The MadMan Diaries

Men on trees
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Silence is unrealistic physics when you stand in the midst of thousands. But the counter proves itself in those rare moments when time seems to stop.

Ever felt that your reflexes were getting better ? When you see things move slower than they should be. When all you can hear is the deafening silence. Then you feel the blood rush and your heartbeats pound out JBL mega bass into your head. Without warning, everything forwards back into real-time ! Your feet crumble and the blood splashes across your face. The pain floods back through the veins that are drained. And that's exactly what happened to the protagonist of this tale.

He walked with bare feet and blurred vision. He stumbled through the screaming crowds. He was like an anchor , the root of the tree.They had him chained and whipped. He wore a crown of thorns. He was destined to have the most famous name in the world. He walked a man and his death would make him a god.

There are so many beliefs born out of violence, that they actually coined the word 'martyr' to accomodate them. Example: Che Guevara -More famous dead than alive !

Its our need to have emotion so strong it inspires. Which one though ? Happiness and sorrow are dancers at the same level on the emotion scale. But anger ... anger has only ego to question its high ground. From anger springs hatred, jealousy, guilt, repentance , sorrow , sadness , happiness.....and list goes on. And a combination of those is the cycle followed by martyrdom.
The protagonist was a radical thinker. He was a leader of men and he matched wits with others who claimed right to his place. He was a visionary and he knew that he would be betrayed by a man who shared in his food and in 3 letters of his name. He had counted on it. It may have been the best marketting strategy devised. The emotional high that followed his martyrdom gave him a following like no other. His was a religion that preached the moral high ground. His was a religion that based itself on all human emotion. It was happiness, sorrow, hatred, anger and respect. And only with all of them together could he sit upon a throne.

So ultimately, the protagonist was nailed to this cross of wood. He thirsted , hungered and bled. He looked up at the heavens and he looked down on men. He preached,yet no one believed him. He claimed that structures would fall with his passing. They did, the moment he died. Then the Romans looked up at him and said " Crap !! Now we're screwed ! "

And all of them , like all human spirits found another to share blame with. They pointed at an old fig tree . It had a man on it. A noose on his neck and a bag of silver in his hand.

He took all blame for damning the crucified man.But if it weren't for him , a god would never have been. So my dear reader, you have to ask yourself this, about these men on trees...who came first ? The God or the man ?

Sincerely yours,
pshfffft

The MadMan Diaries

Ever been there ? When you go up2 someone and say "Hey , hear about Bob ?" You take that deep breath and begin to rant off on how Bob's vacationing on the cayman islands and won't ever be returning as he asked his boss to stick a leather-bound report up his you-know-what. You see a lot of head-bobbing, understanding nods. Maybe you even hear a few 'tsks' and a bunch of 'oomphs'.
After you done, the other guy genuinely asks you .." so ...have you seen Bob ?"

Yes my friend, I do believe that you and I are the only jobless people on this planet. You, since you are reading this..and me....well that's for me to know.
Getting back to that phenomenon though, I think people in general are so self centred that they just don't want to listen to your story! Well, not unless there's something in it for them. For example, add that Bob eloped with Steve and you'll probably get a question like " So steve's wife's free this weekend ?"

Admit it. You've done it also. Think back! That gorgeous Icelandic Model. She's giving you directions to the national museam of @#$#@$@$#........you don't know what its called ! ....coz all that's going on in your head is that church choir screaming "HAAAALLEELLUJAH".

So what's the point in this blog ? Well, its advice. Keep your opinions to yourself. Only dish it out when others have something to gain from it. Don't try to make yourself look good ( I mean, what are the chances ? You're here aren't you?).Lastly, never practice what you preach ( I obviously don't)

And if you can take the personal punishment , keep watching this blogspot. I swear , I'll be nice to you .....ya internal swine!

Welcome to the madman diaries.

Yours truly,
Bite me.

The Tin-Man (Look below for the Prologue) :
Chapter 1 : Uncle Sam and the poster boys

Bulgzhnia is the epitome of crime. A city plagued by the corruption of drugs, sex and money - in that order. Usually, walking down its streets at 3 am gives you a dull, thumping noise in your head. Somehow, blood moving that fast in and out of your brain seems to slow time down. The glints of knives and the blackness of the guns tucked into the seams of any kind of clothing is usually enough to give you that dry feeling in your throat. It’s called fear.

Today, I felt nothing. I think anyone who passed me saw the same morbid sense of death lurking with me. I felt like the grim reaper. No-one tangos with death.

The usual mugging line begins with "Got a light?" I end them with a flash of my .45 and "I just quit." I usually have one desert eagle tucked into the back of my pants. Today, I was packing five. Don't ask me where.

