Laughter Is Far More Than Mere Medicine

humor

 

 

J.T. Hilltop

It’s a running joke. No, I’m not talking about the potential candidates running for president constantly flaunting of their assholiness, what I mean is laughter being the best medicine. Although I must admit some of the ranting of those running for president are far more ridiculous than any slapstick routines I’ve seen. The bottom-line is more than just a venue in Greenwich Village with popular acts, the bottom line is that the most creative, concise, profound, and just plain sensible information about life, love, and politics have come by way of brilliant comedians.

 

It started with Lenny Bruce, although admittedly I’m too young to have seen his act live I certainly have learned much about censorship and abuse of power from Lenny. But the first comedian who really made sense as well as developing my sense of humor was a big fan and learned much of his craft from Mr. Bruce. George Carlin. From the Hippy Dippy weatherman to the brightest funnyman who ever shed light on social and political issues in a way in which we could all understand. George Carlin not only made me laugh, yes out loud long before lol was a thing, but he also helped put so much more into perspective in a way which I personally could relate to. George helped me to understand my nagging sense of spiritual emptiness as well as my frustration with authority figures, ie Washington DC. Through his brilliant use of comedic perspective George Carlin shed an enlightening perspective and helped me to sort out my life issues with a hint of sarcasm and a ton of laughter. Thank you for the medicine George, much of what you said still rings true in so many hearts.

 

When George passed away a deep chasm of a void needed filling. His humor was so sustainable because unlike many jokers who tell the same jokes in different ways (sort of like reporters asking a set of questions that sound eerily similar to the first one they asked) his humor had evolved. But the void remained, thankfully to be filled in from an alien from outer space, Mork from Ork. Robin Williams was the next comedian to enter my little world with a handful of laughter medicine. Different from George but equally as talented and funny. Robin taught me that living my life in an improv format was okay as long as I kept my perspectives. The main difference for me was that Robin was equally adept at playing dramatic roles, but none the less his humor not only comforted me but it also helped to validate the social and political issues I had developed from following Mr. Carlin. The recent tragedy of losing Robin hit hard on a number of levels not the least of which was his ability to rise above his inner demons for as long as he did through the use of laughter.

 

With Robin gone another huge void had been created. The next laugh man I latched onto for medicinal joking was Jon Stewart. Jon had transcended social issues to a completely new level, delving ever deeper into politics and the disgusting hypocrisy and corruption while brining it to light in a serious way via his brilliant comedic outlook on life. As a note of accomplisment Jon Stewart was incredibly significant in the passing of the 911 first responders bill to make sure they have medical coverage. It absolutely astounds me that a single person on Capitol Hill needed to be shamed into voting for the heroes that answered the call on the darkest days our country has see3n in modern history but then again, congress are humorless jokes. Jon went up and down the corridors of the building with some responders having to shame them into agreeing to even put the bill to a vote which only strengthens my position that comedians should have more influence on social and political issues. I compare Jon to Johnny Carson on two levels. One I remember my father, despite leaving early for work in the morning never missing The Tonight Show and laughing so loud it often woke me up. I would later learn that Johnny Carson was dishing out the daily social news stories with his own brand of humor. But more than that, Jon Stewart like John Carson before him kick started the careers of many a comedian, the most notable in Jon’s case Steven Cobare, or more pretentiously, Cobert pronounced Cobare. Using incredible wit combined with profound wisdom, both of these jokers are able to place today’s issues in an understandable if not always humorous way.

 

There have been other laugh makers that helped shape the social and political landscapes, Monty Python, Prime Time Players, Second City among others. All have helped us to not only make sense of a complicated world, but to be able to laugh at the same time. It’s ridiculously hard to remain sad or angry while we’re laughing. That’s why I stand by the statement laughter is the best medicine. I will however admit, that some substances make the laughter even funnier, but these are humor additives not humor itself even if they sometimes make us laugh without understanding why we are laughing.

 

In conclusion, in a recent election in Brazil an actual clown, not clown in the sense of those running for president in the US, Tiririca, was elected to Brazilian Congress. Notably he too is a Republican but perhaps its not the same in Brazil as it is here. In summation, maybe it’s time we form an independent political party and load it up with doctors of comedy who can administer the medicine we all need these day, laughter….

