One day some time ago I had the thought of counting the amount of eateries and liqours throughout my travels in Las Vegas. Whether it is work, the running of errands, or just to go shopping, a conscious effort was made to keep track of how many of the above places existed on the street corners while driving around town. After a week of taking excursions about the entire valley I came up with the number 235 for diners and 127 for liquor stores, of course there are some parts of town that have a very strong concentration of booze outlets which lie either predominately near the strip, the weekly motels, or any other economically depressed locations, so without getting into the social, cultural, and political meanings behind such facts, my rationale existed around more of the overall total of liquor stores in general. It is amazing how much emphasis we as humans put on eating, drive past any strip mall in suburbia where the concentration of places to eat is at least somewhere between 10 and 20 dining establishments per block. We are talking pizza, fast food, mexican, Vietnamese, sushi, mediterrean, Indian, Thai, Hawaiian, Cuban, donuts, bar food, hot dogs, burgers, pitas, gyros, wraps, cinnabons, ice cream, dairy queens, spanish, bbq, english, german, sub sandwhiches, chinese, and plenty of others that escape my memory. There is a complete assualt on our freedom of choice to gorge down at any other these establishments, either going to work, at lunch, coming home from work, going out, stumbling back drunk from partying; this town lives off the idea that people enjoy going out to eat as oppose to staying home, granted there are plenty of single people here in town with time on their hands, but that is not the only motivation, many great chefs make their home in Vegas, many small family owned diners boast quite a reputation with Las Vegas local which can mean quite a profitable business.
One great example is Lindo Michocan, best mexican food in town, not only that the atomsphere is pleasant, party like with live musicians joining in the activity ocassionally. The place has been around forever, survived a fire, then reopened a year later picking up where it left off, where usually on any weekend the parking lot will be overflowing as line forms inside with customers anticipating some great chips and salsa, homemade gaucamole, chiveche de camaron and those are just the appetizers, the entrees are as unique as the restuarant itself attaining such success over the last decade that they have opened five others. This is the kind of place that word of mouth has turned into a real winner, every person I have taken there the first time always asks to go back there when he or she comes back into town. Lindo has that kind of memorable experience.
I lived at a friends for a few month before getting my new place while having yet to jump on the health kick bandwagon as of late, a period of adjustment was neccessary in scoping out the new eateries in the nearby strip malls. My friend lived out in the west suburbs which is a completely different world than my former near by strip centric established restuarants and small family run diners. It takes a few days of driving off to work or back from work to get a proper perspective of what existed in the new neighborhood as well as my self conscious nature of feeling like a bother or intrusion at my friends place, he was above and beyond hospitable that made my transition from a recent breakup as well as fast paced self destructive party behavior a welcome retreat, yet it did not feel like home where cooking up food then leaving the dishes for a week was quite normal to me, could not do it at someone's place who was gracious enough to let me invade their life for over a month, therefore the alternative consisted of Thai, Hawaiian, and Roberto's while periodically spliting some food with my friend as we watched Olympic coverage.
Okay, figuring out our to go menu nature
Convenience is first, plenty of people in Vegas have weird hours by standards of almost any other cities in the world outside of a handful. Getting off at work at 3am is normal, people are out, some restuarants still open, crazy as it sounds, but an entire neon sun culture exists here in Vegas, you might think most bars would be empty at 3am on a weekday but in Vegas there are usually plenty of people having a few while grabbing a bite to eat off the bar menu. Second, the single nature of most people, without others to cook for, picking up something on the way home takes all the hassle out of preparing food, doing dishes, and cleaning up. Three, time, never is enough time in Vegas, the place runs 24hrs a day, there is no way to keep up with the city it shall grind anyone who tries into little space dust, floating right back out into the stars where they came from to never be heard from again, for the few who try to run with the demons of sleepless posession, from clubs to casinos to bars to afterhours to pools to day parties to house parties, then repeating the process over again, what remains is an extended timeout, hopefully only missing a few days of work, but the bench is right around the corner, no escape, people will break, shut down, and ultimately fall apart. I have experience it first hand, a great salvation is knowing one phone call away while laying in bed with a screaming headache, neasous stomach, and an feeling of impending mortality is any number of restuarants which will deliver to the house, after a few bites from not eating for three days, life begins to come back into focus, the end of the world grows a bit further away to point where the idea of a few drinks does not sound too bad, that's Vegas for ya.
