The Sheep Vs. The Slaughtered

The Sheep vs. The Slaughtered

Hello District Residents, the following is a state sponsored message: As you all know, the season that was once called "Thanksgiving" is upon us, this was fully recognized by the state to be a harmful cultural tradition as it promoted the horrifying (yet strategically genius) genocide of what was once called "The Native American People". As you all know, there is no such "people group" in our beloved state. Such cultural barbarianism has been done away with.  What the state has put in place of this tradition is a day of love between comrades; Friendship Day.  On this day, we’ll be expressing words (approved by the state of course) of thanks at a heightened level. The following are some phrases recommended by the state as loving and helpful to your fellow comrade. What if we all put those phrases into action? Words: Since I’m thankful for you, I want to keep you safe. Action: I’ll wear a mask and report anyone, not doing so, to the local police force. Violators will be shot on sight.  Words: Since you rely on me to take care of you and I know you’re grateful for that, I want to keep myself safe. Action: I’ll never go to any parties unless they are state sponsored. I'll stay home and study Chancellor Brad Hart's sacred four volume biography and other party sponsored archive material.  Words: I want (and need) for all the children to be educated by state sponsored schools, and I’m thankful for all the adults, teachers, and armed comrades who work hard to keep children safe. Action: I will take all the precautions to help reduce common sense and mistrust in our comrades. As we all share words of gratitude, let’s work hard to make them tangible, actionable. If we want to experience children back to the state sponsored schools, the community must take action to reduce the spread of common sense. Anything common is evil and suspicious. Remember, we need healthy, educated, comrades to make our schools run smoothly. This is a community issue, not a party issue. I am thankful, in advance, for the fear that will keep us all in line. On a personal note . . . I am thankful. Please enjoy your state sponsored entertainment and be loyal. Happy Friendship Day.  In solidarity, Don Knott's III Kommodant of District 7

Fever Dream (The Martial Law Diaries - Part Three)

 (Week 38, Day 3852 of Quarantine)

Where do the shadows go? 

Do they hide away from the darkness or do they stalk the corners of light?

I saw them moving on rooftops, shuffling around, and talking in the wind. I could see them inside the windowpanes of houses. They disappear in the diffused glow of old lightbulbs. They sit on the street corners, cautiously checking both directions before running across the dark roads, and hold hands in a cold affection. 

The green glow of security lights hum in offices and banks. You can't see them in there but you know they were there. Some are tired, old, and ruffle through empty cash registers so that the others don't ask questions. Some hide in plain sight, or should I say plain light, even through the blinding rays of a spotlight, you can see them wrap themselves against the walls of buildings. Sometimes you share a glimpse between them and consider it something that wasn't supposed to happen. They laugh and yell with no expression but the noise always follows you in a way that lets you know that it at least happened. 

Car lights invade and street lights stand still. Things move and you question why. I've seen entire scenes played out in front of me but could only assume what happened. The shadows cover you in a way that makes you feel invincible; the light only reminds you that you aren't. 

Kisses are shared and intimate moments are felt in a way you can't forget but can't remember. Eyes peer out and you wonder what they see. Entire lives are played out and you only caught a glimpse. 

I've stood inside buildings and called out to them but they never come out. You feel them around you, they sometimes can be heard moving around, but you never see them. I've sat in busy offices and walked around crowded stores but never saw anybody.

It's a quiet world. You do things that you wouldn't normally do for the simple fact that nobody can see you except the shadows. You perform for them, talk to them, even yell at them, and they always seem to listen. It's like living inside your own mind but you can move about freely and feel things you can't in dreams. The dull moments slowly play without regard of time and go nowhere. Staring up at the big billboards feels like your the only one that can but the words on it mean nothing to so who are they for?

If you look hard and long enough, the light will return, and you turn around to see that everything wasn't how it was. A change that you can only feel. You retreat into yourself until the moment comes again when you feel no one is watching.        

