2012年5月2日 "When are you going to cut your hair"

Hurry call "whine-one-one!"

I heard that this morning in my dream before I woke up.

It was what Jabberwocky - read the previous post - said to me when he first saw me in almost 3 years. Of course, 3 years ago, he said the same thing. Every time he looks bothered with how I look, or dress, or whatever. He always brings this up within the first 2 minutes of meeting, or before we do some basic shop-talk. 

I remember once he bitched about how "dorkish" I am for tucking in my shirt. Well, for one "Yes, it could be dorkish looking." But it's also my body, my clothes, and my money. I have a job, my own living quarters (which I pay for with my own money), and my own life. Sure I can choose to share my life with him as a friend, but if he's bothered with how I live, well then too fucking bad. Time to call the waaaaahmbulance. Hurry, dial whine-one-one! So they can remove my foot from asses before someone bleeds out!

I smiled again as my eyes adjusted to the new morning when I realized that I don't have to deal with bullshit like how I look around him. Who cares if I have long hair, a mustache, short hair, jeans and flannel, or khakis and a collar? Is not my own character of greater value? I'm sure some of you are wondering the same thing about whores. I know I am!

Just tryin' to be myself!

Just like you, I have a choice over my own body. It's my body. If I'm not comfortable with who I am with myself, then why the hell would I be comfortable (or even myself) around you?

I think it's important to be who we are with ourselves. When we aren't sure who we are, it's important to meditate or masturbate furiously. Whichever comes first. Haha, get it?

Anyhow, Miriam Woelke at Shearim.blogspot made an interesting post about being accepted in Haredi society from the point of view of an ex-flatmate and her own observations:

The only thing I noticed was that A. was facing severe difficulties of being accepted into haredi society. There were many reasons for it but she still tried as hard as she could. There were times when A. may have got the feeling that she was accepted. At least from time to time.

I, on the other hand, have never felt the desire squeezing myself into something. I neither need acceptance nor acknowledgement because I am simply too individualistic and especially introverted. Doing my thing and not waiting for other Haredim to say that I am so "holy". A Zaddika !

I am not and I don't want to hear all this slogans. I am not a Zaddika and not sooo terribly religious running after the perfect Hechsher, wearing only long sleeves or skirts. In my opinion, being religious consists of many different aspects in life besides the usual Halachot. How you react towards your environment, for instance. "Bejn Adam le'Chavero". Or that you honestly pray and not because the time for Mincha has arrived. That you take religious matters seriously, think and internalize them and not doing, doing, doing without using your brain.

Well that's basically it. Similar frustrations that I have. 

I believe we should think and internalize who we are. Focusing on what we are, instead of clearing our minds of "everything". Our minds are already cleared or saturated enough from all the noise of T.V., daily-life, escapism (through T.V., alcohol, drugs, white people, video-games, etc), and other things. So much so, that sometimes we barely have enough time, if we're that lucky, to find out who we are with ourselves! Of course, you'll definitely have more time to figure yourself out, if you're drinking in a Finnish sauna.

2011年8月3日 Thai massage

Accurate representation of what
a man looks like after using Axe products for
five years solid

on my testicles* reminds me of finding old bottles of musky cologne in my grandparent's bathroom. Even though I feel cheap and insecure while using it, I know it's only because of the smell and how it feels on my skin when it's rubbed all over my body. I guess it's no different than a one night stand, except I don't have to leave home or the shower (if I'm wasted).
The smell while still musky also has a kind of sweet nature-ish scent to it, which is pleasant yet reminds me of Burt Reynolds. The former must be the reason why I still take firearms to the bathroom. 

My Finnish friend Fozzjnen brought me three bottles of Axe's Thai Massage from Finland, since it wasn't available in the USA until like a week ago. Of course well before he went to Finland, neither of us had any idea it would be available here. Now it appears to be in USA I can feel like a bad mother fucker all the time, just like this white guy! 

Let's see where this twelve pack takes us.

2011年6月26日 Go Ahead & Stare

That constant thumping noise, isn't in your head. 

I kept telling myself, but it didn't really make much of a difference. The thumping continued, but we just ignored it. The Fozzjnen  in the passenger seat just smiled and I grinned back. While I didn't invent the shit-eating-grin, I sure as hell did perfect its usage.

More thumping. At some point I was curious to know if anyone actually was paying any attention to this loud thumping from the trunk. Parking the car I noticed a cop parked a slight distance away, not that it would matter any. Rule 36 applies.., I said jokingly to myself, if zombies attack, which is the reason Rule 36 exists.

BOOM, BOOM-BOOM.

This is totally sweet.

I changed the song to suit the thumping and turned up the stereo after we got back in the car. Was this worth a wait? Was Fozzjnen some kind of sick-mother who like to terrorize people indirectly? How could it make sense to allow this to happen? I didn't even want to bother answering these questions. I knew the trunk was compromised though. Personally I didn't believe the trunk was compromised, but ev...

HHHHHHRRRRRRRNNNNNNNN!