Who does not like to get their drink on, honestly I might go to the mega liquor store once and a while for beers, but do not hit up the neighborhood liqour stores as much, someone has to be doing it because there are quite a lot places selling 22 ounce malt liqour, cheap rot gut wine, as well as various other goods such as chore boy, rose petal glass, and Philly blunts, it was shocking the first time I went into a liqour store with a friend who understood the purpose of the previous mentioned items, but to see them displayed in plain view for those in the know to purchase seemed outright absurd. Didn't the cops get a load of this when they came around, anyone in their right mind can tell that these glass pipes with the circular bulbs on the end were for smoking meth, right? The clerk at the register told me they were for smoking tobacco, really? you sure? I mean I know how to make a crack pipe so this is looking dodgy. So I asked him what the Chore Boy was for and he told me to clean pans, this made me laugh to no end, Chore Boy is stuffed inside a crack pipe to be used as a filter/barrier to keep from sucking the rock into the mouth, it is my interpetation someone may have a more accurate one, but there it is, you learned something without spending a weekend in the prescence of career junkies, but maybe everyone should, plenty to be learned, would radically change your view on a lot of things in life, primarily people.
Liqour store is like a candy store for adults, people who can't simply get drunk off of a few beers but need at least a liter of hard alcohol to begin feeling anything resembling a buzz, but what happens over the years as these people become more jaundice, their body begins to die, shutting down organ by organ until their speech no longer makes any sense leaving them completely helpless to communicate the dire pain these folks get themselves into, it is all funny at first watching them get drunk into oblivion, start fights with random strangers, give blackjack dealers the business as the dealer is pulled over the table by the collar, but then the humor starts to wear thin, as they booze it up at lunch, stone drunk at 12 in the afternoon screaming at little old ladies and small children, then one day there is a call, a friend telling me that this party animal is dead, flipped his car over on the freeway, no seat belt, ejected through the front windsheild of his car at 110mph. A slow deathwish for anyone who desires to take the trip down the well, more, more, more, how do you like it, how do you like it? This town rules in that exact mindset sending more than the population of one small town down the tubes.
We encourage drinking; it is the social fabric of this city, a blind eye is turned to anyone who has gone around the bend in their inability to handle the booze, weakness, party spoiler, these people shall be cast aside like the sick amongst old Native American tribal ideals. Here you go, here is some more booze, keep getting it down, the rest of us are going back over to the party, we'll come and check on you ocassionaly which really means to collect the dead body if the vultures don't get to it first. So many people make their living off of alcohol sales, all the female bartenders who text me to come in for a few drinks as a tease to possibly getting laid, it is merely a desperate plea for those who are suffering tough times in this 21 century economic landscape, not everyone is uber keen on spending their nights at the local tavern playing video poker, watching sports highlights on tv, and drinking the standard 8 to 10 beers a night, drive home hopefully not incurring a DUI. Everyone has to get paid, so the servers will keep pouring them, even after the DUI, their dilemma is being trapped in a job without any future, surviving week to week living in a city where the strong eat the weak, no white knights here, all those guys sport fuck women bartenders, cocktail waitress, and strippers for a living, leaving behind at most a kid, tough times indeed.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
La Junkie Nikita
Once and a while I get swept up inside the fantasies of my mind taking short cuts to getting what is need from an attractive female. Most of the hot ones have a taste for narcotics, the tastes are varied of course with the exception of cocaine, in general many of the ladies have a sweet spot for blow. Met a woman a while back who due to my constant nature of being wasted for the previous couple of years made myself an easy target for the predator nature of this lady who had live the last decade or so leeching off old men with sex thrown in the deal. She freely admitted her prostitute like nature which interpeted in my drug soaked mind that screwing this woman would be nothing more than a forgone conclusion. This would not be the case, everything started off alright, the prelimary kiss and body contact, but then she would take off, after the first couple of times I would just get more wasted until her presence no longer existed, yet she would manipulate more drugs out me, what did I care, it was nothing that had cost me money, tribute, gifts, that kind of thing, either way the time has arrived to pull the carrot from the donkey cause it seems like my life has turned into the donkey and this role reversal will not do at all.
