Sea Serpents & Sleeping Crows

This dream will be hard to describe without pictures, but I’ll do my best. I am with two other people, and we have heard legends about a great trove of treasure within a cave across the ocean. There is a legend of someone called Dog Girl who guards the treasure. Dog Girl was put there by her village when she was a child, and they told her she was destined to keep the treasures safe. The cave is also a burial ground, full of ancient relics and remains so it is important to the village. There is a wooden bridge with a short rope railing stretching across the entire ocean, floating on its surface. This is the route we take. Getting across to the cave is simple enough. We encounter Dog Girl inside the cave, who tries to scare us away at first. She isn’t like a dog at all, aside from looking feral and walking on all fours. She is actually very pretty. We tell her we are there to bring back some of the treasure to preserve in a museum and therefore share its riches with the world, and she seems to like that idea. As we go about gathering up some of the older relics, we notice Dog Girl is following us. She is at a distance, but eventually she is right at our feet, following us out of the cave and onto the bridge when we are ready to leave.

When we get about halfway across the ocean, the water becomes turbulent and the skies become black. A tremendous storm begins, and the thunder is deafening. The waves threaten to knock us off the bridge. In the distance, we can see colossal sea serpents raging in the waves, tearing ships apart and fighting with each other. One of the people with me says the serpents are causing the storm with their anger. As we carefully continue on, an enormous white shape glides beneath the water under the bridge… it’s a serpent, and up close like this, it’s apparently the length of ten full-sized airplanes placed nose-to-tail. Despite its gentle speed, the sheer mass of its body displaces the water enough to create a wave of nearly tidal proportions. The bridge was designed to stay on top of the water’s surface, so it doesn’t sink, but we are flung into the air atop the bridge as it stretches to stay afloat on the huge wave. One of the people with me is almost knocked off, but Dog Girl saves him.

We make it close to land when another big wave hits. The bridge snaps upward elastically, sending me flying into the trees on the shore. The trees are huge and gnarled with fat above-ground roots and lots of flat areas between the branches. The trees are FULL of black birds who appear to be sleeping, but they are covered in dust and cobwebs as though they have been sleeping for several decades. My landing in the tree doesn’t wake them, so I try to climb down without disturbing them… waking them up feels like it would be a very bad thing to do. I hurry back to the end of the bridge, where my companions and Dog Girl are standing, and we all cheer and talk giddily about our trip. We don’t notice that the man who was traveling with us has walked over to a colorful caravan of what appear to be gypsies. I glance over there and see a child holding up a very large book as though trying to sell it to my friend. The book is the size of a suitcase, and is bound in thick black leather. On the cover is a large blood-red upside-down pentagram with a skeleton wearing a suit in front of it. There is a spotlight shining down on the skeleton, and he’s holding a golden cane and a copy of the same book. The skeleton on the book he is holding is also holding the book, etc., etc., etc., creating a rather surreal effect. On each side of the pentagram is a simple golden goblet. There is a border running around the whole cover made of gold leaf, depicting various unknown symbols.

I continue talking for a moment, then decide to see what my friend is up to. I am walking over to him when I see the child hand the book to him. He shudders and crouches to the ground, clutching the book against his stomach. His form changes… he becomes smaller, paler, younger. His dirty wet traveling clothes become a spotless black suit and top hat. The transformation takes about 5 minutes, during which the gypsies pack their caravan and leave and I stand there dumbfounded, unable to do anything but watch. He stands up and turns around to face me. He has become a pallid child wearing an 1800s era suit and top hat. He is holding a golden cane and the book. His face is almost alien… it’s flawless and smooth and white as chalk. He has no eyebrows, eyelashes, or hair on his head. His eyes are the negative of what they should be (entirely black eyes with small white pupils floating in the middle of them). He grins at me, and his teeth are jagged and razor-sharp. And that wakes me up!

Published in: on December 27, 2009 at 12:18 am  Comments (5)  

Do Unto Others

This was originally a comment on one of my mother (S’Marty’s) old blogs on her MySpace page. She posted the blog last year around Christmas time. Here is the introduction from her blog, so you have the basis for my comment:

“Why are so many atheists angry? More specifically, they seem to be angry at Christians. Did you know that the God Christians worship is the same God Jews worship, and is the same God (Allah) that (normal) Muslims worship? Yet when atheists get angry, it seems to be directly focused on Christians.