The Fozzjnen after
installing speaker.

I laid the horn down hard-core (think ball-gags), breaking just as hard at the intersection down a side-road. The kid on the bicycle looked dumbfounded and wasn't sure what to do at all. So I continued to leave the horn blasting, until I knew he wasn't going to move at all. I almost turned him into ten points. I was happy at least one of us were paying attention. He wasn't, otherwise he would have seen the creeping-death-looking car approaching him. And more important, he wouldn't have mouthed "My bad." 

The last thing I needed was another thumping thing from the trunk.

Dropping off the Fozzjnen was nice, and although our time was brief today and our success with installing the sub-woofer Friday was delayed due to a messed up amp, we're certainly in business now.

Maybe you'll hear us down the road. 

Approaching.

2011年5月28-29日 Finnish Sauna Finished

An example of typical Swedish people*,
who dislike sauna.

I love Finnish sauna. The taste of beer, which you can taste either while drinking in a sauna or by pouring a slight amount into a ladle that already has some water, and then releasing the contents onto the super-heated rocks, is fantastic. The smell of watered-beer steam is quite good and frankly any claims of douche-baggery that contests such probably comes from someone with either no dick or no self-esteem.

Finnish sauna is the reason why I neglected posting for the 28th, and although it wasn't intentional that missed out, I don't feel too bad that I did. Lately I have been having a hard time wondering about what is the right thing to post and what is the wrong thing. In the end I find that posting nothing is worse than actually posting something.

This is a another reason why I dislike with whole-hearted sincerity MURAKAMI HARUKI as a writer. I find most of his material to be quite facile, flacid, testicle-less, and yet done in such as way that it accommodates sheepish people, in emotions and behaviorisms. While his commentary reflects people's actions and thoughts as a whole (sheepishly for sheepish people), I find that nothing really is achieved in a sense of personal responsibility.

I wonder if this behavior is done because Murakami Haruki and his wife are in love with the same man: himself. I think anyone who has an opportunity financially to raise children outside of poverty, and does not do such (i.e. doesn't have children), tends to orient his or herself towards some kind of selfish idealism. That idealism will never be achieved, completed, or accommodated through application of such either.

In the end, just like a small penis, Murakami will probably find himself desiring more in and out of his life or he'll end up pissed off and insecure like most people with small-penis-syndrome.

I am surprised he hasn't bought a big truck yet.

And yes, the link is SFW (Safe for Women), because they don't have dicks.

I think about these things in the sauna, and I think about the quality of life. In fact, I do not think there has been a time where I have been in a sauna, except alone, and where I have not discussed the quality of life. Finnish saunas, to me, equate to a place where one can quietly contemplate about things. For a room without mirrors it certainly allows one to reflect on a lot of things. Such as one's own nakedness, as I'm not going in a sauna with a fucking towel at 90+ Celsius (194.0 Fahrenheit). 

*Not an accurate representation of anything related to Sweden or its people, although it might apply to Romanian gypsies.

Edit: And sauna happens to help the joints, which is why in lieu of marijuana I am for them (sauna).

Pigmented Villonodular Synovitis

I'm most likely going to see the doctor about this because I haven't been able to get very far below 90 degrees, at present, I can't even get close to 90! I'm limping violently, which is a nice way to say I sound like the following when I'm hurting.


I can't concentrate on shit, and it destroys everything. Maybe because I'm a little famished, maybe because I had beer earlier this week. I don't know, but I know I haven't drank since it started hurting, and boy does it hurt. As if the whores of Perkele himself are beating my knee for compensation when I've failed to pay (for substandard Swedish service).

I would amputate above the knee (as I'd have to), if I could only ignore the eyes of disdain from others. Also, who knows if Robo-cop's body is just around the corner or not!? I do know, even you would look at me with sad eyes if I had only a leg and a 1/3.

The constant suffering negates any potential for total compassion, consideration, and kindness. My ability to love another person is temporarily blinded during this pain, as all I can think about is the suffering. Burning. Burning. No smoke. No fire. Nothing, but it's there.

In the end without remedy, the bone will be destroyed over time from the disease, along with any degree or measurement with regards to "quality of life." The only thing left is that I would be alive, but not much humanity, if any, remains after the pain takes over. I suppose that's the worst part about being alive with such. I would cease to be human, but I wouldn't be dead.

I actually am laughing quietly with my a smirk, as I know somehow in another life I must have cut the tendons of an enemy's knee to spite him. Maybe I shot an enemy in the knee? I don't know, but the suffering is here and like unrequited love it will persist until death.

As they say in zombie folklore, "No place is safe, only safer."

There are no painless options for me, only less-pain options.

Haha, idiopathic diseases. Idiopathic problems, I can imagine most of you readers have no idea what it is, unless you watch a lot of medical dramas. If such a thing were to exist in your line of work, people would probably be fired, eventually.

---

And now I cannot sleep, 

even after 1200mg of ibuprofen and a hot bath.

Fuck of a way to start the day.

& I haven't even had a chance

to get sleep yet.