PEACE

 

Cosmic Umbilical Chord

connection

 

 

The two greatest mysteries surround the two most profound events in our lives and we have no recollection of either. Birth and death. But some believe there is a connection somewhere in the universe when each of us is born like a cosmic heartbeat. We’re aware of it as we enter the world but soon forget how to hear it. It is like an echo that connects our birth to our death and draw each other closer until destiny catches up. Maybe the echo is god, maybe our guardian angel, or maybe it’s the physical form of a fate accompli. Then again maybe it’s simply a mystery which should always remain a mystery until our time is done, when the truth, no matter what it is, is revealed us. Maybe its our cosmic umbilical chord to be cut when we enter a new state of consciousness……………

 

A crackle across the first second of eternity

With a universal spark somewhere in time lost

Linked up to the existence of one brave new life

Bouncing off the stars in search of inevitable grace

To create a countdown from my vital existence

 

A cosmic echo which sprung from my virgin heartbeat

Connecting my Alpha to the edge of the Omega

A faint rumbling, a sonic thumping of newborn élan

The umbilical message reaching the will of my ego

The louder it gets the closer I am to my death

 

I have learnt at birth to ignore its constant pulse

Each tick a metronome in time with termination

Yet every second deaths drumbeat pulls me nearer

Casting dark shadows from my embryonic journey

And every sun it burns out leaves a Cimmerian shade

 

There in the dark shadows of my solitude I meditate

Contemplating the phantoms of yesterdays dreams

For it is alone in the darkness with my passionate ego

My eyes see that the shining light illuminates a path

And my ears hear the cosmic heartbeat which keeps drawing me closer

I reach out to meet it with joy

 

 

Original Thought, The Prophet II (A Shady Sequel)

prophet

 

What? Another sequel? Sequels are never as good as the original. Then again what the Hell is ever as good as the original? But wait, is it original? Now there’s a thought. But is it an original thought? Some say there is no such thing as original thought because someone somewhere has more than likely had that same thought before. Come to think about it I think I heard that somewhere before. In a way I guess that’s true of course, Tommy Edison gets credit for the light bulb but others claim it was discovered either simultaneously or perhaps even slightly before by someone else. Either way that light bulb has not only spawned generations of ideas it has become the icon of an idea itself. Why one just went off in a thought cloud above my head. But was it original?

Scientists (or is it romantics?) tell us no two snowflakes are exactly alike but I personally find that impossible to believe. What possible kind of study could possibly encompass every snowflake ever? The friggen things melt before ever being checked and logged into the snowflake database. Or is it a snowflake genetic information storage cloud or frozen genome, its so hard to keep track of all this damn information! Some icy flakes haven’t even been created yet so it’s a bit premature to say no two snowflakes are alike. All things considered I’m confidant at least two of those snowflakes in that Alaskan snow drift must be clones. So I will attempt to put original thought into my warped and frivolous snowflake perspective by doing what any original artist would do. I’ll steal it. Or borrow it at least, so this perspective is brought to you in original conceptual form inspired (and ripped off) of a book by the brilliant Lebanese laureate Kahlil Gibran. The Prophet.

The Un-original But Still New Prophet

And then a musician came to him and said “speak to us of music, how is our music not original?” And he answered “Music invades our sensory organs through repetitive and sometimes annoying arrangements of sound. Because we have only 12 notes in every octave it is extremely difficult to create a melody that hasn’t yet been played either in ones mind or on an instrument. Combine that with the fact most of us have been listening to music since our first lullaby and have no doubt watched enough television to have jingles burned deeply into our psyches that its impossible not to be influenced by tunes we have heard before when we create music. One could pick up a guitar to start playing something perhaps having just heard that “Nationwide is on your side” commercial and unconscientiously letting the tune drift into what one was translating from mind through the guitar strings. That’s not to say that you can’t make an original song, but it must have come to you from somewhere in your past listening.” It’s called inspiration. Perhaps artists should be wondering where they came up with an original before accusing others of stealing their originals. Music is meant to be shared, and if you want to call yourself a musician do so without believing you invented sound itself. (Disclaimer: I do not take legal responsibly if the Nationwide jingle is bouncing around in your head right now)

