SuicidalUtopia.com

MY KINGDOM FOR A FLASHLIGHT

Ah, well, there are, as of yet, enjoyable things to ponder…like how neat it is that girls fold up.  They just bend differently, which is good.  Pliability factor, creates male fascination with the unknown.  

I can’t do that, it’s so cool…I mean I really think men would look silly if we could do that.  But it looks good on them.  And how do they get their legs to shine, without nylons?  It’s just another great wonder of the world.

From birth we’re sexual beings, it’s really the reason we’re here.  It’s not to slog to work everyday, it’s not.  It’s to enjoy each other and procreate.  However, we end up slogging to work more than we do enjoying each other.

OK, ready for this: Media person Paula Zahn may be somewhat sexy.  But she’s a newsperson so this is bad, since we don’t take sexy people seriously.  I suspect it’s because we’re uptight diamond shitters here in the good ole’ U.S.  of A.  Take a look at European news, lots of good lookers.

And hey, the guys here aren’t butt ugly on the news, so why does everybody get all bent when a newspaper says Paula got to where she is partly on her looks…like this is some Earth shattering epiphany.

We’re sexual beings, we use sex to sell and that’s what news is, selling.  I’d rather watch a good-looking newsperson, so would you.  What the hell is the difference what the messenger looks like?  The news is being filtered by the same people so at least let the BS spew from attractive lips.

Do we really think that Paula and Dan or Wolf or any of them have any power to MAKE the news?  

Silly, we’re all very silly.  Katie Couric got about 4 trillion dollars to do that morning show…I like her, I’m glad she got it.  Is it because she's ugly?  No Katie is an all-American sweetheart, even if she says she got fired from Pizza Hut, she overcame that immensely trivial obstacle….  God bless her.

Who wouldn’t want to wake up with Katie?  Sex sells...  write that down.

Women are such a wonderful quandary right down to that little thing.  The thing equivalent to the male thing.  The clitoris, it feels dirty just writing that.  Yet, it’s just a female body part and woe to the man that doesn’t know at least what it is.  I know we don’t know how it works, there aren’t any directions.

It’s too bad it can’t talk.  Vaginas evidently can, they have monologues.  But, all they keep talking about is the same stuff that comes out of most women’s mouths.  I was really hoping for some enlightenment, but no.

Something like “and my friend just to my North likes to have this done, this way”.  Helpful stuff, but I’ve spent time on expeditions to that area and nary once has it spoken a word.  

No tips or words of encouragement.  And the friend to the North likes to play hide and seek.  There it is, nope, there it is, and nope…sounds of frustration emanate from the far North.

Stop squirming, this thing’s got a mind of it’s own and I know your going to critique my performance and I’m under a lot of pressure and I’ve got my best man on the job.  

It’s like a war zone down here, flashlight please?

Nope, just get down there! Right, I’ve seen horror movies, all their friends massacred and yet, there they go.  Tumbling into the dark basement, no lights, no map…nothing.  We all know this is not a good idea and yet…that’s the order: Just get down there! Fine…

No, OK…  I’ve got it surrounded it’s here…I know it.  Hey, is this a bad time to bring up the fact that they’re different sizes?  You guys make fun of us and, yet, you got the same problems.  

You just send us in with no instructions on a search and destroy mission and in order to complete this mission you must find the mythical happy-maker and subdue the enemy with vicious lashings.  Be careful, she’s slippery and oh, did we forget to mention if you're doing a good job, we're gonna raise the level of difficulty by squirming all over the bed.

There really should be restraints involved to make it fair…but I haven’t had any.  I’ve always had to perform this dangerous stunt freestyle, without a net.  Failure is not an option; the penalty is death by critique.

An extremely enjoyable game it would be, if it weren’t for all the pressure.  It’s not like we get a lot of practice time.  Nope, get in there and perform.  

Hey, I got a few questions.  What’s down there?  What in the hell are we supposed to do?  “Make me happy.” Oh, well, must be simple…yeah, like the meaning of life.  

It’s like OZ down there; it’s where you’ve always wanted to be, at the end of the yellow brick road.  But there’s no wizard helping?  No, just me behind the curtain pushing buttons and pulling levers.

It’s pretty easy to tell negative feedback, a knee or ankle jab…a kick or just a jerk.  Yeah, that’s easy.  Really?  No, those same elements are used to express joy.  OK, now what?  

Keep going.  

Keep going at which part?  

That part.  

