To Kill The Giant

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Tag: money

The Day God Wore Black

The Day God Wore Black

The calculated and perfectly timed threats rang to fruition in
public bombings. They idolized something much more sinister than a perfect loving God. The untold amount of human suffering and lives lost through their hands replicates a well known darker mankind that was the predecessor to WWII, a Godless society run rampant. This black plague believes that their way is the right way and no other way is existential. Their motives are martyrdom, virgins in heaven,and a path that leads to a non altruistic God. Their holy book has been rewritten to suit them, ignoring the real message. A self proclaimed holy war on infidels construed for their sake of their bastardized religion. One man who proclaims to be the son of Allah or descendant, was previously nothing more than a foot solider risen to power bellowing orders from a white tower, cloaked in black.
The burnings alive of human beings, men in cages, the beheadings, the mockery of nations, to silently and stealthfully sneaking into a country strapped with suicide bombs is the day their God wears black. In their imagined reich of heirarchy, their prostituted way of distorting a loving God into a black diety, is not the same Allah or God who promotes peace and love of which is my God.
Their God wears black on killing days. They wear black every day waving black flags, black head bands, black hearts filled with hate. Their hate is fear and ignorance
When they blow themselves up, they might want to know that there are not 13 virgins waiting on them in heaven because they raped them, sold them into sexual slavery or married them. A virgin would kill herself rather than submit to violation of a darker kind, a killer of mankind, and the killer of a good God.
They forge their destiny into the desolate arena of damnation by their own accord and through it all, my God wears white and My God will win.

How can you say your God will protect millions from radical or extremist islamists? They are a porous group. Follow their path into their own kind, knowledge of them is power to prevent them from succeeding. When you learn their moves, that they are on a infidel destroying  path of idolatry, you will find them. Infiltrate them, destroy them, To Kill A Giant.


Glass and Metal

He cleared his desk in the glass office overlooking the square below, putting the pictures in the small packing box, hesitating at the picture of his baby boy. Holding onto it, he lit a half smirk at the how the time had flown since this picture was taken. His baby boy, no longer in diapers, changing every day right in front of his eyes. That would be his next agenda, getting more pictures of his precious baby boy, spending more time with him. He was now 3 years of age and how many days had he spent with him since he took this job? He could count on his hand the moments. He definitely wanted to enroll him in karate in the next two years and teach him how to throw a baseball. All the things a father should teach a son.
Looking around at what he was leaving, at his own request, the momentum had not ceased. The office was bustling, hectic, women in skirts buzzed by him, carrying paperwork, zuit suits on telephones in glass offices in the sky making deals and yet, he felt so removed from it. Like he didn’t belong there. He never belonged there. Yeah, there might have been a time he felt he fit in but it was a brief moment. The boys in the office were cut throat and he didn’t want to teach his kid about the kind of lifestyle that he had been caught up in. The nightly happy hours, the broads, the booze. If you didn’t socialize with the gang, the heavy hitters after work and compare notes, your law degree might as well be thrown in the trash. You had to socialize to get ahead in that firm. Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere but back with his family. He couldn’t go home. She threw him out. “Choose me or the job she demanded two years ago. How could he support the baby and her if he didn’t work? What was she thinking when she issued that ultimatum? Had she been taking lessons from her father, a master sargeant in the Army? Now, he made the final choice, to leave the firm, for a quieter position across the river. He could finally spend the time with his boy like he wanted to. Now he had all the time he wanted and some money in the bank for support for his son.
With the stroke of the packing tape dispenser, he was through with his personal belongings. Grabbing his lone possessions, he shook hands with a cohort. Where were his close friends? The ones he had beers with at the local tavern? Were they to busy to wish him well in leaving the rat race? Realizing they were never his friends, the determination showed even further as he grabbed his box and headed down to the elevator. He didn’t think he would miss this life. It had already cost him his wife, and home life. Now he had to rebuild what was left. He had saved enough to buy a small white apartment across the river in the burbs and he would start over. Just him and his precious son facing life together, depending on when he could see him. She always held the reins to his little lifeline. Now that he had the time and finances in place, he decided to spend his energy on the baby and building a law life away from the prestigious firm and maybe, just maybe, she might take him back.
The elevator door opened and out he walked as fast as he could to his new life. It had taken time to get to where he wanted to be so his hopes were to rush to his new home, his baby boy.
Then it happened, his box went flying in the air, papers caught in the wind, tossed around like a lost soul searching for a place to land, scattered like his life had been all those years..all the moments that could have been were now lost. Glass met metal.
He never saw the bus.

