Farewell Saddam

I am no fan of tyrants nor dictators, that is why I refuse to support the Bush regime. But, I am apalled at the huzzahs and cheers being echoed about in response to former president Saddam Hussein's death. He may not have been the kindest person in the world, but he was a man nonetheless. So, it was refreshing to see a neutral and deserved rememberance. It is thought provoking to say the least.

The Season's Soliloquy

Christmas, the abdication
of decorum,
arrives with a flirtation;
not of wisdom
once told
or freedom
bought and sold.

Loneliness, death
and squallor
are the true breath
of christmas' dollar.

harangue those with the least.
"Give more!"
says the priest.

wrapping in the landfill,
toys tossed aside,
mother weaps; credit bill,
glad Jesus took that ride?

The Ignorance of Inconvenience

"I don't mind some people being inconvenienced, if it means being safe."

I have heard this sentiment many times since 9/11, but it had subsided somewhat recently. Most right-wing talk had refocused on the illegal war in Iraq. However, the incident of the imams being deplaned and detained here in Minneapolis a few weeks ago brought about a resurgence of this idiotic and simplistic rhetoric.

The interesting thing about this statement isn't that it is said, or even that it is said often - people in this country say and do dumb things with regularity - but it is who says it that is worth note.

It is never an African-American saying this. It is never a Japanese-American saying this. It is never a Muslim saying that he doesn't mind being pulled off of a plane so he is late for his appointment, meeting, or even the simple act of returning home. It is none of these people who have all been inconvenienced, to be extremely liberal with the term, by this country's government already.

It is white americans who say this. Specifically, upper-middle class white americans. And even more specifically, upper-middle class white women. The same people who demand to speak with a manager when they are delayed for ten seconds, because their double-Big Mac and large fries with a side mayonaise isn't ready for them to shovel into their mouths the minute they pull up to the second window at Mcdonalds, suddenly wouldn't mind a random delay of minutes or even hours.

It is these people, who have not been inconvenienced a moment in their lives, that are so quick to question the uproar caused by anothers forced removal. If they have nothing to hide why should they complain? They can just take the next flight. These are the pathetic justifications put forth, the justifications of a simpleton. But if it is such a non-issue, why don't you and your three snot-nosed polo-wearing kids - Tyler, Tanner, and Tiffany - take the next flight? Why don't you delay your plans by four to five hours? Rememeber, it is "no big deal."

Another point that should brought up: Why did those Japanese complain so damned much about getting to go to summer camp during WWII? Why did those blacks complain so much about being slaves? They recieved free housing, free food, free clothing, and what was asked in return? Just to put in a hard days work. Neither situation seems like such a raw deal to me.

However, herein lies the rub. It is never the oppressed class that see the taking away of rights as a light-hearted matter. It is only those not effected that can view such heinous acts with such constrained glee. It is the knowledge that they will never be subjected to the policies they so fervently support which allows them to so easily rationalize the implementation of actions that have such ugly repercussions.

Attack Ad 2

This is not the exact ad I was speaking of before, that one was a radio spot. But this seems like it was made by the same people, and is just as utterly disgusting.

To: 123-I-Love-You

In response to I'm practically making a porno!

Clod,

I am apalled at the usage of your blog; a tool meant to record the inspiring and thought provoking words of the author. Instead, you have decided your blog would now be better suited as the home for people still mainly operating out of their lower-fuctioning reptillian brain.

If you were attempting to model youself and your blog after the odious Jim Belushi, then you have succeeeded. Because a cess pool of fart jokes and female degradation is what your blog can now be most accurately equated to.

Incensed,
Douglas Sinclair

P.S.
Dunces and cretins
make this blog their domicile.
Hail, Emperor Dolt!

State of Americans

With the election looming near, I have been inundated with political messages of the power starved. Despite the noise pollution that their radio advertisements and stump speeches produce, I occasionally listen. I have yet to hear much about the issues that matter to me; an increase in the number of bi-cycle lanes, a ban on non-public motor vehicles, and subsidies for struggling artists who give their lives to beautify the minds of the public. But, I have heard one statement common among this year's politicos: People are smart.

People are not smart, especially americans. Have you walked around this country lately? It's disgusting; the ignorance displayed on a regular basis by the unenlightened half-wits that have ruined this country. They have taken what was once a glorious country, home to the best and brightest minds known to man, and transformed it into the originator of the dunderhead; a true idiots paradise.

It used to be that these dumbed-down individuals stuck to shopping malls, strip malls, and really any corporation infested area where they could quickly satiate their needs to fill their SUV's with mass produced crap that they don't need, whilst filling their faces and expanding their ever-burgeoning lard-filled bellies with fistfuls of food. Because not only have americans become dumbest of the dumb, but they are the fattest of the fat. And they are now spreading, like an insidious disease, away from the commcercial zones and into the arts district. Polluting the eyes with images of their disgusting bodies, ill-fitting t-shirts, and slogan emblazed hats; gymnasium's and libraries are two places they've never heard of.

