2011 年7月8日 "How's progress?"

He said, as I rubbed my temples on my head with one hand. 

I hated this kind of work, and I hated that this is the most common request for work in this field. Naturally I'm good at it, and naturally I have no desire to prove any of my findings to him, even though I am usually right regardless.

The proposition he offered was easy: assess a situation involving money and the probable connection of mystery woman X. Usually involving a woman who I would never personally "X with" under no circumstances. The man's cowardice to select me was no surprise, nor did it bother me that he was paying. Yet there was no real excitement when dealing with these kinds of situations. There was nothing I could learn. And honestly even with total disregard for caution and safety, the case, if you can even call it that, could be solved with reasonable ease.

But dealing with the women. That's another story. I've never been any good with women, so I usually follow the money grudgingly. The former rarely surprises me, and almost always disappoints. One of the key elements in investigating people, especially women, is assessing the true nature of a person. 

For one, most people are extremely selfish, and those who appear in such a way are concealing it for posterity. Two, vanity from pride reveals weakness almost immediately, unless concealed through a complex structure via one. And three, people are never honest because they do not want to compromise the prior two.

That's why disappointment is almost natural for me. I should have known when I was younger that this kind of work generally deals with most people. And while I've had less than I can count on one hand, Satan himself bestowed upon me with the knowledge and experience of having the other people. Even if I tried not to romanticize this feeling, I know I am right when I say this bestowed blessing is actually a curse, for which I sparingly tolerate; moreover, it doesn't really matter who gave such to me. Yet this feeling of the past lingers. It always lingers, like a ghost that not only accommodates fear, but represents an extreme amount of annoyance. Not even the sirens of the police every two hours from my office window can remove the memories of the other people.

Looking over complied paperwork and gesturing the man to sit, I poured the rest of  General Grant's favorite bourbon into two tumblers. Mulling over the details with my eyes, I thought about what I do for men like him. I watched him trying conceal his discomfort with the cheapness of my prescribed liquor.

Briefly I thought deep enough to forget about him for a moment. I hate being right, or rather I hate being unable to change anything but sincerity of truth.

2011年7月7日 Uh. What did you today?

Today I spent a good portion of the afternoon sleeping.

I feel like a goddamned cat. 

Sleep during the day, and up all night.

The mental numbness in itself is somewhat promising though. 

When I wake up I'm alert, but intellectually not so much. 

It works out in the end.

It feels like I left part of myself in the dreams I woke up from.

Maybe I'll have a coke.

2011年7月6日 Fozzjnen and driving

Nothing special happened today other than taking Fozzjnen to the airport, selling 7.62x39 and mags, and just general driving around while blasting gangsta rap.

What I expect to happen every time
the police drive by my ghetto machine.

The coolest part about the sub-woofer is that it literally vibrated my rear-view mirror until it was loose. So far the bass does a good job, and thankfully I don't feel any pain from its awesomeness. 

Speaking of the subwoofer's awesomeness. A motorcycle cop pulled up behind me earlier today in Hillsboro. He got pretty close actually. Immediately I put on N.W.A's Fuck the Police, and I'm pretty sure he heard it. 

Eventually the biker cop sped away, and I finished the song.

Nothing dramatic happened, but then again nothing should happen.

Maybe I'll blast this next time.

2011年7月5日 Happy 5th of July, a.k.a "Welcome back to reality."

I had a quaint girl come to me to work today, and she asked for my address after I described how I'm going to have surgery. Apparently she wants to write me. I gave her my address without thinking anything about it, since she did not appear to be a major threat to me physically or emotionally. Surprisingly she volunteered her own to me, which I put on a sticky note, then covered with some papers.

She comes into my lab to chat briefly with me sometimes, and usually it is very very brief (3-7 minutes). She doesn't wear any make-up that I can notice, and she seems quiet for the most part.

This day however she asked me about my age, and what not. She doesn't even look like it, but she's 31. Yikes, for both the good and bad way. I thought she was around 22. She said I did not look or really act my age, the latter being a good thing. I dress and talk relatively maturely, but obviously she hasn't read this blog.

So, she comes back into the lab later (maybe an hour, I don't know), and says,

 "Can I ask you a quick question?"

"Sure"

"Do you drink?"

"Yes I do."

"Then can I have my address back? And... I'll erase yours."

Then she walked off to use a computer.

At first I was kind of shocked, for about .0009 seconds, then I realized what kind of person I'm dealing with. In all sincerity I'm happy it turned out that way. I'm not glad because I don't have to deal with it, rather I'm glad because someone actually has the discipline to address these issues as such. Instead of wasting my time, she was to the point; and moreover, there is a degree of discipline maintaining one's own values without disrespecting another person. 

She didn't seem like a dick about it at all, and I wasn't offended.

Of course there wasn't anything for me to be offended about, outside of the wonderful reminder of being welcomed back to reality after a 3 day weekend of listlessness and a barbecue.