Sit still.

 No.  

OK.  

Where the hell are you going?  

Right there.  

I know where I am.  Where did IT go?  

Right there.  

Thanks.

What the hell was that noise?  

Shut up.  

I’ve been shutting up, I’m snorkeling for the mythical happy-maker.  

Shut up, I’m almost there.  

Great, whatever…ah, there it is, contact is made.  There is life down here.  I’m not gonna lose that little bastard again, hang on to pelvic region.  Christ, we’re losing her Captain; I’m given her all she’s got.

It wasn’t a millimeter away from my tongue; it was there, laughing at me…taunting me.  Any idiot sailing West would’ve hit land and Columbus got a holiday named after him.

I’m just hoping my ordeal gets me a nap.

Why in the hell is she fighting me?  Oh, lord God; thank you…an orgasm.  Jesus, where did these bruises come from?  And a little blood, from my leg?  Hm, her toenails are done nicely, but a little sharp…oh, yeah, the kicking.  Right.

What?  Wait, no really, I’m honored.  Yes, sure…no problem, you want to be on top now.  Cool, no I’m ready, ugh…fine and what?  You want me to find that thing again?  With my hands?  Hey, no problem, I don’t suppose you’d consider getting that thing pierced?  Kind of like putting a leash on it…ya’ know, mark it for future reference.  

I was just down there; the Loch Ness Monster’s easier to find.  Sure, and now you want me to find it while on my back, with you on top, bouncing around…sure, no problem…not even a challenge…

Women got it easy, we’re very straight forward, much easier to operate.  And you guys make fun of us?

Oh, yeah, sex sells.  Britney Spears and all of her wannabes sell.  They sell to all men and some women and girls.  Yet we wander around in denial.  Give it to me one more time?  What the hell do you think she’s talking about?  Bob Dole in the commercial is blatantly turned on…but she’s not of age?  Or maybe she was, but who gives a crap?  Bob’s carbon dated.  But hey, more power to him, Britney turns my crank too.  The advertisers know it.

As I get older, I realize the women I thought were old aren’t and the ones I thought were just right still are.  And yet I’m sure some uptight hypocrite will point out some perversion.  The only perversion is an aversion to the truth.  If millions of people didn’t want to be her or be with her, she wouldn’t be on TV and we’d get somebody else.

Actually the media would just create somebody else.  Somebody sexier, more pleasing…more sexy, more saleable.

I have no problem with that.  Playboy and Hustler and hell, all of them…sex is here to stay people.  Quit fighting nature.  There's a reason 57-gazillion people buy the Sports Illustrated SwimSuit issue.

Jeesh…

Women are great though.  Man’s torment…the eternal puzzle.  Gotta love it…if we figured them out, what else would we have to do?  Slog off to work?  

We wouldn’t even have wars.  Women are the reason we fight.  To protect them, to nurture them, to give them cars and kids and money and stuff…if it weren’t for them we wouldn’t give a shit who controlled the world.

The world would be awash in beer and clothing stores and stores for everything we don’t want to wash.  We’d have one big intergalactic kegger down here.  But for the love of a woman.

Furthermore, to the males credit, we don’t sit around and talk about how you guys taste.  We could, we don’t.  

But the fairer sex blabs about penis size to friends to magazines to TV…penis size is everywhere.  Not once have I seen female taste testing…a social bias?  You bet, we men show some respect for our bed partners.  We take the high road when discussing your personals.

Imagine us as food critics.  How would you like it if we shared recipes?  Or the trauma suffered chasing that thing all over with you wailing and kicking.  

We deserve a little respect, not much, but a little.

I shall call all my vaginal ramblings: The Penile Monologues


DREAMS OF THE TIRED

I just have to wonder, 40’s almost here.  I wasted more time then most, and yet, maybe not.  But if this gets published, will I still have the energy or desire to pursue the rest of my list?

I ask myself, only because I wonder if this is how all dreams fizzle out.  We expend so much energy in pursuit, there’s nothing left.  Society provides so many obstacles, that if you finally break through, you just say fuck it and get a tan.

I realize we can’t save everyone, it just doesn’t work this way.  But a few little things would go a long way.  But I know I’m not extraordinary, so what the hell am I thinking?  What are others thinking?

Do we all just end up around the bar, drowning our dreams?  Is this how the status quo remains so?

