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Art, Music, and Literature

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The Dead's Own

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A little man died the other day. Diminutive in stature, he had become all but infinitesimal in bearing and social esteem till he just disappeared altogether. No one was there at his side, no rites were performed, no one came to pay their final respects. They found him dead behind the wheel of his battered pickup truck, parked in the gutter of one of the hard, industrial streets where he resided. He struggled to live in a place that had no place for him, a sad reality where his possessions had lodgings, even though he didn’t. So, he lived in his vehicle. And he died there as well. His name was Alberto. He was 49 years old...

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Slap on the Plagiarist

Our world at arms is the result of dedicating more human resource to destruction than salvation.

Big Bother

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The mission of the Pentagon    isn’t peace, it’s victory.

Season finale: Petulant at his inability to muster support for his metaphorical barrier even after holding his breath turned him orange, the Boss shuts down the government to show them who’s in charge; then he and the wife fly to Iraq for 15 minutes to support the troops.

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