I can't remember that far back
but I'm told that when I was born
I was cast from the finest image
out of marble, gold, and jewels.
The first thing I can remember, though
is tripping and falling as a child
when my knee hit the ground,
it broke into pieces
I glued them back on as best as I could
ensuring that every piece was back in place
but from that point forward,
I could never be perfect again.
Over time, more little pieces broke off
Sometimes I could not find them all,
so I would use clay
as it was easy to shape into the empty holes
When I reached the tempestuous age of youth
I spoke a word which angered my peers
and a swift punch in my face
forever ruined my visage.
As time wore on, the damage caused cracks to develop
and my limbs broke, one by one
I did my best to repair them
but they just kept breaking again
And then the buzzards came
and slowly picked the gold and jewels off
of my cracked and broken skin
until there were none left to take
But some of the jewels had been my eyes
so I found two coins of the lowest value
that no one would steal from me
They did anyway, occasionally, which was why I always kept a spare hidden.
I broke so many times in different ways
that I was putting pieces back
into the wrong places
because I couldn't tell which pieces they were supposed to be
Was that a shin or a forearm?
I did not know
If it fit in a place, that's what it became
and if it fit nowhere, then maybe it wasn't mine to begin with
Eventually most of the marble became irreparable
or it became sullied to the point where
one could not tell what it was anymore
and I had to forage for things to replace it
And so, over time, I cobbled myself together
pieces of sand and dirt and bits of glass for skin
and wood for bones
condemning me to forever rot from the inside.
Knowing my strong arm had to endure to keep rebuilding
I saved all of the iron and metals for its creation
so I would always have something
to keep from falling completely apart.
But the metal was cold and heavy
and removed any traces of gentleness from my embrace
and it rusted just enough
that whenever I ate, I could taste its oxidation over the food.
They all spoke behind my back
and the boldest to my face
that I was a monstrosity
and an offense against our design.
They were convinced I was an insult
to their perfect flesh
and to the one who cast their bodies
of beautiful marble and jewels.
"If you are broken,"
they cried aloud,
"Then you should just roll over and die,"
and none raised a question to their sentiment.
But I never gave up
I pressed on, determined
If what I was was wrong,
then so be it.
In the end, when I could maintain myself no longer
I finally fell apart.
No one wept, they just swept my parts to the trash
and forgot that I even existed
One small child, however, understood
that while my image was not the most beautiful
that I was made of more than the ones who were pristine
For I was of many things, and I had made myself.
In a solemn gesture, after everyone else had left
he plucked one of the coins I had used as an eye
and affixed it to his chest, under his shirt
and tell small children of my tale until his final hours
It was more than I deserved.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
The Specter and the Madman
The Specter moved down the city street as fast as he could. The early morning foot traffic made it difficult, as no one could see him. He did his best to weave through them, his legs growing heavier, weighed down by the fatigue of being up all night.
Erased from history, robbed of all but a precious few of his memories, and brought back in order to save the world to atone for his sins, the Specter was wearing himself down to the bone in order to make some kind of progress. Things were going slow, and he was running out of time. He was beginning to realize that there was a very good chance he might not be successful. The thought forced him to push on harder, his life becoming a cycle of minor success followed by crushing failure.
As he passed by a small bistro, he saw a familiar face sitting at one of the tables on the outside patio. It was a face he knew better than his own. It was the face that was burned into his mind. The face the Madman he saw every time he closed his eyes.
The Madman looked to be in his early forties, with a shaved head, and a well trimmed black goatee, which circled his ever present sinister smile. He wore a pair of small round lensed sunglasses which mostly obscured his eyes, but when they didn't you could almost reach out and touch the madness that swirled around in them.
He wore gray khaki pants, accompanied by a half unbuttoned blue Hawaiian shirt with a light green undershirt. Rounding out his ensemble was a brown faded duster draped over the chair he was sitting in.
He held a newspaper up, trying to obscure the fact that he was watching the Specter The Specter noticed though, and was a little surprised that the Madman could see him. He didn't think too much of it. He had recently discovered that when he meant genuine, imminent harm to someone, they were able to see him.
He most certainly meant harm to the man. This was the man who killed him.
"You!" The Specter shouted at the madman.
"Moi? You can't be serious." he said, in a fake french accent that was so bad it bordered on ridiculous. He feigned surprise, but then called back, "What's your problem?"
"My problem?" the Specter asked. "My problem is that you killed me!"
"I see two issues with your logic," the Madman said, peering around the tops of his sunglasses at the Specter, "Un, I do not remember killing you, and If I killed a person, I think I'd remember it, and deux, you do not look very dead to me."
As the Madman spoke, his ridiculous accent seemed to fade into a much more authentic one, and then back again. The Specter couldn't tell if he was French and trying to deliberately fake a bad accent, or if it was just terrible at faking a bad accent.
"It's a complicated situation," the Specter started, his anger getting the best of him.
"I know all about your situation, spirit. You are the one who was erased, brought back, and then charged with saving the world. I'm here because you need my help. Have a seat."
The Specter sat down, and the Madman called over a waiter to bring him two cups of coffee. The Specter looked dead into the Madman's eyes, his rage welling up inside him at this man, he could barely resist the urge to scream.
"Introduction," the Madman said, holding a hand out in an effort to subdue some of the Specter’s anger, "My name is Genevieve-Olivier Dufresne. You may call me Gen for short."
"I don't have a name," the Specter spit out, "They took that from me, along with everything else. All I have left are a few memories, mostly feelings from the day I passed. Other than that, I technically never existed. Thanks you to and God's bureaucracy, I have no family, and only one friend."
"Well, now you have two friends," Gen said, as he reached across the table, extending his arm for a handshake. The Specter did not return it. He sat at the table glowering at Gen until he sat back down.
They sat for awhile in silence, and the waiter, assuming Gen was alone, as he could not see the Specter, brought Gen two cups of coffee. Gen slid the other cup over to the Specter They waited for awhile longer in silence before Gen finally spoke.
"I am sorry you are in this situation," Gen finally said, his smile and phony accent disappearing as he apologized, "I know this must be difficult for you. I was unaware of the circumstances surrounding your rebirth."
There was a certain honesty to Gen's apology that caught the Specter off guard. He was beginning to find it hard to believe that this was the man who had shot him. The chaos in his eyes seemed benign. His smile, which in his memories seemed sinister, now had seemed more jovial. He wondered if it were possible for this man, who could easily be someone's crazy uncle, to transform into the twisted killer that had shot him.
He unfolded his arms as the anger ran out of him. As he did, Gen smiled once again.
"Gen," the Specter asked, "Are you guilty of my murder if was erased and never happened?"
Gen's smile expanded a bit, and he pursed his lips as he thought about the answer, "Maybe. I can't directly answer that one at this time."
"Alright then," the Specter continued, "are the Laws of God so warped that they can condemn a man to my fate even when he cannot remember what the offense is that he committed?
"The 'Laws of God?'" Gen's face contorted like a parent who just heard their two year old swear in a comedic fashion. His expression was somewhere between the brink of laughter and utter bewilderment, bordering on anger. "It really affects me, sometimes, how people, each one unique, with their own needs, can assume that one set of rules can be applied to every person. It's gone on for thousands of years, and yet still humanity seems to skirt around the simple truth. All situations are different, and the best resolution comes from not enclosed system of law, but instead an open mind.
"Here's an example," Gen said, producing a small rolled cigarette from one of his shirt pockets, and lighter from the other, in one fluid motion of his hands. "Something painfully generic," he said, as his constant smile curled slightly further upward. He put the cigarette into his mouth and lit it. There was a pause before he took a long, slow drag off of the cigarette.
Gen propped his elbow on the table, and held the cigarette up in two fingers of his hand as he continued. "A poor man works hard to provide for his family, but his business can barely keep a roof over his head. Having not been able to feed his family for three days, he asks a wealthy, well fed man for some food, which the man has in abundance. The well fed man refuses, hearing none of the poor man's pleas. The poor man, knowing this man has much more food than he needs, decides to steal a plate of meat to ensure his family doesn't starve.