Nikita will text or call only when is feels the dope will not materialize, finally had to tell her she was cut off, at first out came the offers to hang with me for the summer in Vegas, as well as a few other intimations about getting together that she needed something different in her life than her current situation which was sucking the dick of some fat greaseball from northern Jersey, Nikita does not have anything else, no real possessions, no soul, just a strong will to survive and she uses that in very interaction with every human being she comes in contact with. Granted it is rather fun to watch her go through the motions of being around me when I hit town, Nikita is a friend of a friend, so he is sort of to blame by linking me up with her, but this friend did not mind getting on the drug train either so there were benefits for the entire lot of them when Miller came to town, Capt party, unlimited fun, up all night, up all day, train kept a rollin. Nikita was nothing more than a piece of fine ass to parade in front of all the other losers in the city who always shook their heads in collective disbelief that this woman would want to have anything to do with me. They were right, I was merely renting the space, secured with a good amount of hallucingenic substances, so the trade off was in effect. Fine, did not matter, nothing but entertainment at watching the Wall Street types in midtown Manhatten lose that self esteem while wasting their lives in school and at the exchange to really only end up doing the same thing I was doing at the time, which consisted of using drugs instead of money to achieve an objective, did not get laid though, not even close, passing on a fine assortment of attractive New York woman who had more brains, looks, and future than Nikita who has been spinning her wheels in school for the past five years, I am as much to blame for letting the lie continue Nikita only played along to serve her own needs which can't totally be faulted.
My next visit to NYC should be interesting as she is still under the impression her dope binge will not be interrupted, yet since I have quit doing all that shit, there will be nothing to offer, can't wait to see that junkie start to cringe, then beg for a hit of psychedelic dream, it will be a laugh and finally a real opportunity to move past the nightmare of Nikita as well as the tunnel my diseased brain had been in for the past couple of years, away from the void, the spiral, heading toward an abyss with no bottom until darkness consumes me one last time refusing to let go.
Nikita will text or call only when is feels the dope will not materialize, finally had to tell her she was cut off, at first out came the offers to hang with me for the summer in Vegas, as well as a few other intimations about getting together that she needed something different in her life than her current situation which was sucking the dick of some fat greaseball from northern Jersey, Nikita does not have anything else, no real possessions, no soul, just a strong will to survive and she uses that in very interaction with every human being she comes in contact with. Granted it is rather fun to watch her go through the motions of being around me when I hit town, Nikita is a friend of a friend, so he is sort of to blame by linking me up with her, but this friend did not mind getting on the drug train either so there were benefits for the entire lot of them when Miller came to town, Capt party, unlimited fun, up all night, up all day, train kept a rollin. Nikita was nothing more than a piece of fine ass to parade in front of all the other losers in the city who always shook their heads in collective disbelief that this woman would want to have anything to do with me. They were right, I was merely renting the space, secured with a good amount of hallucingenic substances, so the trade off was in effect. Fine, did not matter, nothing but entertainment at watching the Wall Street types in midtown Manhatten lose that self esteem while wasting their lives in school and at the exchange to really only end up doing the same thing I was doing at the time, which consisted of using drugs instead of money to achieve an objective, did not get laid though, not even close, passing on a fine assortment of attractive New York woman who had more brains, looks, and future than Nikita who has been spinning her wheels in school for the past five years, I am as much to blame for letting the lie continue Nikita only played along to serve her own needs which can't totally be faulted.
My next visit to NYC should be interesting as she is still under the impression her dope binge will not be interrupted, yet since I have quit doing all that shit, there will be nothing to offer, can't wait to see that junkie start to cringe, then beg for a hit of psychedelic dream, it will be a laugh and finally a real opportunity to move past the nightmare of Nikita as well as the tunnel my diseased brain had been in for the past couple of years, away from the void, the spiral, heading toward an abyss with no bottom until darkness consumes me one last time refusing to let go.
All That You Can' t Leave Behind
Grocery shopping has taken on a new persona as of late. Long gone are the days where just freely buying anything to eat that crossed my mind, today this habit has been replaced with a more minimal approach in my dining choices. The body weeps on the inside after recently discarding its gluttonous ways. All I can do now is think about the decades of cruising down the beer aisle sizing up the various new microbrews as they arrived over the years, throwing a couple six packs in the cart, not that my desire to have a beer once and a while has been detered, not much chance of that happening, but a self imposed barrier has my brain fighting the well crafted cravings that use to rule my life and ultimately resulted in a string of bad decisions that have and still do cost me money, luckily prison did not entered the equation, yet there were days waking up after the carnage I would wonder how a stint in the joint had been avoided. Damn chesse aisle, fifty feet of great tasting cheese, it has been almost six months since I have had a slice of cheese, ever since leaving my old place, no more Top Ramen, cereal, or milk. Life has turned into a slow erosion of eating less crap, dropping some weight, and working out, not exactly the funnest thing to undertake.
