Waking

It scares me when people become all about one thing… maybe it’s because I can’t do that to myself.  I don’t really think it’s bad, I actually really like talking with people about their one or two passions.  I just don’t think I have any that are so incredibly strong that they’re all I want to talk about all the time.

I like making art.  I’m pretty good at it, and when it strikes me I have a lot of creativity.  It just doesn’t happen a lot.  I could count the years, at the moment, since I’ve made something I really love.  I have a box full of pieces I’ve made… none of them within the last four years.  Talking about art usually bores me, on top of that, unless it’s specific art techniques.  I never want to go to museums or look at art… it’s just not in me and I don’t know why.  Even when I was making art, the artwork of friends is all that ever interested me.  We’d get to the history portion of our lessons and I’d have to force myself to stay awake, because I really didn’t care about so-and-so and what techniques he used, or what he was representing and why.

I’m afraid of cooking.  I’ll admit it here, and only here, that I’m afraid of cooking.  If there’s anything that relaxes and, at the same time, excites me…it’s cooking.  It’s the thing that grounds me and represents home to me…and it’s very strange.  All this summer, when moving about, the thing that made me feel as if a place was not really my home was not being able to cook in it… and when we finally got into our home, and I got all my utensils unpacked and dishes washed and a stock of groceries, I felt relaxed and grounded.  I’d make a big pot of alfredo and eat it joyfully, and just be at home.  I’m not sure where this one came from, because as a kid my mom didn’t cook a whole lot and when she did I didn’t really like it anyway.
Actually scratch that, I know where it came from.  When my mom left for England, that’s when I began cooking for myself.  I learned recipes and techniques, I became obsessed with making gourmet pizzas… my grandma enjoyed this one, allowing me to use her giant rolling pin and board.  I moved out for college a few years later and began cooking even more often, and it always made me feel empowerment and purpose… responsibility for myself, and just enjoyment.
It’s for this reason that cooking scares the shit out of me.  It’s probably my biggest passion at the moment, something I’m pretty naturally good at and would enjoy doing at all times.  And it’s cooking.

Cooking.

Then there’s construction and building, and it sounds strange but I’ve always been drawn to tool sheds and machines.  I used to wander around my family’s upholstery shop when I was young, picking up scrap wood and nails and building little random things.  Even if they didn’t make sense, I loved making them.
My parents were in this perpetual state of buying a different house, and we never did end up moving until my mom left, but we’d drive around looking at homes and floorplans, discussing homes and spaces.  This is too big…this is too small…this is amazing…
It’s weird because all of the houses I liked as a kid, I can’t fucking stand anymore.  It’s not some psychological thing.  I have just learned a lot since then I guess…
I’m passionate about this.  I can’t realize it though.  If I ever start talking to anyone about it, I can see their interest dwindling… I’ll start talking about rainwater harvesting techniques or something and I can see the practiced smile, the “wow that’s interesting” when it’s really not…
Or am I just inventing that because I’m uncomfortable with it myself?

Maybe.

Many people look to a relationship as their passion for living… and not to insult my lover or anything, but mine just isn’t.  It’s fantastic… it’s better than any relationship I expected growing up, it’s taught me new and amazing things, but it’s not my passion for living.  It’s not the only thing that matters to me.  I don’t think I talk about it all the time, or even want to.

Am I doomed to be defining passion-less?  Am I just boring?

Heh.

Shattered hopes and faiths

There’s really not much to this. I was having a decent day at work despite the rain outside the now normal Washington weather and the abundance of customers at work. I was looking forward to getting off and meeting up with buds to have some really good asian food and shit around like always. Then two of said buds that I was gonna meet up shows up near my lunch break…with looks on their faces that told me something ominous was about to approach.

I bolt to the diner across the parking lot on my lunch. Not sprint, not run, BOLT. Whatever news my comapnions had for me was not gonna be pleasant and it made my mind scream with questions of concern. I find them and plot down “Spill it” was all I could say barely even acknowledging the waitriss that tried to ask about what drink I would like.

Troll tells me about the pickup of Cabbot, then the phonecall, the bleak and unfounded accusations of our dear Twin who’s was originally planned on being sent to exile for the next 2-3 yrs in the south. Only to be taken by the so called fucking “LAW” on new charges. Troll goes on with the said charges and it took everything I had to remember I was in a food establishment and not punch my hand into the back of the booth’s seat or into the brick wall to my side. I wanted to scream into the high heavens. Curse the Godess for treating her beloved child in such a horrible manner! Was it not enough for his abrupt capture on his way to work that winter a year ago? Was it not enough to take him from his lifeblood of people and freedom?! Was it really not fucking enough when the man in black sentanced him and threw down his little wooden hammer making his final decree!?!?! APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT!

