Sunday, April 17, 2016
Max Rebo, Sithym and Blues
Some days you get the blues, and some days, the blues get you.
See that sexy, blue pachyderm, banging away on the keys, feeling the music flow through him like nothing else matters - because it doesn't? That's me. That's Max. Once, I was the hottest night club act in the Outer Rim. Now, I'm playing platform six in the Coruscant subway. No credits, no love, just a scar across my trunk where a hooker slashed me, and a parade of ex wives who would have paid her for the privilege.
I had a pretty good gig on Tattoine, back in the old days. I played Jabba's palace. Our music was so good, that when we played, Jabba would even let his girlfriends get down and funky with the Rancor. If they'd run off with it, he'd just shrug, and get a new one. Can't be jealous when there's good music. That was Jabba. Then, some teenagers and their droids came in, and shot the place up. Why? Everyone in this galaxy gets so caught up in masks, who froze who, who's whose daddy... light side, dark side- who cares? There's always going to be someone swinging a light saber, always going to be guys in armor shooting... that's not what this story is about, because that's not what life's about. It's all about the music. There ain't no good guy, there ain't no bad guy, there's just you and me, and Sy Snootles can kiss my blue trunk.
You want to tell me about love? I was in love, once. She was so fine, Wookies used her face to comb for lice. We just used to talk and talk, until the morning birds yelled at us to shut up. Every morning, when I hear birds, I think of her. I wish I could tell her that I think she is good, I'll alway hope her life is good, and that I'm all good. But I can't, because she found religion, and ran off to get sacrificed to a Mynock cult. That's the way it goes. One day you're in love, next day, she's Mynock kibbles. I even wrote a song about it, called, "One Day You're In Love, Next Day, She's Mynock Kibbles." But I was down on my luck, and I sold the rights. Then, Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes covered it, upped the tempo, and changed the name to "Mad About Me." No soul, man, no soul.
Because in the end, all you have is the music. You want to know what loneliness is? It's not being some green, big-eared Muppet, all alone on a swamp planet, waiting for some kid to show up and get his ass wupped into shape. Loneliness is being a drop of oil in an ocean, surrounded by water drops who all want to be together, all laughing and playing and being at home - because they're water. And here you are, in the middle of them, but you're a blue blob of oil, so you're never really a part of it. All you can do is watch through your impermeable surface tension, and pretend, because they're perfectly happy whether you're there or not. That's what the music is. It's a way to make me forget I'm pretending.
So there I was, just out of a job, because, like I said, some uppity kids burned Jabba's palace to the ground. Sy had left me to go solo, and I was feeling lower than a Nerf herder on Life Day, when who should come knocking on my door, but the glamorous Mon Mothma herself. Now, don't tell anyone I told you, but Mothma liked to slum around on Tattoine, whenever her wife would go away on business. Just another high-class girl who needed her regular, nasty fix of Big Blue. She gave me a long, deep kiss on the trunk, looked down at me with her big, elegant, arrogant eyes, and said "Max, how would you like to make a dishonest living?"
(To be continued...)
Saturday, March 05, 2016
He crawled out upon the Great White Valley. It was barren and dry. And bright, so bright. The brilliance made his heart pound, deep within his armor. This was the land of the Gods. One only dared to traverse here under the sweet cover of darkness. But darkness was for hiding, and hiding was for ignorance. He was not making this suicidal journey to be willfully blind; he was here to know.
The ground was cold and unforgiving beneath his feet as he scrabbled up the ivory wall. He tasted dryness and grit, and a chill set over him.
Where had They gone?
His brothers had made the pilgrimage before him. Only one had ever returned, cracked and broken, his limbs smashed and jagged. He had warned the Wanderer, with his last, gasping breath, that the Gods were cruel. They were Titans, walking mountains, who guarded their land of plenty with a petty jealousy, bringing down crushing death on all those who dared to cross it. The Wanderer had been content to lay within his cavern, to feed upon the delicious rains that fell from above. But the rains had stopped.
