Workin as a waitress... in a cocktail baaaAAAAaaaAaAar

Alright. So basically there is this big fuckin place with a ton of shit on it. All kinds of shit. Shit that moves around and does stuff. Shit that just sits there. Useful shit. Entertaining shit. Cute shit. Weird shit. Hard shit. Liquid shit. Shit gas. All the kinds of shit you can imagine. And the one thing all this shit has in common is that it is all beautiful and special in it's own way. Which is nice.

The problem is that there is one very specific little type of turd that hates itself and wants to make itself as miserable as possible. We call these miserable fucks Human Beans. These bean people hate feeling happy and safe. They don't want to be loved. They just want the other bean poles to violate and abuse them. This is stupid.

So what I do is V simple. I go around fucking with the leguminous monsters. I come under the guise of a great and powerful destructor and all beans from fillet to romano worship my awesome might and prolific grandeur. I break them from the inside out. I corrupt their worldview. I sodomize their static perspectives and piss all over their crinkled brain sacks. After that, I trick them. It's easy. They don't even see it coming. I trick them into noticing the pulchritude within them and this big fuckin place full of shit. I get them to love themselves, the dirtball, and all the dumb shit on it.

And that's it. All done.

Click this if you are sexy.

Update* The government is probably following my every move and systematically destroying everything that brings me joy in this craptastic excuse for a country because the video/song this was named after was just removed. Now the title makes no sense! It barely made sense in the first place!

I know you're watching me, Government! I know you know how much I love jerking off. Let me enjoy the things I enjoy. Quit fucking with the system you yourselves put in place. Media exists to quell the anarchistic chaos-driven malintent notions within us before they can substantiate themselves in reality. I get that. I don't care. I'm not trying to start a revolution. I'm just an asshole. Now give me back my stupid videos, the rest of my Fleetwood Mac, more Cramps, allow someone to upload a good quality version of Bladerunner to Youtube, and let me continue to jerk off both literally and figuratively.

In lieu of this current dilemma, watch this instead. It actually makes more sense (which I despise)

Thank you

PS I'm sorry your job sucks and you're paid to creep on and make strangers sad. That blows.

Substanceless Accomplishment

I don't believe being important in the eyes of others or making some vast change for humankind is actually any kind of genuine accomplishment. What is a person, after-all? A bit of nothing. No. Less than nothing. Completely and utterly inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. So what is zero multiplied by a million? A billion? 7 billion? Still zero. We're lying to ourselves. We push up others to heights we feel we will never reach in an attempt to create importance out of nothing. We tell ourselves lies to give meaning to supposed power and talent belonging only to the holy ministry of fame and it's disciples of celebrity. Cognitive dissonance on a massive level. By having a system in place that glorifies the few while devaluing the many, we protect ourselves from harsh, unmerciful truths. The few who made it become more than human. Eternal and god-like. The many console themselves with the idea that they lack the magical prowess of a deity required to elevate to such nirvanic heights. Whilst simultaneously birthing a reason to keep others from striving for the summit of their own ambitions. We can mock and vilify those who dare to dream. And if they fall, gratify ourselves with their ruination. A ruination that appeases the voices of fear within our minds. The ones that say you are never good enough. The ones that persuade you not to try, to stay where it is safe. Despite all the conventions driven into our brains from birth, there really is no point to anything we do. So, look upon Time's incalculable might, and tremble! Then get up, abandon your pointless fears, and waste what little time you have, doing what makes you happy.


I needed that. Every interaction with others is a test in self discipline. I tired of holding my tongue, or answering with a nod or a word. The back-flow of words is building to tempestuous grandeur and if I don't open the sluices I'm going to fucking suffocate in a mire of frustrated silence. I don't care if my opinions are sharp and biting. I need to set the steel-toothed monstrosity loose or suffer it's death-grip myself. I don't care who gets it or who is hurt by it. It needs to roam. I may not know what I'm doing, but at least I don't pretend I do. At least I can look at myself with pride, and face the uncertainty, standing alone, with head held high. Nothing out there can knock me down and I dare them to try. I'll never follow your advice. I could care less for your approval. And I refuse to be tied down by your needs



 It's just I've been feeling the tenebrous tentacles of my life constricting around me more than usual.