"Now I ask you, Monsieur ghost," He said, the cigarette smoke obscuring most of his face aside from his mad eyes and even madder smile, "in God's eyes, who is more wrong? Clearly the poor man stole, but he did a so called 'bad' thing for a noble reason. Does that make it more acceptable? If so, what about the well fed man? Was he not entitled to keep his own plate of meat, which he earned, or is he somehow obligated to give his extra food to someone else who needed it more? If so, what happens if he suspects he is being taken advantage of? At what point can he stop giving away food?"
The Specter sat, hunched forward, with his forearm laid across the table in front of him, to keep himself propped up. The story was convoluted, and at this point he had more pressing matters on his mind than what someone else was hypothetically eating or not eating and how right or wrong they may be by doing so. He was much more concerned with the individual sitting across from him.
Up until a few minutes ago, this man, Gen, had been the dark cloud casting a shadow upon his life. That twisted smile and those mad eyes always peering out above his sunglasses had haunted almost every last one of the Specter’s dreams for the past ten years. Technically, this was the man responsible for setting in motion the events that put him in this position. All of his memories, and his very existence, erased by the actions of this man.
While the Specter was beginning to accept that Gen might not be the antagonist he thought he was, he was still very wary of the him. He kept his eyes locked onto Gen's, and did his best to remain as stoic as possible. He was tired, but he was determined not to show any weakness.
"It would appear," the Specter said, taking a sip of his now cold coffee, and wincing at its bitterness, "that there would have to be more details to this story than you are letting on, making things even more complex." The Specter waved away the thought of going deeper into the story with his hand. "I understand the point you are trying to make though. It does leave me with a few questions though. If God has no absolute laws, then why are all sorts of holy books filled with them? Are they all fabrications? If they are, and the absolute rules are unacceptable, why does God not just come down and tell us? Just exactly what is God trying to accomplish?"
Gen turned his head slightly to the left, and opened his left eye wide, while squinting with the right. What would have been a perplexed look on anyone else seemed to the Specter to be him making two sets of observations at once. One eye open to see everything, and the other squinting to examine only the smallest detail. He dropped his cigarette into his coffee cup, and it produced a slight hiss as it went out.
All expression left Gen's face for a moment, and he leaned back, obscuring his eyes with his sunglasses. He raised his finger and held it there, as if asking for the Specter to wait for his answer. For a few minutes, they both sat in expressionless silence. Gen then moved his raised finger and briefly pointed it at the Specter When he spoke, his French accent was gone, and his voice sounded different. He spoke Arithmetically, mispronouncing some of his words, and putting inflections on the wrong syllables of others.
"Explain the actions of God to man. Ha ha," he laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. "Such a thing is like trying to explain color to the blind, or sound to the deaf. I can no more explain why God does what God does any more that you can explain to me how a rose smells."
Gen's presentation made it clear that even though he appeared to be a man, whatever he was, he most certainly was not human. The chaos that he had seen swirling about this being's eyes wasn't madness, it was simply something that was beyond his ken. It was awe inspiring and frightening at the same time. The Specter nodded, and smiled, ever so slightly. Gen smiled back and shrugged. He returned to his pseudo-French accent when he spoke, but this time it sounded authentic and did not vary.
"I can however, explain some of where humanity has acquired 'God's Law.' Here's a question for you: Does it strike you as odd that God would have created so much passion and life ensconced in the grip of the act lovemaking, and then tell people they couldn't do it, that it was surrounded in sin and not life?"
The Specter quirked up an eyebrow before answering, "Didn't you just say you can't explain God? Sounds about par for the course to me."
Gen shook his head, "God is complex. The surface of His (or Her, or even Its if you prefer) being has more depth than a thousand oceans, but God has a constant. God makes sense. That level of idiocy I just described? That's not God's work. That's the kind of inane bullshit that only humanity has the ability to come up with. It's actually quite fascinating from an outsider's perspective.
"But I do digress. Many years ago there was a man who was about to be overcome by his own lust. Good old kind-hearted concerned God goes to him, and says, 'Hey, be careful not let your loins get the best of you.' The man, who has just had his mind blown by speaking with God, goes and tells his brothers and sisters about the experience. They immediately interpret this simple word of God as 'lust is a bad thing.' This in turn makes sex a bad thing, but a necessary evil. Soon looking at a woman the wrong way has become a sin, and because man has a horrible time accepting that the fault may be his own coupled with a wonderful need to oppress things, the woman who walks in an alluring way is the one at fault, and deemed less of a person."
"So," the Specter asked, sitting up in his chair, "If there are no ironclad rules, does that mean that there is no judgment when we pass?"
Gen took off his sunglasses and set them on the table, and then clasped his hands, leaning forward on the table.
"There is judgment. Not just when you pass, but always, before and after, but God is oft-forgiving, and most merciful. He made you, and He knows you, better than you know yourself. He sees your difficulties, and all of the intricacies, chemical imbalances, hopes, dreams, fears, and faults, and takes it into consideration. It's a dynamic process," Gen explained, wiggling his fingers, "While there is no one set of rules, there is one blanket rule that covers most situations. It's the one that appears time and time again across most religious texts that isn't marred by the eccentricities of man. Probably the best paraphrase of it would be something along the lines of, 'Don't be an ass.'"
The Specter laughed, and Gen chuckled shortly after. It felt good to laugh. He wondered how long it had been since he'd genuinely been amused to the point of laughter. He couldn't remember. He suspected he might never have. For a moment the yoke around his neck that bore the weight of the world was lifted and he felt alive again. Gen reached across the table and grabbed his shoulders.
"Look," he said, looking into the Specter’s eyes "I realize you have very little. You work tirelessly to save a world that you can never again have a place in, but you have to live. See a sunrise, walk through a rainstorm, kiss a pretty girl. That's what it's all about. Life shouldn't ever be an onus, it should be an adventure. If the world can't afford you that, then the world doesn't deserve to be saved."
Gen stood up and threw a few dollars on the table to cover the two coffees. He looked up at the cloudless sky, and his expression grew grim.
"The storm is coming soon," he said, walking away from his chair and out of the bistro patio. He stopped for a moment, and then looked back down at the Specter, "if you don't have anyone or anything to hold on to, it will wash you away. Don't be afraid to ask God for help if you need it."
"Oh, yeah," the Specter replied, smiling as his cynicism got the best of him, "God's been a great help so far. At the rate He's going, if I ask for any more, he may trip me and kick me while I'm down."
"Food for thought," Gen called out, as he vanished into the crowd, "When was the last time you actually asked God for help?"
The Specter couldn't remember that either. He took another sip of his cold bitter coffee, and winced again.
Erased from history, robbed of all but a precious few of his memories, and brought back in order to save the world to atone for his sins, the Specter was wearing himself down to the bone in order to make some kind of progress. Things were going slow, and he was running out of time. He was beginning to realize that there was a very good chance he might not be successful. The thought forced him to push on harder, his life becoming a cycle of minor success followed by crushing failure.
As he passed by a small bistro, he saw a familiar face sitting at one of the tables on the outside patio. It was a face he knew better than his own. It was the face that was burned into his mind. The face the Madman he saw every time he closed his eyes.
The Madman looked to be in his early forties, with a shaved head, and a well trimmed black goatee, which circled his ever present sinister smile. He wore a pair of small round lensed sunglasses which mostly obscured his eyes, but when they didn't you could almost reach out and touch the madness that swirled around in them.
He wore gray khaki pants, accompanied by a half unbuttoned blue Hawaiian shirt with a light green undershirt. Rounding out his ensemble was a brown faded duster draped over the chair he was sitting in.
He held a newspaper up, trying to obscure the fact that he was watching the Specter The Specter noticed though, and was a little surprised that the Madman could see him. He didn't think too much of it. He had recently discovered that when he meant genuine, imminent harm to someone, they were able to see him.
He most certainly meant harm to the man. This was the man who killed him.
"You!" The Specter shouted at the madman.
"Moi? You can't be serious." he said, in a fake french accent that was so bad it bordered on ridiculous. He feigned surprise, but then called back, "What's your problem?"
"My problem?" the Specter asked. "My problem is that you killed me!"
