Jonathan Heatt's Blog: Teaching Snapping Turtles, page 5

Black Friday

People spend money
they don't have
on things
they don't need
Wait in lines
that never end
on a day
made by thieves

Blind Spots

After terrorist attacks, Liberals spend more time defending Muslims than they do condemning the attacks. Sorta like Conservatives defending guns after mass shootings. Both extreme ends of spectrums have blind spots.

Liberals and Conservatives subscribe to a deeply rooted set of beliefs so firmly entrenched the ideologies fester unquestioned. Unexamined. So sure of oneself is a symptom of delusion.

So polar opposites bark at each other in a continuous carousel of delusion, never pausing to examine the truth or to solve problems.

Subscribing to either ideology leaves a person backpedaling more than Joe Haden on a fade route. Constantly on defense. It must be exhausting to always defend a line of irrational thinking. Futility is toeing the party line, an Independent mind tries to understand the world, and progress.

Just because we live in a global community shouldn't deaden our vitality, our Enlightenment, our Freedom of Speech.

Freedom works both ways: Freedom to worship. And the Freedom to criticize Religion. Especially a violent religion.

Liberals on the Social Media warpath excel in groupthink: anyone criticizing islam is guilty of Fear and Ignorance. That's kinda bogus when you think about it:

Fear is not being able to say the words "Radical Muslim"...which is shameful for a country like the USA that prides itself on free speech.

and

Ignorance is what people pray to. Religion.

"Religion is in the hands of some crazy-ass people"
-Jimmy Buffett

How can Liberals call people who fear Terrorism ignorant, but not the people who prostrate themselves five times per day praising a fictitious deity?

Most of these Libs parrot memes or something someone already said with nary an original idea or thought. Here's an original thought: al qaeda, isis are different names of snakes coming from the same theological hole.

Sometime next decade there will be another nefarious name causing terror under the auspices of Muhammad. Paris was just the latest example.

It should be noted that every 4 days in America we have the same gun-induced body count as the Paris terrorist attacks...only our body count is induced by domestic terrorists supported by the NRA

My point:

Not all Americans are deranged killers shooting guns, but I think we can all agree that we have a gun problem in America. And not all Muslims are terrorists, but I think we can all agree that there is something amiss with Islam.

Doppelganger

A social activist and a gangster are twins split by moral courage, circumstances, and/or the values they were indoctrinated into. They have as much in common with each other as they do differences. Only the paraffin of purpose separates the two.

Both know right from wrong. Only one cares.

Both are ready to die for their beliefs. Fearless. Only one is selfless.

Both excel and lead.

One was taught to get theirs, another was taught to change the world for the better so everyone can get theirs.

I'm just a writer residing in the middle of the spectrum observing the proscenium we call society. So I wonder what would happen if the gangsters all became activists, and tilted the balance for social justice.

When we look at another person and judge them, we oftentimes judge ourselves.

The mirror is cracked by extremes. Gangsters kill. Activists save lives.

If I had a Doppelganger I would tell them to put down a gun, and pick up a book.

A Bullet for your Thoughts

There is no more contemptible sound
than a gunshot.
the cackle of a jackal pales.
A gunshot is worse
because it’s followed by
screams of sorrow
or painful moans.
If laughter is the music of life
then screams are the horror.
The gun is the new Frankenstein monster.
Who is more evil: the monster
or the creator?
Man created guns.
And now. That monster. Kills
men, women, and children.
Did God create man?
or the Devil?
They are both guilty by association.

The Poems of Unsound Men

short poem

Heart

If you have a
certain something
you can survive
anything

Retractions & Apologies

When you write a book of passionate opinions like Teaching Snapping Turtles a few will be wrong. It takes time to see which ones. Over a year has passed, and I realize I was wrong about 2 things. Both pertain to sports:

1 - LeBron James
2 - Urban Meyer

My book came out right before LeBron went back to Cleveland, which is not an excuse, but information to put my blunder in proper context. I criticized him for being a heartless capitalist with no regard for his home state. Obviously he proved this criticism wrong by coming back to Cleveland and working in his community to make it better.

