Someone Will Always Think You’re Full Of Shit. That’s Okay. 

reblog to share a fat blunt with ur mutuals

Monday, Fuckin’ Monday

If my chest ever caves in and I find myself standing before the wrong God, it’s probably gonna be on a Monday. 

Monday is for bad shit. It shouldn’t really be that way, should it? Nah, it shouldn’t but it is. It should be for staying in bed, if you want to. It shouldn’t be for dread. It shouldn’t be about living to suffer. It should be about watching dogs be all happy with their heads sticking out the window in the passenger seat of a car. It should be about petting strange cats. It should be about taking some time to cry if you need to.

See, that’s why I think we need to quit this capitalism shit. It’s way overrated and it’s profoundly evil. I suspect most everybody who has ever worked knows in their heart how fucked up it is. They know it ain’t right. They know the game is rigged but they keep playin’ the game because they don’t know anything else. They can’t imagine anything else. I don’t even know if I can imagine anything else. The word faith just popped into my head. Faith. What the fuck is faith for me? Belief that something better is possible. I’m not talking about the idea that some day I’ll be brave, sexy and rich. No. A better world. 

I woke up this morning mildly stoned. I always tell myself that I will not get so fucking stoned on a Sunday night but I never listen to myself. I could be wrong but I think it’s quite possibly a bad idea to be even a little high at work. Who wants to be stoned in an office building? Let me tell you, it’s not fun to come into the office at 7 AM and get told that everything is on fire and you are the one that’s going to put it out. I’ve had that happen and lived to tell about it. Oh god damn it. Not this. I don’t need this. Beads of sweat on the back of my neck. Fuck. Why did I come to work today? Cuz I’m tryin’ to be an adult. I haven’t missed a day. People think I’m reliable. People think I’m personable. People think I know my shit and I kinda need all that because on paper I’ve been a bum for like 5 years and I’m trying to quit that. Okay. Let’s do this. You got this, brotha. You got this. 

Yeah. Nothing happened today. Nothing that made me sweat. I spent a lot of time looking busy and some time actually working and I just ran out the clock and now I’m here typing this. 

Guess most everybody who is everybody hates Mondays. That might be true but I don’t find a lot of solace being a member of that club. Typically, I just want to get the fuck home and sleep it off. It was alright though. Maybe tomorrow the devil will decide to fuck me up. God, I hope not. 

I’m one neurotic son of a bitch. It’s not good. I should probably be talking to someone. 

I guess I could be more well adjusted. I never want to be too adjusted though.

It’s a queer thing. What’s a queer thing? Glad you asked. I live in mortal terror of some stressed out motherfucker who can afford to play golf coming to my desk to yell at me but see, there is all this crazy shit going on in the background. 

The President is talking crazy and sinister. You know it ain’t normal. You know you can sense evil. You know the substance of that shit. You tell people you got a bad feeling. People tell you not to worry. 

People are being put in cages but it’s people without power. It’s people who don’t speak English. Bad shit happens in these cages but see, it’s people that society is comfortable un-personing. It’s them today but who the fuck is it gonna be tomorrow?.

You know you’ve seen this guy before. He’s some kinda archetype. He’s a manifestation of the worst parts of all of us. Sometimes you find yourself yelling till you’re hoarse but you get told to calm the fuck down. 

Truth be told, I got no clue what to do. I know there is so much going on outside of myself. I’ve podcasted my rage and my concern. I’m a dues paying member of the local chapter of Democratic Socialists of America and hell, I may even have to start turning up at meetings. I have an ACLU membership card in my wallet. I’ve donated money to striking teachers. I know all of that is so very, very little. 

As I type this, the song Holding out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler is playing on a loop. The words seem sinister to me in the place where my head is at. The idea of a hero riding upon a fiery steed seems fashy as fuck. 

There were some twists and turns here, right? 

I’m really tempted right now to just write the words “Monday fuckin’ Monday” and be done with this. Yes, that would be really lazy. 

Monday, fuckin’ Monday. 

Leaned forward. Heartbeat thump. thump. thump. Action. Controller in hand. Rocket League. Maybe this clipped style isn’t as cool as I think it is. Maybe it just sounds weird or contrived or not real. 

I’m watching the game all so closely. Supposedly there are levels to meditation. Maybe I’m experiencing what a monk feels when he is about to really go somewhere. Chill. Chill. Focus. 

I ask myself what I need to do? What is my job in this situation? Clear the ball. Challenge. Aim there. I see the shots lining up for me before they even line up. Never saw any of that before. Couldn’t slow down enough to actually see it. 

I become aware of the pop punk blaring in my headphones as I play. Off With Their Heads. The song is Clear the Air.  For the first time, I actually hear the lyrics.

I never feel happy, I never feel safe I can't let myself ever stay in one place I look in the mirror and I see the face Of a failure who will never be significant The face that you see from the morning to night Is the mask that I put on to hide what's inside I don't take it off until you fall asleep I don't want you to see what lives inside of me 

That reads like angsty teenage journal shit but man, I can sorta believe a real person would write that. Sorta. I thought about the way I would deliver those lyrics. How I would read them, sing them, really sell them. Make you believe them. 

This is me just slowing down and noticing things. We’re most alive when we notice things. Did you ever notice that? 

Was a good day. It was a day I could half-way breathe. I handled what needed to be handled and then I went home. 

The air is hot. I’m just in here with me. 

