Broken Bones Taste Like Broken Bones.

You ever feel like you're on the cusp of evolving, mentally I mean? Like you're about to transition into the next phase of meta-physicality (sic?) only to cringe at the thoughts and uncertainty? Does rock music save your soul, or are you listless in your own body, a ripened carrion ready for the plucking?

I've felt this way consistently, and right now it feels like I need to make a move, or else I'm going to become one of those people who are twenty-seven, and sleeping in their parents house without a job.

I look down inside myself constantly, and wonder what it is about me thats so scared to complete surrender, and just...grow up.

Rites of passages. Are they detrimental in some one's chemical mixture? Without them, are you forever doomed to be a wallflower, melancholic and obtuse?

I've been furiously at work trying to write the best I can. To produce the best quality I know how, and I sit back and look at these short stories. Each, and every one of them are a chronicle of who I am, in some way or the other. Of where I've been, and where I've wanted to go.

And I'm a quarter of the way through, and I look at everything...and I see how naked, and empty I truly am. How wide my world might be, it's empty. I feel like I haven't accomplished anything, and mean so very little to anyone.

When I was younger, all I wanted to do was pursue academia in it's rawest form. To backpack Europe, and study at Oxford. Have a collection of degrees, and the like.

When my family lost our car, and I realized my parents had never made a plan for me to go to college, I realized that I actually am not any different from anyone else. There isn't anything unique here, there isn't anything that you'd want to buy into. I'm less than just like you: I'm the person at the back of the bus reading a book, that you wouldn't have noticed, except he cleared his throat.

You get two sides of the coin growing up. One being that this is America, the Land of Opportunity. Dig your nails in the sand, and eventually you'll find a pearl.

The other side is that it's nearly impractical to believe in that other side of the coin. That chances are, you're gonna wake up balding and forty with three kids, a nag wife and a third lean on your mortgage. The cars on the fritz, little Anthony has an ear infection, and your Boss has been slowly cutting back your hours, all while the price of bread, cheese, milk, fruit and gas has reached the glass ceiling you wanted to crash through when you were 22, full of piss and vinegar.
And you sit there with life passing by you, and with great fervency, you claw and clamor at your receding hairline. "It's time to go to the store" yells that God damned nag wife. You have to sign off an Ellen's school slip that informs you you'll be paying $150 dollar for her to accomplish what she should have done for fucking FREE all year long in school: fucking pass, and pay attention. Danny's in detention at his repository school, because he just has so much anger.

And a part of you is jealous of Danny cause he gets to express it. You sit here in a mental melt-down, screaming silently "If something doesn't break, I'm just gonna go fucking insane."

You can't leave your wife, because for the rest of your life she gets to do what she does now: sit on her ever bubbling, ever fattening-fuck ass while you get called an idiot by a purple faced goon with a Polo tie, for 31,000 a year. You CAN'T fucking leave her, because she would continue to draw alimony, and 35% of your check, because of the (ironically) three tax deductions you popped out, which, if they didn't all have your failing intricacies, you'd be quite fuck certain they weren't anything less than a milk man's child.

You coulda bought rubbers. You coulda tossed down 400 bones, and still had your youth. You coulda, shoulda, woulda, and now you're up shits creek because "it was spur of the moment", or your wife cooed into your ear, "Come on, Daddy. Cum in me. I want to feel you explode."

Who knew thirteen seconds would haunt your ass until the day you die.

At least now you get to have sex with that barren waste land on birthdays, Christmas, and Anniversaries.

So whats the point, I wonder, sometimes. Why do we allow ourselves the mental repudiation of calm-like-a-bomb domesticity? Sometimes I can't even blame Scott Peterson for taking Laci out to the Lake.

Theres a reason why Bob Dylan stands magnanimous amongst us mere mortals. Theres a reason why "On the Road" is like divine deliverance, and Jack Kerouac was the vessel in which this Holy Scripture was imparted unto us.

There's a reason why rock and roll courses through our veins, and theres a reason why theres that one girl you can't ever get out of your head, no matter how many beers you drink, and subsequent girls you fuck JUST TO ESCAPE that lingering doubt, of what could've, should've, and would've been, had there been an ounce of courtesy from a high power.

Eventually you stop caring who comes into power, and you lose touch with everything except whats right in front of you, and whats right in front of you isn't so fucking grand. The will to fights not even a fathomable option, but God damn, that fetal position looks so comforting. Like a revelation womb, without a uterus or fallopian tube anywhere near you.