Blue Shag

The ruined carpet leading down the hallway to the rooms started as a deep shag, blue in color some 40 years ago, now, stained, the stench of cigarette smoke embedded its cancer into it. Patches of it matted together, laden with dirt, compacted over the years, offering a bumpy walk.
The ends worn from tired and dirty feet trudging along its path. The smell was of covered up mold and mildew, with freshening powder.

Some of the shoes were leather, just polished that belonged to a very important businessman to dirty sneakers and loafers who were just there to visit for a while.
Wheel chairs and walkers left their mark some rubbing against the tired paneling lining the walls. The money collected in the rooms never went to update and replace the worn, dated and dirty carpet, only the rooms or what the owner deemed necessary for continued business.

Other shoes have tread the thousand of miles placed upon the carpet, to include high heels, some broken spikes as the wearers unsure of their feet mis stepped, piercing a hole into the underlayment and breaking off.

A path so worn, yet, what it led to, was what everyone who trudged along the blue brick feeling street came to see, to spend time with.
Hidden in the shadows, in each room, hung dim lights, covered in lace cloths, white sheets, double beds and behind these lace cloths, sheer window panelings were young girls.

The fancy shoes delivered them, the high heels belonged to the young girls learning to walk in them and the loafers were the johns, the henchmen, the bodyguards protecting them. When the girls were knocked to the ground or roughed up, the blue shag caught them, protecting them, breaking the fall of the innocent. Tears have been shed on the carpet, as well as sexual favors. The shag in its hey day offered a plush bedding, now, only sharp edges.

This worn carpet contains the memories, the imprints of young girls sold into a life that they did not ask for. Perhaps it was their parents so that she could earn money for them, to saudia arabian and eastern european heists of young girls to sell on the black market, a kidnapping, a robbery of innocence.

The blue carpet, like the tears of crying blue eyes, has withered and grown old with hardness and age. Once it is too old for any use, it will be replaced.


“its my money in the end, I dont know why they just don’t go ahead and give it to me before they die.” said the heir to a massive food fortune.
“What do you mean I can’t have the credit card now? Why does my sister have it?” said the heiress to a communications giant. Millions of millions of dollars are soon to be in their hands but before it reaches them, entitlement will have reached them first.
Entitlement, runs with explicable cause, rampant in society of the wealthy. Working for too long in the industry that takes care of and for the world’s 1% these eyes have seen it in every family that had money, except one. When I say, has money, I am speaking of multi millions to billions. Not someone who makes 100,000.00 to 1 million a year.
Was it too much overindulgence of mother’s milk growing up, the thirst for more or an insatiable desire to obtain and acquire without the deep soul searching of looking within, to find the answer. The man with all the toys, garages of them or boxes of them, the women with too many diamonds and too many fake friends. If one delves deep into the psyche of the entitlement personae, one will find that the consummation of earthly goods emerged from not having satiated the void that accumulated and grew first within the person and their soul.

To feed the soul feeds the spirit and diminishes the need for materialistic goods, services which led to entitlement. Once you have had it all, a true person wishing to learn from their mistakes will not want more. When a person has not learned this lesson, there exists a void so vast that material objects to even collections of people are consumed in attempts to fill the emptiness and the entitlement begins. It is not just about money. It is also the ego driven attitude that compensates for having a lot. The grafting of the ego, to still higher platforms based on what is obtained through wealth leads to the downfall of the souls redemption. Likened to a stairway with never ending stairs, the ego ultimately begins the ascent with the money and their golden objects creating the entitlement personae.

Or perhaps it is age that entitles a person. A person lives to be 50 and believes they are entitled to experience and enjoy more. The older Japanese man worth millions is entitled to a younger gold digger mistress. The blonde thinks she is entitled to bigger boobs and her boyfriends millions. The Texas oilman sleeps with a woman for 24 hours and she is entitled to half his wages and earnings to the sex slave trader who after drugging and kidnapping young women is entitled to all the young girls he can sell to the entitled. The rapist murderer is in his mind entitled to the hate with more rape, more pillage and murder. It is embedded in every stitch, every thread of our culture and oozes from our pores like a sickness rotting deep within. A sickness of the soul, mind, body and ego.

