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I as in team

Jaia Papitz — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 05:40:19 -0700

I would like to cry but unrandom tears would appear childish. Their reflection in the rippled puddle would be carried to the shore, carving into the sidewalk's curb a barren passage under the thorn asphalt, into the sewage of hope. I like to dream but the sleep is always ended abruptly like a tectonic fault, drifting me to a territory I never intended to travel. There, I am asked for a stamp that the mockingbird received from the eagle's claw's only.

I bought a ticket for a vehicle of transportation and I let it to be strayed out of my palm by the passing wind. And, it didn't go too far. Was picked up by a man that stopped on the manhole and he turned it into a paper plane for his kid. He threw it forcefully upwards.

The hard work and the fatherly figure were embeded in his propulsion. Shortly after the excitement, the carton plane came down, crushing onto a one way sign. The man was disappointed while the child understood the outcome even though physics weren't his forte.

I remained immobile for a while during which I aged.

When I stopped by the planked fence to hijack the breeze that was whirling through, many passed me by, all searching for coolness.

I took my shoes off during the first drops of rain just to antagonize my finger nails. Herds of people were trying suicidally to dodge the drops. They knew what a desert mirage is and wanted to run away from it. Running in either direction, they would die of thirst.

I stampede over everyone's dream even though the multitude of hooves belong to the dreamers.

The society marching onto the crooked curb was formed just to dismantle another one it appeared, empirically, like a glazed donut gliding onto the throat of a malefic peace officer.

Just as the day was ending, I stumbled upon a group of people that were jumping in a hora. From afar, they seemed as one, entangled, unbreakable. Approaching their spinning frenzy, I saw asymmetry in their moves, each leg following a different beat while they maintained their unity. Their hands around each other's neck resembled the unforgiving claws of a prehistoric predator and their heads becoming an adulterous prey. Their will to dance alone, their hands interfered with their own necessity to grasp onto someone they could call brother for a moment.

I am a part of a team that plays a different game. The team is belonging to a division that only changes player while the rules remain. Now, I am my team.

We got Hope syndrome! One Hope for 1.00 dollar. Buy three Hopes for 75 cents! More is less.

Jaia Papitz — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 03:22:50 -0700

As long as we, the humans, are buying hope or the idea of it, we are prone to let down our guard and chase endlessly the ideal on an artificial path, guided by the scent of a delusional reality. Like a schizophrenic, we are unable to distinguish between the imaginary, the existence of refuge, and the palpable, the survival through mundane.

Hope is the drug that every human being had overdosed on and is still growing in popularity. Hope, in any dose, transforms the ingurgitator into a gullible pursuant of one's own comfortability.

The progress from an amoeba to a cognitive creature was exceptional. This ascending trajectory path was curbed by the futility of hope.

I must not continue this thought without refuting one of my most favorite authors, Albert Camus. The paradox is as beautiful as a gas chamber or the new settlements onto the graves of Gaza. A perennial human mistake. Mr. Camus was a poet of German occupation and, without having troupes, he concluded that hope represented the only viable barricade: with every step, the hope of succeeding, sustains us. Sisyphus still hopes, like us, that eventually will succeed and the absurdity will be defeated by its own standards. Sisyphus will never accomplish his task and even if he did, he would represent just the life of a pawn who never became queen. Reaching the metamorphosis line before being eaten by the defenseless king. Hope, therefore is just a belief that keeps the heard moving in a non-revolting direction.

Hope keeps the mases succeeding only in their belief, going toward an intangible achievement. Anything spawned from hope and sustained by belief culminates in the atrocity of deceit. The veracious intentions can not justify the barbarism of facts.

Would there be any advancement without hope? The Dream Chaser is asking the amorphous sky. The sky is mute. Just a few thunders are roaring here and there like two bitches left on the sidewalk, unpaid.

They feed of eachother's deception, hoping, once again, that tomorrow will bring their dream client: the one with a very small dick and a gargantuan pocket.