And then a poet came to him and said “speak to us of poetry, are not poets original?” And he answered, “Poetry is a way of painting words into feelings and emotions. Poets help us to see ourselves in their flowing word canvas. We are all born poets, it’s just that far too many of us forget that once we grow up and allow our creative thoughts to integrate with the clutter of day to day bullshit. Poets observe and report through the eyes of creative pureness. Poems range in style and can be crystal clear to some while totally indiscernible to others. It is meant to be felt and understood not analyzed. Poetry is an expression of the soul often written while at our most naked and vulnerable selves, when we express our innermost thoughts in words. In that respect it is original, but are not words merely combinations of letters? We have only 26 letters from which to choose our order yet somehow we manage to confuse the usage of English language. But their there they’re, everything will be fine. You poets are indeed original human beings with fragile ego’s so for the sake of avoiding another few years of therapy then yes, poetry is indeed original. But remember it’s the receiver of the poet’s message who perceives the originality not the poet.” It’s called inspiration.o

 

 

Next a shady Politian came forward and said to him “Speak to us of politics. Are not all of my political ideas original?” And after regaining his composure from sarcastic laughing the prophet answered, “Politics and political opinions are like unwashed armpits. If you stay at home with them you can handle the stench of your own opinion but if you venture out in public best to deodorize your opinions if you value friendships. Its impossible for one to have their own original political opinion because every controversy known to humanity has been discussed, re-discussed, and-over-discussed a million times without an answer. Whatever stance you choose to take has already been taken. In addition, millions and millions of dollars have been spent to tell you what your opinion on various political topics are either through subliminal ads or motivational scam artists disguised as news agents with television shows who’s sole purpose is to anger you into an opinion based strictly on your religion and/or political party of choice. That is not to say you can’t have an original non political opinion of your own but to do that you would need to research the subject through trustworthy methods of information, then sit alone with only your thoughts and think it through. Devoid of outside influences if you concentrate long enough it is indeed possible to arrive at an original conclusion, but it is extremely difficult with all the information super highways and abundance of social media outlet trolls prowling around in the hopes of forcing their opinion upon you. Otherwise we simply verbally regurgitate someone else’s spoken thoughts.” That would be inspiring. In my opinion of course.

Next a scientist came to the Prophet and asked, “Why is there religion when we have science? Is not The Origin Of The Species truly original? I mean it‘s right there in the title” The prophet shook his head. Every species contains originalities specific to that species but humans have an option between science and religion. Both religion and science serve a purpose for humanity. Science it the study of the world around us and religion is the study of ourselves. Science helps us to understand how and why things work but it can’t explain everything. It is based on testing and re-testing data to prove hypothesis and formulate conclusions. Religion attempts to help teach us about who we are, how we should treat one another, and to love all creatures great and small. Science is like a pesky mosquito to religion that becomes more and more difficult to swat. It‘s a clash of philosophies, ideology vrs. Cause and effect”

“The main problem religion faces in this context is most times it’s not a choice, more of a birthright. Often ones religion is determined by their parents or by nature of where they are born and they become defined by their rituals and beliefs. So religion is given, not original beliefs that spontaneously combust. (not counting Moses flaming bush) Religion is philosophical set of tenets based on faith not experimentations as does science. One must have faith that the religion they are following has all the correct answers, and the leaders of that religion who give those answers are interpreting the holy texts correctly. One Bible or Torah or Koran can be interpreted in many different ways which give us a massive variety of religions. We have used religion to explain the unexplainable since the dawn of time, assigning gods to nearly everything in nature. So it is useful in explaining the unexplainable and in teaching people how to act correctly as it applies to living together on earth when done correctly. If your religion includes science and instructs you on how to interact with the world then you are indeed lucky, and may possibly have found a true religion. If on the other hand you have become enlightened and reached a state of living that excludes the need for a conglomerate of teachings and beliefs you are even more lucky, because you can appreciate others beliefs while not allowing them to infect yours.” So religion is helpful in adjusting your soul and science is helpful if adjusting your knowledge. You must strike your own balance, but do us all a favor. Don’t attempt to force either upon the rest of us, let us all find our own way. Since the dawn of organized religion they have been perverted into excuses to create wars. If you take a scientific approach and analyze history as it applies to wars you will find just about every war has a religious contention at it’s core. You can’t kill your way to peace.”

