2011年11月29日 I cannot make this shit up,

but I wish I could. I really do. 

Frankly, I'm surprised that Wikipedia doesn't end this. Yes it's nice to know people exist and their picture will be at the top left, but in all sincerity, is it really a good idea to leave it up for searches like, "Crazy Bitch" and "MILF"? And a with conch? Come on! Fucking terrible.

This week has been busy, because I did almost nothing over the 4 day break outside of going to shul. It is hard to motivate myself when I'm watching a relative's place and there isn't any food. I have homework, and a lot of it, but I could care less about it when I'm concerned about other things like looking up "crazy bitch" and "milf" on Wikipedia.

Does anyone else find these pictures to be a little creepy?

2011年11月27日 Saving money

I dare you to find a better deal on singles anywhere else...

Even though the fucking can looks shady as high hell.

For .59 cents a can, it truly is kind of hard to say anything in opposition for a beer of that price. Should I buy it? Yes you should. Even if I wasn't going to drink it, it would be a good "back up beer" for when I run out at home, or to suggest to a drunk friend before he finds my 9 dollar Triple-IPA 13% beer. Or rather, I find his Triple-IPA beer and drink it. So yes, this beer is good for anyone who loves beer, as this beer might be your only salvation when you run out or to prevent drunks from drinking the top tier stuff you hide behind the OJ.

Yes, it looks like shit and as Grillman said when I showed him the picture,

"Was that shit brewed in the back of some van?"

Probably. It sure tastes like it was.

So far, outside of taste, the only major complaint I have is regarding the label, which conveniently for the defense of the beer is blocked slightly by the flash. Now I know the slogan says, "The world knows no finer." Yet on these cans, the "r" in "world" looks like a miss-shaped "u." Thus creating 

"The would knows no finer." 

WTF?

Well, whatever. This cheap, - no I don't mean inexpensive - beer of rice - or piss - from Pennsylvania isn't that bad, but it sure is difficult to drink quickly. Do I miss my yuppy-beer? Yes I do, especially since a grocer I shop at has $1.90 twenty ounce bottles of super hoppy IPAs at 8% ABV.

This holiday break is going to be awesome.

2011年11月26日 Good job for me. Fuck you idiot driver.

No, your beat up Honda Civic isn't
better than my Spanish-galleon-
sized-battle-wagon of a car.

Thank you for turning on your fucking lights AFTER I passed you and flickered my on and off! I'm always happy to see that when I can get someone behind me with their lights off to turn them on.

Anyone else experience shit like this? Some asshole ahead of you doesn't turn on his lights at 11pm at night? 

What the fuck?

At least I was able to do a lap! Haven't driven for leisure, even briefly for a long while...

2011年11月25日 Thank you Wikipedia

This morning I was browsing around Wikipedia looking for stuff to write about for the blog, I didn't have to look for very long. Lo and behold to what I found:

Am I really the only one who notices something wrong with this? I mean the guy above "Nigger" doesn't look like his melanin content is all there... I could be wrong though, and hopefully there is a Wikipedia page to explain this phenomenon.

I'm sure I'll find something to do other than looking at Black Friday porn deals online.

2011年11月24日 Convenience stores

IIF: (The Ingram Story) 

I use the review mirror for a number of things, but mainly for making sure that none of the coke I just bought is left on my nose. Whatever is missed usually ends up in my mouth anyway. My parents raised me well not to waste anything. Somehow the numbness is even better when I'm watching my finger slowly rub it onto my gums. 

The guy inside has a good thing going for him. I think he's making around 80k per year, and that's not including his job as the head clerk. He's got good advice too. He doesn't get high, he keeps things under the radar, and he recommends good beer for driving. I don't have to pay for beer when it's only me in the store. I just have to buy gum or some-shit. It's always essential to have a can that looks slightly like an energy drink. That way one could drink and drive, and ideally no one is the wiser, that is until you get pulled over.

"This is good stuff."

I didn't give shit, looking back at mirror I noticed the sub-woofer shaking the rear window. Ugghhh, what next? I thought yawning. I'm sure I had other things to do. Mose hadn't called in about week or so, but I'm sure he's busy. And I hadn't done jack shit since I last stepped out of Cosgrave's fucking castle. Ideally Cosgrave will be too greedy to groom anyone for his position after he retires, or gets killed... Anyhow. Fuck. This is good stuff. 

Putting the car in gear I felt invincible driving back to the office. I finished beer about two-thirds of the way there, and threw it out the window at an intersection about a quarter of a mile away from my destination.

