War Is Unhealthy For Children And other Living Things








The effects of the booze and drugs didn’t manage to dull the fact that my brother is dead in some country called Vietnam! It did however manage to leave me an ass kicking hangover teamed up with emotional overload. Jameson’s body, or what’s left of it, is being flown home tomorrow from Vietnam. So now what? Time to make preparations Old man war lover said of his son’s death . Just what in the fuck did that mean? How am I supposed to cope with losing my mentor, my big brother?
Kids in school barely spoke a word to me, afraid I had a dozen eggs hanging precariously around my heart. Maybe I did. I told them at work I needed a little more time off which of course was not a problem. Mom was in her denial stage wearing a fake smile but her vacant eyes betrayed the true feelings. One look at the hollow abyss of her glazed orb sockets and the masquerading smile fooled no one. Dad had spiraled downward and was drinking way too much, which for him was quite a feat. His precious fucking reputation around town had now become the poor martyr that sacrificed his son. Bullshit on that. Jameson was the one who fucking gave his life and Mr. well respected man about town was soaking up the sympathy like it was he himself that had fought in Viet fucking Nam. The only possible good side to all the bullshit was that my sister Mandy was coming home. Mandy sweet and innocent Mandy my older “true hippie” sister who had left home. I had always suspected my father of kicking her out of the house but Amanda maintained she left on her own. At the very least I was sure Dad had made living here impossible for her. Mandy had left and moved in with her boyfriend upstate New York in a town called South Fallsburg. I had been to visit them once when Ken and I drove up to the Catskill Mountains town to get away for a week two summers ago. Her boyfriend Todd had studied Club Management at Sullivan County Community College while Mandy took some photography classes and worked part time as a bartender at the Bending Elbow. Todd finished his two years and landed a job at a resort club in Monticello as assistant manager. The last time I heard from her she was still working and was trying to find work as a nature photographer. I would find out soon enough because part of the preparation was getting a room ready. I really missed her.
Dad was too drunk so I had to bring Mom to the Funeral Home to make arrangements. Jesus shit this must have been the hardest thing I ever did. Mom sat and nodded her head as a sleazy mortician described what services they offered. It was downright offensive that he was asking my Mom about tips for the gravediggers, and did she want to spray some air freshener in the casket. I mean I know it needs to be done, but all we were getting from the US Army as I understood it was an American flag and a uniform once worn by my brother and his remains. Remains? He died in a fucking bomb massacre and truth is I have always had a distrust of the military but give me a break. They most likely scrapped together whatever organic shit was left of the troop that were killed and shared it among the families of all the deceased. Who really gives a shit if it smells nice anyway? The fucking topper was getting her to buy a vault so the “a umm, bio-organic scavengers don’t infiltrate the casket.” Oh, do you mean so the worms, maggots, and grubs don’t eat his body? There is no God damn body you scumbag, only remains! But again, I guess he had to do what he had to do. I would absolutely hate a job like that. The memories of all the bodies being discreetly removed from the Nursing Home patients that died flooded my mind. I imagined a similar conversation took place with their families and thought how many of them wouldn’t have even cared about the worms and such. But Mom did, and I knew it was all about her and not me. My loser old man couldn’t even make it to the funeral home. All that did was added to my already boiling distain for his sorry self-pitying ass.
On the ride home I knew I needed to get Mom talking. “When is Mandy getting home?” As if on cue Mom broke out of her desperate trance. “She is coming in Sunday night. I can’t wait to see her Can you pick her up at the train station JT?.” I was going to respond but she immediately regressed back into her sad and morose meditation. Jesus shit this was tough, and I have no idea what to do. I let Mom wallow through the five steps of mourning as I continued to attempt to make sense of the world. This fucked up Jameson free world. I can’t handle all this death shit man, I gotta do something!