And then a child came to him and asked “Well then Prophet, if musicians, poets, scientists, and theologians all contend they deal in originality and may perhaps be wrong then what exactly is original thought and how do we achieve it? Do we learn it in school?” The profit thought cautiously before he answered “Let us start with what’s not original thought. Original thought is not learned in a school or institution. Education is a great thing and though it may seem empowering it can’t give you original thought it can only prepare you for it . Many of the young hipsters of the day believe that being able to quote famous philosphers or scientists makes them appear smarter than others because they possess the power of original thought but it doesn’t. It only makes them seem arrogant and out of touch. Education only gives us the foundations to develop original thought. The very second we enter the world we are being shaped by those around us. So to begin with we need to discard all the distractions of life. In order to achieve original thought you must put down the books, turn off all your electronic devices, and reach deep inside the self and get in touch with your soul, for it is the soul that is the one true original. Get educated then be your own inspiration. An open mind will show some ignorance but a closed mind will show all of it.” Meditate on that….. PEACE

 

 

 

Torn Out Page

torn

 

From the book of me

A page torn

Of a life forlorn

Sipping on scorn

Swallowing thorns

A torn out page

From a book of rage

Much too full of age

And too short on sage

 

No matter how fast my legs may take me

The past sneaks behind as if to forsake me

When I think it has left its still there behind me

With a lightning flash searing it blinds me

Filling my pages with misguided dreams

Promises made were not what they seemed

 

 

 

The days of my youth

Define me as reckless

Ill thought plans

My mirror reflection

The heart of rebellion

The brains of a fool

Trying to be popular

Hoping to be cool

Living in consequence

Doing my time

Running away

But its always behind

But time catches up in fiery vengeance

Rifts made so deep no time can mend it

A constant reminder of all I have been

Swimming is whisky dancing with sin

Young and naïve not taking life serious

All that enthusiasm made me delirious

Times heals superficial leaving pain deep inside

A future to outrun with a past I can’t hide

But one thing I have learned

The pain doesn’t stay

It may seem eternal

But it slithers away

Leaving a trail

Scars in our hearts

Tattooed on our souls

Etched on our parts

Ashen and pale

We look to the sky

Unreachable goals

So why even try

 

Look in my eyes soaked profound in despair

Eyes deep of wrinkle and a head without hair

Life is just a wisp of breath like vapors on a mirror

The older your eyes the more you see clearer

Truths are written if my orbs can stay open

Until the breath dissipates erasing times slogan

 

 

The story of a life

From start to finish

Written on the wind

Like words in a scrimmage

Once the protagonist

Now just a viewer

The nights they get longer

As the days become fewer

Spirit and sage on every stage

Acting the fool and feeling the rage

When the last chapter rises

Revealing a crisis

Just a torn out page

Time spent in a cage

Looking to be free

Of myself

That’s me

An anecdote in the rain

Gathering pain

As it runs down the drain

Sometimes life sucked

My arms holding sin

Belly full of gin

Never knowing where to begin

Or how to lose or how to win

Living stagnant

Dying slow

Here’s where its at

Take my advice let it go

 

 

Life sucks so suck it up

Stop whining about life and change it

Only you can rearrange it

Don’t be a drag

Make your life what you want

Or hoist the white flag

 

Live for today….Peace

 

Anecdote (p.I)

anecdote I

 

Anecdote

(Inspired by the fabulous Welch poet Mr. Zimmerman chose as a namesake)

 

 

In the end we are all just ghosts in the lives of those we encounter that share an importance to our own lives. Life is not a straight line or a cycle but an elaborately moving thread that touches millions of other threads in the ultimate fabric of the universe. Sometimes certain threads become entwined for long periods of time and become part of someone else’s patch of cloth, someone else’s story. Once we are gone our names begin to echo off the canyons of life in search of a legacy. We may never find it here on Mother Earth.