I reached the door I was walking to in under 5 minutes. The tricky thing about waking a person up is that there are a variety of ways to do it in. If you want a favor from the person, you have to do it gently. If you want to piss him off, break the door down! I needed a favor, but I decided on the colorful approach.

Muscles contracted almost instantly as the hinges shattered through. The wooden door splattered splinters on the floor and 20 guns cocked in my direction. It was a warm welcome! When a gun barrel is pointed at your face, you don't tend to notice that the wielder has blue eyes. But the first thing I noticed was his eyes. He had only one of them. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

There then followed that uneasy silence. It’s so much like getting into a lift with only one other person you don't know. There’s shuffling of feet and that awkward cough. There was no shuffling of feet now, but I felt the cough coming.

"I'm looking for John", I said. I was met by silence.

I tried my saving grace. "You have a rat amongst you." The one -eyed man might have pulled the trigger, but my guardian angel wouldn't allow it.

"Hefner, my old friend ", said John. My saving grace had stepped out of the shadow.

“What are you doing here Bob?” I’d rehearsed this at home. I was playing Uncle Sam. I needed these men and they needed a reason to help me. I gave it to them. The elaborate story of how they had a rat amongst them .Had sent 5 of them to prison in the last 2 months.

I didn’t know the guy who was executed. Cyclops almost enjoyed putting lead into his brain. His eye never blinked. It was like he was making up for something.

“So, whats your friend want John ?” Cyclops began to speak again.

“Why don’t you tell us Bob? What brings you back? “

I told them the plan. Cyclops didn’t like me very match. He had questions. I answered them. Cyclops didn’t like me at all. But the rest were happy. Someone cleaned up the dead man’s body. He wasn’t a rat. But he was scum like everyone in the room. The worst kind . I felt no remorse.

We were ready in six hours. We were going to walk into the bank through the front door.Old school.The promise of riches and prize right in front of us.

The darkness of OZ was painted by Ronald Stiesen. It was painted with glue and dust. Stiesen was so good at what he did, that he bought the arts of the renaissance masters into his field.
He started with a black canvas and meshed the light into it. The painting showed the Dorothy, the lion and the Tin-man staring back at you with fear in their eyes. The painting was my prize.

As we stood in front of the bank, I couldn’t help but think of the painting. Dorothy, her innocent affiliation to OZ. She wanted to go home. Home had stopped mattering to me a long time ago. The lion, he wanted courage. In some vivid sense, courage is why I stood here.

The Tinman on the other hand wanted to be human. I’d lost my chance at humanity. I didn’t have enough time to redeem myself. We’re all a bit like them. Everyone’s innocent. Everyone’s afraid. Only I had nothing to lose now.Just the hope of my prize and the immortality of my time.

I was the tin-man.

The Tin-man

Prologue:

If you listen for the lower decibels of lighting a cigarette, you'll probably hear the tobacco crack under the orange embers. There I stood, under the half-ellipse entrance to the mosque. I took my first swig of smoke and felt my lungs choke as the rain poured outside, 3 inches in front of me.

The smoke is eating through my lungs. I can't help but fall onto my knees and cough out blood. Watching the rain wash your blood away is like seeing a second chance. With that in mind, I pull my trench coat tighter around me and take another puff.

My name is Bob Hefner. I have 10 minutes left to live and I'm going to spend it telling you my story. At any point, feel free to punctuate this dark and dreary tale by ripping out the pages and throwing them into a furnace.

Here we go.......

My life began the day my doctor told me that I had 48 hours left to live. A chronic lung disease caused due to smoking. I think the moment was intensified when I asked him how much time I had left and he consulted his wall clock. You’d think I had something to say about that. Well, my mind was never blanker. I can’t exactly remember how I reached home. I do remember sleeping though. YES, I had 48 hours to live and I decided to catch some shut-eye, just to warm-up.

I woke a different man. I had a resolution. I wouldn’t waste what little time I had left ……which was 36 hours to be exact. I set about to make a plan.

I would rectify all my wrongs! But, looking at the time constraints, that was an ambitious goal to hit. So I settled finally on 2 things:

One, make my ex-wife’s life a living hell. Give her a preview of whats going to come.
Two, Steal from the rich and throw a party! A Robin Hood of sorts.

So with my salvation in hand and a resolution to quit smoking, I donned my trench coat and cowboy hat. I looked at my house one last time and trudged down the muddy streets with my black boots. The night had another 3 hours before dawn cracked down on it. The rain blurred my vision. I needed help on this one and I knew exactly where to find it.

The funny thing about lightning is that it expands the moment. What I see in my minds eye is the lightning illuminated the smile that cracked my lips …and the bank that I was about to rob. I think its appropriate that, knowing I had only 35 hours left is what made me an insomniac.