Titan of New York

By: Philo Publius

Titan of New York

Prometheus of America

Against the Philosopher you stood,

And the Author you opposed,

With the General in a nascent pantheon

And vision unmatched

Thundering truths to be

Of an infant nation,

Then, in commerce we traded

As principles we debated

Now, in commerce we trade

As principles fade.

No divine genesis

In the pastoral utopia,

Instead, dragon’s teeth

Sown in fertile dreams

Sprung then

To flourish now

Monstrous and beautiful,

When honor was threatened

Oh adopted prophet!

You moved swift as Mercury

With the attendant rage of Ares

To ride against the storms

Gathered to curse and to scorn

With sharpened words

And malleable wills

Down the lists of life and fame

Vainly armored in passing glory

Even as your deeds

In Eternity etched your name

And Time theirs forgot;

Ozymandias each to his cause,

Ignoble as you were faithful,

Not to a woman,

To the dream of a nation.

Titan of New York

Prometheus of these united states.

The Romantics

Libertine lost souls

Seeking always the muse,

Affections falsely proclaimed

To share, to wallow

In glory and in fame,

A heart is a jewel once known,

Treasured, taken, and bartered,

Abandoned for hope

Of another distant jewel;

Another unknown treasure.

Libertine lost souls

These Romantics,

Trust them not

Love them not,

Predators on a silk sheet

They take what you give

They give what you want,

So long as the blood runs cool,

For in heat,

As the passions of dreams

Boil the blood

They rise,

They walk,

They leave,

And blameless is no one.

Why Poets Should Not Write Erotic Fiction (Porn)

By: A Libertine 

I was greeted by an open gate as I pulled up to the estate. Being as how I was invited I assumed the gate had been opened for me and with self assurance walked down the gravel path that cut through the impeccably manicured lawn to the grand house. There at the door I was welcomed in by the butler. He said that the lady of the house was expecting me and motioned to the elegant staircase just beyond the foyer. Nodding simply, I ascended the stairs and made my way to the master bedroom where I knew she would be waiting.

I pushed open the door and there she stood in the middle of the room. The curtains were down but they were translucent enough that the light passing through them created an otherworldly effect transforming the fiery temptress before me into a benevolent and pure angel. Casting off this momentary effect on the mind I smiled and said simply, “Hello.”

“That’s it?” She demanded. “Just `hello’?”

I gathered myself, instantly recognizing my mistake.

“Oh vision of Venus,

There in light cradled,

Angelic in form,

Perfection realized,

You burn through

This mortal man’s senses,

As the sun clears the fog.

Stunned as your curves,

Contained now

Threaten to spill

And drive me fully mad.”

She started off like this...

That seemed to satisfy her for the time being. She wore a dark green corset with black lace trim and black barely-there stockings. She beckoned with her hand and bid that I approach her. I did with the slightest bit of hesitation. My mind was going in a thousand directions and my heart beating ever faster, but she did not see it so. The hesitation she saw as reluctance. I intercepted her frown with a verse:

“Let not the stumbling clodding Scaramouche

Be odious to your Helen,

He seeks not injury,

But simple is he,

Yours is the face,

Beyond in beauty than that queen

Men fall at your whim,

Frozen, waiting for your will.”

Smiling she told me that she had missed me and was saddened at my extended absence. The war had me constantly running around the country; sometimes on official business, at other times, not quite so official. Smiling sadly, she said she understood and expressed her sadness and concern for me. Citing the glory she still worried over the carnage she read daily in the papers and the gossip her friends shared.

“Go not my valiant Cincinnatus,

Though Nike be yours,

I grieve at the mere thought,

That the price of her company,

Be so high and eternal.

Stay here, in these airy chambers,

Take this my kiss,

Far gentler than steel.”

She had moved herself to tears in my embrace. I held her close and whispered tender words confirming my desire to stay with her forever. I then began to unlace her. She kissed me deeper and more passionately. Hungry for each other we soon found ourselves on the majestic bed. Soft and perfect she lay naked beneath me:

“Oh joyous choir of angels,

Sing and avert your eyes,

For here the devils take hold,

Naked and perfect she is,

Michael, take thy armor,

For battle must wait,

Here the war is won

Love is made,

Upon her porcelain skin

Dance the shadows we make,

A thrust here does not kill,

Satan you fool,

Soul and flesh steels resolve,

Though steel may cut the flesh,

Eternal is this moment.”