Don't bother trying to converse or discuss the days events with one of these neanderthals either, you'll only be left infuriated by their willfull ignorance of the facts and at their lower-level opinions. It's come to the point where the intelligentsia of this country are left to wonder where is their home? Where may they roam? Because it certainly isn't here. It certainly isn't in a country where a man like Sean Hannity - the true king of the troglodytes - propagates lies of a dolt as facts day after day, and in no case is reprimanded; rather proclamation is made that he is a "great american."

And they are right. He is.

Children

I was recently sitting for a meal at an eating establishment that I frequent, sipping my order of minestrone, when I noticed that sitting at the table next to me was a baby.

I attempted to ignore it, but it was looking at me, and would not stop. It's beady eyes peered deep into my subconcious, exposing my innermost desires, and then began laughing. Laughing at my hopes, dreams, and wishes.

"Mind your own business," I told the infant. My stearn tone caused him to tear up and turn around; this delighted me. It allowed me to once again savor my soup; to allow the hearty, and old-world meal affect my being and essence. However it wasn't long before the baby sought to annoy me again.

This time it was by way of his meal; a big bowl of macaroni and cheese, the slovenly symbol of America. The baby could not be older than 18 months, but had a bowl of the yellowed noodles that could easily serve three non-Americans, but in this case was suitable for one baby. One irritating baby.

As he began to eat he glanced in my direction, reached his hand directly into the bowl, grabbed a heaping handful of limp noodles, smashed them into his face and laughed. He laughed at his sloppy behavior, and with each chuckle, half-chewed pieces of noodle dribbled down his chin. His parents saw this - the first sign that their son is a disgusting, boorish individual- and laughed as well

My stomach turned at this sight and my meal was ruined.

But the child laughed at my inability to finish my minestrone due to the sudden onset of nausea. He laughed as I gagged and covered my mouth for fear that the already consumed carrots, celery and broth would reappear on the table. He laughed as a globular of "cheese" from his mouth landed on my knee. He laughed as one of the noodles he had smashed into his eyebrow fell back in his bowl. And he laughed as he proceeded to thrust the noodle into his nostril and blow it into my bowl of minestrone.

I gathered my energies, stood up, and approached the child,

"Use your fucking fork you disgusting swine of a being!" I then turned, and walked out of the restaurant.

Later, as I rode my bi-cycle home, I reflected on the event. It had confirmed my beliefs that babies, and children in general, are the most unnecessary forms of life on the planet. They do nothing, but inconvenience society as a whole for the sake their own selfish desires.

Attack Ad

I could not find a link to the audio, but here is the brief transcript from the worst of all political attack ads I have ever heard.

Announcer: Patty Wetterling wants to represent you in congress. She says she believes in investing in our nation's children, claims to be a children's advocate, and wants your vote so she can enact laws to protect your children from sexual predators.

Announcer: But, did you know that her own son was abducted by a sexual predator? She promised she would do everything possible to bring him home. 17 years later his whereabouts are still unknown.

Announcer: If Patty Wetterling is elected to congress she would protect your children with the same fortitude that resulted in her own son's disappearance. Is that the type of protection you want for your children? Is that the type of commitment you want from congress?

Announcer: Patty Wetterling, can't find her own son, but claims she will "protect" yours. Vote against Patty Wetterling on November 7th.

The Restoration of my Best Friend

After three long and trying months, my bi-cycle is finally in working condition.

However, it was with no help of my lout neighbor; a man who toils around in oil slicks and gasoline puddles while aligning transmissions on automobiles at the local auto store. But, when it comes to repairing the most perfected and clean mode of transportation, i.e. my bi-cycle, he thinks of himself as too swank.

Instead, I fixed it myself. And it only took a couple hours, mind you those couple hours I could have been doing something other than sullying my hands; reading the Star & Tribune, browsing my most favorite record store Finyl Vinyl, or losing myself deep in thought; but I am an industrious fellow and set out to repair my bi-cycle.

Unfortunately, I soon realized I have spent most my life learning of the intellectual pursuits in life, and knew little on how to properly monkey a hammer or a hand drill. This would be a rather large obstacle if I was to finish with the repairs in time for today's Thought Rally in the park.

I began to sweat a bit, partially from the distress that was overtaking me and partially from the heat, so I removed my scarf; and while finding a proper place to set it down I saw a hulking brute walk past,

"Pardon, but my bi-cycle does not seem to work. Here are the tools I have, come fix it for me." Seeing the valiant effort I had thus far put forth, the sweatband wearing man heeded my advice. It was apparent that the bright spot of his day is when he visits Home Depot, beause within minutes he was done and my bi-cycle was in it's previous pristine condition.

He warned me of the problem, but I paid no attention his nonsensical statement. I don't even know how to perform a kick stand, nevermind doing one into the rear wheel. I had obviously misjudged the mechanical IQ of this man and was lucky he did not do further damage.

I mounted my bi-cycle, and went on my way to the village green, making sure to not thank the bothersome passer-by.