"I see two issues with your logic," the Madman said, peering around the tops of his sunglasses at the Specter, "Un, I do not remember killing you, and If I killed a person, I think I'd remember it, and deux, you do not look very dead to me."
As the Madman spoke, his ridiculous accent seemed to fade into a much more authentic one, and then back again. The Specter couldn't tell if he was French and trying to deliberately fake a bad accent, or if it was just terrible at faking a bad accent.
"It's a complicated situation," the Specter started, his anger getting the best of him.
"I know all about your situation, spirit. You are the one who was erased, brought back, and then charged with saving the world. I'm here because you need my help. Have a seat."
The Specter sat down, and the Madman called over a waiter to bring him two cups of coffee. The Specter looked dead into the Madman's eyes, his rage welling up inside him at this man, he could barely resist the urge to scream.
"Introduction," the Madman said, holding a hand out in an effort to subdue some of the Specter’s anger, "My name is Genevieve-Olivier Dufresne. You may call me Gen for short."
"I don't have a name," the Specter spit out, "They took that from me, along with everything else. All I have left are a few memories, mostly feelings from the day I passed. Other than that, I technically never existed. Thanks you to and God's bureaucracy, I have no family, and only one friend."
"Well, now you have two friends," Gen said, as he reached across the table, extending his arm for a handshake. The Specter did not return it. He sat at the table glowering at Gen until he sat back down.
They sat for awhile in silence, and the waiter, assuming Gen was alone, as he could not see the Specter, brought Gen two cups of coffee. Gen slid the other cup over to the Specter They waited for awhile longer in silence before Gen finally spoke.
"I am sorry you are in this situation," Gen finally said, his smile and phony accent disappearing as he apologized, "I know this must be difficult for you. I was unaware of the circumstances surrounding your rebirth."
There was a certain honesty to Gen's apology that caught the Specter off guard. He was beginning to find it hard to believe that this was the man who had shot him. The chaos in his eyes seemed benign. His smile, which in his memories seemed sinister, now had seemed more jovial. He wondered if it were possible for this man, who could easily be someone's crazy uncle, to transform into the twisted killer that had shot him.
He unfolded his arms as the anger ran out of him. As he did, Gen smiled once again.
"Gen," the Specter asked, "Are you guilty of my murder if was erased and never happened?"
Gen's smile expanded a bit, and he pursed his lips as he thought about the answer, "Maybe. I can't directly answer that one at this time."
"Alright then," the Specter continued, "are the Laws of God so warped that they can condemn a man to my fate even when he cannot remember what the offense is that he committed?
"The 'Laws of God?'" Gen's face contorted like a parent who just heard their two year old swear in a comedic fashion. His expression was somewhere between the brink of laughter and utter bewilderment, bordering on anger. "It really affects me, sometimes, how people, each one unique, with their own needs, can assume that one set of rules can be applied to every person. It's gone on for thousands of years, and yet still humanity seems to skirt around the simple truth. All situations are different, and the best resolution comes from not enclosed system of law, but instead an open mind.
"Here's an example," Gen said, producing a small rolled cigarette from one of his shirt pockets, and lighter from the other, in one fluid motion of his hands. "Something painfully generic," he said, as his constant smile curled slightly further upward. He put the cigarette into his mouth and lit it. There was a pause before he took a long, slow drag off of the cigarette.
Gen propped his elbow on the table, and held the cigarette up in two fingers of his hand as he continued. "A poor man works hard to provide for his family, but his business can barely keep a roof over his head. Having not been able to feed his family for three days, he asks a wealthy, well fed man for some food, which the man has in abundance. The well fed man refuses, hearing none of the poor man's pleas. The poor man, knowing this man has much more food than he needs, decides to steal a plate of meat to ensure his family doesn't starve.
"Now I ask you, Monsieur ghost," He said, the cigarette smoke obscuring most of his face aside from his mad eyes and even madder smile, "in God's eyes, who is more wrong? Clearly the poor man stole, but he did a so called 'bad' thing for a noble reason. Does that make it more acceptable? If so, what about the well fed man? Was he not entitled to keep his own plate of meat, which he earned, or is he somehow obligated to give his extra food to someone else who needed it more? If so, what happens if he suspects he is being taken advantage of? At what point can he stop giving away food?"
The Specter sat, hunched forward, with his forearm laid across the table in front of him, to keep himself propped up. The story was convoluted, and at this point he had more pressing matters on his mind than what someone else was hypothetically eating or not eating and how right or wrong they may be by doing so. He was much more concerned with the individual sitting across from him.
Up until a few minutes ago, this man, Gen, had been the dark cloud casting a shadow upon his life. That twisted smile and those mad eyes always peering out above his sunglasses had haunted almost every last one of the Specter’s dreams for the past ten years. Technically, this was the man responsible for setting in motion the events that put him in this position. All of his memories, and his very existence, erased by the actions of this man.
While the Specter was beginning to accept that Gen might not be the antagonist he thought he was, he was still very wary of the him. He kept his eyes locked onto Gen's, and did his best to remain as stoic as possible. He was tired, but he was determined not to show any weakness.
"It would appear," the Specter said, taking a sip of his now cold coffee, and wincing at its bitterness, "that there would have to be more details to this story than you are letting on, making things even more complex." The Specter waved away the thought of going deeper into the story with his hand. "I understand the point you are trying to make though. It does leave me with a few questions though. If God has no absolute laws, then why are all sorts of holy books filled with them? Are they all fabrications? If they are, and the absolute rules are unacceptable, why does God not just come down and tell us? Just exactly what is God trying to accomplish?"
Gen turned his head slightly to the left, and opened his left eye wide, while squinting with the right. What would have been a perplexed look on anyone else seemed to the Specter to be him making two sets of observations at once. One eye open to see everything, and the other squinting to examine only the smallest detail. He dropped his cigarette into his coffee cup, and it produced a slight hiss as it went out.
All expression left Gen's face for a moment, and he leaned back, obscuring his eyes with his sunglasses. He raised his finger and held it there, as if asking for the Specter to wait for his answer. For a few minutes, they both sat in expressionless silence. Gen then moved his raised finger and briefly pointed it at the Specter When he spoke, his French accent was gone, and his voice sounded different. He spoke Arithmetically, mispronouncing some of his words, and putting inflections on the wrong syllables of others.
"Explain the actions of God to man. Ha ha," he laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. "Such a thing is like trying to explain color to the blind, or sound to the deaf. I can no more explain why God does what God does any more that you can explain to me how a rose smells."
Gen's presentation made it clear that even though he appeared to be a man, whatever he was, he most certainly was not human. The chaos that he had seen swirling about this being's eyes wasn't madness, it was simply something that was beyond his ken. It was awe inspiring and frightening at the same time. The Specter nodded, and smiled, ever so slightly. Gen smiled back and shrugged. He returned to his pseudo-French accent when he spoke, but this time it sounded authentic and did not vary.
"I can however, explain some of where humanity has acquired 'God's Law.' Here's a question for you: Does it strike you as odd that God would have created so much passion and life ensconced in the grip of the act lovemaking, and then tell people they couldn't do it, that it was surrounded in sin and not life?"
The Specter quirked up an eyebrow before answering, "Didn't you just say you can't explain God? Sounds about par for the course to me."
Gen shook his head, "God is complex. The surface of His (or Her, or even Its if you prefer) being has more depth than a thousand oceans, but God has a constant. God makes sense. That level of idiocy I just described? That's not God's work. That's the kind of inane bullshit that only humanity has the ability to come up with. It's actually quite fascinating from an outsider's perspective.
"But I do digress. Many years ago there was a man who was about to be overcome by his own lust. Good old kind-hearted concerned God goes to him, and says, 'Hey, be careful not let your loins get the best of you.' The man, who has just had his mind blown by speaking with God, goes and tells his brothers and sisters about the experience. They immediately interpret this simple word of God as 'lust is a bad thing.' This in turn makes sex a bad thing, but a necessary evil. Soon looking at a woman the wrong way has become a sin, and because man has a horrible time accepting that the fault may be his own coupled with a wonderful need to oppress things, the woman who walks in an alluring way is the one at fault, and deemed less of a person."