It’s the way the Have’s want it…no change.  They’re piece of the pie keeps growing and ours keeps shrinking.  As long as they keep the masses fightin’ amongst themselves, the blacks, whites, Indians, Hispanics…we all fight for the same pie, nothing will change.  

Just enough trickles down, just enough for the 2.5 million to rule the 248 million.  That’s always been the case.

Communism was only for the masses, the ruling party lived a different life…the people finally stood together.  This is true of all successful revolts, but what’s also true is that things have to get bad enough to make the rifts between the masses trivial and thus unite to eliminate the cause of all these rifts.

But, there are so many obstacles, we just get tired.  We let monopolies grow and the power base strangles us and blinds us.  But, I take heart in the fact that this movement eventually will lead to changes for the masses.  

Because this is how it works…this is how history teaches.

Maybe it’s just not time, the masses are still fractured.  All the blinders are in place…so be it.  I know I’m not alone, but I see what’s coming.  Right now we’re divided, screaming for the scraps…me, me, me…but these are signs.

The biggest sign is the ever widening gap between the Have’s and the HaveNots…this is the true measure.  One day our eyes will meet in a collective “what the fuck?” Instead of give a little here to shit them up and take a little here…they’ll look down from their perch and see us…all of us.  I probably won’t be there…

Too bad, I’d like to see it.  

But we all get tired or just burn out and head to a tavern or into the arms of a woman…or just about anywhere that doesn’t involve bitch slapping our souls…


A SLIVER OF JOY

Not a perfect day.  None are.  But, Sarah Hughes reminds us what is good.  Pure unadulterated joy unleashed at the Olympics.  Innocence reigns supreme, she set herself free and our hearts on fire.

She was perfect, we needed that.  She deserved it.  Oh, to be 16 and talented and full of joy and get to express it all in front of the world…WOW!

What a great night for sports…in all it’s trivial glory.

She gave it all…nothing left and nailed it.  What we all wish for, a chance to show everything.  

Perfection, what is thy name?  Tonight…it’s Sarah Hughes.

We all needed that, it’d be nice to see it everyday.  But then it wouldn’t be special and besides…it’s not possible…

Put That In His Backyard

Yet, another flaw in our plan to change the world.  Our plans are not the same.

Woody Harrelson, funny guy, talented guy…perfect example of people using their exulted stature to preach…sorry, Woody, nothing personal.

Boycott Styrofoam.  OK, Woody and legalize pot and so on and so forth.  The issues are unimportant for picking on Woody.  Doesn’t matter what side you’re on.  What I find humorous is that Woody can’t say whatever he wants, he’s not going to be affected wither way.

Fuck cars, fuck oil companies, feed the starving, quit polluting, save trees eat pussy…what ever he wants.  Woody’s only one of our thousand of privileged that confuse privilege with some God given purpose to pontificate on any subject.

Woody already gets to smoke pot…hell, he can smoke most of his clothes in a pinch.  Furthermore, I’d like to smoke pot and drink with Woody and fornicate and whatever.  We all would, in some euphemistic way.

I’d like to put a pair of wire rimmed glasses on my ass, bendover and talk through my ass ala Jim Carrey…but, alas I don’t get taken seriously, because no one wants to pay me 20 million a movie.

I have some of my best world changing ideas when I’m about a few glasses of wine into the night.  

Thankfully, I sober up before someone sticks a microphone in my face.  If we don’t make Styrofoam, people lose jobs…if we save this owl, people lose jobs…Woody’s (now a euphemism for all talking heads) got millions of bucks.  He just jets off to some island with a babe and smokes…comforted that he has done good as these ,now, jobless people scramble to pay bills and feed their families.

Job well done.  In Woody’s defense, we’re all like that.  All these world saving ideas sound great until they affect us.  Then all hell breaks lose.

And, oh, how the mighty top 1% must laugh.  The masses scrambling to save owls and stop Styrofoam as they go about their business of making our lives just livable so we don’t kick their ass.

But, that’s life.  


HEY, WE ALREADY LIVE HERE!

There once was a small shire, in this shire were trees and houses and selfish, near sighted little people.

These little people lived across from some trees; these were special trees to those that lived across the street from the trees.  These were their trees, even though they didn’t own them.

They didn’t want anyone else to live in amongst these trees.  This would destroy their natural innocence.  The innocence the people that lived across the street had enjoyed for years for free.  This could not happen.

So these cute furry selfish people got together to stop other people from building their homes there.  Since it would interfere with there homes that they’d already built there and of course it occurred to them that they’d look selfish unless they claimed to be environmentalists, so they did.