Getting up early in the morning to workout before heading off to the job, then again at night, shows some commitment on my part, yet grinding it out day after day can be taxing, this regimen has become an anchor at times, motivator at others. Still cruising through the grocery store today, I start to look at all the shit people eat, the soft drinks, the potato chips, the avenues of poultry, steaks, and fish, it is amazing how many things are available in the store, large storage bins of loose candy, a delicatsan where anonymous people sit in nuetral colored tables slowly falling into obscurity, possibly passing the time on a lunch break waiting to head back off to the job. Let's see what is in the grocery cart at the moment, 2 large bottles of water, 10 grapefruit, 2 bags of vegetables, and some Tofu, not much. There is the juice aisle, the dairy section, the snack bars, all this stuff that is supposed to be good for you, but why do people need so much of everything, whether it is good for you or not. Is this a ploy to keep the ecomony running by throwing more than I need into this grocery cart in order to keep the few people still left in this grocery store employed, so why did they add the self checkout machines. Personally, the self checkout machines are great, no talking, no forced conversation, and no victimization by clerks who act out their life's problems on me in the small time we are together, that shit always pisses me off, running the things over the scanner like a dagger in fresh kill, again and again, as if my purchases were the last straw in a job that has only become a burden, forget all their choices, the kids, and debts, no nothing but sighs or worse attempting to tell their problems, I don't want to here them, just tell me the cost, bag the shit or let me, then later.
Looking at the other customers, some are focused, right to the liqour section, grab the essential elements, then head toward the processed snack cakes, topped off with a finale consisting of a couple of cartons of smokes, right down to the point, no frills, get what is needed then split. Then there is the family who has to decide between the Bud Light or super pack of chicken hot dogs, throw in some ramen noodles, and a few 2 liter bottles of carbonated soda, the era of doing without is upon us, everywhere I look, humans exist in various stages of realizing the concept of sacrifice, the businesses, government, and casinos want everyone to disregard this reality, tune it out, turn back to the dream of unlimited indulgence, payment is off in the future, well the future is here now, as those chains get heavier, options dwindle until there is nothing left but waking up for work, if you are lucky enough to still have a job, if not, fire up a joint, turn on the television and be thankful the playoffs, baseball, and the World Cup are on tv.
Getting up early in the morning to workout before heading off to the job, then again at night, shows some commitment on my part, yet grinding it out day after day can be taxing, this regimen has become an anchor at times, motivator at others. Still cruising through the grocery store today, I start to look at all the shit people eat, the soft drinks, the potato chips, the avenues of poultry, steaks, and fish, it is amazing how many things are available in the store, large storage bins of loose candy, a delicatsan where anonymous people sit in nuetral colored tables slowly falling into obscurity, possibly passing the time on a lunch break waiting to head back off to the job. Let's see what is in the grocery cart at the moment, 2 large bottles of water, 10 grapefruit, 2 bags of vegetables, and some Tofu, not much. There is the juice aisle, the dairy section, the snack bars, all this stuff that is supposed to be good for you, but why do people need so much of everything, whether it is good for you or not. Is this a ploy to keep the ecomony running by throwing more than I need into this grocery cart in order to keep the few people still left in this grocery store employed, so why did they add the self checkout machines. Personally, the self checkout machines are great, no talking, no forced conversation, and no victimization by clerks who act out their life's problems on me in the small time we are together, that shit always pisses me off, running the things over the scanner like a dagger in fresh kill, again and again, as if my purchases were the last straw in a job that has only become a burden, forget all their choices, the kids, and debts, no nothing but sighs or worse attempting to tell their problems, I don't want to here them, just tell me the cost, bag the shit or let me, then later.
Looking at the other customers, some are focused, right to the liqour section, grab the essential elements, then head toward the processed snack cakes, topped off with a finale consisting of a couple of cartons of smokes, right down to the point, no frills, get what is needed then split. Then there is the family who has to decide between the Bud Light or super pack of chicken hot dogs, throw in some ramen noodles, and a few 2 liter bottles of carbonated soda, the era of doing without is upon us, everywhere I look, humans exist in various stages of realizing the concept of sacrifice, the businesses, government, and casinos want everyone to disregard this reality, tune it out, turn back to the dream of unlimited indulgence, payment is off in the future, well the future is here now, as those chains get heavier, options dwindle until there is nothing left but waking up for work, if you are lucky enough to still have a job, if not, fire up a joint, turn on the television and be thankful the playoffs, baseball, and the World Cup are on tv.
