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2012





Starting on the first of the year 2012, I had a series of visions and creative epiphanies all of which I would like to share with you here.

I would like to Thank the following People for Helping to Inspire the following words and drawings: Chris Hedges for his Books: The World As It Is and I Don't Believe In Atheists, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and Staff for making me laugh through my tears, Howard Zinn, Sarah Vowell, and James Loewen for helping me begin to overcome my public school "history education" and marvel at the barely believable multidimensional History of our Country and the World. John Emsley, Philip Ball, and Isaac Asimov for revealing the marvelous world of the Atomic. My Wife and Family and Friends for their continuing Support, Our Universe at Large and being Born awfully Lucky: My Everlasting Appreciation!



Image of Feed Me by Mark Frazzini
Feed Me

It came to me in a flash on the first of the year, TV-headed people ruled by the impossible need for ever more! I saw this scene briefly in my mind and dashed it down as quickly as I could.



Scene:
A well attired Florida family room with all the modern conveniences completely submerged in water. Two men in Scuba suits float/sit awkwardly on the couch watching a water proof TV. In the foreground, small fish and lighter knick-knacks float by, as well as an older, balding, chubby white man, eyes-bulging and tongue plumply sticking out, after recently becoming neutrally buoyant and being sucked in through an open window with a steady inward flow. One man quietly screams to the other through his plastic water-tight mask while gesturing to the floating corpse: I told Bob to invest in some Scuba gear, but he just wouldn't listen!, as he changes the channel on the TV, a dog and a cat swim franticly by in the background, clad in brand new, custom fit, bubble-headed bubbling Scuba gear.



Scene:
A vast rotting battlefield extending far out of sight. The sky is red with fire and black with smoke. In the foreground sit a small group of well-dressed, well-fed, white men, sipping on expensive brandy and laughing at the dead. Fluttering all around them are one hundred dollar bills, some singeing with fire. One stands up and toasts to the others:Thank God for the Economics of War!



Image of Selenium Self by Mark Frazzini
Selenium Self

How Amazing are we? On average, every cell in the human body contains more than one million selenium atoms. If too much selenium is introduced, our bodies produce a foul-smelling methyl-selenium molecule that floods out the mouth as bad breath and off-gases through the pores as B.O., yet a deficiency of selenium can cause a host of horrible health defects!



Scene:
The long side of a yellow school bus stopped on a suburban street. Plump TV-headed parents shuffle their portly TV-headed children on board. Those already loaded either stare blindly out the window or more likely directly at the seat in front of them inset with a High-Def flashing monitor of cyclical adverts. On the side of the bus is a huge 5-hour Energy logo with the slogan: 0 Calories, 0 Troubles, better to take them by the Doubles!



Scene:
A torn-up, worked-over, dead of all life, gold mining operation. One exhausted miner says to other: Well, at least the American Dream is still alive.



Scene:
Suburbia the day after a big snow storm. A rich young man eagerly whips away his snow with a souped-up, poorly-maintained, ageing snow-blower, as the custom pipe spewing exhaust fumes consume a gentle old man shoveling by hand just next door. The old man takes a long deep breath, coughs, and says: Ah, Progress! nodding a smile at his happy young neighbor.



Image of TV Headed Little Angel by Mark Frazzini



Scene:
A richly mahoganied den, large enough to fit six small elaborately carved wooden tables, all surrounded by four huge plush leathered chairs. On the tables, dimly lit by a massive fireplace fire, burning through a door, leading into another room, sit small delicately constructed, gold-clad, two-stroke engines, all surrounded by a yellowing clear glass dome. In the seats sit a collection of aging white men, all eagerly sucking at hoses that attach to the base of the yellowing domes collecting the gathering exhaust fumes. Several men have lost consciousness and lay slumped on the floor. One of them has died. Another, exhales a large cloud of bluish smoke, coughing as he laughs: Now, this is the Life! just as another man passes out from asphyxiation, crumpling onto the floor. The room continues to fill with exhaled fumes, raspy cackles of laughter, the hum of engines, and the distant snaps of burning firewood.



Image of Go Fatty Go by Mark Frazzini
Go Fatty Go



Scene:
A grade school auditorium filled with TV-headed children and TV-headed teachers all standing, facing north, toward a wall, empty of all paraphernalia, sans one extremely large, paper-thin, ultimate-resolution, wide-screen TV, cycling endlessly through waving flags, all complete with various corporate logos. They all mindlessly drone, with right hand on stomach and left hand on crotch: I pledge allegiance to the flags of the Corporate State of America, and to the Insanity for which it stands, One Nation, many Wars abroad, Everything Divisible, with Liberty and Justice for none but the Chosen Few, Amen.



Scene:
Chicago back alley, January 20th 2012, dimly lit alley, wet and covered in loose trash. The day before was Rob's responsibility. He had signed up for it weeks earlier, promising his hand in the World Record attempt, but now he lay dead, lumped in a wet, bloody, lifeless heap, there on the dingy alley floor. The reason Rob lay there lifeless was not any last minute repentance, no moral epiphany overcame him, he simply purchased a cheap knock-off model .45, that jammed at the worst possible time. Rob thought it would be more dramatic to wait until just before midnight to do The Deed, so when the gun wouldn't fire, the record was instantly lost. A man pointing a gun where Rob just stood, yells out: Time?! A cowering hangers-on clears his throat and scowls: 12:02 am. The others heads all hang in shame.



