Dulles

Being shackled to technology is sometimes not such a terrible thing. As I sit here in the terminal during an interminable lay-over, I engage in a favorite pastime of the urban american: people watching.


I slouch in a chair designed to encourage and punish such poor posture, queue my newest iPod playlist, and get to it. What amazes me is how effected my awareness becomes by the music hitting my ear drums. 'Life is Wonderful' comes on and suddenly I notice the families in the waiting area. I no longer see the kids as tiny weasels, somehow the love of their watchful parents is clear. An alarm sounds, but it's nothing to worry about *shuffle: 'Juan Loco'* or is it.

Blu & Exile is on and now I am distant, not one of them, but then we shuffle again and 'The Highway Man' unites me with the fold again and again and again and again. Tom comes through and starts rasping about his 'Jersey Girl' and I can't help but think of the one I left behind (sorry honey but after 6 years you count) and now the couples in the crowd find themselves in my mental spotlight. And then Waylon Jennings reminds me just how far we all are at this juncture from where we'd most like to be.

Through it all I wonder. Is the music clouding my perception? Am I projecting my musically induced emotions onto a blank slate? This love and kinship and anger and fear, is it just a construct of my mind? Am I just seeing myself mixed up and disseminated to all?

This is craziness. Clearly these people have no bearing on my life. Their only purpose is to amuse me and ease the passage of an otherwise dull lay-over.

Letters Fom the Church of McGod

And so the Grand Jeebus proclaimed onto the like minded:

To understand who you are you must first realize what you are not. Like a test you should eliminate all those answers that make no sense and eventually you will end up at the answer. The answer may only be worth partial credit or ultimately incorrect but you thought it was right and you were trying your best. Therefore, you need to eliminate what you are not to find out who you are. Here's some examples of things you should know you are not:

You are not an SSN, ID#, ACCT NUM, (D), (R), or even (I). You are not defined by SATs, MCATs, IQ, A's, B's, C's, D's, F's, a BA, a BS, a BS in BS, MD or PHD. You are not your EXT #. You are not 550 poor, 650 fair, 750 good or 850 excellent. You are not @ anywhere and you are most certainly not (your name)64521. Your d.o.b. is not nearly as important as what you do before you r.i.p. You are not p.c. or your PC. You are not living A.D. You are not always awake in the A.M. or catching Z's in the P.M. You are not ADD, HIV, AIDS, MS, or that ruptured L2. You are not an SUV, BMW, H2 or H3. You are not (555).

It's o.k. to not be these things because you aren't them. So who are you? Start with this:

U r u.
U = I.
=.

Happy Birthday St. Patrick.....St. John Patrick that is.

I member the first time I laid eyes on John Patrick Pullen. You'd member too. It ain't every day you sees a man passed out in'n inner tube on the Georgia coast. I pulls this feller outta the water onto land. He wernt lookin' real good, skin all pale, eyes all red. I said to myself, I says, this feller done got him self all liquered up an' fell in this here inner tube and floated around all night. I says to'em, I says, "Hey bub, whatcha doin' floating round in the At-lantic"? He tries lookin' at me but his eyes kepta just rolling round his head like some one just put a lickin' on his noggin with a canoe oar. So I picks this feller up and put him in the truck and head offta county general.

I stayed at county a spell, seein' if'n he may come round. He ain't got no ID on'em so I figures I can help'm get home if'n he come to. He wakes up after a few hours and starts lookin' round all scared like. I said to'em I says, "Don't be scared man. You got your self all dillied like a pickle last night didncha"? He's lookin at me all cocky eyed like he don't get what I'ma sayin'. I says "What's ya name boss"? He opens his mouth to say suttin and alls I hear is 'I sha shy, sha shy, ukalayli, sha shy'. I says "whoa fella, what in tarnation was that"? I was figurin' at that point he musta swallowed some bad water cuz he wasn't makin' no sense. I went and gots the nurse and told'er this'n here honcho ain't speaking right and they need to check his throat for seaweed or a bottle cap or suttin.