Cigarettes

When I started smoking, I started for one simple reason: I wanted to die



For me, my inevitable death was the only comfort I had in life. And with every cigarette I felt one step closer to death. That was a good thing to me. That was the only freedom and peace I could ever look forward to in life of constant fear and misery.

As the years passed by, I always felt I would quit one day, if I lived that long. The age I always focused on as my quitting year was 35. If I was still alive by 35, I would quit because it was taking too long. If they don't kill me by then, they're only making life worse. So that is when I always promised myself I would quit.

Lately I've been thinking about this. I love to sing and I think about how much better I would be if I stopped. I think about how much faster, stronger, and better I would feel if I quit and I start thinking that I might actually do that earlier than planned. It is logical after all. I would feel healthier and better if I quit. I dwell on this more and more. And how stupid it is to smoke. I get almost to the point of deciding to give it up right away when that old question floats back into my thoughts: Do I still want to die?



It's a hard question. I don't really know if I can answer that yet. As incredibly better as life has become, I still feel old pains ringing out from my past. I still have issues and problems that drive me to loneliness and despair. I still can't tell whether I'm actually happy, or that I'm just that good at faking it. In short, I don't know whether I want to die or not. I've been alive too long to feel such comfort from drastic change. I've grown accustomed to this shit life. There are even rare moments where I even fear death.


Now that scares me. The thing that brought me so much comfort now scares me sometimes. What do I have left to look forward to now? Being scared of death makes me not want to live anymore, but not living anymore scares me, so I want to live, but I hate life, so I want to die, but I'm afraid of dying so I want to live, but I'm afraid of living so I want to die...  It's an ouroboros effect.


I hate this ambivalence. It pervades every aspect of my outer and inner life. It chases me in dreams and haunts my every waking moment. I feel as if I've lost all substance. Like I've become amorphous, hollow, invisible. I do not have an opinion one way or the other. I'm constantly torn by indecisiveness. I am simply existing. And at that, just barely. I have no goals. No ambitions. No motivation. All has become gray. Happiness is just a thing. No better or worse than sadness. Hardly even different at all. One flavor is as good as the next. Whether I disappoint or overachieve, I feel no different. I feel nothing, always. I see things and I understand them, but nothing truly moves me. It's all just there. I respond with how I feel I should respond, but without the actual feeling.


Do I still want to die? I don't know.
I'm looking for something, anything to breathe new life into me, but it is hard when you don't really care.

I drift.
I drift away.
I drift away from you.
And it goes unnoticed.
Without a whisper.
No sound at all.

I'm back. Miss me?

I have a lot I've been meaning to write. Now I know it is probably not a good idea to start with a horrible, hatred-spewing rant, but fuck you. This blog is for me, you're just along for the ride. If you don't like it, then do something else. I don't have the time or energy to pander to an audience I could care less about.

See? Bad.

This piece is about why I am so miserable. I adore myself and all I've done thus far. I'm not the problem here. The problem is much bigger than little ole me.

If you feel trapped and depressed. Maybe unfulfilled and tired. Fusstrated or downright peeved. Maybe this will help.

As of now, society has a sickness and we've been treating the symptoms, not the cause. A society is an organism like any other. So yes it can get sick! Its symptoms are generally seen as trends in mental illness. A doctor of societies can (in theory) diagnose the health of a social system based on its prevalent mental illnesses. But this is America! We have pills for that! Who cares about fixing problems? We just want to feel good, right?

Here is the unfinished piece.



