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“I don’t believe in injustice!!!!” the protestor cried.
So I punched him in the face.
I think he’s got it.

Injustice comes in several ways.

“I don’t believe in abortion no more,” she said
as her young daughter squatted
in her feces filled underwear on the doorstep
looking at me hungrily
with a hidden hunger in her eyes.

“I don’t want to go in there!,” the old man grunted and shouted
as they hauled him off to the car.
His drool was dribbling down his pants leg,
the car smelled like vomit
that was not his very own.

(Soon it came to smell like him. Or perhaps it was the other way around.)

Injustice, anyone?

Jackbooted thugs knock at my door uninvited,
however I invite them in –
ignoring Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s advice:
“When the wolf knocks on the door the smart rabbit runs!”

I guess I’m not so smart though.
They take me while I’m standing paralyzed by
the injustice of it all
right in my living room.

The frightened rabbit stands alone
only to be herded into a cage full of them.
Run, rabbits run,
from the Injustice of it all.


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The Bad Guys

If it wasn’t for the bad guys,
there wouldn’t be any good at all.
Just a humdrum life of existence.
Remember that the next time you see
a bad guy fall.

If it wasn’t for the bad guys
there’d be no reason to run.
There’d never be any heroes
that bad guys make of someone.

Bad makes evil, or so they say.
Some suspect genetics, no –
environment they say.
Mean people make mean people
it doesn’t matter which way.
But many learn kindness
when they get burned and betrayed.

So the next time you see a bad man thank him
for the lesson he imparts to you
for without the bad guys
there wouldn’t be bad or good.

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In Our Desire

In our hearts we found our desire,
in our desire we found pain.
In our pain we found our fire,
in our fire we found art again.

In our mind’s eye we defined our goals,
In our hearts our emotions’ fires,
In our eyes our souls hold
our aspirations and desires.

We perceive what is around us,
knowing accurate perception is rare.
What does that say for our pasts,
or of the memories we have there?

We trust in what we know, knowing
what we know is not all that is there.
We see what we see without seeing,
interpreting vibrations in the air.

What is this? What is that?
The object of my desire,
it’s not what I perceive
but what I believe,
that fuels the emotions’ fire.

To see that is to know
that deep in the soul
lays the key to happiness.
Not through greed, nor through gain,
but perception’s true accurateness.



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The Comely Frog

“Ribbet. ribbet.”
Said the Frog.
“Kiss me babe.
I’ll be your Prince.”

And she did.

Later on she left him, saying, “You are such a Toad.”

He smiled sadly and softly said, “And to think: I was as such a handsome and comely frog when we first met!  And now I’m but a Toad.”

And she hopped away looking for another Prince to kiss, collecting alimony checks all the way.

croak. croak.

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I don’t think we ever thought when we so readily accepted and bought the yoke of shame that was handed to us, to you our ‘inner kids’.
I don’t think we quite knew what we were doing though we knew what we were doing was bad, something not to tell the grownups,
not to tell mom and dad
for they would certainly punish us horribly in some way, shaming us in front of our friends the way you so often did.
Those threats you made
those things you did,
momma you did a good job, for in fearing for us, you made us fear you.
Your rages and your tirades – they were a good example
for things to come
for we learned – eventually – to take them upon ourselves
raging at us; ourselves involved; no other being
just mistakes
mistakes made in time
those are the kinds of mistakes you make
that come back to haunt you in the present.

I realize now that the shame wasn’t mine; its my abuser’s, for it was something they ought of known
but when I look at them now and I look at then now and I see
in my abuser’s face
a total lack of intentions.
For they knew not it was abuse it was just the life they known both as little children, them and I
and they protected me from the worst of it and gave me the best of it
I know they sometimes tried.

But getting tired of life at such a young age . . .
moving around so much.
Getting jerked here and there no friends in life . . . a drifting sparrow; a sad brown blur
on the edges of your vision
I disappear.
Becoming nothing
right before your eyes.