There’s a big hue and cry going on up here in the everGREEN state of Washington. The group Freedom from Religion Foundation was allowed to post a large sign on an easel in the rotunda of our capitol building in Olympia. The sign is part of a display that includes a nativity scene and a menorah.

This is what the sign says:

‘At this season of the winter solstice, may reason prevail. There are no gods, no angels, no heaven or hell. There is only our natural world. Religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.’

Take a gander at the following article –, then kindly scroll down to where it says “Soundoff” to see the comments left by various and sundry people – most of them angry people. Not angry about the display of this offensive sign though. Most of the comments are written by atheists who are angry that Christians are angry about the sign.”

I read all of the comments in the Soundoff section, and chose one in particular to address. Without further ado, here is my response:

– Here’s a quote from one of the comments in the Soundoff section: –
“It is really amazing. Badly behaving Christians for years have forced their observation on others, including Jews, Muslims and non-believers, and now have the nerve to whine when others are allowed to express their views.
Maybe now they can understand what the separation of church and state is about. It protects all views. If only they could see through their own petty, self-centered attitude they would realize the virtues of the separation of church and state.”

First of all, I don’t recall present Christians (badly behaving [whatever that means] or otherwise) forcing their observations on anyone else. It seems to me, we simply enjoy the freedom our country gives us to celebrate the way we choose. The atheists interpret our outward personal beliefs as some sort of religious attack, when in actuality, it’s merely Christians openly observing their own Christian beliefs. Jews and Muslims celebrate in their own open manner as well, and yet are not accused of forcing their beliefs on others. However, putting that sign up directly next to a Nativity scene sounds a lot like forcing something to me. The placement of that sign says everything.

The last paragraph in that quote needs to be turned inward, and the writer needs to read it directed at him- or herself. If anyone is displaying a “petty, self-centered attitude”, it’s the atheists who misinterpret everything religious to be an affront to their own non-belief. The separation of church and state does indeed protect all views – including Christianity, correct? They need to accept that the world is full of diversity, and like it or not, people choose to believe in whatever they please. That’s the freedom we’re given, and we should appreciate it rather than take offense.

It makes perfect sense that Christians would be in an uproar about this display. I wouldn’t say Christians are “whining because others are allowed to express their views”. I would say Christians are upset because a group of fellow human beings took it upon themselves to mock and vilify our beliefs (especially during a celebratory time of year, when people should respect each other more). A Christmas tree, Nativity scene, and menorah are symbols of what we believe; they are not placed there specifically to decry anyone else’s beliefs or lack thereof. The sign, on the other hand, was obviously designed to counter some sort of nonexistent attack on non-believers, and is not there as a symbol of non-belief (for if you have no religion, then what symbols do you have to celebrate a traditionally religious holiday? Even the winter solstice was originally celebrated religiously.) For example, I am not Jewish, but I am not going to take offense at the menorah, write up a poster that makes a mockery of the religion, and then place it strategically next to the menorah. I have the wits to see that they placed a menorah there to represent their beliefs, and I am very grateful they have the freedom to do so.

It’s easy to understand how dominated atheists are by their negative emotions. As you said in your blog, they truly are slaves to this world, believing in no before and no after. They live only here and now, in the material, and therefore seem to be more affected by material matters. (“Material” in this sense means “Earthly”.) I don’t blame them, and though I don’t agree with their their choice to disregard religion, I respect it because it’s their freedom. We all received the disclaimer when we were born. However, I must admit to being upset by this recent event. It’s becoming tiresome to constantly be under fire from all directions. But then again, that’s how warriors are made.

Another of the comments on that website beat the same old dead horse with the overused “if there was a God, such and such wouldn’t happen”. People must think we’re all dead and in Heaven, and that this is supposed to be some sort of paradise. Of course bad things happen. We live in a world of personal choices, a world which straddles the gap between good and bad. People can take either route, because this world has an equal mixture of both. In addition to people being able to make bad or good choices, events can also have good or bad outcomes. Nothing is written in stone… God “allows” these bad things to happen, because this is not our final destination. This world is far from perfect; it has its share of suffering, torment, and grief. But it also has joy, love, and beauty – and God also “allows” those good things to happen.