It was his fault, he knew. He had tried to be good, he had tried to be true. He had followed all the rituals, said all the prayers. He had shown his loyalty and his love. But somehow, he was unworthy. Somehow, he must have failed. They had judged him undeserving of the rain, and he would learn why.
The rustling patter of tiny feet echoed across the ground, and it froze him in his tracks. Were there others here? Children - perhaps even nephews and nieces of the brothers who had never returned? He would find them. He would find, embrace them, and bring them home. The thought ignited a sense of pride within him. They would not find their uncle cowering in fear. He scurried around the corner, calling out a greeting. Then he stopped, his heart sinking.
They were not his family, merely a squad of Simples. Dwarves. They liked to travel in packs. They ran from here to there, careless of what danger they courted. He had met their types before.
"Hey, you," he said. They did not turn his way. He looked to the left and to the right, but saw no one. He moved to block their path. "Hey, I'm talking to you."
"Light," they said in unison, pointing to a spot of luminescence above. "Light, light, light, light, light."
"What happened here?" the Wanderer asked. "Where have the Gods gone? Why did they leave us?"
"Light, light, light," the Simples chanted. They rerouted their passage around him, and continued on their way. His jaw dropped in shock. How could they be here, in the home of the Gods, and yet worship something else?
"Don't you fools understand?" he shouted as they scampered off. "We're all alone now. I'm alone."
Their mantra echoed, fading in the distance. He sunk his head.
"I don't want to be alone."
He looked about him. This was no heaven. He could smell no food, only dust. He would return to his family, to the dank of his caverns. They would find a new tunnel, with new Gods to worship. They would have to fight, kill, and possibly die to overtake the supplicants already living there, but so what? It was the way things were, the way they had always been. It was life.
The dry wind brought a sound of thunder. The ground shook. In the blurry radiance, the faint echo of the Simples cadence turn to screams.
Joy and terror washed over him in waves. The rhythm of the earthquakes grew stronger, the thunder louder. He knew he should run, should scamper back to the safety of the portal. But he knew that if he did, he would hate himself until the day he died. He had come to see the Gods, and he would.
The Avatar loomed into view from above. She tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and screamed. The roar deafened him as he emptied his bowels, his refuse running down his legs. She was terrible, and beautiful, her head crowned by a flowing mane of gold. She swung out her massive leg, and colossal, inescapable darkness hammered down from the sky. As it ground his brain into mush, the last thought to cross it was one of elation. Perhaps the old Gods had deserted him, but here were new ones.
His children would have rain.
Friday, February 26, 2016
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Friday, February 12, 2016
Let's cut to the chase.
I have a daughter, and I've been told that you've done many things that will make her life better. I really don't know how true that is, but if it is... well, then thank you - and I honestly mean that. But there is one trend from your political history that is rearing its ugly head in this campaign, and it's something I definitely don't want her to learn. My problem with you is, after a fashion, the same one I had with your husband. It comes down to this:
No matter what your gender, being principled is hard.
No matter what your gender, being true to your word is hard.
No matter what your gender, practicing what you preach is HARD.
I know - because I've failed to do these things time and time again. I've tried. Sometimes I've won, but many, many times, I've failed. I'm not holding you to a standard I can't live up to, I'm not pretending I'm better than you. Anyone reading this who knows me knows I'm the last person who should throw stones. So let's make this clear: I'm not saying I'm principled and you're not. That's not my point. Who knows, maybe you're a better person than I am. Could be.
The point is, when you come face to face with someone who actually HAS done these things, who has actually fought for their principles no matter how hard it was, then you respect it.
You respect them for it.
You don't play the victim.
You don't say, "Well it was easy for that person to not play the game I did. Sure, they can walk the walk instead of just talking the talk. Sure, they can not be completely full of bull-feces. Sure, they can actually live up to what they say... because they had privilege!"