The pointed fingers at the selfish people that wanted to live among the trees that they already lived amongst and called them rapers of the land.  As though nature had somehow invited these usurpers into its womb.  But as we know, it hadn’t.

Legal minds gathered and councils debated and it was all for the good of the trees! The media jumped on the bandwagon as these trees couldn’t defend themselves and all was well.

The evil people that wanted to build amongst these trees must be stopped at all costs; we must preserve hypocrisy for our children they claimed! And so they did.

Today, those that already lived there still do, no one else moved into the trees.  Yet, it cost all those in the shire millions of dollars to purchase this land, to save it.  Yes, save it.

And save it they did, and they celebrated saving it and no one talked of the millions they wasted or selfishness because the trees were saved and the millions were well spent and all was well.

No one cared that the only winners were those selfish few that lived in their houses among the trees and trespassed on the pristine land they did not own.  No one alerted the rest of the shire to the millions that had spent to save the trees, but no one cared, as no one knew, so blissful ignorance lived on.

No one cared that the ones that wanted to build on the land struggled, that this was their livelihood, that this is how they paid their bills and fed their families…it’s about the trees and nature they proclaimed.

Today, there is only one thing missing on the pristine land the shire spent millions to preserve and protect…the trees.

For the trees were losers too, all that remains is a pristine soccer field…a several million-dollar soccer field, so we assume it’s a very nice soccer field.

But, those poor trees, they’re gone…their selfish hypocritic defenders safely ensconced in their homes in the trees.

Woody would be proud, would Woody.

This is how it works.  The winners were a few people living across the street.  The losers were everyone else.  The trees are gone, so are millions of dollars.  Repeat this stupefying ordeal across America, do a little math and it’s pretty clear where billions of dollars can be found.  Although these dollars can’t recovered.

Why does Wisconsin have a billion-dollar budget deficit?  Beats me, we run a tight ship.  Lot of common sense being applied, raise taxes, cut here, blame there.  Keep in mind we can do wonderful things as long as these things don’t negatively affect anyone.  Then we can’t do good stuff and since everything affects someone, we can’t really do shit…except write tons of articles on the massive feral (stray) cat epidemic.

Feral Cats are the leading issue here…not the budget, or war, or starvation, or terrorism, or tuberculosis or Enron or legalizing pot…nope, it’s those damn cats.

I’ve learned a lot from all those articles.  I learned that killing the cats doesn’t shrink their numbers.  It creates a vacuum and then more cats move in.

Evidently subtraction doesn’t work deep within the vacuums between the ears of these writers.  If cats are killed there are less cats.  If they move into the vacuum its because there are no cats their.  That’s the nature of a vacuum, it’s empty.  So if we repeat this the vacuum will eventually remain empty.

UNLESS, humans continue to release their cats into the vacuum, which of course they will and have since we caused the problem.  But, instead these cats are now considered part of nature, which they are not, and vets are spaying these cats and releasing them back into the nature that doesn’t want them.  

Did I mention tuberculosis is making a come back?  Never mind, these cats need to be dealt with…maybe we could release them into the pristine natural soccer field sans trees???

So, do we really need people preaching to us that are beyond our problems?  Or people feigning interest in problems they have no investment or risk?  Evidently we do, they keep coming and we keep electing the same people and the machine keeps kicking us around and dividing us and it’s just one big fun-wheel we can’t get our foot out of.  And if we think about it, the machine kicks us silly and we get back in and keep getting kicked and its fun…that’s what they tell us, fun it is…


THE BEST WAY TO SEE A FUNERAL IS DEAD

Not even in death is their dignity.  We gather to mourn the loss of a life.  That’s what we’re there to do.  But, we are assaulted by hypocrisy even there…

I’m a-live-and-let-live guy, but the priest wasn’t.  All about his religion and telling us how much he loved us and the dead person and I had just read in the paper about the priest that was going to prison for sexually assaulting a ten year old boy and the 130 other possible charges for the same thing he’d done over the years and this all sounded a lot like bullshit.

That we were all going to ascend to the side of God and He was waiting for us and he works in mysterious way.  Yup, I agree there, take a look around.  Anything we can’t explain we usually dismiss, but chaos and evidence that God is at best ignoring us we just say, “He works in mysterious ways”.  Looks like he’s not working at all.