Why show up at an auction to buy antiques if you have everything your heart desires or a clothing store on rodeo drive to buy a simple shirt costing you thousands? It’s because you can and you do and you will. It’s because you are entitled to it once you have money, family title or simply an ego that goes before you go. Why have the crab meat stripped from a shell for you, when you might be missing out on the fun of working for your food. It’s because you can and you will and you do.
Yet, are you also entitled to treat domestic help such as you do? From demands of the maid, chef, manager to suit your needs on a daily basis it is because you are entitled. You are their employer. Fire the chef, why, is because your husband wasn’t happy with how the lamb was cooked. You didn’t use enough fat and rosemary. The ordering around, the playing and toying with their lives, with them living in complete fear of losing their jobs, less they get the souffle wrong or the husband isn’t happy is entitlement. Because you have the money and they don’t. Forgive them if they talk back or try to be engaging in a nice conversation and fire them after that. You demand silence and not to be spoken to unless you speak first. Why, its because you are entitled.
Helping yourself to being first in line to being the only thing that matters is entitlement. American society has become the golden rule for it. Pushing your way through the door to be the first, stepping over people less fortunate why should you care? You care because they might take your place only when it suits you. When you meet someone who stops your entitlement demands, do you truly see yourself for how you are? No, it is only at the end of your life will you truly be shown your worth on this plane called earth.
My experience has taught me that entitlement extends far beyond the reach of the wealthy. It ultimately reaches the sub cultures who are less fortunate. These other less inferior cultures as you see it who take by theft, a lesson learned from you to help themselves to what you have. Because you have it, and they don’t. The sliver goblet kept hidden away in a cupboard for use on rare occasions is free for the taking for the ones who don’t have it and are happy to have it. The entitlement has long reaching effects. The entitlement of the cultures whose families centuries ago were enslaved to demand more goods and services based on past effects of their forefathers with countless apologies not good eenough, can not earn it themselves. The entitlement of the illegals waiting for their handout taking it from more deserving citizens who paid into a program to use it, to the entitlement of the ones seeking free medical and government benefits from the US government when it is meant for the ones who truly need it. Everyone is entitled and were led to their ways by you, a teacher, a guide, the entitled one.

Why hire someone for a couple of months to help you eat better when you can learn and do for yourself? Your answer, because you can. Because you are too busy in your golden and opal lined crystal chamber to do it. Never mind paying them the salary they deserve, they must earn it. So you triple the work week, take away more of their day off because you can. Did corporate entities and their black soldiers learn it from you? You outfitted them with the basics of entitlement. You scrimp on the benefits of the job until they have worked so hard, their fingers bleed. And yet, you don’t care how hard they work. You don’t care they travel great distances to be there and yet you still don’t care even after 10 years, they have a life they lead, which is second to yours but ultimately dependent on yours. You are the enlightened entitled one.
The entitlement of the passenger breaking to the front of the line because they are in first class, the entitlement of the rich to look down on the poor, because they can, the entitlement of the wealthy to give more to their children because they can and in return more and more is wanted. You with the entitlement issue has set a precedent that even your children will not be able to break unless there is no more.
No more. Nothing. What would you do? Can you take it with you? Can you auction it off and have it buy your health or soul? Can you give it away and not need it? Apparantly not. It is much better to have more and skimp on your domestic employees salaries, your other employees than to give them more, the ones who devote their days off and time off to your needs. Entitlement should be relabeled to enlightenment for the people who need re-educating.

The Green Jacket

The Green Jacket

You wear the green jacket well. It has been with you all your life and yet, it never ages. You remember the first time you put it on. You were five years of age. The teenage years you wore it all the time. People began asking if you ever would just stop suiting up and showing up in your green jacket. As you became an adult, your dates and ex lovers began to hate that jacket. The green seemed to become even more green with each remark, each quip of the tongue.

Eventually, the jacket developed permanent stains, stains that would not come out. Each time you feel like slipping into it, it takes on a whole new demeanor. It just feels diifferent to you as thought you have never worn it before. it becomes new again. What does this green jacket do to you to make you want to keep wearing it? Does it make you feel pretty in certain situations or the next time you put it on, will it turn you into a hideous beast?

When his eyes lock onto another you have had the jacket on. The glove fit was so tight, you didnt even know you have it on. Like silk, it glides on unexpectedly and fits like second skin, supple, smooth, like buttery leather.

It has been your best friend, most times your worst enemy as it can make you look bad, ill fit for such a lady or gentleman. The green jacket has comforted you when his eyes looked away and instantaneously the jacket became your enemy and his even though he might not admit it. The jacket if not worn properly will make you feel insecure. Your pride tells you it is okay, just keep wearing it.

This green jacket, akin to the masters green, belongs to champions who have won the tournament. They will wear the jacket beaming with pride and will scoff when it is won away.

For you, the green jacket appears tattered, the fibers deteriorating with age, only bits and pieces cover the sleeve. Yet, you still wear it but this time it is on your arm.

Later in life, once you become comfortable in your own skin, your own ego has subsided you realize, that it is better to toss that green jacket. You outgrew it or perhaps it just isn’t becoming anymore. What did you ever decide to wear a GREEN jacket. Why not red, why not black or pink? It is now gone, you decided you could finally live without the ill effects.

In the second hand store, a young woman with her boyfriend is searching for her unique style, finds a pretty, used, but still wearable green jacket..