The Boston Hunger Games (4th and inches)

Find a boat and get low. Really low.

If your watching it, its for you.

I.

No doubt you were far too smart to see yourself as gleefully cheering on the Hunger Games last Friday. Captivated as the brothers were hunted, chased, shot at, run over, blown up, injured and killed. Like the remaining 2 minutes of the 4th quarter in the Super Bowl you were wise enough not to see your own pathetic existence (or the lack of it) as the reason for your rapt attention. The premiere was commercial free. Lucky you.

Did you follow it on cable? Twitter maybe? The savvy among you tuned in the Boston Metro Police scanner feed. If your over 45 you ignored your children’s howling until the networks broke in. The word online was that this event was the death of the Main Stream Media, who were behind the first twittered events by several hours and even when they decided to go live they looked like that drunken uncle who, also missing fingers from the great war, was trying to get his ipad dongle into the proper port. 

Like watching an exploding fertilizer plant, you just couldn’t pull yourself away. Good thing you are not fooled as you would have seen the symptom of your illness. At least this didn’t occur in a city like Los Angeles. The cops there would have leveled the neighborhood and burnt the suburbs down while gang banging your sister Katniss. But you didn’t listen to Dorner so that point is mute.

II.

When did cowering in your houses because an inept 19 year old was on the loose, then emerging from your self inflicted prison with a 10 second video of gunshots in some far off distance, then blessing your captors and going off to get drunk become #Boston Strong? What fucking backwards universe does one exist in for any of that to equate to perseverance, strength and resilience?

“Hey, fuckface! We were stuck in our houses all day watching CNN. That takes intestinal fortitude!!”

No doubt. Look, I get that your car was blocked in by the SWAT truck and your favorite watering hole was closed due to 18 media trucks backed in against the front door but lets not pretend your heroes ok. Two generations ago they would have grabbed a bat and took to the streets. Today we grab our smartphones and pray there is enough Doritos in the pantry. Oh fuck! There is only 1 Coke Zero left...

III.

The suspect, Dzhokhar A. Tsarnaev, 19, was found hiding in a boat just outside the area where the police had been conducting door-to-door searches all day, the Boston police commissioner, Edward Davis, said at a news conference Friday night.

“A man had gone out of his house after being inside the house all day, abiding by our request to stay inside,” Mr. Davis said, referring to the advice officials gave to residents to remain behind locked doors. “He walked outside and saw blood on a boat in the backyard. He then opened the tarp on the top of the boat, and he looked in and saw a man covered with blood. He retreated and called us.” - NYT

If it takes you hours to drive somewhere, set up and then knock someone down, you probably didn't need to knock him down. Not that Tsarnaev didn't deserve it, but in truth knocking him down was the boat owners right, not the police's. Read that again. The police have a partial monopoly on power because they promise us to use it judiciously, when necessary-- but we often forget that we humans retain a special right for scenarios, like the scenario of a homicidal maniac hiding wounded in a boat. That guy you're allowed to hit, if you can.

The point here is not that the owner should have tackled him.  The point is the more police get to use our right of force, the more we become afraid, or even forget, to use it ourselves. Remember that it was a citizen disobeying the police state that finally found the kid. None of the gadgets and overwhelming presence found him. That show was for you dear spectator. But, the result is that the tenuous balance of power between citizen’s and police’s use of force slowly becomes a monopoly. And an expensive monopoly at that. 

IV.

When Nietzsche said "God is dead" he meant that God is not necessary any more for our morality.  When he says we killed God, he means that our science, skepticism, education, have pushed us past the point where believing in miracles is possible; but (and this is a biggie) as a consequence of this loss we are now lost, we have no goals, no aspirations, no values.  God may have been made up, but believing in him at least  gave us a reason to progress forward.

The resulting nihilism requires us to either despair, return back to medieval religion, or look deeper within us and find a new source of human values.

Yet... none of those things happened.

The post-modern twist is that we didn't kill God after all: we enslaved him. Instead of completely abandoning God or taking a leap of faith back to the "mystery" of God; instead of those opposite choices, God has been kept around as a manservant to our baser drives.  We accept a "morality" exists but secretly retain the right of exception: "Yes, murder is wrong, except in this case I am justified.” There is always a justification when the narcissus strikes.