Some homeless fucker asked for me for some money, and I gave him whatever loose change, cough drop wrappers, and lint I had in my coat pocket. Upon entering the building I paused looking at the stairs. Something was really wrong, but I couldn't place it until I realized it: I'm fucking sober. Shii-....

I turned around, got back in the car, and drove to a convenience store.

Damnit, this time I'll have to pay for beer. Someone's gotta make coke that lasts at least two hours, I might as well go see a fuckin' movie for the price of this shit.

I don't even remember looking at the clock when I got back to the office, so I can't really tell you what time it was when I got there. It was late though, really late.

2011年11月23日 Survey says!...

"big mac look-a-like vagina"
Holy shit!

Here's a list showing some things that people search for unfortunately taking them to this site:

• repugnant thoughts everyday
• camel ads 1960's
• large breast bikini
• penny wise auto services
• pennywise the clown smiling
• repugnant thoughts
• smiling nigga
• age 50 obey this weird trick to stay asleep all night
• at the end of the day the only person
• fuck the police metal gear big boss
• big mac look-a-like vagina
• i fucked the sheriff and i also fucked the deputy

I have no idea where these people come from, but my data usually shows "Russia" often.
What the fuck are they teaching kids in schools these days?!

-Edit, and "hitler penis".

I really have no idea where these people come from. Really.

2011年11月22日 T4T: "I'm wet"

Two 4 Tuesday:

Like most of my posts, some fall into the category of "filth" or "hell".

This one is no exception.

Sado-satire warning 

(i.e. epic sarcasm, more info). 

The following is not approved for use by women, men,
or anyone incapable of having a filthy and depressing sense, 

or lack thereof, humor.

2011年11月22日 Ughhhghh...

Kind of like one.

It's that feeling when you wake up at 5am, where in lieu of wondering why you just slept 12 hours away, you're more curious to know why you're still tired. I'm still yawning after being awake for around 4 hours.

Beyond all that, I'm also curious to know why I had a dream where I was in a car accident. And by accident, I mean driving a mini-van off a rock cliff into a large rock stream. Somehow, I didn't wake up immediately. I just remember being in pain, thrown around, and ending upside down. And only then did I wake up after the van stopped.

The worst part about today so far is the heavy amount of rain. I thought monsoon season started in February? I haven't seen liquids coming down this hard since I last saw a dude drink a about half a gallon of milk in about a minute [video here]. You'd think the weather had just completed a whoregasm with the amount of rain coming down. Basically a whoregasm is, "[w]hen a pornstar crys after achieving an orgasm on film because she feels guilty for what she does." Evidence, but NSFW. 

I think I spoke too soon

Actually that's a good point to start on, since I'm sure there are a lot of chicks who break down and cry after doing something they really didn't want to do, but they are ashamed for enjoying it. We know most men don't have feelings anyway so it's not like they're going to express their feelings in the same manner, that is of course unless they break their leg while running on a track. Or if they're gay, and even then I'm sure they have other ways to hide their shame, through massive amounts of booze and drugs.

Unlike those people I don't have to hide shame with massive amounts of booze, since I don't see anything wrong with drinking massive amounts of alcohol. What bothers me most regarding drinking, is when someone who goes through half, if not a whole, bottle of wine a night or a few nights during the week, yet they complain or look down on someone who does a 23.5 oz can of Four Loko. That shit is mad-whacked, since a bottle of wine is around 12-15% ABV, which is roughly the same as Four Loko's 12% ABV. Double standards are a bitch!

Ideally the forecast will probably get worse and then I can complain about things that really matter.

2011年11月20日 Time for oneself

After a ritualized luncheon with Fozzjnen, the following dialog happened on our way to his car.

Fozzjnen: "I have next week off, so I'm going to play Skyrim every day. All day."
Me: "What about your kid?"Fozzjnen: "Well, since I'm going to drop him off at day care I can play all day."
Me: "What the hell? Heheh. How does that work? Why pay for day care just to play?"Fozzjnen: "I'm in a contract, so really it doesn't matter if take the kid or not. I still end up having to pay."
Me: "So when is the earliest you can drop the kid off then?"
Fozzjnen: "Haha, 6am."
Me: "So that's like what, 12 hours of gaming and drinking?"

I'm not sure of when the last time Fozzjnen had some real alone at home time, and frankly I didn't want to ask. But I didn't have to, since I knew the answer. The answer I didn't know, was whether or not he could marathon beer like I did when I watched his house several years ago. 