The nurse later told me nutten was wrong with his throat he was just Irish and had an thick ak-cent. I says "Lady that ak-cent must be thicker'n mo-lassie in Feb-roo....Feb-roo....March". I acts where'n he lived and she told me it was lookin' like he done floated that dang ole innertube clean across the ocean from Ire-lind. I says, "So he's an illegal"? She was like "Yuppers". Now I'mma thinkin' to myself what am I gonna do? I rescued some illegal, but he's white and he ain't from mexico. I felt bad for the little dude so once he was up'n bout I decides to take'm home wit me.

I gots Clancy to fix'em up with a fake ID and got him started on speakin' anglish all good and right. Turns out he spoke anglish the whole time I just couldn't make outta dang werd of it. Wouldncha know it, this micks birthday was on St. Patty's Day. Ain't that a hoot. I spect halfa them irish folk are born on that day but I still gets a kick outta it. He ended up gettin' his self inta some high faluttin learnin' place and now he's out makin' a money nuff to put steak in grits every night. Like watchin' on'er yown get all growd up. He don't write or nutthin' but I thinks bout from time to time whens I'mma waitin' in line for my guvment money. That minds me, time to go gets that check. God bless Ameerica!

seeking america

i am looking for an america to love,
an america i can spend the rest of my life with.

i am looking for an america that won’t embarrass me
in front of my friends.

i am looking for an america i can tell my parents about,
one that will make them proud and happy, one that might make up for
all the other americas i brought home in the past.

i am looking for an america i can make quiet love to
in a warm cabin on a cold night.

i am looking for an america that is looking for me

i am looking for an america with a simple past, an america
without serious psychological damage. i have been hurt before.

i am looking for an america that will just hold me sometimes.

i am looking for an america with clean teeth, nice hair, neat clothes
but that shouldn’t be all america cares about.

i am looking for an america that would fuck me happily
in the back seat of my foreign car.

i am looking for an america that makes me laugh again,
out loud and without irony.

i am looking for an america that isn’t jaded or hardened
or through with love.

i am looking for an america i can stand in front of naked
without concern for the possible inadequacies of my genitalia.

i am looking for an america that cares more about family than career.

i am looking for an america that will say nice things about me to others
without being asked or provoked.

i am looking for a quieter america this time.

i am looking for an america that knows how to take care of itself.

i am looking for an america that is fearless in the face of intimacy,
commitment and honesty.

i am looking for an honest america. i am tired of being lied to.

i am looking for an america that will suck my cock because it wants to,
because it wants to make me feel good, not because it feels like it has to.

i am looking for an america that can hold an intelligent conversation
about books, movies, music, religion, politics, the end of the world,
the beginning of us, food, whiskey, mans capacity for love, man’s innate greed,
partiarchy, anarchy, the hierarchy of angels, buddha, death in all its forms, love in all its depths, economic inequities, the plight of education, the tao, the mysteries of modern science, sex, christ’s golden rule.

i am looking for an america with long arms and deep pockets, a generous america.

i am looking for an america that wants to take a hand in raising our children,
that wants to be involved in the entirety of their lives.

i am looking for an america that is willing to experiment, to try new things.

i am looking for an america that isn’t boring.

i am looking for an america that will call me sometimes for no good reason,
that will admit to being as lonely as we all are so often.

i am looking for an america that won’t force me to shave, or dress differently, or drink less, or stop smoking, or sleep more, or cry at the right places in movies. but you can ask nicely if you want america.

i am looking for an america that is not afraid to be sexy now and then.

i am looking for an america that doesn’t need anything from me but me.

i am looking for an america i can trust, one that won’t cheat on me,
or steal from me.

i am looking for an america that isn’t afraid to be looked at closely
but maybe one that blushes just a little.

i am looking for an america that appreciates my work.

i am looking for an america that remembers the right moments
and can remind me of them when i need it most.

i am looking for an america i can settle down with, grow old with, an america
who’s arms i can die in.

