines run,
Scramble,
Twist and turn amongst one another,
For the sake of aesthetic pleasure.

Form and function coalesced,
In a convenient sun-shading brim,

Warm,

A soft warmth like a puppy's fur,
Like the love of a close friend.

My head is encased in hope.

Pay Attention!

Why,
Eat for the sake of food?
Only when the mood
Strikes

Do you enjoy what you consume?
When it permeates the room,
When o'er your shoulder it looms,
And it picks at you and grooms,

With pointed, grinning eyes,
With one thousand shiny smiles,
The closest friend you never had,
In wily innocence is clad,

To steal from you
Your pleasure,
Time mis-consumed,
Will be your tomb.

If I say the words
But forget them,
Did they ever really mean anything,
--------------------Or were they just
---------------------------------Noise?

I don't know,
I can't


Remember.

The Metro

Why in this world do we not care,
When lovers we see standing there?
When hand in hand, life passes by,

Though observers do not try,
They do not heed,
Their anxious speed,

In check is their appreciation,
Intent on distilling their creation,
It is enough to wrench the heart,

That in this life, there is no art,
We do not try to play the part,
Though we all know before we start,

In life is
Beauty, in beauty
Love, in love
Joy.

And joy is not the cupid's dart,
But love and beauty,
Joy and art.

My emotions

Feed through a nozzle,
A silver faucet.

off

and On

off

and On

All it takes is a little twist,
Friction
And they are choked

off

Blind Fate

"Here they come . . ."

"Someone brace the doors!"

"For Pete's sake Hilda, move!"

"I don't . . . no . . ."

"My gods it's a succubus!"

"Can't . . . feel my legs!"

"What's that sound?"

"Sounds like paper being torn . . ."

"Get back you idiots, the barricade is falling!"

"Damnit, I'm out of shells!"

"We have to fall back, we can bust down the staircase once we're all safe!"

"What about Hilda?!"

"It's too late fo-"



. . .



And then there was only the sound of rending flesh.

Innocence cont.

Caiphus: If innocence is relative, does that free the antisocial and ignorant from the bounds of the law?

Moralam: The law is absolute. Innocence may shift, but it merely orbits that great star of government.

Caiphus: Which then is to be preferred; the relativity of innocence or the immobility of the law?

Moralam: Between the two there lies a balance.

Caiphus: What is this balance?

Moralam: It lies in mercy, in forgiveness, and in grace. It is not in human nature but outside of our selves, untainted though they may be, that this balance lies.

Caiphus: How do I achieve that balance?

Moralam: I cannot give you a set of rules to follow to reach it, for that would be doctrine and self-defeating. Nor can I tell you that balance itself is relative, for that would be tending toward another ironic extreme. Balance may be learned, but never taught.

Repetition

Moralam: All things repeat.

Caiphus: If that is so, then what incentive do we have for engaging in anything?

Moralam: Pleasure and pain my friend, the human experience.

Caiphus: But what if I do not wish to live life as a man?

Moralam: You will still die as one.

Turn Up

Twelve iron monkeys,
Dance at midnight.
Only my voice and yours,
Fears silence,
But cannot fight.
And so they dance.

I cannot feel,
I cannot think,
While on mindless automatic,
And yet our thoughts are shown and shorn,
By effervescent static.

Still onwards do these apes decry,
That sunlight ne'er shall surface.
While bare feet tap a message,
On the coolness of the dew.

Absence makes for
Awkward words,
So cautiously rejected.
Somehow I've become immune,
To joyousness infected.

T'were an angel or a demon,
Come between us in the end,
To assuage our conversation,
Twixt an enemy and friend.
Between a lover and a poet,
For the start and for the end.

For you,
My lovely friend.