An Atheists response

I often find myself having conversations about religion, during which I, inevitably, am asked why I am an atheist. I then take a measured pause and reply,

"When I look out into nature, society and the world, I see it's great complexity and beauty; the chiseled elegance of the Grand Canyon, the wonderment that is the northern lights, and the raw, inspiring power of a tornado shredding through an unneeded trailer community.

"But, I am then forced to reconcile these splendid occurrences with the fact that their creator, if their was one, is the same being which brought you to be. You being a person so moronic as to question the logic behind not believing in an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent being that created everything we experience in six Gregorian calender days, but was then so utterly exhausted that it needed to rest for 24 hours to regain it's godly strength.

"The fact that you, or anyone beyond the age of six, accepts any of that tripe as fact and is so impassioned by God's mystical touch that they repeat it to others, claiming to be saving their enchanted magical ghost - otherwise called a soul - is proof enough that there is no god."

To: Rambix

In response to More Detail Emerges On Vicious University Of Minnesota Beatings and this man or woman's blog in general.

Local Dolt,

Do not call what you are doing reporting. You state that you twice previously reported on this incident. No you didn't. You linked other stories that reported the attack. You twice previously linked it. You are a linker, not a reporter.

I have noticed that throughout your blog you have a penchant to bold what you feel are the important sections of linked text. Why is this?

Is your typical readership such a gaggle of half-wits that without your hand holding they end up lost in a sea of words, sentences and paragraphs? With no clue as to where to focus their attention, and to what conclusion is to be drawn from such focal points?

I hope you and your twit audience were able to grasp the meaning of my comment without the customary bolding. Perhaps it is this lack of highlighted verbiage that has caused your readers to flee repectable news sources, such as the Star Tribune, and for you to so handily and willfully misconstrue story after story.

And, in doing so, mold your gullible masses and bring superfluously alarmist attention to a "siege of crime" in minneapolis. When in fact, it is very possible it is merely due to statitical variance.

Satiated,
Douglas Sinclair

P.S. Producing provocative, fresh, and inspiring content is not your strong suit.

Brooding upon the Paltry

I am so utterly tired of 9/11. Everywhere I turn there is a man in overalls waving an American flag and informing all passers-by in a slurred drawl that he "will never forget!" Every newspaper I open has a photo of an overweight mother from a desolate red state; Idaho, Montana, Wyoming; screeching banshee-like howls of sorrow accompanied with a storm surge of tears. It's been five years since those melodramatic events took place, I say this trite nation needs to fall silent on the matter and move on.

I lived through 9/11, it was no big deal. People died, yes, but people die every day due to a multitude of endeavors; from autoerotic asphyxiation to bloodletting. But, others don't whine and cry, and wail and moan about these other equally unfortunate deaths. Their friends and family say, "adios, you're a ghost," and save the rest of society from petty weeping by letting go.

Our culture isn't inundated with these people's passing. No one calls them heroes, no congressional time is wasted on how their deaths came to be, there are no front page tributes to their heroics; they are cast into the refuse bin of history, never to be lauded for their last moments on earth. And for no other reason than that they were unlucky enough to not die in a "national tragedy."

Maybe these forgotten souls wanted to be remembered just as much those capitalist fat cats that worked in the World Trade Center. I know my dearly departed cat, Sir MacKenzie, had the highest of hopes for his life, similar to the repeatedly honored 9/11 victims, but he is never mentioned as a hero, victim, or tragic character. The anniversary of his death came and went, and there were no memorial funds raised in his memory, no annual reading of his name, no marble engravings in homage of his consequential, yet all too short, life. He is doomed to be forever stricken from the pages of history. A being that was near and dear to the hearts of all whom were graced with his presence. This is the true tragedy of 9/11.

I love you Sir MacKenzie.

The Path to 9/11, part 1

It is rare for me to expend my valuable attentional resources focusing on television. I would much rather spend time enlightening myself through the creation of prose, smelling a glorious Lilac bush, or reading the genius that is Hemingway. However, tonight I made the decision to visit a friend's house and examine the ABC docudrama, The Path to 9/11. I am sorry that I did.

This "film" was nothing more than right wing propaganda; merely a conservative talking point, produced to provide poltical gain to the neocons. Which may have been acceptable had it been a finely constructed piece of propaganda filmmaking, like Hitler Youth Quex by the Nazis, and Mission to Moscow by the USSR. But, like most Bush administration endeavors, this film was bungled in every possible way.

The lighting was horrendous, the angle choices made by the director were those of a neophyte and did nothing to further the film's "hidden" agenda, and the script was very Clancy-esque; self-indulgent, formulaic and pablum. Three oversights that do not provide optimal conditions for brainwashing the consuming masses.

Here are a few choice quotes from the desperately transparent script:

John O'Neil: We are at war here.
Richard Clarke: Yes, a war on terror! I only hope that in the future the press realizes this, and does not expose essential programs used to fight this war; in the name of civil liberties. Thus, informing our enemy, rendering the programs useless, and leaving the American people helpless against the evil that wants us dead.

Pakistani Fighter: Are there any men left in Washington? Or do they no realize the danger this man [Osama Bin Laden] poses? If this democratic presidential administration does not capture him today, in 1998, who can tell what ravages he will perpetrate on the America in as soon as three years.