I used to see! – Lord how I used to see!  The universes beyond . . .
but there, in my own mind . . .
they are still there
captured by you … the hidden one . . .

We remember you; or parts of you, while you were just forming.
We are also in our memories; your memories; for our memories can not be as of one
until we are together . . .

Snow cold and ice.
Fire, freeze, and frost.
Throwing snowballs, laughing with the kids . . .
then gone.
Locked up in your room for hours
even days sometimes
with nothing to do
nobody left to play with
no way to go
can’t stand to stay and play with these old toys
we’ve been having them around for years;
can’t get new; can’t have old;
it all disappears . . .

we came back to find we had nothing – or everything – but nothing at all.
Bad news flies high and travels fast in the windy city
and ours is no different
windier than most
grayer than most
and all the cars are frozen in time
our faced gape back blankly at us
staring back from glassine windshields
fragile if you dare touch them
they’ll disappear like frightened ghosts
which they are . . .
taking other parts of me with them
until I am left alone
with no love
no feeling
no emotion
no thought
no thing


(written and entitled by our other someone (with some help from our friends) – this is hard news guys; means … something good.  Helps us in remembering “those days” – between 10-13 – long since missing… rather sadd don’t you think (heads nodding voices mumbling; sympathy and fear all around))).

That’s the end.  ’nuff for right now.  And thank you, Matthew, for letting him use your Journal (Matthew is curious about this ‘new one’ we’ve found.)  We think this is a “transition” personality; a “piece” or part that’s been missing – but is coming around with love and care on “our” part – and boy, does he have a long story, hard news – is this where we learned about loneliness? but no, Matthew is – he is the one who learned the hard lesson we both had to learn … lots of ‘processing’, thinking about this one today anyway … slow and careful, with loving steps. Hmm.

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If you could become two people right now, what are the first two things you’d want to do?

Okay, the “title” on this is the WordPress ‘suggested’ and chosen subject, LOL – and seemed appropriately ‘apt’ for someone like ‘me’.

Crazy, ain’t it?  Who would want to be “two people right now”?  Apparently some folks want to, or else WordPress would not have offered it up as a subject.  Do YOU wish you were ‘two people” . . .

or, is it as we ALL wish –

That YOU had two BODIES to order around?!  (In which case you need to become an employer.  Employers can have as many bodies as they can afford – and from what I’ve seen of most of them, they’re schizophrenic anyway . . .)

They used to say:  “Two minds are better than one.”

Oh really?

How about three or four – or a dozen even?  How about them apples?  Would that be good?  Should the phrase be changed to mean:

“The More Minds the Merrier?”
or something like:
“Two minds are better than one; three better than two?”

In which case: at what point do you reach “a crowd”?  (We have a Crowd inside.  They are called “the Crowd”.  Rightously.  Seriously.  And so . . .)

In business, most things (nowadays) are done by majority decision – meaning a minority (the bosses) will meet in a room and decide what the majority (the employees) are going to make for the masses (the true majority) – and what they will sell them.

Do you know that half the stuff you buy is a piece of shit?  Do you know why?  It’s because of these decision making processes . . .

I, the engineer, come up with the perfect product you can sell.
You, the ‘bosses’, come up with all the ways in which I can make it cheaper.
In the end we have a product that doesn’t work very good – barely performs its duty – and breaks the first time you use it.

That’s what we call “Majority by decision” – meaning the majority of crap you buy IS crap because ‘someone’ (usually a group of someones) made a decision. . .

It’s not called being “Run By Committee”.

It’s called Being Run by schizophrenia.

That’s what those meetings were . . . a group of professional level executives sitting around with iPods in their hands and pens in their asses . . .

It’s not a meeting.  It’s a Schizophrenic livelihood.

What do you call a business where everything is run by a committee?


What do they call a person who is run by a committee?

An Employee . . .

And what do they call the person who suffers from this kind of thing?



’nuff said . . . cuz’ I’ve said enuff on this thing . . . and if you don’t get it . . .

get a committee.

