blogging

Disasters are no fun for the innocent. Everyone will suffer, even people who could theoretically be insulated by money for a while. It won’t matter who caused what or who’s to blame - it’ll be murky trying to figure it out, and brutally violent, and when that sort of stuff happens the wrong people take the hit, and then there are reprisals. I’ll bet Antoinette was the best of a bad lot, but she got the guillotine anyway, that’s just how things work.

I don’t even know who I’d go to, to say I told you so. I didn’t tell anyone anything anyway, was too afraid of being made out to be a fool, which I might well have been. And I could’ve been one of the nay-sayers anyway, it’s not like I get some sort of ram’s blood passover from the angel of death by virtue of being worried about the right thing at the right time.

Who’s to say the culprits will ever be correctly identified? Who’s to say the architects of policy and lobbyists for fossil fuels will not blend in perfectly with whatever body politic of the new paradigm emerges, self-satisfied at least that catastrophe was someone else’s fault, or just all of our faults, humans, eh? What a crazy biological experiment. Too bad, it just didn’t work. Pass the torch to the noble cockroach, a marvel of organic design.

These newfie townee Husky and Suncor employees - they’re nice people, most of them, I imagine. I played in a Pink Floyd tribute with one of their like, the drilling engineer for Schlumberger who became our new bass player in 2010, who told me once while driving me to practice in his big oil truck, he just wanted to make a million. They’re smart, geologists and engineers, fun to converse with, some of them good to jam with. But why the hell am I cleaning the offices of fossil fuel firms? What I really should be doing is dumping oil over their floors, that’s what I’m kind of wanting to do, more and more, but there’s the mitigating factor that I’m part of the problem.

"Given what’s at stake", as they say, maybe an enemy really will have to be found, ie, the fossil fuel firms, even at the cost of good people getting tarred with the bad brush along with the few real evil fucks, if anyone’s really evil. Well, maybe no one’s really evil, but at times it’s necessary for certain people to take the fall for evil things that happen to us people.

Not that there’s much innocence to be found, around here anyway. And, why would I bother with any bet hedging, and cautious skepticism of computer models of climates? It’s human intellect that created this condition in the first place, for better or worse, but it did find efficient ways of redistributing massive amounts of carbon into the atmosphere. That’s beyond weaseling out of. I trust all kinds of devices and technology derived from Maxwell’s equations and Newtonian physics - but I won’t trust the cutting edge of climate science, because, maybe it’s wrong? I don’t understand the statistical modeling that predicts a catastrophic warming of the planet, so, therefore, the jury’s still out, but neither do I understand the statistical modeling that enables every synthetic thing that makes life worth living, to me. But the jury isn’t out on that for me, is it? I’ll accept that stuff, thank you very much, cause it’s convenient.

I don’t want to be cursed with living in interesting times. I want my tech-tweaked times loaded with digital information, an info-stream I take for granted, consume mindlessly, but not interesting in the way that an extra-terrestrial voyeur might hope for. But I don’t think I’m gonna get a choice in this. The voyeurs are going to be entertained at our expense.

I’m starting to feel a kind of gratitude I didn’t expect for my spiritual program that I’m struggling to follow to the best of my ability. It was designed to help addicts recover and live sober, but it may be the best hope I have of coming to terms with the predicament of a petroleum-addicted society at large, in something other than a cowardly, suicidal, get your kicks before the shithouse goes up in flames, way. I’m a long way from being spiritual and really living a spiritual program, but a seed was planted, maybe sprouting microgreens, and if I could bring that to fruition, or something close, it’s the only thing that could carry me through a potential transition to scarcity.