And so it went, moment after moment, all night… 

Operation Leonidas - Day 0

So it is technically Thanksgiving here as I write this tonight. The turkey is enjoying its brine bath and everything else is set and prepped for a day of culinary madness followed by a relatively guilt-free bout of gluttonous consumption. Delicious!!

I am thankful for so much. Perhaps at another time where it is not felt imperative to do so I will enumerate some of those things I feel myself blessed with. Not today. Too much pressure.

I will however say that I am incredibly grateful to be alive. It seems that though I am not yet currently in mortal danger there is a bit of concern regarding my health. My blood pressure in particular. It seems to be in a current, borderline dangerous, spike. Many factors that contribute to high blood pressure I partake in, mainly an unbalanced diet high in sodium and a lack of exercise. These two things I have the power to change almost immediately and change them I will.

I have always believed in goals. Though my tendency has been to aim very high and be content in not reaching them. This must change. I aim high still, but now the motivation will drive the effort. Today is November 22, 2012. This is the goal to be reached in one year's time:

Well that is the outward appearance at least. I aim to lower my blood pressure, drop 20 or so lbs, cut the body fat, and increase the miles run and/or cycled. To that end I enlist you my friends to help me in the way of motivation and accountability. I will post updates every month with updated pictures and stats. Thanks for following and helping me in this endeavor.

Here are the starting stats:

November 22, 2012
Day: 0
Weight: 200 lbs
Miles Run: 0
Miles Cycled/etc: 0
Calories Burned: 0

On Being American - By A Post-Modern "Revolutionary"

“I was born in Mexico and raised in the United States. My family has been in the Italian restaurant business for nearly 4 decades. In my 28 years I have been mistaken for dozens of different nationalities and ethnicities. I happen to love Mariachi music as much as I love honky tonks. I listen to musicals and am as die-hard a college football fan as my living in the Deep South would have you believe. I have liberal friends and conservative friends, atheists, agnostics, and evangelical proselytizers (and everyone in between). I feel equally at home with corporate climbers as I do with true bohemians. Artists of every stripe I call friend as well. Yet, to which community do I belong?

I fancy myself a writer and admire such libertines as Shelley and Byron while also citing great influences by those brave souls with ascetic tendencies such as Gandhi and Thoreau. Who am I then? My philosophy takes as much from Nietzsche as it does from Thomas Aquinas. What are my beliefs?

Am I bundling of contradictions? Paradox to what purpose?

When I sat down to write this post my intention was to express my joy and pride at being Latino; of being part of a culture so colorful and so diverse. The more I thought about it the more I realized that embracing one part of what makes me who I am would be, at least, a tacit rejection of another part. Why does that other culture not elicit the same pride? Is the Anglo-American any less loving toward his family and friends? Their music? Is it less important because it is not mine?

I can sit and pass judgment. I can delude myself in declaring that my pride is my own and does not demean others. Though in truth the intentions can be pure the reality is that in embracing differences as exclusionary traits of community we ostracize, either directly or indirectly, those outside and without those traits. Pride sets before us a dangerous path albeit a necessary one. My family goes back hundreds of years in Mexico and I inherited the Mexican enchantment with the land. I feel my heart swell in joyous rhythms as I remember the past, bask in the present, and work for the future of that particular place and people.  That pride fuels thought, words and action. The shame of the Conquest tempers that pride. The diversity of the United Stated opens the eyes to a greater possibility for fulfillment of potential.

Imperialist tendencies aside, the American Experiment, as this nation was conceived is the idea that mankind can embrace those differences and somehow incorporate them as part of a larger whole to promote freedom, peace, and prosperity. So much has gone wrong to demean this idyllic dream, yet it perseveres. So many have attempted to oppress one new immigrant group after another and yet the Irish are still here, the Germans, the Mexicans, Cubans, Chinese, and so many others. Yet though we recall that heritage fondly we embrace that dream as well. Not of the green lawn and the white picket fence, but that here in this corner of the world we can all participate in the world’s greatest, most difficult and important experiment: that community is ours as we make it not as it is given at birth by geography. I am Latino, Mexican, Seminole, and so many other names that indicate birth, race, education and other characteristics and endeavors. Yet the only way I know to enjoy my Mariachis, honky tonks, college football, and Chinese cuisine is by living in these United States where despite our best efforts to defile we somehow paradoxically keep alive the dream that enables these differences to be enjoyed and to not matter at all in the making of friends and family. The American founders borrowed heavily from the philosophies of the world. This is the gift they gave, perfect in its ideal, putrid now in its execution. Let us all work to save this gift worth saving.” Spoke the dreamer…

So much meaning, good and bad, in this flag. Let us not forget the bad, but always work for the good.

