All thoughts were my own now, all choices my own. Since spurned by the world for something higher within me, I wondered about that something. I could feel it in me and now, being like a newborn babe myself, the only outward form that I had to personify it with were these mythical baby birds. It felt like the Man was leading me to my own soul. It was a flimsy, utterly silly mental construct on my own part, but it was all I had so whether I actually believed or not didn’t really matter. The idea of the baby birds lived in the soft recesses of my mind. The baby birds gently destroyed the rough edges of the world’s sad truths, which had slyly maneuvered me into nothingness. If I were to deny the Man his quest I would be denying the only gift that God, who I had barely given a thought to over the past few years, had shoved into my hand, so to speak, right when I needed it, right when I was going down. Not only that, I think it gave me something to do. I don’t think I was suicidal while sitting on that log in the desert outside of the park, but I was changing. Hatred was washing around in my head, reforming it into something I’m not sure I would have been able to change. The Man pulled me up out of a nosedive and for this, I realized, I was extremely grateful.
Peace Not War
War
Chapter 1
…
The war is cold. It plays downward. Ever drooping. Embarrassing to your average man, but there, (proud) and fit. War.
Chapter 2
The war is hot. Tempers flare. We will win. We will win. We will Win win we will will when we win war we will win we will win war war war we will win. Win. We. Will. Win. Win. Never say lose. Never say die. Never say die. Never say never. Never. The existentialists predicament. Love. Boring anymore. The commercials are wearing off. The community is too dangerous with those cars hurtling around everywhere. Plastic storefronts to enter and be watched, eyed. Campfires prohibited. The protesters sitting on the curb kicking stones thinking about moving out of the country. Lost dogs still roam oblivious to it all. No war. No war. No war.
Chapter 3
In the beginning Man tried to get along but they failed miserably. They didn’t know what to do. One day man conked another man on the head with the jaw of an ass. The asses jaw, the one doing the conking, fell to the ground as did the man whose noggin had been so brutally accessed. War had begun because the one guy had a brother. So there you have it. The history of war. The brothers of those guys killed in war. A never ending battle. Then we put the word “God” up there and give GOD a bad name. Not what would Jesus do, but what would GOD do. For GOD so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son. Jesus too was GOD for he was his son, Allah’s prophet, guiding his people to a destination they all could agree on. Jesus Christ showing his people that love can solve all problems. It was all supposed to work out great until that conk happened and the people forgot about all of that stuff and only started thinking about it when a symbol was needed to charge forth and conk more poor saps on the head whose brother, of course, puts down his workman’s tools and picks up a rifle and a bomb instead. Terrorism. What a concept. Who started it? Well, the terrorist has always started everything. All the time. This does not compute. Blankness of war of who started it can you feel the black? The world is not alright when there is no next step. Hatred blackens your heart. Kill that man? Yeah right, his brother and then the brother of the man the brother just killed. Cut em in half. This type here. That type there. Aren’t we all people first? War doesn’t think so. It has theories on the evil of mankind. War. War sucks.
Chapter 4
Peace or else. The next concept. Of the air peace. Without what? Doing what? What? What? No sound, found. Man must practice goodness to everybody especially his enemies. To a Christian this is a command. Those who practice dubious aggressions are definitely not Christians. An American is more than any of the Europeans had ever quite become. They splintered off and became their own type of people somehow and it is rugged and macho. The Mexican culture is much the same way. Canada is slightly more European. Europe is European. Greece is Grecian. Rome is Roman. Palisreal is a new Palestinian/Israeli configuration that works remarkably well. And bin Laden? Well. Let’s save that for the next chapter.
Chapter 5
bin Laden. What a concept. He has the mistique of a Saladin. He is the modern day Man on the Mountain with his many assassins. What to do? My instinct is to communicate. Communicate at least. Have an argument somehow and come to a conclusion using the context of morality. If his morals convince you that he was right for blowing up the World Trade Center then he and his cause win and can have whatever they want. If he fails to convince you then he must live with that knowledge that his theories may be faulty and you walk away a free man. After that it is a matter of pulling the pockets of the rich inside out to fund peace organizations whose sole purpose is to come up with solutions that promote peace. Make people happy and they will stare down their bulldog. This is what we need.
Chapter 6
But do not import culture. Make these places off limits to American products unless approved by the People of their countries. Give out a rating system for American media that adheres a little more closely to their moral standards. We Americans must remember that we were born from the craw of many industrialists and that our access to television and media has been much greater than some other peoples in the world. Many of our “enemies” I’m sure don’t even own a t.v. at all. Sow seeds that are at least loving. Forgive if you expect to be forgiven. No one culture is really any greater than any other.
Chapter 7
Forgive bin Laden? War. War. War. War. War….(this mantra is what overtakes the American people when the subject of forgiveness comes up. The eternal holding on to the most violent methods (war) because we cannot even forgive enough to look at the villain, to talk to him, is what perpetuates war. We seek only to destroy him, but in fact we could have bin Laden’s trial right now, today if we would only confront him and ask him “Why did you do that?”
Chapter 8
At that point I would think it is a matter of simply looking down the list and see what we agree and what we don’t agree with. Perhaps we need to compromise in this world We too used huge amounts of violence to make our point. Now we are waiting for bin Laden to strike again, then of course we’ll probably end up taking out the Cayman Islands by accident. We’ll be like monkeys with machine guns. After which bin Laden’s brother sets out to kick your ass. Once more. The circle of life and death whenever people have brothers be it familial or friend.
Chapter 9
War. What more is there. We say no don’t do it and then they do it. No war we say. But then they do it. What do we know so far. We know that war is not a Christian concept therefore anybody who begins a war is seeking about for change in a non-Christian matter. The soldiers are innocent. They are not expendable either. Two more soldiers died in Iraq today when a roadside bomb exploded under their vehicle near Tikrit. Well, at least it’s not three. Cest la vie!
Chapter 10
The last chapter to this little soiree on war. My advice is that you give up all of your land to the poor. Raise carrots. Take guns away from monkeys and ask the good lord if there is anything other than salt on his plate that he could give the poor shmoes whose tempers get away from them and hit people over the head with asses jaws who have brothers. War needs meaning and death gives it to it. Suicide is sister to war. She stalks the lonely and seemingly undeserving. Stewing. The inner vision out. Lets make the world a nicer place so those folks, the Attas of the world, realize that he too could be loved in a world ruled by love and not hate. Peace and not War.
perhaps…
Perhaps we keep each other up, hence the world, when we are kind to one another.
Put away your wars.
welcome from the howling hills
I am back from the howling hills of the places where the hills roll and the wind blows. Out there there is no here here. In here there is no there and vice versa although you could check with my agent first and i doubt that he’ll tell you anything because he’s in florida anyway visiting his sister, who is sick or something. I don’t know. Figure if your stuck in here that you might as well make the most of it. Till Kantrowitz gets to you. That Kantrowitz. Who are you? You don’t know till Kantrowitz tells you who you are because its his book. Make a living as an idea, they say, because they need you and you know its the only thing you’re really good at, but the work is hell and you miss where you came from and its just all around not that great. The work is not all that great.
the work is not all that great by Albert Jones 2013
The Fargo Kantrowitz'z Literary Campsite 