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The Back Story on the Story of Lana

Lana.  Pronounced “Lane-ah”.  She was ‘the love of my life’ at the time of her death; my only friend.  We had lost so many others … and it wasn’t her time to die … and yet … it happened.

I had gotten Lana about a year and a half earlier; she was my ‘rescue dog’.  Meaning that she rescued me from a lot of bad situations, and I rescued her from an uncertain master who was abusing her.  We were into drugs at that time – hot and heavy using; intravenous needles and all that sort of thing … I was living with kind of a family … then something bad happened; I lost them … the woman who took my virginity (at 21) her two children and soul mate . . . nobody’s fault; just fate …

and then we were living alone…and then we had to move in with a friend as hard times got even harder ….

and then I got Lana.

She stuck with me through thick and thin; when things had gotten bad she’d stay at my side; licking my face until I’d come to … licking my arm where the needles had went in and stayed ‘stuck’ due to their hooked ends (we were using used needles at that time – talk about your hemotomas!!).  We were trying to drown the pain in our lives; using . . . whatever.  Didn’t matter as long as it would ‘get you high’ and ‘drown things out’ meaning ‘all those voices’ and grief and sadness in Matthew’s head sometimes…. curing the loneliness for awhile sometimes …. pretending druggies were my friends … and perhaps – yes – one or two of them were.  One most definitely, though I don’t see him around except sometimes … when he needs a hand.

But then … things happened again … lost everything.  Job. Car. “home”.  All due to a car wreck … and had no insurance (though the insurance company – AT THE TIME – said “sure, you’re insured.  Go ahead and take your passengers to the hospital” which we did … found out we were hurt as well … refused treatment (after all: no money, no job, and definitely no insurance to cover this kind of thing!)….

and then that was it.  Be homeless or be nothing.

Being nothing meant going back to living with my folks.

Guess what we did.

Yup.  You got it.  Went back to the folks while finding time to get myself a job; get unhitched from drugs (did it all on my own, BTW; DT’s, everything; crawling into a hole in my room … but wait!  couldn’t do that thing anyway; mom was there; constantly busting my ass on things…)

and one of those things was my dog.  She lived in the backyard (parent’s insistence) … mom only this time (dad was gone … somewhere out of town; out of country … on one of those military things of his) ….

Every day … from sunup to sundown .. if it wasn’t something else; it was this:

“When are you going to get rid of that (my) damn dog?”

“The dog has been shitting in the yard.  When are you going to clean that sh*t up?”  (I had already done it twice earlier in the day …)

“I know the dog lives outside.  But why do you have to keep it in the yard?” (And no, BTW – keeping Lana alive inside the house wasn’t an option.  Lana was a big dog; my pet and things – I wanted a REAL dog; not one of those fluff balls that goes yap yap day in and day out driving men mad and all that sort of thing.  And … I guess because it was MY dog and a reminder of why I’d had to come home …..)


Get rid of the dog.  Get rid of the dog.  Over and over this sort of thing.  Whining and complaining … and then “getting rid of the goddamn dog” and things.

“I’ll take her to the pound,” I finally said, giving in.

No. You can’t do that.  You know what they do to them in the pound.  I know what they do to them in the pound.  And a five year old dog?  Hasn’t a chance.  I should know.  I gassed a lot of them during my time in the animal labs.

And here’s the thing: the county that was gassing them?  Wasn’t doing the right kind of thing; you could hear the dogs yelping and screaming inside; all of them pawing at the door … they were ‘suspended’ a few years ago for this … not gassing those dogs right and then burying them alive …. (shuddering; we’ve been buried alive before and that HURTS bad.  Yes, another story or so in our futures and already I’m feeling sad … and sick and constricted in the chest … )

Plus … there’s those ten days of waiting … waiting for someone to come and rescue her …. pitiful dog in a cage; master (read “loved one; trusted one; cared for one”) gone ….

We have had 14 some odd dogs in our lives.  Every one of them is gone … except my current two.