Can Harvesting
Can harvesting seems to be making a revival as I approached a man who looked like he was a season veteran of many decades. Already attaining quite a large bounty, this person, part animal trapper, part environmentalist was well on his way to a good days work. Three overstuffed trash bags full, we're talking industrial strength as he hopped into a local apartment complex dumpster feet first looking for bags of trash to cull through. He was pretty well known in this neighborhood to the point that many of the local residents set their recyclables out for him in a couple of well worn out plastic gardening maintence cans, those olive drab green ones. He had a sense of sifting through other people's wastes with an exclusive innate ability, almost like x-ray vision which enabled him go through a semi filled dumpster in a matter of less than 5 minutes. He told me this was necessary cause not every manager in every complex around Twain and Swenson completely agreed with his philosophic mantra to help mother earth via recycling
Therefore the conversation stayed brief, he did most of his talking during his excavation, discussing how he use to work in software development during the late 80's, but it did not appeal to him and after a scandal of someone within the company accused of espionage as well as the selling of sensitive proprietary software programs; this man was given a large severance package and a hasty termination. He grew a bitter about the course this ever expanding computer revolution was beginning to take, so he took his money and dropped out, content to live out life rolling joints, getting outdoors around on his old 10 speed, do they even make those anymore, this bike had the rust to prove its age but the gears and chain looked fine, especially after I took it for a ride while trying to balance the three bags with about 800 to 1000 crushed cans in them. I felt like the man on a unicycle riding the hi-wire with three other men balanced on my shoulder, before crashing the ride lasted about 250 yards. The man laughed luckily the bags did not sustain any damage or break, so offering the bike back to him, he rode off toward the next block in his route. There did not seem to be much competition for recyclables like back in the old days in Southern California, maybe he was a rebirth born out of the tough times facing most people today, signaling to me that this man may soon have more people out in those dumpsters seeking a way to save their fate.
Therefore the conversation stayed brief, he did most of his talking during his excavation, discussing how he use to work in software development during the late 80's, but it did not appeal to him and after a scandal of someone within the company accused of espionage as well as the selling of sensitive proprietary software programs; this man was given a large severance package and a hasty termination. He grew a bitter about the course this ever expanding computer revolution was beginning to take, so he took his money and dropped out, content to live out life rolling joints, getting outdoors around on his old 10 speed, do they even make those anymore, this bike had the rust to prove its age but the gears and chain looked fine, especially after I took it for a ride while trying to balance the three bags with about 800 to 1000 crushed cans in them. I felt like the man on a unicycle riding the hi-wire with three other men balanced on my shoulder, before crashing the ride lasted about 250 yards. The man laughed luckily the bags did not sustain any damage or break, so offering the bike back to him, he rode off toward the next block in his route. There did not seem to be much competition for recyclables like back in the old days in Southern California, maybe he was a rebirth born out of the tough times facing most people today, signaling to me that this man may soon have more people out in those dumpsters seeking a way to save their fate.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Jobber
As I drove by the Las Vegas Convention Center today, the working class masses made their exodus out into the streets, some headed off to the local bar, others to the convenience store for their booze, while the rest wandered away anonymously toward the various corners of rundown apartments that resided a few blocks away. The clean up crew were dressed in bright red shirts in order to make them visible to their superiors who from my experience took a certain pleasure in towering over their subordinates dictating mandates like a power crazed czar high on meth and LSD. Those types of moments always made me uncomfortable, partially for those people whose work career opportunities appear to have peaked with this particular job in the sanitation service. I was this guy with some techincal experience, given full access to all the overindulgent pleasures usually reserved for the fat white collar bosses, but did these Fortune 500 executives understand how to operate all this machinary that enabled these CEO's to manipulate their sales force into attaining higher sales without all the old school methods of torture, exhortion, and indentured servitude. Media has become the wizard of illusion in cooperation with such breakthroughs as television, cinema, and the internet; selling corporate underlinks or the general public on everything from politics to increase profit drive has become a hybrid of sports competition, Hollywood cool, and the attainment of music video material wealth status.