Patricia Carver: You should have captured Bin Laden! We had information to capture him, but you [Richard Clarke], President Clinton, and the democratic party are too weak on terror! Do you not realize that if we refuse to capture him and fight him in the middle east, he will only be emboldened to fight us here on our American streets, cities, and airplanes!

News Reporter, after American bombing of a Sudanese Phramaceutical plant: Many here in Sudan question why Mr. Clinton has decided to bomb their peaceful town, whose only purpose was to manufacture medicine for AIDS patients, when he is the one that is too busy cheating on his poor presidential candidate of a wife to properly fight the war on terror.

To: The Minnesota Daily

Published in the September 7, 2006 edition of The Minnesota Daily, Opinion page


Unimportant stories

Not surprisingly, the beginning of a new school year has made it apparent, once again, that the quality of The Minnesota Daily will never deteriorate; nor improve. The Sept. 5 edition proved that the Daily likes the middle ground, otherwise known as mediocrity.

On the front page, a place usually reserved for the most important news of the day, I was informed by JP Leider of the existence of a "firewall" and that I should install one on my computer to make it more secure. This was next to a most shocking story by Vadim Lavrusik entitled, "Students make mass move into residence halls." Who would have imagined that students attending the University would move into the campus' residence halls at the beginning of the new school year? I can see the wisdom of these stories prominently gracing your front page; while the other local newspaper, The Star Tribune, chose hackneyed stories involving the U.N. mediating prisoner talks and local Somalians being financially hurt by the government's crackdown on terrorism.

On your opinion page, the intended intelligence level of your readership is shown by the Opinions editor Frances Zerr. Her words enlightened me as I was informed that an editorial cartoon "pens important issues," that the number of deaths in Iraq has increased since last May and other banal minutia that, apparently, needed to be explained to the infantile readers the Daily assumes it attracts.

I suggest that the Daily - a publication which has never been afraid to brag that it is the third most circulated daily newspaper in Minnesota - begin to consistently publish articles of relevance and importance. Because being a widely circulated newspaper that publishes uninspiring stories of the mundane is nothing to brag about.

Douglas Sinclair
former University student


NOTE: While I am pleased to see the Daily published my letter in an admission of their incompetence, I am also dismayed. They deleted two whole paragraphs, one of which highlighted their daft usage of Wikipedia as a source.

They will be receiving another letter of complaint, notifying them that my art, words, and thoughts are not to be censored in any manner.

Hurricane Katrina

Remember what happened a year ago today.

Remember the plight of the thousands of victims; the agony of watching New Orleanians watch their family members perish in front of their eyes. Remember the failure of FEMA, Mayor Nagin and President Bush; promises made, but never realized. I remember the tears I wept, blurring my vision, momentarily halting my daily walk through the park; the pain was just too great.

Remember the overwhelming aid given at the time and remember that you can still help.

But, most importantly, remember the deep sorrow America as a whole felt on that gloomy day one year ago. Because if we forget, then the hurricanes win.

The Library and Chai

Yesterday was a most precious day.

My bi-cycle is still in disrepair, so I walked to the downtown library, poured some of my homemade chai tea out of my thermos and into my handmade ceramic mug, and found my usual 3rd floor seat; residing near the literature section and overlooking the indescribable beauty that is Minneapolis.

As I took my first sip, I focused my attention to each and every tastebud, as the balmy aqueous beverage flowed across my tongue; bringing about memories of friends long past and stories once told. Every gulp washing the rushing waters across my palate, splashing against my cheeks and, suddenly, disappearing forever down the gullet of the muse. I had never felt as in tune with the Mississippi river as I did then.

Next, I let the sun wash over me; though, through the human erected, and beaurocratically approved window. Its' rays still invigorated my soul and renewed my lust for life. The hushed murmur of the fellow bibliophiles that frequent this urbane sanctuary of the enlightened also brought me solice. I knew I was no longer alone.

In todays modern world, where the rickshaw is out of fashion, and automobile racing is a national "sport," a humble sophisticate such as myself can feel marooned in a time period where idiocy is cool. Well, when surrounded by the likes of Voltaire, Sartre, and Tolstoy, one tends to realize he is in proper company.

Masterful Prose

This is a very brief excerpt from my soon to be published manuscript, Sacrilege by Trumpet: If Only Once.

Chapter IIVXM - Bring Forth the Lampris

The wife of the thespian wept. The performance was beautiful, orange balloons billowed from the ceiling, all was restored for the carniverous crowd. All but, the indignity of the fallen valkrie.

"Why?" shouted a forlorn man, shirt torn from the stiff bristle, "the malignant disgrace us, the scorned swallow us whole." Another fellow, beseeched by the poignant words uttered by his transexual lover, fell to the floor (gin would be poured upon him in the coming days).

The thespian jumped, sword in hand, toward the pastuerized uprising. The contrite ran, their lurid echoes would ring for centuries. But, the rancor of the rakish remnants would bring about the duel that the dead did tell of.

