Tag Archives: journalism

Fox in the Snow, Lion in the Station Wagon

Cops are required to uphold and enforce the law. Reporters are pretty much required to do the same, except, uphold the truth and enforce the truth. Pop quiz: what do you call a false statement that you promote and fence to others who actively look toward your answers and responses? I’ll let that stew for a moment, and continue with cops and shit. An honest cop is dubbed a hero, dubbed noble, dubbed dependable. As long as they are an honest cop. However, within law enforcement, there aren’t always honest cops. Crooked cops. Corruption, mis-information, tamperings-of-evidence. It happens. Figure out the answer to the pop-quiz question?

It’s called a lie. The difference between a cop, and a reporter, is a reporter is guilty until proven innocent. Why that is the general consensus, I do not know. What I do not know, I will embrace. A crooked cop is crooked when he is caught. Logical? Yeah. A reporter will go great lengths; barbed wire, ugly killer dogs, bad music, jurisdictions, aliases, etc. That’s a reporter, also guilty until proven innocent because the truth itself is widely regarded to dissemble the perpetrators, or dissemble the actuators. The truth is dangerous to both parties and only the reporter has any control over such information. i.e. 24, CIA, FBI, the West Wing, Gilligan’s Island, Arthur, etc.

“What about white lies?” Some may wonder? I will then counter with; “how can you tell a white lie from the other?” 

How? I was the reporter, and no good was derived. The cunning and equipped (friends/weapons/truths), are dominant. Those of whom can and will crush whenever they please, and that’s just the world we live in, whilst one is powerful, or whilst one’s forced to work tenuously on obtaining a GED. Sometimes, and at most times (due to my freakishly accurate memory), it was infinitely more advantageous to just not fucking say anything. I just had a thing about taking my own advice. Though, I’d never thought, or dreamed of saying this as a final statement; “The truth will not set you free, it will piss the wrong person off, most every time…


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pen & the camera

The day begins with the birdsong of an alarm clock. You never recognize the tune immediately, and yet you can never realize it’s significance, if any. The sun shines, and the moon docks, from day to day, this happens. Assimilate into a prose or a pose that promotes the product. It’s always the product. My body in this place; my mind in it’s glory.

I write, and I can never stop writing, I may go a tad bit crazy here and there, but there aren’t many choices of complacency for people like me. I don’t have good looks and media-model measurements I can aspire to inspire. So I’ll stick with the cards my wits have up their sleeves. FICTION is a fancier version of NON-FICTION, and the honest truth is; non-fiction is plain, boring, and depressing. (Can we do anything about that? ha!)

Narcissistic-ally, I’ve begun writing a non-fiction novel of allegory and rhetoric in the tense of fiction, and no one would claim my story false because my story is in fact, true. (Well, nine-tenths of it is.) Under a pseudonym. A call to arms from one who has/had understood the septic end of human relations surmised by our youth. All in all, detrimental moments have led this pseudonym to where it may, and as I speak. Bullshit is one thing, but if bullshit is served with a side of philosophy, there is and will always be something to dribble.

You can write meaningless shit about terminal illnesses, or the way the head cheerleader preferred to slurp penis over slurpees to be in. You can write poetry after googling your research and explain where the hell the L train is going. Fiction is just a more exciting take on real life. It creates a story and enthusiasm for the weak, and pushes the meek outside into the sun. Diagnosing cancer and treating it in time, picking out the best cheap wine for the picnic of a lifetime, success stories from an eating disorder, alcoholism, pedophilia. Doesn’t matter. If you don’t take things lightly, then you’re taking them seriously, things matter. When every little thing matters down to the T, you’ll be an unhappy old bitch/bastard before you’ll know it.

Bullshit was never bullshit to me, it was a healthier justification in/to the accordance of life as opposed to the bland, truth seeking mentality as a journalist. A writer of fiction will always see more truth than a journalist. The difference in fictional writers and journalists is their philosophy and trivium. A journalist will never be allowed to refute this either. A journalist works on truth and facts, not opinions. Especially not their own. Can an Atheist be angry with God?

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Filed under allegory, fiction metaphor, non-fiction metaphor, non-fiction rambling, rhetoric, stories