V.

But no one likes to see the consequences of abstract philosophy played out on the streets of Boston, so I'll just offer you some advice. The full of rage narcissists’ are the most violent not when they are insulted or attacked or hated but when they are abandoned to objective reality, the one that doesn't comply with their mirroring demands. You don’t bomb a marathon because you are stoked about Chechen independence but because no one takes you seriously and your own family thinks your a loser. Most likely because, well, you are. Now, you say, we will show them. Such a person invariably is backed by an enslaved God, which means all things are possible. Nothing is immoral, at least, not in this case...

See how this works? No? Read slowly. “But...in this case...It’s okay because...”

Ah, those words presuppose an even higher law than the one that says, "thou shalt not."  That God-- which isn't a spiritual God at all anymore but a voice in your head-- the one that examines things on a case by case basis, always rules in favor of you the individual, which is why he was kept around in the first place. Thank god. 

“Bombing innocents...Hiding on my sofa....not running a fertilizer plant safely are okay IN THIS PARTICULAR case because...”

And so we spend the time between now and the next commercial free, explosion packed manhunt debating the reasons that come after the word ‘because’ and debating about the idiots who are debating. Its a ratings bonanza. I guess we like to think it matters. We pick sides. Post screeds on Facebook and sleep like the heroes we just know deep down we really are.

N.

Earth, Wind and Fire (And also, lube)

This might be a long shot but I can’t shake that burning feeling that something was there.

You were pouring gasoline on “that bastards” clothes. Your words, not mine. Said he had “done you wrong for the LAST time.” I was moved by your singleness of purpose, sheer determination and also the gas fumes.

You did all of this while smoking. I like me a girl that lives on the edge. You carried more hastily filled garbage bags of clothes out to the curb. This is where I met you as I was parked just a tad to close for my taste to a women dousing things with petrol products.

You asked me if I had a lighter. The way you spoke without removing the cigarette captivated me. I wanted to ask you if you realized what a boner you were giving me right now but you were too impatient to wait for any kind of response.

“WHO THE FUCK HAS A LIGHTER?” You asked the small crowd gathering nearby. “Try the lit cigarette in your mouth.” Came a quiet, deadpan reply from someone undetermined.

You threw the marlboro atop the gas drenched bags and clothes, and it promptly went out. 

“SON. OF. A. BITCH.” You disappeared back into your residence. Faint noises of items crashing, curse words and then a “AHA!”. Your breasts bounced and swayed as you marched back towards your volatile homemade curb side appeal. Clearly you meant business. 

Now, I will say that I knew that the can of WD-40 you held was a lubricant. In fact the WD stands for water displacing. I am also familiar with the 40th formula’s potential as a flamethrower when sprayed and then ignited. What I was not prepared for was the instantaneous combustion of all the gas soaked material at your feet. Neither were you apparently, hence the 2nd degree burns and the ambulance.

Still, I’m pretty sure you are the one. I have watched my share of some sick ass porn but never, ever, have I seen breasts on fire quite like yours were. I would have fondled them while helping put out the flames but I had to back up the Honda to protect it from the inferno. I’m sure you understand. 

But, I can’t look at my rusty barbecue grill out back anymore without thinking about you. Every time I hear an insect zapped by a bug light, my thoughts of you are re-ignited. My heart is ablaze for you. And, I found a jacket by the curb that wasn’t singed and guess what? Not only does it fit (!) A lighter was in the pocket. I think God’s trying to tell me something. 

“Gonna tell a story morning glory all about the serpentine fire”

N.

System of the down

Advertising always advertises advertising

I.

There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists, until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. Fear or revere me, but please, think I'm special. We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The hip-hip-hoo-fucking rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond, because we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.... - Jake Green

II.

The Matrix is a system. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it. -Morpheous 

III.

Marshall McLuhan was right: Narcissus didn’t see himself in the water.  Sure, he saw the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Thats a given. But he mistook his image for something other than his own. He didn’t think it was himself. He just thought it was beautiful. And he dies, lost in this beauty. His epic mistake was not that he was self-absorbed, but rather that he didn’t realize he was self-absorbed in his own image.  