Additionally, I couldn’t help but notice that the poster was worded in such a way as to present the statements as fact: “There are no gods, no angels, no heaven or hell… Religion is but myth…” I’d like to see where they get their cold-hard solid facts about the universe. I’d also like to reiterate something I have said before: while there is no tangible proof that God exists, there is also no tangible proof that He doesn’t. The word choices in the poster combined with where they decided to place it informs me of what their intentions really are. They don’t merely want their views to be expressed; they want to belittle the views of others in order to empower their own. There are many other, less-truculent ways to go about making your voice heard. If I have to keep hearing about all the bad things Christians supposedly are, then perhaps the atheists need to know that they are bitter, and their bitterness has vitiated their perceptions. I don’t say this as an insult, but as an obvious fact. If proof of this fact is needed, look no further than that poster.

So from one lone Christian to a world of venom-spitters: Do unto others. I’m sure even you know the rest.

Published in: on December 24, 2009 at 3:59 am  Comments (2)  

Cycling Planet

The description of this dream may sound slightly disjointed because of the way I wrote it out; I wrote the main concept of the dream first, so I wouldn’t forget it, and then I turned the page over and added all the details. So I am going to try to piece it all together in a singular form. Here goes.

I take a trip to another planet (not from earth; I live somewhere else), but the craft crashes on the surface. The planet is a lot like earth is now; there are people, and houses and communities, etc. I am with a group of 4 other people who survived the crash. Two of them are a middle-aged couple, one is a huge muscular man and the other is my friend. We wander for a while, trying to find something, I cannot remember what.

Then some sort of catastrophe occurs. It may be an earthquake, or perhaps some kind of apocolyptic meteor shower. Either way, it destroys most of the population and livable land on the planet and in my mind’s eye, I see only one piece of land remaining. It is a tiny island, and in my mind I view this world as a globe, with a small, perhaps Hawaii-sized island in the middle of a vast ocean. Somehow our group survived this, and we are in the water, floating on random things. The middle-aged couple is on a tiny boat-like structure they found, the big man is on a large square platform, and my friend is on a smaller square platform attached to his bigger one. I am stuck swimming from one small float to the next, because they keep sinking after a while. I realize it is very hard for me to swim, and I remember it must be because I have a huge old-school video camera around my neck, pulling my head and neck down as I swim. Somehow the water hasn’t damaged it. So I swim over to the middle-aged couple and hand my camera up to them, telling them to take good care of it, because it is very important and means so much to me. Everyone admires it like it’s really awesome and high-tech, which confuses me a little. At this point, I also notice a slight change in the big man, who now resembles a dinosaur somehow, and my friend, who looks almost sparkly in the sunlight, like she is covered in gold glitter.

Finally, we wash ashore of this island, and the second I set foot on the ground, the visualization of the planet in my mind’s eye changes; the island is enormous, at least continent-sized. We walk into a jungle area. We assume that it is safe because most everything died in the catastrophe. I notice that the big man now more closely resembles a very huge, brown hairy alien-looking creature, at least 12 feet tall. Oddly enough, some creatures emerge from the jungle and they resemble him. They are not quite as big, but they look the same. Along with them come leopards, but the leopards resemble dogs more than cats. We know they mean to kill us. I am bringing up the rear and am distracted looking at the big man we are with, because he looks so different all the time, but he yells, “Get on my shoulders!” to me. I notice he is holding a middle-aged person under each arm and my friend is wrapped around his chest. He plans to sprint past the animals and into the jungle so we can continue on. So I run up and climb onto his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He begins sprinting toward the animals, who suddenly mimic what he is doing: they grab a leopard under each arm, and a few jump up on their shoulders, and they begin running toward us. The big man realizes there is no way we can get past them like this, so he turns suddenly to run away instead, but this causes me to fall off. As I am falling, I see one of the leopards transform into a woman. She pulls out a strange handgun and aims it at me, but doesn’t shoot. My friend notices I fell, and leaps down and runs to help me, and the woman shoots her the second she gets to me. The shot flings my friend back really far, and I hold her as she bleeds to death. There is soooo much blood, it doesn’t seem possible. As I hold the body, the woman tells us we must either join her and her leopards, or she will kill all the surviving humans.