 

 

We are but anecdotes in each others lives

 

The moon smiled as it whispered her name

The wind screamed I love you to the sky

Perhaps a bit too loud

The sun clasped tight the latch of day

Sealing in the evening’s sweet song

Perhaps a bit too short

Gracefully she strutted across my life

I  behind in a cascade of stardust

An anecdote in the wake of her stride

 

 

 

Bound in passions of leather and lace

Squealing the promise of surrender

Bodies wrapped in tenuous pleasure

Tightly clung to our mutual destiny

She held me tight in the eyes of her world

Imprisoned was my weakened soul

Counting each breath in hope eternal

Feeling each beat of her rapturous heart

Knowing my devotions would one day become

A mere anecdote of her days gone by

A short chapter in her story of life

 

 

 

 

 

I peered deeply into my paranoia

The tide waning to an uncertain sea

Together we had floated o’er the oceans

Treacherous waves rising before the storm

Time was at hand

Exchanging glances to reveal our fears

She pulled my face tenderly to her breast

Comforted on her cloud of  compassion

We had entered the phase of our final countdown

We hastily reminisced with the ghosts of the fates

Solitude will be a continuous torture

Who were we, who was I, who am I now?

The years seemed deep and long of tragedies

Alone I face the story’s close

The Lone Protagonist

In the end merely an anecdote

To everyone I’ve ever known

 

Cerebral Cabal

cerebral

 

Fireflies behind my eyes

Fluttering about

Blinking

Chattering

Softly first

Then screaming

Shut up!

Make them go away

They don’t belong

Who are they?

Why are they in my head?

The answer is within

I am anger

Rage

Livid pain

Burning eyes

Staring hatred

Searing skin

I am you

I am fear

Shivering alone

Petrified

Trembling pain

Paralyzed by thought

Stuck in your worthless void

I am you

I am insignificance

The losing team

Last place

Again

Dejected and ashamed

I suck

Its your fault

I am you

I am guilt

Mortified

Humiliated

Crying in the shadows

Face charred red

Head hung low

Abased, abused

I am you

I am contempt

Displeased

Disgusted

Rotting in your presence

Disdainfully at your side

Putrid vile fool

I am the stench of you

I am you

I am disgrace

Undeserving

Ridiculous

Pity the petty maggot

 

We are you

United and free

You’re cerebral cabal

We are desperation

We are loud

Listen to us

We are you

You are us

All talking at the same time

So an idiot slug like you understands

You are nothing

Open your ears

Hear the disgust

Open your eyes

See the truth

You are an aberration

Miscreant

Wretched piece of nothingness

Go now

Hurt someone

Devour someone

Kill someone

Kill yourself

 

Quiet!

Its you that must die

A capsule of therapy

To help me forget you

A bottle of strength

To shut you up

Make you scatter

Make you leave

You never stop

Leave me alone

You are not me

I am not you

I will stop you all

It will end

We will end

All things must end so let my ending be a new beginning or let me go to sleep

 

Pieces Of The Past

yesterday

 

Tiny brushstrokes of a portrait

Pieces on a canvass

Time bandits

Stealing moments

Charting memories

A life on loan

In the end alone

Just pieces of the past

 

Yesterdays pieces of ourselves

Parts of our puzzles

Triumphs and troubles

Maps of our experiences

No glory just our story

What are were

Flesh blood and bone

In the end alone

Just pieces of the past

 

Lyrics of our songs

Sung with glee

Enthused

Tempered with blues

Notes on a scale

With a soft groan

A whispering moan

In the end alone

Just pieces of the past

 

We are the words of our poem

Gloriously described

On our hearts inscribed

Words of love

Hopes and dreams

Written by us

And those we have known

In the end alone

Just pieces of the past

 

A patch quilt of memories

Past and present

The good and bad

Bought and spent

Inerasable lines

Deep and furrowed

Reaped and sown

In the end alone

Just pieces of the past

Never meant to last

Pieces of a storm

Here and gone

Passing through

Today

Never meant to stay

How fast we’ve grown

To be alone

Alone at last

Just pieces of the past

Visit but don’t stay in yesterday for the destination is not of our choosing. Our journeys however belong solely to us….PEACE

 

Dying To Find Out (The story of JT’s Afterlife)

after

 

Like many people I’ve often pondered what will happen to me after I die. Once we pass our expiration date do we get recycled, start again as someone new? Are we limited to the option of floating on clouds with wings and a harp or burning forever with the evilest most vile horned creature from under our childhood beds? Is it another step toward reaching our Nirvana? Or do we just cease existing altogether? Well this is the story of the very day I found my answer. This is the story of my afterlife experience…….