McLuhan’s suggestion seems to be that if Narcissus had realized that it was his own image in the water, that he was lost in his own reflection, he could’ve managed his situation a little better and moved out of the way. If he’d known that he was fascinated with himself he could’ve saved himself from his mythic mistake. One is tempted to say that we are Narcissus and media technology is our reflection in the pond.

 Learn from Narcissus: The content is a distraction. The medium carries a message- because the medium is the message. Like a light bulb that enables people to create spaces during nighttime that would otherwise be enveloped by darkness. The light bulb is a medium without any content. A light bulb creates an environment by its mere presence.

Likewise, the message of a newscast about a heinous crime may be less about the individual news story itself — the content — and more about what the system wants.

IV.

“Fuck your system N. I’m well aware of the game.”

Sure you are Flavor flav. You can’t fight the power until you know who is the powers that be. Schools in session.

First, start with a single individual, and eliminate value words like “purpose” and “unintended consequences.” If a guy cheats on his girlfriend in a way that likely could get him caught, one might say, “well, he wants to get caught.”

Now add a few more individuals. I want an ipad, but I can’t afford the $10,000 it would cost to have it made in America AND generate to Apple the same supposed profit of $200/ipad, so then the ipad has to be made in China with cheaper labor. So while one can say, “the consumer wants an ipad,” and “Apple wants $200 in profit per ipad” the sum of those wants is... “the system”.

 “The system wants cheap Chinese labor.”  The system doesn’t want it because it’s awesome, it wants it because it added up the wants. This is the aggregate outcome.

To be clear, the fact that you, the savvy global ipad consumer doesn’t “want” cheap Chinese labor is irrelevant. All of their choices (read:actions) want cheap Chinese labor. You can say the same about renewable energies, porn, and better primetime programming, or just something that everyone says they “want,” yet all of their choices sum up to the system’s want: the system wants to protect the oil industry. The CEO of BP isn’t to blame, you are. The system wants Two broke girls to be a smash hit. CBS isn’t to blame, you are. 

 If the system wants cheap female labor, how would we change the system? Only by wanting different things. Simply, if the majority of women wanted to work less, that would be the game. But the majority of women do want to work less, but they also want to buy X, Y, Z aspirational products, and they want X,Y,Z way more then they want to work less. If you sum up those “wants,” and add in the wants of Nordstrom’s, Nine West, Amazon, Whole Foods, Visa and Mastercard, etc, and throw in what the media wants, then it is technically correct to say: the system wants women to become batteries. Cheaper, longer hour batteries.

V.

So Neo, the final twist to this otherwise simple addition is that what you want is often taught to you by that very system.  For example, in running through the above, what you didn’t say was, “maybe I don’t want an ipad.”  That thought cannot occur to you…. because the system wants it.  And while you “argue” about which tablet is the best, which party you will vote for, which craigslist ad is surely all about you:  the system proceeds unmolested because the system wants all the above. No, I’m not saying the illuminati run anything. Unless by illuminati you mean the reflection in the pool of water. Which then means the principalities and powers are legion.

Everything you want is selected, interviewed, packaged, framed, edited, bought, by many people who aren’t you, doing these things for their reasons irrespective of what your intent may be. But the direction of all wants added together is the direction we are going. 

N.

Your dog bit me (So, lets have sex.)

There I was, minding my own business and bam! Out of nowhere she is suddenly in my grill. 

“Get off my lawn! OMG! Are you pissing on my bushes?? I’m calling the cops.” The little Shitzu was yelping at my feet and trying to smell my pee. I shook, repackaged and zipped up.

Me extending hand: “Your quite attractive. You really don’t need the dog as a conversation starter. I say drop him off west of 9th street. My names Narcissus. Didn’t catch yours.”

You snorted thru your nose. “Are you kidding me? Get off my.... Yes, hello, 911? I have an intruder. On my lawn. What? Hold? No I will not hold. I’m a six figure salary white women!!” 

Six figures got my attention. “Well that explains the SUV, Romney decals and the annoying Shitzu. Way to use your girl power to be original.”

“His name is bankster, and I will have you know that I busted my ass for all this and I sure as hell didn’t do it so vagrants like you could just piss all over it!” 

