Herpetologist meets actress (Cameron Diaz).
If he's funny he's me.
South America or Africa (on location).
In a diamond mind.
The protagonists (lovers), the diamonds, the miners and the minders.
By minders we mean watchers, organizers, supervisors.
As all art must: choose a focus.
The personal is political said Cameron on the night bus to Quebec.
I had never met a girl so willing to make love in public.

To what extent is violence necessary? And
is that the essential question or
should violence be accepted as man's state, fate
a more essential question existing beyond or below
peace or war. Perhaps
the religious and (for the irreligious) sacred injunction
against egregious violence exists
to still ourselves
to open ourselves
to the deeper question. That Cameron Diaz is funny and beautiful
is hopeful. And the telescope and microscope have extended
the eye's appreciation. Under the microscope
Cameron becomes a collection of foreign, alien, uncompassionate,
      selfish, self-organizing
organisms. Frightening, inexorable, fascinating
to the scientist in you!

To the telescope
vanishingly small, infinitesimal as the farthest sun
only smaller
smaller by magnitudes of magnitudes of ten
and incinerated in a nanosecond. Gone
from the movie (photographs the contents of which move
for the naked eye).
I cannot help what I do or hope.

Anyway, it's a love story
or science project, socio-political documentary. An essay.
An essay about how it is actually impossible to say what you mean
but it is possible with a lifetime of meditation and study to shut up
and know what you meant.

Now I'm deaf.
I can see Cameron Diaz but not hear her.
The guy, the herpetologist, at first colorless turns out to be
colorful as a bird or snake!
He knows a lot about snakes, and birds! Not only how they mate
but what they eat
(amateur botanist)
where they rest
what they do with their pain. Do they get depressed?
Can they have guests?
How do they judiciously employ violence to organize and defend
the nest.

The international collective remains insufficiently organized
resulting in violence and threats of violence that interrupt
commerce, procreation (love) and the pursuit of happiness (Cameron
      Diaz)
at least for certain populations, sometimes.
Otherwise, most men, most times, live in peace excepting
flood or fire God or man may
choose to impose.
I lay in my bed and listen naked.
Have a good day (Diaz).
The goddess does not exist, except as bone.

Around this time (July)
the queen yellow jacket (redcoat) searches
blind and deaf
for a ledge or cavity to build a city of her descendants
safe, that they can defend.
Most cities
prosper, undisturbed
and sleeping peacefully, overwinter. We, however,
remain active, Cameron Diaz makes winter movies or
love stories in South America, and I
delight to imagine her herpetologist. Or one who
discovers the sun
around which a habitable, understandable, compatible
orb orbs. Or
maybe the movie's about the revolution, soldiers dying defending
this dictator or that dreamer
and the movie completely failing, not even trying, to explain how
the sons and daughters of the dying soldiers (miners) feel
fishing alone, hunting for wisdom, thereafter.
Sure, these men chose violence, not Cameron Diaz, and were not
farmers, botanists or herpetologists
their tools could have been and should have been the telescope or
      microscope
but are there enough microscopes and telescopes to go around
and did we not (taxpayers, moviegoers) encourage them to
defend Cameron Diaz?

Man's world is insufficiently organized to preclude violence
in allocating resources (Cameron Diaz).
When we invade Iraq
to defend our allies and interests
with rockets and rocket throwers, Rockettes and Cameron Diaz
each man (each Diaz) must make his
own individual choice
whether this war
is worth fighting for or the next or the worst.
Go to jail, go directly to waterboard, at the hands of
your local police, chamber of commerce.
Learn how to walk the desert and the universe.
The names of rocks and planets,
that being the only answer to the hyperorganization that is a cancer on
      our insufficient organization.

I was reading Foreign Affairs
The Case Against the West by Kishore Mabubami (Cameron Diaz).
How can I relinquish my privileged position
sit still, lie naked
until what constitutes consent of the governed and non-violent change,
      Cameron Diaz,
to her herpetologist
is known.