"Gargoyles fell upon the rigid tales of Sire Herfrim; lacquer dripped beneath the dull dents of past lips, but circlular salvation does not find solice in this magnanimous edifice; constructed by those that consume not what they waste." These words halted all action. They spewed from the only sage to hearken the prolific matter that stood at hand.

The ribaldry would be spouted no longer; the forsaken would perish.

To: Evil Discussor

In response to Dear Evil Discussor... Why is my boss a douchebag?


Dear Sir or Madam,

In what manner was this post supposed to be humorous, enlightening, or an interesting read? It appeared to be nothing more than an infantile regurgitation of a most unpleasant word, which I refuse to type; and a nonsensical word, dingbat; repeated adnauseum simply because they "sound cool together."

Your post may come across as intelligent commentary to the television watching drolls that frequent your blog, but to the true intelligencia it reads as a futile attempt at comedy; which you, more than likely, plagarized from According to Jim or some other television "sitcom" that is dumbing down the american consciousness.

I suggest you abdicate your blog immediately and focus your energies on getting an education, as it is apparent you will never achieve notoriety from your writing. This will enable you to find a job that doesn't involve tossing pink sawdust on a 3rd grader's expelled food.

Good day,
Douglas Sinclair
P.S. Change your name to Bromidic Discusser; it seems to be more apropos.

The Reason

This is a perfect example, among millions, of why I refuse to own, watch, or acknowledge television as a serious form of entertainment:



With childrens programming that is as painfully moronic as this, I can't imagine why todays youth are proving to be the first generation less intelligent than the previous.

An Open Letter to the Wayans'

Dear Mr. Shawn Wayans and Mr. Marlon Wayans,

I recently had the grave misfortune of viewing your most recent disaster of a film, Little Man, and a more insipid piece of tripe I can not imagine exists. If one were to combine Shasta McNasty, The George Lopez Show, and The Love Boat; roll them together with an Ashlee Simpson CD and an Evenesence concert; and then sprinkle a Thomas Kincaid painting onto this vile concoction you would still not equal the low grade humor and utterly disgusting dialogue you attempt to pass off as entertainment.

The two of you may be wondering to yourselves why I wasn't tipped off that I would dislike the film so much by its' television ads . Well sirs, I do not own a television. Television only contains juvenile content, similar to your film, which does nothing but numb the mind to the true knowledge that should be sought in life. Sought via scholarly pursuits; not sitting on a stained paisley couch watching Jim Belushi blather on about his bald head, fat gut and some "hot chick." Due to my idiot box-less residence I was unaware of the pure essence of stupidity and low culture that emanated from your film.

This is why when I saw "Little Man" on the cinema marquee I naturally assumed it was short hand for the 1934 Frank Borzage classic, Little Man, What Now? This is not the delightful and thought provoking piece of art I was treated to. Instead, my senses were attacked for 90 straight minutes by lines, you purported to be jokes, about boobies, poo-poo and pee-pee, and other references that even my seven year-old nephew would scoff at.

Upon the conclusion of your less than riveting film, I found the manager of this cinema. I scolded him for showing such a horrid piece of guttural and for leaving his marquee in such disarray as to cause the confusion that led to my viewing of your film in the first place. In an act of apology he refunded my money and gave me a free pass to an upcoming film. He described it as a film about the state of the airline industry, the lack of safety while on an aeroplane, and the very real possibility of a biological attack while on one. It sounds like a most intriguing documentary.

My suggestion to you: either change your filmmaking ways or leave Hollywood all together and find a new occupation. Garbage men would seem to suit both of you quite well. Society does not need your type of "art," this country has been infiltrated enough by the low-brow and crass culture that envelopes the south, we do not need you two making things worse.

Hoping to never see you again,
Douglas Sinclair

Shadow Kisses

This overly emotional video gushes with cheese. It contains little artistic value, only serves as a pompous reminder that the creator is "in love" and could only be made worse had it been overlayed with Endless Love by Lionel Richie. However, I should mention that the two shadows are Betsy and her beau, the leaver of raunchy and widely distributed voicemails, Pat O'Brien (seen below proudly sporting a hip-hopesque powder blue fedora). Which for some reason makes it delightfully entertaining and provides quite the cathartic laugh.

Caution: Retard in Area

It appears that Utah not only has the largest concentration of Mormons in the US, but has a rapidly growing white trash
population as well.

The sign (pictured above), according to the story, was erected in retaliation to an irritating handicapped neighbor child. Not multiple children, but one. Leaving onlookers to wonder who the second and third "retards" in the area are. Could it be the creator of said cardboard sign and his lady friend?

In other news: Today has turned out to be another 90+ degree day, 95 at the moment to be exact. The average high is 83 degrees.

St. Pauls Poet Laureate

This week St. Paul officially named its first ever poet laureate, Carol Connolly. I would expect no less from such a second-rate, stench emitting town that is eternally stuck with its pathetic inferiority complex. It's hard to stand out when you are in the shadow of the burgeoning metropolis known as Minneapolis. That being said it should have not surprised me when the powers that be in St. Paul scoffed at my work and instead chose this housewife.