I'm tired of running around like a chicken with my head cut off, and I'm tired of being scared of taking chances. I pray for determination. Do you pray for salvation, or the strength to get through just another work week.

Nothing scares me more than knowing theres no end in sight. That I'll be old and useless, if I'm lucky, before I can retire. Humans weren't meant for that, and I really think it's about time we changed that.


Choking to Death on the Alphabet Soup.

So the other day I was at a truck stop diner eating breakfast, when I was totally not eavesdropping on the table next to mine, when I heard maybe the most incredulous story I'd heard in quite a long god damned time.

It seems that in Tuscaloosa, Alabama an officer-friendly pulled over one of the mighty road mavericks, a truck driver.

Manuel Castillo was pulled over, and felt he was conversing quite well (and friendly) with this police officer, when at the end of the conversation he was slapped with a $500 dollar ticket.

You'd assume this rogue driver was speeding, tossing bottles out the window, flipping babies off, riding in the middle lane, and...of course littering. You'd assume that, I'm sure. However, (http://www.theledger.com/article/20080718/NEWS/807180467) it appears he didn't speak English well enough.

Now, I'd be more shocked if something like this hadn't happened in Tuscaloosa, Alabama of all places, but...I mean, let's face it. It's Alabama. Up until four weeks ago, I think slavery was still completely legal. Even now, I think they don't mind turning a blind eye to a weekly lynching (three a week in the Summer when the Monsoon hit's and the electricity goes out...just to pass the time.) but what actually strikes me is when you read the article, and Senor Castillo says, "It just doesn't seem fair to be ticketed if I wasn't doing anything dangerous on the road..."

He wasn't ticketed for anything else. Nothing whatsoever, which begs the question...why was he pulled out in the first place? I realize Hispanics aren't necessarily as common as trailer parks and swamps in Alabama, but I'd really like to know what caused the initial stop. I'm pretty sure it wasn't random.

Alabama, listen to me...you're one step away from the United States trading you to the French. You got that? You're making the rest of us look bad.

But further more, I had no idea that was a fucking law. I mean...really? If you can't speak English well enough, you get ticketed 500 bones? Is this something only in the South? Because in the West, it's enough to let you become the Governator. Secondly, if this is the case, why isn't Louisiana the richest State in the Continental U.S? Have you ever tried to hold yourself a conversation with someone from the Bayou? It isn't happening without you wanting to wear a pair of Depends afterwards.

Alabama might be teaming with nothing but microbial action. Years of inbreeding, moonshine and white skin has left that portion of America eerily reminiscent of the scene in "Children of Men"when the community of refuges are hiding. It's dilapidated, desolate, and the air has a sweet, sweet scent of despair.

If the South assumes it will rise again, apparently they haven't realized that the rest of the country has a little something called the Internet, and electricity. Maybe the first step isn't spending tax dollars on haranguing Mexicans when a bunch of White Suburban Kids have just reinvented the wheel in the Meth game, and have added just a hint of Raspberry. You know, just to mask the aftertaste of Bleach and Anti-freeze.

This is America. These problems do need to be faced with straight-laced decency from the common folk, because these things aren't o-fucking-kay. It isn't alright to stop someone on the basis of their skin. It isn't alright to suspect someone because they might not speak the same language, and it especially isn't right to punish them for being different.

As a Nation of immigrants, I feel that those idealisms of our forefathers has been forgotten and overlooked. We're the Bastards of the world, the kids no other Country could tolerate. The losers, the nobodies, and the lepers. Yet, no we're the one country that's somehow thrived with that. And if you at all feel that this cop is deserving of vindication for slapping that Hispanic with a ticket because of his grasp of the English language, well...the only ones that have the right to make that call are the ones who were here first. The rest of us really should just fuck off.

It'd be different maybe, if Mr. Castillo wasn't a legal citizen. But this is a man who's went by things legally. He works here legally, he lives here legally, he's jumped through the hoops...theres not reason to reward that with a fine.

So I'd highly suggest anyone who reads this and is a little irate at what's happened, that they contact the Tuscaloosa P.D, and share your concerns. (Phone: (205) 349-2121) or write in at:

City Hall
2201 University Blvd
Tuscaloosa, Alabama


Sticks and Stones may break my bones (but words will hurt forever.)

So this is the inaugural launching of Piss and Vinegar. I'm sure it'll soon be apparent why that specific title was chosen.

So we kick this baby off today with the spot light shown on the Reverend Jesse Jackson. It seems that after his endless tirades and calls to get rappers to stop saying the very controversial "N-Word", Reverend Jesse Jackson has himself indulged in his "brotha" side: (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080717/ap_on_re_us/jackson_n_word).