2011年7月4日 Monday Morning Coming Down

Fuck that familiar harmonica. It reminds me of Chaka Khan for some reason. Among other things, I can't even believe the temperature drop. When I left the house it was still around 73 degrees or so. Now it's around the low end of 50. My seco-- third consecutive cup of coffee, not that I am counting anyhow, seems to be kicking in. It's either kicking in or it's the goddamn lyrics that are causing my hands to shake a little bit. I usually blame it on the shitty music.

I'll never find another girl like you,

We're fire and ice, the dream won't come true

I don't have to put up with this shit.

But I did. I did put up with it. Well, until the coffee-shop radio started playing Macy Gray's I Try, then I got up and left. Outside of a small congregation of young terrorist-looking men, and a couple inside working on a laptop together, there wasn't much action going on here. I guess it's fair to say it's empty here. It should be as it was around 0255 or so. I yawned a bit and stood up from my outside table. My shake-like spasms didn't cease as I walked to the car.

It was another driving night. More rubber, more road, more coffee, and caffeine. More solitude, more emptiness. I made it an extra point tonight to drive a little more deliberately in the areas I was fond of. I noticed something curious that I tend to miss on the rainy-overcast nights, it was the breath of the trees. Almost a wet-mossy-kind-of-smell and taste. Driving through a forest late at night, on a cool summer night like today, you can taste it. I could taste it, until the smell of a dead possum or squirrel made me cringe, but even then at least it wasn't exhaust or homeless people. Sometimes roadkill smells reasonably better than the filthy smell of sweat, shit, and contraband drugs of the homeless or proletarians. But I didn't even bother to think about that deeply as I drove on my "route".

Another road that's poorly lighted.

I pushed a button on the radio, turned the dial, slowed down, and focused to the simple guitar and wholesome lyrics:

Well, I woke up Sunday morning 

With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt. 

And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, 

So I had one more for dessert. 

Wholesome? No it wasn't. But it was something I enjoyed, as I shared the goat-roping music with the dead on my left. Once again I drove past the cemetery for those goddamned Catholics. For some reason I ruined the song I was trying to enjoy as I thought about how much I disliked Italian Catholics. Since they have similar looking noses, I always looked at Italians at being stupid versions of Jews. Fortunately for me and I guess for the Jews too: I like the Jews, regardless of their intelligence, but no way in hell am I going to trust a guido-wopper. Those people are just as bad as the Portuguese or Colombians, which basically means we can't trust our women with them.

When I left the poorly lighted neighborhood and cemetery, I pulled onto the highway since too much was running through my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about these things, so I figured it may be best to avoid it all. I skipped about 15 tracks or more, until I found something suitable for the empty road. The shaking stopped a bit, but my mind wandered towards truth again. 

Truth. True. Fact. 

Lie, false, fiction.

Snap! Another familiar sound, and it's not a harmonica! Is this the forth? Or Second? What number am I even  on? I don't really care. How can I? I peeled the tab back after opening the tall-boy can of rocket-fuel. I feel tired no matter how much of this shit I drink. It doesn't really matter, as long as it has caffeine and doesn't taste like pig urine after it drinks from a pool of goat/homeless-naked-man vomit (Mountain Dew Code Red). Fuck this. I can't concentrate. I'm going home.

When I got out of the car I was slightly refreshed, but tired. I accomplished nothing, other than spending five dollars on drinks that only kept me awake for an hour or so, and made me piss more than I would have liked to. The only thing I learned was nothing I did not already know. 

Once again driving only provided me with the false sense of solace and tranquility. But tonight, I couldn't cease wondering about it. Wondering about things that are true. Wondering about things that are lies, and the reality of it, or the truth of lies existing.

"It's a fucking shame it's
not Miller time right now."

Pissing in the toilet, I lost any ability or desire to continue concentrating on these issues. I felt empowered, as I almost and literally, was piss-away my problems. It's a fucking shame it's not Miller time right now.

2011年7月4日 "I'm a good fuckin' marine."

Today is Independence Day.

This video easily sums up the coherent viciousness of our armed forces, who made the existence of this country possible. 

That, and baseball.

Works best if you turn your speakers up (↑).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgcpZ0bNBGA

(You may need a YouTube account to view it)

Happy Independence Day

2011年7月2日 At work

"I'm at the will of the Germans, which is not that bad." She said.

My mind immediately exploded to Dachau, where in lieu of pissed off Hungarian SS, I saw a bunch of clowns passing out cookies and milk to those proceeding to the chambers.

And all the clowns
looked like this guy.

No it can't be that bad.
Can it?

More or less I'm left with neither knowing how bad the will of the Germans is for anyone subject to it. The only thing that I know at this point, is what I've been repeating since I first heard it about 10 years ago:

"Next time there is a world war, the loser gets to keep France." And all their cheese-eatin'-smoking-monkey-people too!