tmez Writes

I need a tourniquet to stop the blood. It's flowing wet over pumping hips that shine. In the darkness— My Love is the enemy; I need to bleed. . . My love is my enemy soldier that fights, long battles in the night. My Love is my enemy. Time to cut me like a knife. I can feel you pouring out. Flowing out of me. Slicing through my life. Time reveals the secrets. Pressured by the moonlight. Beaming of regrets. I can feel you slipping. Sliding down the highway. I can’t stop thinking. My Love is my enemy. Come and twist the blade. My love is my enemy soldier that fights, long battles in the night. My Love is my enemy cutting me like a knife. I can feel you pouring out; flowing out of me. I need to bleed. . . I need to bleed. . . I need to bleed. . . I Guess It’s Time To Leave. Cuz I am starting to bleed. . . My Enemy must bleed. tenative Hard Rock Lyrics by TMEZ

a personal ethics analysis Getting through college wasn’t easy; so, I anxiously awaited for the job opportunities to start rolling in. I had worked hard to develop a professional portfolio together with an accompanying resume. In addition, I applied myself, and was able to receive a few accomplished freelance jobs that had several companies interested in my work. There was one from Baird, Kuntz and Dobson, an accounting firm, that had its quirks. They had offered an appreciable salary with a dandy benefits package, also they were located close to my home town. Then there was a sweet and lucrative offer from Anheuser-Busch; a job that had other fringe benefits aside from a nice salary and health plan; alcoholic beverages were easily accessible. Several other firms had expressed their desire to hire me, all with fair salaries and rewards, but one seemed to interest me more than the others: an offer from R.J. Reynolds tobacco company. Out of all the places that I had imagined th

Mindy looked exceptionally happy behind her caged barrier. Her tail wagged vigorously sharing my enthusiasm. Her paws pitter-pattered excitedly as I skipped my large, oversized rubber boots down the bleached concrete aisle. Unable to receive a paycheck at my age, I had simply volunteered to do what I loved—help take care of dogs and cats. My older brothers, Jim and Ed, were working with a government contract that paid half of their salary at the Southwest Missouri Humane Society. I was volunteering in the kennel area, working rather hard for a youngster, hoping someday soon that Mindy's adoption rights would be all mine. Mindy and I were instant friends, although the judging was a bit partial. I was still in mourning, in a post death, requiem state, when we first met. I had recently battled my brave little Toy Eskimo Spitz through the treacheries of intestinal worms. "Tiny" was her name, suitable to her likeness, small and puffy-white. I received my Spitz f

My Guns ‘n' Roses T-shirt with cutoff sleeves overlapped my faded Levi shorts. A braided ponytail hung at the square of my back pointing at the tattered sneakers on my staggering feet. Six-foot thick and full of attitude, I walked through the gawking crowd with confidence next to my older brother Jim. Similarly dressed, Jim had on jeans and an old Kiss shirt accented by his darkened, greasy Ozzy Osbourne cap. A night on the town, we were two men looking for fun, secretly looking for trouble. Everyone around us was in full country boy getups, sporting cowboy hats, boots and large belt buckles. Their mouths were stuffed and overflowing with what is sometimes referred to as worm-dirt causing them to appear as if they had been in a fight and lost, also making them spit a lot. An occasional brown trickle could be spotted dripping onto an unyielding mustache. The disturbed looks we were receiving were not exactly friendly. Although I was born and raised a hick-from-the-s

an exploration of what happens when we die. Speaking on the strength of personal faith, one of my favorite lecturers, Fr. Tom Kiefer, asked: "What would you do if, when you answered the phone or a knock at the door, Jesus was the one calling? What things would you do differently if the Son of God himself was right there in your living room, sitting in your favorite chair, taking in your life? Would you continue to act the same? Carry on your normal routine? Crammed into a semicircle around the ever-powerful, picture-box ensemble, locked in? Probably not," he answered himself, pausing for a brief moment, letting the words linger throughout the congregation and then sink in. Not even a young child could be heard rustling in those few quiet moments of spiritual assertion; a gathered crowd's attention was captured. Father Tom's Homilies (the priest's own words without text in a Catholic Mass) are notorious for grabbing your interest right off the bat. I co

determining the basis of the geologic scale of Earth My friend Chad Marbut is an excellent illustrator. He is also a devout Christian. In doing so, he has created many interesting and spiritually moving designs and illustrations. One in particular really got me thinking. On a T-shirt, covering the front, was an illustrative, cartoon gorilla scratching his head. He looked incredibly comical, and obviously confused. Just below the image, there was but one word: “Grandpa,” followed by a question mark—GRANDPA? While interpreting this design, one must consider just what it is asking. Is the world as we know it, created by a supreme being in six short days, really in question? Is there doubt that the world could miraculously develop at alarming rates? Were there huge amounts of sedimentary deposits believed by scientists to have taken millions of years piled up in a matter of one year of mass flooding? Could the Mountain of Ararat have formed in less than one year to prepare for the landi