Perfect Staff - Pirates of the Caribbean Edition

More than a year ago I posted The Perfect Staff - Haunted Mansion Edition. I took the Haunted Mansion cast list position by position and chose a mythological god or hero appropriate to each particular role. It has since become a very popular read. Recently I crossed lands and began work at another attraction within the Magic Kingdom; Pirates of the Caribbean. I took the same concept I did with the Haunted Mansion and chose a set of heroes and gods from various pantheons to fill the positions needed to operate the attraction. Some of these gods and heroes are less well known than others so in an effort to inform as well as entertain I have linked the caption in the picture of each mythological figure to its respective Wikipedia page. Feel free to click and learn more. On to Pirates!!

Stroller Parking - The Fir Bolg

Having just enjoyed a legendary Dole Whip you and the rest of your intrepid party agree to continue on through Adventureland to ride Pirates of the Caribbean. As you near the entrance of the attraction you clearly see a large mast somehow impossibly buried in the ground without the rest of the ship nearby. Atop the crow’s nest is a skeleton of a sailor far more unfortunate than you. So you think.


As you wonder at this marvel and the fate that befell that now eternal lookout you are momentarily distracted by a small group of rugged-looking individuals. They are wearing old tattered clothing with their eyes down cast moving constantly between that mast and a place across the street. Strollers! That is what they are moving; a constant, never-ending stream of strollers is being moved from the chaotic cluster around the mast to a slightly less chaotic cluster across the street. Not one directs a word at you leaving you with the distinct impression that they do not even see you there. You shrug it off and head to the entrance.

Mast - Jason

Mast - Sinbad the Sailor

The mast stands outside a wide plaza sheltering those inside from the heat of the Florida sun. And outside that plaza, standing near to each other are two massive men who seem quite at ease in the heat. While one speaks the other listens intently with the occasional disbelieving shake of the head or hearty laugh and slap on the back. They go back and forth for a bit as you stand rooted to your spot until one calls out, “khosh amadid!” He waves you over and repeats “khosh amadid!” He is wearing a long loose white tunic cinched with a belt of red cloth from which hangs a menacing scimitar. He introduces himself as Sinbad the Sailor and motions to his friend, introducing him as the Greek Jason, captain of the Argo. Jason is wearing a white robe in the Greek style, somewhat shorter than Sinbad’s. On his back, like a gaudy trophy he wears, like a cape, a golden fleece. Sinbad explains he was simply saying “welcome!” and to come in and enjoy a nautical adventure, but to be careful as it is often said and always believed that dead men tell no tales.

Photocells - Nuada Airgetlam

You move deeper into the plaza and finally reach two huge wooden doors. They are open as you approach but standing before them is a figure no less imposing than the two outside. He seems calm and at ease but he is armored in a hauberk of chain mail and a winged helm. He is carrying a massive greatsword that seems to emit its own dull light in the shadows of the plaza. It is an item of unmistakable power that you are content to stay well clear of. He has only one natural arm; the right one. His left arm he moves just as naturally yet is made entirely of silver. As you stare in stunned amazement he speaks. “I am Nuada Airgetlam, King of the Tuatha De Danann. I hope you have been properly welcomed by my companions outside. If you had any strollers my once-foes, the noble Firbolg, I trust have moved them to a proper place. Use either entrance ahead, but use caution always. Travel well friends.”

Port - The Ashvins, Nasatya and Dasra

You make a quick decision and enter the left doorway. Going down into the depths of a long-abandoned fort you pass abandoned weapons, casks of rum, cannon, and more than one skeleton among other even less desirable things. Eventually the passages open up to a small dock where boats seem to be coming and going. At this dock stand two identical twins who radiate a beautiful feeling of calm. Though they carry large whips at their sides and they move about comfortably with them you sense compassion and calm. They ask how many in your party and one prepares the boat as the other directs you to your seat. Across the dock and up ahead is another dock, but the figure manning that one is a dour-looking man. In a moment of bravery you ask one of the golden twins who that figure is across the dock and who they are as well.