"So," the Specter asked, sitting up in his chair, "If there are no ironclad rules, does that mean that there is no judgment when we pass?"
Gen took off his sunglasses and set them on the table, and then clasped his hands, leaning forward on the table.
"There is judgment. Not just when you pass, but always, before and after, but God is oft-forgiving, and most merciful. He made you, and He knows you, better than you know yourself. He sees your difficulties, and all of the intricacies, chemical imbalances, hopes, dreams, fears, and faults, and takes it into consideration. It's a dynamic process," Gen explained, wiggling his fingers, "While there is no one set of rules, there is one blanket rule that covers most situations. It's the one that appears time and time again across most religious texts that isn't marred by the eccentricities of man. Probably the best paraphrase of it would be something along the lines of, 'Don't be an ass.'"
The Specter laughed, and Gen chuckled shortly after. It felt good to laugh. He wondered how long it had been since he'd genuinely been amused to the point of laughter. He couldn't remember. He suspected he might never have. For a moment the yoke around his neck that bore the weight of the world was lifted and he felt alive again. Gen reached across the table and grabbed his shoulders.
"Look," he said, looking into the Specter’s eyes "I realize you have very little. You work tirelessly to save a world that you can never again have a place in, but you have to live. See a sunrise, walk through a rainstorm, kiss a pretty girl. That's what it's all about. Life shouldn't ever be an onus, it should be an adventure. If the world can't afford you that, then the world doesn't deserve to be saved."
Gen stood up and threw a few dollars on the table to cover the two coffees. He looked up at the cloudless sky, and his expression grew grim.
"The storm is coming soon," he said, walking away from his chair and out of the bistro patio. He stopped for a moment, and then looked back down at the Specter, "if you don't have anyone or anything to hold on to, it will wash you away. Don't be afraid to ask God for help if you need it."
"Oh, yeah," the Specter replied, smiling as his cynicism got the best of him, "God's been a great help so far. At the rate He's going, if I ask for any more, he may trip me and kick me while I'm down."
"Food for thought," Gen called out, as he vanished into the crowd, "When was the last time you actually asked God for help?"
The Specter couldn't remember that either. He took another sip of his cold bitter coffee, and winced again.
Friday, July 8, 2011
System
Well, now,
what have you heard,
when the past placid promises,
are now fast flaccid words.
So ring out and bring,
the hail to the king,
while his fingers faux prose
his shadows will sing.
And the backs of the lower,
is where we will dine,
as we've bred you consumers,
to keep you in line.
And you call us the villains,
and you cry and you whine,
but you'll ruin to those beneath you,
to save a few dimes.
So let's throw into battle,
for left or the right,
accept no shades of grey,
it's black or it's white.
And have no shaking hands,
we'll disband compromise,
claim the middle won't work,
so we must polarize.
So let's shut out the Sun,
and dampen the night,
and slight even ourselves,
to ensure that we're right.
'Cause what's good for the gander,
is great for the goose,
just don't realize you're neither,
or you might find you lose.
what have you heard,
when the past placid promises,
are now fast flaccid words.
So ring out and bring,
the hail to the king,
while his fingers faux prose
his shadows will sing.
And the backs of the lower,
is where we will dine,
as we've bred you consumers,
to keep you in line.
And you call us the villains,
and you cry and you whine,
but you'll ruin to those beneath you,
to save a few dimes.
So let's throw into battle,
for left or the right,
accept no shades of grey,
it's black or it's white.
And have no shaking hands,
we'll disband compromise,
claim the middle won't work,
so we must polarize.
So let's shut out the Sun,
and dampen the night,
and slight even ourselves,
to ensure that we're right.
'Cause what's good for the gander,
is great for the goose,
just don't realize you're neither,
or you might find you lose.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Rusty
My best is gone now
my prowess squandered
hope wanders
behind so distant
it stumbles blindly
come find me!
My withered spirit
is eminating
self loathing
whatever happened
to the man whose insight
lit dark nights
I still have something
the shattered edges
sharp ledges
they cut my fingers
but I'm still climbing
no whining
The path is set now
no longer falling
risk calling
one last adventure
no longer aimless
or graceless
Monday, April 18, 2011
Poetry
Rhyming makes the bard
and metaphors are the door's key
Poetry's not hard
I'll show you all, you'll see
Poetry is the wind in the sails
of the submarine of damnation
it's the chorus of silence
that solves a negative number of equations
in a land of nothing but sand and rocks
it is the grilled cheese sandwich of elation
That's all it takes to be grand
The majestic wordsmith maestro
and when people don't understand
Just claim you're literary Picasso
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Hero
It's not about strength
because no amount of muscle is needed to achieve it
It's not about intelligence
you can read a thousand books and still miss it
It's not about bravery
as you can do it as your heart pounds with fear
It's about integrity, dedication, and commitment
knowing the biggest wall in front of you is disbelief
and fully comprehending the gravity of the task ahead
not cutting corners even where its accepted
when your goal is unbelievably distant
yet you still put one foot in front of the other
It's about going on
when no one would blame you for stopping
walking steadily into the maw of defeat
without trepidation, or resignation
when all of hope is not lost
because there was never hope to be had
Those who can will be the ones remembered
not Alan and Sally in administration
who were too worried about the risks
to consider it anything other than a lost cause
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Apathy
I don't feel like writing today
please go away, I've nothing to say
I don't feel like writing today.
My heart has gone and disappeared
doesn't strike me as weird, just as I feared
just simply gone and disappeared
I'm left with nothing to feel,
it seems so unreal, my chest cold as steel,
it doesn't even hurt to not feel
My soul's silence echoes no plea
I'm no longer me, he's gone off to flee
too distant to echo his plea
and the silence longs for no sound
I've gone all around, and all I have found
historical references to the beauty of sound
my body longs to be still
it has had its fill, no longer finds thrill
and now wants to rest and be still
and the world ever calls out so
still you must go, you're moving to slow
Oh, how I wish it weren't so.
Friday, April 15, 2011
And Why Not? It worked in Blazing Saddles.
And who do you see
it's only just me
nothing else with that statement
(not even parentheses)
So what do I do
but stand and stare
and sit sometimes too
in a comfortable chair
now time to hang loose
and cook a nice DiGiorno
If there's nothing on the tube
why not rent a porno?
And so, it appears
I've missed the time
and in tune with my fears
I'm passed my prime
So drive down to the mall
to see inappropriate flirts
why do we line the halls
with teens in short skirts?
And while on the subject
a law we can enhance
no one wears any outer garments
with less cloth than my underpants.
The rain comes down outside
sometimes sounding like
a cobbled together
staccato wind
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Procrastination
So many distractions
so few worthwhile endeavors
I'd start one right now
if it wouldn't take forever
but the flowers are blooming
and the birds are all tweets
and the hearts are a booming
as the bodies are between sheets
And running are the trains
with so many places to go
to the mind it shoes strain
when we're forced to go slow
and the stories without number
release reality's restraint
and their grand verses encumber
our lives which are quaint
And I didn't stop to plan
not one moment did I wait
now the shit has hit the fan
as I am running late
So many things
prepared upon the line
I'd have gotten them done
if I started on time
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Phantom
He is contained in darkness
making no sound
speaking no word
he has no muscle to move
but I cannot escape him
As I walk the streets
on warm, sunny days
he rides in my shadow
his bony, frigid hands
grasping fervently for my ankles
hoping for just enough grip
to pull me down into
the darkness I create
when I blot out the light
Beset upon
by the foul stench of his presence
I can only contemplate
an eternity of this torment
He was short lived
and ever longer dead
and any and all attempts
to give back to him his life
through word or deed
are met with inquisitions
to whether or not he truly lived
His existence is my eternal onus
In no way can my folly be undone
And so forever must I endure
my mistake
making no sound
speaking no word
he has no muscle to move
but I cannot escape him
As I walk the streets
on warm, sunny days
he rides in my shadow
his bony, frigid hands
grasping fervently for my ankles
hoping for just enough grip
to pull me down into
the darkness I create
when I blot out the light
Beset upon
by the foul stench of his presence
I can only contemplate
an eternity of this torment
He was short lived
and ever longer dead
and any and all attempts
to give back to him his life
through word or deed
are met with inquisitions
to whether or not he truly lived
His existence is my eternal onus
In no way can my folly be undone
And so forever must I endure
my mistake
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Night Sky
Oh the night sky
seems more content than I
the stars are all alight
and the moon shines so bright
nothing bothers the night sky
aside from the occasional cloud passing by
but beware the content illusion
for darkness only breeds delusion.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Divine's Apology
I'm sorry I didn't hold your hand,
through everything,
that I didn't make your life warm sunshine,
and misty carefree rainbows.
