Cuthbert, Ga.–All hell’s broke loose on the political front, the power lines are down, and the water’s shut off, forcing you to drink your own dank-smelling piss. The sound of Russki bombers dribblin on the horizon ignites terror in the eyes of your pitiful-ass family members, who cower unarmed beneath the dining room table. What do you do?
Cecil defends freedom
Freedom enthusiast Larry Cecil has the answer.
“Don’t just sit around waiting for mercy,” Cecil told the Chronicle. “Rollback the cost of freedom – and the Russians – at a Wal-Mart near you!”
Larry Cecil, who once blindly accepted whatever conditions life handed him, now takes matters into his own hands. “I used to pray to Jesus. But now I prey on the wicked,” he said, examining the horizon through a scoped rifle.
Cecil encourages concerned patriots who fear the oncoming breach of freedoms by leaked cables and Julian ASSange to “have faith” in a weapons cache and homemade napalm. Lastly, he recommends Chinese-made ammunition for its unusually high lead content.
This message is brought to you by Lebal Drocer, Incorporated.
Silence is not golden. It is red, white, and blue.
“You have the right to free speech, as long as you’re not dumb enough to actually use it.”
Joe Strummer
I have published my unvarnished opinion at every opportunity, a personal success I am usually proud of. In high school, I made friends with others who were like-minded and I networked our websites together. I felt like that wasn’t enough, and provided an open section allowing anyone to make anonymous comments. Within one week of doing this, I was threatened with a lawsuit and expulsion for anonymous statements I had published but not written myself. Aside from these empty threats, the school brought in a psychologist who read everything I wrote and questioned me about my drug and alcohol usage. Upon learning that I had never so much as had a drink of alcohol, she was unable to punish me with further counseling and praised my writing. Because of her evil reverse psychology and the other trauma imposed on me by the administration, I didn’t write my opinions like that again for several years. Today, I get a special rush from writing that only a few others can understand.
I can’t help but identify with Julian Assange, at least in a small way. WikiLeaks is enabling and encouraging the freedom of anonymous speech, which is dangerous to the natural balance of power and runs contrary to America’s cultural standards. I will never keep my mouth shut, even if the consequence is death.
You see, the freedom of speech is not just about being able to criticize the government or your high school. It’s a matter of self-expression, personal value, and the pursuit of happiness. Even the least likely of people are shackled with silence, it is our culture and our nature. I have made every effort to remove myself from that prison, to express that which I am told is better left unsaid. It has been nothing if not an alienating experience and I don’t claim any kind of victory. With the Chronicle I have pushed the limits of speech in a purposeful attempt to highlight this for the world. I’ve of course been accused of hatred, attention seeking, and insanity. To that I almost feel thankful. I would never deny my own humanity.
I like to think of the Chronicle as a digital monument to the freedom of speech. I can’t tell you what it all means, or if it means anything at all. I just know that when I use the word love, I’m the one who’s fucked in the head, I’m the one who’s scary.
Roanoke, Va.– It was six o’clock in the morning. I couldn’t sleep, so I put on a documentary. Still unable to sleep, I watched it.
It turns out after the fall of Communism, 20,000 Romanian children went homeless. Children Underground is a “hands-off” documentary focusing on about five of a larger group of children living in the subway system under Piata Victoriei.
As I watched the documentary, I fixated on one of the children, a teenager named Violeta Rosu, who was born in 1986, like me. She does not know her real name, and all her life has been called “Macarena” because it is her favorite song. All the children featured in the documentary were addicted to Aurolac paint, but Macarena was apparently the most addicted. She even replaced food with paint, because it made the hunger go away.
Macarena doesn’t know her name, and as of the making of this documentary, had not yet realized she, too, is born of a mother, like “normal” people.
As the sun came up, I stared out the window, reflecting on how tragically beautiful she is. Nobody will help her. No one will save her. I guess there are not enough rich horny men willing to scoop up the sob stories in Romania like there are here in America. So hey…I’ll take her. But, what can I do?
This documentary was shot in 2001. I assumed that because of her obvious weakness, subtle beauty, and exposure due to this documentary, someone must surely have helped her. In fact, someone did help a small boy from the same documentary. But the story is not as good for my dear friend Violeta “Macarena” Rosu since 2004. A social worker interviewed an incoherent Macarena in 2008, and reported she graduated to heroin and sleeps outdoors. [UPDATE: I GOT THE REPORTER TO ADMIT THIS IS A LIE – she met Macarena and reported she is addicted to heroin based only on her appearance and rumors] Regardless, at this stage to look in Violeta’s eyes is probably to confront a zombie – if her situation is that good. As of this year, she is presumed dead, or dying.
I am enraged by the filmmaker, Edet Belzberg, and even the social worker who found her two years ago and still did nothing for her, but instead for themselves, using this innocent girl to move up in their careers. I have been unable to shake Macarena from my memory. I think about her too often, and look at my own well-being with shame and guilt. I want to do something for her. I am disgusted that she may soon die.
It is against US Immigration laws to bring an addict into the country, especially just to help them survive. Should I have married her? Even if it meant she would die as my immigrant wife of a heroin overdose under my watch, at least she’d die in a warm bed, and not some cold, wet park bench.
I feel like there is nothing I can do. So I made this video, and now I sit here quietly, wondering if she is even alive.
