I've let myself been had

Well, now that Rita has scared the bejeezus out of us . what new unforeseen terror of the 21rst century will turn us all into quivering sheep?
Actually, I’m more pissed at myself for giving in to the temporary hysteria generated by the media over Hurricane Rita than at the boob tube, the internet, et alia.
I should have known better …Yet
I didn’t
My only excuse, if there is any, is that I was looking for some kind of excitement in my life that allowed me to act like some end of the world drama queen
I wound up looking like a right burke instead
Well,
While I’m not really disappointed that we didn’t get even a wild windstorm or even SOME heavy rains
I do feel bad about the people who actually were directly affected by Rita.
Some doomsday sayers are looking at S.F. as the next target, earthquake wise
My money is on the KC-memphis area

The Reluctant AntiChrist, revisited

Today I start writing or should I say rewriting my "book". The original tale was about a reluctant Anti-Christ as he relates to the humble readers the true origins of the Universe, God, lesser gods, angels, Adam and Satan/Lucifer, and what happens when the Final Apocalypse is called off. It should have been published in 1999 but the company was bought out a by large private media conglomerate that sacked most of the editorial staff and killed my book deal. I thanked the new head publisher by strangling him with his tie and then hung him out his Manhattan office window by his feet. Oh, he didn't fall, someone pulled him in as I was leaving the building. I had beat it out of town and spent the weekend getting drunk in a hotel room in Jersey, watching the Dallas Stars win the Stanley Cup and charmed a couple of ex-Times Square burlesque entertainers I met in the hotel bar to spend some time in my room after hours. By that Tuesday, I was deep spiraling down the dungeon of depression in my two story walkup on Travis Street in Dallas, broke financially and emotionally. Six years later, I've decided to try again, work on this project and a few writing projects and see which one flies. I'm not interested in writing the Great American Novel, just wanna start collecting the Great American Paycheck.

Franch Quarter Holdous creates Tribes

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20050904/ap_on_re_us/katrina_surviving_in_the_quarter_hk1

Okay now this is the story I've been waiting for - it tells a lot about a neighbourhood people and their tenacity, cooperating with each other under duress vs. the undependable authorities, who apparently will take away gasoline, kerosene, etc, and other supplies from these holdouts.

Nature has attempted to reclaim New Orleans and various parts of the Gulf coast, taking out a significant portion of the indigenous human population. It's a disaster of epic proportions, to be sure, to be sure, but in time, these wounds will heal, leaving the jagged scars of memory upon the collective psyche.
For now, band aids of one kind or another are being rationed out to the full crazed survivors, who may never ever trust any government entity fully again. It's interesting to note that the higher ground around the French Quarter ensured it's safety and sure enough the first business to open after the hurrcane is a tavern, Johnny White's Sports Bar, and their first patrons, though few in number, were quick to drown their sorrows; they entered the establishment as the walking wounded but left falling down drunk!
I have made contributions in time, money, personal contact, etcetera, to help ease those who have suffered so far. I still feel helpless, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity, numbed by trying to comprehend the sheer scope of this disaster. I cannot help thinking how would I fare if such a disaster befell my community? I live in a flood plain with levees that the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers have repeatedly warned need to be totally redone before the next superstorm happens, taxes the limits, overwhelms and breaks through, flooding neighbourhoods, downtown, bridges, washing away the trappings of civilisation, leaving refuse, debris, corpses and little evidence of the vestiges of human dignity and the cycle repeats eslewhere ad infinitatum, ad nauseum.