 

 

 

I

“Sir do you want fries with that?” Mmmm, fries. “Why yes indeed my young friend, supersize me with an extra large, I deserve a break today.” Of course I wanted a break it was on of those time I felt an need, no an entitlement to splurge a little and pay my homage to the demons of poor life choices. A really rough week was how I justified having that humongous cholesterol popping double bacon cheeseburger and free fatty acid dripping fries laden with sodium on that one fateful night. What the Hell, I’m all for freeing fatty acids and cheeseburgers come in second only to double cheese and pepperoni covered pizza. Holy guacamole what a tasty burger, better than a Kahuna burger although honestly I never really had one of those. I was having a bacon burger Royall that just begged for a can of Fosters. A jumbo half pound of grease splattering all meat hamburger topped with six slices of sodium laced fat filled hickory smoked bacon and four slices of lactose laden sharp cheddar cheese. All on this delicious sesame seed bun with “secret sauce”. It was the cholesterol lovers special, a sacrificial lamb to the great prophet Angina, patron saint of clogged arteries. It was oh so delicious going down and man oh man it just melted away the stress giving me that all warm and fuzzy feeling in my stomach.. The grease spots on my bag of extra large fries advertised an accompaniment of deep fried deliciousness. This meal was an orgasm and a half for my taste buds who were merrily dancing with reckless abandon all over my mouth. I’m telling you brothers and sisters, when you have the three B’s, life is good. Beer, bacon, and burgers. Collectively they make everything feel all tingly and giddy but as I would soon find out this particular evening that tingling was much more than the usual comfort food rumblings. All that warm and fuzzy tingling on the inside was actually a war erupting deep in my entrails and not a jovial taste bud enlightenment producing the happy tango in my belly

Unbeknownst to yours truly there was an acidic uprising throughout my gastric battlefields. The war of the small and large intestines was fully engaged and acids were bouncing and flying around everywhere. An all out acid attack was underway which was bad enough, but even worse, in cardiac central a shock and awe campaign was in full flight. While the intestines battled it out they sent waves of nausea up through the esophagus in a campaign to create a reflux warning. Tossing and turning, tumbling and churning, the gastro intestinal system did its best to raise the threat level to red and wake me up. But the eight or so beers and the large glass of boxed wine had seen to it that nothing short of an absolute hydrogen explosion or an atomic uprising would wake me from my comatose sleep. The battle ensued and intensified through the evening as much of the fat from the bacon, cheese, and hamburger had forced their way past the intestine walls and into the already wreaked liver. There it jumped on the hemoglobin transport and took the main artery directly to first coronary quadrant. The transport emptied exactly where the cholesterol had been preparing for its moment. The bad cholesterol, the axis of digestive tract evil had been planning for this event over the years, setting up roadblocks all along the arteries to prevent supplies from passing through to reach the life center. If it can cut off all paths to the heart an prevent the flow of life giving liquids to blood pumping center the evil cholesterol will be declared the winner! The blood supply line was doing its best to bring humanitarian supplies to the heart, but this huge bacon cheeseburger gave cholesterol just the advantage it needed to create a proper blockage. Now it can shut down its opponent forever. Without blood flow its just a matter of time. My time had run out, sad to say not a victim of a heinous crime, not dead from a car accident, not an overdose of illicit joy enhancers, not even a natural disaster for me to blame for my demise. Only person to blame was the man in the mirror, the man who knew damn well that all those poor choices would one day take their toll an this was the day. In the end I guess I’m glad I was asleep at the time because I never saw it coming, but stay tuned because what follows death is the issue at hand.

Now back to the fateful event. I’m not exactly sure how to put it into words but I was feeling lethargic, which isn’t completely unusual at this time of night given my hard job and party lifestyle. Still there seemed something a bit more strange to it that night. I mean sure the beer made me woozy and sleepy, and the work its gonna take to digest that huge bacon cheeseburger is taking a lot out of me, but still an unusual amount of lethargy. An almost sinister lethargy was settling over me. A few Zantac washed down with a tall cup of wine should take the edge off and then I could enjoy a serious chillax on the couch. I mumbled, “never again!” How many times have I said that? Ell this time my dear friends I meant it. This was my final dance, my last call.