I asked a vegetarian
“why are you a vegetarian?”
and he said:
In an ideal
joy-and-happiness society
would we foster
empathy, caring and compassion
between all people?
If people are unempathetic, uncaring and uncompassionate
to animals
would people also be
unempathetic, uncaring and uncompassionate
to the human-animal?
Thereby destroying
joy-and-happiness society?
And if so,
should we be
empathetic, caring and compassionate
to all animals?

If farm animals
feel pain and suffering,
should we be empathetic, caring and compassionate
to them too?
And stop slaughtering them!

An uncompassionate crowd of 20,000
are tensely sitting in a stadium
bloodthirstily waiting for a cruel spectacle
they call a ‘bulllfight’
which is actually a ‘bull-harass-and-****’.
This brutal bloodsport
is celebrated as a national artform
in Spain
so the matadors (bullfighters) strut around proudly
in their suits of golden thread
to loud cheers and excited applause.

The bull, frightened suffering,
is harassed and killed in three stages:

The first stage is called ‘tercio de varas’
‘the lancing third’
when armoured-horse mounted lancers
use a long sharp lance
to spear the bull behind his shoulder muscles
to weaken the bull’s neck muscles
and begin the bull’s loss of blood;

The second stage is called ‘tercio de banderillas’
‘the third of banderillas’
when the matador attacks the bleeding-weakening bull
with banderillas (sharp barbed sticks)
stabbing the banderillas above the shoulder blades of the bull
to anger and agitate
the frightened bull fighting for his life.

The third stage is called ‘tercio de muerte’
‘the third of death’
when the matador baits the bull
with a red cape
then stabs the bull with a steel sword
aiming for his heart
but often missing
leaving the bull suffering multiple stab-wounds
bleeding, slowly miserably dying.

I wonder
when will this barbaric bull-harass-and-****
be banned in all nations?

You hold your deepest darkest secrets
You tuck them deep within
They hold your insecurities
They hold your guilts
Your sins
You tuck away the little things
Although they're small and trite
Because they are embarrassing
And others may not like
You hide away those thoughts you have that question your ideals
You drop them in that secret hole
To forget the way it feels
Those fragments of your fragile mind
Unorthodox and curious
You joke about it with your friends
When underneath you're serious
The road of introspection winds
with "stop" and "yield" and "caution" signs
To trust is to be vulnerable
To unveil the inconspicuous

What does one do when so compelled?
When that dark hole succumbs and swells?
When it begins to manifest itself
In snide remarks
In violent yells?
And what of the peculiar sort?
That only you yourself may hurt
If driven from that deep down hole
Might shake your world

Your very soul?

No wherewithal
How would you fare?
You can see the judgement
You feel the stares
Your mouth is dry as you're standing there
Undressed but fully clothed?
its possible that we share this fear
An outpouring of whats been repressed for years
To fall on uncompassionate ears?

My whole world would unfold.

some of these thoughts  
Some of these feelings
Sneak up on us without revealing
An answer or a premonition
And we need those
...Because we're human...
So its scary to come face to face
With that which feels so out of place
And try to figure out all on our own
If this feels right, if this feels wrong
But I digress to finally say
Hopefully you're able to one day
Dislodge some secrets from that pit
Before it swells

Just empty it

You have to find a caring ear
That's empathetic to what they'll hear
That can handle the grey, the fog and confusion
And help clear the waves of disillusion
To get some things from off your chest
And give your mind some well due rest
It's such a relief
Such comfort
a wealth
To for a moment
be fully
your unadulterated
Self.

You try to be quiet and not respond, they'll say anything negative to discourage you.
You try not to hurt people's feeling, you'll just become very vulnerable.
You try to care about others situations, they'll use you and will think that they can walk in and out of your life anytime they wanted.
You try to be generous, they'll treat you like a meal ticket.
You go out of your way to make friends, it will lead to disappointments.
You are willing to do things for them yet they won't do the same for you.
You ask yourself if you're good enough or you just showed your best parts and good deeds to the wrong people.
You try to be a good person. You try to be nice. You try. You should.