Letters From The Church of McGod - Info Pamphlet

Are you fed up with that old religion of yours? Are you currently unaffiliated? Are you okay with your faith but think your deity is dropping the ball? If you answered yes to any of these questions you may want to consider the Church of McGod. Don't let the name fool you, it's not a church or even a religion in the classical sense. We have found that churches and religions try and convert you or force you to believe through propaganda and fear, kind of like a terrorist cell or a presidential campaign. The Church of McGod is not one of these institutions. We have a saying; "No crusades, just cruising". If you like, you are welcome to come along for the ride.

Who is McGod?: You're probably asking yourself, who is this McGod anyway? If you're not you should be. McGod is actually not a she or a he or even a who for that matter. McGod is actually an idea. The idea is this: imagine the world were split in two (by a federally funded twenty foot high wall we'll say). All those who simply wanted to live peacefully, coexisting with others different from them on one side of the wall and all those who felt their religion and God(s) were the only true spiritual path on the other. Eventually, the "My God" side would dwindle down to one person as they would all kill each other (in God's name of course) until there was only one left standing. This would hold true even if a certain religion prevailed as people within that religion would eventually interpret the word of their lord differently and eventually smite each other down to the very last. Actually odds makers would tell you that nuclear weaponry would come in to play and the "My God" half of the Earth would be completely blown away leaving the peaceful folk spinning like a frisbee in space. In any case, the super religious folk screw everything up. McGod is the idea that this need not happen to be proven.

Do We Pray to McGod?: Oh heavens no. Remember that McGod is an idea and not some mythical figure that requires worship. Throughout history questioning a deity pretty much got you killed. The Church of McGod does not condone this behavior as we feel that you should be able to tell a supposed Messiah they messed up or that they down right suck. Here there is an understanding of fallibility and equality. Parishioners of the Church of McGod are no better than you and you are no better than anyone one else in the Church of McGod. We in the Church of McGod also do not mind prayer as we expect and accept that members bring with them a previous religious background or faith. Just know that if you pray to McGod there will be no answer. McGod can not take responsibility for any outcomes, positive or negative.

So why even have a McGod?: Ever believe in an idea so thoroughly it took on a life of it's own? Inventions, businesses, relationships, and even great parties all started out as an idea that people took to the next level. McGod itself is an idea and if you believe it is making you a better person than you develop a relationship with McGod. You can eventually truly love the idea. You can truly love McGod. As we know, true love is always a two way street, therefore despite being an idea McGod loves you too. How would an idea truly love you? You gave it a life of it's own....remember?

What about heaven and hell?: No way. We don't think life is lived simply to be rewarded or punished when it's over. The Church of McGod recognizes reincarnation as a possibility. This is because we can't yet answer the question of if you die and are buried and your decaying body fertilizes soil which in turn allows something to grow and growing is an action carried out by a living thing are you reborn as that living thing? Don't even get us started on the question of whether or not you become a part of the living thing that ate the living thing you became when you grew out of your own fertilized soil. "But what if you're cremated smarty pants"? Well did you know you can eat ash? That brings us right back to the helping something living live more problem. Believe us when we tell you we've thought about it....smarty pants. As far as life and death are concerned in the Church of McGod we simply think you should live your life because you have the opportunity and when you die you'll figure something out. If you are a poor representative you will not be damned to hell as we don't really feel there is one to damn you to. Instead you will be given your pink slip. That's right, the Church of McGod will fire you as you are no longer helping.

In truth we have no need for more members as we are not a conversion based faith, but we are more than happy to accept you in if you are interested. We do not discriminate on gender, age, race, previous or current religion, sexual orientation, or even if your friends think you're alright but sometimes you can be sort of a dick. If you have no faith or are struggling with your current sense of faith we might be worth checking out. Don't worry if you suffer from blind faith as we offer spiritual prescription lenses. Should you care to follow up or if you have any questions look for the Letters from the Church of McGod series as they will explain the idea further.

Simplify.

McGod bless you all.

Photographer's Journal - Case 14856 - Entry 1

Dear Journal,

Why did I answer that want ad? I should know better than to fall for flashy words and phrases like adventure, crime solving, great pay and flexible hours. I could have been photographing flower pots in Better Homes & Gardens, but oh no, I had to be different. Why do I always seem to need to take everything that next step? Sure lots of people go to school to be professional photographers but who does their thesis on training monkeys to aid in the set up and break down processes thereby allowing the photographer to concentrate fully on the work? I'm such an idiot. A cold idiot....with a highly trained monkey shoved near my balls to help keep us warm.