I'm sorry that I want you to feel pain,
to suffer and be cut down,
So that you can grow up, stand on your feet,
and know what it means to not be able to.
I'm sorry that I Had to show you,
soul charring loss,
in order to show you the true value,
of simple gains.
I'm sorry I gave you emotion,
for you seem to obsess with how you are broken,
instead of realizing you have the strength,
to triumph over your shortcomings.
I'm sorry that when I told you,
"I'll always be with you,"
you assumed that I would ensure,
that I would solve all your problems.
I'm sorry that when you look back,
on your walk through existence,
and see one set of footprints behind you,
that you assume I was absent.
I'm doubly sorry when you assume,
that those are my footprints,
and I was carrying you,
because you were too weak to walk.
You weren't.
It was by your own will that you survived your turmoils,
those lonely footprints are the war drum beats
of the endurance of the human heart,
a testament to the divine mold you were cast from.
I was always at your side,
encouraging your steps,
but you did the work.
Had I carried you it would have been an insult,
to the quality of my craftsmanship.
So I am sorry if what I have done,
is too far beyond your understanding,
I'm sorry that you focus on your life's burdens,
instead of reveling in its adventures.
through everything,
that I didn't make your life warm sunshine,
and misty carefree rainbows.
I'm sorry that I want you to feel pain,
to suffer and be cut down,
So that you can grow up, stand on your feet,
and know what it means to not be able to.
I'm sorry that I Had to show you,
soul charring loss,
in order to show you the true value,
of simple gains.
I'm sorry I gave you emotion,
for you seem to obsess with how you are broken,
instead of realizing you have the strength,
to triumph over your shortcomings.
I'm sorry that when I told you,
"I'll always be with you,"
you assumed that I would ensure,
that I would solve all your problems.
I'm sorry that when you look back,
on your walk through existence,
and see one set of footprints behind you,
that you assume I was absent.
I'm doubly sorry when you assume,
that those are my footprints,
and I was carrying you,
because you were too weak to walk.
You weren't.
It was by your own will that you survived your turmoils,
those lonely footprints are the war drum beats
of the endurance of the human heart,
a testament to the divine mold you were cast from.
I was always at your side,
encouraging your steps,
but you did the work.
Had I carried you it would have been an insult,
to the quality of my craftsmanship.
So I am sorry if what I have done,
is too far beyond your understanding,
I'm sorry that you focus on your life's burdens,
instead of reveling in its adventures.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Chains of Order
If you don't let go and allow me to be free,
this empty shell is what you'll get from me.
No passion, caring, love or thought,
goes in to this creation you have wrought.
This lifeless act, this wicker stage,
is a closed book with but an empty page.
when you put garbage in, you'll get garbage out,
Surrounded by rain, this farce is a drought.
Your orders are rules that hold no law,
so let's end this now, and call it a draw.
It's not me you want, is what most bemuses,
unconcerned for my body, or psychological bruises.
So cut this one loose and let it be free,
And perhaps you'll delight when you truly meet me.
this empty shell is what you'll get from me.
No passion, caring, love or thought,
goes in to this creation you have wrought.
This lifeless act, this wicker stage,
is a closed book with but an empty page.
when you put garbage in, you'll get garbage out,
Surrounded by rain, this farce is a drought.
Your orders are rules that hold no law,
so let's end this now, and call it a draw.
It's not me you want, is what most bemuses,
unconcerned for my body, or psychological bruises.
So cut this one loose and let it be free,
And perhaps you'll delight when you truly meet me.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Summer
A warm breeze
the tall trees
the quick freeze
of a cold stream
The hot sun
unending fun
with loved ones
Eating ice cream
The park grass
a pretty lass
not too high class
the perfect team
The evening sky
a ravens cry
the angels lie
on a moon beam
A wishing well
a flower's smell
a season's spell
a happy dream
the tall trees
the quick freeze
of a cold stream
The hot sun
unending fun
with loved ones
Eating ice cream
The park grass
a pretty lass
not too high class
the perfect team
The evening sky
a ravens cry
the angels lie
on a moon beam
A wishing well
a flower's smell
a season's spell
a happy dream
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Fall of Lucifer: Vanitas
The charge he knew was treason,
the weightiest of crimes,
the length of his sentance,
eons beyond the end of time.
This did not shake him very much,
At first he was not too unnerved,
and he braced himself for what was come,
his punishment well deserved.
But there was no holy fire,
no pillory or heavy chain,
though he screamed aloud for it,
there was no physical pain.
No agony to distract his mind,
no escape from his prison was known,
the truth was that his only burden,
was to be unconditionally alone.
So through nothingness he flew,
old songs of worship he did sing,
of the glory of his Father,
as the chill of the void did sting.
And there was not even a solemn echo,
just darkness without walls,
when his wings were too tired to carry him,
through emptiness he'd fall.
Cruel irony pollutes his mind,
with an eternity to contemplate,
how his acts paralleled those of man,
now blasphemous as those he did hate.
With so much time to erode his thoughts,
empty eternity his banishment,
he wonders if he was right to challenge a God,
whom would bestow to anyone this punishment.
the weightiest of crimes,
the length of his sentance,
eons beyond the end of time.
This did not shake him very much,
At first he was not too unnerved,
and he braced himself for what was come,
his punishment well deserved.
But there was no holy fire,
no pillory or heavy chain,
though he screamed aloud for it,
there was no physical pain.
No agony to distract his mind,
no escape from his prison was known,
the truth was that his only burden,
was to be unconditionally alone.
So through nothingness he flew,
old songs of worship he did sing,
of the glory of his Father,
as the chill of the void did sting.
And there was not even a solemn echo,
just darkness without walls,
when his wings were too tired to carry him,
through emptiness he'd fall.
Cruel irony pollutes his mind,
with an eternity to contemplate,
how his acts paralleled those of man,
now blasphemous as those he did hate.
With so much time to erode his thoughts,
empty eternity his banishment,
he wonders if he was right to challenge a God,
whom would bestow to anyone this punishment.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Fall of Lucifer: Virtus
So marched unyielding Lucifer,
Morning star brightly shining,
his need for order did ensure,
angel's blood as heaven's lining,
His soul, forged of fire pure,
caused his skin to blister,
as he fearlessly charged against,
his brother and his sister,
"Look at the lord," He cried, and cried,
"put his word to the test,
All too soon you'll surely see,
all I long for is what's best."
One by one his allies fell,
his vanguard torn asunder,
by will alone he forged a path,
when the others did surrender,
Finally, In his own warped mind,
could be seen the true beauty,
his vigor was by far the greatest,
the masterpiece of his Deity.
And those who survived him,
speak the truth of what they know,
of his eyes of false purpose,
and terrible wrath filled woe.
To the throne he marched,
And all of heaven did quake,
Only when he saw the tears of God,
did he finally see his mistake,
For forgiveness, he did plead,
for grace, and understanding he asked,
for how could he follow so blindly,
when not fully comprehending the task.
Verbally the answer was silence,
so again his heart did swell,
And he pondered then his fate,
when from the heavens he fell.
Now the scholars will all laugh,
And the poets only can cry,
to have seen God's beautiful creation,
His majesty gone awry.
Morning star brightly shining,
his need for order did ensure,
angel's blood as heaven's lining,
His soul, forged of fire pure,
caused his skin to blister,
as he fearlessly charged against,
his brother and his sister,
"Look at the lord," He cried, and cried,
"put his word to the test,
All too soon you'll surely see,
all I long for is what's best."
One by one his allies fell,
his vanguard torn asunder,
by will alone he forged a path,
when the others did surrender,
Finally, In his own warped mind,
could be seen the true beauty,
his vigor was by far the greatest,
the masterpiece of his Deity.
