Time v. Chaos

Whoa, what was that? Time said.

Somewhere far off, laughter. The guffaw of Chaos.

I thought I told you to stay away, you slut bitch.

Can't handle a little bit of craziness in your life? The guffaw of Chaos rasped in Time's ears. A little bit of split personality?

Time swung his long arm at her.

How ungentlemanly of you, Time.

I don't need to waste myself with you. I've got things to do.

March along then, Time. I'm staying right here.

What if I want to stay right here?

This is so unlike you too. You're not the type to take such a liberty as standing still. This is intriguing. What are you up to?

Time frowned.

Time didn't pass.

You bore me. Chaos swung her arms up and lowered cacophony. Voices whispering, laughing, screaming. Forgotten horns from the past that used to herald war and horns now that brought the union of Jazz. Chaos was Chaos. Chaos was a bitch and a calm one.

Stop that.

Stop what? She launched lights into the air, big swirls of stars changing color and exploding and then coming back together again. Stars turning into people. People waving their arms up and yelling. People in pain, bringing their hands to their heads and showing horror with wide open mouths screaming, but unheard.

You can't do that. You can't make people from stars. Time waved his hands, the world turned. Then, when time waved his hands back up, the world turned the other way. A man somewhere deep into the world was looking into the mirror and saw the hair on his face grow, then recede. He freaked out and killed himself with the razor he was using to shave. Down the wrist, he got the vein that counted.

Why not? Chaos said.

Time harrumphed.

You made people out of stars.

Time said, well. You can't make them so anguished. Look at that. Their screaming. You can't be so cruel that their voices can't be heard.

What, the same as you? Oh, you let their voices be heard but you don't do a thing. You just keep on marching. My man, Chaos approached and rubbed her hand down Time's body. You're not marching now, though. What are you doing?

Time harrumphed.

Fine, Chaos crushed those people made from stars and let their screams stay mute. But, displayed them in subtitles.

--Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm being crushed---

--Why? I've done good things. I'm a good person. Argh--

--Now I know how a tube of toothpaste feels--

--Ooo. Yeah. Mfm. Yeah. Aw. Aw. Aw--

Oo look, Chaos said. The last one's a sadomasochist.

Damn, you're a bitch.

You're a bitch. Tell me. Why are you so closed off. I've asked you nicely. What more do you want? I thought Time reveals all.

I. . .

You what?

I. . . I can't do it anymore. I can't go on.

What are you talking about, my man? Do you need me to recharge your batteries? Chaos smiled.

No. I mean, I can't go on living like this. It's all fake.

What?

Me.

I could have told you that.

. . .

What do you think, I'm as real as can be? Chaos made like she was taking in a big breath. Her breasts pointed out at him. Then disappeared.

It's not a game. It's not a laughing matter.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Get over yourself, Time. None of this is real. Let me ask you a question, do you end?

Huh?

Do you end? Will you die. Like these people?

--Uhuh. Yeah. Squeeeze. Harder. Harder--

I just love that guy, Chaos said. Look, man, none of this is real. People made you up to do their silly little things. Schedule appointments. To figure out a way of cooking without touching the food to see its done. They built a whole lot of things out of nothing. Think about it, what real purpose do you serve? What's the main reason you were put here?

I. . . I don't know.

No one knows. That's the point. No one knows why I'm here. You think I care. I have fun with it. Check this out:

That is a freakin' armadillo in a bucket. How did that armadillo get there? Whose bucket is that? Would you care if I told you that that armadillo speaks German? Would it matter? None of it does. Those people down in the world think it does. But it doesn't. People live, people die. They think of us. They forget us. They use us to describe things and they curse us to describe their pain. That's a freakin' armadillo in a bucket.

Time harrumphed.

You're useless.

Shut up.

I figured you wouldn't listen. One more time then. Look at this:
We live our lives and we learn how to interact with people. But, where did all the rules come from? You have to do one thing this way, the other thing that way. You have to pay for parking Mondays through Saturdays and it's free on Sundays, and the price to park, if it's a day you have to pay, is $1. $1 is 47 pesos in the exchange rate. Why?