“I am Nasatya and this is my twin Dasra. We are known as the Ashvin. Across the water is Charon. He loads his boats alone where we work together.” Just then another person dashes in and grabs a couple of wheelchairs you had not noticed until then, he winks at you and in an instant is gone.

Starboard - Charon

Dasra anticipates your question, “That was Hermes. He helps take the wheelchairs to the other side. Sit. Enjoy.” With that he cracks his whip and the boat moves into the inky darkness of the watery cave.

Wheelchair - Hermes

An eight-minute ride through a mermaid-filled grotto, down into a fierce naval battle and the subsequent ransacking, pillaging of a town ends as you pass a treasure room and find yourself in the bowels of the fort. The boat stops and you look to your side and there is Hermes leaving two wheelchairs in the far corner only to dash out and up moments later. At the other corner is a tall muscular being with the head of a crocodile that you are able to somehow understand perfectly. Sobek tells you to gather your belongings and exit the boat, which you promptly do. Up the ramp you go out and into a gift shop. This is the end of the tour at Pirates, yet you it will be a long time before you can shake the wonder you now feel at having experienced the ride and all those illuminating (sometimes literally) and astounding figures you met along the way.

Unload - Sobek

However what you did not see might be even more impressive. Manning an array of cameras and controls to keep everyone safe and accounted for is Argus Panoptes, the all-seeing. With his hundred eyes nothing escapes his view. He is ever vigilant for everything to run smoothly and for everyone to remain safe.

Tower - Argus Panoptes

Those who coordinate and lead the area are figures of heroic stature even among the rest of the cast. Rostam is an Iranian hero to whom no task is impossible; neither too small nor too large. He coordinates the everyday activities and is friend to the rest of the cast. Leading him and all others is Lao Tzu. This wise teacher guides the operation as only someone of his knowledge, forbearance, and patience could.

Coordinator - Rostam

Leader - Lao Tzu

Antler Bone Artifact Found - Innuendos Soon Follow

This country has come a long way from its Puritanical roots and sexuality is no longer as suppressed as it once was. Of course compared to say the ancient Greeks and Romans we are still closeted prudes. So progress is still being made. However perusing the interwebs recently I came across an article about a discovery in a Mesolithic site in Motala, Sweden that uncovered an interesting artifact. Go ahead and take a look at it below…

And here is another angle.

It is a five or six inch phallic artifact made of antler-bone (10 inches if you hear it from the male discovers). What do YOU think it was used for? We can put on our science caps and maybe venture a guess that it was some sort of stone flaking tool; a tool to make other tools. Perhaps it was part of a mortar and pestle set used to mash and grind herbs, nuts and berries. Maybe it was a ritual object used in fertility cults. But hmm…take a look at it again…

There is a saying that often the simplest answer is the right answer. Though we may never conclusively know I like to think that our ancestors, who at this point in time were biologically identical to us, were just as prone to having a good time as we are. Of course their need for lube was probably much greater. 

To the Woman That Was

To the woman that was

Once but never more,

To the woman you were,

Once but never more,

I was the man you loved

Once but never more,

Worthy in a mirrored vision

Of that misty dream

Evergreen, lush, ever near,

You on a bed of memories lay

As the wind sighed its consent

And Time stopped to admire.

Burned by reality

The vision was gone

Lived in a moment

And gone.

Beyond reach, beyond sight,

Beyond the grasp of day or night,

Soul anchored to a memory;

The woman that was

Once, but never more.

To you that were,

But never more.

Not Quite the Atheist - Yet

With an admitted touch of irony, it is a leap of faith to disbelieve the ancient belief of Deity. It is a mark of courage to go forth in this world without the support of old dogmas and oft-repeated myths to guide and to reassure. Evil is as universal as good so long as there is a will to promote thought and exercise action. There is no hidden or apparent moral compass in religion that did not first find its creation in human thought. Why use the kaleidoscopic vision of a created divinity to filter back down what was ours always?

Religion might have once had its use. To unify and to create identities that allowed ancient peoples to understand and interact in their world with each other and various mysterious forces. Forces that have in that long march across history been explained, understood and re-understood time and again as we grow in knowledge, driven by our insatiable curiosity. As we have discovered much we have also realized there is much more that we do not know. That gap in knowledge no longer creates new myths that require strict adherence to some moral, civic, or social code. We carry around our inheritance of religion as ancient baggage that with each successive generation becomes heavier.

