Senate Republicans v. Super Villains

"For the third time in three weeks, Republicans in the Senate on Wednesday successfully filibustered a bill to continue providing unemployment checks to millions of people." - MSNBC

I can understand voting something down even because you disagree because of budget concerns but to actually filibuster and not let something be debated that millions of people need to survive is utter insanity. It borders on the most heinous cinematic evils. Darth Vader blowing up Alderon can hardly measure up to such characters as Sessions and McConnell.

They believe in nothing. They don't desire a working financial system, they don't desire an environment where capitalism can flourish.  What they want is some capitalist utopia where four people are making money.

The only thing the Senate Republicans really want is getting rid of Obama, and there logic doesn't go beyond that.  What would they want if they got that? God only knows. Some might say lower taxes from budget cuts but they couldn't tell you where those cuts would come from.  They have no desire to touch medicare or social security.  Or even the war, the biggest expense.

So, in essence they want the world as many a bad-guy has sought before.  And like the bad guys, they have no clear idea on what they'd do with it.  But, at least the Super Villains were honest in their intentions.  I'd certainly take Snidely Whiplash over John Boehner any day.
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The Night Obama Went Crazy

(The Night Santa Went Crazy Remix)

Down at the Whitehouse all the staff were watchin’ polls
For the good Blue-state girls and the Blue-state boys
When Obama busted in, nearly scared 'em half to death
Had a glock pistol in his hands and cheap Bud-Lite on his breath
From his suit to his dress shoes with ammo he'd packed ‘em
Like a bad ass drunk disgruntled Samuel Jackson
And he smiled as he said with a twinkle in his eye
"Merry Midterms to all - now you're all gonna die!"

The night Obama went crazy
The night Barack went insane
Realized Healthcare had garnered a raw deal
Somethin' finally must've snapped in his brain

Well, the Whitehouse is gone now, he decided to bomb it
Everywhere you'll find pieces of Emanuel and Jarett
And he tied up his interns, and he held them all hostage
And he ground up poor Harry Reid into donkey sausage
He got Holder and Vilsack with an old Kenyan Luger
And he slashed up Geithner just like Freddy Krueger
And he picked up a flamethrower and he barbecued Biden
And he took a big bite and said "It tastes just like Jack-ass!"

The night Obama went crazy
The night Obama went nuts
Now, ya can't hardly walk around D.C.
Without steppin' in Democrat’s guts

There's the Secret Service and the FBI
There's Geraldo from Fox News
and helicopters circlin' 'round in the sky
And the bullets are flying, Senate’s body count's rising
And everyone’s dying to know -"Obama, why?"
My, my, my, my, my, my - he used to be such a hopey-changy guy.

Yes Pelosi, now Obama’s doing time
In a Federal prison for his infamous crime
But little Pelosi, don't you cry no more tears
He'll be out on good behavior in a couple of years.

But now Gates is in therapy and Clinton’s still nervous
And the aides all got jobs working for customer service
And they say Michelle she's on the phone every night
With a herself negotiating the movie rights.
(They talk about)

The night Obama went crazy
The night Barack Obama flipped
Broke his back for reformin’ healthcare
Sounds to me like he was tired of getting gypped

Wo, The night Obama went crazy
The night Barack went insane
Realized he'd been gettin' the wrong deal
Somethin' finally must've snapped in his brain
Wo, Somethin' finally must've snapped in his brain
Tell ya, somethin' finally must've snapped in his brain.
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Forever in a Year

Let us muse and gape upon
Those falling sands of time

That drops down on us
In this desert earth

And fills our mouths
With driest sediment

So we may choke
On deeds of yore

Long devoid of consequence
To whom we have become.

Let us ride the clock through space
And travel through the parallels

To find realities that could have been
If a butterfly had flapped its wings in Mexico

Or, the temperature had changed a disposition
To bring peace to all mankind.

Let us find forever in a year –
A lifetime in a kiss

Where we embrace
The one we love…

And never say goodbye.
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The Hen House

My mother went to the hen house, came back and stuck the eggs up in an old shoe. I found them there the next day when she asked me if I’d kindly bring them in. I had a laugh or two as I swept up the shoe. For the first moment or so I thought we had become a family of bumpkins, placing things here and there, not caring for where or what they were.

But then I thought deeper. There was certain ingenuity in using what you had, and not always going out to buy the next new thing.

In this age of downturns and recessions, my mother is clearly of the sort that should be praised. Would those living in the city, had thought to make use of something so derelict and transform its purpose into something useful?

No, it’s something inherent to the mother’s spirit and the country air. Apart from the world, you make do with what you have, and you see things in a different way.

Thus, as I saw my mother use an old coffee can to wash the very same eggs, there was a mix of pride and sorrow. Clearly people like my mother are a dying breed; those so willing to work the land and take solace in the quiet of an old frontier.