If it’s true that wild wild stuff is coming down, it could at least hold the light up to the shadow, the overshadow that clouds everything I should be enjoying, what creates lack of purpose, the feeling of being lost. Maybe it could provide meaning and purpose again, an obvious blatant kind, not something one has to look for in a frenzied search for meaning here, purpose there, dilettante itinerary to secure vocation in a market economy driving a spiritually bankrupt culture. It may sound like I’m moralizing, but I love the bankrupt culture, the trashiness of it, and I love standing outside of it, feeling smug and superior in delusions of separateness, poking at it with a stick, writing about it, that vantage - I love that like a drug destroys the liver and burns out the brain. I do love it, but it’s a way of death.

The ever-present existential nausea of the approaching end of this way of life... Imagine if that was gone? The pain of facing up to that will be so steep I can’t even contemplate, but how about the side benefit of having that reckoning over with, at least the facing over with, and having the paradigm change. That could be an amazing side benefit.

And if it’s true that wild wild stuff is coming down, maybe it doesn’t necessitate so much violence as I fear. I mean, surely whatever happens, there’ll be heroism and co-operation, maybe unprecedented levels. That’s one way the economy can still grow beyond the extraction curves of material: the economy of valor. Scarcity and hardship I could take, maybe, if it didn’t mean pervasive violence, and everyone set against each other. But shit, if Hobbes was right about human nature, and I’m not sure he wasn’t, maybe we’ll have to hope the Loch Ness monster will be discovered in the nick of time, to save us from the war of all against all - or maybe it’ll just devour the spoils.

And sure, I hope for the good in women and men to come to the fore, maybe we should throw out all the men and elect ourselves into matriarchal dictatorship. But given that what marginal progress there’s been toward a civilized society (ie, not mustard gassing each other in our wars anymore) hinges on improved standards of living, I’m scared what will happen when the curve peaks and begins to fall back down, obeying the physical laws we thought didn’t apply to the eternal game-changer of technology and the information age. And I really think standard of living has almost everything to do with how life is valued. When life is shitty, it’s so much easier to kill and die.

And I know there are those who would say, but value doesn’t need to be all tied up with these things you think are so important, the consumerist bullshit. Sure, that’s true, there’ll be benefits to getting back to nature, but it’s the transition I’m thinking about. It could be brutal, surely will be chaotic - and in an epigenetic time frame, it might be just what the doctor ordered, an enema for the human race, but I’m a person, not a race, not a culture, and on my time scale, it’s just a downward trend, cause like a lot of people, I’m a late stage hardcore addict to this infrastructure, I know how toxic it is, but I’m so on the junk, it’s the only thing I know, it’s flowing through my veins, and I can’t imagine a life outside of it I’d want to live.

I mean, I’d love to scale things back, I’d back the first motherfucker with power who vowed to begin the scaleback, I’d brace myself for austerity hoping it was at least being done in carefully-planned stages. But I don’t see no scaleback option being proposed, the dilemma is steadily driven to the point of all or nothing. Will the plummeting stocks bring down with their values human life? I’d hope not, but it’s plausible to me that they could, even though they should bring up the value of human life, as we’d theoretically unplug from all isolating distracting devices and break free of all kinds of synthetic shackles. But I suspect we’d suddenly remember, in genetic memory, in the way four year old kids have night terrors of being eaten by tigers, that, oh yeah, there are quite a lot of biological shackles too, that we forgot about centuries ago, and now, well, this isn’t natureland, this isn’t a retreat, this is a merciless baseline. Well, I’m sure it ain’t that bad really, maybe not for you, but for me, well, I don’t think I’m up to spending the latter half of my life trying to be nature-boy. I’ve lived long enough to know that’s not what I’m cut out for, even if my life depends on it. Maybe post-apocalyptic-wasteland-man would suit me slightly better, barricaded in a rathole of an urban block with a personal stash of salvage - I could sort of see that.

And this is all so so so easy to type into a computer from a climate-controlled interior.

Maybe next post I’ll go back to trivial bullshit, I sure hope so. I sure hope I’ll stop freaking myself out over potential end-games, like I stopped so many times before, and got back to soft and comfortable things, even in the guise of edgy badassed bullshit - but really soft and easy.