The markets?

No, damnit. You piece of shit, Time, listen. $1 is 47 pesos because someone somewhere thought, hey, lets create some big governmental structure so we can buy things in another country. Of course, our money is better, it's worth more because we're worth more, so let's say our money exhanges at a high rate. Why the hell can't you share things? Or, why the hell can't you make up another currency, the Finger Nail. Okay. The Finger Nail is equal to $100,000,000 but only 2 pesos. Get it? None of it matters if you don't think it matters.

Huh?

If you ignore the rules someone else made, that whole structure collapses, Chaos said. If you go by your own way, do as you please, nothing matters except for the things you say matters. Your morals are the morals that matter, your thoughts and values are the ones that need to be followed. Nothing matters and nothing is nothing until you make it something.

But. . .

No 'buts'.

Why did you show me two people scuba diving.

It doesn't matter. Who cares?

But that will make a lot of people angry. If you just ignore governments. That's anarchy.

Anarchy? Anarchy is another form of government. Is that the government you subscribe to? It's not mine. NO GOVERNMENT. Get it? No one has tried that. So why should it make people angry? We don't even know what it is? Now I'm changing the subject: if everyone shared, no one would go hungry.

Wha-

What's stopping them?Think of how many households are in the world. If each household put $1 in a pot, how much money would that make?

That. . . something like that could change things.

You know what else could change things?

What?

If you listened. Chaos sighed and kept squeezing.

--Ooooh. Yesss--

It is here. The new week is upon us. A new time. A time of changes and uncertainty. People cling to their comforts and are distrusting of the 'new' more than ever. Closer we draw to one another. We find that after the revelutions of information and technology, we have not brung peace to one another, but friction. This friction causes heat. The heat stirs the blood and makes mad the minds of people.

The political climate has shifted and coupled with the financial meltdown, has caused all politicians' heads to explode. The sheer force of the tremors coming from the capital has caused a rift. Time has collided with itself and had brought two brothers onto the stage for the contemporary world to see.

Cain v. Abel















"This is no field. Where have you taken us, Cain?" Abel turns. "What's that? Is that a club in your hand?"

"No matter where we are, I have taken you away to kill you. You will serve our God no more."

As Cain brings down his club, his brother reaches with both hands to stop the blow. Fierceness on their faces, they struggle with the club above their heads. Cain's teeth bare and are feral through his beard.

Wrestling on the green of the National Mall, they have already drawn a crowd. Tourists circle with cameras clicking and flashing. Somewhere in the distance, guards are blowing their wistles and coming closer.

The club is jostled out of their hands and fallen onto the floor. The brothers separate and crab walk in circles. Their dance of battle has taken them away from the strange new world around them. They do not think of what has become of their open plains and flocks of sheep and farms. What are these strange buildings and what strange people inhabit them. Cain instead focuses on his brothers blood, how sweet the ground would taste it. Abel, ever the holy son of Adam, prays to God for his strength.


















Abel says, "you've lost it, brother."

"I will kill you."

Cain lunges and they grab one another by the shoulders. In the air, the humidity of the Eastern United States fuses and lightning cracks the clouds. In the boom of its thunder the first sons of Adam are locked in struggle and vicious. Far off, President Lincoln sits watching this epic battle.

Spittle foams amongst the hairs of Cain's beard. Abel, awestruck by his brother's ferocity, is taken away from the moment for just a second and is disgusted by his brother's appearance. So beastly, he thinks. What devils have taken my parents' from their first home have possessed my brother today.

"Abba."

Cain hisses.

"Abba."

"This bodes ill for you, brother," Cain says. "He is not here. This is a forsaken place."

Cain overtakes Abel and pushes him to the floor. As Abel falls, he strikes his head against a stone. The fall bedazzles him. Abel looks to the United States sky now, completely removed, seeing the clouds stir dark and more lighting flash. The thunder boom ripples the sky. Lighting flashes again and he suddenly sees Cain's eyes. His brother has retrieved the club and weilds it over his head ready to strike.