I felt horrible for Cabbot the most. She and Twin finally realized eachother. They had been in bliss together the past week when she got home from the bayou. She told him she would become his strength and yes she would not be able to see him during his exile but she is gonna wait patiently for his return. She didn’t see this coming. None of us did. It made me wanna scream even more.

During lunch, after work; we call others to are dear and love Twin and spread the word to our allies. Trying to find more information, of what little we could get, every bit of news no better to ease us than the last. New trial to happen Mon. I was a wreck at the last one. I don’t think I could stand to witness this again but I will. Damned if I get in trouble to missing work by switching shifts but I WILL get there tomorrow!

I was never a girl of faith of any deity really. I believed in certain parts but never a whole of any kind. I never truely prayed but I always had some belief that if you worked hard or tried to do your best then it would work out in the end. FUCK was I just proven wrong yesterday…

*note: For those of you who aren’t really sure of what I’m talking about reference to the spam forum on the Center. If you can find my post called “I call BULLSHIT!” in the archives it’s realated to that. Otherwise long story short a good friend of mine is going to die spiritually because of this GOD DAMN FUCKED UP SYSTEM WE CALL JUSTICE! I don’ t think that I’ll be fine for quite awhile. Sharp you might recall that one nite way back about the trial I had to go to for him yes? Well the shit against the fan just got worse.

Lexus, Knight Rider, National Guard, Coke, and Vault

What do they all have in common?  Bloated ad campaigns, taking up about 15 minutes before every movie I’ve seen at the AMC theater here.

I’ve received a couple of free movie tickets from the great store, American Eagle, for trying on jeans.  What can I say–the jeans fit me pretty well, and my other pair is about to sprout holes everywhere from being worn so often.  I went browsing one day to see what styles I might like, and then to come home and try to find them somewhere cheaper (I’m broke).  I went to try them on and was handed a free movie ticket; I immediately text messaged my lover from the room, told him to grab a pair of jeans and try them on, and then we both went to see “Burn After Reading” on American Eagle a day or so later, free of charge.

The whole free aspect of the movie was awesome.  The movie itself was really enjoyable.  The ads before it just really pissed me off.

Now, I’m a strange type of person.  I really like watching ads–on TV, in magazines, billboards, whatever.  I like them because I really enjoy trying to pick out their strategy in the commercial at making money, especially subconscious influences the commercial may have… like a woman advertising dish soap with her marriage hand, bright and shining diamond in full view, telling us good housewives should buy this product.  It makes me feel like a more responsible citizen for recognizing these types of influences, because if I recognize them I can try to resist them and just make my own decision based on real facts and advantages about a product.

Now, we’re sitting in the theater, and this commercial comes on for the sexy Lexus car.  The car zooms up to the screen and lands smack dab in the middle, with the loudest humming motor I’ve ever heard blasting on the bass speakers in my ears.  It’s not really that enjoyable, but the car does look pretty sexy I guess.  Still wouldn’t want one though.

Another commercial comes on for the TV show Knight Rider, on NBC, and we begin chit-chatting about how NBC has horrible programming these days.  Even though we haven’t had cable for most of this entire year, we still remember what stations sucked, and seeing an ad for this uninteresting show about an awesome car reinforced it in our minds again.

Then, the Lexus commercial comes on again.  I guess the repetition is good for sales.

Then, a music video comes on.  It’s Kid Rock, who I’m not particularly fond of… especially after a recent trip to Oregon, during which I heard some song by him that was basically a knock-off of the popular tune of Sweet Home Alabama, with him singing some other lyrics about how he sang Sweet Home Alabama in the summer time or something.  He just doesn’t do it for me.
This video comes on and he’s performing his song in the video, called “Warrior.”  During his performance, the video switches to views of American soldiers in Iraq, blazing through small streets in gigantic Hummers where children are playing and people are living their lives.  The video also switches to views of Dale Earnhardt Jr. racing in Nascar, I think at some point causing some wrecks and stuff.