We live in a world where heavy music is bad, light music is good, brown people are bad and white people are good. Where you should feel guilty for being happy, ashamed for being unhappy, and momentary pleasures are the name of the game. Money is life and fame is all that matters. To be religious is to be good, wholesome, but only if that religion is Christianity. A place where, right from birth, you guided toward assimilation. Conformity is rewarded, individuality is loathed. Caring about things and experiencing emotions are equated with lunacy. Negative thoughts and feelings should be suppressed, destroyed, and never shown. Hurting someone's feelings is worse than hurting someone's body. Nudity is more taboo than murder, torture, gore, rape, and violence. No one can be special on their own. To be special, you must first have the acknowledgment from others that you are special. Reading is boring and only for smart people. Smart people who are assholes that think they are better than everyone else and the sole reason to read is to make others feel stupid and shame them for not being readers. A place where beauty equals talent. Where people who are different must live in constant fear of unprovoked attacks. Obedience is rewarded. Ignorance and stupidity reign supreme. Women are little more than sexual objects and secretly desire abuse. Competition obliterates cooperation. Everyone believes they are entitled to everything. Scientific facts are only true if you agree with them. Stretching makes you a spiritual person. Humans are exploitable resources. Things are to be hoarded. We must be remembered. The leading reasons to bring a child into this Sick Sad World are loneliness, and depression from being a failure at life. Food is unhealthy for you. Natural resources are enframed, overfarmed, and overmined. Edible food is thrown away. Empty homes outnumber the homeless. Ads constantly bombard you from every direction. A place where six companies can own everything. Where freedom is only a word used in propaganda. Art is rigorously censured. People are consistently told that they never have enough. Most can't financially afford to be alive. Each of you are easily replaceable and deserve to be treated like slaves. You have no choice. And it is executed so subtly over such a long period of time that most of us don't notice until it is too late (if at all) and accept it as normal.

GOD BLESS AMERICA





I also wrote an elegant bit of writing the other day that I plan to edit a bit and post later.
Then I am going to write an advice article on personal happiness you might find intriguing. Maybe it will help you to get closer to actualizing the bliss I feel every time I think of myself, and how sexy and interesting, and smart I am. I really am the greatest.

Movie Synopsis and Review BLACK CANVAS

   For my first ever movie review I'd like to start with the little-known visual masterpiece (and one of my all-time favorite flicks) BLACK CANVAS from 1976, a movie whose history is nearly as dark as its contents.

  The film opens onto a completely black screen. Ambient, echoing sounds give the feeling of vastness and isolation. You hear a man wake with a start and call out into the emptiness. His calls fade away unanswered into the void. There is no color or definition save for the silhouette of a man in a suit and the natural graininess of the film. All is darkness. With every step the man takes, a faint glow appears on the ground and lingers as he walks on, slowly fading as he continues. The only visible things are the objects and surfaces the protagonist touches. They glow in an otherworldly light before eventually being engulfed in blackness.

  This trick is intended to mimic the helpless uncertainty of total blindness. We see by touch, and as our memory of the exact positions of things fade, so do the objects onscreen.

  Our unnamed silhouette of a man wanders through long corridors seeking escape, finding still more and more corridors. The effect is jarring. A few minutes into the film a distinct sense of helplessness pervades the mind. The longer he travels, the more panic sets in. It gets to be wildly discomforting, and before it can be too much to bear, or lose its effect, a glimmer of hope appears in the form of dim flickering torchlight.

  The man searches for a way to it maddeningly as he stumbles in and out of disjointed hallways. He at last reaches it, but is separated from its source by iron bars. The light is coming from a small lantern held by a shadowy cloaked figure who stops before the bars. The man shouts for help, yet the figure is unsympathetic. It mutters a few noncommittal words before slowly pacing away into the distance. Alone again, the man resumes his quest for freedom. Foreboding noises steadily grow from behind him, forcing him to move more quickly. He looks for his pursuer and is greeted only by endless blackness.

  This is one of my favorite parts of the movie because although the main character sees nothing, the audience is shown glimpses of terrifying and horrible monsters sliding through the background. This is executed beautifully as the man gets fed up of running and doubts there is anything behind him at all. I confess I cringed and whispered pointlessly to him to keep going as he shouted out for whatever was behind him to show itself.