"Brother," Cain says. "Remember this place of desolation. See these people watching us. Watching you die. No one comes to save you. No one speaks up. No one. No one."

"Really? No one? There's like, thirty people here."

"Yeah," Cain says. His face has dropped to a confused look. "Strange." Cain lowers his club and removes his foot from Abel's chest. Helps him up.

"What's really going on here?"

Cain looks out. He is numb now, not knowing what to make of it all. The strangeness of everything has just settled in.

The people are circling now. They surround the brothers taking pictures and pointing. Japanese tourists are speaking swiftly and their voices sound like stones cascading down a hillside.

"What are you doing?" Abel says.

Someone there speaks their language. A man in a business suit. "You guys are crazy."

"Crazy? I'm about to kill my brother and you do nothing."

"What's crazy is that I can't speak to God here." Abel's head is turned up and eyes focused to the sworling grey clouds. "What's going on, where are we?"

"You're trying to talk to God and you think we're crazy. This is America. Who are you anyway?"

"Cain."

"Abel."

"Crazy," the man in the suit says. "Come to the real world. We're dealing with crisis. No one can get a house anymore. Our money is losing value. It's harder to buy food."

"Money?" Abel says. "Is that like your word for Honor? Or Dignity?"

"What?" The man in the suit says.

"Your crops won't grow? Why don't you build your house?" Cain says. "There's no materials?"

"Build?"

A Japanese tourist approaches them. She smiles and her teeth are brown. "Excuse me. What is your name?"

"What did she say?"

The man in the suit says, "she wants to know your name."

"Cain."

"McCain!" The Japanese tourist says. Her companions rush them taking pictures.

"What the hell are they doing." Cain raises his club.

"It's okay. It's okay." The man in the suit is pushing the club back down. "They're taking pictures. Good God."

"God. Abba." Abel raises his hands to the sky.

" You still haven't answered me," Cain says. "Why can't you build your house?"

"Are you kidding? I don't know how to build a house."

"And you say we're crazy?" Cain scoffs and pushes the Japanese tourists away from him.

"Abba."

"Shut up, Abel." Cain looks at the man. "What kind of man are you? Can't build a house? I bet you can't grow your food or raise herds. My brother's a weakling and he can raise herds. Come on."

"You don't know. We're in a new age. The technology age. You're stuck in the past. I can get things done with just a push of a button."

"Yeah, but you can't build a house. You can't gather your own food. That's what you need right now and you can't do it. What good are your magic buttons and money?"

"He can't raise his own food? He can't herd? What kind of man is he?"

"Yes, Abel. I know. Stop looking at the sky and lets find some place where the people have their minds right."

Party people,

Within a few hours a concept has already flown in with feathers bustling and cawing loud enough to annoy the neighbors.

Now lets not lie to ourselves and believe that there are pieces of us we keep hidden. Both physical and metaphysical, mental and spiritual. We are exposed and naked. Today, party people, we're going to end with a bang and discuss Thievery.



We're not going to turn this into some abstraction today and bore ourselves until our heads explode. Let's begin with a story, since, that's what I do--

I spent a few years in Sacramento, CA while I went to college and I stayed in a house on the south side. Far south. So south that it wasn't even considered Sacramento, but unincorporated Sacramento. Sheriff territory.

Just by that description, you may get a notion that what I'm about to tell you is that the place was bad, which it was, that it was full of bad people, which it was, that it was flat and dry and dead and it isn't the first place you'd go to have a good time, which it was. But let me awaken your better senses. Thievery, robbery, the bad things in life don't just happen in the bad parts of the world. Party people, we're smart enough to know that we're exposed to this no matter where we are.

Coming back from school one day, with my wife who was my girlfriend at the time, I found that the garage door was open and my girlfriend's car, who is my wife now, her car was gone. Disappeared. And all the gut feelings came to me with the knowledge that everything that was in here, everything that told people who I was to some extent was exposed, ran through and some of it stolen.



That feeling tears into you and you're never the same. Still living in that house, I paid attention to every little creak, every voice that came from outside, every shadow moving, and I was kept in a perpetual alertness that never really faded. A list was made in my head of every potential weapon in the house. I had a hand axe in the room. There was Bataan sticks in the small closet downstairs, screwdrivers in a little box in the cupboard.

