“Role”

Pt. 1: “Nameless”

Pt. 2: “Nightmares”

Pt. 3: “Respite”

Pt. 4: “Illusion”

            Approximately thirty seconds after climbing into the Mercedes, Laine’s brain caught up with her. Jon Gold was not a person she knew in any but the broadest sense of the term. He had no reason she could see for doling out assistance. Especially at his own risk. If not for the initial bewilderment of shots fired in so public a place, she would never have ventured down that corridor with him. Moreover, how and why had he acted with greater speed than her security team? A missing link stood out glaringly among the facts of the action, and she had a strong feeling its name was “Joe.”

            It all came down to money, assuming she had the right of it. What she had overheard hinted strongly at a criminal exchange of dollars for services rendered that resulted in more dollars for both involved parties. It could not have anything to do with standard donations to the charity; otherwise, why would the man have acted so concerned about retaining anonymity? Most of the high-roller brand wanted recognition for contributing serious amounts of cash to worthy causes. And if the charity was so strapped for funds, why hadn’t she heard anything about it before? Most condemning of all, however, was Joe’s mention of “return payments.” That factoid erased all contrived guiltlessness of the conversation’s contents. And one well-framed question could lend confirmation. Continue Reading »

Ode to Cerulean

Pacific Blue and Wild Blue Yonder
Embrace the hearts of sea and sky.
Seduction and passion
Belong to Sapphire and Lapis Lazuli.
Indigo possesses the soul of jazz,
Before it becomes the darkest hue of Midnight Blue.
Blue Bell and Periwinkle
Are for innocence and flowers,
Turquoise and Royal
Are brave and empowered.
Steel, Cadet and Blizzard Blue may be cold, but have their place.
Foundations that support us in this difficult race.
Cosmic Cobalt is full of wonder,
Navy Blue is for your Mother.
Cornflower is light and free,
But none is more endeared to me,
Than beautiful, independent, sweet, mysterious
Cerulean.

The Record

Ch. 1 – Roar

Ch. 2 -Growl

Ch. 3 – Pant

Ch. 4 – Hunt

Ch. 5 – Cry

Ch. 6 – Fever

The white halogens that had not been broken or killed were scattered.  As if in hiding, a fear that a mass of their numbers together would bring out the attackers again.  Down the hallway they shone like spotlights, tiny squares of tile lit beneath them, the blackness of the school hallway pressed against them ready to spill over the bright edges.  David moved carefully, his feet brushing against dirt, metal, sliding on almost dried crimson liquid.  Each step gave him away.  They knew he was there.  They’d smelt him, tasted him on the air.  Their eyes saw no darkness, their paws pushed no sound.

David’s hands were moist.  His warmth beat against the metal in his hand, building warmer and warmer.  Ready to shoot.  He turned slowly, peered down side hallways and into open classroom doors, his eyes adjusting to the dark.  He walked in a slow spiral, each end of the hallway taking his focus in turn.  Clear.  Quiet.  Dark.  Clear.  Quiet.  Dark.  Each turn revealing an empty end.

Thu-bump. Thu-Bump. THU-Bump.  THU-BUMP. THU-Bump.  Thu-Bump. Thu-bump.

Something ran through the ceiling above him.  His gun drawn, he followed it from where he stood, pointing the way to the farthest end of the hall.  The end that lead to the gym and locker rooms.

When he lowered his firearm from the ceiling, turning toward where the noise fled, something waited and watched.  All fours slightly hunched, David could see the shadow was ready to charge.  Its eyes glowed, the only distinguishing feature of the dark creature’s head in the unlit end of the hallway.  It stared at him. Continue Reading »

The Monoculture and its Discontents, Part 3: Discontents, or, Handle With Care

Not everybody lives in the monoculture, of course, but it takes a very specific effort to not fall into it. Since one of the qualities of culture is that it is ubiquitous, the monoculture cannot simply be removed; it has to be replaced with something else every bit as encompassing and central to the identities of those who live in it.