Because that's the way to go.

In the end you become lonely and empty. Like a fishing net down in the sea for hours, assuming to have great multitude of fish, not knowing that the net is completely broken.

What do we do? Repair the net? Improve the fish hook? Go from artificial bait to natural bait to see which technique catch more fish? No. You freaking stop fishing. That's what.

Happiness. Satisfaction. Gratitude. None of those comes out of it.
You've been trying to help and improve others situation in any way possible, and yours is not improving any soon. They'll think everything is okay about you, because you spread positivity. Not knowing that you need fixing too. Stop trying.

The hell with being a good person anyway. It's self infliction. In this
uncompassionate and ungrateful world where pride is at an all time high, you shouldn't be. How they treat you is how they feel about you.
Stop trying to maintain the 'good person' image. They don't even appreciate it. It's only good for other people. You have to talk back sometimes. Just do you. So then you can't complain about anything. You won't get disappointed, hurt and annoyed. In the end they'll still judge you.

Since when did anyone ever gain respect and appreciation for being 'nice' anyway? Nope. Used and Abused. That's what you get when you care about being careful, nice and compassionate to people. Makes me think that people don't know good when they see it.

***** it. I'm done putting a smile and giving people advice. No care for the world. Time to finally have fun in my way. I can only be nice for so long and maintain a good image for people to see. I'm not really good. I give up. Ended up with nothing but hate for unrequited love. Should we keep treating people good despite getting an opposite treatment?

Can discouragement and negativity really deprive a 'good person' from being good?
Can you really be the love you never received?
I don't know. You tell me.

I guess that's the definition of a strong moral character.

I am allowed to fight for me
It doesn't make me uncompassionate
It doesn't make me selfish
It doesn't make me less than enough
It makes me strong
It makes me proud
It makes me brave
I am allowed to fight for me
Because I am worthy of being fought for
Because I need to take care of myself first and foremost
Because I deserve a hero like me

There are no grains
of golden sand
to be seen
upon this black and burning beach
where we once spent our honeymoon.
In Ostia.

The brutal sun,
so uncompassionate,
that desiccates our skin
and burns the unshod feet
that venture on that dirt-black sand
in Ostia.

Why should one choose
to indurate the body
in such an unappealing
coastal strip that serves
as beach to Romans who betake themselves
to Ostia.

Particularly since
It’ll cost ya.

Iron-clad sentinels patrol the thoroughfare,
Shielding medics engaged in germ-warfare.

Quiet playgrounds and deserted streets,
Bear testimony of Mankind's retreat.

Stalking the unwary and promising Death,
Masked in the shadows lurks the unseen Threat.

Amidst frantic probes to discover its Mark,
It crosses over into the Dark.

A mutation, a faceless feature,
A deadly parasitic Creature.

An egotistic species it can Decimate,
Should Its numbers in society Escalate.

Sinisterly hosted within the living who appear Immune,
The Vulnerable are Its intended commune.

With many Isolated and feeling Deserted,
Anger and Bitterness  will be nurtured.

As Reasoning deteriorates,
Extreme prejudice will escalate.

Into a world of floundering Humanity,
It will rain down Calamity.




Come closer, closer…..
Observe through my Twisted,
Uncompassionate eyes.
NOW, what you Realise,
Will leave you Paralysed.

I am Silently sealing the final page,
Of my glorious Rampage.

This is my crimson CONFESSION.

I am sterile of Empathy,
Dead to Sympathy.

A Master of Illusion,
I will sow Confusion.

As Humanity pleads,
I will Recede.

Granting a period of Grace,
I briefly Gift humanity its “Normal Pace”.

Mankind will naively declare,
“The battle is Won”.

But slithering in the Shadows,
I will rob you off your Precious,
One by One.

Realise this is no FALLACY,
Upon your Dead,
I will inscribe my Legacy.