Six dogs killed a ten-year-old girl, this does not seem right.  Then again, neither do religions that say kill thy fellow man and get laid by virgins in heaven…sounds a little suspect to me…maybe even bullshit.

I expect the dead person to sit up and say “look, asshole, I’m trying to get in to see God today, can the bullshit and let my friends get on with their mourning or I’ll send Sam Kinison down to finish this for you”.

That would be an infinitely better finish.  But She doesn’t do that and the priest drones on and doesn’t get names of family members right and we are to ignore this and assume just because he can’t get the names of people here on Earth right he is somehow right about Heaven and people that lived a couple thousand years ago…this seems a bit of a stretch to me, and I have a few questions, but everyone seems to be buying it, so I sit and stand as requested and ponder why we still accept Darwin’s Theory and come to my own hypothesis that it’s just easier to accept than to ponder it might be wrong…

Never mind the mounting evidence that he’s wrong and the evidence that’s swept under the carpet, so as not to upset the apple cart and humanity.  So I’ll just accept it, for now…but I’m definitely not gonna read anymore books on the evidence that he was wrong and that it doesn’t work…I’ll read more fantasy stuff, it’s just easier to get through the day like the newspaper or news channels…oh, fuck, the news is horror/ camp, funny bullshit.

I'll just sit here in the dark.


TIME: THE GREATEST KILLER

Not many people left from the 19th Century.  None from the 18th.  Researchers noting this trend have today claimed TIME as being the greatest cause of death, surpassing natural causes.  

In their study researchers state that Time may not be on our side.  It continues to pass unabated and without concern for life.  Creams are being used to combat Time to no avail.  Injections hold promise as well a fountain they’re still looking for.

Old people are warned that their Time may be coming as it waits for no one and disregards our pleas.  Oddly, time can be up any time.

Liddy, she’s 104, has never been on a treadmill, hates vitamins, likes brandy, wine, bacon, salt, pepper, disdains workout videos and claims “you wouldn’t catch me dead in a gym, I like sex, but not gyms”.  How she made it to 104 is a quandary for researchers, who according to all our new studies and math should have died about 80 years ago.

They attempted to apply age-defying cream, but she still looked 104.  She agreed to try a vitamin drink but spit it out and poured a brandy.  Telling the researchers they were “fucking pathetic, if I drank this vita shit I’d have wanted to die years ago…make me some bacon, you skinny prick”.

Etta Cornblatt, age unknown, credits her long life to luck or lack there of.  She bemoaned her inability to engage in sex for the last 40 years or so and said that she really didn’t have any reason to be here and wouldn’t mind ending this life if somebody would give her a hand.

But the only time she can get an orderly to “help her” he’s pumping her stomach or cutting her down from the ceiling.  She blames the orderly for making her live this long.  We spoke to the orderly who says “she’s one crazy broad, I’m cutting her down from the ceiling and she grabbing my crotch”.  We stopped questioning the orderly.

Clyde Bunker, 101, claims to be able to get an erection if he takes a bottle of Viagra and wants a prostitute sent immediately.  When questioned about time he said “I got time, right now, get me a woman or shut up and bend over”.  

In any case, these elderly people gave good solid input and the fact that Time had passed for them and not killed them yet caused much concern.  Since none of these people had ever been in a gym, they had ,however, been in wars.  So wars are being looked at as a cause of their longevity.

None had ever taken a vitamin, they do however like painkillers and hallucinogens and Viagra and booze and pot when they can get it.  Oh, and bacon.

During the study one of the doctors died, he was 42, he was on a treadmill and had just taken his vitamin and had never smoked, had bacon or meat or booze or drugs or anything deemed bad.  

It was determined by the others that it was not possible for him to be dead.  So they agreed to wait 33 years to proclaim him dead so as to not screw up the averages.

As of this writing, the doctors have moved on to study why they’re not happy and are considering suicide.

Time, it appears does not spread itself evenly.  Some have had enough of it before time has had enough of them…they’re working on it…in a lab/beach, filled with drugs and booze and sex and stuff…thoughts of suicide have waned, Time passes more calmly there.

The words of the elderly make sense…

BETRAYAL

Nah, I’m not ready for that.  

Sitting on the steps of the shit-hole hotel on the end of Hollywood Boulevard.  Well, not the end, but the end of the tourist trap.  The Chinese Theatre a few blocks away…Los Angeles within a few miles of me.  