There’s gotta be something wrong with this hard/soft dichotomy that pervades how I think about everything. Maybe it all reduces to psychology, ultimately, there’s a nice soft thought, that nothing is real, there are only thoughts, points of view, neurologies that have progressed to this point, and a tableau of fearful and pleasant and sad and angry and hungry and soothing and shameful experiences before the age of three, before I even formed fucking memories (!) have dictated everything I think and feel about everything, in such a subtle way that I thought it was all free will, and I accepted this idea culture gives me, that it’s a self that I should identify with and own, and all that.

And no, I’m not gonna bring a child into the world, I’m getting more definite about that by the day, as much as I appreciate and love my parents for bringing me into being, and for being themselves, and as much as I appreciate that I’ve had playmates to play with in this life, and as much as we’re gonna need some fresh blood, some, mind you, to dismantle the now-asphyxiating biomass prosthesis... For all that, I think the best legacy I can leave is a negative legacy of opening some space, for people who are already here, to stretch out a bit, in future years.

And how convenient, in the end, for me, being so passive - aggressive in words, maybe, but passive in deeds, and lazy and tired. But I really think it’s right for me to not contribute to what’s happening with this cancer we’re becoming - rather I’ll do what I’ve suited myself to and brew another batch of poison words. Call me chemo.

oh right... climate change

there's that - sometimes i forget

but whatever happens, whether it's + 1.5 celcius in the next 50 years, whether it's + 2.0 celcius in the next 40 years, whether it's + 4.0 celcius by 2100... it's gonna happen regardless of what we do, they're saying now... what we do now will only matter another 50 years from now, what's coming down the pike in the next several fracking decades is the hangover from what was done in the latter half of the 20th century - so we have to care about our descendants of half a century later, in order to get off our asses and oops, our imaginations have shriveled up like prunes, so how can 50 years later figure into anything? when four years of school is too much to contemplate?

okay, i'm projecting, i have no claims on your imagination - i'm not bringing a child into the world and i can't believe i ever even thought it would be a good thing to do if i could psyche myself up to it, cause i owed my parents a grandchild, cause it's something substantial i could give to them that i've failed to equal in how i've lived my solitary and self-seeking life - but you could perhaps be able to think fifty years down the road, and you could perhaps be bringing a child into the world - and i don't judge anyone, how can i? not yet, anyway, i still feel like we're all friends on this planet, and it wouldn't be very friendly to bring politics and religion into the same discussions as the warm ways of those hobbyists of family building projects

so, some will take bleak weather forecasts as an invitation to attempt a forward escape if it's possible, push the pedal to the floor! the only way out is through, rape the crust even faster, we need to keep the barrels moving, to the four corners of the earth, we need to keep the lights on while our brainiacs are working on solutions, we need to keep the thermostat at a comfortable level, who can think when it's a hundred and three? they're building the ark for outer space, what about this place?

how can this have sounded like hysteria before? maybe cause it was hysteria all along, like so many other apocalyptic hysterias have swayed so many, it just has a real convincing ring just now

it's getting to the point where i really really would like to be convinced that it's a vast left-wing conspiracy of junk scientists chasing grant money

and here i am, day in, day out, being all, "what's my purpose?" what do i study? and then i'm reminded, there's this thing, about how there's these trends, resource depletion, carbon emissions, population growth - so i guess there's purpose there, in fucking DOING something about that, but - who to trust?