That day inevitably comes – tomorrow – and hope is being sold again to the addicts of it and is shaped according to everyone's aspirations, fears and budget. Tomorrow, Sisyphus is still midway there, god is masturbating in front of the meek but won't allow them to touch the outcome while your mother hoped you called home for a change.

I could continue but I'd insult my thinking readers. As for the rest, I let them do what they do best: hope!

Terror as life, murder as love

Jaia Papitz — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 16:13:17 -0700

We are shellfish filtering all the anguish of existence through the gun barrel. We never existed as a humanity but only as self coerced live stock. Often, one of us pierces through the imaginary fence, slaying the self backbone until one's empirical life bleeds to death near the inexistent heaven's border, on the shore of the sewaged hope. Repeatedly, one of us takes one's incapacity to evolve to the peaks of a mayhem within the herd's pen. One of us as a single person or as a multitude of individuals; the words are many but the most common describing this behavior are: militia, army, religion, government, business etc. - all of them deriving from belief.

Most humans die of inhumane consequences caused by humans. Tragedy, therefore, is overrated since it is an indivisible part of the mundane.

A soldier killing 13 and wounding 31 (numbers are irrelevant – just retelling current facts) of his own fellows represents a tragedy while bomb slaughtering thousands of non combatants are a mere casualty of war. Life is life and, regardless how one curbs it, represents murder (sperm dropped in the uterus is not life, ok?!).

I used to cry to funerals until I realized that I was taught to do so. Now, in out of time, I look at corpses as I caress the leaves in the fall during their seasonal glide toward the cement. Periodic.

During a no particular autumn, sitting on a bench I stumbled upon, I was wondering what the leaves would do if they were able to surpass their yellowing condition. Would they rust each other out? If that, then by what means? If two or a multitude of leaves would duel in a war, would the branch be indolent at their killing spree? Would they form a religion on every different branch just to find an unreason for skirmish? Would they really have a war for a better position onto the twig? Could photosynthesis be a motive?

Then, I looked at the sky and I enjoyed the brawl of clouds. The spectacle was free and after all I didn't care much about the vapors.

Dug deep in the corpses of leaves, spanning across concrete, clay and puddles, was a yesterday's newspaper fluttering in the evening's chill. On every page was an image of a murder surrounded by even bloodier words. Maybe the trees, after all, needed the humans' blood shed in order to regenerate in the spring.

Who knows. The fallen yellow won't say anything beside a squick under the shoe.

Versus

Jaia Papitz — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 00:09:01 -0600

Health care; an American vanity? A world's indolence? The metamorphosis of The Hippocratic Oath from a factual statement into a myth?

The constant competition, just to bow into the spot light, irrelevant as a football season. The arrogance to show that we are the best when we are put against someone else and not when we are alone, envelops even the healthiest mind into a flue of parodies.

Antitrust laws for the minds that reason? Indulgences paid with the ready to eat meal for a promised banquet? Is our consciousness that meager? Is our species stuck in a urinal of a delusional trip of immortality; empowering us to jump from the roof and spreading our featherless hands, justifying vehemently our glide as a boulder onto the concrete's realm!

I remain speechless, not inhaling for as long as my brain allows.

I resume.

Being born, without my consent, in a part of the world led by a totalitarian government, I can't endorse the principle of government. Spending my adulthood, by choice, in the only capitalistic regime of our time but imitated by every country, I refute the rationale of business. There's no quintessential difference between the two. Just semantics for the meek who cannot describe the difference between their finger and their dick, inserting it anywhere and anyhow. Some instances give them a blister other just another baby: John or Jose the 5^th.

All current democracies have a corrupt government. Just mentioning how politicians raise funds for their campaign, without delving any further into the intricacies of the process, proves the above statement to be true. The big business is too greedy and insensitive. After all, they are the legs of a biped which moves the governing body onto the same old path of corruption, paved with greed and delimited by insensibility just so the human's agony poured civilized. The society of humane habitat is still to come. Until then, we just pretend that the public option of our health care is what we really want when, in fact, it's just another way to make money to fund absurdity.