Image of Little Piggies by Mark Frazzini
Little Piggies



Scene:
Central Park, New York City, a tall tree overlooking the southeast corner of the park. A strong wind whips loose trash violently about. A group of young squirrels oversee the frenzied morning activities. One squirrel says to the rest: And I though we were the mindless pests?



Scene:
The year is 2050. A suburban wasteland extends far out of sight. Having used up all the easily accessible sources of oil, purchasing gas became all but impossible for everyone except the very rich. Mass migration out toward major cities, stripped the suburban landscape of everything not nailed down, as well as much that was, leaving behind only skeletal remains of wood and metal, loose trash, and not much more. Some of the rainier places grew forests of mulberries and maple trees, hiding much of the memory of the Age of Cheap Oil. And in the arid places, like Arizona and Southern California, the desert quickly reclaims all. It's on a bright cloudless mid-morning day, in a suburb of Tuscan, we find two leisurely serpents sliding over a cool slab of cement, shaded by the partial carcass of the house that once stood there. I don't know about you, says one to the other, but, I'm kinda glad they're gone.



Image of Oroboros A by Mark Frazzini Image of Oroboros B by Mark Frazzini
Oroboros A and B

Perhaps, like the Oroboros, our enthusiasm has trumped our better senses?





Scene:
A cage fight match in Anywhere, USA. A bloodied, beaten, and swollen man, stands wearily over, with right arm raised, a seemingly lifeless pile, formerly known as his opponent. He pleadingly looks out over the crowd above his cage and asks: Am I a Man yet? The ones that hear, shake their head, grit their teeth, and scream, NO, we still need MORE! as the announcer excitedly pushes him out his miniaturized coliseum and eagerly introduces the next contenders: Are you ready to RUMBLE?! His opponents lifeless body is thumped down the stairs behind.



Image of Slumbering Beast by Mark Frazzini
Slumbering Beast

Deep in a dark forest, far from the passages of man, slumbers a mighty beast. Two young boys, lost from the dreams of their day, stumble across a distant rumble, and follow it to its source. The nest of our slumbering beast no more!



I had a vision:
I see Mother Earth, dressed as Lady Liberty, being raped. Holding down her right arm and pulling open her right leg, is a blindfolded white man with the word Republican boldly tattooed on his forehead. Holding down her left arm and pulling open her left leg in a blindfolded black woman, with the word Democrat carved into her forehead. A seemingly endless line of corporate thug executives doing unspeakable things, cuts through an ever-gathering crowd of spectators, all turning the other way!



Scene:
A vast warehouse filled to the brim with weapons of mass destruction, each proudly displaying, in white on green army font, the words: Made in America, Bitches! An old man, eyes watering, choking on a mostly-smoked cigar in a faded-green army jacket, forklifts in the last carrousel of bombs and raspingly chokes over to his supervisor: "That should do it Sir. Now what?" The supervisor snorts and barks back: Get your ass over to the new warehouse and keep loadin' up private! In the foreground a slick looking man in an expensive pinstriped suit, complete with gold accouterment, tenderly thumbing the large wad of cash, heavy in his pocket, says softly to his chauffeur: Ain't War Grand, boy?! as he glides into the back seat of his brand new Rolls Royce limousine, complete with personalized diplomatic plates: OBLITR8.



Image of Puppet Show by Mark Frazzini
Puppet Show



Scene:
The Earth completely paved over and bustling with people. Now what, they ask?



Image of Tiny Planet by Mark Frazzini



Scene
Directly adjacent to a colorfully decorated circus big-tent, stands a small man on a large soapbox. He is attired in a well-worn, dusty grey, three-piece suit, barely big enough to fit his ever-expanding waistline. His left hand is holding the small end of a large old fashioned megaphone up to his tiny parched mouth, while the right hand gestures wildly with a brightly painted broomstick. He urges people inside with enticing oddities from by-gone times: Come one, come all, back to a time when people worshiped money and personal comfort more than inner-peace and collective well-being. Back to a time when people thought fossil fuel was in endless supply, that there could always be a next-generation iPad, ad infinitum. Back to a time when children moved far away from their families and isolated themselves in poorly-built Ikea-clad suburban McMansions. A time when masculinity was defined by violence and brutality, economic gains and excessive carnivorism and femininity was impossibly defined by Photoshop, surgical alterations, complex chemistry, and youth-obsessed Hollywood Lies. Back to a time when television hypnotized the masses into irrational fears and insatiable desires, a time when Money more than Spirit was the daily pursuit of humankind. Do not be afraid my Friends, for these days have long passed and will seduce us no more! But let us marvel at the seemingly unlimited supply of Stupidity during the age of cheap oil! To the tent door our weary descendants eagerly flood.



Image of The Word Denied by Mark Frazzini




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