The surviving humans (about 200 or 300 at best) had apparently gathered on the beach, and at the sound of the gunshot they all come running into the area we are in, and stand behind us. The woman who had been a leopard explains to us that we are all affected by the change caused by the catastrophe, and that this planet has begun “cycling”. I look up beyond the trees into the sky, and HUGE white long streaks of light and sparks are spiralling and spinning around in the atmosphere, some so big they streak entirely across its length. The woman says this planet has now become “Earthgaia” (or something that sounded like that), and I take it to mean that this planet will eventually evolve into earth. She tells all the humans that we must survive the “Mezzozoic” period first- something like that, anyway. She is floating as she speaks, and behind her are the bottoms of some tall rocky cliffs. I notice one of these cliffs has a vaguely human shape, and as I stare it takes more detailed form, and starts to look sparkly and gold. It is my friend I thought had died. She grabs the woman’s ankle and the woman looks shocked, and my friend says, “Don’t look so surprised- didn’t you notice how much I bled when you shot me?” Her voice is like thunder. That’s the only way I can describe it. It gives me chills. The woman nods knowingly and then my friend just flings her into the cliffs, splattering her across the rock. I realize we all must have changed somehow, on a genetic level, when the planet began its cycle, which explains the big guy and the leopard-woman and my friend. She turns to look at the humans, and they are startled by her, and all pull out guns and open fire on her, as if they don’t know what else to do, like they think she will turn on them. The bullets bounce off her and she simply walks forward calmly, but obviously enraged. Her skin sparkles with glitter. She looks down at the crowd and says, “THIS is not going work- we won’t survive as humans! You are shooting your own kind- you can’t even keep your fingers off your triggers.”

And then I awoke… perhaps someday, I’ll actually finish a dream!

Published in: on December 22, 2009 at 7:16 am  Comments (2)  


I am currently basing part of a book on this dream… a combination horror/fantasy genre book. Enjoy!

I am in a town, hiding in an attic with 4 other people. One of us heard that this town was cursed a long time ago by someone who decreed that the effects of the curse would begin the moment that a baby beginning the town’s 7th generation was born, which is today. We were at the hospital when it was born- immediately upon being placed in its mother’s arms, it burst into thousands of tiny faintly glowing wasps that looked like day flies. So we ran to hide in the attic of the town tavern, owned by one of the people I am with. The wasps seemed to infect everyone they stung, dropping them on the spot, where moments later they would explode into more wasps.

From the attic, we can see the main street and hear fairly far. The air is filled with screams of panic and after maybe 20 minutes the sound of screams is replaced by the deep thrumming of millions of wasps making their way closer to us. They find a way into the attic through various cracks and two of the people with me instantly drop. It’s a middle-aged couple, and they end up falling on me, effectively pinning me. The other people with me run out of the attic and bar the door, thinking I was stung too. I feel the bodies lurch above me as tons of wasps burst forth from their chest cavities. The wasps break through the metal slats of the small window and swarm outside looking for more prey. I’m stuck under the remains for a few hours, afraid to move.

Then the other people who were with me return to the attic to hide. They see I am still alive and help me up, but some wasps are still lingering in the corpses, munching on them, and moving the bodies startles them into flight. We rush out and bar the door again. We run downstairs to the empty tavern and notice someone banging heavily against the front door, which is made of solid, heavy wood. We assume it’s a survivor seeking refuge, so I open the door a crack to be sure no wasps will get in. It’s not a person, it’s an unnaturally enormous grey-furred bear. It easily muscles the door open and swipes with its torso-sized paws. I jump back, avoiding the force of the blow, but its claws catch me and rip the skin right below my neck to ribbons. We lure it around the bar and then leave the tavern, shutting the door so it’s trapped inside.

We head down to the church and lock ourselves inside. I tie some white material over where the bear swiped me, noticing that the wound doesn’t hurt at all. Looking around, we see more people farther up the aisle. They are mumbling off to one side, in a line. We start to greet them, and one of the kids in the back leaps at one of us and bites the front of his throat right out. The kid howls with blood pouring down his chin, elated. It alerts the others to our presence. Our now-dead companion has what appears to be an MP-5 tucked inside his coat, so I take it out, tip a pew over for cover, and fire into the crowd, which is 90% children wearing children’s choir robes. I realize as they continue running for us that they can’t be killed, so I aim for their legs. The ones in front fall, tripping up the ones behind, which buys us enough time to exit. I give the gun to my friend and run outside, where actual survivors are running through the streets. I ask an older woman if there has been anything on the news or radio, and she says yes, they’re telling everyone to evacuate.