The video is shot beautifully–they have attractive looking men as the soldiers, and they have this kid playing the Iraqi child in the village with gorgeous eyes… the lighting in the video is beautiful.  The lyrics are pretty spot on with what they’re trying to sell here:

So don’t tell me who’s wrong and right
When liberty starts slipping away
And if you ain’t gonna fight
Get out of the way
Cause freedom ain’t so free
When you breathe red white and blue
I’m giving all of myself
How bout you?
And they call me warrior!
They call me loyalty!
And they call me ready to provide relief and help
I’m wherever you need me to be!
I’m an American Warrior!

Rinse and repeat.

So, the point here I’m making with myself isn’t whether people support the war or not.  It has nothing to do with that.  Even if you support the war and all of that, what the fuck are we doing paying for a star like Kid Rock to write a song about this?  Why are we paying for a Nascar race to be run for this music video, with cars crashing and whatnot?  Why are we paying for Hummers to go blazing through cities, for a music video…not for a war mission?  Why are we paying for the mp3 website that has this song to give this song as a free download to anyone that wants it?

I’m going to step back a minute and say that I could be wrong about this.  Kid Rock could have volunteered to do it I guess, the Nascar people could have volunteered to do this, the people acting in the video could have volunteered, even the small boy with the beautiful eyes that almost gets run over by a Hummer when he steps into the street to retrieve his ball, and even the good-looking soldier that jumps out of the Hummer, grabs the ball, and tosses it back to the boy lovingly, with a wink.  All of these people could have volunteered their time and effort, and the mp3 company could have volunteered the free downloads, and the people that shot the movie could have volunteered all of that, and the AMC theater could have volunteered the commercial time before every movie they play to show this ad for 8 minutes or whatever it is.

But I’ve done some looking around on the internet, and I can’t find any information that would lead me to believe that.  No one admits to donating anything to it, and on the other end of the spectrum, no one seems to care that while our country is trillions in debt, taxpayers are financing an ad campaign of propaganda, in order to make some people feel warm and fuzzy about the war, and to make other people pissed off.

Like I said–it’s not about whether you support the war or not.  I’m not a huge “anti-war” person or anything.  The thing that pisses me off most about all of this war stuff is the amount of money being thrown away on it, and how it can be proven that our government is pissing away money on it… and how it can be proven that it’s costing WAY more than any war really should because people are taking advantage of a limitless credit card the government is supplying for it, and that there are gigantic ad campaigns out there supporting the war alongside Coca Cola and Lexus commercials, and no one seems to give it a second thought.

All I see is people saying “thank you Kid Rock for supporting American soldiers.”  I just don’t get it.  After leaving the theater, am I supposed to go out and check out a Lexus, sign up for the National Guard, and grab a Coke on the way home?

Limit Whore

I’m replaying Final Fantasy VII for about the 12th time, enjoying all of the subtler things that I paid little attention to when I was younger. The story is less of the primary focus this time around: I think the themes of perseverance, friendship, good vs evil, the band of outsiders, and rebellion against authority figures are awesome, but I’ll also admit that they are a little hackneyed, especially within the realms of Final Fantasy. This time I’m getting more out of the settings, how the world is crafted (the church in the slums really did strike me as beautiful this time around), and even the hints about the minor bit players that are never really explored (I just clued in that Johnny left Sector 7 because he had a thing for Tifa and Cloud came back to ruin it).

Another thing that I’ve been paying more attention to is the many styles of play that you can have. Take myself for example: I abuse the living shit out of the Limit Breaks. The first thing I learned when I was playing the game was that Limit Breaks will turn the tide of battle, but I was left with their slow development and how seldom you got them. Then I figured out that the item Hyper gave you “Fury” status, which at the sacrifice of some accuracy makes your limit bar go up 2x as fast. Finally came recognizing that the more often you use your Limit Breaks, the quicker you develop new ones.

Right now I am at Wall Market for the first time, I have an inventory full of Hyper, I still am wearing the Bronze armour that you get in the very beginning of the game (low defense = more damage), and both Cloud and Aeris are in the front row. For the last couple of hours I haven’t used any attacks that weren’t Limit Breaks, allowing the enemies to sharpen their claws (bombs, bullets, etc) on me until I get that one attack. Cloud is only level 12, and I have both of my level 2 limits already. I expect to have my level 3 by the time I’ve left Midgar. I pilot my characters like a kamekaze. At a later point, it wouldn’t be strange to see me start a battle by casting haste on the enemy party and waiting for them to hurt me just to get my special attacks. Mark my words, everyone will have their limit cycle completed (except for the final attack) by the end of the first disc.

That’s how I play the game.