When he returned to Cleveland I recognized my error, and wrote a blog about why Ohio people should accept and embrace LeBron. He was a young kid who made a mistake by leaving. I've made worse mistakes than that and my family embraced me. And a city is a family. Now LeBron has dedicated his personal resources to send over a 1000 local kids to college for free. He is turning into a great man, and I was wrong. And I apologize.

I may have been a bit harsh in my skewering of Cleveland, but some of it was satire, and some was righteous indignation. Building stadiums and colosseums over schools is wrong. Favoring sports over education is a blatant example of misplaced priorities. I stand by that. At least LeBron is setting an example for affluent athletes to give back to their communities. (let's see if James Harden puts any of that Adidas money to good use)

I was also wrong in my book about Urban Meyer being a petrified piece of Gator poop. That was just a childish opinion...a remnant of distaste from when Florida beat OSU in the championship game back when Meyer coached the Gators. I feared that he would be a mercenary who left his players in the lurch when he bolted for the NFL. Obviously this hasn't happened, and his coaching of the Buckeyes last year was one of the best in collegiate history: losing to VT, then bouncing back using backup QBs to win a title in the first year of the NCAA playoffs is extraordinary. Kudos to Coach Meyer. I was wrong, and I apologize.

LeBron James is a great person, and Urban Meyer is a great coach. They are the epitome of Ohio athletic excellence.

The world may or may not be a better place if more people admitted when they are wrong & apologized, but it would make social discourse more tolerable.

I stand by everything else in my book. I wish I was wrong about gun violence in America, or Climate Change, but reality keeps proving otherwise.

In closing, a man shouldn't fear voicing his opinion, so long as he has enough honesty to admit when he is wrong.

Troll Nation

We are a society of trolls
Everytime I turn on the TV
there’s a troll
trying to sell me something.
Telling me I need
better insurance.
Don’t walk over that bridge.
You might fall.
Better get All State.
Your breath stinks.
Brush with Colgate.
Are you in good hands?
is the name of the massage parlor down the street.
movie stars in commercials.
Isn’t it enough
we watch your shitty movies?
you have to sell us crap
What’s in my wallet?
My middle finger aimed at you!
We paid money
We spent our time
What more do you want
you greedy egomaniacal vultures?
Every last penny?
Our crusty bones when we die?
Our souls?
to replace the ones you sold

Poetry

I drink so much
and have so much
sex
that I have
to abstain from
religion
A man can have
only so many
vices

The First Time I Read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Tomorrow, July 18th is Hunter Thompson's birthday. I was going to publish my poetry book on that date to honor him, but the book isn't ready so I wrote this blog in celebration instead.

Around 6 years ago I flew from Las Vegas to Cleveland, Ohio. My grandpa was in the hospital there. He was not doing well, and my family thought he was going to die. So I went home to see the best man from my wedding one last time.

I’ve never been a fan of flying, and I remember that flight starting off with all the excitement of a funeral dirge. Normally a plane ride is a necessary evil to go somewhere exciting. Now it was transporting me to something new: the death of a loved one. And when I got to my destination I expected to see my Grandpa hooked up to tubes and wires, and the worst feeling gnawing at me was that I’d never get the chance to say goodbye. At least I’d be able to give him one last kiss on the forehead.

Those somber thoughts needed to be blocked out, and addressed again in a more private manner later, so I cracked open Hunter Thompson’s classic book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Despite my depression and the gloomy nature of the trip Thompson’s book had me laughing out loud. Several times. Blurting laughter that startled the yuppie banker next to me. No other book could’ve lightened my mood and made the trip bearable. Thank you, Hunter Thompson.

When I finally got to Cleveland it was a chilly night. We went to see my Grandpa. He was asleep, and worse off than I had envisioned. But the tough bull-headed sweet man pulled through. And I got to say goodbye in my own way later on by making him a photo book for his birthday. I’ve always believed in giving people the flowers when they’re alive to enjoy them. Then he said goodbye to me, “Auf Wiedersehen” as he got into his truck and drove away. That was the last time I saw him.

My Grandpa and Hunter Thompson are both now gone, but still very much alive in my mind. Cheers.

The Hype of the Century

It was a hazy Saturday afternoon. Gray methane clouds threatened to sprinkle acid rain on the strip. Perfect May weather to explore the nadir of western civilization during one of its hyped-up pre-fabricated holidays. C’mon, everybody, gather around, it’s time to celebrate an illiterate woman abuser’s surgical skill of bashing another human being’s skull.