I was at this one corporate show about a week ago, where some execs put together some green screen video depicting the three of them rapping in a manner not much different than the Black Eyed Peas or Lil John, if these types are familiar to you, in regards to selling enough product to make the President's Club, the Golden Circle, or Achiever's Chamber, some sort of moniker to reinforce the need to be better than the best, to distant oneself from the underlinks, those who just existed, void of passion, drive, and leadership, the CEO's want winners, closers, and people motivated by excessive measure. The point of the brief video was one of the CEO's rapping about hanging in Barcalona, Rome, and Greece for a boat cruise, using the most uncreative, over plagerize style of lyrics that would make even the most over produced sellout of a pop artist go running to their attorneys to file lawsuit papers seeking damages in the billions. Watching three CEO's use vulgarity, bleeped out of course, as well as light mitigated sexual overtones as a female CEO danced in a Captian's booty pants outfit did not seem to me the right message to be sending to the sales force, who had given these three people the intel on how to reach the masses, probably some fresh faced communications graduate with a pulse on the youth of America. Voice of the Comm grad: These young 20 and 30 somethings, relate to this hip hop culture; that is HIP HOP culture, you want them to drive sales, sell them the same shit JayZ, TI, and 50 Cent do, the American Dream, Ferraris, Yachts, Big House with Marble Floors, and Tons of Young Hot Woman in Bikinis. It is a no brainer, offer up trips around the Europe, turn them into mini pimps, take over the world, start passing around the cocaine, Hugo Boss suits, and leases on Porchses, then watch your investment take off, keep flashing those images on the screen, until they all start drawing down on each other in a sea of machine gun fire, those stock holders will go ape shit when you start blowing away the quarterly prediction by 10 dollars per share, a virtual watershed, don't wait, start with this video, talk shit, smack some booty, and make it rain, the rest will take care of itself.
I could not see an immediate effect on the audience after the video and once the conference ended most of them filed out even more dejected than when they came in as if they already knew who was destined for that Millionaire's Retreat, not many of them, these people were just happy to have a job still, putting off the fear of unemployment for one more month, while wondering the penny slots of Las Vegas hoping to hit a 300 hundred dollar jackpot. I remember my days as a jobber with not much experience in anything, still a part time rocker and artist, did not have a mechincal bone in my body, fixing sinks, cars, and anything that might have saved my mother some money would have only resulted in her continuous bitching about me fucking something else up that she ultimately ended up paying for in the end, so there was no father around or male figures who really gave a shit when they were not fucked up on drugs, booze, or both to teach me anything, at all, of course sex is easiest to learn, when you have good looks and get good at talking young girls into doing what you want, after that lesson, I spent the rest of my time becoming good at partying, that was pretty much it, besides stealing, dealing, and dreaming, not much else. It was my first week as a Teamster, where you go down to the hall, pay them some money come up with some sort of fake resume and a week later you are down at the Las Vegas Convention Center rolling up carpet with a bunch of other fringes, outcasts, and losers, but shit it paid 25 bucks an hour and at the time, I had never earned that much an hour in my life.
All I had to do was roll up large sections of carpet with other people who seemed to be counting down the days until the next tragedy was to befall them. At first, I did not say much, cause there was always someone there who looked to be running the show, telling everyone else what to do. It was fairly simple, roll the carpet up into a large tube, keep it even so it did not cone on one side or the other, which always happened with a crew of misfits on the job. It was easy, there always happened to be a few ding dongs who knew how to do everything better so I would just stand back and let them fight over the proper way to finish the task. The heated exchange between the two guys always ended up in a fight or words then once and a while fists. It was amazing anything got done at all, yet what I did not realize was that I was on the extra crew, the retard crew, my presence was only needed for the Teamsters to pad their payrolls with tons of overcharges that they just pocketed while taking a cut of my money as well, what did it matter, making 600 bucks a week was a godsend at the time. I just shut up, came to work in a Crip Blue Dickies shirt and black Dickies pants, no one messed with me. I could talk to the Vatos, the White Trash, and the Loonies; these people were all relics of my environent growing up in the rural trailer parks of San Diego County, no beach bums, tasty waves, or hot tan female bodies, no just drug addicts, meth lab busts, and a small 6x6 room with four walls to keep the rest of the world at bay.
It did not take long to get the picture, luckily things were busy, so while the tweekers rolled up at least three one hundred foot pieces of carpet a minute, my crew, stood around with their arms on their hips watching the same two guys argue about how to put tape on a finish roll of carpet. It was not too techincal, but eventually I made way out of rolling up carpet onto building exposition booth where companies show their products and shmooz distribution agents and potential clients. This required nowing how to use power tools as well as hand tools, of course being the new guy, I got set up by some of the other veterans who saw my fresh bag of tools as an opportunity to add to their personal collection, so while the shift boss had me sent to the other side of the convention center without my tools to do a job that turned into 13 hr shift, when I came back to collect my tools, they had mysteriously dissapeared, as well as the entire crew for the evening from that point on I never brought more than I could fit in my jeans, which was a knife for protection, and a utility Leatherman. So passing these jobbers who live day to day, hour to hour, getting fucked up everyday to erase the memory of being caught in an never ending circle reminded of my time spent as a jobber, happy enough to buy a Snickers bar and a sandwhich, while using the rest to pay my college tuition while feeding my two kids. I learned a few things there, the most important one being I never want to go back.