At least 3 different, and visible,
types of beer in the fridge

He was gone for about 3 weeks, and like a good friend I stayed at his house feeding his fish and eating his food. There were two things he couldn't understand when he got back. The first was how I was able to double his electricity bill. But that's not as important as the second: over 35 dollars in empty cans and bottles. With each can or bottle worth five cents. 

I remember drinking around 150 cans or so of Diet Rite and Coke and I remember drinking around 230 beers or so, but I cannot account for the extra 320 bottles and cans. The only evidence I have of this today is a few pictures showing the corners of empty boxes and 66+ bottle caps of miscellaneous beer. And collecting the bottle caps was only after I realized I ought to keep some as a form of recording how many I've had. According to the numbers I've given, I would've had to drink at least 33 beers per day or so. I have no idea how I did this, as I had no parties or anything of that nature.

This was only after I realized
I should start

So basically Fozzjnen and I were debating on how many beers he could have before he had to pick up his kid from daycare. Would he be able to drive? Probably not. Can he pick his kid up in a cab? Would they actually LET him take his own kid home if he was visibly drunk and using a cab? Why is that a problem? I don't think it is, at least not yet. 

Remember that power-drinking requires A LOT of skill. It's not about going out and getting thrashed. It's about sustaining LONG-term buzz. And sustaining a long-term buzz requires a lot of work. Somehow when I did it, I was still able to go to school, sleep, and go to work. I have no idea how this was done. If recall correctly, my Grandma passed away too only a few months before. Huh. Well I doubt that had anything to do with it, although as she was passing, I sat there in front of her with my cousin pounding two 20 ouncers.

"I gotta wake my ass up at six AM every day of
this week and drag myself up to Vascalinas. Yeah, 

I'm doing the drywall up there at the new McDonalds."
-Lawrence, Office Space

Somehow I'm pretty well versed with the power-drinking. If I remember correctly with Wainwright,  he even  pussed out when we lived together when my remedy for boredom was power-drinking and Netflix. I don't blame for wimping out, since it is difficult to sustain power-drinking with beers above or at 6.3 ABV. I won't deny, however, that power-drinking isn't for the weak of heart, or rather, weak of liver. I don't blame anyone for being a big pussy, unable to power-drink, but frankly it REALLY is a lot of work and it takes a lot of discipline, kind of like voting for Ron Paul and bragging about it.

So yeah, however you spend alone time, as long as you aren't doing something that you normally do during the mundane week, I suppose it's alright, just like power-drinking. So go out there, and spend some time alone that is different than how you normally spend time when you are alone and around others.

Don't forget bring some money.

2011年11月19日 Wisdom?

"There is no right way to do the wrong thing."
No shit.

2011年11月17日 Fucking occupy

Just as Malcolm X said,

 "It doesn't mean that I advocate violence, but at the same time, I am not against using violence in self-defense. I don't call it violence when it's self-defense, I call it intelligence."

Dress to impress.

Occupy protesters were evicted from their parks this last weekend. What the fuck? Don't they know what a fucking Hoplite phalanx is? Most of these poor, and dumb, bastards believe in Greek philosophy. Yet, none of them believe in the tactics. How does that shit work? Usually respected philosophies are the ones that have battle proven tactics to sustain thoughts like that. They don't even NEED to run, or fight. 

I can't even believe many of these protesters would cringe if I said that. Of course the park they occupied was more like Tim Burton's wet-dream after being left in the toilet for 10 weeks (no flushing).

In other news.

Some shy French guy hit on me. 

What's up with that shit? 

How can a French dude be French if:

A) He doesn't smoke.

B) He's not complaining.

I need more sleep.

2011年11月16日 IIF?: Blue-Men 3

I could never understand how The Family allowed such a deviation. It was possible that the demand of gold deemed his "currency" acceptable for exchange. That also was another interesting discussion, as Time never carried any form of standard money. He somehow arranged his transactions in a way where whomever acquired his goods would also acquire his share of debt elsewhere. The routine had been done so often, he never spoke about about how or by what means he'd pay with wherever he went. Tonight I'd watch the bar-tender use a notebook to write something after he ordered. This was Time, and outside his average-looking frame & regal facial features, which stood out further by his MM movements, we had yet to determine if he was a skinner or something more.

I wanted to believe he wasn't what he was, I wanted to believe The Family, and what they told me about him. I woke up that night when I decided to confront him. It felt like a mistake at the time, and whether or not I'd encounter a deviation from The Family, I spoke to him regardless of the consequences. 

"Hey, you. You, Time isn't it?"