Conceiving laws to protect us against ourself or opportunists who would do anything, crush every being in their way just to gain an unthinkable profit in a life that ends without a credit check, makes an earthworm content of its existing evolutionary peak and digs further down.

The New World: America or The Last Chance We Rigged

Jaia Papitz — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 04:46:20 -0600

1492 seems like a galaxy away yet The Dark Ages appear more prevalent than ever.

The New World, accidentally or not stumbled upon, once discovered, it reignited the aspirations of millions of getting a fresh start. Devouring the idea that a colorless blood environment would allow everyone to compete on the same racing track classless, humans flocked to the only and last New World, from the Old Continent as well as from the Rest of The World, dreaming that one's beliefs won't be persecuted or other's thinking that reasoning will never be tortured and killed by the absurd mind of the believer.

A lot had to happen before the United States of America acquired independence. When it did, it became the only beacon of reason, guaranteed by its constitution. The first country and union of states whose fundamental law was drafted from reason, not from belief. It seemed like humanity saw its own reflection in the murky brooks of blood, heard the shriek of oceans of beings foaming of desperation and injustice and drafted the paths on which anybody could freely pursue hapiness.

A secular society where everyone was finally born equal, where Lady Justice was blind, unable to see the class, color, creed or wealth of anyone. Where no one, any one or some one was ever guilty and had to prove their innocence. Where the verdicts no longer will be spitted out based on mere belief but argumented beyond unreasonable doubt.

It turned out that The New World has represented just one's imaginary freedom and not the palpable liberty. The beauty of the cognitive mind which once again is forced to self exile.

The same beliefs that brought us the most gruesome aspects of the human capabilities are unraveling once again in our society. Not only for us, the ones who reached the shores of the New World. no. out species failed at its final test. The last beacon of hope has been perverted. There is no new land. There is no New World where we can start again. The ideal of the American dream has been raped by our indolence, belief and greed. We rigged our last chance. We depleted ourselves of a dream!

P.S. That is the American Dream. Not to by a fucking, shitty house over a period of thirty years – (for those whom I had to spell a sentence).

The obtuse idiot cycle: Rush Limbaugh

Jaia Papitz — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 03:12:42 -0600

Listen! I do not agree with most American imperialistic policies. I'm not happy about Mr. Obama's accomplishments during his immature presidential term and I certainly refute the validity of the greedy corporate World but, agreeing with the goat fucking Taliban and dictatorial governments just because they are opposing the same guy I disagree with, that's blatantly retarded.

Mr. Rush Limbaugh proved himself to be a creature made from the semen of his wasted father just after he jerked off in a ditch. A green-back, annoyingly noisy shit-fly, picked the cum and delivered it to his mother's rancid vagina. Hence, the birth of the conservative idiot – Mr. Limbaugh and his alike. They are a hybrid of stupidity, hypocrisy and muddy DNA. They represent the empirical evidence of the Evolution's stagnation and regression.

Why such a fetid remark? Why some of us are utterly oblivious to reason, humanity and common sense? Why heaven is more important than the person dying next to us, is the rhetoric I'll never be able to swallow. I can be sarcastic, like in the sentences from above, but I would never waterboard or kill someone of a different nation, creed or opinion.

The weapon of satire has a barrel filled with unleaded letters and just an amendment right which can be interpreted at will by a war-bringing peace officer.

Indolence, ignorance and stupidity drive their subhuman carrier to pull the trigger of a legally purchased gun or not on a daily basis. Vitriolic hate, spurted from our foundation of belief, geared toward manipulating the feeble and rallying the oblivious masses of serfs to support their abusing master, it's a black hole whose mass sucks into its tenebrous vortex even the greatest thinkers. Eventually, they'll fight holding the same weapons they once virulently opposed.