  Ultimately, he does escape from the catacombs via a staircase into a moonlit garden of forking paths. He chooses one and follows it down. At one point. he is able to see across to some of the other paths and notices cloaked figures like the one before. They are carrying lanterns and leading others down the trails. The path ends at the top of a sheer cliff. He is forced forward as monsters emerge form the shadows behind and he decides to jump rather than let them have him. The film ends with our protagonist tumbling into darkness.



  This movie clearly draws inspiration from copious mythological sources. Thousands of years ago, people did not believe in heaven and hell. Instead, they believed in a single underworld where all souls went after death. The stone catacombs lined with coffins is showing us that this is a place of death and only the dead dwell here. The setting is cavernous and dark so even before we see the protagonist climb the stairs out, we already get the sense he is deep underground.

  In Plato's Phaedo, Socrates states that philosophy is a purification process. Those who cling to worldly pleasures are intrinsically bound to the material world, inexorably attached to their tombs, and dwell in a half-place before true death. Not only that, but he goes on to say that the after-world must be hard to navigate and that guides must be needed to traverse it. He explains that souls who have committed crimes against their fellow man are denied these guides and must wander aimlessly in torment through the after-world until they are at last reborn.

  This last sentiment changes the dark, sad finale into a hope-filled one. He is not falling into destruction or torment, but is instead being reborn here on Earth. He has escaped and found life once more!

  Other parallels include the after-world guides are seen in such examples as the Boatman, the Valkyries, and Dante's Virgil which lead me to believe with ever more conviction that this is a story of a dead soul navigating the afterlife and being reborn.

  Moreover, there are more references both ancient and modern hidden throughout the film suggesting to me that these inferences are not accidental, but planned. The several appearances of twin ravens hearken back to Huginn and Muginn. The function of the pursuant beasts to The Divine Comedie. The garden of forking paths to a lesser-known philosophical story of the same name. And finally the title of the film itself is a reference to the well-known series of painting that was ridiculed at first only to become recognized as great works of art upon closer inspection. I am speaking of Ad Reinhardt's "Black" or "Ultimate" paintings.

  Even with all of my repeated viewings, I am sure there is even more woven into this black tale that I have overlooked. It is absolutely overflowing with symbolism and references. Inscriptions carved into the stone walls of the underground library are replications of passages found in the Voynich Manuscript, hinting at otherworldly origins to legendary, unreadable 15th century codex. The faces of the demons that appear in the background briefly are reminiscent of Japanese legends that are steeped in meaning, too. I believe every aspect of this film was planned out and executed perfectly. It is a shame it never received the recognition it so rightly deserves.


  And now for a brief look into the dark history of this black film. The original reels were found buried in a warehouse in Los Angeles after a fire destroyed the building. Only the film's title, date, and director (George Marten) were printed on it.

  It was shown at a few small art galleries but was largely misunderstood and was not well received. It was put back in storage where another fire ultimately destroyed it, but not before (miraculously) it was transferred to videotape. Copies of the tape were made and a few circulated around film schools, cult movie enthusiasts, and collectors. Still, it never quite gained a large following. Most of the tapes were lost or destroyed in the ensuing years, but at least one copy survived and ended up being uploaded to a website of the same name. This is where I first viewed it. I watched it religiously until it was finally taken down. The ownership of the domain expired and it brought you to one of those ads saying it was available and asking if you would like to purchase it.

  I did some research and found out the former owner of the domain died unexpectedly at the age of 34, three years prior to the site being taken down. I regretfully have not seen it since. Every once in a while I do a search for it in hopes it will pop up again, yet all I've found thus-far was an old forum in which users talked about its history and rumors of curses for anyone who owns it. I can't quite write them off so easily as this film seems dead-set on destroying itself. Either way, if you get the chance to see it, I highly recommend it, curses be damned!

Infinite Recurrence

His world was completely indifferent to him. His pains and joys unnoticed by all but one, his wife. Time and time again he asked himself how he could be so lucky as to find the only person on the face of the Earth who understood him. No one else even recognized his existence. At his job at the post office, he went about the daily motions. He sorted and lifted and filed in silent solitude. In his town he was like a ghost. He would meet someone one day only to have to reintroduce himself to them on another. But his wife, his Arina, was always there for him. It was like she could read his mind. He needn't say a word and she already would be doing or saying just what he needed. She was his entire world, his only reason for living. The sun rose in her eyes, and the Earth trembled at her touch.