He said nothing and only sipped his bourbon cocktail, if it could be called that, since it only contained soda water, besides ice. Alcohol consumption was banned without a license, unless it contained Helpers.

"Hey deaf-ears! You better answer, I'm an Engineer with The Family." I declared to him utilizing The Family's speed guidelines: No Fear, No Anger, No emotion.

When he turned at me his face and lips moving upward. Just looking at his face doing this expression I'd encounter a deviation. Well, not a deviation, but at re-education on procedure. Nothing but his head, face and neck moved as he began focusing on me. It appeared as if he was physically capable of boring The Temple, which I learned about in Schooling. I could feel it in my chest from his gaze alone. He said only one thing that night,  

"I still remember."

"Remember?" I was so shocked from witnessing his face moving upward into what I can only say looked like a hellish sort of mask.

"That everyday I'm feeling a little more optimistic." That word, "optimistic" was changed several years before I was even born. My job with The Family only allowed me access to its origins, he'd be better off with the proper usage now, "Family Oriented." But he didn't appear like he'd be concerned with a deviation. That night I was exposed, and there was nothing The Family could do.

2011年11月15日 IIF?: Blue-Men 2

We, or at least I, couldn't verify whether or not he was human. His mannerism had not changed since I had first seen him, some 20-odd years ago. Nor did his appearance. He wore the same grey fedora, grey suit with vest, over a white and black tie. It never once saw him without it. It also appeared as if it never changed in physical appearance, be it aging or smoke. I don't think I ever saw him eat once either. He did drink however. 

Well, I think I'd seen him chewing on a cherry a few times. Though he'd always spit it out onto a napkin after a minute or so. He'd always wipe his teeth methodically, using his index finger to retrieve any pieces left between his gums, & going so far as to wipe his tongue as well. There were two things no one could figure out about his peculiar behavior. The first was where he lived. The second was where or if he worked. There was speculation he was a high-classer, but the Blue-Men could never prove if he committed any deviation, since no one reported any deviate behavior that could be linked to him. 

He appeared to finance his activities through some sort of unwritten deal with the friends corner. All I knew was that he had sold over 80 kilos of gold over the years. Always in two forms. A pocket watch or gold diskettes, no bigger than an average woman's palm. They looked similar to a coaster, but slimmer. I heard that the weight was always the same with the discs, but the watches were the primary concern of most of us who watched him. It was the exactness of the watches. First they never would operate, though their design didn't seem as if they wouldn't. Outside of the black paint used for the raised lettering of the numbers, and glass, the watch was of gold entirely. 

Some years back I saw the insides of the a watch from him. It looked like a regular pocket watch, but with precision I had never seen before. I remember biting my lip as I gawked at the most beautiful sprockets and gears I have ever seen since. The set up, while unconventional, was neither of an extraordinary origin or natural to me & my engineering background. The useful of my background proved entirely worthless to the Blue-Men, and I never disputed it. I never understood the purpose of such, we're told they know best, they have always worked, and what works is what is right as we've been told growing up.

2011年11月14日 IIF?: Before Blue-Men 1

Is-it-fiction?

Prologue:

The clock was telling me again, with single words and lines. The weather said there was a 60 percent chance I would not have to do it on my own. But the clock kept at it, with every tick and tock, I heard it.

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

No longer were there any words or fashion in which I could describe to you what the clock was saying to me. I almost laughed when I wondered what a digital clock would say. It wouldn't say anything, would it? Is it the mechanical or the digital that becomes more or less human? My speculation only helped me avoid the degree of pain I felt. A degree that only is measurable by the tools that inflicted such agony. My speculation was my tool that did both simultaneously. 

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

As if the words wouldn't end. Even without the clock, Time would always be there saying it to me unconsciously. Any attempt to reflect on anything would acknowledge its existence and participation. Time IS part of everything I knew. And everything that Time was telling me was summed up into one word without definitive reason: CRY.

It never ended, at least not in my soul. I could see others moving around, lucid fleshy-looking creatures. It reminded me of the chalk-like taste after taking certain medicines.

They're everywhere, never really here or there specifically. As if their unconscious semi-dead, if not asleep, state prevented them from lingering in a single moment and space for a definitive or measurable time. More fleshy-looking people could seen through the windows. I know there is real blood, but all I can see is just simple flashes of people. Their own clocks with Time on their shoulders, weighing some down, hiding it from some of them, only confused me or them further.

CRY.

CRY.

I couldn't understand the purpose of it, nor did I want to. The structure of it all was the same familiar dehumanization of the clock Time gave me.