Now, congratulations Mr. Obama for being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize that Ghandi didn't receive. Please, over earn it!!!

Rapist wanted!

Jaia Papitz — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 03:05:01 -0600

I would pay top dollar to someone just to obliterate my consciousness. Then, he/she (no sex discrimination here) must perform the task of a complete dismemberment of the thought.

But, why place such an ad when you can elect them, the rapists, for free and after only four perennial years, your empirical experience will be torn, invaluable. Us, the victim and the perpetrator, despair while deceiving. Aware of the facts, we still place the ad and we despise the consequences. A hands-on masturbation of a wooden leg would never create a Pinocchio – just sawdust. Being an undeniable fact, this or that, the oak or the mahogany pillar is rubbed by the liberals like it will bring a climate change in the morning during which the conservatives are still using it as a flag post.

Knowledge is accessible to every one. It's basking at every sight, vulnerable, waiting to be devoured by anyone willing to feast on its great banquet offerings. Desiring that the passers are ravenous for more, greedy as a banker for repeat customers. Unraping its patrons but empowering them, she knows that they'll return for more, addicted to have their questions answered or at least, asked.

After millenniums of self exposing, the knowledge remains like a medieval fortress in the age of supersonic fighter jets.

The Machiavellian buildings, the fetid battlefields, the interest of the loan exist because we just believed we gave life to Pinocchio. We didn't reason for a second nor did we hump the knowledge beauty for a minute.

Anger fuse

Jaia Papitz — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 12:53:08 -0600

Was an encounter I never thought I'd intersect voluntarily. And if I did, I would just let it go by like a shot of tequila. Undrunk.

I am a simple man. I like people whose intelligence stimulate me and I despise creatures of ignorance whose obtuseness baffle me. I won't explain. If you are one of the beings pertaining to the second part of the previous sentence, then you won't be reading this. If, however, you belong to the first part, then you must find this indulgent explanation offensive.

The reality is tougher then my imagination simply because my thoughts and dreams never sucker punch me. This sounds like a cheap prelude to an obituary. Perhaps it is. If not, it should become one.

Extremity angers me and often transforms me in what I despise. An angry man. A believer. The one I wanted to depart from. Seldom I find sorrow but when I do I seem to bathe in it. You?

Names are unimportant while making the front page news. I said before that reason is impervious to hope. Obama didn't represent a black dude from an immigrant father taking over the White House nor hope. He represented an intelligent being, an exponent of a changing mob who was willing, desiring to show their humanity instead of their instincts. For the being of reason, at least. Tonight I encountered the reiteration of the impossible love, unoccuring, between a deer and a wolf. I was neither, even though I could have easily shown my lion fangs.

I was drinking a scotch on a semi-obscure Hollywood street across from an idiotic church of scientology. As usual during this common ritual of mine, I was smoking. The cigarette brand was never a subject of my dissertations but the half full pack laying in front of my Mc... scotch glass echoed like a punching line: American Spirit! Additive-free.

What had happened tonight. This night. Any night. The other day.

Well, quite the ubiquitous. People colliding ferociously through beliefs. A repugnant field of matter that attracts the opposites into conflict.

On the sidewalk bordering my table, was a wooden telephone post stapled into oblivion. In Los Angeles, this represents the edifice of independent speaker wall of pedestrian fame.

In this illuminated dusk, the grassroots disciples were represented by a man and a woman in their early adulthood. Paid by an obscure conspiracy theorist, they stapled a few posters of Obama representing The Joker from the last Batman movie, The Dark Knight. I smirked beningly since Obama was funny looking with the Joker's make up and it seemed a cheap shot at re-portraying Obama as a blood sucker dictator-vampire character. Two black ladies from a table across from mine, at once, stood up and marched angrily to the pole and ripped the posters. I laughed vociferously knowing that this cocktail is going to overflow its highball. It's a blasphemy to put a White face on Obama, they shouted.