Some thoughts on Jack Kerouac

I’ve spent some time trying to reconcile with Jack Kerouac. His Romanticism has bothered me too much to read him at any length. Against the will of many fervent enthusiasts, I found On The Road to be the only piece of good prose he had - Dharma Bums pissed me off.

Something of his character drove me from him. Beside being despicably purple, he’s more dishonest than any other writer I may have ever read. In every adventure I found something of him prone to just dissolve into another person’s identity and hide behind it for the entire novel. By the time I finished the first 30 pages of Dharma Bums I was convinced that Jack was bipolar and everything that he said and did was an attempt to run from the reality of himself. His travels, his friendships, and his religion were all masks to hide from having to take responsibility for himself. The more I read, the more he irked me.

Then I said, Wait a minute, Michael, you’re hardly any different. You work only menial jobs when you work (which isn’t often), you are seized by restlessness that leads you to pack your bags and take off somewhere else without a plan in hopes that things will sort themselves out on a new canvas, you fashion yourself an artist and a writer if only so you can avoid entering the arena of society – how honest is your Dharma? How good is your Karma? He looks good smoking a cigarette, give the man another chance.

When I read, I read on Jack Kerouac, and found myself enjoying him as an idea very much. In his isolation I found something very real that I could relate to and was terrified of. The Kirkus Review said of Jack: “[Kerouac] gives us an excellent and compassionate picture of that segment of the generation which was left to fend for itself after WWII in the absence of goals, and therefore, direction…” In that quote I was reminded of something Lawrence Ferlinghetti said in a recent interview, discussing the importance of the Beats in contemporary society, something like how their writing is more relevant to the youth of today than it ever has been – faced with the force of the pendulum moving in the favour of everything they spoke out against in the 50’s and 60’s, that sense of rebellion and dispossession flows strongly.

I thought of my own friends when reading about Kerouac and the rest of them: the brilliant lost, painting the contemporary apocalypse scenario with sadness and disillusionment; a generation with an absence of [conceivable] goals, and therefore direction. We allow ourselves a modicum more trust than we give to the world, which leaves us starving and depressive. Everyone wants to solve things peacefully, to change the system, to grow our own food and return to the earth, or in the very least be aware of its existence as important yet finite, but too many blows have fallen on our idealism, common sense has been quelled by the powers-that-be too many times and too often for us to deal in anything but cynicism and despair. Life is lived on the peripheries hoping to find fulfillment outside of time and commitment.

The parallels lead me back to Kerouac. In some sense, I longed to confront my Jungian Shadow in him. I bought Desolation Angels, what many have claimed to be his most honest (but depressing) work to really try and connect with him on a shared reality. Perhaps with that in mind, I could meet him on what he was supposed to represent: fulfillment through adventure to discover basic humanity.

Still, I’m disappointed. I enjoy reading about him more than I enjoy reading him. Even if Desolation Angels is him being more honest with himself than he is in other works, he still ruins it with dishonesty. His prose reads surreally, lyrically, but unnecessarily. His indulgence and pretension are nauseating, and his attempt to communicate in more “natural” (see: droppin the g’s on the end of ing words) language seem jilted and unreal when marked on the same page of his copious use of “O!” and “yea”, accompanied by hundreds of showy adjectives that do little but show his fundamental lack of substance with more clarity. In the entire book he is incapable of penning a single simple sentence like “the dog walked down the street.”

The best and most honest fragment in the entire book appears in the first 10 pages: “My life is a vast inconsequential epic…”, and he weighs that down with redundancy and pseudo-poetic frivolity. Kerouac, I can relate to you, I appreciate your historical position, but dude, you could not write.

The Abbreviated Story of Robert Johnson, Legendary Blues Man

Some way-back time ago in Mississippi, Robert Johnson said he wanted to be famous. They told him to go on down to the crossroads by Dockery’s plantation at midnight. There the Devil tuned his guitar for him. He gave it back in exchange for Johnson’s soul, and when Johnson left that crossroad he made it — he was a legendary Delta Blues man. He was the best of the best.

In ‘38, after traveling all around the Delta, even into St. Louis and maybe Illinois, Johnson was playing at a country dance outside of Greenwood, Mississippi. He was sleeping around with the juke joint owner’s wife, and when the juke joint owner found out he offered Johnson an open bottle of whiskey. Sonny Boy Williamson knocked it straight outta his hand and said, “You idiot! Don’t ever drink from an open bottle.” But nobody ever got between Johnson and his drink. “Don’t ever knock a whiskey bottle out of my hand!” And when the owner offered him another one, he swigged it down like he was a drowning man.