When we got home from the funeral sales floor the old man was sitting in his recliner and was clearly out of it. My anger began to gather in the pit of my stomach and work its way up into my overloaded brain. I looked at that sorry excuse of a man and decided that this was the time. I got right up in his face. “Why don’t you get up off of your self-centered pitiful ass and go comfort my Mom? She is in so much more pain and all you do is sit your worthless ass here and get drunk and feel sorry for yourself. Where are your patriotic self righteous principles now? Jameson is fucking dead! Dead! I told you this war would kill him and now it has. Mom cries every god damn night and all you can do is drink beer. You call me worthless well what the fuck are you?” It was the first time I ever cursed in front of my Dad and it felt strangely good. The only thing that could have possibly felt better was if I had a picture of the look on his stunned face. He had no clue what to do because in his cold heart he knew I was right. I just read that asshole his rights and I liked it! He was speechless and I sensed his angst not directed at me for a change but at himself. He looked sheepishly toward my Mom, looked at me and then back at her again. I believe he was debating whether he should try and beat me to a pulp or go and comfort his wife but surprisingly after a short deliberation he chose to do the right thing. As soon as they embraced I knew it was time for me to head to my room, my fucking sanctuary. I needed some comforting too! I also realized that things had changed profoundly here at home and nothing will ever be the same. Sometimes my life is just so fucked up I am not sure what I should do.
As fucked up as it was though as soon as I walked through the door I knew what I was going to do. I knew that I was gonna snort some morphine pills. The twin tablets Ken had left me had been singing a sweet love song to me ever since they made it into my pocket. I grabbed my stash, a cleverly hollowed out bible, and grabbed the pills. Next I pulled out my new Grateful Dead Album. It was a live double album of the Dead who are by far my favorite band. Not a Deadhead yet but I have seen them quite a few times and I own every album they have made so far. But today this album would serve double purpose. Music to soothe my soul as well as “drug paraphernalia” to soothe my brain. I opened the album cover and placed the pills in the center of one side. With the back of a soup spoon I crushed the 2 pills into a pile of powder. I had seen movies so I knew what to do and I took out a razor blade so I could chop up the pills even finer. Then out came my driver’s license and I formed two long lines of white powder. I rolled up a 20 dollar bill, put one end in one nostril and closed the other with my finger. I sniffed hard and fast as if I were a Hoover vacuum cleaner until both of the lines had gone deep into my sinus cavity. It burnt so much I thought I would get a nosebleed but I immediately clasped my nostrils shut so nothing would escape. Next I drew in a hard breath through my nose like a strong sniffle. Jesus shit it was like I could feel it making its way up my nose and into my brain. I looked up feeling like I was going to sneeze, my eyes began to water, but within 15 seconds a new sensation set across my whole body. Wow, a warm and fuzzy! It really is warm and fuzzy, and as if by magic every bad thing in the universe disappeared. Not gone but certainly forgotten, at least for a short while. I whispered to myself intending it for Ken. “This shit is like 10 times better than ludes man, you were right! I felt good.” Not just good man, great. Fuck everything man. James is still dead, my old man is still an asshole, my Mom cries all the time, but at the same time, everything is okay. Not gone, but okay! Holy shit, I think I just found a new religion. I will now become a morphine-ite and worship the serenity it has bathed me in. And the music was perfect, I had chosen side 3, an18 minute jam called “The Other One” and I closed my eyes and drifted. Praise Jerry. It was Jerry Garcia’s guitar that scooped me up in a magic carpet and set me on a course to wonderland. I was chasing Grace Slicks White Rabbit and feeling great. I plopped on the headphones to help drown out the sobbing and reconciliation of Mom and Dad. I wondered for a second if they were going to have sex, and nearly threw up in my mouth a bit at the thought. Fuck this man, I need to drift off in this music. Take me away Jerry. So Jerry and Sister Morphine took me by the hand and walked me down into the garden of serenity, hoping the piper will lead me to reason. And a new day will dawn, if I can only stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter. I really love laughter. As always the drugs took me away, so very far away from this mad fucking world! Knowing it was Dangerous didn’t make me more cautious, it made me want to continue doing it forever.

Continued Tomorrow


Chemical Dependency



A Flow of Consciousness Ramble in Modern Beat Poet Style


It started out just on weekends a bag here and a bag there. Shared some with my friends. A bag of chips with a liter of pop. Getting high on high fructose syrup, weekend end warriors hooked on Genetically Modified chemicals and now I can’t stop. I’m addicted to Wall Street’s Genetically Modified Poisons

I wanna leave but I just can’t go

I wanna stop but is has a hold

I see their poisons everywhere

But the ones I don’t see?

That’s what scares me

I’m hooked on the chemicals of Monsanto

They get their shit into my body and won’t let go

Who wins?

Big business honey making lots of money

They think its all too funny

Like artificial sun

Read it in the Wall Street tabloids

Their dollar value is on god damn steroids

Eat some. We’ll al be mindless androids

They even make GMO Altoids

Their poisons are tasty but so impure

They peddle their dope to the unsuspecting poor

But even the rich come back for more

Hell with inflation

Fuck the profiteers of chemical alteration

Why is it war and poisons that get our donation

Send the money mongers into damnation

Run the thoughtless bastards out of our nation

It’s Big Business masturbation


But that’s speculation

With big fat wallet smiles

At the supermarket aisles

Laughing to the bank with their money piles

GMO Frosted breakfasts aimed at the youth

Big business bullshitters never tell you the truth


Caustic soups and cancerous soda

Safe as drinking brake fluid from a Toyota

No stopping now its time for a recall

Before they kill us all

Know what else they got?