if i really believed this was gonna happen, would i let my writing a blog post about it be the end of it? or what about those blog posts that are so scary, that give me a writerly hysteria, would they be retiring to their bedrooms after their blog posts? no, for fuck's sake, that's not what people who really believe these things do - none of these people really believe these things, otherwise, their actions would bear it out - there would be revolutionary activity - even internal revolutionary activity, it wouldn't even have to be an extroverted fuck shit up, organize people, blow up pipelines type thing, even a more modest live by example, get off the grid type of action would ring authentic - and there are a very small pool of people who do that - the vast majority of the alarmist writers are blogging comfortably and not being any kind of example

in reality, we're all waiting for some critical mass of thick-headed blow-dried authority figures to get on board with what sort of dilemma we're actually in, and then we can be convinced that it's real, and we actually do have to get up and do something about it... until then, if it's not on the television or the radio, it's not real - cause they're our standard, the people with the news reporter voices and symmetrical faces and beige vocal inflections and heads no more or less thick than the median of humanity - if they think it's real, then at that precise moment, everybody does, and then things happen

and the scientists, well they're a power greater than myself for sure, and the number i've heard quoted is 15000 to 24, that sounds like a consensus - but they're not acting like they really believe it either - because they're not stupid, they're scientists - they know, like, i think, most of us suspect, it might be a little crazy to act as if a model of a complicated system is the god's honest truth, even if the independent readings seem to be narrowing to inescapable logical conclusions - even if that's the case, we gotta be at least partially underwater, before we start proceeding under the assumption that we'll all be underwater, or in the desert, or inside a plague of locusts, cause we can't uproot our lives and go to defcon 5 based on computer models

this really is an unprecedented dilemna in human history - being allowed a glimpse into what may be waiting, in terms of ecological destiny - but not given any divine instruction as to how to deal with it, what extremes are even necessary... having to ad-hoc it, and arguing among ourselves what we should bother to do

obama, for example, the "leader of the free world", so i guess he's my president too, being a free person, i think, although i never voted for him, nor would i have... he must have access to some pretty good scientists, some people outside the climatologist consensus, who are assuring him that this climate model thing, it's something he can put on the backburner, it's not that big a deal

why would it be, for him and his administration? it's a ride, for them, isn't it? hold on, another four more years, wheeee... and then it's over, and you go on speaking panels and lecture circuits, and you reflect back on those crazy days... those were some crazy times man... being leaders of the free world, being architects of policy... we were just doing the best we could in this muddled mixed up world - we can't always know what the best course of action to take is, sometimes you've just gotta make a decision - you can't know what it's like, in the spotlight, the pressure - every decision affects every other facet of every fucking thing - and in the end, you're alone with it - and your kodak family and your millions of dollars, and estates - doesn't sound all that lonely actually - but i bet it will be, in the fallout shelter

well, power and science don't overlap as much as we might think, or perversely like... the power elites make the rules for the wise men and the fools...

sometimes i'm ashamed of what i write, when i write in that opt-out suicidal vein - but it's a real emotion that is a reaction to trends i see, from this miraculously mundane vantage of quietly falling snow and flowing electrical energy and a full fridge of cheap food and cheap rent

MAYBE... there's more to this idea than i ever allow myself to allow... that me and people like me, not like my ex-gf, she's more evolved, are completely overshadowed with guilt and malaise over what's happening, invisibly, how the suffering on the other side of the world just isn't real ENOUGH in headlines and internet articles and even youtube videos, and how we're plainly LOOTING the FUTURE, there's no word for this unprecedented crime, it demands stronger morality and intellect than this age is producing to be able to deal with what's going on

so although i could count my blessings til i pass out, about how really, things aren't that bad, my life is pretty good, it's a wonderous age, a toothache isn't prelude to a fatal sinus infection but a simple dental extraction, i have more computing power in my pocket than the world had in the 70s for next to nothing, and besides that, i got family, and friends, i know i'm loved

there's this shadow over things

i didn't build this world - i played a riff on it - why do i think i gotta twist myself into a pretzel fussing over the maintenance of it? well, cause the builders are long dead - their heirs can fuss over the maintenance - but i can't hold them accountable, just cause of bloodlines - my great grandmother to the 33rd power was renee decartes' publisher, possibly, so i got those incriminating nature-crushing lines in me too, the dreaded dioxyribonucleic knot

