Hi.

That once a week crying thing I do..

... doing it now at 1:28 AM.

Imagination of a boy

I am the imagination of a boy 

too old to be a boy 

I'm cool as fuck 

mysterious

my soul tastes like sugar, baby

mainline me maybe 

break me 

like a third world insurgency 

and i'll write shitty punk songs about you 

that i'll stick in the mouth of some dude 

I play on Twitter 

cuz normie Twitter is lame 

and so is this life thing

c'mon, let's be real 

in the only way possible 

at the hour of late night radio in the 90s 

about psychedelics and demons 

in the only way possible 

when you're so lonely 

that you do this shit 

life and it's lameness 

tell me what the fuck that means to you 

and maybe i'll fall in love with you 

and we can be scared together 

and righteous 

and kinky 

we'll text each other and play cooler versions of ourselves to each other 

and it'll be hot as fuck 

and that'll be a thing that happened 

be one of those things you worship 

and don't remember quite right 

because 

sometimes that's all you got keeping you alive. 

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. 

reblog to share a fat blunt with ur mutuals

I want to write an essay. 

What about? I don’t know. I think I can do it though. It is going to take some trying and some discipline from me though. 

https://youtu.be/-65HmxjIzPI

Funny as hell.

Slightly Different

Monday morning and Eugene Debs is whisperin’ in my ear

The word is fuck. 

Fuck this. Fuck the boss. Fuck the Benjamins but save some for me, will ya? 

When it’s just about all you can say

When you ain’t got a prayer but mama says ‘em for you anyway

FUCK 

She whispers it in the dark

and then screams it 

fuck yeah. 

Fuck. 

Can’t say it in front of everybody 

It’s special like that, ya dig? 

Me. Haven't posted regularly in years but this is me.

Hey.

The Day Job I Ain’t Quitting

I do not feel like doing this today. The only thing that seems to be possible is dog shit doggerel. 

I will try today and I will be proud that I tried and then maybe I’ll try tomorrow and maybe the next day after that and then I’ll give up and feel this maddening restlessness.

I fear this whole thing becoming like my diary. The diary that some of you happen to get to read. Is it so bad if it does become like that? Maybe not. 

Okay. Focus, dog. Focus. 

Does it really fucking matter if I focus? This isn’t an article in Rolling Stone. I’m not Matt Taibbi chronicling the unraveling of the American economy back in 2008. I read shit like that and I think, “Fuck. I wish I could have done this.” I’m not Chris Hedges writing some beautiful Jeremiad about all the ways America is spiritually bankrupt. 

Fuck that. I’m not going to talk about what I’m not and what I’m never going to be. That doesn’t matter. I’m going to talk about what I am. What do I do?

I’m some company’s computer guy. They need IT (I.T. not the clown), they come to me. It’s me. Just me. It’s a one man band. Maybe some day it will be the basis of some narly off, off Broadway one man show about how the office computer guy slowly becomes this crazed motherfucker who hears the voice of God. What does God say? Death to capitalism. Ya know, if God said that then I would have to conclude that he truly is God. Anyway. Focus. 

Focus. 

I can take a computer apart and almost put it back together. It’s not hard. If you come to me with a computer issue, I can usually zero in fairly quickly on what exactly is broken. Look, it’s like this, okay? I’m not some wizard that is going to code some app that is going to make me insanely rich. No idea how to do that. The computer stuff is my most practical skill. That’s just about the only thing I can do that I’ve figured out how to monetize. I think that’s about the only thing I can do that makes money. 

This current gig is the most responsibility I’ve ever had in any job. It’s just me. There is no one to pick up my slack. I don’t call in sick even if I feel like it. I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m barely a computer guy. Sometimes I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Thing is though, I make up for that with my people skills. I build rapport. I charm. I play the role. I look the part. Stocky nerd with glasses but with passable personal hygiene. 

I go in and recede into the required persona. Friendly nerd with okay computer skills who idolizes MacGyver. They got no idea. They don’t need to have any idea what I really am. 

It could be worse. Seriously. I could be someone with nothing at all that is marketable. 

I hate that I even have to think that. Shit. I hate that anyone has to think that. 

Yeah. I’m underpaid. If I had a choice, I’d never work for a wage another day of my life. 

I’ll tell you what though. Somebody comes to me all stressed the fuck out over something that is going to keep them from getting their work done and I fix it? Shit. I think on that too much, I kinda feel myself getting misty. I’ll walk through the halls and get the respectful nod from people I’ve pulled out of the fire in the past and it kinda makes it worth it. 

Look, you gotta understand. You are reading the words of a guy who has not held down a job for more than 6 months since 2012. Do you have any idea what happens to the soul of a person who can’t hold down a job in 21st Century America? I can say that it rots but that’s not accurate. I can’t describe it.

Fuck. I really wish that the ability to work was not a prerequisite for dignity. 

I can feel myself getting angrier by the minute because I feel like I’m still accepting the precepts of this insidious and inhumane capitalist system. I feel like I’m weaving this tale of a man who was a flake but who battoned down the hatches and became not a flake. I went from a flake to a good employee. 

FUCK THAT. 

I get to have dignity cuz I breathe. I get to have dignity cuz I’m here and I didn’t ask to be here. I get to have dignity cuz I can bleed and I can cry. 

Fuck you, Ben Shapiro. I just felt like saying that. Fuck that guy. 

I have a day job that I can sorta stand. 

I don’t know if I believe in miracles but that’s pretty close. 

Strumming a guitar in a dimly lit room. A little stoned. Slightly stoned. Just a little.

Strum the guitar.

Think of how I might give you multiple orgasms.