“You busted your ass all right and for longer hours with less pay. The system won. You think its about equality sister? Try labor costs. You sacrificed family so they could get you cheaper. And you think thats progress? Divorce, bad parenting, Ambien addiction...Of course the bright side is bad parenting is responsible for 90% of my dates.” 

“Hello? Yes. A man exposed himself on my lawn. And is still here. Send everyone.”

“Now thats a stretch. A little wee wee after too much drinking is all. I mean the urine was a little. Not my wee wee. Thats not little. But you already know that. Starring pretty hard too I noticed...” A wink, a nod and a trigger finger gesture, for effect

“You. You bastard. You drunken deviant hipster...”

 I interrupted and took a step towards her. “Hipster? How dare you! Lets dispense with the foreplay. I think you are secretly hoping I take your capitalist MILF ass round back and bang the Fox and Friends-rapture-Jesus right out of your vagina hole. Am I right?” I gave a thumbs up to the Shitzu. The faint but all too familiar whine of sirens drifted into my frontal cortex. 

You seemed to fall backwards and as you did so released the 8 ounce hound - who promptly bit me. I know this because it was stuck to my sneaker by, what I assumed must be, the teeth. A minor inconvenience. You scuttled up the many steps and slammed the door.

So, I checked myself out in the mirror of the SUV (never looked better!) and made my way down the street. I shook the dog off 3 houses down. We bail you and your banker friends out and this is the thanks we get? Geesh. Yea, your welcome.

N.

Caught in the rain (Revis)

I was caught in the rain, wasting my time on the ground.

Trading thoughts - across the room - you were surrounded. But it was you who could get me high. I slipped my backpack off and cooly assembled my lonely gear. 

Laptop. Cord. Coffee. I pretended to check my cell for texts but as I already knew, there were none.

I lingered. As if reading something profound. And I continued the charade of deep thought in order to give an impression and to not appear as looking to see who was looking. 

That would be desperate and pathetic.

When our eyes did meet a small cosmic waved rolled through me. You were looking over his shoulder. His back to me. Your wandering gaze telegraphed to me like the frantic morse code of a shipwrecked survivor. Or that part in horror movies when they try to grab a phone instead of making a run for the door. Its over before it has begun.

Still, its like a mutual acknowledgment. If we were in different circumstances, this might get interesting. I remove my jacket which allows you to preview my tattoos. The one on my right upper arm seems to get your attention whenever you can sneek a peek. I chuckle into my go juice. 

The laptop fans wisp and hum as pirated data streams and clogs up the processor. At 60 degrees the 2nd fan kicks on and several non vital programs are suspended to lighten the load. All of this in nano seconds. Intervals of time that are imperceptible to humans. Much like the rain changing to snow. Much like your potential filled gaze changes to walking out the door, hand in hand with the man whose back I saw. It all just was... and then it wasn’t. Echo used to tell me stuff like that all the time. 

N.

Under the black flag (ahoy me pirates)

The heroes you should be following...

The heresy of Napster has become the orthodoxy of Spotify.

I.

As rebels against a social order that is oppressing them, those who turn to piracy are critiquing the economic and political systems that have seen them disenfranchised. It was precisely in the emerging capitalism of the 17th and 18th centuries – in the golden age of exploration, where empires fought to expand their dominions and wealth by exploiting colonies – that we saw the golden age of piracy too. Fed up with making greedy princes and merchants rich through plunder, they decided to rob from the plunderers.

II.

Somali piracy can be read in this light too, and one interesting episode is worth noting. The French luxury yacht Le Ponant was captured in 2008 by a group of pirates. 

Le Ponant was the picture of the good life: a mixed crew of young men and women, sailing a fabulously luxurious boat to the Med to pick up passengers – with a good chef and plenty of wine on board. When captured, the crew hid the women of the boat in the bows, but, unable to last out they emerged after a few days. 

The pirates were furious, as William Langewiesche described in his article for Vanity Fair: (http://tinyurl.com/ahrmsq)

“We do not touch women! We want money!” Referring to himself and his men, he said, “Robbers! Not terrorists!” Ahmed escorted the group aft to the luxurious lower lounge, where he ordered that the women be provided with water and food. When the water arrived, he sent it back for being lukewarm.

III.

