The Death of Hombar, Part 2

 II

One day, they told him he was going to get to go home.
They loaded him onto a primitive mass transport with the other prisoners. On Earth it was called a “bus” he would learn. 
“We call this garbage,” thought Hombar, a mass transport, on wheels no less, and it even ran on petroleum fuel? “These barbarians haven’t even harnessed their orbital stars energy yet?”
Hombar finally got to see the other prisoners on the bus. He did look like them, the tones of their epidermal layers were a similar shade, but Hombar couldn’t understand why that mattered, it never did on his world.
Hombar was also confused as to how this anachronistic vehicle would get him home. Then they loaded Hombar and the rest onto another primitive toxic fueled transport, but this one carried them in the atmosphere of earth. They took him to some place with more people who looked like Hombar and the other prisoners, but they dressed in drapes it seemed to Hombar. The men drape their scalps and the women drape their whole body. He was stuck in some giant, hot dry place where Hombar and the other prisoners were released.  
Hombar was still confused, this wasn’t home. But this is where they left him. In this place where he knew none of the people and none of the culture, hating the people who had captured and oppressed him. Far away from the place he belonged and from those he loved, and all because he had come to Earth just to do his job.
He would learn that some of these people hated them even more than Hombar did.
So when some of these locals promised him revenge, he took their offer.
They took him to a place where they gave Hombar a weapon and showed him how to use it. It was a primitive self destruction device, the most primitive device he had seen yet. It was as if they took pieces of primitive technologies and made them into an even more primitive weapon.
But Hombar didn’t care anymore.
Soon, Hombar self destructed and took several of the Men in black’s camouflaged armed patrol guards with him.
And Hombar was dead.

The Death of Hombar, Part I

I

Hombar didn’t beg for mercy. He gave that up during the torture. He tried to tell them the truth, but they only waterboarded him more.
“Who are you!?” The men in black would scream. Their attire was bizarre to Hombar, the men wore the same anachronistic suits he used see in the history books during his school day’s. He couldn’t believe Earthlings still had a need for neck ties.
He also couldn’t believe it when they would use those ties to strangle him.
They would always beat him, and torture him, all while screaming these questions at him.
“Who are you!?”

 

“Hombar,” he would tell them.
“Where are you from?”
He would tell them the coordinates, and they would usually slap him across the face, one time they stomped on his testicles.
Then he would just say his planet’s name, and they’d slap him even harder.
Then they’d ask him more questions, questions he still couldn’t understand.
“Why did you come to the United States?” 
“What can you tell us about any plans to attack the United States?”
Hombar didn’t know what the United States was. All he knew was that he was sent to Earth on a field research mission to study plant life. His planet needed medicine and Earth is known throughout the galaxy for being abundant in natural medicine.
Not much was known about its inhabitants though, except that they were still very primitive and had yet to make contact outside their world.
Now Hombar knew about the Earth creatures all to well, and he hated them for what they were.
He would tell them the truth, over and over again. But the more he did the worse the beatings and torture got.
They started keeping lights on while Hombar would try to sleep.
They would splash buckets of ice cold water on him to wake him up every morning.
Then more beatings would come, sometimes with vicious canine animals the Earthlings had apparently trained.
Hombar never saw the others in their cells, he only heard them scream and beg for mercy.
Hombar would scream and beg with them at first.
He was only here to do his job. Now he just wanted to go home.

And he kept wondering, “What is a “filthy muslim,” and why did they keep calling me that?”

Thought’s Post Annual Fleeting

  
Yes, but forced intrusion 

And impulse.

Yet so be got by letting go.

Letting go of such a thought,

both fleeting 

and concrete.

Yes these words are 

spoken,

even written,

again and again.

So dare one say is that not its message.

What merry spirits do

burn again on this day.

What day,

Other,

But this day.

12/6/14 

Donald Trump & His Followers Have Free Speech, but I have Voltaire and my middle finger.

I may not like what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it.

Voltaire.
One of my favorite lines by one of my favorite philosophers, and today it rings more true than ever. But remember, just because you have to let someone say what they want to say doesn’t mean you have to treat them like your intellectual equal.

That is the problem with Donald Trump and his followers, they are willfully idiotic and ignorant and yet we continue to let them and his hate speech set the tone of the dialogue. 

Of course we cannot pass laws limiting anyones speech, that would go against everything I believe, but what we can do is remember that if Trump wants to use freedom of speech to spew hate, we have the freedom to tell him to fuck off.

Dear Fellow Self Proclaimed Male Feminists, or, How Not to Be James Deen

So anyone who has passed puberty & has an internet connection is aware of the current rape scandal & fall of porn star James Deen thanks to the bravery innitiated by Stoya.

What is especially troubling about these mounting accusations is that Deen was popular amongst men and women for being a self proclaimed sex positive male feminist.  The gruseome details with each accusation do not make such men appear as the legitimate progressives they claim to be.  Lane Moore of   Cosmopolitan   wrote an article which basically said a male feminist can just be a wolf in sheeps clothes, a cover for more nefarious purposes, which means women must be warry of men claiming to be their allies.  As if it weren’t hard enough for women to trust the people in the world around them, now they have to be even more careful trusting the people who are actually claiming to help.

I consider myself a sex positive male feminist, and the more men use cultural constructs to perpetuate unneccesary dominance the more divisive the issue of feminism will become and the more women will be unwilling to work with men to solve the issue.  No one is done any favors when a social movement is exploited for personal gain.  

Listeningto the different perspectives & frustrations on the issue, I think it is the job of male feminists to stop trying to dictate feminism as anything further than equality.  You can be a male and feminist, but it is the job as men in the movement to listen to women before we act and above all be genuine in what we say and how we act.  That is the most important thing.  Be genuine in what you say or do. mThe chances are you will not always be 100 on issues concerning women or objectification.  I may be a progressive but I am a male who is a product of the society we live in, and I am still undoing several moronic ideas about women I used to have.  But when I falter I assure you I do my best to shut up and listen.

I will say it again.  To use a movement for equality as a way to perpetuate any kind of dominance or manipulation is sickening.  I am doing my best to be genuine and listen, and hopefully I can learn what I can do to help foster change better and faster.  This will not undue the damage done by men like James Deen but it is something that we can in fact do here and now, and therefore have no reason not to.