A couple hundred bucks, I know no one.  Although there appears to be people that would like to meet me.  Silly them, the amount of money I have couldn’t buy me very much friendship or happiness.  This is what they were selling, and hey, some of the girls wee pretty.

They negotiated their deals right outside my window, so I had an in with negotiating.

Times like this bring back the halcyon days of Milwaukee.  Working in the ghettos, yes ghettos.  There is where it first hit me…society isn’t about left or right.  It’s about up and down and where I worked was down.  

The Havenot’s raging at the Have’s which are really Havenot’s, except for perception.  This is where my journey began, Milwaukee.  Four years there, a few people I like back there, not many.  But that’s true everywhere, for everyone.

In any case, I’m a couple thousand miles away, on the steps.  Glass of wine, trying to figure out where the hell I was gonna stay tomorrow night.  The betrayal had cost me, cost me dearly.

It’s the reason I was sitting on the steps with a couple hundred bucks, on my way to work as a migrant worker…this was my respite.  I drove around Hollywood and LA and Beverly Hills and stopped at jobs, well places that offered jobs, but it was clear I was gonna be a migrant worker.

However, there was the little money problem.  I don’t know how much I had, it wasn’t much.  I left Oakland with about 300 bucks and there was gas and food and the wine I was drinking and the rent I paid for the night.

In any case, there wasn’t anymore money and that was a problem.  As you may of guessed, I was saved.  

By a friend, and there aren’t too many of those in the world.  He really had no reason to do it, but did.  And maybe by the time you read this I’ll have gotten his permission to use his name.  If it’s here, his name, you can assume I got his permission and have paid back his kindness.

In any case, I got enough money to make it to Long Beach, where I embarked on my migrant worker job.  Another shit-hole hotel.  But, Long Beach was different from LA for other reasons.  It made no pretense of being glitzy and there was no veneer.  It was not a nice place and if you don’t like it you can leave.

Sure, there are nice parts, I couldn’t afford them.  I was a migrant worker.  I was also one of the few English speaking white guys down there.  I was right on the Pacific Coast Highway.  Nice name, rings lots of bells…it was a crapper.

I was the minority; Middle Eastern people run the hotels, Blacks, Hispanics and me.  I kind of liked it, it had an edge…there were other white people.  Not all the time, but they came and went.  I was in Long Beach a couple months.  It was OK.

I got used to it.  I liked the seediness, it fit me.  I’m guessing I fit there better than I do in glitz, although I look forward to my chance at glitz and offering rejections of said glitz or becoming a pompous blow-hard.

Yeah, sure it’s the money, the not having to worry about it.  Sure, but it’s more than that.  It’s cleanliness.  I couldn’t wait to take a shower, in the morning and the evening.  I made sure to walk to the store prior to the shower, since I was dirty and sweaty and as scary as a short white guy could be in that area.

I’m sure they thought I was nuts.  Druggies, both white and black wobbled back and forth in front of the barred up store.  Drunks bobbed and weaved at the counter trying to count out change for malt liquor.  Stereotypes, yup, there’s a reason they exist.  Some were toothless, Cadillac’s with big white sidewalls, curb finders, stereos blasting…yup, they were there and so was the dumbass white guy desperately in need of a shower.

I bought some wine and retired to my room.  Wandered by my computer, dying to get to it, but first the shower and a glass of wine.  The computer really didn’t fit there, I snuck it in at night, hoping no one watched, no one would steal everything I own.  Which wasn’t shit, but it would’ve created major problems for a migrant worker.  And since the only thing I really cared about was writing, the loss of the computer would’ve been devastating.

Cleanliness, maybe it’s just me, but I look at a woman and immediately she either screams clean, I’m like the driven snow.  Or in the places I’m at, I’m dirty, I don’t taste good.  This is where cleanliness is important.  So I spent quite a bit of time without women.  Or even women to drool over.

In any case, I liked my computer and wine.  This how I spent my time, at night, when I wasn’t a migrant worker.  That 6 days a week, 10 hours a day…

I learned a lot, about people and work and stuff.  Well, I maybe didn’t learn shit, but I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget to write about it, even if I didn’t learn a fucking thing.

Milwaukee, LA, Oakland, San Francisco, Wyoming, Reno…I think I learned something or least got a lot of data.

Milwaukee, San Fran, Oakland and LA were behind me…but, in those few days before I became a migrant worker I reflected on the shit I’d seen since I left lovely leftist Madison, Wisconsin…

Madison really is leftist, a silly land full of silly people and silly ideas.  What I learned in Milwaukee is colors don’t matter and neither does left or right…it’s up and down.

