Maybe I Should Have More Swagger, More Attitude. 

The problem with school is that it doesn't teach you to be a human being.

Tuesday

I woke up before my alarm today. Damn. Isn’t that a sentence that just grabs your attention? You want to keep reading, don’t you? You gotta start somewhere. I woke up way before my alarm. I could have gone back to sleep but I decided to just get the hell out of bed. I wanted some extra time to fill up my tank. Having to stop for gas when you’re in a hurry gives me mad anxiety like so many things do. As a result, I end up in the office early. I’m typing away at my thoughts but to the untrained eye, it might look like I’m hard at work at some arcane IT task. People might be thinking, that boy works hard. That boy shows up early. That boy is going places.

Monday was uncharacteristically gentle. The world be fuckin’ with me. The world be slow rollin’ me into a false sense of security and then BAM! I’m asking my doctor if Paxil is right for me. Sometimes things go okay. Sometimes they even go well. I don’t ever trust it. The world always be up to some shit, ya dig?

The world is mundane and strange at the same time. Everybody goes about their business chasing nickels and dimes while the next apocalypse or whatever the fuck happens in slow motion. Life really does just go on.

Sometimes I wonder if somebody is going to stumble across this and recognize me and then it occurs to me that people who kinda sorta know me might read this. The fact of the matter is that some of what I’ve written here is cringe-y. I’m just going to have to live with that.

I look at my LinkedIn profile and that’s my name. I really wrote that stuff on my profile. I don’t really recognize that guy. I hate LinkedIn. It feels strange to say that I hate the corporate world when I barely exist in it really. I’m barely in it. I’m low-level but I think I’m okay being here. I don’t really have too much of a desire to go any higher. It occurs to me that I’m fairly good at playing a role. I’m good at occupying a role satisfactorily. I guess my work persona is that of a semi-techy Mr. Rogers. Pretending. Double-lives. That’s sexy, isn’t it? Or is it? Day dreams about being a spy. Not James Bond shit. More like The Americans. Day dreams about infiltrating some drug operation in 1980s Miami. Modern but still retro reboot of Miami Vice. I’ve watched far too much TV. It’s only recently that I’m realizing just how much that has fucked me up.

Double lives? I wonder what kinda double lives people have here. Not even double lives. Just secrets. Drugs. Freaky sex stuff. Honestly, the only thing that interests me right now is drugs and freaky sex stuff. See. There is TV messing with my mind again. People are people. They are not characters in some shitty prestige TV drama on HBO. Real life is just real life.

I’m not always busy at this job. Sometimes things move slow. I’m always conscious of how busy I look. I always try to look occupied. No matter how slow it gets, you will not catch me playing games on my phone or on my computer. That shit looks bad. I will mutter things to myself that are technical so that it looks like I am chewing on some problem for someone upstairs. The last thing that I need is someone wondering what I’m being paid to do. I also get up and walk around so that people see me. I figure it looks weird if I just sit in my cubicle all day.

I’ve written just over 600 words today. I suppose that’s a good thing but there is very little in the way of insight in any of these words. Of course, I didn’t have a clear objective. I guess what this comes down to is making writing a habit. I want to make writing a habit because it satisfies me. It makes me feel better. I like the effect it has on my mind. There probably never will be a time that I’m not some neurotic mess but maybe I can do something with that.

Maybe I'm doing something right.

Maybe.

I don't fucking know though.

You feel me?

Can't even dress it up.

Anything that ever worked wasn't cuz of the white boy in me.

I wanna mean that.

Loosely connected thoughts.

Back to the lab again.

Just tryin' to live.

She told me, "May you find your worth in the waking world."

I picked up the controller again.

She shook her head and insisted I had learned what I needed to learn.

The waking world.

Back to the world.

To try and live.

Ordinary man.

Trying to live.

That's all.

I sit down here and I try this. Type my thoughts. Try to dress ‘em up like Fonzie or a monk who just got it. Thing is, usually I’m going nowhere. I’m not Fonzie. I’m not a monk. I’m not the hero. The world is full of people who think they need to be the big-dicked hero. 

We. We>me. 

I say that as I tickle these here keys all alone. Are we all these people having heroic fantasies all alone? We’re all Luke Skywalker staring at the horizon. Maybe it’s time to cut that shit out. Maybe we need to cut it out because it’s dangerous. 

I remember. Nah, I half-remember. Shit, maybe this never happened. I remember a Saturday Night Live Christmas parody. It was a parody of those holiday specials with the clay people. I dunno. Do you know what I’m talking about? Aight. There was a line that stuck with me. I don’t remember the context. I just remember the line, “It’s not about you, you douchebag.” 

IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU, YOU DOUCHEBAG. 

Maybe I’m way off here but that’s the heart of pure, undefiled religion right there. Of course, what happens with religion is people get transfixed by the messianic figures. That’s all they see. They try to see themselves in the messiahs. 

Went somewhere. Somewhere. Got lost there though. Might not be able to go any farther. 

