The Wall

I've hit it. And I need some time to clear my head.

"We're number 37!" doesn't quite have that ring.

Found this nice chart today which puts the stats on a visible level. I'm so sick of hearing that we live in the greatest country on Earth, because quite honestly, we aren't even close. I hope everybody pukes in their mouths when they hear our government say it too.

Kiss Hank's ass.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I hope everyone had a good holiday and has a blast this weekend. I've been a little under the weather, a little loony. Thought I'd come share this story that speaks about the bible and the way it conveys. Without further adieu, Kiss Hank's Ass.

Kiss Hank's Ass
By James Huber

This morning there was a knock at my door. When I answered the door I found a well-groomed, nicely dressed couple. The man spoke first.

John: "Hi! I'm John, and this is Mary."

Mary: "Hi! We're here to invite you to come kiss Hank's ass with us."

Me: "Pardon me?! What are you talking about? Who's Hank, and why would I want to kiss his ass?"

John: "If you kiss Hank's ass, he'll give you a million dollars; and if you don't, he'll kick the shit out of you."

Me: "What? Is this some sort of bizarre mob shake-down?"

John: "Hank is a billionaire philanthropist. Hank built this town. Hank owns this town. He can do what ever he wants, and what he wants is to give you a million dollars, but he can't until you kiss his ass."

Me: "That doesn't make any sense. Why..."

Mary: "Who are you to question Hank's gift? Don't you want a million dollars? Isn't it worth a little kiss on the ass?"

Me: "Well maybe, if it's legit, but..."

John: "Then come kiss Hank's ass with us."

Me: "Do you kiss Hank's ass often?"

Mary: "Oh, yes, all the time..."

Me: "And has he given you a million dollars?"

John: "Well, no, you don't actually get the money until you leave town."

Me: "So why don't you just leave town now?"

Mary: "You can't leave until Hank tells you to, or you don't get the money, and he kicks the shit out of you."

Me: "Do you know anyone who kissed Hank's ass, left town, and got the million dollars?"

John: "My mother kissed Hank's ass for years. She left town last year, and I'm sure she got the money."

Me: "Haven't you talked to her since then?"

John: "Of course not, Hank doesn't allow it."

Me: "So what makes you think he'll actually give you the money if you've never talked to anyone who got the money?"

Mary: "Well, he gives you a little bit before you leave. Maybe you'll get a raise, maybe you'll win a small lotto, maybe you'll just find a twenty dollar bill on the street."

Me: "What's that got to do with Hank?

John: "Hank has certain 'connections.'"

Me: "I'm sorry, but this sounds like some sort of bizarre con game."

John: "But it's a million dollars, can you really take the chance? And remember, if you don't kiss Hank's ass he'll kick the shit of you."

Me: "Maybe if I could see Hank, talk to him, get the details straight from him..."

Mary: "No one sees Hank, no one talks to Hank."

Me: "Then how do you kiss his ass?"

John: "Sometimes we just blow him a kiss, and think of his ass. Other times we kiss Karl's ass, and he passes it on."

Me: "Who's Karl?"

Mary: "A friend of ours. He's the one who taught us all about kissing Hank's ass. All we had to do was take him out to dinner a few times."

Me: "And you just took his word for it when he said there was a Hank, that Hank wanted you to kiss his ass, and that Hank would reward you?"

John: "Oh no! Karl's got a letter Hank sent him years ago explaining the whole thing. Here's a copy; see for yourself."

John handed me a photocopy of a handwritten memo on "From the desk of Karl" letterhead. There were eleven items listed:

1. Kiss Hank's ass and he'll give you a million dollars when you leave town.
2. Use alcohol in moderation.
3. Kick the shit out of people who aren't like you.
4. Eat right.
5. Hank dictated this list himself.
6. The moon is made of green cheese.
7. Everything Hank says is right.
8. Wash your hands after going to the bathroom.
9. Don't drink.
10. Eat your wieners on buns, no condiments.
11. Kiss Hank's ass or he'll kick the shit out of you.

Me: "This would appear to be written on Karl's letterhead."

Mary: "Hank didn't have any paper."

Me: "I have a hunch that if we checked we'd find this is Karl's handwriting."

John: "Of course, Hank dictated it."

Me: "I thought you said no one gets to see Hank?"

Mary: "Not now, but years ago he would talk to some people."

Me: "I thought you said he was a philanthropist. What sort of philanthropist kicks the shit out of people just because they're different?"