The people that don’t have shit are mad about it and it struck me that they were all colors.  I noticed this because I got hollered at by people of all colors and sizes, I tried to bunch them into groups, but they kept defying it.  Women, men, kids, old people…they can all swear and holler.  Because they’re angry.

At first I thought it was at me, but it’s not.  They thought I had something and I didn’t, but they didn’t know that, so they got angry.  I took it, not well; it was really fucking depressing.  So I concentrated on the rays of sunshine that seeped through the cracks.  The people I worked with, some were losers, hell I was a loser.  But I tried to help, even though I knew I had no power, it still felt good.

But, this is the most important thing I conceived…it’s about up and down…and perceptions.  Once I realized they weren’t really stupid angry people hollering at me I was at least able to breathe again.  And my depression was acceptable…happiness is relative.

Madison, well, things are really good there.  Which makes them sort of anomaly, right and left exist there…although up and down will win out eventually.  Insulated from reality by an economy based in government and higher education gives Madison a surreal grasp of the silly and allows them to argue over some of the most worthless shit on Earth.

Hell, if you’re reading this you can bet there’s think tanks and task forces behind closed doors in the bowels of Madison discussing the meaning and dichotomy of “most worthless”.

Wars?  We don’t care, what the hell are we gonna do about feral cats?!?!?!?

Racial tensions?  Bullshit, what we need is restrictions on what trees can be cut down
Buildings blocking your view of the Capitol?  Shit we’ll just lower the building.

This is how I got bitch slapped with reality.  Vroom, Madison to Milwaukee…surreal to real.  This is how a small town boy got to see the big city.  Sure, it was just Milwaukee, but I wasn’t done yet…and I made sure it was the negatively influenced areas in the “down” angry areas.

A few years of this was about enough.  I got fired and had jobs disappear and go bankrupt and, well…see the raping story and minors whisper…this was not a pleasant time.  But I wrote a couple scripts out this serious depression and they better be really fucking good.

And there were those few people that I liked.  Laila, the free spirit I met over the internet and her two wonderful kids and Charles and Douglas and Beryl and Michaela and Bill and Knyja and Julie and…I’m sure I forgot somebody.  But if I knew who they were I wouldn’t have forgotten.

I stared at Lake Michigan from the roof of my apartment.  This was good.

And every so often I’d wander down to a bar.  This bar had nice people working there and good food, but served its purpose well.

I drank and listened to all the bullshit of the corporate gladiators speak of how they got screwed or screwed somebody.  This was a culture shock, working in the downer area and tip toeing into the upper area.

It did remind how much I disliked most people and there fore didn’t need to go out for the next few months, so I got a lot of writing done.

Bullshit, I didn’t want to hear it, nor did I want to get caught up in it again.  I’d spent a decade spewing bullshit and drinking and even unhappier then I was right then and I wasn’t exactly singing in the fucking rain.

So, I stumbled back to my apartment and wrote and stewed and seethed and then I got up and went to work.

But, then another job came to an end…and I really had no reason to stay, and then there was Oakland, but fuck that.

Right now I’m on the steps of a shit hole…a couple days from becoming a migrant worker.  I’m saved, in a way I didn’t see coming.

Life is not a box of chocolates.  Life is the unknown…you don’t get to open up a fucking box and pick a chocolate and if you don’t like that one?  Spit it out.  

We rarely attempt to solve problems with kindness, decisions are usually based on how much force to use.

It’s still a nice line though (…box of chocolates…).  But that’s what it is, a line.  

I feel very sorry for us, because we go to movies or watch TV in the hope that we’ll laugh or cry or get to feel the emotions of an actor...  stuff we don't get to do in real life.  

Or, worse yet, real life kicks our ass…

Gotta love Martin Sheen, drug user, activist, movie star reborn as the President on West Wing.  

And most of America forgets his track record and embraces him as the President…as evidence I offer all the stuff he’s selling on TV…one would think with his checkered past this may not be a good spokes- person…but then again, he is the President.

By the way, I toss this out only to say, I’d like to have drinks and conversations with Martin Sheen.  It’s just so funny how society has a selective memory OR the media lets us forget what it wants or deflects facts or neglects them or controls us…funny.  

The traffic in LA was disappointing.  

We went fast, there were lots of lanes to choose from.

All right or left, no up or down.

I was expecting more.