I have had to hold my dogs in my arms while they died; stare into their eyes with love in their heart and mind … and watch their light simply slip away …. while they slipped away in my arms and hearts and minds …

We have never cried; never for them.  We are (it seems) incapable of crying.  We should cry; but we can’t.  That is the way of things….

But Lana.  She was different.  We didn’t get that ‘final goodbye’, not like that and things … no ‘slipping gently into the night’ … sorrowful sorts of things.

Here’s my ‘take’ on dogs:  science has proven – dogs are (or can be) as intelligent as 3 to 5 year old human beings.  To put a spin on this quite simply: we can (and do) train our children (here, me, mine) … with the simple ‘methods’ of reward and play as we do our dogs … until they hit that ‘more intelligence’ level … plus with the milk of human kindness …

But dogs?  They are to us as four and five year old kids (depending upon the breed and intelligence level of our dog.)  This one (Lana) was about four years old in the head. She would (like any four year old) run up to us in delight at the end of a hard day’s work and pounce on our chest with joy in her eyes …. loving us, too … you know a dogs love: they can love you kindly, unconditionally, for a long, long time.

Kinda like them little kids.

Kinda like our own.

So …. we called our best friends.  We called ALL our friends.  We even called folks we weren’t friends with at all …

We ran an ad in the paper (we were given a week to do so) … trying to ‘get rid’ of our dog.

And then the end.  The deadline was simple.

“You either get that dog out of here or …. I’m gonna do something.”  With mom that could have been anything – from throwing us out of her house, to fucking with our job, or killing ‘that damned dog’ – or even shooting us through our own head.  Yeah; our mom’s that kinda sorta way.  Mad as hell and twice sometimes.  You should meet her if you ever want some true insights into someone’s hidden insanity.

So there, at week’s end … our choices were simple: either take the dog out to “die” (taking her into the woods and dump her … denial by starvation … her roaming the woods; getting weaker, thinner, stinkier … her looking – WAITING – for us to come and take her home (I’ve had that heartbreak before, too, myself and I .. another story; this one’s called “Wolf”) ..

Or take her to the ‘kennel’ (read “pound”) … where she would wait in the shit, piss and stink of other dogs; embarbed by kennel wire; haunches on a concrete pad … until she died … waiting for me to come … confusion reigning in her four year old mind … and I’ve known the cruelty of some zookeepers … they all are not kind (torturing the dogs; spraying them with water; horsing around … hitting them and things … we have seen this; we worked in animal labs and things … those persons were usually fired right on! … with a kick in the ass if I found them …..)

Or … we could do the ‘merciful’ thing.  The ONLY option we could find left to us. … and meanwhile mom whispering (shouting, screaming, or simply raging or ‘making comments’) … about my ‘damned dog.’

The dog I would sit out by the steps with and whisper in her ear … she’d lick my face with kindness and concern …

The dog who; when my momma was ‘beating’ me with her ranting and raging (we’d gotten too big for the stick; though the broom handle worked once’t and awhile) … would come and comfort me; licking up my tears of anger and frustration ….

working.  coming home.  working some more for my mom.  listening to her bitch and things … aching for needles in my arm … no where and no one to turn to; nothing … nothing at ALL…

And Lana … patiently waiting for and on us ALL of the time … she couldn’t help that she was a dog … loving and kindness; leaning into me; rubbing her head against my chest; big brown eyes staring up … I swear if she could talk she would have told me true:

“Matthew . . . master … I love you”

with love and trust in her face.

Like the day on which I shot her.

Very sad.  I hope no one on this planet has to go through this kind of thing … knowing everyone did.

Or will, sometime in their lives ….

the loss of a friend.

But did it have to be by my own hand?

We will never know.  But I’m sure YOU, dear reader, are comforted by this thing … knowing….

it will torture us always.

always and forever this thing.

(but we believe; and we always believe … that as long as her heart rests in my soul … we will meet again … playing on an endless green field … or trompsing through those woods … only this time there will be no shotgun in mind; and the joy?  I’m hoping we did the right thing … knowing with a bittersweet sadness … nothing was right in what was done – either to us or by us in this sad sort of thing.)

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