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

CRY.

And in those 15 seconds, I lost consciousness.

The burden of breathing appeared to bring me out of my sleep, or whatever I could call such an unconscious state. I couldn't tell if I was unconscious, sleeping, or if I was dead. I didn't feel anything at first. Then a rush jolted my heavy body. I felt like I was moving for the first time. Even though the movements themselves were familiar I couldn't recall the last time I felt such weight. Everything felt like it was the first of the last time, and I was unable to identify my surroundings due to the disorientation caused from waking.

Burning came fast, up and under my sternum. I wanted to rip all of it out. Flesh and bone, then the organs. I could imagine what they would look like as I tore them from my chest and threw them at the floor and wall.

And the massive amounts of blood I would be choking on in the process.
I could see it.
I have seen it.

Blue-Men taught us well. And for some reason I thought of the first time they injected me. Was this how it felt? I chose not to make an effort at remembering.

2011年11月13日 Corn is filthy

Filth.
Text contains things that are probably not safe for work.

2011年11月12日 Dirty Hippies and Catholic cannibals

Tonight at 12:00 AM, Sunday morning, a bunch of dirty hippies will be told to leave the camp they've established due to police cracking down on them. I hope they get gassed and beat down.

In other news:

Today I went to a new - to me - shul that does prayers for the State of Israel and the USA. Somehow a conversation ended up talking about how the Eucharist is just another way to drink the blood of a Jewish carpenter and eat his flesh. Huh. Why is cannibalism a bad thing again? Catholics seem to have no problem with it.

2011年11月11日 Veterans Day

It's just a day where people don't go to work or do anything of great promise, other than forget that today is supposedly to honor those who have served in the military and (possibly?) had direct exposure to combat.

Now I go to sleep.

2011年11月10日 Eating alone

I hate eating alone. Look at those two over there.

Look at them.
I don't like how they stop smiling

when they look at me.

Reminding me that I'm eating alone.
Are they frowning at me 

because I'm sitting alone? 

I hate this. 

Why did they bother? 

To stop smiling?

The food is tasting less and less 

like food everyday. 

Would company change that?
I hate sitting here, 

this is taking too long. 

Take a bite. 

Okay.
Now, get up 

and walk around. 

Okay.
Eat and move. 

Wait what? That's what people do

when they're rushed in life!

Sit down 

and enjoy the meal. 

But I'll be sitting alone. 

Oh, I hate this. 

I need to distract myself while eating.
Huddle in front of the computer. 

Huddle in front of the TV.
Don't waste time thinking 

about the food you prepared, 

it's not going to give you any compliments.
Wait who is that? 

Isn't she in your class? 

I bet she's a bitch. 

Look how she doesn't smile.
How can she look unhappy 

and look so well? 

I bet she eats alone too! 

Maybe not in person, 

but certainly

in that ice-box, 

called a heart of hers. 

What about your ice-box? 

I keep the liquor there, 

it keeps me from thinking about 

being alone. 

Oh! But what to do?! 

 I'm here outside alone! 

Children are coming!
Watching their incredulous faces mutating 

at everything they look at! 

It distracts me so! 

This is wonderful! 

I can see the magic

it's on their faces, 

and I can looked incredulously too! 

Oh, wait now, wait now! Don't go! Damnit, look how they

all hold hands with nice uniformity, 

as if they're little ducklings following a mother goose 

who in actuality is a semi-chubby hipster, leading them away. 

Oh damn it! 

You're alone again.

Stop thinking those things.

Parve tuna, 

talk to me. 

Relish, you too, 

talk to me. 

You taste kind of sweet. 

But now, bland. 

No, you're bland! And the banality 

of your incredible ability to ramble 

is giving me mercury poisoning!

Why couldn't I be a carrot?!  

Silence relish! 

Oh how I relish, 

in silencing relish.

Eating alone, oh, 

I hate this. 

I have to sit alone 

to eat alone, 

and live alone 

to eat alone?

How can anyone do this 

for such a long time? 

How can anyone 

want to do this?
Who is that, over there? 

Why do they look on 

the ground for such a long time?
Has their neck broken 

into this downward position? 

Did they cower 

for such a long time 

it is now stuck?

I see a woman, or girl rather, 

with blonde hair. 

It looks like fine strands of silk, 

evenly cut. Oh! Oh!
I would skip eating lunch 

altogether to touch 

and compliment it! 

Wa-wait!

Her eyes look down, 

but they look forward. 

How do you do that?
Why do you do that?!