I am not yet brave enough nor strong enough in faith to jettison completely the millennia-old deities of my forebears, but I’m close. I look to the stars with the same wonder man did 5,000 years ago and before. The gods have changed, but that basic wonder never will. God may be out there, but I do not seek him out here. The universe is so vast it would be arrogance to limit what was created limitless. 

For another rant on the subject, check out Sorry John it Took Me So Long, But I'm a Dreamer Now

Gangnam Styles - The Sasquatch's Favorites

Unless you are living under a rock deep in a cave located far into a secluded forest chances are you have heard of the worldwide phenomenon that is Gangnam Style. The original video has collected hundreds of millions of views. Something does not become that popular and viral without spawning a host of parodies. That brings us to this post. I wanted to put in one place my favorite Gangnam Style parodies and share them with you here instead of spamming your Facebook or Twitter feeds. Lets start with my absolute favorite (then in no particular order).

Lo Pan Style

Big Trouble in Little China, Lo Pan, Jack Burton, Green-Eyed Women, Thunder, Lightning. This. Is. Amazing!

Mitt Romney/ Obama Style

The election just ended, but these two still make me laugh.

Pony Style

By no means can I be considered a Bronie. I actually hate those disgustingly cute little ponies. However seeing as how the original featured the "horse dance" this short little gem adds some poetic symmetry.

Jewish Style

"Hey sexy Rabbi!"

Todrick Hall's Ghetto Gangnam Style

A worthy successor to other Todrick hits such as Beauty and the Beat and Cinderfella

Deadpool Gangnam Style

The best part of this video is how many people Deadpool makes visibly uncomfortable.

Nerdy Style

So much rejection and too many personal flashbacks. Excellent.

Klingon Style

Completely in Klingon! majOa'

Baby Gangnam

The babies are cute, but lets be honest I'll say what you are all thinking. MILF!

M.I.T. Gangnam Chomsky Style

Leave it to the kids at MIT to make a hell of a video, but the best part is a cameo by Noam Chomsky!!!!

The Original

And don't forget, the video that started it all. What are your favorite parodies?

Death Dances False

Oh Death! Miser of souls

You collect in ceaseless industry.

Not a moment’s idleness

Slows your harvest.

Always upon your steed

With your scythe ready

You approach all who call

To tempt Fate.

Too late to regret, they,

Upon seeing your visage

That harbinger of loss

Marker of doom

Maker of sorrow,

Fall in convulsive despair.

Your eternal grin defies

The lies of life

As you take the reaching hand

And lift the weeping soul

To your dance

Step, swirl, step

You move the putrid flesh

Every faster

Onward to oblivion

As the spirit anchored

Stays your partner

In this macabre spectacle.

You steal what is not yours Death!

You possess in that Dance

What belongs to an Eternity

Not yours.

Chasing the Fairy #13

Love is a putrid fruit

To the empty soul

That, dejected, weeps dry tears

And prays false prayers

To a deaf god.

Love is an illusion

To that intellect

That, arrogant, rejects all

That senses cannot account,

Substituting chemical interactions

For Love’s reactions.

Noble is the lost hero,

That rejects those that reject

The illusions they proclaim

And knows truth,

As wheat from chaff,

Worthy is the scholar

Possessing an agile mind

That does not stumble

Upon discoveries,

Made and unknown,

Who walks with faith

Upon infertile soil

That bears miraculous fruit.

Blessed is the lover,

That brave soul

Who is above all

Friend of hope,

Enabler of faith,

Light in the darkness.

Words on War

By: Gus Victoria 

War, the blood-sealed oath

Of a people to die,

Forsaken peace

To conquered smoke,

Captured in a memory,

Gone in an instant,

Remembered today,

Forgotten tomorrow,

Repeat the dance,

Death the partner

Leads ever faster

Despair and sorrow,

Gifts to the wedded pair,

Hope beaten,

A casualty of consequence,

A prisoner of circumstance,

The dagger buried

In a heart to the hilt

Is the only mercy promised,

Is the only release given,

Mars rules a vale of tears,

And shadows stalk,

Bridesmaids to Death,

Harbingers of Destruction,

Doubts fill the empty minds,

As they try

To remember a pastoral past,

A remnant of hope,

A sliver of peace.

Then the cannons roar

To quiet the rebel heart

Still whole,

The cries rise

Up through blackened skies

And no one pretends to hear,

We burn together,

We die alone.

War is our inheritance,

Death our birthright,

And Hope…

Hope is…?