I should have known that this was the wrong gig for me the first time I went on assignment with this damned Forensic Sherpa. Before arriving I remember being so excited to start photographing my first real murder case. That little twinkle in my eye quickly dropped to the ground, picked up a shovel and buried itself alive when we got to "base camp" a.k.a The Frozen Beaver Motel in Kerhanapachookiebits, Alaska. I had to guess that the person working the desk was a woman only because the picture behind her showed a married couple holding hands and she had the least amount of facial hair. She was the very reason for the phrase "handsome woman". She stared coldly at my monkey as I filled out my registration card. The monkey would not leave me alone the remainder of the stay.

I remember trying to use the excitement I toted with me at the beginning of this trip to sooth my frozen body that first day. We hiked for miles and miles searching for flannel fibers and couch lint in a land so harsh nary a bear had been seen in a century. Why were we helping a town of fifteen people solve a murder? They knew who did it. They told us. We stayed for six months trying to find evidence because witnesses and a confession just aren't good enough for the Sherpa.

We never did solve that case and all I walked away with were a few shots of the monkey using his urine to spell my name in the snow and the phone number of a burly figure who couldn't speak. Now here we are again. Scaling a mountain, dusting ice for prints and digging for fingernails in areas recently rearranged by avalanche slides. I had to put on a happy face when they lopped off my frost bitten fingers today. I didn't want to but conditions are bad enough and I don't need that Sherpa leaving me behind again like in Mongolia (even if it was only a joke). Just think, if I can tough it out a few more days we'll be back at the Oily Eel Motel. We'll warm ourselves by the fire and sip whiskey from gravy boats. We'll try and make light of the fact the room is half full of mountain men so lost in instinctual behavior they have the look of dogs staring at you with their head tilted to the side and sprouting a pink warning between their legs.

I must go and make sure the monkey is still receiving air in the crotch pocket.

Forensic Sherpa Case Files - Case 14856 - Report 1

The air is so cold it feels like a sheet of glass we shatter with each movement that takes us along the ridge line. The Alpaca ballistics team assures me that the snow is still a day or so away, and I am inclined to trust them. They've been here before. They know.

We lost a good man on the west face ascent. He had someone else's wife and kids waiting for him back home. He carried pictures. The kids looked nothing like him. They were beautiful. Sometimes I'm not sure I can handle the tragedy of it, but those are the dangers of high altitude investigation. We all know them going in. We all accept them for our own reasons.

I had to amputate four of my photographers fingers yesterday leaving him only a thumb, a pinkie and a pointer finger. He doesn't seem overly concerned. "As long as I've got my tripod two of these are still extras," he told me with that broad toothless smile of his. He has a tiny, dexterous monkey that lives in a warm pouch beneath his testicles. The monkey sets the f-stop and shutter speed of the camera. It assembles the tripod. So, everything should be fine.

My pack has yet to bother me. This is, reportedly, a single victim crime scene we are trekking toward, so I have kept the supplies somewhat limited. Currently I am carrying 30 tins of beef, 15 pounds of cornmeal mush, 32 pineapples, a dingo carcass, 7 MKII fragmentation grenades, a snow shovel, a three hundred foot coil of high tensile wire, the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe, a desk lamp, two barefoot Guatemalan nuns, 92 pairs of wool socks, a rabbit cage with rabbit, a small oak dinette set, four cases of Ziplock bags, a two cycle rebuilt engine, a heart shaped box of chocolates, 2 dozen donuts, a retractable communications satellite and a six person dirigible. I hope this light load isn't making me weak. Maybe I will add a rock or two if I can find one loose in all this snow and ice.

Livingston, one of the Ballistics Alpacas, says we should reach the scene in a few days. I will send an update then. Hopefully we will collect enough evidence to catch the bastard that did this and put him away for a long time.

Yours,
Forensic Sherpa