And when Johnson was out on the crossroads late late that night, hitching back to Greenwood, he fell to his knees and he shook and he screamed and he was still. He was done and dead and playing for the Devil.

The juke joint owner had laced the whiskey bottle with strychnine.

Birthstone fairies: December

December: Birthstone is turquoise (or blue topaz). Meaning stands for prosperity, piety and courage.

That’s it! All done! All 12 months! *passes out*

*ps might want to click on it for better full view*

Birthstone fairies: November

November: Birthstone is yellow topaz (or citrine). Meaning stands for fidelity, providence, and good luck.

Birthstone fairies: October

October: Birthstone is opal. Meaning stands for happiness and truth.

What if this could all pass like clouds or thoughts?

Everyone throws a couple cents and a button into the 9/11 Theory Tin every year.  Most blogs do find it in themselves to call tragedy when they see it, even if their anger makes it hard for them to do so.  Almost everyone points the finger at one person/group/institution or another for fundamentally fucking up the world (although some would believe it was fucked up to begin with, or perhaps it is only fucked up because we perceive it as fucked up and things are as they have always been).  The wonderful thing about blogs is that everyone has a unique little venue to express their concerns, anger, frustration, hope, and allegiances.  Since 9/11/01 did have untold, deceitful and bloody impacts on both the micro and macro politics and even our (most of us) very perception of good and evil in the world (or at least Western society), I think it’s relevant to discuss.

Having said that, I’ve avoided reading blogs today like an awkward obsessive that stalks your facebook and reads your blog resulting from a night of drunken sexual misconduct (you’re a lovely girl, I’ve just been busy).  I have difficulty trusting an angry rationale to be a true one, and people are angry still and rationalizing rather poorly.  I spent today working, meditating, doing yoga and contemplating my spiritual practice.  Now that it’s the 12th, I have read two blogs (although one has many authors) and they both discussed their feelings on 9/11 rather extensively.  One of them I think is worth reprinting in its entirity.

“What if?” by Roy El Saghir.

To me the anniversary of 9/11 gives reason to ask questions… some hypothetical, some symbolic, some real… I imagine every one of these questions can be answered in various ways, by various people… But in the end, the answers are as varied as our DNA…

There are simply too many holes in the story we’ve been fed. Two or three discrepancies can be explained away as coincidence or scientific anomaly, but when you look at everything as a whole, and what has transpired in its wake, you get a true appreciation for the mass of dubious information from all sources, official and conspiratorial. Quite simply, we have not been given the whole story… Someone is not telling the truth, the whole truth… and odds are, we will never be privy to it…

For instance…

What internal forces pulverized the two largest buildings in New York City into heaps of dust and rubble in mere seconds?

What internal forces tore file cabinets, desks, phones, staplers, and computers into bite sized pieces?

What scientific theory adequately explains the mass of molten metal at the base of the twin towers?

What if the BBC and CNN announced building seven’s collapse an hour before it imploded?

What if the BBC and CNN are employing fortune tellers?

What if building seven was a controlled demolition?

What if all of it was?

What if buildings of that magnitude are designed to implode in an emergency situation?

What if people were less likely to enter skyscrapers if they knew they were designed to collapse at an instant?

What if all the evidence was carted away and destroyed?

What if FBI agents immediately seized all video evidence within minutes of the Pentagon attack and never showed it to the public?

What if it wasn’t a plane that hit the Pentagon?

What if it was a plane that hit the Pentagon?

What if Secretary of Transportation Norman Mineta testified to the 9/11 commission that Vice President Dick Cheney knew of the Pentagon attack as long as 50 minutes in advance?

What if flight 77 managed to hit the Pentagon 34 minutes after the second WTC tower was hit, in the most defended air space in the world, into the most secure building in the world?

What if some of the locals in Shanksville, Pennsylvania saw the plane break apart before it hit the ground?

What if the locals in Shanksville, Pennsylvania were told they did not see anything and were told to shut their mouths?

What if the debris field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania was eight miles long?

What if Flight 93 was terminated by an external aircraft?

What if NORAD ignored SOP and failed to scramble fighters in the event of a hijacking?

What if NORAD sound asleep at the wheel?

What if NORAD was told to stand down?

What if we had a national defense so utterly incompetent that it allowed 19 guys with boxcutters to kill 3,000 people?