     

Beesechurger

Seeptown

(Found artifact found in the library of Nicholas Clay)

"April, 13, 1904

From the Parishoners desk of:

St. Peter Presbyterian Church of the Nicene Creed in Seeptown, IA

The casserole Miss Abdy made was burnt this week. Karen Butterfield put too much flour in the pie mixture. Little Johnny urinated on the recently cleaned carpet and Dorcas Doolittle spilled chocolate fondue all over our marbleized baptistry set. That will cost a lot.

Thanks a lot Mr. Doolittle for angrily beating your wife and forcing us to perform church discipline on you for the fifteenth time. Your wife is a befuddled individual. Doesn't know what to do with her free time. You should be ashamed.

Anyway, in more joyful setting, Sally Mayweather passed her first Sunday School exam with flying colors, exceeding all her counterparts in Mr. Boddicks classroom by reciting the Lord's prayer in both English and Germanic, as well as French, Dutch, Swedish, and shall we not forget Koine Greek. She is an inspiration to us all.

Well, time forbids me to write further, so I shall finish by making remarks on Jed Smeagles and Belinda Burkhiuse's recent departure into the eternal realm.

May God's grace shine upon their families during this difficult time.

Signed

Edward T Jave"

The church was later burned and rebuilt by Mongolian raiders searching for beef on the outer edges of the Bermuda Triangle.

ACABradabra

 Iowa City Protests 6/2 - 6/5

''ACAB  ACABracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya
ACABracadabra
ACABracadabra

Every time you call my name
I heat up like a burning flame...

I heat up, I can't cool down
My situation goes 'round and 'round
I heat up, I can't cool down
My situation goes 'round and 'round
I heat up, I can't cool down

My situation goes 'round and 'round'' 

- Steve Miller Band, Abracadabra, 1982*

*I do not condone what has been going on here in Iowa City nor do I support BLM. These were all the pictures I took during that time because I was mostly trying to listen and figure out where everyone was coming from. I don't have much to say about it nor do I feel like I have to say anything about it.

Is It Over?

(Week Eleven) 

Day 3660 of Quarantine. The notches on my wall are one and nineteen more.

While scribbling notes on my wrist, I looked outside, and saw the sky darkened with the hoards of Murder Hornets surrounding the city. Bill Gates has deployed his Nazi army to counterattack but are not successful. The Hornets have overridden city hall, taken the public servants hostage, and refuse to come out until they are sacrificed a young florist, with a taste for free form Jazz, to appease their murderous rage. Ring the cowbell; sanity is over.

HAIL CARONA! HAIL CARONA! HAIL CARONA! The words slowly repeat as they scroll horizontally across the bottom of every news broadcast. I rub my eyes, reddened by the abuse of electronic screens, and switch the channel. I dully changed each channel until I got bored and let it stop on the Spanish channel. Instantly, there were a rush of camera angles rotating around a mother and her son. Her face clearly indicated that he had just told her something incredible. Fuzzy flash edits and quick face zooms sloppily put together; it felt like I was watching something from The Sims.

Isn't this it? Sitting there and be slowly chemically castrated through convenience. 360 cable TV channels of garbage. Cheap entertainment. Cheap fulfillment. Cheap spirituality. They sell it on the corner next to the fake watches.

Everyone wants to go back to normal but there isn't a NORMAL...''BUT WAIT!'', says Becky, ''I just want my margaritas, my compulsive shopping DONE IN PERSON, my Chili's, my waitress job, oh, and Chad and those huge muscles. His tanned bod and heft cash; chiseled with the prospects of two kids (at age 35 or 40 of course) and retirement in Florida. The life chosen by me, me!...and my social security number. 

Cool, Becky, I'm sure I wanna die in a sardine can as well.

BUT WAHT ABOUT MUH RIGHTS!?! Didn't they do away with that a while ago? Was it sold in 1830? 1877? 1963? 1965? 1973?  2001? 2003? Ah, I see. Now we want to talk about rights. A jogger is buried for two months while his killers are whistling ''Dixie'' over his grave before anyone notices.   

I'm also pretty sure it was sold by the same people who disregarded common sense for their own security, greed, and convenience. 