I suppose she is,
eating lunch alone too.

2011年11月9日 Realistic Dreams

My dream was hyper-realistic, I everything about it seemed extremely real. Real people. Real feelings. Real sense. Real touch. It was so realistic that as soon as it felt real, I woke up immediately. This isn't the first time this has happened. The dreams change, some of the dynamic too, but the people inside don't. And I always wake up around 6:20 am when this happens.

I'm not sure what to make of these things.
Maybe it's a sign to pawn my guitar?

2011年11月8日 "The way you move is a mystery"

Before I went to bed last night I thought about how I felt inside regarding issues of the heart and spirit. Most of the rabbis I talk with all agree that either gentile or Jew everyone is entitled a relationship with God, in fact saying entitlement already is biased. But at present I can't explain how to rephrase this into a more specific and yet unrestricted word. How does this relate? Well, does one not need a heart and spirit to have a relationship with God?

I have to stop waking up at 4:30 am.

Anyhow, I was thinking about the heart and its issues. And they lingered well into today's morning. Once I said to someone that my heart is open, and yet there is no furniture inside. There weren't even doors! Later I realized over time that my heart had begun to deteriorate over time, since I didn't even have glass for the windows. Hurricanes of booze causing the most damage? No, that's like blaming a symptom for the disease. It was something else.

Eventually someone came inside to renovate. I worked with them on the renovations and secretly I wondered if they would stay, although my face appeared as if I was indifferent, though I wasn't.Wood and metal against the flesh of my heart. Yes, it was a painful process, and I suppose I was afraid of it all. It's hard to recognize yourself on the inside when you don't go there too often. But regardless of how shoddy it had been before, I still I knew the foundation of it regardless. The renovations eventually finished, and of course, I had and still have to do the general maintenance such as polishing the wood and whatnot. I guess what bothered me was that I felt like those involved in the renovations should- no, I supposed I wanted them to stay. Sure the renovations were over, as that's the destination for that journey. But some journeys don't really end do they?

I was reeling the dial for the sound, blasting the car onto the dark road. Massive thumping from the back. I wondered if the car actually accelerated because of the gas or if all I had to do was turn up the speakers. How these things move are a mystery. Sure, I know it's gas that moves the car after ignited, but what if I'm standing still inside? Which is going to move me more?

Then a new song came on the speakers, and I wondered if I should run over what was left of a squirrel. Both the car, squirrel, and I were being overlooked by monolithic-looking hospital on a hill. I think it was around 6:10am by the time I parked.

2011年11月6日 לֶךְ-לְךָ

Basically what it means is "GTFO."

So go forth, leave everything you know. Leave your house, leave your home, leave your knowledge behind. Go and pray that God is going to be there for you, even when things suck (extremely hard). Abraham's dad wasn't bad, but he wasn't good for Abraham. He had to go, he had to venture out to find himself.

I wondered about these things the other day (the 4th), and well before the Torah portion of the week. Finding myself. I have found myself with the help of others, and sometimes I cannot help but think about them often.

I wonder though, have you found yourself?

Do you get to share yourself with other people? 

Or do you just play it safe, by hiding yourself?

If you hide yourself, do you even know how to find yourself after that?

Did you know yourself before you hid yourself?

How often do we have do have to hide ourselves between the monotony of daily life when our hearts and souls cry for more? I know what my stomach cries for, and that's food or bourbon!

I don't know the answers to these questions other than that the journey is more important than the destination. Because the destination is an end. Whereas a journey does not end, since it is not a destination.

I wonder if we could find ourselves from here, without some capacity to have God and love in our lives? Personally, I do not think such is possible.

Journey usually describes a journey well.

2011年11月4日 A braver newer world?

I was sitting down with a co-worker, who is an atheist and anti-religious. And doesn't believe in anything such as a spirit. It's to the point were he passively looks down on those who participate in such. Anyway, we were talking about shul and Jew-stuff briefly. At some point I finally asked him, "What the purpose of life? In your life, does it have a purpose?" Of course he said yes for himself, but he could not provide an answer for anyone else. At that point I told him that if he could not provide THE answer, either the question itself is flawed or there is no meaning in life for humans. I'm sure I'm wrong.

But in which way am I wrong? I believe I'm wrong, but not far off from the truth. Because even if I'm on the wrong end of the stick of truth, I don't need to travel down the spine of the stick to the correct end. All I have to do is figure out how to bend the sticks and allow the ends to touch.

Last night's dense fog on the highway reminded me of this. 

