silence..

A true political spectrum is not left/right but TOTALITARIAN on one end and ANARCHY on the other end. Communists and Nazis are both socialist and totalitarian yet they are seen as opposites on a left/right scale. A true Republic is in the middle. We get so bullshitted by the press over left/right issues that people are blinded to the REAL issues. THIS IS JUST A HISTORY BIG-FAT EXAMPLE:

Back in the days of Vietnam, if you opposed the war, you were a "dirty pinko hippie". If you were for it, you were considered by the left as a "fascist right wing war-monger". The REAL issue was that due to utter and complete failure of foreign policy, we failed to develop a potential ALLY in Asia!!!! There should have never been a war!

Im PCSing in May and deploying in October thank god a year paid vacation from life... and my wife, sad state of affairs when thats good news. I know this doesn't mean much to anybody but this the only site I have a membership to that I can blog on from a government computer.

http://freedownloads.last.fm/download/393542627/Ron%2BSilver.mp3

This is one of the last songs I intend to release under the name Paris and the Hiltons. There will definitely be a few more, but sooner or later I'll have to decide if I want to keep that name or be in a full band permanently.

Who knows, maybe I'll be PATH for years to come, until I win a Nobel Prize in Awesome Silliness.

Hello!

So I'm trying to start this new online literary journal called Nail Fetishes Press. (Nail fetishes are magical Congo statues people would hammer nails into to send spirits after wrongdoers. Pretty cool history). The site is due to go up in May, and I'm accepting submissions now as I want my first line of writers out there from the get go.

Accepting flash fiction, poetry, essays, memoirs, political outlook, the works. No erotica, crazy brutal murder stories, or vampire love stories. However, this isn't going to be a prude lit journal, so explicit material is accepted.

If you're interested please e-mail submissions or questions to nailfetishespress@hotmail.com

No more than 4 poems, please.
Some length works will not be considered.
Also, don't read my work to figure out what I might want. I write a certain way. What my colleagues and I like to read is quite versatile.

Thanks!
-Sarah Glass

I'm new. Be nice!

Jim Gaffigan is right (and is the source of this post's title). We admire beauty above most else in this country (this world?), despite all that's been taught by teachers (probably ugly teachers) and parents. Beauty shouldn't be all that matters. As ethical beings, we should be able to look beyond physical appeal when evaluating our various options.

Probably because I've been thinking about you a lot lately.

In my dream, you were sleeping on the floor next to the bed, because you were annoyed with me. You were angry but - ultimately - forgiving. It was beautiful, your forgiveness, the way you were able to absolve me of my sins with a nod and a half-smile. We were happy.

And then, because it was a dream, the werewolves came. I became a werewolf, too, and fought them off. It was awesome.

I had a good day today. Because, at least in my dream, you were able to forgive me and you laid your head on my shoulder once more.

Wherever you are, out there, I hope you had a good day, too.

Passion is the new cancer, it's sweeping the nation.
Love is dying out, just like disco, its going out of style.
A dream so real, it's like I've done a ball of blow.
The rushing feeling I get inside of my chest,
you make my heart pound inside of its cage.
Angry fists pounding against the wall, trapped with no where to go.
A thin layer of fog sets over my kingdom,
laying in my backyard staring up at the kingdom I want to own.
The settling dew covers my body from head to toe,
I'll never know salvation- even in my final tragedy I'll suffer forever.
Awake for ever, even in this coma I can hear you breathing.
I took my final breath and now I'll never exhale,
crying out your name as my nerves begin to die off, one by one.
Scratching at my veins with pins in my hands,
sharp knuckles puncturing the skin- releasing the itch of its duty.
A new way to deal with all of this fucking stress,
bloody hands and again I'll do the same thing because my soul can't escape.

I recently saw my infamous father the other day he came down to my house looking for my brother Ishmael ( whose taken a sudden liking to slipknot) it was his 30th birthday the other day and he came by to make his yearly visit. His hair gray with streaks of black in it. A shadow of the man whose presence commanded instant attention , authority and in some cases horror. He stood before me a man , humbled by his daughters achievements and my meekness towards what had occurred 6 months and a day to my birthday. I was stand offish at first , I thought I would never see the man again especially after that night. As part of his karma he has diabetes and angina , I attribute it to karma partly because his large toe was infected on his left foot , he was afraid that they might have to amputate . This just weeks after I found out about Gregs death, I was pissed , I knew he wanted some sort of embrace or sympathy to show him I still cared and he held a place in my heart and my kingdom.