looting the future, looting the fucking future... i might be wrong about a lot of things, i might be wrong that i don't know anything or that i can't make a decision - but i'm pretty sure that looting the future is something we're doing, and there's not some magic mitigating factor that will somehow make everything alright - i dunno if there's any such thing as a moral sense, but i got a gut feeling that there has to be some payment for this bender - maybe it's because i'm a drug addict in wobbly recovery, so i would see it like that, i would OVER moralize it, as opposed to someone who maybe managed to temper their forays into intoxicating substances, who wouldn't necessarily have this same GUT FEELING that life and human destiny is a black and white morality play, maybe even a greek tragedy with dramatic irony at precise appropos moments - but see i don't see no deus ex machina getting us out of this jam, so greek tragedy is not the right reference - maybe catholicism is, cause to me it's gotta equalize with some bloody s&m suffering and nails through hands, just let the philipino reenactor do it, not me, do it to julia, DO IT TO JULIA!

maybe you can never really cure catholicism, maybe i'm gonna be shackled by cathol's law to my grave - still, it doesn't have to be black and white even within the sphere of morality - and the fact that it's a gut feeling disturbs me, cause colbert would tell me i'm on the right track with that manner of gnosis

i don't know the intricacies of climate science, i could be hoodwinked by echo chambers, and confirmation bias because i was predisposed to believe large corporations and institutions are morally blind to such an extent that they would prioritize profits and mandates over collective survival - and yes, i really could be making too much of the peak oil hype, and it's quite possible i've read too much about nuclear war and about how there's still all these nukes around, it's not like that threat ever went away... and i remember, my mom, who's opinion and outlook i respect, who i feel has some wisdom, who i'd put some degree of faith in, at least over my own neurotic fancies, a person to look up to, by contrast with my over-damaged and atrophied self - i remember how we got to talking about the future, and oil, and i let spill to her my concerns about how nobody who matters has a fucking plan for what we're gonna do when that shit runs out, and she said, in more than just words, oh, they've been saying that's gonna happen since the 70s, and she was talking about more than just peak oil, and i absorbed some of that worldly skepticism of doomcryers, not because of any statistical, numerical, or analytic deconstruction of the many many arguments i come across that we're all fucked, but in the genuine-ness of her gentle rejoinder - she really wasn't all that worried, not in any unduly way anyway, neither apathetic in a suspect way that would suggest some willfully ignorant and self-serving agenda, like having an income that depended upon not understanding the trends of resource extraction, birthrate, environmental toxification, drought increase, and correlation of armed conflicts to water shortages

i remember a day in 2001 when art didn't matter - it really didn't, and irony was dead, and i felt solidarity with a neighbor country, not in a touchy feely way, but in a grim and necessary way, and everyone in town was giving blood as a gesture - i haven't felt much emotional connection to history, not even in 31 years, which is a good chunk of time to have lived through - but i've spent it disconnected, selfish, navel-gazing, drunk, delirius, staring at screens... how do you like that, exgf? i meant that sincerely though, not just self-deprecatingly - at times i can see what sort of person i am, from outside, and admit how sick it is

but for a few weeks in 2001, i was shaken out of myself for a while, and i remember that emotion - it was white people in suits dying in mass, i guess, to be crude, and how pathetic that on some deep level i identify with those people, like i group, against my will, with the beige tv accent-lacking medians who seem so full of shit, but have good jobs and money and charisma and influence and must be righter and realer than me - even if we're on opposite ends of a vast economic gulf, at lease we call it vast in the northern half of this content, although all of us, rich and poor in these parts, must look like assholes to the people in the oppressed and starving parts of the world