I couldn't see a damn thing, but only the road in front and behind me. Nothing to the left or right, unless it was the near a street light. No silhouettes, no trees. Few cars. Nothing else. Just fog and 200 yards of visibility. Floating flights in the distant, until I approached close enough to where I could see the poles. Without the poles visible they looked like giant frozen fireflies. I was on that orange foggy road, which strangely resembled the same color of the sodium vapor lamps along side of it. I wish I could have driven forever through that. It wasn't like life was really showing me what was ahead anyhow. Somehow, something was there in that fog. It wasn't me, but rather something I was trying to look at and understand.

Turning off my brain, I understood.
Turning it back on, I understood less, if not at all.

I smiled and put on a cap, stepping out of the car wondering about life and this morning's conversation, which  provided no answer. Yet it did provide the idea that there is a road and there is a wandering. 

Sometimes we approach the promise without being able to participate in such. We go so far, only to end up with the road, and not the destination. Yet we are told the destination is important, but if that's true why bother talking about the road? Why bother bringing it up? Why not just focus on the destination? And if we can't get to the destination after the road ends maybe God will come down and bury us? 

Deuteronomy 34:5-6 suggests it's possible.
If we're angry, patient, forgiving, lucky and loving enough.

2011年11月3日 Lemme show you a trick...

So I'm reading the news, which as everyone knows has more spam and ads than porn. Unfortunately, porn ads are generally what we want, which is porn. Yet when I'm reading the news and I see the following, I'm kind of disturbed.
Click read more, it's safe for work.

2011年11月2日 Another day of this?

I figured not having (party) liquor in my life would have made things easier on my joints. From poor to no diet, and then to a diet again, I am confused why my knee hurts when I'm actually trying to eat healthier and wholesome foods. When I didn't eat a meal or anything of substance for at least 12 hours, besides 3 cups of coffee, my knee didn't complain as much. Now my knee complains almost every standing or stretching moment! It sure as hell didn't have a problem with waking me up last night. Or was it the report I read about how "Loneliness may cause fitful sleep: study [link]"? I guess I'm shit out of luck, since arthritis is going to do what it wants regardless of whether or not I'm lonely. Hell it's even woken up those I've shared a bed with in the past when I can't sleep or I am woken up in severe pain.

Wait-wait, back to drinking. 

I think drinking isn't as a big of a deal compared to what one person I know put it, 

"Since a family member of mine is an alcoholic, a nasty drunk, and I'm not comfortable with drinking that I perceive as excess [see nasty drunks], being that close to me, I wouldn't have that in my life."

Who said anything about being drunk? I didn't.

Excess does not mean drunk, at least not in my book. I have a book now.
Most people do say "Everything in moderation." And moreover, what about a nasty love? Now that sounds pretty bad.
Or what about a polite drunk, or a polite love? Yeah? Do you want that purple stuff now, next to the Sunny D?
Does anyone ever really want to know if the drinking is the problem or the problems prior to the drinking are more worthy of discussion? It always seems like people blame drinking, and yet there are things in place to correct such, like AA (not batteries). But what about everything before the drinking?

Happy drunks DO exist!

If you have a river, and you dam it up, it will flood something neighboring it. This isn't good. Unless you're an asshole. We ought to work with what we already have and feel inside, as these things almost never change especially if it is part of who we are as a core person. I think that's how we should go about ourselves. Looking back at the river for guidance, unless we somehow manage to remove the water from the equation we could change. But this is just a metaphor. And if that water, is a desire or rather a part of us, and we remove it, are we even human? Are we still ourselves? Who knows? Outside of what you look like and your name, could your friends and family identify who you are? Could you do it for yourself? Everything in moderation could mean that in lieu of epic drinking as a bachelor one should get married. 

According to the definition of "drink" within the parameters of marriage, "drink" equates to something like this:

1. (a) drink

Something that wives keep count of when you are at a party.

For example, after a couple of hours laughing and joking with the men, your wife will slide up to you and say in a very accusing tone of voice, "That's your fourth drink, you know".

Women can keep track of drinks, but they can't keep track of my credit card's limit?
What the fuck? I bet most don't even know how many pairs of shoes they have. Unless they wear flats or tennis shoes often, because those women are usually lesbians or don't trust other women anyhow (such as their own mother or siblings).

