gawddam. hwat'thfuck?

your question:
why is there such a common need to control others?

the answer may [or may not] be in the answer to a question i asked myself not long ago:
why the hell do we watch fake trials on daytime TV?
what purpose could wapner, brown, scheindlen, and whoever-else-is-so-lucky serve for humanity?

in the presence of clear injustice, why not?

i think we look for answers to our desperate questions anywhere we can find them, regardless of validity.

we seek control when we have none. i dont know the tribe staff, so i cannot psychoanalyze them. i can, however, point out a lack of control in the life of the average american.

money is our life. given our state of global trade and wage slavery, we are continually at the point of financial collapse. as such, we have no control.

shit rolls downhill, and the dogs are getting kicked harder than ever. as long as we are insecure about our futures, we will continue to invest in systems of control.

its not as simple as "big brother."
there is no one to blame but our very neighbor.
we cannot blame everything on bush, tempting as it may be. we are all someones big brother, given a certain mood and state of mind.

this new millenium of ours is terrifying, to say the least. we have less and less control of our destinies, and our grip on a global reality fades more with each [corporate] newscast. i see nothing surprising with a society that grows increasingly letigious, paranoid, distrustful, and fearful as long as we accept the shortsighted, irresponsible leadership we are given [or, ostensibly, chosen.]

we are so alone.
we are desperate.
we are killing life ...
... as it was once known.
and in its place ...
... is existance.
and no more.

i dont know what to do.
i wish i knew where to turn ...
... but its all aflame with fear ...

wherever it may be found,
peace.

WHO THE FUCK IS SHATTER?

the short answer is ...
it doesnt really matter.

the long answer is ...

a fellow member of a thing i had ...
he was a spicy seed of hilarity on a plate of bland staleness.
one of his jokes touched a nerve, and the ass end of it all resulted in the Terms Of Use (TOU) people at tribe kicking him out - and that was that.

deleted - unsubscribed - booted - censored - ALL GONE

for a *joke* that *someone* found *offensive.*
joke = it really was funny
someone = literally 1 (one) person, everyone else rolled
offensive = ridiculously funny, unless youre an uppity, verbose and useless tranny mall cop.

ever read somewhere about "unpersons?"
shatter is only one of them.
there are more.

anyway the point is:
if you asked me [personally] who shatter is, i cant really say.
the important thing is that hes become a symbol.
he is the icon of our resistance
against censorship.

i urge you to support our efforts.

become shatter, if only for a small while.
using confusion as our tool, we can subvert this fallacious and oppressive website.

if not,
my time on tribe may soon be ending.

i thank you all for reading, and learning with me,
i hope you have the courage fight with me, too.

peace.

its the least i could hope for ... [stream of consciousness]

FUCK APRIL TWENTIETH!

*BUT* ...

at least i wasnt high

at least i wasnt on a motorcycle

at least the bondage bracelets on my steering wheel didnt turn into shrapnel from the airbag deployment

at least i was able to pull over

at least i hadnt just changed my oil and filter, like i meant to

at least i had the support of an old friend through it all

at least my good luck with cops held up, and i didnt get arrested

at least no one rear ended me after it happened

at least my passenger was ok, too

at least the other guy wasnt hurt

at least i dont have to pay ... for much

at least everyone i dealt with was pleasant and as helpful as they could be

at least im strong enough to cope with this kind of trauma

at least ill have a great story about 4/20 when its all over

jumping

all my life ...
[hehe, sorry.]
ive known only one thing:
change.

reality rupture.
paradign shifts.
discontinuity.
contrast.

endings that arent endings,
and beginnings that dont start
*actually happening.*

im practically an olympian, or expert
in cognition jumping.
(and intoxophilia
(i coined that,
do you like it?))

jumping as i do, in and out of
stories,
ive known something else,
almost as reliable...
my own power
within.

sometimes,
when i walk around.
just out and about, day to day,
im just waiting for the next change/chance to fly.

ive been known to sprint towards a traffic sign
of any kind,
im not very picky,
upon which to, uhm ...
acrobate.

what i mean is that
sometimes,
i get the hair up my ass to walk freestyle,
and basically hop around like a monkey on uppers.

if you know me, well, you know.

anyway, there is a connection to be drawn between these actions.
it seems im most myself during [destructive/disruptive] moments.
or rather, thats just what seems always to happen to me.
it always just (fucking) happens.
and people look at me and then whisper something,
or change the subject after a long pause.
and youd think i just made some loud remark about killing the disabled.
if you saw the way people saw me ...
its not like im hurting anyone.
not even myself,
... cos im pro like that.
sure ive twisted ankles,
and sprained shit ...
but if that means im clumsy,
or just getting old,
then why shouldnt i work on

... not?

every chance i get ...
i can prove
[to me]
that i can

*still*

make the jump.
and then keep going,
like it never happened,
i can [and will] take.

if it takes a year,
or an hour,
i will find something ...
some dare,
or the right signpost,
or a gap in logic/the sidewalk ...
some random challenge,
... somewhere ...
in the course of life
that makes me

jump.

if theyre just small bumps,
sizable obstacles, or abyssal chasms
in the ground on which i stand,
or on the road of life,
i will jump.

just to jump,

or just for fun

or, sometimes, for my very life.

lets see if i can make this jump with something real to lose.

no really, wont you?