Further, the supposedly picture-perfect scene that the pirates had disturbed was not quite what it seemed. Le Ponant was registered in the far-flung French protectorate of Wallis and Fatuna. This meant that they could fly the French flag – very nice for the tourists – but didn’t have to abide by any French employment or tax laws. As Langewieshe describes conditions for the crew:

The wages were low, the hours were long, and no retirement benefits were provided. During rotations ashore there were no wages at all. These terms were non-negotiable. They stemmed from the culture of a global shipping industry which over the past 60 years has pursued profit and efficiency in part by ridding itself of labor unions, and more fundamentally by freeing itself from the constraints of the nation-state and its laws.

So, although they initially feared for their lives when attacked, one could say that the crew were in some respects more free during that time of occupation than they were under the oppressive regime of their employers. For those of you who enjoy eating paint, I’m saying the crew were treated better by the pirates than their bosses. A tough sell, sure but either way, this leads us to a clue about why pirates remain so fascinating to us and threatening to the powers that be: they offer us a life that is more free.

IV.

The pirate life was a short one by all accounts, but it at least had the advantage of liberty – and merriment. For those living in the shadow of St Paul’s cathedral in 1741 London, reading Captain Johnson’s bawdy book on pirate exploits was an escape from the drudgery of their pretty grim lives. Working like dogs, with the twin powers of the merchants and the priesthood ready to pounce of them if they stepped out of line, here was a breath of fresh air – a short and merry life by proxy. Pirates enthrall us in the same way. 

For those aboard the naval ships. Piracy provided the first glimpse of freedom, equality and notoriety. Women, slaves, handicapped and children could now be seen as equals and live (albeit short) lives of dignity. 

V.

The history of pirates that you have been taught has been written by their powerful victims and eventual conquerers. Its high time mate-tees that you sail away from the safe and corrupt and back into the dangerous high seas. Pirates are the logical and inevitable extension of controlled commerce; extremely skilled, and often navigated the shipping lanes with more knowledge and flexibility than even the military.  They worked for themselves, or they worked for the state, as the situation arose.

In the new world order, shipping is the internet; the goods are data. Just ask Napster and Anonymous.

N.

Kristy McNichol... (Say it isn't so)

Kristy McNichol. Famous child/teen actor and object of my early formative coming of age years. Why? Why baby why?

I first saw you in 1977 in a ABC After school special. You were in a halter top. While I was still too young to sport wood, I was instantly in love with you and halter tops and have remained so over these many years.

Oh, how I used to spank it raw with you. Your smiling face filling my parents floor unit, furniture sized television. These were the days when cable was still new and my father almost beat me to death once when I spun the dial too fast changing the channel for him. Yes, we were living remote controls.

But all that went away when you came on screen my little 5’-3” goddess. I learned how NOT to use my mothers shampoo and conditioner for yanking as it burns the urethra. Indeed, we shared that milestone moment. I humped pillows, mattresses, box springs, socks, couches, cushions and teddy bears. All in your honor and as practice so that when I did finally enter you, I would be good at it. Experienced. Suave. 

Sure, its been years since the last time I ground one out for you. And yes, I admit in 1983 I cheated on you with Barbara Edwards. In my defense I had just discovered playboy and she was playmate of the year. Dammit, playmate of the year! What was a young boy to do? Yes, I ruined an entire set of my mothers decorative towels on her but she meant nothing to me. Nothing! It’s you I loved.

Besides, after “The night the lights went out in Georgia” your drug habit took over and the movie career tanked. 

I waited as long as I could. Right up til 1984 when the neighbor girl turned horny and needed someone to practice on. I learned more about mono than I did sex from her but alas, that was the end of us.

I should have waited for you. I know, I’m slime. Lower than slime. And I knew I was to blame when I read that you had recently come out as a Lesbian. I get that. You waited as long as you could for me as well. And if you couldn’t have me, well, there just wasn’t any point in having dick at all.

I’ll never forget those early innocent, awkward, silly days we shared together. 

N.

Hypatia (Alexandria)

You: Wheel chair bound. Missing a leg. Cute. Me: Horny.

You called me David even though my name isn't David nor does it sound like David. You kept saying I reminded you of a guy who slept with your sister but whom you forgave when they bought you a new, hallowed out prosthetic leg that you could keep your booze in. 
You asked me several times, quite loudly I might add, if still had that weird mole next to my ball sack and does it still burn when I pee.