Their life together was quiet. They chose not to go to concerts and dining halls and dances, but instead basked in the radiance of their eternal affections. To him, Arina's golden, candle-lit face was infinitely more enthralling than any movie or exhibit. Captivated by her pulchritude, they spent their nights talking intensely of their loves, fears, and dreams. It was honest. It was real. It was one of a kind. They willingly, unashamedly bore their souls to each other and after 8 years of marriage, their captivation never waned. Years of nearly unattainable bliss lie in their wake. The world outside had nothing to offer them. The universe began and ended in the space between them.

Each day, they went their separate ways, to their separate jobs. 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, their minds lingered on thoughts of love whilst their bodies went through the unconscious motions required for a hard day's work. At the end of their shifts, they went straight home, met each other at the front door and looked with the same lovesick eyes as on their wedding night. The couple embraced and kissed as passionately as they did the very first time. Life was so fucking perfect. Nothing, no matter how dreadful, could make a dent in their paragon of happiness. Not even the loud ongoing construction going on in front of their quaint little house or the decline of their once peaceful neighborhood could get them to bat an eye.

Love like this is rare. Love so incredibly endless and raw. Yet, once in a while two people get lucky enough to find it, and all that is beautiful smiles upon them always. You would think their neighbors would find them strange or weird, but they were too concerned with falling property values and increasing unemployment. More and more people were leaving. The surrounding area was slowly degrading. Locked in a life of bliss, the couple could not have cared less. They had each other and that is all that mattered.

As another long shift at the post office ended, he picked up his bag and began his daily stroll home. He did not say a word of farewell on his way out and none bothered saying goodbye to him. To his coworkers he was no more than part of the decor. No different or noticeable than the ficus in the corner. His head raised high, he walked with his usual confident stride, with blinders on his eyes and Arina on his mind. He didn't even notice the three men in dark, baggy jackets following him close behind closing the gap a little more with every step. Nor did he see them also turn right up his walkway when he arrived home. It wasn't until he unlocked the door and turned to wait for his beloved, that he noticed them at all. Unfortunately, he didn't have to do anything about it. As soon as he took his post to wait for Arina, they were already hitting him in the face and forcing him inside.

The neighbors paid no attention to the house which in their minds might not have existed at all. The construction crew nearby focused on their job, making a terrible racket as the home of our lovers was torn apart, it's owner brutalized. His screams for help went unheard, even by his wife, who unwittingly walked directly into her own demise. The shot came so suddenly. Her fragile body crumpled to the ground. A painful stillness took her in it's embrace, the last she would ever receive.

The three men hit him repeatedly on the back his head. They took what was valuable and set to burning the entire place down.  He finally came to rest beside his beloved. His vision going dark, all he could focus on was Arina's still immaculate face, glowing golden in the firelight.

This Totally Happened

One night I went to the bar and I met a pretty girl. We talked lots. Then she said, "Let's go back to your place and have the sex." I said, "Okay."


When we got to my place, I said, "Don't forget to take your shoes off before you go inside." Now it was her turn to say okay.

On the way to the sleeping room, I noticed my dog's food bowl was empty. So I said, "Wait lady. I want to feed my dog first." I poured some food into my dog's bowl. He came over, said thanks, and gave me a hi-five.

In the sleeping room I said, "This is where I sleep, but we're not going to sleep now." I sat next to her and we looked at each others eyes for a while until I said, "I want to eat your head." Then I bit her head.

She got up and unbuttoned her clothes. I saw her boobs. Her boobs were cool. I said, "Your boobs are cool." I touched them. Then I got such boner.

After we humped for a while she said, "Put your wiener in my butt." I said, "Ew, no. There's poopee in there."

When I came, I yelled, "Kawabunga!"