Faith Undone

Faith Undone

No marker on the grave

Where buried is our faith,

No joy in the world

That we betrayed,

Blood flows freely

In ruinous rivers,

Irrigating nightmares,

Reaping a tragic harvest

Effortlessly achieved;

A birthright

Of the clever enemy

Humility left untouched

And compassion abandoned,

A gift

Evil hid in Glory’s cloak,

Death delivered by War’s hand

A gift we drank eagerly

And we proclaimed gratefully,

The thirst unquenched,

The cup poisoned,

Revenge and pride

Spilled ever more,

Until maddened we consumed

All we once were

And all we would ever be.

Hostage With Wings

I am a hostage of love

A willful prisoner

Bound in dreams

That with hope do sail

Far across the sea of time

And across space,

Meaningless beyond moments

Eternal as love blooms;

The flower unwilted,

Given to joy

At the precipice of tragedy,

Given wings by tenuous faith

That I may learn to fly

And then fear not the fall

That ever near,

May never come.

Crook and Orb

By: Gus Victoria

The Shepherd’s crook,

The monarch’s orb,

Noble gifts

Used as locks,

To heavy chains built

In darkness,

Paraded in light,

Proclaimed with glory,

Unmasked to shame,

By those unfit to wield.

Embraced by those

Quick to yield.

The Prophet and The Poet

By: Gus Victoria

The prophet speaks of fire and brimstone,

The tongue lashes the sinner’s soul

And shame is the mantle thrown

On a life unknown.

Yours a gentle hand in love extended

Embracing the thief,

Consoling the whore,

Counseling the heathen,

Yours a gentle heart is love expressed

In The Creation,

Not The Fall,

In the Wind

That moves the waters

That carve the mountains

That proclaim together

A humble majesty

Sublime in scope,

Unsurpassed in beauty.

Your prophets war

And your poets weep,

Your children murder

In your many names,

Your children search

Your many homes,

To proclaim a throne

And use in your name

The authority they give themselves

...and I weep.

Eagle on Cactus

By : Gus Victoria

Eagle on a cactus in splendor arrayed,

Harbinger of a future bright

After a past darkened in crimson shade,

Eyes dark and round

Melt an iron heart

To a flameless light

That burns ever bright

In longing beats

For an ideal lost

On the waves of fortune

In the path fate laid,

As a trap to the thinking soul

That in hubris would attempt

An escape from its dealt destiny

That in utmost clarity

Is seen and known as wrong,

The heart blazed another

Even more daring trail

That would immune be from failure,

If only equal measure of faith be given

For that is the rub,

Faith is currency rare,

And cannot be substituted for countenance faire.

Who Am I? (Voice in an Ocean)

By: Gus Victoria

Who am I? Why does my voice matter?

Does it?

I am one of many.

A drop in an ocean churning,

Lost in the spray of conflict,

Plowing the sea,

Forgotten on the shore,

An image in a mind

Eulogized, Half-remembered,

Tomorrow fully forgotten.

A spark snuffed in the bitter wind

That set naught aflame,

A hope beaten by time,

Despair rooted in reason.

Why do I speak?

My voice so small,

Carried for a moment,

Then forever destroyed,

They build monuments,

They write the myths

To believe in lies.

Deaf and blind

Covered in false glory

They thunder over all.

What is my voice?

What is yours?

The Great Chicken Sandwich War of 2012

They just want to protect marriage. And waffle fries on the side.

The first salvo has been fired in the great Chicken Sandwich War of 2012. Generally I pay little attention to slacktivism. Every week it seems there is a new cause to stand behind that is of the utmost importance and can be solved with a few tweets, statuses, or article shares. Angry arguments ensue with smarter people being quoted and misquoted constantly in a silly attempt to sway the other side and make them realize they are godless heathens for not agreeing with you. It’s a phenomenon of this generation and this highly connected society that increases in visibility what it decreases in relevance. To those of us that chose to think, read, and think again before replying to or engaging in any of the causes of the month the debates that are created are great, free entertainments.

Then there is this Chicken Sandwich War. A Christian president of a company that is well-known and indeed famous for its adherence to certain Christian principles (try getting a chicken sandwich on a Sunday) makes a statement in a religious media outlet that he opposes same-sex marriage. Such a predictable statement should have barely registered on the national news radar. Boycotts from the gay community and friends had been called months ago. I personally know many people who have not eaten there for a long time because of the company’s stance on the issue. That is their right as is the company’s to believe in any guiding principles they choose to for their enterprise. Well, until it begins to infringe upon the rights of others, which in a legal sense it has not yet done.