Mary: "It's what Hank wants, and Hank's always right."

Me: "How do you figure that?"

Mary: "Item 7 says, 'Everything Hanks says is right.' That's good enough for me!"

Me: "Maybe your friend Karl just made the whole thing up."

John: "No way! Item 5 says, 'Hank dictated this list himself.' Besides, item 2 says, 'Use alcohol in moderation,' item 4 says, 'Eat right,' and item 8 says, 'wash your hands after going to the bathroom.' Everyone knows those things are right, so the rest must be true, too."

Me: "But 9 says, 'Don't Drink,' which doesn't quite go with item 2, and 6 says, 'The moon is made of green cheese,' which is just plain wrong."

John: "There's no contradiction between 9 and 2, 9 just clarifies 2. As far as 6 goes, you've never been to the moon, so you can't say for sure."

Me: "Scientists have pretty firmly established that the moon is made of rock..."

Mary: "But they don't know if the rock came from the Earth, or from outer space, so it could just as easily be green cheese."

Me: "I'm not really an expert, but I think the theory that the moon came from the Earth has been discounted. Besides, not knowing where the rock came from doesn't make it cheese."

John: "Aha! You just admitted that scientists make mistakes, but we know Hank is always right!"

Me: "We do?"

Mary: "Of course we do, Item 5 says so."

Me: "You're saying Hank's always right because the list says so, the list is right because Hank dictated it, and we know that Hank dictated it because the list says so. That's circular logic, no different than saying, 'Hank's right because he says he's right.'"

John: "Now you're getting it! It's so rewarding to see someone come around to Hank's way of thinking."

Me: "But...oh, never mind. What's the deal with wieners?"

Mary blushes.

John says: "Wieners, in buns, no condiments. It's Hank's way. Anything else is wrong."

Me: "What if I don't have a bun?"

John: "No bun, no wiener. A wiener without a bun is wrong."

Me: "No relish? No Mustard?"

Mary looks positively stricken.

John shouts: "There's no need for such language! Condiments of any kind are wrong!"

Me: "So a big pile of sauerkraut with some wieners chopped up in it would be out of the question?"

Mary sticks her fingers in her ears:

Mary: "I am not listening to this. La la la, la la, la la la."

John: "That's disgusting. Only some sort of evil deviant would eat that..."

Me: "It's good! I eat it all the time."

Mary faints. John catches her.

John: "Well, if I'd known you were one of those I wouldn't have wasted my time. When Hank kicks the shit out of you I'll be there, counting my money and laughing. I'll kiss Hank's ass for you, you bunless cut-wienered kraut-eater."

With this, John dragged Mary to their waiting car, and sped off.

The end

A day in the life of tour. Thursday, May 29, 2008

*This draft was written well over a year ago, while on tour. I thought it might make a friend smile.*

As a "member" of this big old club we call America, I imagine most people expect me to do a lot of things with my life. If I had to guess those things, it would definitely have at least 3 key features: Get a job, get a home, get married. Funny how different we all are isn't it? Because I have to tell you if that's what makes my existence worth your time you might as well move on. As I was walking to get food from the dollar menu yesterday, sweating profusely and looking like hell, I was followed by our amazing merch-guy. Meet George. George is a short, stocky dark featured guy. He lives in gym shorts and death metal T's, and he can be found in the van playing air guitar violently with his head phones. Being a little hyperactive though, sometimes we have to ask him to lay off of the death growls in the van. As we passed a bar that was very close to closing time there was a group of four friends sitting at a table near the sidewalk on the other side of a chest high fence. Just earlier we had made a new tip jar for spare change out of a Slush Puppy sign, and it was quite adorable if I do say so myself. So imagine George propping up on a fence on Cambridge st downtown Knoxville, Tennessee. He sits Slush Puppy down beside him and just gives these people the biggest shit eating grin I've ever seen. Yet they don't get offended, they never get sour, and they never once act rude when George asks them if they have any spare change. As a matter of fact, they seemed deeply disappointed that they'd spent their last dollar on beer. We said goodbyes to the nice people and moved on to McDonald's. I wasn't sure what to expect here with our big "Show us your tips!" sign attached to a gas station sign we had just recently taken on a top secret reconnaissance mission. But the people inside were just extremely interested in our lives. They were genuinely excited to hear our stories of survival on the road as broke musicians. At the end of our conversation, filled with laughs and smiles, we said goodbye again and headed back to the bar we had played 45 minutes earlier. On the walk back I told George just how thankful we were for his people skills and money making ability, because we just don't have that natural, approachable, obnoxious charisma. We talked about how we had the most interesting and just all around highest standards of life out of anyone we could think of. I figure some kids grow up wanting to be a million things... They never turn out to be that one thing though. It's always the money that prevails this day and age. On the other hand, I wanted to do one thing. And it's done. I am in the act of doing that thing all the time, for a poor mans wage no doubt, but god dammit, we're doing it.