For some reason, I talk a lot at work today. I talk way more than usual. I make people laugh. I get told I’m funny. I get told that I should do stand-up. I confess that in my 20s, I sorta tried that. I told him it didn’t go so well because I half-assed it and I didn’t have a god damn thing to say. He asked me if I think I do now. I said, yeah but I didn’t have anything unique to say. 

I didn’t try so hard at stand-up. Maybe it wasn’t for me. I don’t know. 

Thing is though, I took some risks in the way that I perform me and someone liked it. 

I like that. 

That was cool. 

Due to a mix-up that is too stupid to explain, my appointment never happened. 

Memorial Day

Yeah. It's Memorial Day weekend.

Fuck American Sniper.

Fuck Boeing.

Fuck Raytheon.

Fuck the NFL and its camouflage shit for "da troops."

Fuck John Bolton, that demonic Colonel Sanders looking motherfucker.

Fuck the drone strikes.

Fuck the chills you get up your spine whenever you hear our lame-ass national anthem that doesn't even slap.

Fuck that verse in said anthem that taunts slaves who dared pick up a weapon and fight for their freedom.

Fuck the Blue Angels.

Fuck Henry Kissinger.

Fuck that yellow ribbon.

Fuck the war they plannin' in Iran.

Fuck Blackwater.

Fuck Erik Prince.

Fuck Barack Obama.

Fuck Manifest Destiny.

Fuck Pete Buttigieg and his tour in Afghanistan.

Fuck every pundit who calls Trump (Fuck Trump too, of course) Cadet Bone Spurs.

Fuck the idea that killin' for the colors that don't run makes you a real man.

Fuck 'these colors don't run' bumper stickers.

We're not the rebels.

We're the Empire.

Fuck your jingoistic logic.

Fuck the gods of war.

Fuck the dark, patriotic elixir that makes people lose their damn mind.

Fuck your lectures about being disrespectful.

Yeah.

Let's be pro-life.

Let's hug.

Let's cry.

Let's feed all the kids.

Let's be strong and beautiful.

Let's do what we want to.

Fuck heroes.

Mourn the dead.

Say never again

And fuckin' mean that shit.

Unknown

I’ve only been doing this thing for a week. Somehow it feels longer than that. 

I feel like an itch has been scratched. I feel like I ain’t got no itches to scratch today. None. Is that a sign of trouble? 

I guess boredom, shit. No. This isn’t boredom. I don’t know what this is. I swear I’ve been aware of a keener sense of myself lately. No matter how keen your sense gets, you still find that your sense isn’t all the way calibrated. There are uncharted waters within you. 

Maybe this is just being chill. Maybe this is how most people are. 

There is another state of being I sometimes find myself in though it is rare. This is the state of being unfuckwittable. I’ll try and describe that to you some other day because right now there is no fucking way I’m going to be able to do that justice. 

I can’t do most things justice. 

I wasn’t even going to try this today. I was just going to leave it but that seemed like a bad idea. 

I sit here at my desk. Daily Mix 3 playlist from Spotify is blaring and I keep hitting repeat on a particular song. I don’t know why. Not in Love by Crystal Castles. Sometimes I kinda nod my head to it and sometimes I low-key white boy dance to it. The words don’t really speak to me. I can’t really speak to the beat or the musical qualities of this composition because I’m laughably unqualified. 

I find myself thinking of ending montages in TV episodes. Ya know, shots of the characters with little or no dialogue in the closing minutes of the episode as some song plays. 

Yeah. That’s it. Drive safe. 

I sorta tried. Sorta. 

God damn it. It’s just too hot these days. Everything will melt into nothing some day. Some of us will be left alive while we watch the rich and the powerful launch themselves into space to escape this rock. 

Or maybe not. Who knows? As the great Yogi Berra said, “It’s hard to make predictions, especially about the future.” 

My brain is fuzzy. My brain is like a huge bag of cotton balls. I just want to go into a dim room and drift off into dreamland. Maybe I’ll see you there. I’m making my peace with this day. I’m ready to say goodbye to it. Just let it go wherever days go to die. This day was unremarkable. It did not offend me but I sure as hell will not leave flowers on its grave. Of course, Monday will pull a Lazarus and come forth again. Jesus is too righteous to take bribes.

I’ve failed at a lot of things. That’s not me beating up on myself. That’s just a simple statement of fact. I haven’t really tried sincerely at a lot of things. I’ve half-assed a lot of things. 

Debating is for nerds. I can’t do it. 

I feel like I’m barely not a normie. That’s a weird place to find yourself. The weirdos weird me out way too fucking much and the normies just fucking bore me. 

Actually, most everyone bores me. Married folk. Single folk. Serial killer groupies. Lana Del Rey fans. Trekkies. Gamers. BDSM freaks. 

WHAT THE HELL YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT, MAN? YOU DON’T TALK TO ANYBODY. 

Just vibin’, man. Relax. Just playing with these here words. That’s all I’m doing. It’s like that guy who sits alone in his apartment and strums his guitar.

Mid-July

On a summer night in mid-July

the asphalt cools from the day’s baking

and a man recovers from a day that ends in y.

Legs crossed on the floor like when he was a kid

Window is ajar and the breeze is sweet mercy.

Mercy hard to come by

even in mid-July

if you live long enough.

Money

from my blood, my sweat, my crazy 

deposited in the bank account 

of somebody in another ZIP code

in the months I used to just chill back in the day. 

Back in the day is what feels okay 

Back in the day to make ‘em spend their pay 

to make ‘em feel like they used to 

before things got sinister and weird 

and too damn expensive 

and not worth it 

back when it was all in front of ‘em 

and lookin’ like a shiny kingdom of love and sugar

It's a weird life. That's all it is.