[watch with me]

green blood

i thought to myself today ...
does racism still *actually* exist?
ive seen some really wealthy black people.
ive seen suburban white people locked down and exploited as much as any slave was.
they might drive cars now, but we are surrounded by indentured servants and forced laborers. if youre lucky [and motivated,] im not talking about you.

so, a brief bit of history ...
ghettoes were places nazis confined jews. there they reamined, under the gun and one foot in the grave. an unimaginably brutal experience, without doubt.

now, ive heard that, even today, there are "ghettos" [in america!] with a disproportionately large number of african american inhabitants. the title does not fit. if it ever did, it is no longer applicable. there is no wall, no barbed wire, no guards, and there is not the threat of imminent death from a facist government.
i know there is room for arguement here. you can say that all crime isnt immoral and that our elected officials are corrupt and malevolent. but try to shut up and listen.
im trying to make a point.

slumlords could be rasict, but *all* of them probably arent. furthermore, anyone [usually with a job] can rent a place to live, somewhere. tenants dont have to know, like, emulate, or even see their neighbors [our isolated society has some positive thigs going for it.] the "ghetto lifestyle" is not a disease, and if it were, there is a simple innoculation; *not* being a criminal. ghettoes no longer exist in reality [not in america, anyway.] if a crime ridden, run down neighborhood were really a ghetto, the word "fabulous" would never be attached to it in order to market clothes to rich white people.

which brings me closer to my point.

"ghetto fabulous" fashion might be marketed at rich white people, but anyone and everyone, regardless of ethnicity, can buy and wear it [if youve got the money.]

if you can afford it, you can look like youve got street cred.
if you can afford it, you can look like anything you want.
if you can afford it, you can start a line of fashion.
if you can afford it, you can own a cotton plantation and hire only poor whites to pick it.
if you can afford it, you can have a flying car.
if you can afford it, you can be free.

if you can afford it ...
... you can start a revolution.

and if you cant afford your freedom,
then you are a slave ...
... to someone.

if you see my point ...
racism doesnt exist anymore.
there is only classism.

dont get me wrong, racists still exist.
but they are obsolete.
people think all kinds of crazy things. thats the freedom that cannot be stripped from humans. no matter how poor, you can still dream.
and with your dreams you can make plans.

racists are a sad, useless dying anachronism.

like politicians that play to your fears ...
[... instead of your hopes?]

or like
... thinking the crime of smoking weed is only committed by mexican immigrants that want to empregnate our innocent daughters and kill our mothers in THC induced frenzies of homocidal rage.

people think all kinds of crazy things.
there is a lot of useless baggage inside many multicolored heads.
there is a lot to this racism thing, and none of it is good.

i think im over it.
arent you?

a crack can mean so much more than a chip, scratch, or stain.

imagine this...

youre favorite cd. its been with you for ages. your unfaltering companion through good times, and bad. it gives you what you want and asks only to be taken care of, in return. one day, you find someone that loves the band as much as you. theyve lost their copy, and cant find it anywhere else. so you let them borrow yours. they take it and promise that its return will be soon. you patiently wait for days, maybe weeks, and eventually you see its return. you dont look right away, but the next time you do, you notice something. --its devastating-- ... the disc youve treasured for so long has suffered a small [gasp] crack, at its edge. there it lingers, maliciously threatening to destroy your precious music, at some point.

suddenly, youre at a loss for expression.


or what if ...

youre trapped in a prison made of ice. you dont know how you got there, nor how exactly to get out. so you start pounding the wall with a stone. it chips and breaks a bit with each blow of the rock, but progress is slow. you dont know how thick the walls are. so with effort and persistence, you keep at it. pounding your way towards freedom. its exhausting, frustrating, and all but hopeless ... until ...
you see it.
you hear it.
you can feel it ... finally,
a crack.

... and suddenly, youre as good as free.

all a crack means is; something solid and durable is falling apart; something that, left undisturbed, might have been eternal, but that, under the wear and tear of life has suffered.
this damage is permanent, and the injury is lethal. a crack has spelt the doom of something that was once perfect. what [could have] stood the test of time, now sits at the edge of disintegration.
... all because of a crack.

in the end all it can signify is that someting is eventually going to break.

... so keep looking ...

and hope that it isnt in something you need.

It's time to forget about "blogs."

im sick of the term "blog."

a "blog" does NOT sound like somewhere to put great ideas, nor any "ideas" at all, come to think of it.

it sounds like some plumbers nightmare, or something that gets thrown off a construction site.
it sounds like garbage.
sadly, ironically, and genearally; they are ...

admittedly, my entries are substandard, by my own [singular] criterion. most of the time im on some abstract, naieve rant about some completely forgettable shit.
but i wouldnt write if it didnt seem important, at least to me.
i will maintain that a blog is, definitely, unimportant.
so then, a change of idea is necessary.

from now on, i think ill call them ...
"Telejournal entries."
i know. its longer.
ive added syllables
(seems like the cardinal sin of modernity. eh?
how about your TJ, for short?)
hear me out.
the word "telejournal" does justice to the thing, itself
(being an electronic writ of ones' ideas.)
not all bloggers will do justice to this refined definition.
most are, and will always be, just a blog.

but hopefully, with my small bit of help,
writers will start do better than your average "blog."

so murder and destroy your blogger within. hir time is over.
lets move on ... forward .... to be Telejournalists!