I was at this one corporate show about a week ago, where some execs put together some green screen video depicting the three of them rapping in a manner not much different than the Black Eyed Peas or Lil John, if these types are familiar to you, in regards to selling enough product to make the President's Club, the Golden Circle, or Achiever's Chamber, some sort of moniker to reinforce the need to be better than the best, to distant oneself from the underlinks, those who just existed, void of passion, drive, and leadership, the CEO's want winners, closers, and people motivated by excessive measure. The point of the brief video was one of the CEO's rapping about hanging in Barcalona, Rome, and Greece for a boat cruise, using the most uncreative, over plagerize style of lyrics that would make even the most over produced sellout of a pop artist go running to their attorneys to file lawsuit papers seeking damages in the billions. Watching three CEO's use vulgarity, bleeped out of course, as well as light mitigated sexual overtones as a female CEO danced in a Captian's booty pants outfit did not seem to me the right message to be sending to the sales force, who had given these three people the intel on how to reach the masses, probably some fresh faced communications graduate with a pulse on the youth of America. Voice of the Comm grad: These young 20 and 30 somethings, relate to this hip hop culture; that is HIP HOP culture, you want them to drive sales, sell them the same shit JayZ, TI, and 50 Cent do, the American Dream, Ferraris, Yachts, Big House with Marble Floors, and Tons of Young Hot Woman in Bikinis. It is a no brainer, offer up trips around the Europe, turn them into mini pimps, take over the world, start passing around the cocaine, Hugo Boss suits, and leases on Porchses, then watch your investment take off, keep flashing those images on the screen, until they all start drawing down on each other in a sea of machine gun fire, those stock holders will go ape shit when you start blowing away the quarterly prediction by 10 dollars per share, a virtual watershed, don't wait, start with this video, talk shit, smack some booty, and make it rain, the rest will take care of itself.
I could not see an immediate effect on the audience after the video and once the conference ended most of them filed out even more dejected than when they came in as if they already knew who was destined for that Millionaire's Retreat, not many of them, these people were just happy to have a job still, putting off the fear of unemployment for one more month, while wondering the penny slots of Las Vegas hoping to hit a 300 hundred dollar jackpot. I remember my days as a jobber with not much experience in anything, still a part time rocker and artist, did not have a mechincal bone in my body, fixing sinks, cars, and anything that might have saved my mother some money would have only resulted in her continuous bitching about me fucking something else up that she ultimately ended up paying for in the end, so there was no father around or male figures who really gave a shit when they were not fucked up on drugs, booze, or both to teach me anything, at all, of course sex is easiest to learn, when you have good looks and get good at talking young girls into doing what you want, after that lesson, I spent the rest of my time becoming good at partying, that was pretty much it, besides stealing, dealing, and dreaming, not much else. It was my first week as a Teamster, where you go down to the hall, pay them some money come up with some sort of fake resume and a week later you are down at the Las Vegas Convention Center rolling up carpet with a bunch of other fringes, outcasts, and losers, but shit it paid 25 bucks an hour and at the time, I had never earned that much an hour in my life.
All I had to do was roll up large sections of carpet with other people who seemed to be counting down the days until the next tragedy was to befall them. At first, I did not say much, cause there was always someone there who looked to be running the show, telling everyone else what to do. It was fairly simple, roll the carpet up into a large tube, keep it even so it did not cone on one side or the other, which always happened with a crew of misfits on the job. It was easy, there always happened to be a few ding dongs who knew how to do everything better so I would just stand back and let them fight over the proper way to finish the task. The heated exchange between the two guys always ended up in a fight or words then once and a while fists. It was amazing anything got done at all, yet what I did not realize was that I was on the extra crew, the retard crew, my presence was only needed for the Teamsters to pad their payrolls with tons of overcharges that they just pocketed while taking a cut of my money as well, what did it matter, making 600 bucks a week was a godsend at the time. I just shut up, came to work in a Crip Blue Dickies shirt and black Dickies pants, no one messed with me. I could talk to the Vatos, the White Trash, and the Loonies; these people were all relics of my environent growing up in the rural trailer parks of San Diego County, no beach bums, tasty waves, or hot tan female bodies, no just drug addicts, meth lab busts, and a small 6x6 room with four walls to keep the rest of the world at bay.