I for my part exclaimed that I didn't know you but considered that a great loss. In a world full of women who all jam to the same crappy three songs, all redone and rereleased as new every 6 months or so, you were a gem. 
In town of spectators, you at least were playing and playing as if it mattered. You said you didn't understand a word I said but presumed it to be a compliment. You wondered aloud if I did anything useful with the long arrogant sentences I spoke in. 
I was most curious if you like to be beaten with the leg while taking it doggie. We both were serious and we laughed as others nearby scooted further away. 

The bus driver interrupted our chat with a hard stop and dull announcement. "6th and Jefferson". A soda can rattled across the floor as people shifted out of the bus, including you. 

"Goodbye David. Try not to think so much. Live a little. We go round the sun not vice versa. And get some antibiotics for the drippy dick."

I laughed thru my nose and watched you wheel yourself away.

N.

Sun Tan Shitty (Always about the brown and green)

I rolled into the Sun Tan City for one purpose and one purpose only. And no, It wasn't for the heat lamps. I'm naturally dark skinned. It was to finish what I started. 

The warm weather on Saturday had me enjoying a little cruising in the Honda. We made eye contact in the parking lot and your smirk said enough to fill a Grisham novel. So I turned around and pulled in behind you at the tanning salon. As you locked your door and juggled your phone and purse you shot me another look. The smirk was gone. Replaced now with a smile. Genuine and hypnotic. I was under your spell. You added further temptation by shaking your cute ass in the tight leggings that leave little to imagine. And of course the boots. 

I'm not a stalker so I wrote down your license just in case we lost each other before following you into what can only be described as the mecca for white girls who want to be mexican without the machismó. Next census will have a orange category for race.

Your backward glance had my UV bulb protruding and you asked for your normal booth which quite accurately was called the 'melanoma'. A stand up unit. I had no idea they made such things. I quickly came up your rear.

Turning, you yanked down my pants and asked how much I wanted to spend. Spend? I asked if you were a hooker and you quickly corrected me with, "No, an escort. So whats it gonna be?" You popped one of my balls out of your mouth like a gobstopper. 

"I have $20."

"$20? Shit." She dropped my erect fluorescent ballast and stood. "You can play with my ass for $20. Just don't touch my asshole."

Which I immediately understood as exactly what I should do. So after several seconds of caressing her lumps I plunged my long middle finger as far as I could into her pristine bunghole. Even gave a twist.

In retrospect, I should have considered that it was well past lunchtime. Yea, hindsight is 20/20. Because what followed her shriek was a 160 watt explosion of shit. I jumped back crashing bulbs and glass as a shit storm of tornadic brown covered everything. 
I crawled backwards into the lobby as you cursed and broke even more glass. Bulbs were popping like fireworks and bronze women were running in every direction and covering their mouths. A solarium nightmare. 

It was then that I realized I still had my $20. Fuckin A! I casually walked to the honda. Not a drop on me. It's good to be me.

But I feel bad. Really, I'm tore up over the fact that you didn't get my name or number. I was gonna write it on the $20 but, well, never mind that. How about when your lacerations heal you hit me up? Same place? Lets meet BEFORE eating, yes?

N.

Black Maria (Someones at the door)

We met in the paddy wagon. You were complaining about your zip cuffs being to tight. I told you how to sit to ease the pressure and you thanked me. The goosebumps on your smooth long legs called to me. The house we were partying in was raided just as things were getting good. By good I mean, no one was assaulting me or asking me to leave, yet. Then the front door went down and so did my boner. Anyway, you smelled delicious. Probably a Neutrogena moisturizer. Simply splendid. You were not in the booking cell long, most likely due to no priors and your wealthy white parents. But I'll pretend not to notice though. I'm just now smelling fresh air. People have no idea just how rank jails smell. 

I can hear you onlookers say, 'so don't go there'. Right. Because you are so holy and righteous. Truth is, you just haven't been caught yet and the system, looking a lot like you, hasn't noticed you. Yet. So lecture me when you have the sack to step out from the herd and live a little. As for my zipped tied goddess, I roam now incomplete and dazed, awaiting the strike of lightning once more.

N.