The thing about Jesse Jackson, and his cronie Al Sharpton is that while they have done quite a lot to help advance the Black community, they've actually done just as much to help damage it in the long run.

Remember when Michael Richards had the very famous, and career killing Laugh Factory incident? Where he ranted and raved around the stage screaming: "He's a nigger! He's a nigger!" and you watched the frail remnants of a failed actor/comedian's mentality dissolve entirely. Who was one of the first people on the scene to cry foul?

When Don Imus infamously added "nappy-headed hoe" to the American lexicon, Jackson, and Sharpton called for his head on a pike.

Towards their own community they've settled more on the facet of a word (that granted carries quite a stigma of oppression, and hundreds of years of horrific brutality), they've focused more on a word and less on putting importance of schooling and education.

Enough so to take aim at rappers who use the word. While I do feel that the word itself is something that can be negative, I also feel that in order to take the power out of anything it must be confronted. Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, to name a few also felt the same way. When you say something enough times, eventually it takes away it's power, and it then in turn just becomes what it is: Another word.

But Jesse Jackson, the severity of him saying this specific word completely eradicates whatever dumb-fuck goal he originally had. He's completely lost touch with the culture he's become the self-proclaimed voice of, and in the long term, he may have alienated those who've supported him as well, who might've been well-meaning.

A statement given by Jackson after the fact went on to say,
"I am deeply saddened and distressed by the pain and sorrow that I have caused as a result of my hurtful words. I apologize again to Senator Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, their children as well as to the American public," Jackson said in a written statement. "There really is no justification for my comments and I hope that the Obama family and the American public will forgive me. I also pray that we, as a nation, can move on to address the real issues that affect the American people."
As deeply saddened as he may have been, he's also been videotaped as saying, in a very hushed-tone saying "I want to cut his nuts off." for "talking down to Black people" (http://youtube.com/watch?v=aZEsHj66EBY).

This man is a fucking pastor, for one. You're deeply saddened? You're saddened you got caught, so just own up to it. You're god-damned right there is no justification for ANY of your comments. You cannot suggest we as a Nation move on from this to face "real issues that affect the American people." because this affects quite a large populous of the American people. He chastise Obama for talking down to Black people, when he himself has made a career of standing on the soap-box with an endless tirade against musicians and film makers who use the words, calling for boycotts.

Nevermind the fact that you want to cut his nuts off. Whatever your infatuation is with a young black mans genitalia might be, theres no need for that blanket lust to be broadcast aloud. But cut his nuts off? What the fuck is this, Roots? Is he Kunta Kinte?

What this does reek of, to me, is that of jealousy. Obama stands the legitimate chance of becoming the first Black President. This has the ability to completely destroy, or at least take a huge chunk out of the glass ceiling so many black youth have had to deal with their entire lives. Jackson of all people should be able to recognize that. As much as he hates Ludacris for throwing Jesse's new favorite word around like it's comma, he should realize how much of a positive influence he can be, for not glorifying the gangster lifestyle he's condemned endlessly.

What this reeks of is jealousy. Jealousy, and an obvious show of a man who's lost touch with those he's supposed to represent. He won't be the first black president.

So who does Jesse Jackson have to answer too. While Imus, and Richards were completely wrong for their vile and contemptuous remarks, the hoops he made them go through were rings of fire.

Do as I say, not as I do.

I'm curious what you feel about this. The only reason I feel so pissed about the whole goddamned thing is because for years, and years Jackson has beaten the drum to the point where the drum isn't even taut anymore. He's been so high and mighty for so long, turning his nose up at anyone. It's almost as if he's got nothing better to do than make peoples lives shit.

He ruined, absolutely ruined the lives of those kids at George Mason. That whore who couldn't keep her lies straight and accused those men of raping her. All were expelled. They lost any standing they had in the community, and were dragged through the mud. Jesse Jackson drove the buggy they were tied too.

Some lost scholarships. An entire country blacklisted them, and their communities turned them into Pariahs....and the outcome of the Supreme Court case? They were innocent.

It's time Jesse Jackson be held accountable for his sins. He's a man of the cloth, and can surely understand the meaning behind that. He's demanded accountability from many, many people, and ruined just about as much lives. He's put a smear on an entire race, and still tries to demand respect.

What do you think about all this? Should he be held accountable? Is an apology worth anything, given his nature to covet Obama's nuts? Let me know, and thanks for reading.

Spread the word!