Scenarios played in my head. I'm upstairs and I hear glass break. Full of fear and anxiousness and vengeance and furious anger I move with the most deliberate and quiet of movements. I keep light on my feet while I wrap my hands around the axe handle. I hide behind the bookshelf and hear for the intruder. I hear the intruder creep up the stairs. The first door across the hall is open. There's the sound of rummaging. The next door is open and more rummaging. Then, my door. Come, you piece of filth. Come and meet the vengeance and furious anger.

This feeling followed me to wherever. It didn't matter whether it was in a neighborhood that looked bad, and by bad I mean poor. A few weeks later, I hear that my cousin's car is vandalized. A few weeks after that, the car is vandalized again. And he lived in the good part of Sacramento. The north side. So north and so good, and by good I mean rich looking, so good that they want to call it another city, Natomas.

So, what can we say about that? These things happen outside of location. These things happen outside of appearance.



Physical thievery is not the real case here.

When you live in a bad area and you drive everyday to the good area to go to school, you begin to see how things change. By that, I mean you see how the city or town or village is shaped and how the buildings and businesses are placed and the effect it has on your sensibilities.

Let's imagine this picture: a long stretch of road with powerlines and powerline towers running down the side of it. Coming from the south, you see this stretch of road roll through low level buildings, one story buildings, businesses with no windows that look all closed up with roller garage doors. Houses on the side of this main road have yards neglected, with fingers of yellow grass reaching out, and some windows are cracked and smashed. Walls that are supposed to shield the backyards of some houses, they are cracked and some have holes where a car obviously crashed into some late night of drunkenness. Fenced in fields of nothing. There are parking lots that are empty. And the power lines keep on going.



Then, the buildings change. There's a taller, stronger looking building, with reflective windows. This building has trees and landscaping surrounding its parking lot. The power lines then go into a central station and then vanish. You pass under a bridge. This bridge, party people, is the key part of it. This bridge is the first physical landmark that bisects Power Inn Road coming from the south. Then a magical thing happens:

Power Inn Road disappears and is replaced by Howe.

Such a grand mental theft. Those driving up definitely feel a change. You've left the bad area and come into the good area. There are trees and green. The buildings vary more in size and shape, there seems to be more people driving about, better looking people, in suites, what I mean to say is richer people.

Your sense of apprehension is taken away and replaced by the promise of safety and security. How many of you have seen this before? The city steals from you, not your sense that things are bad, but the sense that people are the same. Somehow, the city suggests, there is a different class of people past this bride than those who are behind it. People do different things on this side of town than on the other side of town. What then is encouraged is a practice of judgement based on appearance. What is encouraged is a practice of believing that different people belong on different levels and certain people are better than others. Certain places are better than others. Certain cultures are better.



Mental theft through the alteration of your surroudings is the hardest to discern because it happens and you don't immediately notice it. Often times you must attune yourself to seeing it and then actually evaluate what you are seeing. What made me so much better when I crossed the bridge and attended college than when I was walking down the street to the mailbox on the south side? What made my north side self better than my south side self?

It works both ways. Those who find a belonging to one area or another, take this perception on the self. We hear things like, "I'm from the bad part of Oakland. I know what's up." As if someone who wasn't from the same place as you doesn't know, or doesn't have the ability to really know. That person is an outsider. That person is not on your level. But, you're not a thug because you're wearing a stocking on your head (no matter how silly that may look).




And you're not a high class business man because you wear a high class business suite. Often times you can find yourself being a pirate just by stealing certain things from yourself, or letting things be stolen from you, and then believing that you're still whole. Or, you can learn from this experience.

The enemy that we do not see is the enemy that we should be the most aware of. The enemy that attacks us through ways other than violence is the most dangerous enemy of all.

Most importantly, the ignorance is just as dangerous as the intelligence.

Be safe, party people.

And one more promise: things aren't always as serious as this. Our journey will be fun. Stay tuned.