The Zantac and wine combo platter successfully masked the sensation but not the reality. Having finished the mind numbing exercise of staring at the glowing colored pixels flowing out from the TV screen to process a multitude of worthless information it was time to turn in. I’m just flat out tired as shit and went to bed unaware it would be my last sleep. TBC

 

JT’s Story Of Life

everything

 

 

 

 

 

A Fairly Accurate Fairy Tale Selection by JT Hilltop

Intro:

We can’t wait until our babies can talk until they can talk. That’s because once they start communicating the first thing they learn is how to ask questions. Not a question here and there but a barrage of never ending questions. “What’s sex Mom, what’s the finger mean Dad.” They wanna know everything about everything and the questions don’t stop, “Mommy, where do babies come from? Daddy, why were you moving furniture around last night?” Its just in the very fabric of our being to be inquisitive because even those unable to speak are curious. Inquiring mimes want to know.

Back when I was just a mere tadpole burning questions festered in my head as well. I drove my Mom and Dad crazy with an overwhelming curiosity. “Why do I have to eat spinach? Why do I have to put the seat up after I pee?” And so forth. Unfortunately the answers I usually got to real questions was go ask your mother or go ask your father but still I trusted that the two of them had the answers. Then one day I had an epiphany of sorts. If they give me the answers then who gives them the answers? Who the heck is explaining everything to them? Grandpa talks nonsense and Grandma just repeats herself so it can’t be them. Where the heck are Mom and Dad getting all the answers they give me? So I did what any curious young word detective would do, I launched my own investigation

. It seems they got their answers from some house like building they called church. Apparently this church place is only open on Sundays and in order to get in everyone had to be dressed up real nice. So I guessed that everyone who went to church got the answers to life if they got all dressed up. It’s some dude who wears a robe with a funny necktie thing they saw only once a week on Sunday that has the answers. He seems to be everyone’s father. The father stands up in front of everyone and talks, sometimes even scolds everyone. Then after yelling at them in an apparent attempt to make the parents feel better he makes us sing songs and repeat phrases like “amen” “and with you“ and the like. They pass around some baskets and people apparently either write their questions down in an envelope or they have to pay money to get answers. Mom even gave me a quarter to put in the basket so I assumed I had to save up enough money to get my answers from this father dude. After he finishes all his jabbering and singing he waits by the door to talk to everyone on the way out. I guessed he then gave them the answers to everything. But I had my doubts. I mean like why does this dude who dresses so damn strange seem to know everything? But this is the guy who gave my parents all the answers to all the questions of the world. This is the dude who told Mom where I came from, and told Dad how to make babies. But how does he know so much? I needed to find out. Another investigation.

I watched closer to see how it all works. First we all go into this huge room. A gigantic room actually, and this all knowing dude stands up on a kind of stage he calls the alter all lit up with candles. He stands at a podium and lectures everyone in the room, all of whom are sitting on these hard wooden bench like things. I don’t believe the designer gave any thought whatsoever about how peoples asses would feel just 5 minutes after sitting. I could see all of the kids and half of the Dads squirming around trying to find a position that doesn’t leave bruises on the cheek. That must be what they mean when they say turn the other cheek. Anyway this funny looking dude stands up there and tells stories about a long long time ago, tells us to open our song books and makes us sing songs. Then he gets mad and tells the adults how to live, which for us kids is the best part because its Mom and Dad getting some of the shit they give us constantly. But still, its boring as hell, which apparently is a word I can’t say even though its in that book the dude reads from. Is that where he gets all his info?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it turns out he does know everything because it tells him in that special black book. it’s the Big Black Book of Everything he calls “The Bible” and it is considered by just about everyone to be the end all and be all of answers. Some people call it the holy bible. Funny word, if I heard a story with lots of holes in it I would think it’s a lie. Yet people put their hand on this book and swear to things and everyone else accepts that as absolute truth. It made me wonder what could make one book so damn powerful. If this book has the answers to everything and I read it myself I’ll know everything too. So I took a copy, which didn’t seem like a bad thing to me until Dad screamed when I got home and he saw it. Now I know what stealing is and that its wrong to steal. For one thing stealing results in an ass whooping, so you see, that book taught me something right from the start. I was learning already