over here, even the 97th percentile, the ones that suddenly found themselves with shanty towns for company in the middle of homeless season when the occupy movement was hanging on longer than anywhere else in the world here in st. john's, even those pitiful people who were squeegee-ing windshields back in the '90s, have a vested interest in keeping the cell phones in shop windows - even a lot of the poor people around here have cell phones, not the really poor ones who are panhandling, they're quite miserable, thank you very much, you can see it in their faces, and you can fucking well imagine without having to look, but a lot of my fellows in the low tax bracket, we still have phones that we might hold on to at the expense of the chinese, and certainly energy for all this debauched power consumption that we'd hold on to at the expense of the arabs or arab-looking desert people

new york seemed close enough to hit home, my feeling of being a part of history was just being alive and watching tv when some terrorists shot their wad with a spectacular display of suicidal mayhem - i remember how that inspired many atheists to affirm their atheism - when you look at the holocaust and the art and literature that came out of that though, scoring points for the void after a nasty bit of vengeance like 9-11 seems cheap - but life is cheap - irony is cheap - atheism is cheap - religion is cheap - everything is cheap

like i said not that long ago, the greatest miracle... is how mundane everything seems - it's amazing that anything could ever seem mundane, with all the history that fed into this moment, all the chaotic causality streams - but it does, i'm constantly being swept back into tired, half-lidded, sore mediocrity and delusions of mundanity

how does this seem, to older folks, i wonder? this is my prime, supposedly, i'm supposed to get us all out of this mess, my generation... no, there's still too much momentum from previous generations, we expect our canadian dream too, or a scaled down version of it since the unions got busted, but there's vastly improved and cheaper information technology - we're hooked on this cheap paradigm just like the preceding people, we should have solidarity with our elders and boomer parents and snotty former punks now middle aged sell-outs, cause we're just another round of hooked, on unrealistic expectations - but why unrealistic? we've met the quota so far, haven't we? however many billion barrels a day? they're batting those figures back and forth on the 9th floor of the husky energy offices every morning when i come in to clean the boardrooms, it's another day of work, another issue with the helicopters and the rigs, ho hum, it's just husky, they're just husky, they don't run the whole show, they're just dealing with their bottom line, doing their jobs, hoping to make their own little million, millionaire inflation, the word has lost all meaning

so, now my people, (shudder), those people that graduated high school around the same time as me anyway, most of them are entering into this world - i'm just on the peripheral, cleaning things while they fulfill useful functions for corporations that keep oil flowing, i didn't apply myself in ways that would gain me entry into the socially lubricated mechanics of things the market actually values above minimum wage plus or minus fifty cents - but some of those people i'm contemporary with are getting in there now and the idea of keep it going is still plausible, it's a persistent lullaby on the radiodrone

yeah, there've been some great people, ghandi, martin luther king - we can all agree on them, right? and there could be more yet... but despite that... racism, religious zealotry, all these things - i can see how they become options, and not just insane inhuman unspeakable inconceivables - sadly, the worst of human responses are still human, as human as the best, and i could see anyone getting swept up in them - right now the differences between people are annoying, funny, fodder for disapproval... but buffered by luxury - those different people who think different than the way i think, and pray to their different gods and think the things i like are "sick" - but we can co-exist, we're civilized... but what happens when civilization falls apart? then it's civil war

i don't like this apocalypse fixation - and lord knows, there was hiroshima, there was cuba, there was this and that, and we got through it, even though there are always people saying the end is nigh - zorp is coming

but there's fractal waves of fire, images of the future, in things, in revelations - maybe mckenna had the date wrong, but he had the right idea - people, myself most of all, sink into a heavy gravy of custom, they get on autopilot, forget where they are - fall asleep - it's a tired metaphor made by so many others, but i'm forced to write my beholding of the truth of it

that revelations stuff, does it come out of nothing? when people get crazed enough to write something like that that actually endures across millenia? i'm not convinced it's an accident, not right now anyway - the miracle of mundanity... look at where the fuck i am right now - this is science fiction - the banality of evil and angelic overdose - this is insane