And those who survived him,
speak the truth of what they know,
of his eyes of false purpose,
and terrible wrath filled woe.
To the throne he marched,
And all of heaven did quake,
Only when he saw the tears of God,
did he finally see his mistake,
For forgiveness, he did plead,
for grace, and understanding he asked,
for how could he follow so blindly,
when not fully comprehending the task.
Verbally the answer was silence,
so again his heart did swell,
And he pondered then his fate,
when from the heavens he fell.
Now the scholars will all laugh,
And the poets only can cry,
to have seen God's beautiful creation,
His majesty gone awry.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Fall of Lucifer: Veritas
So the one who was made perfect,
and under only the Sun would shine,
was called forward to kneel,
by the Righteous Divine.
But when the charge was seen,
the great creation corrupt,
he saw no need to kneel,
before the morally bankrupt.
They're called to make peace,
and to praise God on high,
but their souls were wicked,
and their worship a lie.
Their hearts were impure,
as their own flesh they rend,
and God asked for to bow,
and on knee to bend,
How can one be humble,
and lay down before,
all the ones so unholy,
scoffing at divine law.
The truth did elude him,
and caused his heart to swell,
so he searched for the answers,
on the mountains, and in wells.
No answers he could find,
no answers save but one,
the Lord must be fallible,
His divinity undone.
So he called out to anyone,
and found those among his peers,
who saw no truth in their orders,
who echoed his fears.
Structure must be preserved,
and now God must be felled,
as Heaven would surely crumble,
if order were not upheld.
So he looked unto his Father,
with sobs and with regret,
for now he was forced to challenge,
the one he owed his debts.
But one path shone through tears,
trepidation no more,
and he sadly raised his horn,
to call Heaven to war.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Nonsense
On the cold windswept plains of the fiery desert,
an incorrigible iconoclast assembled irrelevant dictations,
while the hard, cracked soil was soft and comforting,
beneath newly rested and tired feet.
Stumbling in the stillness of the dark,
Gathering bearings by only the brightest of dim flames,
the harrowing journey comfortably carried on,
for years at a time.
How can we do anything but wander,
when our sun, shining bright enough to burn skin,
cannot act as our compass,
to the darkness brought on by knowing the truth,
or learning that one can never fully understand it.
A fully understood vagueness varies,
as the visceral viciousness of vivacity,
drives a dearth of distinguishment,
through an egregious chiasm of miasma.
And on the journey of a thousand thoughts,
bearing an absence of any and all words,
once is forced to stop while pressed to move,
and asked to unravel and otherwise decode,
the mystery of dress slacks.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Hubris
An echo of love once spoke to me,
from the darkness of eternity,
of bonds of kinship formed in steel,
quickly dissolved in a fit of zeal,
when a one whose loyalty claimed everlong,
was met in passing by the slightest wrongs.
In response a call went out to the sky,
demands of justice six feet high,
for sacrifice and suffering he did live,
oft more than he had he would gladly give,
but now a trial needed to be heard,
for he could not tolerate the offensive word.
An apology was demanded at once,
for what was claimed a horrid affront,
But no sooner was it asked then it was received,
but it evaporated in the air, so not retrieved.
Since words are worthless as a cold, dark sun,
the man requested aggregious retribution.
The response was given, violent and swift,
no compensation given to seal this rift,
They then both turned and walked away,
and spoke no more after that day,
From then on whenever they encountered another,
they spoke only of the offenses of their brother,
When asked of the other, they always lied,
and said there was no peace, even though they tried,
As ages past, and their bones dried,
they thought of each other and always cried,
No reconciliation given, as foolish pride,
ensured they never met again, until one died.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Spirit
Down on the pavement
bleeding, bruised, and now swelling
I stared at my foe.
Throughout my body,
the violent spikes of pain
distort his visage
Every movement,
or involuntary twitch,
burning agony
Over beaten bone,
and surrendering sinew,
pain sings out in fire
It must be over
the agony burns my thoughts
my mind fills with ash
And if I could stand
I possess no strategy
defeat is my tomb
My limbs atrophy
yet something still stirs inside
whispering madness
Ringing fills my ears
and the whispers have no words
but they have passion
All goals disappear
rationale evaporates
just sheer will remains
Before I can think
I am on my feet again
the pain is too much
the world stops briefly
then the drive ignites the pain
its flames are my fuel
He sees the process
amazed and in awe of it
the dead man rising
quickly our eyes meet
for the slightest of moments
the battle pauses
We smile with privilege
glimpsing a humanity
more than physical
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Noir
As a siren cries in the distance
a single man walks the night
along an empty city street
as the cloudy remnants of newly finished rain,spread veinly across the sky
like a moth eaten curtain trying to hide the moon
which casts a pall lifeless gray over the ichor of the wet city street.
A solitary street lamp flickers violently before popping,
desperatley trying for one last attempt to assist the moon
to bring light to these dark, wet corners,
that even on the brightest day
never seem to get enough light.
As the man keeps walking,
Steam slowly flows out of a grate
by the corner of a nearby building,
the breath of the city itself
sighing at the loneliness of the street.
A few dead leaves line the wet, trash filled streets,
markers of the life that this night no longer seems present,
while a slight foul odor oozes out of a nearby alleyway,
but is all but carried away by a late autumn wind.
The man keeps walking,
as he knows he must.
He's one of the few left in these parts to cast light,
though mortal eyes cannot see it.
Still, his motives lie buried deep
in a forgotten pocket of an empty wallet.
This dark, wet city houses millions.
Though no soul can be seen now,
The man knows it is but brick and mortar
between him and its people
and yet still, as he walks the night in search of answers
he is impossibly alone.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Woe
Woe unto Sinners!
Languish the to the Lechers Lost in Lust,
Their hearts blindfolded by genetic breed.
Grieve for the Greedy, and the Gluttonous,
Striving to fill emptiness' pit with greed.
Sing Sorrow softly for souls so Slothful,
Shackled without purpose like an ever growing weed.
Weep for the Wicked warped with Wrath's Will,
Their anger driven hard, spurs on Fear's steed.
Evoke elegies of empty empathy for those of envy,
Driven solely by visions of only earthly need.
Pity the people pressed by Pride Persistently,
Stocking blindly the value on one's own deed.
Woe unto sinners!
Morosely mourn their malicious afflictions,
but elicit no effort to understand the condition!
Drown dutifully their dreams in the dooming depth of darkness.
Sear softly sincere smiles from your slippery subconscious.
Know not their nervousness nursed by their false starts,
Along with All of the happy hope held by their hearts.
Beware the budding beauty in them briefly running wild,
Careful and Carefree chasing a cherished child.
Join not in the jubilance from any Jaunty jest.
Never weep woefully for the wails that weigh upon their breast!
Cast off and crush the cloak of their camaraderie,
and intensely ignore the impending implications of humanity.
For if you never nudge yourself anywhere near,
and righteously rigorously rue them,
you'll never have to face the frightful fear,
that maybe you too are human.
Languish the to the Lechers Lost in Lust,
Their hearts blindfolded by genetic breed.
Grieve for the Greedy, and the Gluttonous,
Striving to fill emptiness' pit with greed.
Sing Sorrow softly for souls so Slothful,
Shackled without purpose like an ever growing weed.
Weep for the Wicked warped with Wrath's Will,
Their anger driven hard, spurs on Fear's steed.
Evoke elegies of empty empathy for those of envy,
Driven solely by visions of only earthly need.
Pity the people pressed by Pride Persistently,
Stocking blindly the value on one's own deed.
Woe unto sinners!
Morosely mourn their malicious afflictions,
but elicit no effort to understand the condition!
Drown dutifully their dreams in the dooming depth of darkness.
Sear softly sincere smiles from your slippery subconscious.
Know not their nervousness nursed by their false starts,
Along with All of the happy hope held by their hearts.
Beware the budding beauty in them briefly running wild,
Careful and Carefree chasing a cherished child.
Join not in the jubilance from any Jaunty jest.
Never weep woefully for the wails that weigh upon their breast!
Cast off and crush the cloak of their camaraderie,
and intensely ignore the impending implications of humanity.