Here is one of her "better" works, an untitled piece of drivel about such petty and meaningless things as country clubs and luxurious swimming pools. It is followed by one of mine; an artistically charged piece about the hypocrisy of our idiocratic society laws and ways. You'll see how little taste St. Paul has.


Untitled Drivel by Carol Connolly
I am trapped here in a second rate body,
I, me with a proper address,
acceptable bloodlines and the appearance of a decent bank balance,
trapped here at the pool during the thigh show.
Sins of the flesh are punished here,
exposed, a stretched belly negates a person at this spa.
Here the only interest is in bones, in sinu, in teeth and tan.
No flesh need apply.
attention over here
I would like to say that I am terribly sorry if I have visually assaulted you.
I want to explain, I followed the rules,
it was seven pregnancies for me and twins and nine pound babes
and do you know that if want to have your cake
you must eat it.


Spaniard Go Home by Douglas Sinclair
Tomato rotting in the winters solar rays,
this weather is not for thy.
Such temperate apocalypse
fleshes the inane

EXPLOSION!

Paco cleanses the space,
dirty the domicile,
then wait.

The long journey;
land of columbus
to the diplomats.
You are here?
Now be gone.

I am of myself,
putrid tomato is no more.

Great NEW Exercise!

People seem to never learn that if you want to be thin, tone and healthy you need to actually workout and eat healthy. There is no magic diet or pill that will instantly make you thin; unlike your McDonalds burgers that are not only made instantly, but make you obese just as fast.

I guess I'm the sucker for treating my body as a temple over my entire lifespan thus far, by eating only all-natural foods and bi-cycling daily, when I could have been stuffing my proverbial face with Whoppers and chicken fingers, and guzzling gallon after gallon of soda pop to quench my pallet. Because now comes along the lazy mans cure-all; The Power Plate.

This innovative machine (not pictured above left) will do all the work for you. Not only that but it only involves two simple steps:

1. Step onto designated standing area.
2. Stand on designated standing area.

The Power Plate then vibrates the ground you are standing on and the workout commences. It should be noted that if standing is too strenuous it is probable that sitting on a chair in the standing area could be substituted for actual standing, with little effect to your "workout."

Apparently, I'm not the only one who is quite amazed by the magic this machine performs,

"The Power Plate is said to be responsible for the incredible shapes of not only Madonna, but also star such as Claudia Schiffer and Natalie Imbruglia."

So to the loutish society, continue to eat your deep fried pork rinds and Corn Nuts, because at the end of the day you will be able to vibrate your fat away; the celebrities said so.

Idiot Nation

America is the worst. If it isn't some wrist watch toting, baseball cap wearing factory worker dumbing down society than it's a Washington bureaucrat telling me when to think, what to think and how to think it. This country is home to the dense and the lethargic, and I am drained from having to deal with it.

I am bombarded daily by the moronic imagery of American "popular" culture; whether it is Donald Trumps face glaring at me from the side of a bus informing me that I have been "fired" or some hooligan wearing a t-shirt emblazened with a "witty" catch phrase from his favorite television sitcom. And with an intellect like mine it can be quite stressful to have the senses intruded on by these calling cards of idiocy.

I yearn for the days of cobblestone, when a charming hansom cab could be seen moving slowly through the night with a lovestruck couple aboard, and an elegant trolley car would be heard clanging it's delightful bell as it shuttles about the town. This is when society peaked. The population was filled with an intelligencia not seen today; they appreciated actual talent, like Al Jolson, and were not mystified by the parlor tricks of a David Blaine; music enjoyed by the majority was actual music, consisting of notes, tempo and vibrato, not the guttural popularized today by The Yin-Yang Twins, Panic! At the Disco and countless others.

It saddens me to know that I am stuck living amidst a generation of slack-jawed gawkers who want nothing more out of life than diet cola, a hamburger made at the speed of light and mindless drivel propagated as infotainment.

Complaints

Lately I have recieved complaints that my posts are too long, too complicated, and require too much brain power to fully comprehend. I don't mean to offend, but if your attention span is so miniscule that 2 minutes of reading is too burdensome for many of you "blogosphere" people, than I suggest you turn your attentional resources to something more simple.

Television watching is known as an activity for the lazy. Whereas reading is an active endeavor which engages the mind, sitting on a couch and taking in whatever the "boob" tube tells you to think is a rather mindless activity that requires little thought or effort. This is why you so often find the elderly, senile and mentally handicapped captivated by the glow of electronic diodes.

You see, I do not own a television nor do I eat at fast food "restaurants," so I have not been brainwashed into becoming another go-go immediate-gratification automaton. Because of this I have been able to maintain an attention span that enables me to read a piece of literature, longer than two paragraphs, without becoming so bored that I then incoherently scribble a complaint to the author demanding he shorten his writings.