All the people are running for town limits. I shout that there may be survivors stuck in the church, and a surprising amount of people offer to help save them. We burst inside and the survivors grab anything that can be used as a weapon and go to town bludgeoning the zombie people with vigor. There are indeed survivors in the church, huddled in a robe closet. Eventually all the zombies are down and everyone resumes evacuation. Some groups begin looking for survivors elsewhere before evacuating themselves.

The street is now empty, save a few horses which must have escaped during the chaos. All but one are running single-mindedly toward the edge of town. The lone horse is milling about, looking lost. Getting closer, I see that the horse is VERY skinny and somehow got tangled so badly in its tie-down reins that they are wrapped tightly over its face, neck, and torso. It looks like a rubber band wrapped too many times around a finger. Its fur is shiny with oil or sweat and it doesn’t have a mane or tail. It sees me and stares intensely. I back up to the wooden sidewalk and my last surviving friend steps in front of me slightly, like a shield, with his arms outstretched. He’s about the size of a football player. It starts to charge, and, flinging the guy aside, headbutts me in the chest. It knocks the air out of my lungs and slams me against the outside tavern wall. The horse rears up to trample me, but my friend kicks it hard in the throat, knocking it down.

The End!

Published in: on December 17, 2009 at 10:44 pm  Comments (3)  

Tall Cattle

Most of the blogs I’ve written in my time have been detailing my weird dreams. It’s time to post a few on this site! Some of my dreams are rather disturbing, but I figured I’d start with a nice, lightweight dream that’s utterly bizarre. Be prepared for more hardcore tales in the future! Also, I write all my dreams in present-tense, since this is what therapists always recommend. And without further ado, here it is!

I am on the phone with my best friend Kim and I am watching a reeeeally creepy episode of Scooby-Doo that’s actually scaring me. I say goodbye to Kim, the episode ends, and my mom and I go off to meet with this short, fat, older woman who is really odd and eccentric. Sitting on her couch to look out her window, I can see these strange animals. It looks like we’re near an ocean or enormous saltwater lake with tall grass around it, and I can see the head and part of a neck of what looks like a young cow. I point it out to my mom, and she says, “Oh, tall cattle! You don’t see those very often around here!” The woman says her neighbor raises them.

It walks out from behind the grass and it looks like part cow, part giraffe, and part goat. It has a really long neck and legs, a small cow head, and enormous cloven goat hooves. They can climb on stuff, big rocks, etc., but it doesn’t look like they should physically be able to. I keep saying, “They look like half-cow and half-alien.” Then some guy on the TV in the room says, “Or half-CAT?” I look at the TV and see this guy climbing telephone poles and trees. He has long legs and big cloven hooves like the cows, but a tail and fur like a cat. I say, “Yeah, or half-cat,” and the guy says, “Good! Cats are awesome!” Then all of a sudden, the TV shows all these different clips of a forest at night with cats (like from the musical, those costumes and everything) popping out from behind trees and running around, showing off, singing, yelling, climbing, and jumping around happily, for about 3 minutes. Then the TV just goes back to showing the cow-cat-guy climbing a phone pole. My mom leaves, and I am supposed to stay there for some reason.

I end up staying with the woman and her equally odd husband for a few days, and I only see the woman again a few times; she’s always saying something about a choir loft, and wondering how you can get tickets to sit in those good choir loft seats. There are TVs everywhere in the house, all showing different videos made by the man and woman when they were younger, and the walls are absolutely covered in pictures of the couple- black and white photos, old pictures of them videotaping, catching fish, getting married, and lots more.

On the last day that I am staying there, the man is trying to feed me dinner, but I have horrible allergies to the tall cattle, and my nose is running ridiculously, my head is stuffed up, I can’t hear very well, my throat and mouth are dry, and my throat hurts. I have to keep blowing my nose, but there are no tissues in the kitchen, so I keep having to excuse myself from the man, who is constantly blabbing, to go into the next room for tissues. There are 2 boxes on this little table. One has shiny gold tissues and the other has silver ones. I usually grab two gold ones and blow my nose. The man asks me if I want tea. I just say “Okay”, but he tells me I have to go down to the cellar and get it myself, so I don’t. I can’t remember what else he gave me, except a “pear”. He opened the fridge and there was an enormous aluminum tray with lettuce and what looked like halves of giant potatoes, or huge pieces of French bread. He takes one of these out and it is really hot and he keeps burning his hand. He puts it on my plate and tells me to eat it. I say, “I can’t eat that ridiculously enormous pear thing.” But he says it’s good for me. I just ignore my plate anyway because I don’t have any appetite due to the allergies.

