Critical Thinking 1:00 p.m. Harrin Hall, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays

I slowly swirled my Pilot VBall-grip fine point black pen around the white bottle cap attached to the Aquafina base. Like the sound of a YKK zipper on a pair of washed out Levis, the pen rotates as I slowly begin to lose focus. He's talking about pot or something; traffic laws and "chicken shit towns", allegedly. The snow white concrete wall looks like a community of unknown specimen, but some can be identified, such as that previously chewed then carelessly stuck-on-the-wall hardened gum... you know, the kind like Bubblelicious, when the flavor of strawberry kiwi flows through the air two feet away and gladly travels up your unexpecting nostrils. And now my trusty pen has begun to run out of ink, like my level of concentration has commenced to scrape the bottom of the sanity barrel, and I switch to pencil, which I hate, by the way, and I am not so sure as to why. Maybe it's because it requires sharpening (those high maintainence Papermates) or that it gives me those calluses that form on your ring finger right below your nail and won't ever go away, like the never-ending droning of my professor's cavernous voice. Who knew I couldn't survive 50 minutes of argumentation. Damn Socrates.

Oh, the Hilarity

Various canned goods fill the wooden shelves nailed to the musty basement walls. Cases of bottled purified drinking water line the floor, stacked until they begin to sway from side to side. Flashlights and an excess supply of every existing type of battery are readied. Thousands of dollars are spent on backup generators. The well anticipated blackout and crash of our current technological advances are soon coming. The fear, the frenzy; the reality of Y2K is upon us.
In hindsight, the gravity of the situation and fear of the great changeover seems quite petty and even ridiculous to some. Most are able to utter a joke or two, and snicker at the fact that we bought into the panic. Some simply keep their mouths shut, for they were the ones who allowed them to be affected. Humanity has been played, and some are too pissed off to admit it. In fact, the explanation to all trivial tribulations can be described in one sentence: the joke’s on us.My rationalization for this matter is simple: God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh. Voltaire has successfully compelled me to expand my mind and find reasoning to every situation and humor in the chaos. He puts a new spin on the theory that God is comical. Thought-provoked, I began to think of past circumstances where this theory would apply. The results were overwhelming. God is Alpha, Omega, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; but comedian? Surely that is a joke within itself. Not so. A prime example: airport security. Jacket off, belt off, shoes off; car keys and wristwatches – a mandatory yet conservative strip tease. I find it utterly hilarious to ponder that God is watching, chuckling that people have made life so complicated. If things happen for a reason, does this mean that God is manipulative and uses our stupidity for his pure enjoyment? I would rather find the silver lining and see it from his viewpoint. It is the world that digs its own hole. God gives us the opportunity to raise the level of hilarity in our lives and we refuse it every time. We dismiss the proposal that God is lighthearted. Instead of embracing the side-splitting comedy we incite embarrassment and even rouse a sense of frustration and anger. Understandable for some, but still, when will man be able to acknowledge and appreciate the wit in the moment? What if God is standing under the spotlight, holding the microphone, playing to the world, and we are just too afraid, if not stubborn, to laugh? Why must we sit in silence when the intention is entertainment? I have been perched on the edge of my seat waiting for the punch line, when it has already been voiced. Curious? It’s simple. The joke’s on you.

Divine Indignation

Lurking in the shadows, hovering over every street corner, it waits. Wallowing in a deep slumber pending its awakening, a moment of strike; it hungers for release. Surpassing loathing, exceeding anger, and transcending hatred, wrath is the highest form of animosity. Labeled as justified fury, this deadly sin emerges daily. Wrath is the stench of the Holocaust; burning flesh drifting from the crematory. It’s the deep throated, haunting voice of the devil coming from Linda Blair during her exorcism. Wrath is the bitter taste of blood that gathers in your mouth, and the sickening rage that builds in your stomach when you hear of innocent girls being executed one by one, committed by a man who has been instantly forgiven. Society has absolutely no control over this foe. On autopilot, it overrides every emotion until the need for vengeance is satisfied. Provoked by human nature, it does not fall within the same vicinity as adoration. The worst of it is, we tolerate it. Its constant occurrences compel us to react. Afterwards, we wonder as to how our temper began to seethe so quickly. Wrath has been classified as justified and godly, as well as inexcusable and immoral. The line between these has blurred, and it has become a case by case judgment as to what is acceptable. Wrath can be physical, like a drunken low-life taking out aggression in the form of consistent blows on his petrified wife. Wrath can be verbal, like a misfit finally lashing out at the bully on the back of the bus. Mentally, wrath can affect the mind of a passing college student who becomes irritated and provoked by the man lecturing on fornication and drunkenness. Our hands are tied as to knowing the cause of such a disruption of our souls. Every positive emotion instantly disappears, and every ounce of hatred surfaces. We are later motivated to blame it on the fact that it was caused by outside sources. We do not have control over this sensation, no matter how many times we try to convince ourselves we do.Our hearts pound and heat travels up our necks and to the tops of our ears making our faces red. Our palms become clammy from the temperature of our bodies rising so rapidly. Our hands begin to shake uncontrollably, and something within us commences to build like a shaken soda about to burst. One twist of the cap and it is over – unleashed, unmanageable, uncontainable anger. We ask if it’s justified; if our reasoning for outbursts, wicked thoughts, or loathing is going to be judged and ruled against us. By the time we question it’s too late and the damage has been done. Wrath is immortal, surviving through the ages and thriving on momentary fatality of the mind, body and soul. Why this power was given to us is unbeknownst and beyond our intelligence level. Wrath is something we will never be able to comprehend. It is something we will never be able to overcome, at least while evil still exists in the world. It is a force to be reckoned with, and will forever be unavoidable. It is something we acknowledge, but do not understand. Wrath is divine indignation that has been used and abused and will continue to be sanctioned for the rest of eternity.

Limbo

I am senseless
Jaws wired shut.
Charcoal black and icy white eyesight
Deafening silence reverberating against the drum
I am senseless.

Mentality fading, divinity lost
Baffled and burdened
Longing to utter a broken hallelujah
As sand in the hourglass turns to slow motion,
I am desolate.

Floating in a black Caribbean
Transfixed on the endless abyss
Underlying tension surfaced
Fabricated satisfaction explodes
Illusion ripped, streaking streams of smoke across the concrete sky
I am broken.

Enlightenment fills shriveled lungs
Reviving the suffocation victims
Crisp, cool oxygen travels through my veins
Alive. Awake. Aware.
No longer senseless.

2%, Skim or Vitamin D

"Save money, live better"; the motto of the beast
Butterball and Betty Crocker aid yanks with a feast.
$4 prescriptions, contact lenses, and lines that never end,
Heartless greeters, empty aisles, the trend is to pretend.
Holiday gangways, lean cuisines; the frozen food for thought
Stranded buggies wander aimlessly in a no-spot parking lot.
Rollback prices, upsidedown goldfish,Society buys and buys
Surrendering souls and pocketbooks to yellow smile’s lies.