The only large alternatives to the secular mainstream that the monoculture presents are religious fundamentalist movements. The two most powerful cultures outside of the western secular humanist capitalist tradition are Protestant Christian fundamentalism and conservative Islamic theology. (Contain your hate mail; I’m not equating the two strains of culture, just noting that they contain similar responses to the cultural hegemony of the monoculture.)

Monoculture is worldly and sinful, goes the argument from conservative Christian groups, and the general response is two-fold. On one hand, they attempt to realign the broad culture more along what they consider proper, acceptable lines (see efforts to push into law various restrictions on gay marriage, or street preaching, or pamphleteering. These efforts could all be loosely encapsulated under ‘missionary’ work to a sinful world). The other response is to build a parallel cultural structure for themselves.

The effort of American conservative Protestant groups to build this secondary cultural environment for themselves is not readily apparent to the outsider, because it’s not aimed at the world. It’s entirely built for the believer’s benefit, with little pieces crossing over into the mainstream occasionally. Veggie Tales. Bibleman. Fireproof. Conservative Christians have their own movie industry and its own version of the Oscars. They have their own radio stations and websites specializing in content specifically for their consumption. The have their version of Roger Ebert, even, reviewing movies based on their religious message as opposed to any artistic criterion. They have their own bands, own concerts, own section of the bookstore. It’s a vast drop-in replacement for the monoculture, each piece of the secular culture having its analogue in the spiritual mirror.

That’s one response to the overweening ubiquity of the monoculture, relatively benign but hard to maintain. The other reaction is exemplified in the reaction of the Islamic fundamentalists in their war against Western culture: a complete rejection of the secularization of everyday life and the moral relativism that the monoculture has at its core. Instead of the parallel design of Christian counterculture, Islamic fundamentalist reaction centers on a destruction and replacement of the monoculture with a similarly monolithic and ubiquitous cultural edifice.

The roots of this can be found in the reaction to the secularist governments that were instituted across the Middle East in the first half of the twentieth century with Islamist group like the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt. Rulers across the region imported secular-oriented governments to the region, some under pressure from Western powers eager for governments (not necessarily democracies) at least theoretically aligned with their interests, others under the leadership of rulers who equated the collapse of the region in power and importance with the role of Islam as a governing force. This secularization policy was strongest in Turkey, where Ataturk imposed a regime of cultural secularization on the still very Muslim populace.

The blowback from this divorce between the governments of the region and their citizens’ religious beliefs would result in the overthrow of the (corrupt and oppressive) Shah of Iran and the assassination of the (repressive and fatally-conciliatory-toward-Israel) President of Egypt Anwar El Sadat in 1981, among other reactions. When a radical cleric preaches death to the unbelievers, he is not only calling for the destruction of citizens of the West but of an entire culture — the western postmodern monoculture, to be replaced by an Islamic hegemony. For these radicals, it is not enough to co-exist, as the Evangelicals attempt to; they understand, implicitly, that the monoculture will bleed through and eventually absorb/co-opt competition. There can be only one winner.

I don’t believe that there are any other broad movements against the monoculture. Even punitive actions against the mainstream — not owning a television, not listening to Top 40 radio stations — are simply part of the narrative of mainstream vs. outsider that the monoculture encompasses. And they’re generally negative actions, a rejection of some part of culture, and not a construction of a replacement or alternative.

The monoculture exists and is perpetuated because, deep down, this is what we wanted. It is not imposed upon us, but created implicitly through our acceptance of it. So next time you complain about what you see around you, remind yourself that it’s up to you what that environment is. The monoculture is ruthlessly meritocratic when it comes to its contents, providing us with exactly what we want, all the time. The only way to change it, then, is to change ourselves.

sightsiteciteDENVERwhatifound2shoot

One of three ceiling lamps at Union Station.

At the northeast corner of Brodway and Colfax.

Denver -- On 17th, near Market Street.

All I can think of is The NeverEnding Story?