Remember: Give your kids to the state, make decisions on unreliable information, sell off your elders, and let the justice system be privatized! Do what thou wilt.

 

“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist”—Charles Baudelaire

          

 

Twirling

''The sound of waves
Inside of me
Happiness
Outside of me
The faces on my wall
The faces in the sea
The faces in my life
Are watching me ''

- Casa Del Miro Faces (2011)

Crap Shots (2019)

These are pictures I made on my phone from last year.

 does the pixel war really matter? Sometimes the fuzz in these annoy me.

 I don't wanna taco about it...the depressed cat languishes in it's own sorrow. The famine demanded it's consumption.

Miss going to church. 

These are the moments in between nothing and something. Things taken for granted.  Images that you remember when you look around and don't see it anymore. Too many words can spoil a good image and too many explanations ruin the mystery especially if there wasn't any to begin with. 

Photo series dedicated to the memory of Mike Wheeler.

''Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bull**** in order to be comfortable? That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the **** up for a minute and comfortably share silence'' - Mia Wallace Pulp Fiction (1994)

The Martial Law Diaries (Part Two)

I couldn't stop thinking about it. It's kept me up all night. I smile, knowing that it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. My fingers twitch at the anticipation of writing this down.

The fire, quietly licking up against the walls and pouring out of the windows like the ocean emptying out on the edge of the world, it all heaped down in a smoldering mass below; the caramelized glow reflecting back on all our faces. The fridge told me to remember this. This was the first night of my life. 

The paragraph stared back at me like the faces illuminated by the great pillar of fire before us. There was screaming, sirens, and the tear gas that still stung the air; the foundations of the house collapsing in on itself. My fellow officers stood silent, some having suspects on the ground with handcuffs, as perps ran frantically in every direction around our motionless figures.  More squad cars screeched to a halt and the quick succession of sounds, the boots, the yelling, and the click of handcuffs, finally aroused my squad. I looked behind me and caught a quick glimpse of a lawn chair before it knocked me down to the ground.

My equipment made me fall hard; my head bouncing off the asphalt with a dull thud. I closed my eyes in pain and felt my arm being yanked upwards. I opened them again and saw that Dylan had me around his shoulder. He mouthed something and wiped blood off his face. The suspect who hit me was face down in a pool of his own blood. He was twitching when I looked back at Dylan who just shrugged. There were uniforms everywhere. I saw Johnson and Macintosh tugging a perp off a fence, Mcnabb was being shoved to the ground by two perps who ran away with a beer keg, and I saw the back of our cruzers being filled with suspects. All I could hear was the raging fire.

Funnily enough, the fire department showed at the same moment and began dousing the house from the backyard as I slowly started to walk across the lawn. I walked over a minefield of beer cans, some of the furniture, and bodies of angry suspects writhing around like sardines. Mcnabb was tossing them around everywhere, everyone was too busy to intervene, and I ordered him to stand down. He looked ashamed as he paused and looked at me. He stood silent as I picked up a perp and hauled him to my cruzer. Mcnabb followed suit as I started searching the yard for my fellow officers. We aren't animals. We have orders and expectations to follow.

I walked towards the back alley where I last saw Johnson and Macintosh. At that same time, they were walking down the alley holding up their perp by the shoulders. His bare feet dragged all over the ground and his white shirt was dirty with sweat and blood. They nodded at me as they moved forward. The firefighters had the fire controlled now, the glow became darker, and the smoke bellowed up in the sky. One of them approached me, telling me that they had it under control, and walked back towards the front with me. He curiously asked what had happened. Ask why there was so many empy tear gas canisters lying around towards the back. Why neighbors, not us, called them. Why the brutality, the etc, etc, etc. He went on and on until I turned around and quietly gave the schpeel about police business. He laughed and said that wouldn't matter. The refrigerator had warned me of this.

I ignored him and went out in the street. People stood silent on their apartment balconies; their contempt made me look away. Chief stood statuesque as he directed the cruzers out of the street. His anger was quiet and controlled as he told me he'd have my badge for this. He didn't even look at me. I said nothing and turned to Dylan leaning on the back door of my cruzer. Two bloody perps slept on each other's shoulders.