And boy, did the people gather. I was one of them. It was a festive scene with mariachi bands, scantily-clad women with more stretch marks than sense, flocks of douche bros swigging cosmos spiked with Red Bull, escorts with hypnotic eyes that demanded immediate acquiescence, and a pair of Argentine lepers that kept trying to high-five strangers. Even a lice-ridden minister joined the fun, and railed against the evils of alcohol. I almost pissed on his leg ‘til I noticed a bicycle cop keeping a close eye on me. He didn’t know that the water bottles I held were filled with blanco tequila. I came to the strip to be a fly on the wall, not in the ointment. So I left the minister alone. I promised to not be on my weirdest behavior and that included urinating on men of the cloth. So I crashed a wedding instead. Why not? I had time to spare, and plus, everyone had on tie-dye tuxes and reeked of skunk. Perfect.

I was given a potent hash brownie by the best man from Duluth, and promptly passed out in a Bally’s ballroom. When I came to everyone had left, except for an elderly couple making out underneath a half-eaten wedding cake. Frosting was smeared all over their genitalia, causing me to try and pluck out my eyeballs. Luckily, I was wearing glasses. Day had made way for fight night; so I hurried out towards the MGM Grand, swigging one of the tequila water bottles dry.

There were plenty of fisticuffs outside the ring that night by inebriated macho tourists. I was provoked a few times, but too drunk to care. I’ve learned that if you’re gonna get drunk in public, get sloppy drunk instead of angry drunk. It’s always better to be the fool waking up in your own bed instead of the tough guy waking in a cell surrounded by tougher guys. That’s why now I only wear Pumas or Converse sneakers on the Strip because all bets are off if someone scuffs my Jordans.

I brought my cheap brass knuckles just in case, but sold them for fifty bucks to a bunch of angry Filipinos who had beef with Jamie Foxx’s entourage. It seems the Foxx crew were luring foreign women into their Bellagio penthouse suite for a night of pill popping and watersports. R Kelly was there also, chaperoning a high school field trip from Chi-town. I glanced into his suite and saw cupcakes laced with LSD, drop cloths, dirty diapers, and WD-40 for squeaky braces. All the while the movie Space Jam played on a continuous loop. Steve Wynn even stopped by for a few sloppy seconds.

It was a terrible scene, but not as bad as the reality of Mayweather being paid enough money in one night to fund a few thousand school teacher salaries for an entire year. That sort of reality has the potential to doom an entire society. We now live in a country where rapists are rewarded with the #1 pick in the NFL draft, and boxing brutes scrounge up enough hype to rival the Super Bowl. All is forgiven. Nothing means anything. And we don’t care because we like it this way. The crossroads are in our rearview, and so is our country’s tattered sanity.

All that matters now is how much money we make. Buy ‘til you die. Don’t look back, don’t look ahead. Counting cash is all that counts. Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, but it’s the only real number that counts (unless you’re R Kelly). And most people spend it spending. End up doing nothing, but rooting for nothing. Searching for self-worth in a circus society that values sports over schools, dollars over doing the right thing. And when money trumps everything else, then that’s when a country loses its soul.

We are decadent dunces, out of things to say or do, so we watch. The fight itself is hardly worth mentioning. Mayweather spends his time on the outskirts of the ring buzzing like a mosquito and stinging like a flea. This sort of drab boxing is what a nation of suckers deserves.

It’s a strange cruel dumb world when an Idiot Man walks into the ring followed by Burger King and Bieber. Then brags about the millions he makes for playing patty cakes when so many people are struggling around the country to make ends meet. This sort of reality is really none at all, and only leads to anarchy. And when I see Mayweather smile, I say so be it. Loot, plunder, and leave rich people asunder. When the poor people are done in Baltimore, I’ll Google-Map Mayweather’s mansion for them. It’s all the same, just a different game. Death, distraction into factions, then divide the fractions for the most profit. It sounds like a complicated algorithm of societal control, but it’s really not. Just feed the masses spectacle to keep them occupied, and then promote racial bigotry to keep them torn. We are united in name only, but all share the same psychosis. Ding, Ding, let freedom ring…