Additional Notes on How I Learned to Love the Lord

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what I wrote earlier today. Mostly I’m not too satisfied with it. I feel like things could have been more lucid and more interesting. There was so much that I could have said that I did not end up saying. 

Faith or lack thereof is a challenging thing to express. There was a lot that just got lost or at least that’s my feeling. 

The story that I told myself as a Christian was that I was a reformed criminal that found redemption. Reformed criminal? I was a kid that did something dumb but in my mind, I might as well have been knocking over liquor stores or have been some kind of budding serial killer. I had a desire to convey to people what a wretched sinner I was if I ever got the chance. I look back on this and I’m both amused and disturbed. 

People give reasons for doing things. I don’t know that I buy too many of the standard answers given about why someone takes the dive for J.C. especially if it is couched in theologically “correct” language. People can say that they became conscious of their sinful nature and of their need for a savior but I often suspect there is a more interesting, more honest, more genuine reason. If someone tells me they believe simply because they like Jesus or it just kinda seems correct or just wants it to be true then I respect that a lot more than some bullshit they half remembered from a text book or a tract or something. Wow, this paragraph sucks. Moving on. 

My faith was nonsensical. It was utter bullshit. It basically revolved around feeling guilty for having sexual desires. I got really tired of hating myself for natural desires so I kinda just said fuck it and quit. Hating myself for liking the idea of sex made no sense. I wasted a bunch of time hating myself for a stupid reason when I should have been hating myself for being a Republican. 

The marriage between evangelical Christianity and conservative politics is an awful thing. It’s destructive. It baptizes ideas like peace through strength, low capital gains taxes, gutting the social safety net and other abominations that make the world a terrible fucking place to live. I can’t be part of that no matter how bitchin’ those praise songs are. 

It’s ultimately just not a very adult way of looking at the world. Adult is the wrong word. I just don’t think it’s a very honest way of looking at the world. 

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. 

One day 

I can awaken from the dream

and I’ll be a YouTube star. 

My idiosyncrasies will be viral 

and my soul will be trademarked. 

Maybe I can buy myself a seat 

on The Muskrat’s space boat to Mars 

and I can suffocate 

with the richest 

and the sexiest 

while the people left behind watch 

while the minds that coded all the killer apps 

die well-dressed. 

Maybe I’ll upload 

in some time, some place 

that’s warm 

and that ain’t so cruel 

and that’s broken in some way 

that’s easier to fix. 

Maybe one day 

I can awaken from the dream 

as a man 

who sorta knows what to do 

sorta knows the truth 

sorta knows how to love. 

Tucker “Heil Trump” Carlson

I woke up irritable and thinking of Tucker Carlson’s stupid fucking face. It’s the weekend. It’s god damn lamentable that my thoughts are dominated by that soulless motherfucker. 

I struggle. I chase my nickels and my dimes. Dolly Parton sang that workin’ 9 to 5 was a hell of a way to make a living. It is. You do what need to and then in the background, you got Tucker Carlson corrupting the minds of your parents and your grandparents with hatred for The Other, immigrants from Mexico and elsewhere in Latin America. 

I loath Tucker Carlson. I would not mind him undergoing some kind of Damascene conversion. That would possibly be a beautiful thing but real life isn’t a movie. Real life is messier and sadder and dumber. I doubt he has it in him. Barring some kind of Damscene moment where he comes to see the strangers in our land as not strangers but brothers and sisters, I would love to see Tucker Carlson and others like him hit with urine filled balloons everywhere that they go. 

The Tuck is on my mind because I saw a clip of him last night where he basically called undocumented immigrants trash. It’s not surprising. The man does possesses a seriously kinked social conscience but it’s chilling. It’s clear to me that what we’re seeing is an insidious campaign of de-humanization aimed at undocumented immigrants. 

I’ve said it before but it’s hard for me to shake. We all live our lives. We deal with all the insignificant bullshit that comes with that but in the background, the way is being paved for horrifying crimes against humanity. We shouldn’t kid ourselves. The crimes are already in progress.

I’m no expert on the infamous Rwandan genocide but I’m reminded of the fact that Rwandan media executives were convicted of inciting genocide. See, the poison that was being put out over the airwaves primed the population to grab machetes and go out killing. 

Do I think that we might see vigilante mobs going out to kill Latinos? We’re about one Fox & Friends segment away from something like The Purge. Okay. Yeah. Maybe I’m completely wrong about that but you can’t just write people like Carlson off as harmless clowns. We do that at our peril. 

Midweek in lieu of more imaginative title

I haven’t been reading over my words too much lately. I often do while in the course of writing them but it’s pretty rare that I revisit them after the fact. I think that probably needs to change. I read over the words I wrote yesterday about faith and lack thereof. Things were more lucid and interesting than I initially thought but there was more awkwardness and lack of clarity than I’m comfortable with. Things that read clumsy get on my nerves. Unfortunately, it seems to me that I’ve got a knack for that sort of thing. It’s frustrating. It pisses me off but it’s not like I’m trying to make a living here. Language that is just functional bothers me. I like it to have flair, swagger, style, musicality even. I guess it can’t always. I guess it depends on what the hell it is you’re trying to do. Maybe I’ll get on firmer footing with this. It has been awhile since I’ve actually tried at this. Of course, I’d contend that I’ve never really tried.