Poisons from the microwaves piping hot

The whole thing is a conspiracy plot

Controlling our minds

Well ultimately

They’re fucking us over subliminally

Chemical Dependency sold on TV

Who fucking buys it? You and me!



They really don’t care about us, the very best tool to deal with this is education. Worlds of information. Without discrimination. Search engines at our fingertips and we still seem to believe too much of what we hear without validation. Just a little research. The most dangerous shit is the shit they won’t tell us.



Genetic modification

Spreading across the nation

Causing chemical castration

Its corporate fornication

It’s all too much frustration

Profiting on maceration

Wall Street masturbation

Into profitable elation

Now we’re all hooked on chemical modification

Our breathing becomes constricted

From the chemicals inflicted

From the chemicals unrestricted

That’s keeping us addicted

Just like science has predicted

GMO’s must be evicted

But the practice will go unrestricted

And their crimes will be acquitted

No wrongs will be admitted

Even though poisons have been emitted

Criminal politicians are committed

To allow their rape on us permitted

Profiting the American way

Sponsored by the CIA

Endorsed by the NRA

Taped by the NSA

It doesn’t matter either way

We’ll make them hear what we have to say

Or we too will perish………

It’s our judgment day

If you believe in something, say something. The only power we have is the power of each other. Share concerns, make yourselves heard, it’s your world kids, mine is coming to an end and it’s gonna be up to you. Live and Love in peace, truth, and harmony……..




The Existential Bakers guide to breakfast (and other food related nonsense)