I miss it like nothing I've ever missed before.

If intellect were a box, it would have no exits.

Fuck you very much November. I'll be much happier when you're gone.

Always inverted, looking for the meaning where there just isn't any. Justifying my paranoia, insomnia, bad habits and horrific attention span with imaginative causes. "Offensive, those doctors" I think with my ever so self-aggrandizing attitude. As if a doctor could ever know my body or my psyche as well as I can. I've been in this body and I've been using this brain my whole life. Oh fucking a. If there was ever a reason to pass health care reform, you're looking at it.

Recently with the developments at hand (and a girlfriend that sometimes makes it quite clear of these issues), I'm beginning to think I've hit the height of conceitedness. Now don't get me wrong. There isn't a snowballs chance in hell that I'm going to go back and apologize for everything I've ever said under some sudden realization that perhaps, just perhaps, I'm a huge asshole. But I think that perhaps this is the most important post in the barrage of emotional messes yet. To look in the mirror and ask, "what's wrong with this picture?" That's been my goal as of late.

Things I took note of:

• - My eyes are dark, hazy. I'm fucking tired.

• - I have constant anxiety. I'm fucking scared.

• - I have abandonment issues. I'm fucking alone.

• - Definite lack of self respect. I'm fucking broke.

Let's attack tired and get it out of the way. I don't even want to think about sleep. As a matter of fact, I have had a knockout total of 8 hours in 3 nights. It used to be that I had a job, a fairly hectic job, that wore me out enough to at least attempt sleep. As of last month the job disappeared, and with it went my ability to sleep. I never had nightmares that horrified me into staying up. I never had to count sheep. I just came home, took a shower and poof! Sleep. These days I dream in a most epic, expressive and vivid manner. I dream of waking up in jail and hearing officers mutter complete gibberish when asked my charge. I dream of losing what little I have left of myself. These dreams not only disturb the slumber I get, but rob me of that which I still have coming. I think it's because I'm afraid of who I've become, afraid that no one wants to deal with a fragile, emotional head case.

Which brings me to my next point just perfectly. I used to tour in a 15 passenger van with four or five of my craziest friends, hauling a 12 foot trailer loaded with 2,000 lbs of rock and roll. 47 states. 3 national tours. I can remember maybe on a single account, ever being afraid. And that goes for any situation whether it be the police, tornadoes, hail, rain, deadly mountain passes, herds of gigantic wildlife, over zealous gargantuan bald dudes slam dancing... well that one's just humorous... but you get the point. Something has triggered a change in me that I want to turn off. Over the Halloween holiday I spent with my lady, I found myself in a constant panic attack every time I rode in the back seat of her friends cars. These weren't bad drivers, albeit New York. They just did things differently than I do here in Georgia and regardless of the years of experience in every major US city, 40 hours a week of driving that van, I shook with fear in those bucket seats. My teeth grinding, I could utter out certain "Oh for fuck sake" type phrases. The grinding is a new phenomenon, one that will only further annoy me until I figure out this new self I seem to be hatching every day. It's just as if the shell I'm hatching from enjoys having me squirm before rewarding me with any decent outlook or perspective.