StationLamp2

Mother and child

StationSign

Fever

Ch. 1 – Roar

Ch. 2 -Growl

Ch. 3 – Pant

Ch. 4 – Hunt

Ch. 5 – Cry

It had never occurred to David how small his town was.  The school taken over, they needed someplace else to set up.  The police station was out, they hadn’t even gotten a chance to start the clean up.  It just lay there in a shamble of broken class and flickering florescent lights.  Detective Ford and her remaining team all looked to David for an answer.  Never mind that he was seconds into his confused and guilty grief.  He must have stammered out “the fire station,” because that’s where they were.  The two story brink building full of lost looking men in suits and holsters.

Detective Ford had been quick to set up an armada of computer monitors and keyboards, after which she’d been locked to her cell phone for the past twenty-three minutes.  David had nothing better to do than watch them tick away, cheering them on.  It was the only distraction he could find, everyone else distracted with their various important looking tasks.

There were eleven, including David.  Detective Ford, McDowell, and eight of their men.  One lay upstairs on a cot, grasping a battered arm to his chest and muttering through his fever.  Two men with guns stood watch, just in case. Continue Reading »

RHL

“Illusion”

Pt. 1: “Nameless”

Pt. 2: “Nightmares”

Pt. 3: “Respite”

            The risk of exposure was too great. With the police on high alert, not to mention that confounded security team, they could no longer afford to take her out. Sure, the money would have been nice, helped them grow the operation courtesy of a huge influx of capital to increase their investments. But now, any attempted hit would only draw more attention. Attention meant exposure, and the whole façade would collapse on top of them. His career would be over.

            He refused to let that happen.

            Calling off the hit was the smart decision. Jacy, damn the girl, was safe for the time being. He would find the money elsewhere, maybe even at the charity event in an hour’s time. Surely they could schluff off enough of the raised funds to make a deposit on the enterprise. Their contact in Colombia wanted the money paid out in installments anyway. While he couldn’t chance touching his own account for fear the IRS would track such a large transfer, the estimated take from this afternoon should cover a quarter of what they would need. Add to that the contents of their offshore account—the one he liked to call “petty cash,” not the one labeled “cushy retirement”—and they were halfway there.

            He’d call Krimmer. Get him to make the arrangements. Then they would need investors, or some other plan to help them appropriate the necessary millions. He wasn’t worried. He had a couple of options in mind. Continue Reading »

Mustafa Kemal Pasha Atatürk

Walking in the spring rain
without an umbrella
should be avoided
by budding poets.
It leads to writing
little bad poems about
walking in the May rain
without an umbrella.

I write you these lines
as a note of warning.
I saw that glint in you eye
when it began to drizzle
and I was all curled up
with the morning’s crossword
trying to think of the name
of the first president of Turkey.

Cry

Ch. 1 – Roar

Ch. 2 -Growl

Ch. 3 – Pant

Ch. 4 – Hunt

The wooden locker room benches were not built for comfort.  Light wood panels stretched the length of the room, tall metal lockers stood to one side, their horizontal metal slats bent in places where hormonal teens had banged and pounded over the years.  The opposite side of the bench gave way to space.  An open isle ran the direction of the wood grain, providing passage to the cold tile communal shower, athlete’s foot running amuck.

David sat with his back to the locked metal boxes, facing the showers like an audience member.  A waist level tile wall opened in three spots, lending access to the lime stained shower heads.  From where he sat he could make out the corner of the metal cage which stood under the grouping of spouts.  An occasional yip or howl shook the metal frame.

They hadn’t come up with a name for them yet.  As a species, it was hard to name.  Part parasite, part mammal, they weren’t “like” anything science had seen before.  The three young were born five days ago, birthed by science and Dr. Smith’s historic C-Section.  The mother had been too dangerous to not keep under sedation.  Her water broke and Dr. Smith’s scalpel carved three young animals from her womb.  No doctor or scientist had ever seen one of these animals alive, so operating blind had been the only option.  Once the third creature had been freed and caged, Dr. Smith’s scalpel continued to explore.  The mother never woke up. Continue Reading »