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And So It's Done

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  The 9/11/01 Memorial 25th Anniversary is over and done. America's living Presidents were there and not a one of those Presidents gave a speech. Just their being present was all that was required. The 9/11/01 Memorial Commission has never allowed American Presidents to give speeches not on anniversary days nor any other day. America's one really retarded and embarrassing president was at a 9/11/01 memorial at the Pentagon where president shit-for-brains got to give a speech. Well it wasn't really a speech so much as a narcissistic sermon about trumpf. Old shits-his-pants did fall asleep during the official Pentagon memorial and our entire world got to see that live and up close all personal like. Trumpf is quite the schmuck no doubt. There are even photos of the freak dozing off during the memorial and here's one now - No one is quite certain if the woman seated next to trumpf is really Melania or a body double brought in to help trumpf manage stairs and inclines of an...
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A Novella - Sardonic Surveillance

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Epilogue: The Great American Sleepwalk The tragedy of the empire isn't that it hid its crimes, it's the crimes are performed in broad daylight to a packed theater that forgot how to hiss. The clicks on the telephone line, the firebombs over Fallujah, the General holding the deed to the front porch ... it was all logged, filmed, and broadcast in high-definition. But the Amerikans aren't paying attention. They're hypnotized by the blue light of the screens, self medicating on sanitized news cycles, reality television, and entirely content to trade their collective soul for the illusion of safety.   So the machine won by default rolling onward from the dust of Mesopotamia straight into the neon lit madness of present day. They didn't need to burn the books ... the controllers simply waited for the people to stop reading them. But out here on the fringe, the ink doesn't fade. The file stays open. We hold the binoculars, we keep the logs, and we bear witness to the c...
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A Novella - Sardonic Surveillance

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  Chapter 3: The General's Landlord The matrix doesn't just watch you, it repositions the chessboard when you start winning the staring contest. The "authorities" couldn't find a legal mechanism to silence the stream-of-consciousness truths bleeding out of your keyboard so they bypassed the Constitution and went straight to capitalism. The landlord, the one you thought you had a working relationship with and the one who smiled while cashing the rent checks ... quietly signs the deed and slips away into the shadows. And the buyer? A National Guard General You can't make this stuff up. The literal epitome of everything wrong with the empire, a walking billboard for the military/industrial complex, now holds the lease to your living room. He doesn't need a wiretap; mon général owns the walls. It's a masterclass in bureaucratic harassment ... making life infinitely complicated and turning your domestic sanctuary into a garrison, proving that the regime...
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A Novella - Sardonic Surveillance

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  Chapter 2: The Architecture of the Absurd The war games abroad required a new vocabulary, a linguistic acid wash to dissolve the Geneva Conventions. In the mountains of Afghanistan and the sun baked streets of Iraq, the invaders don't fight men they fight "unlawful enemy combatants." They round up thousands of farmers, cab drivers, and anyone who fits the profile of the new global boogeyman ... pack them in orange jumpsuits and fill the cages at Guantanamo Bay, an unlikely and barely known outpost located conveniently in Cuba. No the Cubans don't appreciate the U.S. holding a spit of Cuba to thumb the American nose at Cuba in general. Guantanamo is a legal black hole of corporate managed twilight zone where torture is rebranded as "enhanced interrogation" and international treaties are treated as so much junk mail to end up in the trash. Then comes the pivot. Iraq. A nation completely disconnected from the smoke of Manhattan suddenly dropped into the cross...
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A Novella - Sardonic Surveillance

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  Chapter 1: The Lexicon of the Line The television doesn't broadcast news anymore, it broadcasts a new state religion. On September 20, 2001, the frame fills with the wood paneled majesty of the House Chamber but the atmosphere is pure coliseum. Buckaroo Bush steps to the podium, his posture stiff with the sudden terrifying gravity of an accidental emperor. When the words drop they don't sound like American politics - his words sound like an ancient totalitarian edict wrapped in a Texas drawl. "Either you are with us or you are with the terrorists ...!" The Chamber erupts in a frantic terrifying standing ovation, a collective tribal roar demanding blood. Right there the space/time continuum of the Republic rips wide open. The nuance of human civilization is incinerated in one sentence. You are either a loyal subject of the 'crusade' OR ... you are the enemy. Outside our house the sky is a blank terrifying sheet of blue. For days the commercial airliner contra...
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A Novella - Sardonic Surveillance

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  Prologue: The Breakfast Table Fracture The coffee in a mug is still hot but the morning seems dead. Quiet, calm. The tv is on and there's Charlie, his face is a pale mask under studio lights. His voice faltering and stripped of the comforting professional cadence that usually anchors the morning. Beside him is the empty chair where his co-host should be feels like an omission of safety, The North Tower is an open black throat spewing soot into a sky so blue it looks artificial and then the eye registers those dots. Tiny fluttering punctuation marks dropping against the grid of steel and glass. Real people are plummeting from ninety stories up because the alternative inside that burning box is worse. The mind stalls refusing the data and slams against the screen. This isn't a movie. There are no commercial breaks coming to save you. Then the second shadow slices through the frame. A low screaming bank, a flash of gray aluminum and the South Tower doesn't just catch ...
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I Had That Wrong

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  The opening first game for the NFL regular season opens on Wednesday September 9, 2026. I thought the season began on last Thursday and that would have been September 3, 2026. Wrong and wrong wrong. It would seem I'm becoming incapable of differentiating dates and times. That really doesn't matter, I've nowhere pressing to go so .. you know. So the Wednesday game is in Seattle with the Seahawks playing, uhhh, shit I'd better double check hold on for un momento por favor ... got it, the New England Patriots who early this year proved they no longer need a Belichick or Brady. Brady you may recall is the GOAT. "GOAT" is 'greatest of all time' and I'd have to call bullshit. Mostly on account of I really can't stand the guy and secondly, to be "the greatest of all time" requires some context and Brady is shit out of luck when if comes to context. The NFL league's braintrust took a serious liking to Brady and invented new rules and pr...
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