well, we may be in for a mass die-off before the century's out, but i wrote a good long blog post tonight, so, really, everything's fine isn't it? i feel fine, anyway, mostly - perhaps there's a shadow in the peripherals, but i can ignore it - i mean, i should get to bed, i gotta get up at 6 and be at work at 7, to earn my paycheques to pay my rent so i can have a fridge to fill with food to continue this cycle of eating and shitting and watching videos, not television, but they're television videos, the internet gives me the option to make my life less schlocky and obnoxious but i still narcotize myself with screens - it's something this decade allows and i'm going with the flow

tired bout of late nite typing

world's getting small



my only use for the medium is... i'm not sure, actually



plenty of solitude, but i'm not doing enough with it



i know, i'll re-arrange furniture



the problem is... life itself



also, how i've come to accept

all the wrong things

and remained unwilling to accept
what could give me serenity
and by extension others, maybe


ghandi the solicitor

jonathan deon the cleaner, mastercard holder, behold, beyond beer holding, r&h holding

remembering things from the past, some of it not too distant

but it's only right and fair and true that i should be solo right now
but it's taking more of a toll than i've been inclined to admit

each evening i seem to be left with less



maybe it's these pills
i've got to get off the zoloft and trazadone and caffeine
well, certainly the zoloft and caffeine, if anything, the downers will be the last to go
only the coldest toes
but exerting that much control makes me tired to even think about

there's some comfort in this monochrome solo stability
got a new sock, new life
but the world's getting small

filigree

the grandest miracle of all... is how mundane everything seems... prostifunkstication, prestidigitation, californication, better red than dead --- the cup of life's got a hole in it ,,, if you listen closely, on a still twilight under a waxing gibbous moon, you can hear the douglas firs, moaning on my behalf, about that tequila i spilled in 2005 ___ oh, what a waste === i'll never get that agave back +++ i donated it to the groundwater of the salmo river ranch

it was the plain truth that in and around blinking things being bought by 'tards of varying stripes and bars there was a "brutal" time being had by this girl we were camping with - i found it cathartic to hear her say that, it was brutal, i'm sure, for her, and i would be there soon myself

and now i'm here, a different vantage, survived another seven years and it's almost time for Terence and the Mayans' end of the world calendrical concresence, the blueberry in the bagel, and i'm pretty sure nothing in particular’s gonna happen - thy kingdom come? thy will be done? i dunno, i still got shit i wanna do, i got projects, and i think it'll take me longer than til december 21st to get a good start on them - i got retirement years, god willing, i paid payroll tax for a fucking pension, and the 1% still think i'm a slacker who only wants hand-outs, and i think a good 40 or 50% of these people are in partial sympathy with that sentiment

in any case, it's an oddly familiar feeling of dank strangeness triggering verbosity on a flat landscape rendered in minimalist acrylic hue so frowned upon by the art establishment, oddly familiar, after so long in a squirming coil of failed missions to alpha centauri, oddly familiar to feel the possibility of a continuum spanning days, maybe weeks, where there isn't a big drama about whether i'm gonna do the life-and-death, win-lose-or-draw sobriety intoxication drama with the stately blue book in all its heft looming like a retrograde monolith - it's besides the point, it's just living in a gloomy muck of my own sick thoughts, but welcoming depression as an old friend, taking the dizzying step of admitting i'm in a rut, even if it sounds like i think that all the time, when really i don't

it's just crazy vantage, networked by vonage, chalk full of binders, more chalk than calcium, more chalk than vitamins, chalk it up to a temporary filigree, skydiving past the end-zone, gravity-assisted weightless showboat minstrel jive, plummet, thud, filigree for a wanna-be husky petroleum geologist detective hobo

homeopathological

identically indirect words of love - was it coincidental that the phrase 'you are loved' showed up on both ends of our indian summer birthday seasonette? that was a weird thing about that, how love was always expressed as a thing that can not be said directly, only hinted at in lingual lawyers tricks - but that was still something - there's documents to prove it, heart-rending cards, the hand-made kind, ache-inducing stuff i can't bring myself to look at so i keep it in drawers

Doctor Danger

What if I just changed my facebook name? Oh, what in heavens would the ramifications be? I'm Doctor Danger, I've got a PhD in throwing caution to said heavens, why would I even ask?