Because, Mrs. Clinton, it's never easy. If it were easy for everyone of every gender, race, or class to be true to the principles they preach, history would be completely different. If that were true, then we would be living in a Star Trek The Next Generation utopia right now, instead of the whole juju-flop situation that we're in.
Let's reiterate: I'm not saying Bernie Sanders would necessarily make a better president than you. I'm not saying people should not vote for you. Everyone should be able to vote for whoever they want (whomever? I'm too lazy to look it up) and I'm sure your supporters are intelligent, well-informed people who have their reasons.
What I'm saying is that when someone (as far as we know) has a long history of being true to their principles and you haven't, then you don't try and spin it that you are somehow a victim. It's not the fault of sexism or misogyny or "privilege" that Bernie Sanders has a truer political record than you do - it's THE CHOICES YOU HAVE MADE.
It's sort of the same way I didn't want my son to learn from your husband that although everyone does things that are wrong, and mistakes shouldn't be forever held over anyone's head - when you're unquestionably caught committing a crime, especially as a leader, you don't vilify the man prosecuting you, and you don't use popularity as an excuse to escape punishment. But I digress.
So, Mrs. Clinton, you really want to be a feminist role model for my daughter? Then stop spinning the fact that Bernie has been truer to his principles as your own victimhood. You want to show her that you're the candidate that's strong enough to take responsibility for the presidency? Fine - then instead of spinning bullshit about "privilege," start by taking responsibility for you own goddamn record.
Monday, February 01, 2016
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Monday, January 25, 2016
Thursday, December 24, 2015
It's all going to be okay.
We've all had our ups and downs this year, our joys and losses, loves, hates, fears, hopes, worries, and disappointments.
Just remember every day is new. Find joy when you can. You are wanted, needed, and loved. You matter. Be happy, because you deserve happiness.
Unless you ruin Star Wars before I get to see it. Then you can burn in Hell.
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Friday, December 18, 2015
I would pay good money to see that.
Monday, December 14, 2015
Saturday, December 12, 2015
He was so tiny when he was a baby, a bit of a preemie. Now he towers over me. I used to run around with him under my arm, like he was a tiny football. Or we'd fake WWF wrestle, with him always winning. Now, he could probably put me under his arm.
Good and bad things will happen to you. You will have friends who will leave their mark on your brain forever. Wish them happiness, but always wish it for yourself as well. Find something to want, something that will make your soul grow, and follow it. Learn things that will make you believe in yourself. Find people who make you want to be the best you you can be. Treat yourself with love, and never forget your own love has value. Be realistic about the present, but when it comes to the past, treasure the good. It will make your memories happier.
Remember that if you want self respect, that you have to earn it from yourself. If you want pride, you have to do things that will make you proud. Forgive the people who hurt you - but forgive yourself as well.
Life is beautiful, and I love you always.
Thursday, December 03, 2015
OK, lets be honest. The New York Daily News's front page today is deliberate controversial spin to keep the conversation away from the religious affiliations of the San Bernardino shooters. (NO I am NOT saying all followers of that religion, or even that that religion itself is to blame, or should be spotlighted. I am saying the media is deliberately creating controversy as a distraction, especially since they spent the past week blaming a different religion for the Planned Parenthood shootings - which, for the record, was horrible and inexcusable, so don't even try it.) I'm also not going to get drawn into the gun control debate. (For the record, I believe in the second amendment, but I also believe we need sane gun control laws. Having a gun in your home to protect yourself or for sport doesn't mean you should be legally able to carry a gun into a movie theater where I've taken my kids, You also shouldn't be able to buy military-grade hardware at gun shows, and gun ownership should be federally at least as regulated as drivers' licenses. Sometimes a slippery slope is a slippery slope, and sometimes it's an excuse.)
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Chapter 3, In Which the Narrator Gets Pissed Off And Probably Pisses Off What Friends He Has Left In The Process
Here is a Muppet News Flash: Being concerned that ISIS has infiltrated the Syrian refugees, especially when the past weekend has proven that it's highly likely, is not racist. It's being realistic.