Finally, my mom comes to pick me up. My mom, the old woman, and I sit at this round kitchen table with (of course) a TV on it, showing the woman drawing a long time ago. Then my cat jumped on me and woke me up!

Published in: on December 13, 2009 at 2:45 am  Comments (2)  

Some Random Artwork

At my mother (S’marty’s) request, I am posting a few images of random art I’ve done. It isn’t the best, and I’ve never attended any art-related classes, but I hope someone out there enjoys it regardless! The dragon pictures were taken with my cell phone, hence the poor quality. I have tons of drawings sitting around, but I haven’t scanned them in yet. Perhaps in the future!



Starting sketch I did for a painting for my boyfriend's birthday.

Finished painting of Chinese Lung Dragon.


Detail of dragon's face.


A werepanther character from the ultimate nerd game.

A water nymph-type creature from the same nerdy game.





Published in: on November 29, 2009 at 2:42 pm  Comments (3)  

On Torture and Terror

This is my first blog on this site, so I should keep it light and simple, but I’m not. It’s a heavy topic (at least for me), but worth tackling. The subject is that of torturing terrorists in order to obtain information of plans for future attacks so we can stop said attacks and save innocent lives. Specifically, this blog deals with those people who are against torturing these terrorists and who believe we do not treat them fairly. Generally, my blogs are less passionate but this subject gets me rather fired up.

This country affords even the lowliest of citizens the right to speak their mind freely and openly. In our modern day and age, with technology capable of delivering knowledge and information to us in the blink of an eye, we can speak our minds in much larger forums than in the past. Unfortunately, as with a broken wheel, those who speak the loudest seem to be those arrogant people with closed minds and open mouths. These walking oxymorons insist that they respect the freedoms and rights of all people while simultaneously condemning anyone who dares disagree with them. Such condemnation displays a gross lack of respect. Bearing all this in mind, I have decided to speak loudly for once, and let all the respectful individuals out there know what I think about a certain issue. These respectful individuals are free to respectfully disagree and perhaps even respectfully outline their arguments which counter my views presented here. Tragically, it is more likely in my experience that these respectful people will respond with ambiguous schoolyard insults and leave it at that. We shall see.



These are words I apply to anyone who is adamantly against torturing a murderer to save the lives of innocents. Anyone who professes to be a caring, sympathetic, peace-loving person, and who then speaks up in the defense of the criminal rather than the victim is a sanctimonious liar. Common sense allows me to see the BIG PICTURE.


I am an empathetic person; when I hear of or witness another’s pain, I cannot help but put myself in their position and vividly imagine what it must be like for them. I feel their pain, and it breaks my heart with sorrow, pity, and helpless despair. I don’t think sanctimonious people have ever experienced true pain, true horror, or true despair, and therefore they cannot possibly understand what victims go through. It’s easy to stand on your spineless soapbox and preach about the barbarity of torture when you’ve never been a victim in your life. You may be thinking me a hypocrite for calling myself empathetic and then speaking against your viewpoint. This would be incorrect. I see where you are coming from and I understand how you might have come to feel that way. But I cannot agree with you. A terrorist who kills as easily as he breaths, and who is part of a larger group of like-minded zealots with like-minded murderous intent, can be given no quarter. It will cost lives. It is far better to be safe than sorry, because waiting for a tragedy and then studying it in retrospect is a very foolish thing to do when we know how to prevent such tragedy altogether. It’s like a pit bull that’s killed a chicken. Are you going to gently chastise it and then put it back in with the rest of the chickens, hoping your chastising will have subdued its bred instincts? Foolish. How can people not see how foolish it is?


Incidentally, I use the word “torture” loosely, because we don’t even truly torture; it’s an endurance drain, much like breaking a wild horse. Read up on the torture methods of medieval France or those of our current enemy if you would like to know what real torture is. What we do is tender loving in comparison.