Unfortunately, shortly after the interview was widely disseminated this country lost its sanity. Instead of thinking like rational adults that hey a guy has a right to believe how he likes and I have a right to choose not to buy his products we instead devolved into a rabble of hate-spewing (often-entertaining) Neanderthals (no offense to any actual Neanderthals reading this).

Sadly, this is nothing new either. Politics entered the conversation and as it did the conversation changed tone. It became a battle of ideologies and then even that transcended the political realm to touch on the religious as well. Now to eat a chicken sandwich at this establishment was to protect free speech and the traditional family. None of which were or are actually in danger. Again, even at this point I was ready to watch and let the situation and the heated diatribes from either side cool off as sanity slowly returned. It always happened, that is the cycle of such things.

And then today. Chick-Fil-A appreciation day.

The response by those who ignorantly or willfully believe that a restaurant has become a political and ideological standing ground have turned it, in my mind, to the Fort Sumter of this insanity and in doing so have made a madness-induced delusion into a reality. The line in the sand has been drawn and slacktivism or not these people that supported Chick-Fil-A today have lost the protection they had in my eyes of rational, thinking, feeling human beings. To eat there because you had a craving is one thing. To eat there to consciously support outdated and dangerous ideas about homosexuality is completely another.

I was appalled as I saw many, many pictures of people posing for pictures with huge smiles on their faces, holding up their Chick-Fil-A bag and spewing some empty-headed nonsense about supporting “Christian values” or “protecting freedom of speech.” These pictures are openly mocking and deeply hurtful. They very nearly made me physically ill. Here it was no longer about a chicken sandwich. It was no longer about protecting your own point of view. No, now it was unmistakably about hate.

The first salvo has been fired. I suspect the other side will be creative in its response. It is true that in the end no one wins, but how can one remain silent? The “traditional family” is a nice sanitized myth, but the persecution of homosexuals is a very true, very painful reality.  

I Lie and Slowly We All Die - Theme Park Realizations

An American "Dream"

By: Gus Victoria

I lie for a living. Yes, that is what I do. And they aren’t even good lies! No, I perpetuate authorized lies in order to maintain an environment for intellectual Lilliputians that induce them to easily, willing and eagerly part with their hard-earned money. Not all are unwitting empty fools, some are knowing wise fools that enjoy their reconnection to a childhood cherished and never fully forgotten. I like these people. We get along. They are in the minority so I will not mention them anymore. It is enough to know they exist.

The grand majority of people I come in contact with make me wish I was instead raising sheep in New Zealand. They have been given a lie that they attach themselves to with such incredible vigor that it is impossible to shake them from it and force them to face a reality wholly unlike this “dream.” It is the American dream. The dream, the lie, that each of us is special. I spend my days perpetuating this myth and it eats at my soul. These people come from all around the world to be immersed in a land of wonder and fantasy. We must do a damn good job because this area is always a popular destination and a steady stream of visitors is a given we often take for granted.

I would have no problem with this fantasy, none whatsoever, if these people that come actually appreciated the experience for what it is. Instead they are so myopic in their own lives that they rarely enjoy the entirety of what is offered. It is the me-first-me-only mentality that was the core of the small hunter-gatherer clans of our distant past that forcefully imposes itself as the family goes about their day from one attraction to another.

 

We can make allowances that because they are on vacation they do not retain their full faculties. They are so excited to be here and experience such a sensory overload that it is natural that they may need a little help in making otherwise mundane connections. That’s what we are there for after all. Where is the bathroom? Which way is this? What time is that? Granted, I don’t begrudge anyone this information, but something disturbing has revealed itself over the years. Many of these people could not make these connections on their own back home. Our society has devolved into a shallow one of instant gratification that we, as a people, no longer recognize what is important and worse have jettisoned as unimportant those skills that might help us in that discernment. Why read a map when your GPS tells you? Why expand your vocabulary by reading when if it’s popular enough they will make a film about it? Why expand your mind by learning new things when it doesn’t directly affect your current or future job?

These are societal problems not theme park guest problems. It is only in the petri dish of these attractions that they are more profoundly seen and felt, but they exist outside the gates. That is the real tragedy. Not that people are enjoying their vacation, but that people are missing life. In times past these people would have been relegated to lower castes of society, but on a level playing field everyone suffers from the intellectual decay. There is little refuge when the idiot with a 3^rd grade reading level has the same political power as a post-grad professional. Everyone can vote, and everyone indeed can suffer from the ignorance of the masses.