Mommy left me! No, no. This really isn't about that. I've known from a very young age that kids could survive divorce. So never mind I lied. It kind of is about that. Deprivation of contact with my parents over the years has done a terrible thing to me. I had some very lovable friends over the years, some that are still with me. But the truth is I was and still tend to be a loner. Surprised? I thought not. Outspoken, emotional, hard to deal with on a daily basis. These are all things I've heard said about me either to my face, or through the grapevine. I've heard it not only from those who've left me for it but who still stand next to me with it. It's funny how love treats me now though. My girlfriend is utterly fucking awesome. She loves me, she tells me, and for the most part people around us recognize what's real is real. I don't have many problems with her, which is a first. The one I do have though is that I sometimes feel a little overwhelmed. When she doesn't talk to me for a few hours I've started becoming concerned, scared and in certain more severe cases of relationship trauma, completely sick. Throwing up because you're worried that your girlfriend just decided on a whim not to love you anymore. Now that's classy San Diego. As a matter of fact, I have some anxiety about using examples like this because of all the people in the world I'd rather her think me sane. Obviously I'm working on the whole sane thing. I'll never forget the moment I realized I had a real problem with fear. After a discussion about moving in she simply told me that she was a bit scared. I know that she has all the right in the world to speak her mind, and to be reserved about things. But in the pit of my stomach I felt a pain I've never known, and hope to find a way to fix before I know it again. The simple thought of my happy go lucky - "I'll never give up on you" - girlfriend having any second thoughts ruined my day. It was as if I had eaten a pill that gives another human being the power to assign you an emotion. I bothered her so much that day, that I'm convinced now she must really be with me for me, because anyone else would have been gone. So why, oh why do I have to suffer the anxiety of feeling alone constantly when she isn't with me and or paying attention to me these days? Feels like love mixed with pure fucking insanity. Does anyone hear me?

This whole thing might be a big boiling over pot of broke-soup. In all honesty I have never been so broke in my life, I have never wanted a job so bad, I have never felt so damn weak. At the end of the day my biggest goals are giving my lady and I a life together. Life requires money. Money requires work. Work just won't come here in this great city. It's almost the holiday again and I can't even afford a goddamn gift for a loved one to say, "I'm sorry I've been gone, please help me be me again." If I step outside into third party land and try to see what everyone else must see, my ego dissipates into a cloud of fuck-all. I suddenly don't seem so interesting; so worthy of time or love. I look tired, scared, alone and broke just like I feel.

I know deep down how lucky I am to have a second chance though. And I know how lucky I am to not be alone, however alone I feel at times. If it wasn't for her I'm just not sure I would care enough to do anything about it. So thank fucking hell she is there.

You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, would've happened... or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on. - Tupac Shakur

The great hypocrisy of law.

Hello world, long time no see. My absence is at an end, and without further ado, please remove your rose colored glasses. You have just entered a required earmuffs area. So I was scanning Think Atheist today and came across quite the wonderful story of an attorney in the making, and the swearing in ceremony that almost ruined everything. Imagine for a moment that you're a law student. Young, driven, intelligent and a sweet case of senioritis. Oh yeah, and you're an Atheist. Game changer right? Well not in a perfect world, but in the one we live in, most definitely. As you scroll through your acceptance oath, you get chills knowing that at the end of this page lies your career. A career in justice, equality, and above all else - law. You eagerly read right down to the last line with growing anticipation and then your brain comes to a halt. Staring at the last four words of this oath, you realize, "I can not say this and mean it." Some find it childish, and some find it foolish, but, I have felt this sentiment in a few facets of life. The last four words: "So help me God." I have heard many evangelicals claim that we (Atheists) are literally afraid of the word God. I beg to differ. Being a stickler for words and definitions and using them in context to their meanings, I must say that the word God is not just a word in this context. Anyone over the age of five knows the difference between a name, and a word. Names are proper nouns and require capitalization under every circumstance imaginable. This points out not only that they expect you to believe in a god, but that they expect you to believe in the Judeo-Christian god. Reading through to the end of the story, she did the right thing and said off of the top of her head, "On my honor" instead of "So help me God." It was a way out of saying what you're expected to say, but I'd like to see things taken a step further and challenge the courts on these honestly. In what way has it ever made sense to make lawyers swear to uphold the constitution and then force them to swear to an entity that may or may not be their cup of tea? I think a long time ago I read something about separation of church and state. You know, it's a little thing mentioned quite boldly in...what's that thing? The constitution, that's right. The exact thing you're being asked to go under oath and swear to uphold is being used as toilet paper at your ceremony. As a matter of fact, why is anyone made to swear to a god when going under oath? How many people do you know who have lied in a court of law? Obviously the influence of Gods name hasn't cured anyone's evil lying demons. Why are we still idly watching as the government acts in constant hypocrisy of itself? It just goes to show you that when you feed the sheep something every day, eventually they get used to it, and even eat it right out of your hand. Well law, not today, not that lawyer. She entered your court, and flexed her right to be a godless American. I applaud you and I know many others in the community do as well. Standing up for yourself while simultaneously keeping your tact is something I fail at quite often, but I will take notes.

I plan to destroy him. With dynamite.

Hey you there, YEAH YOU WITH THE BRAIN.

QUIT IT.

- God