Archive for March 2012

Without Narrative

March 2, 2012

Rome Ants In The Sky

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Like a big bang.”

“Oh, that. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? It’s a big bang.”

“It’s a puff of smoke. It will be gone in no time.”

“Where’s it coming from? What’s causing it?”

“Nothing’s causing it.”



“In other words, you don’t know. Why don’t you just say that?”

“I know it’s nothing.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nothing exists. It’s all just a dream.”

“I exist, you exist, the big bang exists, the puff of smoke exists. Isn’t that something?”

“Sounds like the title of a song.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I don’t need to make sense. You’re the one who’s always trying to make sense out of everything. You’re hearing a big bang. Oh, wow! What are you going to do about it?”

“Do about it?”

“Yeah, do about it. In another ten to the negative thirty two seconds, the negative-pressure from vacuum-energy density will produce a thermodynamic phase transition resulting in a cosmic inflation. You are about to expand exponentially in volume by a factor of at least ten to the positive seventy eight in approximately ten to the negative three seconds.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Get used to it. We’ll be together for a while. I’m the Yin to your Yang.”


Growth of the Lone Wolf

“Throughout today’s economy, from oil and military hardware, to timber and agriculture, to public services and education, it’s all about privatization and corporate acquisition. An inflationary period will follow, effectively reducing the national debt, while increasing the dollar value of these privatized acquisitions.”

“What? You think this is being manipulated?”

“Only a fool would think otherwise. The globalized oligarchy, the wealthy financial speculators, the multinational corporate leadership, they have absolutely no problem seeing the American middle class disappearing into the abyss of soul crushing poverty.”

“How come you’re always thinking so negative?”

“Because I’m hungry, I’m cold, it’s raining, and my feet ache.”

“You should get yourself a new cardboard box like mine.”

“I need more than a new cardboard box.”

“Of course you do, everybody does. I’m just saying, it would be a good next step for you to consider. Stop worrying about privatization and corporate acquisitions. Think more on a practical level. Deal with the world at hand, the world you live in, where you can do something about it.”

“Oh, okay, do something about it? I got an idea. Let’s leave our little nest here in the alley behind these garbage dumpsters and go rob that bank out there on the street. That’s the world we live in, isn’t it? If we’re successful, our troubles are over for a while. If we get caught, we go to prison, get a roof over our head, medical attention, a warm bunk, and three meals a day.”

“Get a new cardboard box is a better idea. Do you know how well fortified that bank is? How well armed the local law enforcement agencies are? Even in this small college town they have an armored personnel carrier. It was given to them by a federal grant from the Department of Homeland Security. The local law men and women have all gone through military style training in the use of military weapons. They come dressed in SWAT outfits, eager to engage.”

“Prison doesn’t sound too bad right now. It’s where all the good guys are, men and women, the one’s who stood their ground and continued protesting when public demonstrations were banned and martial law was imposed. They’re organizing in prisons now, spreading cooperative ideals, evolving a new political leadership.”

“Forget prison. Get a new box. Stay free.”

“Free? Living in an alley, in a cardboard box, hidden from the world behind garbage dumpsters, like rats?”

“You wanna organize? Talk to the people at the homeless shelter, at the church basement where you get most of your food, at the political events on campus sponsored by university students. It’s going on all around you. Get involved on a local level.”

“The leadership required to reorganize our future society is maturing and ripening in prisons right now. Many have had combat experiences in the US military.”

“You been there?”

“I did a relatively short stay inside the wall of a high security federal prison. The inmates there were like, bank robbers, hijackers, skyjackers, kidnappers, counterfeiters, drug smugglers, firearms and explosives dealers. They all had long term sentences. I was being coerced by federal drug agents. They wanted me to become a snitch. I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“You were coerced?”

“I made a mistake, got involved in something I shouldn’t have. I saw an opportunity to make some quick cash and it turned out to be a federal drug sting. One agent sold me the drugs and a different agent purchased them from me. The charge was possession with intent to distribute. The prosecutor said I showed a willingness to participate and I was therefore guilty. I was facing fifteen years in prison. I had a wife and children, a business. When they offered me a deal, I jumped at it.”

“You became a snitch for them inside a federal prison, that’s a deal?”

“My wife was able to retain all of our property and take ownership of the business. We didn’t lose anything financially. The terms of my freedom were less clear. They said I’d be eligible for a parole hearing in eighteen months if I cooperated with them. It took me more three years to finally gain parole. The authorities were never satisfied with my level of cooperation. The only reason I was paroled is, the prison had become over crowded. They couldn’t justify keeping me there. I was unproductive as a snitch and it was clear to the parole board that I had been entrapped in the first place. I didn’t belong in prison.”

“Well, at least you had a wife and property and a business waiting for you when you got home.”

“Not quite. It’s remarkable how much the world changes in three years. I lived on memories while in prison. I built a fantasy world in my mind. Negative possibilities did not exist. That’s how I survived in there. You don’t know what it’s like. Luckily for me, there’s an unwritten rule, don’t ask other inmates what they’re in for, or how much time they’re doing. If you ask these questions, people get suspicious of you, unless they know you well and have already offered that information voluntarily.”

“How long did it take you to learn that?”

“I learned it on the ride from the courthouse jail to the prison. Nine of us prisoners, chained together in threes, were in the back of an armored van with two federal marshals up front. One prisoner I was chained with became a mentor to me, sort of, and that really helped.”
“A mentor?”

“He had previously done time there for possession of explosives and he was returning on a parole violation with additional charges still pending in court.”

“What, you asked?”

“Yeah, that’s when he warned me about the unwritten rule. And then he commenced to tell me his life story. At first I thought he was a big blowhard. Especially when he told me he had been the weightlifting champion at the prison. I mean, he was big, about six five, six seven. Yet he was also, I must say it, fat. He had a big head and a fat baby face. But, you know what, he regularly won all the weightlifting competition while I was in there. And that’s impressive. There are some very big, muscular dudes pumping iron in prison.”

“So he wasn’t a blowhard.”

“No he was the real deal. He was smart, too, and very kind, if you were his friend. I don’t know if I would have made it without his help. I eventually told him my situation and he understood immediately. He advised me to just lie to the feds and not give them any straight up information about other inmates. That didn’t go over too well with my handlers, of course. They kept warning me about doing the full fifteen year stretch. But I had to live with myself day to day and with the other inmates. Snitching is a cardinal sin. Punishable by death. Plus, I learned to respect most of the inmates there more that I respected the federal agents or the government.”

“And when you were released, what happened?”

“Prison is one of those before and after experiences. When I got home, nothing was the same as I remembered it. Everybody had changed. My wife had become a very independent, powerful woman. I fell in love with the new her, even more than the old. Unfortunately, that feeling wasn’t reciprocated. She loved the old me much better than the new, it seemed. We lived together but she was the boss and I walked the line.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s in heaven.”

“How come you’re living out here?”

“Same reason you’re out here, along with all the other millions who have been sacrificed on the alter of a jealous deity, capitalism. Offered up for the sake of something considered more desirable, higher profits.”

“Let’s go and get you that new cardboard box. You’re gonna need it tonight. We’re getting ten inches of snow.”