I finally did read this Bible when I got older though, and what I did read absolutely amazed me. This book, this holy bible is filled with some very strange stories, even stranger than green eggs and ham. It was quite hard to read because even though the words were English words many of them made no sense. Like what is a begat? And why are so many people doing it? So I read it over and over until I could finally understand it. It was loaded with all kinds of rock throwing, sword fighting, and stories about whales and endless rains, and fights with whole buildings falling down and blood. Holy (there’s that funny word again) shite there’s a lot of blood. I wondered who wrote this Bible and why so I asked the Sunday dude with the funny collar how and when it was written. I have to tell you I was quite shocked when I found out. This shit was written thousands of years ago, and it is a kind of history book written by god. The story of Everything by God. Well he didn’t actually write it himself but it was his book, or as the father dude said his “word.” I think he had some holy ghost writers pen it for him but the first five books were written by this like four thousand year old bearded guy named “Mosey”. Not only did he write it, but he had a starring role in the second through fifth chapters. The rest was written by some out of work history teachers called scribes. That is until this Spanish guy named Jesus comes along, then all the different religions have different history books. But my interest was in the beginning, the first five books that seem to tell the story of everything. In the beginning when man created god in his own image. Or do I have that backwards? Maybe this Mosey dude was dyslexic. Somebody needs to spin these fantastic fables out.

So now that I’m fully grown and have an understanding of how all this church and Bible stuff work I decided I would spin this story with my own biblical proportions. I started thinking back to the time when my Mom and Dad would read me stories. All these wild fairy tales of ladies with hair so strong and long that a man could climb up her hair and save her, or a little girl that ventured into the house of a family of bears. Bears who ate porridge and slept in beds. There was a cross dressing wolf dressed as a grandma, houses made of candy, and even three little pigs who each made their houses from different things, one straw, one wood, and one was apparently a freemason who built his with bricks. All the stories were quite harmless really, and very entertaining to a young child. And I had no clue at the time, but these stories had more than just entertainment values they taught me something. They taught me about what my parents called morals. The moral of this story is don’t steal, or the moral of that story is to be considerate of others and be good, be home by midnight or whatever. The point is the purpose of those stories was to teach me what’s right and what’s wrong in a way my young mind could comprehend. As I got older of course I realized that pigs can’t talk let alone build brick houses, and bears live in caves and shit in the woods, and they don’t even like porridge. I learned things from these stories even though they were completely made up. It was just a way to get me to understand right from wrong in a way I could understand at the time. But now that I’m grown up they still expect me to believe in a garden with the first two people ever and some evil talking snake., a man building an ocean liner called an ark and grabbing two of each animal, insects, birds, all of them, and gave them their own rooms. Some kind of floating creature hotel filled with honeymoon suites. It floated around with them for forty days and forty nights while it rained continuously. Somehow they all ate, but not each other. The lions played with the lambs and the crickets and the birds and none of them gave into the temptation for forty days. It got me thinking about these bible stories. What if the funny collar dude was making up stories like The Brothers Grimm did? What if it is just stories written by his mom and dad to help teach him right from wrong? I mean it makes sense, right? Just like Rapunzle, or Rumplestiltskin, or Goldilocks. Maybe these stories of Adam, and Eve, and Noah, and Cain and Able were just fairytales to teach him morals.. What if they are really made up stories written to explain to the children of thousands of years ago how to behave and how to treat each other? And of course how everything came to be?

It brought me to an internal understanding. This bible, this holy book, is nothing more than the history of humans as told by the people who first learned to write. Most of these biblical tales are merely a recounting of stories that were told around campfires or homes around an area of land we call the fertile crescent. Now I need to rewrite these first five stories in the bible in way we can all relate to in more modern times. I need to write my own big black book, JT’s Story Of Everything. Bring it on!

TBC

New Apocalypse

apo

Welcome to the new apocalypse
Ominous dominance across Metropolis
Standing idle instead of stopping this
World is burning with God on top of us

Crushing souls
Removing hope
Noxious fumes
Choking rope

Deny him and defy him
Existence is just a lie
Defile him and revile him
Let the wretched of us die

My world revolves on broken glass
While grazing fields of poison gas
Every revolution may be the last
Pity those who survive the blast

Smoke is rising
Burning homes
A sight of great distinction
Acrid smoke
Mortal stench
A place of mass extinction

Provocative apocalypse shoved down our esophagus while optimistic populace suffers through necropolis
The new apocalypse