My unhappiness at work is rooted in the stark realization recently that I am only adding to this dystopia. I lie. They believe. They smile. And slowly a part of me dies.   

As No Other

By: Gus Victoria

There you are

‘Neath a sky so clear

With sun so dear

That to you is given

The beauty of angels

To tempt the unworthy man,

You are the jewel of an iron crown

Bestowed upon the peasant heart

Of a humble sort

Unknown in the halls of power

But for his dreams

That hope does shower,

He is to be great

If trust is given to fate,

You give him release

From failure’s sting

In the guise of a false spring,

And the fool he plays

For he knows not the praise

In your soul you sing

For his toil

Separate from the sacred soil

Of love’s grove,

He is yours as you are his

And yet neither owns

The heart freely given

The soul shared

The flesh bared,

Together as one

The genesis of timeless hope

To find in one

The other.

To know in one

The other.

Two as one,

One as neither.

Claddagh Ring

By: Gus Victoria

In the town of Claddagh of Irish kin born

The band that once worn,

Given of friendship and love

Destined from above

To be greater than dreams

In lonely moments dreamt

More in hope than contempt,

Was made to here be betrayed

In the heart that gave

The ring of Eire;

Ashes burnt in the heart’s fire

Upon time’s pyre

You were forgotten,

Spread across the land

By Journey’s fickle hand.

Claddagh ring

Do you still sing?

Blackened and burned,

Loved, rejected, and spurned? 

Refuge of Night

By: Gus Victoria

Elegant and serene

She waits for me,

The sun oppressive in its light

Is gone in the night,

She in her silvery dress

Of moonlight fair,

Gives to me

Dreams I dare,

Flight away on a ship of name,

Or hidden treasure

I would claim,

She whispers it so

That perhaps it might be,

She whispers to me,

That I might see

A limitless journey

On her inky clouds,

That with the dawn is stolen away

To wither in the sun’s rays,

I, without fail, await

Her return;

My muse,

My refuge,

My love,

She comforts what day torments,

She gives what day takes,

Night, mistress, love

Rise again that I might dine

Under your gentle light,

That I find that refuge you give,

In day I die,

By night I live.

Indivisible, Indestructible

Mortar cannot hold this house together

As ideas seek to tear her asunder,

Words cannot assuage the anger

That we foment,

Ignorance is the darkness

And truth a luxury.

Yet she holds.

The winds of change batter her

And the sands of time erode

What we allow them to touch,

Yet she holds.

Rivers of tears flow

Threatening to flood

And make of her a memory,

Yet she holds.

This house cannot divided stand.

And this house divided shall not endure,

Our fathers and their brothers

Together, with blood paid,

Created a bond

That time cannot fade,

Words cannot degrade,

And we cannot repay.

Blue and grey

Perhaps never knew

What their struggle would do

To a country young as they.

Their sacrifice gave to us more than heroes

More than villains and battles,

More than songs,

They gave us this,

They gave us a home

They gave us brothers

They paid with life and blood

That ours be free,

For that is our destiny,

A destiny unachieved.

They gave us a home

From where our own fight can be waged

Indivisible and indestructible.

Messenger, Be Gone

By: Gus Victoria

Tortured messenger beyond the shade of knowledge

You toil in memory to keep alive

That which best is forgotten.

A spark here sets aflame

An inferno of regret

That casts dancing shadows of doubt

To play on the face of the fateful beauty

To whom we’ve given all.

We drink the wine of joy

Soured to despair

Poured by unsteady hands

Into a chalice made

Of once-broken glass.

We drink deep,

And dare not sleep,

For dreams wake

Demons thought slain

That we cast out in vain.

No messenger,

Best be gone,

Leave be the tattered memories,

Leave be the shattered future,

Be gone,

Be gone,

I drink.

Ode to a City, Oh City

Your sun sets on a gaudy stage

The moon rises a lantern

To reflect my rage.

History hidden untouched

Unknown and unseen

By citizen-thieves of a kingdom deprived.

Bourne on tired chromatic wings

Born empty, child of silver,

Aborted dream

Of the deified Dreamer.

You call from a shallow grave

That once was a crib

To a legacy without inheritance,

To a lie surrounded in dust.