What if we had an administration so utterly incompetent in every other regard that it is nearly impossible to fathom that they could have pulled off 9/11 as an inside job?

What if the President was reading “My Pet Goat”?

What if the President sat on his ass for eight minutes and did nothing but look confused and scared?

What if Philip Zelikow rigged the 9/11 Commission’s “investigation”?

What if the 9/11 Commission’s investigation was a whitewash?

What if the 9/11 Commission’s investigation was a sham?

What if the 9/11 Commission’s investigation completed the deception?

What if no one talked?

What if no one talked because they were threatened?

What if no one talked because they are no longer alive?

What if an inordinately high number of put options were placed upon American and United Airlines just days before the attacks?

What if physicist Steven E. Jones was fired for telling the truth?

What if David Ray Griffin never gives up searching?

What if Jim Hoffman understands math?

What did WTC owner Larry Silverstein know to cause him to insure the twin towers from a terrorist attack just six weeks prior?

What if Sibel Edmonds is a true heroine?

What if the FBI didn’t allow agent Robert Wright to publish his manuscript, “Fatal Betrayals of the Intelligence Mission”?

What if FBI counsel Colleen Rowley’s attempts at investigating Zacarias Moussaoui were thwarted at every level?

What if it said on the FBI website that Osama Bin Laden is wanted in connection with the August 7, 1998, bombings of the United States Embassies in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, and Nairobi, Kenya, but not the attacks on 9/11?

What if the alleged 9/11 hijackers were seen in drinking alcohol and cavorting in strip clubs, something no true jihadist would ever dream of doing?

What if Pakistani intelligence transferred $100,000 to Mohammed Atta?

What if a think-tank called Project for a New American Century wrote a paper in September of 2000 calling for American military dominance that could be accelerated given a “catastrophic or cataclysmic” event?

What if we wanted an excuse for a pre-emptive war?

What if there was a staged Gulf of Tonkin incident in 1964?

What if there was a predicted attack upon Pearl Harbor in 1941?

What if we blew up the USS Maine in 1898?

What if this was Operation Northwoods 2.0?

What if 3,000 people were sacrificed for the “greater good” of our nation?

What if we betrayed hundreds of firefighters and cops in their finest hour?

What happens if you park a really expensive car in a bad neighborhood, leave the keys in the ignition, the windows down and the stereo on, and walk away?

What if we lost our civil rights?

What if habeas corpus was suspended?

What if the Patriot Act was anything but?

What if we tortured?

What if we lost our soul?

What if Leo Strauss had lived to see 9/11?

What if there are noble lies?

What if there are deadly truths?

What if they need to keep the rabble in line?

What is synthetic terror?

What if the nation was currently dotted with FEMA internment camps?

What if they privatized the military?

What if terror became an industry?

What would the incentive be to stop terror if it were an industry?

What if security meant insecurity?

What if Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia?

What if our economy is dependant upon the deaths of foreigners?

What if stealing someone else’s natural resources isn’t such a good idea?

What if it’s not a good idea to call in air strikes upon families celebrating a wedding?

What ever happened to Schrödinger’s cat?

What ever happened to Galileo’s ship?

What if Descartes was correct about the evil daemon?

What about Occam’s razor?

What if oil wasn’t exclusively sold in US dollars?

What did Mossad know and when did they know it?

What is the identity of the falling man?

What if the 2000 election hadn’t been stolen by the Supreme Court?

What if 9/11 documentaries like “Loose Change” and “Zeitgeist” are doing more harm then good?

What if 9/11 is a cottage industry?

What if 9/11 debunking is full of frauds, fools, and fakes?

What if the official government tale of 9/11 is full of frauds, fools, and fakes?

What if even suggesting that there is a conspiracy labels you a nut?

What if suggesting there is no conspiracy labels you a gullible fool?

What if we are monstrous hypocrites?

What if we are so wrecked with guilt we feel the need to blame ourselves?

What if we’ve become a nation of emo kids?

What if we are all addicted to porn, carbohydrates and Prozac?

What if you don’t care?

What if you are so disillusioned that apathy wins?

What if we have such distrust towards our leaders that we believe they want to kill us?

What if we are the monster we seek to destroy?

What if vengeance isn’t the answer?

What if we don’t stop asking questions?

What if you can’t believe what you see?

What if you can’t believe what you’ve been told?

What if I’m just a crazy conspiracy theorist?

What

if

I’m

not?