Exasperatingly, it's still about what group we belong to. The: what we believe in is much more important. Sunken in belief, the shore of humanity and reason is not sought out but splattered with the surroundings that drowns us. Unconceivable, the shore is the monstrous enemy. For way too many! We like it or not, we are creatures of apartheid.

We use the belief as a provider of common sense while is the mega antagonizer of our species and, we ostracize the reason which is the only truth, path and life toward a common sense.

The sadness is beautiful when the human behavior is easily graphed as a mathematical equation. After we assume through an absurd hypothesis the demonstration just to prove its ridiculousness, we find the logical answer.

With humans, it's the reverse. I shouldn't spell it but, ferociously, I do: the human behavior represents a ridiculous logic of the hyperbolic absurd. Amen!

Peer pressure and the insignificant life

Jaia Papitz — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 02:52:19 -0600

The ethics and morals that guide our behavior are nothing more than the high school concept of peer pressure. The schmuck who wants to belong to an apartheid group, gives in like an exhausted gazelle. Slowly, submissive and resigned, carries her hooves into the lion's den. Fuck it! Eat me! And it's not the murmured voice of the mistress. It's the human re-becoming a monkey. Life is death and death is life when the consciousness evolves into a melon; pleasant to look at, flavorful by some taste standards yet insignificant by its content. The way it is becomes the way it should be instead of: why it is the way it is? The it is must constantly be challenged so the should be would never have the time to comfortably set in.

Every sidewalk ends at an intersection only to be continued on the other side until the cornfield, desert or the ocean take over. It's moving on without going anywhere.

The cozyness and the delusional safety, loomed to a dildo erection by the soothing of the flock, is omnipresent. From the living room via the metropolis' mussitation, into the apex of solitude.

Life is tremendously unimportant. Our ethics teach us utterly the opposite. That's the birth of the hypocrisy or, by the day to day language: the bullshit. Perishable by its nature, life is spent endlessly by those who hold the morals of it up high, in the most important trophy vase. Life, encouraged to be born in the ghetto, just to be sent to war to bring back only the amorphous life. Life that takes life is no life. It's a belief. It's predator and prey of the same species. Cannibalism. This is the group we are proud that we belong to.

The killer next door. You & I!

Jaia Papitz — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 03:41:09 -0600

Awe hijacks the TV sets and the radio antennas tremble with shouts of pundits devouring the new breaking story. Another one of us, a human, has committed a horrible crime. As soon as the story reaches us, via experts, the evil doer was dehumanized. “A random act carried out by a monster”. The atrocity repeats over and over again, spanning across decades and centuries. Yet, it's still random, they absurdly argue. A random act occurring weekly. And the gullible masses buy it even though it costs a lot of reason.

Is the monster resurrecting so often? Jesus! A monster!?

All has been done in centuries is only to gain from the fear via cheap shock value. If a solution would be found, which is very attainable, the role of government and society rules would self destruct since we wouldn't fear one another any longer. But the pressure of society corroborated with the daily dose of fear has created the bylaws of atrocity. The pundits reason aberrantly that they are random acts. Well, fuckers, it's a pandemic. It reached our street and that knock on the door is not for trick or treat.

It's not at the door, it's dad's steps on the stairs... he made a noise from his hand and mommy is all red over her face. She fell on the floor like a brick ans I do not understand why one of her eyes is smiling at me while seeping down on the window's glass. Now, daddy takes me in his arms, kisses me, tells me that he loves me then he puts something cold against my head. Daddy, I'm not cold! She said before the deafening noise of the unloading revolver is followed by the eternal silence on 1245 W. 5^th St., corner with Random Hope Ave.

Our morals and beliefs fall on us like an atomic bomb every passing minute of the day. More and more of us either collapse or snap before collapsing. They are not an unfortunate accident. They are a systematic result of an oppressive environment; our society!

The comfort served up by self denial, disassociating ourselves with gruesome acts that we are capable of doing, makes us prone to achieve them.