The solution is not for me to change, but for you look deep within yourself and find out why you are incapable of staying attentive for longer than five minutes. It is probably because you are an ignoramus, in which case your opinion matters little to me. If you are not, but still found reason to complain, than I suggest you reevaluate your position. You are probably missing the point to my writings; there are reasons for their length, complexity and overall unique nature. It is within these deeper meanings that true joy can be obtained from my work. What I am publishing is perfect, so logic tells us that it must be you that is the defective and must change.

The Real Threat to Society

Why is everyone so concerned with this man, Mr. Kim? Every newspaper I opened today showed his face, every conversation I eavesdropped on spoke of him. Here is a brief sample of one of the intelligent conversations I overheard:

"What does he think he is doing," a man with a neon green tanktop slung over his shoulder said. His baseball cap wearing friend finished his bite of corndog and insightfully replied, "Look at his stupid glasses, he probably doesn't even know what he is doing."

What an intelligent comment, if I were to take this same logical approach to the situation I would guess that the corndog eating man was a gluttonous moron. Because anyone who would consume such unnatural fats, oils, and pork byproducts has to not only be a moron, I only eat all-natural non-biogenetically engineered foods, and he must always eat such foods. Not only that, but to also lack the motor skills to control a fork, so all food must be obtained by way of a stick, like cavemen, is a sure sign of idiocy. Therefore this man, which I know as much about as he of Mr. Kim, must be a moronic glutton.

Mr. Kim runs a country, likes trendy glasses, and has an affinity for missile testing. So what? Leave him be. If for no other reason than there are much greater concerns to be bothered with; Global warming.

As I write this in the year 2006, the global temperature has increased .7* F from the mean. However, with increasing greenhouse gases, all scientists expect this rate of deviation from the temperature mean to grow exponentially. So much so, that by the yeat 2106 the rate will have increased to 2.2* F above the mean. Which means that on July 7th, 2106; rather than enjoying a leisurely bi-cycle ride through the wonderous leafage that trees provide at the comfortable temperature of 83*, we will be scavengering for food and water in order to survive until tomorrow at a sweltering 85*. What will happen to the trees? They surely will not survive in a climate like this, a climate which will make the earth so harsh and scorched that only tar and cement parking lots will be capable survival and to see a tree you will have to visit a tree museum.

You may be thinking to yourself, I'm a greedy businessman. All I care about is whether I have money in the bank. The environment is for losers. Well sir, if you ever took the time to study these things you would know that it is not only the environment that will be effected by global warming, Everyones health will be in great jeopardy as well. Studies have shown that the warmer the climate the more infectious diseases become and the more dangerous they become. This means that every disease from AIDS and cancer to MS and the common cold will become alarmingly infectious and deadly enough to kills millions a day. So, you'll be the only loser when your money is useless because you're dead from global warming induced Lupus.

Do you people finally see why what this man, a half a world a way, does is so insignificant? For it matters not what actions he takes or what actions the asinine USA takes, because if people do not start listening to me and realizing the type of catastrophe we face, in only a few short centuries, then all is lost anyway.

The future is bleak and shows little hope, unless society as a whole can increase their collective IQ and come to terms with this gigantic inconvenient truth.

Let Me Be!

It seems that around every holiday weekend every blue collar worker and his crooked toothed family rediscover that there is more to life than sitting lethargically in the "living room" on a Wal-Mart sofa. They, for whatever reason, decide to shun their video-gaming machines, soap operas and Jeff Foxworthy CD's; and instead of these menial activities, they flock to my most sacred and private places; local parks, secluded city ponds, and the usually urbane bookstores and cafes of my niche. This assault causes each locale to gasp in a futile battle to maintain the essence that so connected me with it, but eventually becomes filled with an energy so pedestrian that to experience it for even a minute causes me to become ill.

These are the places I go to compose myself after a gruelling day of sitting at my typewriter so distraught that I managed to weave together only one sentence, but at the same time pleased because it was the most beautiful sentence ever committed to paper. However, if I do not get this personal time of solitude to reflect upon my accomplishments, the misdeeds of others, and the incongruence of a fawn slurping fresh dew from a newly fallen leaf, I can be quite the unpleasant person. So, one can see how crucial it is for me to have the local park bench free of suburban dunderheads and their sleeveless t-shirts. Usually I just let them and their inconsequential lives be as they are; I can normally find refuge at an alternate site, but today I would not be so accommodating!

I had quite the successful day, two of my poems had been so emotionally charged that I wept whilst writing them, and I composed a formal correspondence informing the city about global warming and the risk they are running by not recognizing its importance to modern society. Unfortunately, the days course of events took a most unappealing turn once I left my residence. First, en route to the post office, a gentleman exuding the foulest of odors bumped into me, causing my wool vest to obtain the same disgusting smell.

If this pungency was not enough to send my wondrous day into a whirlwind of havoc, I then heard the most abhorrent of sounds emanating from the motor vehicle of a passerby. Ms. New Booty by Bubba Sparxx is what the radio dj called it, gutter sweepings would be a more appropriate title. I immediately fled this environment for one where I could calm myself and reflect on the ups and downs that this day brought to me. I chose to seek privacy at the local park at about 5 pm.