What is The Breakfast of Champions, Wheaties or the philosophy of Kilgore trout? Wheaties, the breakfast of champions is a crispy wheat and bran flake that was the result of an accidental spill, much safer than the spills of Exxon, BP, or Chernobyl, but more in line with the legend of “Hey, you got chocolate in my peanut butter.” With Wheaties, the self proclaimed champion, some wheat bran mixture fell onto a hot stove and formed a handful crispy flakes that eventually was converted into a recipe. Unlike the chocolate peanut butter legend this Battle Creek legend is true. But that’s about as exciting as it gets though, a rather non descript cereal flake, not frosted, puffed, honey nutted, or multi-grain, just a simple boring flake that floats in milk an cries out for sugar. Not much of a champion! Kilgore Trout on the other hand is a incredibly interesting character developed by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. in many books, most notably The Breakfast Of Champions. Kilgore is a profound thinking science fiction writer of such nail biters a s “Venus On The Half Shell“; which alone makes him more worthy of the title IMHO. Much more interesting than the boring bran but unfortunately Kilgore can’t cook very well and half shells are about the extent of his culinary knowledge. Not a single thing to do with food. So where does that leave me? To this unrelated and frankly unnecessary quest for some of the most fundamental culinary queries such as which came first the chicken or the egg, are cucumbers really cool, can man live by bread alone, and most importantly, are we what we eat?
As it applies to food EB is the self crowned clown prince of cupcakery. Ergo, the Existential Baker’s answer to most queries is let them eat cupcakes. But that would be a self fulfilling and stomach filling prophecy. There are far more profound question at play here so let me get started. So which really did come first from an existentialist bakers point of view? In an attempt to avoid questioning the intentions of the chicken crossing the road or putting all the eggs in the same basket I developed an experiment. While at brunch this past weekend with a friend I gulped down my first mimosa then ordered a chicken salad for myself, and and egg salad for my guest. Now I wait to see which comes first. To my dismay, they arrive at our table simultaneously on the same tray, so I could only conclude that neither the chicken nor the egg arrived first.
How is this possible you ask? Well if instead of messing around with salads if I had ordered a bowl of primordial soup instead I would have found my answer. Primordial Soup is a delicacy in this era an a recipe passed down from more generations than one could imagine. The very first bowl of Primordial Soup, depending on which book you consult, was served up some three and a half billion years ago. At that time solar cooking was all the rage, and quite frankly the only available form of cooking. Not to get too technical, like most soups it begins with a mirepoix, the basic onion, celery, carrot, except this soup has a base of carbon .nitrogen, and potassium, lightly sautéed in ultraviolet and seasoned with various forms of sodium. Once these elements are translucent copious amounts of hydrogen is added and its allowed to simmer for a few million years. Once the soup is done its serve on a warm tectonic plate and served hot, much unlike revenge. The key to the significance of primordial soup is that during the simmer process an egg gets formed, and by the time the soup is fully done the egg is hatched and come out a fully cooked chicken. So from a strictly technical standpoint, it was the egg that came first, however it was the chicken that was the firt to leave the soup and walk out on its own. Whew, glad that’s out of the way, now on to the coolness of the cucumber.
Cucumbers are by nature a phallic shaped vegetable and the butt of many jokes. Joy toy look alike aside even before it had sexual reputation it was known for its coolness. Before it was cool it was used strictly by hipsters but only ironically. But what exactly made the cumber of cue cool? Well to begin with, its in the gourd family, infamous for their lack of sanity as in “Out of ones gourd”. How cool is that? But there’s more, the cool cucumber hangs out with the veggies but is in fact a fruit. Yea the sneaky cucumber has fooled grocers for generations who insist on placing them with the lettuces. These luscious garden favorites have been around since ancient Egypt and used as an anti swelling agent by early Roman soldiers. Not cool enough? Well what else do you know that gets sliced then placed on supermodels eyes to just hang out? Yes indeed, the cucumber has been cool ever since its mention in a poem from the 1700’s that stated, I am as cool as a cucumber, could see the rest of womankind. Cool!
So two myths explained, time to explore mans (or woman’s) ability to live on bread alone. While bread is indeed a food often eaten at Staples as well as being a staple food its nutritional value is relatively limited. If one opts to live only on the bottom of the food pyramid then one would survive for a period of time, but bear in min a pyramid is actually an ancient tomb and the antagonist of not too good schemes. But if you insist you will perish from malnutrition and all the carbs and gluten would make you unpopular in modern culture. Of course its not physically possible to live on bread alone but that’s taking it out of its original context anyway. The question arises in the bible when Jesus states man cannot in fact live on bread alone, but the J man always spoke in metaphors and was not a nutritional expert. Can one live without spiritual guidance? That’s the jist of the phrase as it was meant in the Bible and on that note I would have to answer no, man cannot live on staples alone he or she needs some form of profundity in their lives but not necessarily religion. If its religion you want there are a plethora of choices ranging from downright bizarre (cannibalistic or exo-planatery rituals) to the chanting monks with nothing to say. But organized religion is not needed, you merely need to use your imagination. Mediate, pray, or just communicate with life and you will have something of substance to go along with your emotional bread. Or bread an chocolate, that works too.
This brings me to my final culinary query for today, are we in fact what we eat? Well I’d imagine if it could reason a dung beetle would object to a simple yes and it’s a bit more profound than saying something ridiculous like “What am chopped liver” because that’s what you had for lunch. We are what we eat to a degree, without proper nourishment we would perish so by extension the healthier our food choice are the healthier our bodies will be. But as expressed previously we do not live on bread alone, and nourishing our bodies is essential but so as well is nourishing our minds, our souls. Eat healthy and go to the gym and your body will look good, but learn and experience, enjoy and smile, and you will feel good inside and out. Imagination is exercise for the mind and the more exercise you get the more muscular your brain will become, and the opposite sex digs big brain muscles.
Feeling good is one of the reasons we have foods that aren’t the healthiest choices but taste so damn good, like bacon, French fries, Doritos, or yes, chocolate cupcakes. What they lack in nutrients they make up for in endorphins that come rushing out of our pickled pituitary glands when food makes us feel happy. Foods such as cupcakes (shameless plug) release hormones in our brain that just make us feel good all over. But keep it in moderation, we should balance our feel good with our look good.
Beyond food there are things we ingest mentally that hold just as much significance as food. Take music for example. For me, rock and roll I like the powerful multi-vitamin of the brain. I personally love classic rock, which I suppose is like taking Centrum Silver, but it makes me feel good. Music is like soul aerobics, it makes us dance, or sway, it gives us words to think about, or draw emotion from, and it just plain feels great. Music nourishes the soul. Along with music, poetry, books, theater, and education are some other metaphysical foods that make us what we are. Digest as much as you can, read, feel, experience. They may not give you the body you want but a consistent diet of culture (no not yogurt culture) will help you attain the brain you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe that will be my next Niche. I’ll make a video called “A Healthy Brain In Three Weeks With The Existential Bakers Mind Diet” Maybe even spin off into “Brainweight Watchers” or “Cortex90 Hippocampus Fitness Workout”
So to review existentially, it doesn’t really matter which came first you still need to break some eggs to make a chicken omelet, if you keep chill you will be as cool as a cucumber, don’t put all your bread in one loaf, and if you really want to be healthy feed your mind and your body. Above all, excersize your imagination and challenge your mind always. Peace