Robotic, Ghost-Like Hyenas

I live in a desert. Los Angeles. Basically it’s a desert. We’ve gotten three inches of rain this year. I wonder if the water were drying up, all the aquaducts running into LA began to slow to a trickle, how long would they wait to tell us?

Would it be too late?

3/4 of the world doesn’t have proper drinking water. I take it as a given that we will always have available water supplies in America, even in the middle of a desert.

Always have.

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In ironic news from the year of our lord, 2007, George Orwell‘s apartment, or the apartment he lived in when he was still alive and breathing and writing anti-authoritarian literature, in London, is now completely covered by surveillance video.

1984 has finally arrived.

Orwell warned against the encroaching State and here we are; his place filmed from all angles, 24/7. Big Brother is watching.

By preaching the doctrine that nothing is to be admired except steel and concrete, one merely makes it a little surer that human beings will have no outlet for their surplus energy except in hatred and leader worship.

We’re pass the point of hatred and leader worship. The terrorists have given us our Oceania and Bush is running with it. If there is one thing Bush hasn’t lied about, it’s that he knows this is going to be a long war. Decades, he’s told us.

That’s part of the plan.

We’re following Britain’s lead in installing surveilance cameras everywhere, the Patriot Act helped remove some civil liberties too so the government can peer into more of our lives, whenever they want, virtually all the time.

These days it seems to catch the fox in the garden we’re willing to blow up the whole goddamn garden.

I’ll leave you with one more quote from Orwell; this one is probably more metaphysical in nature than political, when you think about it.

Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.

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I could walk around, and round, and round the block,
and talk so much you hardly have to hush,
but still I don’t think I’ve learned a thing,
in fact I know I don’t know…

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I was bored so I went looking for footage of Albert Einstein. I don’t know why, I just felt like it. Came across an interesting doc on string theory, in which one scientist described Einstein’s quest as trying to read the mind of god.

I like that image.

String Theory is also described as vibrating strands of energy, a close description to Bill Hicks’s infamous Prositive Drug Story.

And in more poetic and prophetic ranting from Mr. Bill Hicks, peep this daddy.

Folks: It’s time to evolve ideas. You know, evolution didn’t end with us growing thumbs. You do know that, right? Didn’t end there. We’re at the point, now, where we’re going to have to evolve ideas. The reason the world is so fucked up is we’re undergoing evolution. And the reason our institutions, our traditional religions, are all crumbling, is because … they’re no longer relevant. They’re no longer relevant. So it’s time for us to create a new philosophy and perhaps even a new religion, you see. And that’s okay ’cause that’s our right, ’cause we are free children of God with minds who can imagine anything, and that’s kind of our role.

Einstein and Hicks, those were some interesting saints.

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I once got in a small spat with my wife, I don’t even remember what the argument was about – that detail is long forgotten – we were feuding in a French restuarant on Ventura and when we got home and she went to sleep I grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it with purple wine and hiked to the top of the hill.

There’s a secret spot I know with a small footpath that climbs into the hills above the houses, a sorta no-man’s land that is opened to the public in the daytime and, if you’re quiet and stealth, free to enjoy at night too. I had brought my Ipod and a backpack with a notebook, (as if I was going to jot down a poem upon moongazing).

I sat down in tall grass, underneath a tree, and drank my purple wine and contemplated the vast lights and meditated a spell. I dealt with my emotions, first with the booze, inflating them untill they existed in mythic proportions, wallowing in them; and then by releasing my anger and my hurt and whatever was going on in my head by sitting cross-legged in the grass and listening to the crickets and the sound of far-off car sputter.

I began to feel good. Somewhat enlightened. Certainly tipsy.

Then I heard a sound that I will never forget.

A robotic, ghost-like hyena howling.

The sound of its wail richocheted through the canyon.

It was not the sound of a dog.

My heart does not fly out of its chest cavity when I hear the sound of a dog barking. This was otherwordly. This was a bad spirit. But the howling had a metallic ting to it too. This demonic creature had been created by man. That’s what was most terrifying.

I grabbed my things and treked it down the hill as fast as I could without falling in the dark, the lights of the Valley coming at me like a rising sea. I hate littering and I had left my cup behind but I was too frightened to return for it. The sound my footfall on gravel disappeared as I hit the cement and the padded sounds of my sneakers on the asphalt comforted me along with the addresses written on the sides of the curb.

I descended down the hill laughing at myself, laughing because I’m afraid of ghosts of robot hyenas or some such thing, and because I realized I really had forgotten what the hell the whole fight was about.

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If you had a key to your mind, would you give it out? Would you make a duplicate? Would you put a little rubber band around it so you wouldn’t mistake it for your housekey?

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Some people collect animals in cages
I collect mine online @ ARTOFSTARVING

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