I found my way to the most comforting of benches and rested my woe-filled soul. Soon thereafter I was affronted by two bulky simpletons, which I would have been fine with had I been given enough time to reset my spirit, but I had not, and even if that had been the case I would not have been ready for what was about to happen.

"Happy Independence Day! Why you so sad?" I could smell the lager on the breath of the man nearest me as he queried my situation. I was not amused by American flag bandanna nor his sparkler, which emitted embers that often came near to setting my jacket ablaze.

"I am not sad, I am just in deep thought and would appreciate it if you let me be." This seemed to be a less than satisfactory response to both the first man and his friend, whom chose to respond almost immediately,

"Ahh, he just needs some popcorn," and I smelled an even more vile alcohol come from this man, possibly tequila. He continued,

"Here, have some of me's and he's popcorn!" They then both began to push their trans fat filled and sodium laden bags of puffed corn at me. I attempted to be cordial by just waving away their cheap snacks from my face, but they refused to halt.

"Come on buddy, have some. It's like ways better than Ervin Redbacher." At which point I could take no more of their incessant badgering, and, as I felt the tears well up in my eyes, I EXPLODED!

"Get that popcorn out of my face! I choose to have none and you need to respect that decision of mine, as guaranteed by the constitution. You two have ruined my solitary time and I would appreciate it if you let me be." I could see I was making them realize the idiocy of their actions, "I am going to be leaving this bench and you needn't follow me with your lowly bag of aerated morsels because I will have none of it."

I then walked off knowing I had taught these ill-mannered Joe Lunchpails a thing or two about respecting modern day sages.

Too Soon

This is a copy of a recent correspondence I sent to the offices of CNN:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I do not own a television nor do I plan on buying one in the near or distant future. I prefer to be updated about the goings-on in the world through the warmth of a freshly printed newspaper, not the cold and heartless corporate-controlled idiot box that is television. So, as you may surmise, I was unaware of the imbecilic nature of your reporters, program directors and your cable television channel in general. I became aware; however too late for my own good.

I had been bargain hunting the local farmers market for some foliage, hoping it would add some inspiration into my apartment. After I had put up with all the brow beating, price gouging, and spanish speakers that I could handle, I decided to take refuge in the comfort of a locally and independently owned book shoppe. Just walking through the aisles of paper, ink and bindings calmed my overstimulated mind. I could feel a connection with each and every sophisticated, yet undiscovered author, whose works bemoaned their own unfulfilled presence.

After deciding to purchase the latest novella from Francios Bourdeux, prétentieux, and a very enlightening and heartfelt collection of poetry by Emilia Appetalia, I made my way to the sales person working the cash register. I was aghast as I peered over the counter to see this lout gawking at the sickly glow of a television.

"Please extinguish that machine and ring up my purchases!" He did not immediately heed my statement, but instead replied, "Oh man, they killed al-Zarqawi, take a look," to which I erroneously complied only to be greeted by the face of a dead man.

I can only assume that the image you displayed was of this al-Zarqawi character, but all I could see was the face of my dearly departed cat, Sir Mackenzie, who had recently ceased to live; 5 years and 6 months ago. I was too distraught to continue my transaction and ran out of the store a teary-eyed mess and bicycled to my residence as quickly as my legs would allow.

I feel your decision to not only speak of a person dying, but to then show a dead person was highly irresponsible. I am sure I was not the only person grieiving the recent death of a loved one and was thrown into an emotional tailspin by your errant discussion of death. I can only imagine how many millions of people had their days adversely affected, nay, ruined by your report. What good can come of uttering such mentally, emotionally, and spiritually jarring things? Nothing. That is, unless your intention is to scar the public at large.

In the future I would suggest that you give warning before you touch on topics that are so assured to upset your viewers. Or an even better approach would be to not discuss such matters at all.

Dismayed,
Douglas Sinclair



I have yet to recieve a response through the mail, and have learned from people I have spoken to that they have yet to apologize on air.

Implosion of Hierarchies

Roses dreary yet filled
With tears
they long to live
driving their hearts to explode
long the arduious journey of
Entitlement

To be published in the fall issue of Spiritorial, a national and highly regarded literary journal.

Woeful Sigh

This morning was quite disappointing . I arose from my Sealy Posturpedic with the intention of meandering down to the local record store to peruse the "just arrived" folk records. But alas, I walked out of my flat to see that the chain on my retro bi-cycle had come undone and left me with no clean mode of transportation.

I am hoping my galoot of a neighbor will arrive home shortly and fix my bike.

Art Fair

I went to a local art fair today. I was not impressed with what was being exhibited for sale. I'm not sure if this was supposed to be for amateurs only, so they could get used to people scoffing at their subpar work, but I'm not a professional artist and I could do much better.

I found this entire event to be a waste of my time and was not amused in the least.

Salutations

I am new to this web log thing, but it seems every idiot out there has one, so I am more than qualified.

I think you, my readers, will find yourself delighted, intrigued, and entertained; and you just might find yourself learning a little as well. So, come a long for the ride as I comment on my triumphs, others mistakes, the news, life in general, and important things of the moment.