There are things I don’t want to do. There are places I do not want to go with this.

I don’t want this to degrade into pounding out “hot takes” on current events. I’m absolutely nobody. Nobody cares what I have to say about the horrors of the age. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll never comment. I’m not above breaking my own rules. If somebody shoots up a school or some other place like probably happened today somewhere in America (Fucked up, right?), do you really need me to tell you how awful it was? Do you really need me to ruminate about how surreal and terrifying life in Trump’s America is. You don’t. You’ve got people with more expertise and talent than me to do that. The other thing is I’m invariably going to read an issue of Current Affairs (look that one up. Good magazine.) or listen to an episode of Chapo Trap House or Citations Needed (Great podcasts. Listen to them.) and my take is going to be influenced. When I had short-lived podcasts of my own, it essentially became this frustrating exercise in “hot takes” on current events. I definitely delivered them in my own style but it felt very derivative and pounding out “hot takes” is exhausting.

It seems pretty inevitable that I’m going to re-tread ground I’ve already been over. How many times can you read that I just don’t want to go to work? That I’d rather chill in a dimly lit room? That pretty much describes every single day since I’ve been conscious.

Of course, I think maybe I’m catching myself engaging in “market thinking.” I’m under no obligation to make this interesting in the least. I’ve said that this is not my diary or my journal but it essentially functions that way and I’m some weirdo that has inexplicably given the public access to my inner thoughts. It does not get more non-commercial than that. Still, if this gets boring or tired, just remember that you’re getting what you paid for.

Friday reflection

I re-read my story of the fight with the printer. 

I dig how soaked in style it is. I dig the voice. Even though it was a really mundane incident, I like how inspired it felt. Of course, I don’t really know how it reads to anyone else. You might read that and think, “God. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Really?” 

It also occurs to me my tendency to freak the fuck out about pretty much any motherfucking thing. Let me tell you, It’s not an easy thing to live with. It’s a bitch from hell. I don’t want to sound like I’m martyring myself but what you read there, while the dramatic flair is turned up a few notches, is a fairly accurate portrayal of what my internal world can be like. If it were possible, I’d love to visit someone else’s internal world and see what it’s like for them. What is their internal monologue like? How do they speak to themselves? 

I tend to be pretty harsh. 

“C’mon, you dumb motherfucker. Think.” 

As you can imagine, that doesn’t do me any favors. I’ve been to therapists here and there. They always bring up self-talk and all that. Be nice to yourself. I never really got good at that. I’m so far into the way I do things mentally that I can’t even imagine what doing it different would look like. 

There is a desire in me to do something other than these navel gazing sessions but I have no idea what that is. 

This whole thing seems a bit adolescent. There is a bit of an eye wink at that with doing this thing (whatever it is) on Tumblr. I occasionally joked with people about how, “I’m totally gonna post on Tumblr about this later. Well, here I am. Maybe what I’m going to end up with is a chronicle of me maturing. Maybe I’ll just become more self-aware. Maybe I’ll end up a threat to the system. 

Heh. I’m just messing with you. Smile, okay? Fist bump me. C’mon. It’s cool. I’m just messing with you. I was going to go really far with that sudden shift in tone there, like maybe start talking about an angry manifesto or something but I don’t want to freak anybody out. I don’t know how this is really reading. I’m honestly am joking though. 

I’m not funny. I can make people laugh sometimes but I don’t know how you really do that. I don’t know if anybody who can really knows how it works. Imagine understanding that at a deep level. I wonder what it’s like to understand anything at a deep level. Mostly I just have a vague idea about a few things but I could be nobody’s guru. 

I was browsing Netflix. Instead of watching something, I’m writing this. There really isn’t a damn thing I need to be watching. 

This is a man thinking. Have some respect. Wish him luck. 

I could say this is a man shadow boxing but that’s bullshit because I’m not a boxer. That’s me appealing to something manly because I’m not the bad ass warrior even someone like me thinks they are supposed to be. I’ve taken a punch without crying though. I can take a lot of abuse. See, I’m doing it. Damn. So fucking dumb, right? Shit. I’m smarter than this. I’m wiser than this. 

I was sober when I started writing this and now I’m not. Go back and re-read this. When do you think I started feeling it? If you really went back up and tried to re-read that, thank you. That’s really god damn cool of you to play along. 

Alright. Get ready for some next level shit. You ready? Fuck. Got nothing. I thought of how to proceed there but just came up empty. I thought of several things but none of it felt too natural or clever to me. 

How the fuck is this going to read to me tomorrow?

WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING? 

Do you know what the fuck I’m doing? 

Confusing the reader. Wink and pantomimed finger gun thing. 

I could see this being really dumb and maybe irritating. I could see this being a serious waste of time. 

Peace. Drive safe.