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The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword OR: Help Gaza!

Tonight has beset me with a range of complicated emotions. On the one hand, I watched footage from E3 on the new Zelda game, on the other I read further on the horrors of the suffering in Gaza.

I would like to get to the both of these topics tonight. Let's start with the lighter note, since it is more important to be left with the impression of Gaza on our minds.

The graphics in the new Legend of Zelda game entitled The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword are set to combine the realism from Twilight Princess with the cell-shaded graphics from The Wind Waker, thus resulting in a style resembling impressionist paintings.

It was shown that bombs can be thrown as well as rolled, by making the respective motions with the Wii Remote.

In the storyline Link is born and raised in a land called Sky Loft, a land floating in the clouds. It may sound unique for someone to live on a floating land, but Link finds it ordinary. A land beneath the clouds is discovered, and it is being overtaken by evil forces. Link then travels to this land to protect it from evil. During the course of the game, Link will repeatedly travel between Sky Loft and the land. The Skyward Sword is his driving force for traveling between these two different places. The mysterious figure shown at E3 2009 in the concept art alongside Link is the humanoid version of the Skyward Sword. At one point in the game, the Skyward Sword becomes the Master Sword, thus chronologically placing Skyward Sword near the beginning of the theoretical Zelda timeline.



Now, to the other story, where there is no day saving hero, or ethereal force working toward righteousness.

M had a link on her profile that brought me back to much-need reality after basking in the glow of a fictional existence. The summary of the article said: This weekend 23-year-old American peace activist Rachel Corrie was crushed to death by a bulldozer as she tried to prevent the Israeli army destroying homes in the Gaza Strip. In a remarkable series of emails to her family, she explained why she was risking her life.

And it got me thinking of all the people working against her. Obama, the Nobel prize laureate; Sarah Palin, believing in Israel's indisputable right to a vicious empire. The list goes on and on.

Who will help people like Rachel Corrie? Who will stand with her?

It's hard to say and yet it shouldn't be. Through so much of the suffering I feel speechless. I'm not sure exactly how to express the grief it fills me with; grief from knowing no way to hold the guilty accountable, grief from realizing I might leave the world a worst place than I found it.


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Untitled

I pluck the days off of my life
Like a child with a flower petal.

I stare into the sun
Despite the dire warnings.

I am the stone skipped off to sea
I am the dream that just can’t be.

I watch the cars go by the yard
Like travelers through time.

I eat a toadstool from the grass
And it tastes wonderful.

I am the stone skipped off to sea
I am the dream that just can’t be.

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New Blog

I've started a new blog, ya'all. It's not replacing Old Spicey, so don't worry. It's more of just an every-now-and-then-posting-fling. So, check it out: http://rolesforgov.blogspot.com/

I have a feeling the two of you will really hit it off quite wonderfully.
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Fun Fact

The Tsar Bomba is the nickname for the AN602 hydrogen bomb— the largest, most powerful nuclear weapon ever detonated with a yield of 50 Megatons, equivalent to 1.4% of the power output of the Sun. Only one bomb of this type was ever built and it was tested on October 30, 1961, in the Novaya Zemlya archipelago.

Corporate Garden

Scientist farmers water beans with beakers
As all the birds sing status updates.

Strawberries ripen free of frost
While fingered stems do calculus.

Power lines crossbreed with lilies
To become herbaceous flower stalks.

Honeybees discard their combs
And dump honey into cereal.

Irrigation channels wine
To numb the nature of reality.

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The Wash

Kings as CEO’s
Having peasants build their Palaces
Atop the hills up high and holy.

There they laugh at poverty
And swim in swank serenity.

Dissenters languish in the dungeons
Trucked in, tortured and called traitors.

They dared to question Capitalists;
Thus they feel their gilded fists
Of grafted, glowing, godly gold.

Jesus has been jailed and judged
Nailed to his nihilistic cross.

Gandhi’s fasted in futility
For the media has muted him.

There’s no such thing as news –
It’s purely propaganda
As your cranium’s incorporated.

Our pituitary’s now have patents
From our spines to sphincters we've been sold.

The greatest minds they've ground to mulch
To grow the GMO vision of a greener world.
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Too old to Fly

Peter Pan came and took my hand
Said this world was not for me

I nodded in agreement but –
The fact was I’m too old to fly.

Perhaps two years ago or three
Adulthood wouldn’t weigh me down.

Play, play, play
Had coalesced to work, work, work.

A thimble couldn’t keep me young
No more than clowns could make me smile.

Irony, morose ideals were all that tickled me
No matter how I longed to laugh at simple things.

My joy of fairies had been replaced with disco balls
And black lights glowing shirts in bars.

If I left for Netherland, my mortgages would go unpaid
My 720 credit rating might drop down –

I closed my eyes and wept inside;
The only safe place for Adults to cry.