Dylan huffed hard on a cigarette, his ash covered face made the white of his eyes glow back at me, he said nothing. I clutched the car door, hesitant, Dylan flicked the cigarette onto someone's yard and got in. I tried to get in myself but I couldn't. I looked back at what was left of the house and saw that it was a black smoldering mass; the crumpled structure judding out of itself. The street still glowed with the lights of our cruzers. Dylan got back out, walked over, and wiped off some ash on my uniform. He told me he'd drive and I was relieved.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about it. This was the first night of my life.

I saw Paige slowly climb out of bed and into the bathroom. After a while, I heard the shower, and I got up. My fingers weren't trembling anymore. I walked out towards the front door. I slowly worked down the hallway, past the kitchen, and opened the front door to get the newspaper off the front step. Making my way back to the kitchen, I opened the paper, and lied it across the table. The headline read: Frat Party Ends In Flames - IC Police Shut Down House Party on The First Night of State Shut In.

I closed my eyes and imagined what the TV would say ''lieutenant James P. Shamburger led IC Police in what locals call 'a militant shutdown' of a local house party in downtown Iowa City last night. The party was in violation of the governor's shut in order in response to the COVID-19 pandemic...''. The words started to drown into a dull monotone buzz that rang around in my head as I held my eyes closed. I had all the data, the numbers, and the correct answers but it all meant nothing when I went over it again in my head. I almost screamed but the buzz slowly faded away. For a moment there was complete silence until I heard something. Something familiar. I lifted my head and opened my eyes. My kitchen was completely empty and everything was still; all I could immediately hear was the water from Paige's shower.

I stood silent for another minute until I heard it again. It was a voice. Words. Somehow I knew that it was the fridge. I don't know how I did but it just happened. In a whisper, it said, ''today's the first day of your life''. I agreed. I walked over to it and it said it again in a very gentle whisper. Like someone's lover. I slowly wrapped my arms around my refrigerator and squeezed tight. It was right. It was always right.

        



  

The Martial Law Diaries (Part One)

(Week Four - Desire Lanes)

This struck me last night as I lied staring up at the ceiling. What is behind our desires? Our longings?  These things that keep us up at night?

I have always found it immensely intriguing that one of the common things that drives culture's literature, cinema, and art is the basic human expression of longing. This concept is what ties all these things together. Throughout our own lives, we are driven by longing. It could be said that longing is what keeps humanity dreaming, moving, believing, and changing. But what are we longing for?  Is it happiness? A romantic relationship? Wealth? Starbucks? Phat stacks of toilet paper?

These things are all good but become quickly corrupted when these objects of longing become the objectives of longing. Look at what these stories in art show us when that happens; the great downfall of the Corleone family in ''The Godfather'', the obsession of Jay Gatsby in ''The Great Gatsby'', and the murderous fear in ''Saturn Devouring His Son''. The Bible puts it like this:


''Furthermore, since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, He gave them up to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed, and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant, and boastful. They invent new forms of evil; they disobey their parents.They are senseless, faithless, heartless, merciless.'' - Romans 1:28-31

What does acknowledging God have to do with all this? God IS the objective of longing, to quote the Westminster Catechism, ''The chief end of man is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever''.

Humanity has not done this. We get this as a result of making God's creation, as God has created anything we could desire, the objective in life or in other words:  

''Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images of mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles. Therefore God gave them over in the desires of their hearts to impurity for the dishonoring of their bodies with one another. They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator''. - Romans 1:22-25

This is why our longing becomes horribly corrupted. Our happiness turns into depression, our romantic relationships turn into selfish and unrequited love, our wealth becomes vain, Starbucks becomes a crippling addiction and the hoarding of day to day supplies entirely cuts off the poor and elderly. 

What God has created was never intended to satisfy us entirely. Our longing is to turn us towards Him and recognize that all of what He has created points back towards Himself.

"I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end." - Revelation 22:13

ps - you should read the whole book of Romans