Words of the Day
Plutocracy
1. Government by the wealthy.
2. A wealthy class that controls a government.
3. A government or state in which the wealthy rule.
Democracy
1. Government by the people, exercised either directly or through
elected representatives.
2. A political or social unit that has such a government.
3. The common people, considered as the primary source of political
power.
4. Majority rule.
5. The principles of social equality and respect for the individual
within a community.

1968- Strikes by workers and students in Paris leads to general strike by 10 million workers.

Honeycomb Hibernation and the Sting

Every so often, I make the near-fatal mistake of asking myself, "What are you doing with your life?" For most people in North America and of my generation, the "X Generation," I imagine the answer is pretty simply answered with a "I am raising a family, while working my way up the corporate ladder," or "I am going to school, in order to better myself, and find a better paying job." As a writer, I have found myself in many occupations, to make ends meet, hobbies to pay the bills, until I had the time and money to sit down and write down the Great American Classic Novel (GACN). Raised under the shadow of "I met Jack Kerouac, in 1953, while sitting in the West End bar, just down the street from Columbia University," I grew up imagining that I simply had to write the book, and the audience would immediately come rushing from the woodwork, and gobble up my book. The Big Editor-in-the-sky would read my manuscript, see the pure and absolute talent oozing from my pores, publish my work, and send 25 copies of my GACN to me, with a rather large check. In this childhood fantasy, I was going to experience the American Dream through my writing.

Instead, the road to success has been a steep incline, rocky, at times muddy, tangled with overgrowth, and much more difficult than I imagined, as a boy. The years are slipping away, the words even more quickly. Back in my early twenties, when the world still appeared to have a pot at the end of the rainbow, we would sit around for hours on end, discussing the meaning to the meaning of life. Quoting Camus, Sartre, and the Chinese Taoists, we would chain-smoke through thoughts, nights without end. Finally, we realized that the meaning to the meaning of life was asking the question "What is the meaning of life?" Young, dumb, and full of cum, we proclaimed the need to do something. Anything. To say what you meant was not good enough for us. We needed to DO something, and further, to do it LOUDLY.

To this end, this notion of "doing something, and doing it loudly," I continued to write and perform, often times despite the kinetic force of this capitalist society. Twenty years have passed since I first placed pen to paper, and I have little more than 800 books, written by other people, to show for it. Did I mention that I grew up to be a bibliophile? I have saved every word that I have written, being a packrat by nature, hoarding them in footlockers that hide in the basement, like some wine before its time. If anybody happens to know that Big-Editor-in-the-sky, please let her know that I am out here, writing every day, just waiting for her call. I am ready to write the GACN! In addition, if there is anybody that has a "real" job to offer, I am willing to bartend, drive a cab, wait a table, or lump a truck. Call me.

Somebody pinch this person and inform him that the American Dream is only applicable when someone is sleeping. For some of us, it is a nightmare of defeat. There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, two-car garage, and 2.3 kids, for a great many of us. Instead of writing literary classics, or painting a masterpiece, we perform menial and redundant tasks, feeding the capitalist machine, so the rich can become richer. In an attempt to "make ends meet," we put down the pen and paintbrush, relegating these things as hobbies, soon to be forgotten.

Often times, when I am up on my albeit-hollow soapbox and ranting about the injustices of this society, a heckler in the crowd will respond with the classic line: "Well, if you don't like it here, you can always just leave." My response to that is a simple one. Why do I have to leave my country, the land that we all love and honor, the land of free thought and expression, because of other people's greed and corrupt virtues? I am doing something loudly, with my life. I am writing these words to you. Now, it is your turn. Do something, anything, with your life, and do it loudly.

The Lesser Son by Eric Damm

My father is probably an old man now. I say this because I am an old man, and that's the way these things usually work. I don't know for sure that he's even still around, but I have that feeling. I can't say that I hate my father exactly, but we're certainly not on the best of terms. So, we don't talk anymore. Not that we ever had that much to talk about before, since it was just him telling me what I could and couldn't do, but sometimes I miss even that. He doesn't bother much with me anymore. I was the quintessential black sheep, and since he's got other people calling him father now, he's got a lot of stuff to worry about besides me.

I guess I'm ok with that. I don't like to think about it much. I've done some reading lately, trying to figure out what all is going on with our relationship, but it's hard. I found this one book that describes our situation so clearly and close-to-home that it's spooky. I can't even look at it anymore because I just know that it's talking about him and me and what I did to screw things up. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed with those last thoughts before sleep, I even feel kind of guilty or something. But then I just get mad. It's probably because I don't want to consider the possibility of him being right again, and to be honest, it seems like he was always right about everything.

Some people say I must have been a bad kid from the start, but as I think back, I'm not so sure about that. I think I started out ok and could have been a good kid, but I somehow turned bad early on and just stayed that way. Couldn't seem to go against my true nature, I guess. This is not to say that I was pure evil, I just had a hard time listening to his good advice. I wanted to do things my way and figure things out for myself. I wanted to take control of my life and be independent so I could make my own decisions and experience the world on my own terms for better or worse. If I made mistakes and did the wrong thing, it didn't really seem to matter as long as I got away clean.

I guess you could say I was selfish that way. Sometimes, when I think about it, doing the wrong thing felt kind of good. Other times, I didn't feel anything at all. Now, I just feel old. Old and tired and ashamed of the way that I've lived my life. I really wish I could have a second chance at it all. I wish I could somehow go back to the first day that I can remember and start everything over again from there.

On that day, my father had taken me and some little neighbor girl around the side of our house to this high stone wall that seemed to go on forever. Clawing and pulling his way through a tangle of vines, my father exposed a solemn wooden door trimmed with gold. As he opened the lock with a long and shining golden key, he said, " Within this garden is everything you will ever need from this world, and from every tree may you eat except one..."

Attention: Artists with a flare for spontaneous creation.

Electronic Quiver

Deadline for $5 entry fee per piece due by May 31st, 2003, through Paypal™, check, or money order.

Theme will be announced on June 7th @ midnight, and contestants have 24-Hours to create, and submit their artwork, electronically, by June 8th @ midnight. Art must be original and created in the 24-hours time limit. Poetry, photography, and digital art are recommended, but other media will be considered, including movie and sound files. Please see www.razee.com for more details. All artwork will appear in the new and improved Electronic Quiver quarterly electronic and printed magazine, to be published on June 21st, 2003.

Top three contestants will receive a FREE membership to Razee Ink 2003!!

ETHICAL QUESTION:

In light of the news of the so called human cloning going on, we have to ask ourselves the hypothetical question. If you pushed your naked clone off the top of a tall building, would it be:

A ) murder,

B ) suicide,

or C ) merely making an obscene clone fall.