What had I become?

Anything was possible back then
I could have been a ringmaster

Leading lions at the circus
To vast applause and awe.

Why had it become so hard?

There was no answer
And I wish I understood

How explorers dared to brave new worlds
When all their peers would laugh at them.

Columbus was a child
But far from dead inside.

I tried to clear my mind
From all impossibility.

And, as I flew
I knew the truth.

The Great Adults through history
Had never given up on mystery.

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Ohio State Marion Literary Awards Contest

I came in 2nd place with an honorable mention at this year's contest.  Here's what the judge said:
 
Congratulations! It is my pleasure to inform you that you have won 2nd place, for your poem, "Old Cabinet on Midsummer's Eve," and Honorable Mention for "Die Nichtigkeit," in The Ohio University at Marion's 2010 Creative Writing Contest! Way to go, Ben! Here's what the judge (not affiliated with OSU-Marion) said about your 2nd place poem:

"The wild stream-of-consciousness jumps and shifts in this poem take the reader on a vivid and, at times, vaguely surreal ride through dead trees, black and white frogs, cotton elephants, and bleached bones. Each time as a reader you begin to think you have found your bearings, the poet surprises you with another detour, another leap, until the old cabinet begins to seem that it must contain the great mysteries themselves, must be our stand-in for the earth, warmed by an unforgiving sun."

Old Cabinet

An old cabinet on midsummer's eve

A jazz tune humming music's melody.

Dead trees crumpled with a barren smell-

The traffic's lurching, engines failing.

Broke, stone birds wanting chiseled out to fly

While the sun's too sick to play.

Black and white frogs frown nearby from a painting

With teardrop eyes, confused identity.

Above it all butterflies flap determined

to find meaning in the winding trunks

Of trees and souls of wripped up cotton elephants

Discarded in a backwards Amish country.

But the knowledge it will never come

As voices fade and bones are bleached.

By a sun so unforgiving, vague and hollow-

An atmosphere to keep the heat at night.

Die Nichtigkeit

Das ist die Nichtigkeit,
Ein Star in Zeit.

Wir waren zusammen
Und jetzt abgesondert.

Die Sonneneruption ist unsere Liebe
Änderne die Pols und zerstören Raumfähren.

Aber, ich kann nie dich ergeben –
Hielt meine Hande an, steht bei mir neben.

Kuss mich, bitte fur die alten Tag
Saubert mein Herz auf meinen Beschlag!

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A Tragic Meeting: Re-Rewrite

Resting in a snow-laid forest;
The ground a cloud for me to drift away on
and feel the joy of heaven's shine.

There was such warmth, in utter, freezing cold
I thought as stars twinkled in the twilight
converging, clashing in electric haze.

The heavens dipped and swerved from sight
as if no mighty canvas held them still;
Perhaps the Goddess Nyx had been deposed?

Orion, the Dipper both came to life;
The Great Hunter offered me a drink
of starlit soup from Ursa Major.

As I grasped the dipper it exploded
in the form of tiny, winged creatures
flashing bright, leaving spots before my eyes.

I called out, getting shrill laughs in reply;
They surrounded me in what was now a
deepening, impenetrable darkness.

Fear took me and I used my size against
their vast growing and expansive numbers
stretching from fixed earth to porous moon.

I threw an angry blow upon their ranks,
They scattered to regroup hastily;
Manifesting shape of Mighty Heracles.

A glittering lion skin of fays draped
the form, that conquered Mighty Hydra,
found the apples of Hesperides.

They moved to strike me as Stymphalian
birds, the pets kept by the God of War,
with beaks of bronze and toxic dung.

Their fairy club hit my heart in brutal haste
knocking it painfully from out my chest
while turning the angelic snow to red.

I reached in greatest effort for the heart
as laughing faeries kicked it to and fro,
not caring if they dropped or punctured it.

Before I fell unconscious, I saw them
fly away with it – their cajoles reverberating madly
at my maligned misfortune, misery.

Woe, this life! I awoke without a heart;
Unable to retain a love or friendship,
loathing my sojourn into that wood.

Females screamed to see a hole where it once
had beat so valiantly, so dutiful
to the rhythms of the band and bells.

It glowed with black magic in the dark,
imposed itself upon the blind to feel
so they might be scared as all the rest were.

I became a living myth;
So like the dreaded beast of bull and man
that haunts the Cretan Labyrinth.

Medusa was the only one to under-
stand me, so isolated and alone;
a cast-off recluse with a gaze of stone.
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New Orleans

Torrential tides of terror
touch in tantalizing tones.

Bated, black breaths balloon
and break onto the beach.

Seaweed streams in strangled screams
with suffocating squids.

Beneath the bile golf balls blast
to try and block the belching blow.

And when the farce begins to fail
Will rubber chickens cause the clog?
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