For if you never nudge yourself anywhere near,
and righteously rigorously rue them,
you'll never have to face the frightful fear,
that maybe you too are human.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Duke Burger
I went down to the store today to throw down some cash on the Duke Nukem Forever: Balls of Steel edition. Once the preorder was done, I knew I had to celebrate the momentous occasion of Duke Nukem Forever being released, so I began what is to become a two month long revelry in celebration of the the Duke.
The first thing I decided to do to celebrate, as inspired by the forums at http://www.dukenukem.com was to cook the manliest burger I could imagine, a burger worthy of Duke Nukem himself. Now, While the official Duke burgers are ground from only the freshest, softest, puppy meat available, I felt the authorities might frown on doing so, So I improvised. Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you the Duke Burger:
Duke Burger Recipe
Makes Two Burgers
1 lb Ground beef
1/4 pint Stout Beer (Guinness)
1/8 Pint Tonic Water
1 Shitload of Cumin
1/4 cup hot sauce (or more, to suit)
1/8 cup Cayenne Pepper, Garlic Salt mix - "Adam Spice"
1/4 cup Diced Onion
1/4 cup Diced Green Pepper
16 Slices of Bacon
8 Slices of Cheddar/Mozzarella Mixed Cheese
2 Sizable Kaiser Rolls
2 (or three) eggs
Bread Crumbs
Note that the pictures reflect that I used twice as much as the ingredients state (Four Burgers worth.) You can always double up if you're feeling extra hungry.
First, mix the ground beef, stout beer, tonic water, hot sauce, Adam Spice, and Cumin into a Glass Baking dish, and let it marinate in the fridge for about half of an hour. If you're not a fan of stout beer, or if your the kind that prefers to go bouncing about in skirts, you can use some other girlie beer, like Budweiser or Zima. If you're not a fan of the spicy ingredients, you can always choose not to use them. Of course, you can always also strap on a tampon and to chat it up with the girls at the salon while getting your hair done, too.
Cut them like they were Emo.
While you continue waiting, have another beer, to assist in generating a nice flow while you cook.
Right before the meat is done marinating, warm the oven up to three hundred fifty degrees. When the meat is done, throw it in the oven for 10 minutes. Make sure you stir it every two minutes, as your intent is not too cook it, but to cook the rest of the marinade into the meat.
If your meat is burning, it may be time to see a doctor
Once the meat is done absorbing the marination, take it out of the oven, and mix in the eggs and breadcrumbs until you have a nice burger consistency. Once you've done that, split the meat it into quarters.
Evenly mix a quarter of your diced bacon into each quarter of the meat.
Take a five minute break and crack into another beer, you're working too hard. Have a cigar, if one's handy.
Once you've mixed in the bacon, form the meat into two ashtray shapes slightly larger than the kaiser rolls. These will serve as the bottoms of your burgers.
Don't ash in your burgers...unless you want ULTIMATE FLAVOR.
Lay one slice of cheese in the meat, and then add half of the onion/pepper mix into each of the burgers.
Insert "stuffing meat" joke here.
Lay another slice of cheese on top of the onions and peppers. I laid my cheese to form a six pointed star. This is to be the Jewish Star of David, to symbolize Duke's cultural sensitivity.
You want the Cheese? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE CHEESE!
Once the cheese and peppers are in the burger, form the remaining two quarters into lids for the bottoms, and mold them onto the burgers. Then, start warming up your favorite seasoned cast iron pan to right about medium high. If you don't have a seasoned cast iron pan, you can always abandon the project and go down to McDonalds and order yourself a "McPanties."
RAW MEAT
Once the Pan's warmed up, throw a Burger in, cover the pan, and let it sit for five minutes. After five minutes, flip the burger over and cook the other side for five minutes, to develop a slight "flavor burn" on either side. If there's no clock handy, you can always bang one of your nearby coed twins, flip the burger, and then go bang the other.
Ooh, Burn!
By this point, your beer's empty. Crack open another.
Once you've singed both sides of the burger, Flip the burger over and throw four strips of bacon into the pan (or all 8 if you have a cast Iron Pan big enough to cook both burgers at once.) Proceed to cook each side of the burger twice more, flipping two minutes, removing the bacon when it is done. Once this once you have finished, lay a slice of cheese on top of the burger, then the cooked bacon, and then another slice of cheese, and cover for a minute, until the cheese has melted.
HOLY SHIT.
Place the burger on the roll and garnish as desired.
It's time to kick ass and chew Duke Burgers. If you can't finish the Duke burger, don't worry. In the extra time you have from not eating the rest, you can always hop on the Internet and look up local yoga classes that have a space big enough to accommodate your unnaturally large vagina.
Damn, I'm cookin' good.
The first thing I decided to do to celebrate, as inspired by the forums at http://www.dukenukem.com was to cook the manliest burger I could imagine, a burger worthy of Duke Nukem himself. Now, While the official Duke burgers are ground from only the freshest, softest, puppy meat available, I felt the authorities might frown on doing so, So I improvised. Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you the Duke Burger:
Duke Burger Recipe
Makes Two Burgers
1 lb Ground beef
1/4 pint Stout Beer (Guinness)
1/8 Pint Tonic Water
1 Shitload of Cumin
1/4 cup hot sauce (or more, to suit)
1/8 cup Cayenne Pepper, Garlic Salt mix - "Adam Spice"
1/4 cup Diced Onion
1/4 cup Diced Green Pepper
16 Slices of Bacon
8 Slices of Cheddar/Mozzarella Mixed Cheese
2 Sizable Kaiser Rolls
2 (or three) eggs
Bread Crumbs
Note that the pictures reflect that I used twice as much as the ingredients state (Four Burgers worth.) You can always double up if you're feeling extra hungry.
First, mix the ground beef, stout beer, tonic water, hot sauce, Adam Spice, and Cumin into a Glass Baking dish, and let it marinate in the fridge for about half of an hour. If you're not a fan of stout beer, or if your the kind that prefers to go bouncing about in skirts, you can use some other girlie beer, like Budweiser or Zima. If you're not a fan of the spicy ingredients, you can always choose not to use them. Of course, you can always also strap on a tampon and to chat it up with the girls at the salon while getting your hair done, too.
While you're waiting for the meat to marinate, Cook the bacon until it's about half done, and dice up 8 strips (half) of it. Once you're done, you can dice up the peppers and onions. If you cry while cutting the onions, this is a sure sign that you're not manly enough for the Duke Burger. If that happens, just go ahead and throw out the marinating meat and watch a Sex in the City Marathon. If you're actually a man, though, you can go ahead and mix the onions and the peppers together.
While you continue waiting, have another beer, to assist in generating a nice flow while you cook.
Right before the meat is done marinating, warm the oven up to three hundred fifty degrees. When the meat is done, throw it in the oven for 10 minutes. Make sure you stir it every two minutes, as your intent is not too cook it, but to cook the rest of the marinade into the meat.
Once the meat is done absorbing the marination, take it out of the oven, and mix in the eggs and breadcrumbs until you have a nice burger consistency. Once you've done that, split the meat it into quarters.
Evenly mix a quarter of your diced bacon into each quarter of the meat.
Take a five minute break and crack into another beer, you're working too hard. Have a cigar, if one's handy.
Once you've mixed in the bacon, form the meat into two ashtray shapes slightly larger than the kaiser rolls. These will serve as the bottoms of your burgers.
Lay one slice of cheese in the meat, and then add half of the onion/pepper mix into each of the burgers.
Lay another slice of cheese on top of the onions and peppers. I laid my cheese to form a six pointed star. This is to be the Jewish Star of David, to symbolize Duke's cultural sensitivity.
Once the cheese and peppers are in the burger, form the remaining two quarters into lids for the bottoms, and mold them onto the burgers. Then, start warming up your favorite seasoned cast iron pan to right about medium high. If you don't have a seasoned cast iron pan, you can always abandon the project and go down to McDonalds and order yourself a "McPanties."
Once the Pan's warmed up, throw a Burger in, cover the pan, and let it sit for five minutes. After five minutes, flip the burger over and cook the other side for five minutes, to develop a slight "flavor burn" on either side. If there's no clock handy, you can always bang one of your nearby coed twins, flip the burger, and then go bang the other.