So last night thinking about this shit Funk #49 came on my mp3 player, and I had a desire to get loaded while on the train. It would have been awesome. Instead, I just sat there jamming out, then some kids around 10 years old came into my area to take a few seats, and by I few I mean like five. There were only 3 kids. The conversation was basically about how they can use their Food Stamps EBT card to buy things under ten dollars and then return them to the store for cash. Eventually those kids got off, and some black homey looking dude with his white girlfriend who was wearing pajama pants were squawking over why he hit her in front of her family. Eventually they got off too. When the white, guido-looking dude got off we shared a glace he gave me a slight smirk that basically said,

"Man, TNB." 

I'm sure he was thinking this since he didn't adjust back to the original intended use of the seat until the previous noise makers stepped off the train.

The Lesson?

Alcohol alone or while single is bad. Women without alcohol is bad.

But alcohol AND women is okay, because they'll be the one keeping track of how many you've had.
This way you can still be the man and the one who drives.

And as always it's important to go to bed smiling. I know I did last night, although for other reasons, until I was FUCKING WOKEN UP AT 2:43AM BECAUSE OF MY GODDAMN KNEE. Fuck!

But yes, I got some water and went back to bed, thinking and praying.

House and Wilson have it figured out already.

2011年11月1日 "Foggy winders"

This morning was foggy as high-hell. Even around 6:30 am, outside of looking straight up, I couldn't see more than 300-400 yards out. Which was surprising, because tilting my head up towards the sky I identified Orion's belt, or what I thought was his belt, without any problems whatsoever.

No shit!

The rest of the day tasted like Colombian coffee. A taste I could not remove, even after several pieces of gum, and a strong desire to booze it up. I figure on top of my cheap coffee (20 cups = 6 dollars, roughly), I could add whiskey to it, and cheaply meander throughout my day without any reservations, not like the - feathered - Indians, they actually have reservations.

It's Up To You [link], by the Moody Blues plays in the background of my headset - you probably thought it was going to be Foggy Windows [link] - as I wonder when my goddamn co-worker is actually going to show up. As far as I'm aware of, she's a half an hour late.

So today is another sub-blissful-bullshit-day of fun and excitement that resolves absolutely nothing, except once again I am told that life should make me more cynical, to which booze is my response, outside of unrequited love, which is kind of like having only resin left in the pipe. Is it really going to get my ass high this time? Who knows!?

What a great way to start this god-forsaken month. Crisp and bone-cutting weather, and I'm sure it's going to get worse, it only does. That's fine, I still can listen to the Moody Blues at work, and gripe about life or the lack of such. I do care. I really do.

It's just painful to give a shit when you're doing it alone.
It's just painful to give a shit when whatever you do, amounts to nothing for anyone, other than yourself.

At some point, I will take a break, and inject myself with more coffee.

2011年11月1日 "Shut the fuck up"

This was the third or forth time I've had a pistol, uh and one time rifle, pointed at me. This of course excludes the times I was threatened, whether I had the badge or not. I wasn't sure what else to make of it. What else should I make of this?

"You've got my attention."

"Money." Wow well, at least we have some sort of dialog.

"Do I look like the kind of guy who has money?" I quipped back.

I actually shouldn't have said that, since I was dressed significantly more respectable than the homely-looking man with a gun.

"I'll shoot you."
"You know what, if you're going to shoot, shoot. Otherwise, I've got work to do."  

Although I did have work, I could only think about what bourbon I had left on my desk. I actually felt like I have the authority to say that, as it wasn't like I had a family or anything, and it wasn't like I was in control. He has the gun. It's his move. It's not my fault if he tightens his hand around the grip and trigger. I hope they serve beer in hell. My thoughts drifted as I turned away from him. Why bother with work tonight? And I started walking towards my office. 

I can only remember pain from behind, and whiting out. Or was it blacking out? Either way, things went dark quickly. I woke up damp and cold, still on the sidewalk, and with - no surprise here - people passing me as if nothing happened. Not like blood coming from the back of someone's head means anything... The worst part was when I felt the freedom of my toes wiggling. That son-of-a-bitch took my goddamn shoes.

I was pissed off for two reasons, or maybe it was the only two I could come up with. My shoes were missing, obviously stolen, and now I had to waste time going to the hospital to see if I needed stitches or not. Would that bottle elude me again? I couldn't get my mind back on this week or work. I called Mose and told him I wouldn't need him to come in until Thursday. You know, if you don't care, why should you complain? An echo said from the deepest part of my brain. "I guess, I do care." I mumbled quietly as I rubbed my face. But DOES it matter? And if so, how will you make it matter?

These thoughts soon escaped me when I realized that my stitches would be done without any numbing agent. Had I known this, I would have went home to get that bottle I left on the desk first.