Archive for the ‘Society’ Category

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Of Mice and Mold

March 4, 2007

They cross the world’s great oceans to spill their blood upon the sands of a one day forgotten desert. They perish for a land that is not ours. Their end is one of sacrifice, yet many of them return unsung. Most of them.

The Wounded SoldierThose who return from their call of active duty with the wounds of battle upon them, are promised a caring treatment from our great government along with one of it’s appointed curators, Major General George Weightman. They are given the privilege to stay in the halls of building 18 of the Walter Reed Hospital; the rotting, pest infested, molding infrastructure that houses our heroic wounded.

How devilish that “our boys” are sent to a hell across the globe, and return harmed (mentally and physically) only to find recovery in a wet paper bag. It is a testament as to why so many have come to distrust our great government. They constantly prove that the objective matters over the human element, and that a casualty is statistic; not a human life. It is then us who have to shoulder their great follies for the rest of the world to see.

Their mistakes like this reflect the people of our society in the eyes of every other nation. We can only hope that they can salvage the pieces of their sunken act, before our empire makes it’s great fall.

Kyle W. Sutton

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The Feeling Begins…

January 17, 2007

The man with the silver hair believes that he knows all that can be known. He stands in the pulpit and screams down upon the name of Kazanztakis. What has that name done? Has he used his God-given imagination to identify with his savior? I’m sure of it. He made a safe haven for men like you and I to wonder, and feel inspiration beyond the words of our beloved Gospels. “Blasphemy!” Yells the church. “We’ve not the need for free thinking,”

They don’t care to read the disclaimers at the beginning of the masterpiece. If they do, they will only scoff. That is their nature. They don’t believe it a good thing for you to believe what you want to believe. And they don’t know of anything other than what their stuffy traditions tell them. They don’t care to know.

To them it is unconceivable for a messiah to deal with the pain of tempation. We the people should have no way to aspire to the true body of the son of God. That’s how they see it. That’s what they believe. To them the forty nights in the desert were some sort of picnic, and Satan was some door to door salesman. We’re not interested, and that’s that with a shut of the door. You can hesitate to turning that stone into bread with no effort, for no man feels tempted.

They strike at art like brood of vipers. They don’t sit around to hear the message. Just make sure you stick around for their’s. “Look, the Messiah has come down from his cross,” They shout, and run out into the world to spread lies. They never wait. They never hear the words, “It is Accomplished.”

Kyle W. Sutton

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The Land of Opportunity

November 20, 2006

You step out of the matinee into the brisk November air. It’s then when you see the man in the long green coat. He is approaching fast. You try to turn the other way as if to seem too involved in a conversation with your friend, wife, husband, girlfriend, or boyfriend. You try to ignore his existence, but only in futility. He asks you anyway. Holding his hand out for alms, he tells you how the world has fucked him over. It’s right at that point when the world can see into your eyes. It knows that you wish against parting from you pocket change; your hard earned currency.

You topple and drop the least of it down into the soiled Dixie cup. He smiles and you feel empty, ashamed, angered. “Maybe Patrick Bateman had it right,” you think. Just one less man holding a sign that says God Bless. It would make little sense helping the man out, for he has no chance beyond my seventy five cents. It’s a lost cause, and besides, you’ve got an appetite.

Perhaps you’ll change your mind? Just then in the moments that you settle on giving the man the quarter, you realize that others might see you. You shove it off, and just keep walking. It’s not a problem; you have the right to be a Sodomite in the real world, just as long as you play Saint Francis of Assisi in your closet. It’s a deal that you worked out with God.

You feel bad for a moment, but you’ll forget over a plate of Macaroni and Cheese with a glass of Merlot. You’ll raise your glass and have God bless America and the people of it’s grand bourgeoisie.

It would be too much trouble to take an example from Mr. Bernadone:

Kyle W. Sutton