By this point, your beer's empty. Crack open another.
Once you've singed both sides of the burger, Flip the burger over and throw four strips of bacon into the pan (or all 8 if you have a cast Iron Pan big enough to cook both burgers at once.) Proceed to cook each side of the burger twice more, flipping two minutes, removing the bacon when it is done. Once this once you have finished, lay a slice of cheese on top of the burger, then the cooked bacon, and then another slice of cheese, and cover for a minute, until the cheese has melted.
Place the burger on the roll and garnish as desired.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Conversations With a Light Bulb.
It's been a bit of a rough day.
I got up around around 7:45 AM, as I had a car inspection scheduled for nine. Of course, if you knew me, you would know that my name and the words "morning person" don't quite fit into a sentence without the word "not" between them. But, despite the best of intentions, my wonderful sense of procrastination, coupled with poor weather, had managed to arrange my inspection scheduling on a Saturday, my day off, three days before it was due.
My car's inspection managed to total to just under $600. While I had managed so save up slightly more than that beforehand, it was depressing to have to pay so much, as I had already decided on many other places that the money would be better suited for. Even though I was technically under budget, it was upsetting to have to let go of so much of my money at once. Being a responsible adult, I decided to deal with my frustrations in the most efficient way I could imagine. I pretty much went directly from the garage to the liquor store. I picked up a bottle of the second least finest cherry-flavored vodka,(on sale for $9.99!) and headed home for a nice quiet evening of solitude and reflection. Three quarters of the bottle and several hours later, I realized I needed to wash a load of laundry sooner rather than later, so grabbed the laundry basket and headed into the basement to throw it in.
Now, being a philosophical man by nature, while I was carrying the laundry basket downstairs, I once again began to ponder just exactly what it was that God wants for us. The usual theme for these thoughts, as of late, is that God wants us to experience the adventure of life, with emphasis on love. Since that's been the recent theme, that is where my mind went first - the adventure. My mind reeled to places it has visited before, the joys of climbing the metaphorical mountain, of overcoming the tasks set before you, even when you don't want to. It paged over all of the knowledge gained through events that I would have rather not participated in, but am now a better person because of. In spite of this, I sill always wrestle with the fact that I will fear the unknown, in spite of how much I have grown because of it. As much as I know and understand its value, given the option, I would rather avoid it.
The reason for my avoidance of the adventure is that at some point during it, we all must suffer. So I began to wonder about why we suffer. If God were all powerful, no one would have to suffer. The question is, then, why do we? The only conclusion I could find was the realization that God does not allow us to suffer, he has built us to. Coming down the stairs, to the basement, the thought seemed so profound to me. We were built to suffer, maybe not as a primary purpose, but it was still part of the design. The profundity of the thought stopped me in my tracks. Immediately after I stopped, the basement light flickered, adding immeasurable weight to the thought that has just occurred.
"Really?" I thought, looking over at the light, as I continued walking again. The light bulb flickered once more, as if in agreement.
I loaded my clothes into the washing machine, in silence. According to a flickering light bulb, (and my drunkenness) God built us to suffer. The question of "why" turned over in my head, as I loaded the clothes into the machine. I wanted a more definite answer, but I was afraid that if I asked for one, I would be met with nothing, leading to the whole ordeal being just coincidence. I quietly continued to load the washing machine. Finally, my desire to know the truth outweighed my need for faith. I looked over at the light bulb and challenged it.
"To what purpose?" I inquired aloud, looking directly at the bulb itself, wondering why God would build us to suffer.
The bulb entered into what I can only describe as a shit fit. It flickered for a moment or two, before turning completely off for a couple of seconds, and then back on. Now I must add that it had flickered at no other time, setting any kind of precedent for a wonky bulb. It seemed to respond to my thoughts and questions. So what is the answer? We suffer because God built us to. Why? I don't know. I don't speak light bulb.
===
After I had written this, I went back downstairs, to throw the clothes back in the dryer, and to see if the light would flicker anymore. While I was loading the clothes into the dryer, the light flickered, and then went out completely. As logic dictates, I chalked the whole situation up to coincidence.
Once the clothes were into the dryer, I walked over to the bulb and tapped it. It came back on. When it came back on, I looked straight ahead and noticed a (very faded) peace sign on the wall, half obstructed by a shelf. I turned around a let the light bulb know that it was a total dick, but I loved it anyway.
I got up around around 7:45 AM, as I had a car inspection scheduled for nine. Of course, if you knew me, you would know that my name and the words "morning person" don't quite fit into a sentence without the word "not" between them. But, despite the best of intentions, my wonderful sense of procrastination, coupled with poor weather, had managed to arrange my inspection scheduling on a Saturday, my day off, three days before it was due.
My car's inspection managed to total to just under $600. While I had managed so save up slightly more than that beforehand, it was depressing to have to pay so much, as I had already decided on many other places that the money would be better suited for. Even though I was technically under budget, it was upsetting to have to let go of so much of my money at once. Being a responsible adult, I decided to deal with my frustrations in the most efficient way I could imagine. I pretty much went directly from the garage to the liquor store. I picked up a bottle of the second least finest cherry-flavored vodka,(on sale for $9.99!) and headed home for a nice quiet evening of solitude and reflection. Three quarters of the bottle and several hours later, I realized I needed to wash a load of laundry sooner rather than later, so grabbed the laundry basket and headed into the basement to throw it in.
Now, being a philosophical man by nature, while I was carrying the laundry basket downstairs, I once again began to ponder just exactly what it was that God wants for us. The usual theme for these thoughts, as of late, is that God wants us to experience the adventure of life, with emphasis on love. Since that's been the recent theme, that is where my mind went first - the adventure. My mind reeled to places it has visited before, the joys of climbing the metaphorical mountain, of overcoming the tasks set before you, even when you don't want to. It paged over all of the knowledge gained through events that I would have rather not participated in, but am now a better person because of. In spite of this, I sill always wrestle with the fact that I will fear the unknown, in spite of how much I have grown because of it. As much as I know and understand its value, given the option, I would rather avoid it.
The reason for my avoidance of the adventure is that at some point during it, we all must suffer. So I began to wonder about why we suffer. If God were all powerful, no one would have to suffer. The question is, then, why do we? The only conclusion I could find was the realization that God does not allow us to suffer, he has built us to. Coming down the stairs, to the basement, the thought seemed so profound to me. We were built to suffer, maybe not as a primary purpose, but it was still part of the design. The profundity of the thought stopped me in my tracks. Immediately after I stopped, the basement light flickered, adding immeasurable weight to the thought that has just occurred.
"Really?" I thought, looking over at the light, as I continued walking again. The light bulb flickered once more, as if in agreement.
I loaded my clothes into the washing machine, in silence. According to a flickering light bulb, (and my drunkenness) God built us to suffer. The question of "why" turned over in my head, as I loaded the clothes into the machine. I wanted a more definite answer, but I was afraid that if I asked for one, I would be met with nothing, leading to the whole ordeal being just coincidence. I quietly continued to load the washing machine. Finally, my desire to know the truth outweighed my need for faith. I looked over at the light bulb and challenged it.
"To what purpose?" I inquired aloud, looking directly at the bulb itself, wondering why God would build us to suffer.
The bulb entered into what I can only describe as a shit fit. It flickered for a moment or two, before turning completely off for a couple of seconds, and then back on. Now I must add that it had flickered at no other time, setting any kind of precedent for a wonky bulb. It seemed to respond to my thoughts and questions. So what is the answer? We suffer because God built us to. Why? I don't know. I don't speak light bulb.
===
After I had written this, I went back downstairs, to throw the clothes back in the dryer, and to see if the light would flicker anymore. While I was loading the clothes into the dryer, the light flickered, and then went out completely. As logic dictates, I chalked the whole situation up to coincidence.
Once the clothes were into the dryer, I walked over to the bulb and tapped it. It came back on. When it came back on, I looked straight ahead and noticed a (very faded) peace sign on the wall, half obstructed by a shelf. I turned around a let the light bulb know that it was a total dick, but I loved it anyway.
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