It's not saying "All Muslims are terrorists."
It's not saying "The refugees are to blame for the attacks in Paris."
It's not saying "Round up all the Muslims and put them in internment camps."
It's not even saying America should refuse the refugees.
But it IS a valid concern. It is more than possible. And trying to shout down anyone who points it out as a racist is not going to change reality. If every single person who was concerned about ISIS infiltrating refugees was a card-carrying KKK member, it wouldn't change the reality of the situation.
Oh, and by the way, if you need to use false parallels to try and paint those with opposing views as bigots, then maybe your point is invalid. Just to correct a few false parallels:
Yes, Timothy McVeigh killed more people than the Paris attacks, and (gasp) was a white Christian. True, but no, Timothy McVeigh was not part of a global terrorist organization, which is the issue here. Try again.
Yes, some Americans were against Jewish refugees coming here back in World War II. Yes, those people were racist and wrong. No, there was no global Jewish extremist army at the time. No, there were no Jewish terrorists infiltrating the Holocaust survivors, and murdering random civilians within the countries that were taking them in. That's a pretty huge point to ignore, just because it doesn't fit your narrative.
Yes, Steve Jobs was the son of a Syrian. Who gives a shit? Are you so elitist that you believe everyone who has concerns about ISIS infiltration doesn't know that they are individuals of varying qualities and accomplishments?
And by the way, Steve Jobs was a piece of shit, so I don't know why you're using him as an example anyway.
(I'm not going to get into how ridiculous it is to try bring Native Americans into this.)
To sum up:
"But I'm just against racism."
Good for you, so am I.
"I don't want people to think all Muslims are terrorists."
I don't either. I know some Muslims, and some are good, kind people. Some are dickheads. They're individuals.
"I feel horrible for the refugees."
So do I, it's monstrous, what they're going through.
"The refugees aren't to blame for what happened in Paris."
I 100% agree. But ISIS members who infiltrated them most likely had a hand in it. That's the concern.
"The refugees are not ISIS."
No, they're not. They're escaping from the terror that ISIS has caused. They should be helped. HOWEVER, there is a valid concern that infiltration by ISIS is extremely easy.
"I don't think hosting refugees in America would be a danger."
Well... I think there are some concerns, but if that's the way you feel, hey- good for you. Hopefully, you're right. You should feel fee to say that.
"Saying there is a chance of ISIS infiltrating the refugees makes you a bigoted, uncaring, unfeeling racist."
Friday, November 13, 2015
I did a cool "Mystery Room" thing in Manhattan with friends and family who lived in the city last weekend, on my birthday. Basically, it's a point-and-click "escape the room" flash game in real life, with an hour time limit. (One clue leads to another leads to another...) Good times with good people, I wish teleporters existed for the rest.
Sometimes, I wonder if I've become a cosmic resource hog.
My major accomplishment this week has been neatly destroying a large chunk of a cinder-block wall with poured cement inside. Oh, the dreams of my youth, they're all coming true...
I have dreams of crashing various vehicles, helicopters, cars, TIE fighters... this is mildly disturbing, as in previous dreams, I would careen about in race cars out of control, but never crash. Is this the crash, or is that yet to come? Let me consult some sheep entrails.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Friday, November 06, 2015
Pink. You were purple once, but time and Tide sucked the color from your soul. (bongos)
Guzzling possessed radiator steam,
And follicle oil. (bongos)
Microbial armies wage war, war, WAR,
Cutting, biting, licking, slurping,
Worshiping microbial Vishnu,
Many many arms, giving high fives,
Over a battlefield
That is like time
Slipping through William Shatner's nostrils,
Swinging from nose hair toupee to nose hair,
Tarzan, without his Keurig machine,
Because Jane forgot to refill it
Subway rail armpits,
Spit from the peaches of life.
All wiped up
By my towel.
Tuesday, November 03, 2015
Friday, October 30, 2015
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Monday, October 26, 2015
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
Saturday, September 05, 2015