What if that theory was true, that I heard proposed, supposedly by Dr. Timothy Leary, via the movie Waking Life, that in the moments leading to death, the perception of time elongates, to somehow meet eternal life halfway in a spaghetti singularity of consciousness? well, that'd be bad news for the ones who died by self inflicted gunshots to the head, or uhm well, for any old gunshots to the head, or torso, or in fact, any kind of death in which the immanent failure of the body's vital organs triggers a flood of pain signals through the central nervous system, excepting those of us who've been shown by the angel of death how a tender shave with the scythe, so close and creamy, can feel so good out of body in a null-space netherworld flotilla of right neighborly supRA-ledge omni thought buddies, a whole nother level above supER, and we're laughing at the sunking who fell from godhood, landed in kaliflorida, suffused with a felt presence of immediate experience that's so convenient for a dilated death-dive, not defying anything but surrendering, and it just so happens, it's a winning move, check, mate

but what neither of us know will fill the back issues of discover magazine, and all the news that's fit to print, but i'm holding out for santa claus anyway, just in case

look at how sentence case morphs, like a game of tetris, from conventions to ramshackle convents housing regularly scheduled episodes of deterioration. If I'd taken the iron pill I'd be blaming this uncomfortable gut feeling on that. Maybe the gut is plunging periscopes into a membrane of reality. Effects, affects, defects, prefects,
it all went downhill when i stepped in the same river twice, didn't i?
yes, i did, and it did all go downhill at approximately that time
at roughly the same spot in the same river, aayaand,,,
talk to yourself some more, cause this is the time to do it

...another day slipped through my fingers. dot pollution
that's okay, it's just a day

Learning to live on rocket fuel

What is happening? Despair, that is the inevitable consequence of genetic decay. We're down to a quarter life now. And I'm somehow worst of all, a trough under the heavy bottom. Our children will curse our name? Yeah, maybe. That's what I'm thinking about. And irradiation. And hot things and things that give off things that Geiger detectors detect that make everything cancerous in a few days. "Sheer exhaustion", finally, what death comes from, what a horrific phrase. . Cc. ., ., .., ..., . Z z - z y

I had to put the book down, "on the beach", it was too disturbing. And not in the way that an apocalypse dramatization normally is. In a quieter more insidious more real way, like not a sanaTIZED mass death, but rather dreary sanity intersecting that death, made somehow sharper when people are trying to milk their last months racing sports cars in dangerous and deadly rallies and there's a little humour in it, but a kind of cold British type that's delivered without a smile.

It hasn't all caught up to me yet. But actually, at least locally, the amount of stuff that has to catch up is decreasing logarithmically. And look what I've already got over! This is nothing compared to that!

sorry about the gouge in the wall

i'd like to say it won't happen again

so i will

and you'll like to hear it

but of course something like that'll happen again

cause secretly, it's a thing i stupidly like about myself

that stupid recklessness

there's method to the madness

that method being, to go mad, that involves methodical work on superfluous selfish things and things peripheral to that, a fuzzy cloud of delirium and lukewarm fever

but there's always an abyss in nullspace in a select few nanoseconds that's an ephemeral home to dreams that are almost a consolation - but mostly fever - and so much sweat - and urinary delusions - piss paranoia - hearing loss - a heavy head - loaded with blanks

what is a statesperson?

does a statesperson imperfectly implement a solution to a problem not everyone can agree upon? the infuriating and confusing thing is that within the varying degrees of practicality are all kinds of things, hideous and beautiful, and we, us common lay people have got to come to our own decision, about which one is the one we're gonna take