By torturing a single man, we can obtain information which can save thousands of innocent lives. Nothing should be more important than the preservation of human life. Any person who has murdered an innocent in cold blood deserves far worse treatment than that which we afford the terrorists we capture. Their very religion revolves around murder. I’m completely in favor of respecting the beliefs of others, but when innocent lives are taken, my respect and tolerance is forfeit, as should yours be, as should ANYONE’S. Again, it’s easy to stand on your soap box and shout demands for fair and gentle treatment when you’re across the globe from the threat. But what if it was your daughter’s head that was slowly sawed off in front of a camera? What if it was your brother who had boiling oil poured down his throat? What if it was your wife and children who were gunned down in the street? Would you still demand “fair” treatment of the terrorist if you knew that other lives could be saved by torturing this murdering barbarian for information?

This is the reality over there. Imagine being a captive of these dogs, knowing you could be killed at any moment, kept in a cell not fit for a sewer rat, waiting until your videotaped murder can be used a leverage in their sadistic little worldly game. Starved, probably sick from what little food and water you do get, possibly nursing an infection from untended wounds suffered when they pulled off your fingernails or cut out your tongue. Utterly alone in a hostile alien world, hearing the screams and death rattles of others like you, knowing you did nothing to deserve this besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You aren’t a combatant, you’re a peace-loving innocent. Do you think they’ll listen? Do you think you could talk them into letting you go? Do you think some kind words will convince them to stop the violence and hatred? Are you honestly dense and blind enough to think that an ancient culture of violent warriors will be swayed by a few gentle words? These are bloodthirsty zealots who are indoctrinated from birth to hate the west. All they know is violence and murder. Their only goal is to kill as many of us as they can. This isn’t uneducated paranoia speaking, this is their religion. Research it; these are the facts. We are not welcome in the world they want to create. Our very culture is an affront to their religion and their religion is behind everything they do. Peace has no place in their world. Displays of kindness are a weakness to them and they use it to their advantage. Brute force is all that will stop them. Is this then our fault? Are we like these murderers because we fight them? Do we stoop to their level because we torture them? NO. This is why:

-TERRORIST: Kills innocents (non-combatants); tortures innocents for pleasure and religious vindication; uses brutal, crude, and deadly torture methods; kills because he hates.

-U.S. SOLDIER: Kills terrorists (combatants); tortures terrorists for information to save innocents; uses nonlethal, nontraumatic torture methods; kills to defend innocents.

We are not on their level, and saying so is a cruel disservice to those brave U.S. soldiers who have sacrificed the easy life we take for granted over here in order to save lives both here and there. If you have never sacrificed anything and are too dense to imagine it, then at least respect it.

We are already far too lenient on terrorists. I imagine they view us as a great big nation full of buffoons and pansies ripe for annihilation, since as of late we do nothing but lie down and take it, then apologize to everyone for everything (even though throughout history our country has helped and given to more nations in need than anyone else). All the while our troops are over there defending innocent people from oppression and tyranny, something the peace-loving big mouths here have never experienced and can’t even begin to imagine. If inflicting pain on a single mass-murderer will save innocent lives, why would anyone speak out against it for any reason besides getting attention and making themselves puffy with faux moral superiority? The thing these peace-loving hippies don’t seem to realize is that the peace they value so much isn’t free. We aren’t living in heaven. There is always a price, and rather than speak out against the people who are willing to sacrifice everything to run the war machine which ultimately brings peace, we need to be thanking them for everything we have. We are beyond fortunate to live where we do, with the freedoms and privileges we have. It isn’t perfect, but of course it never will be. This is earth, not some dreamscape utopia paradise run by angels. We have it very good here in this country, and we should be thankful for the people who do the dirty work for us to keep it this way. They do what is necessary each day to ensure we can keep on living and breathing, making money and spending it, marrying whom we please, believing what we want, wearing what we like, and never having to experience the bloody horror that they face down for us. I salute our troops, I salute the men and women who make the tough calls, and I salute the men and women who are willing to torture invaluable information out of a tight-lipped mass-murderer to save innocent people. You are all real-life super heroes.

I look down upon those who call for kinder treatment of captured terrorists. I look down upon those who want our troops pulled out, leaving the innocents over there at the mercy of the hounds (remember Vietnam, and the 3 MILLION Cambodian innocents who were slaughtered after the U.S. pulled our troops out), and I look down upon those who openly speak out against torturing a single murderer when they know it could save thousands of lives. You are villains, and you poison the air and the minds of others with your weakness, hypocrisy, and ignorance. Shame on you.

Published in: on November 24, 2009 at 12:51 am  Comments (7)