It did not take long to get the picture, luckily things were busy, so while the tweekers rolled up at least three one hundred foot pieces of carpet a minute, my crew, stood around with their arms on their hips watching the same two guys argue about how to put tape on a finish roll of carpet. It was not too techincal, but eventually I made way out of rolling up carpet onto building exposition booth where companies show their products and shmooz distribution agents and potential clients. This required nowing how to use power tools as well as hand tools, of course being the new guy, I got set up by some of the other veterans who saw my fresh bag of tools as an opportunity to add to their personal collection, so while the shift boss had me sent to the other side of the convention center without my tools to do a job that turned into 13 hr shift, when I came back to collect my tools, they had mysteriously dissapeared, as well as the entire crew for the evening from that point on I never brought more than I could fit in my jeans, which was a knife for protection, and a utility Leatherman. So passing these jobbers who live day to day, hour to hour, getting fucked up everyday to erase the memory of being caught in an never ending circle reminded of my time spent as a jobber, happy enough to buy a Snickers bar and a sandwhich, while using the rest to pay my college tuition while feeding my two kids. I learned a few things there, the most important one being I never want to go back.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Beta Crocker
I met Beta Crocker out one night, there was a slight connection in the kind of music we liked, not really but that has morre to do with my never ending disgust with music, art, and people in general. Her tastes were not unlike most people with regular jobs who lead regular lives that include getting up at 6am, putting on some sort of business suit, and holding down a position in some multinational corporation where you work amongst thousands of other people who are nothing more than links in a chain to your success of failure, the tragedy is that they are directly linked to your success or failure, most of these people could barely hold it together at work, looking for nothing more than a place to pass the time where they could make enough money to rent a movie, go out to dinner, and subscribe to a life of eternal debt with no relief in sight. I tend not to be able to relate with these kind of people who watch the latest releases from the big screen, sing along to the lastest in alternative cool music, and generally like everything I have long sinced moved beyond. Beta Crocker likes to think of herself as hip, progressive, feminine, and silently controlling. I first found this out after I slept with her the first night, getting drunk helps me get past the idea of have sex with a woman who is not molded into my narrow minded teenage, hot model of twenty, those kind of women are reserved for punk ass rich kids, pretty boys, and old men with a lot of money, I did not fit into any of those catagories, so my passage has been booked to Beta Crockers house, she gave me the lowdown on how her last relationship was with some married man who was going to leave his wife for her, but never did, sort of strung her out for sex, which is very normal for relationships in today's society. At this point, I did not care, taking in all the scene, information was my goal, experience this typical situation in 21st century society. There was no real doubt tonight would end in sex, as if it has any real meaning besides setting off nueral receptors in the brain, like drugs, for those actually in love, passion, desire, and all those other things they overhype in movies might still be reserved for the youth of tomorrow. I would never know; those instincts in myself have long since eradicated, caught somewhere between personal pleasure seeking while living amongst a people so disconnected from their hearts, their minds, and souls, real emotion seems like a myth; I really can't believe anyone truly understands love, misinterpeting it into a possession, this is why the bodies of broken relationships pile up in the streets of America, no one can stand to be decieved, humiliated, and crushed when our own arrogance takes over all judgement, self valuation leads to bullets in the heads of grounded hearts, pools of blood in low rent apartment buildings, and handfuls of pharmasudical pills choked down with tears of anguish.
A tough story indeed, everyone goes through the pains of relationships, so here was Beta Crocker giving me the latest lowdown, I did not really even process it for if nothing else to get it down here, half of me wanted to bail the whole scene, there is something about crossing that sexual line where people feel entitled to move into your personal space, to some degree involved their own ideas, needs, and future plans into mine. Beta took very little time in doing this after our first encounter, of course satisfying their sexual needs never hurts, like a junkie, they want another fix and my own personal space be damned, I had already erased her phone number, granted she could hold her own in the bed, yet everything else just did not make sense. I did not mold well with general public tastes, watching movie rentals or hanging out drinking beers; these were nothing but prelude to her getting sex, myself as well and after the first time I thought forget it, no more, this is not worth the general disgust I feel toward myself in hitting this woman, but the second time she drank down my cum and it was not too bad, even more remote this time, like automatons seeking personal satisfaction, keep the talk, the feelings, and moment to spare parts. Luckily, I work a lot which helps me put others at a distance when convenient, after giving her the brush off, a month or so passed and I get another text from her, seeing if I wanted to go out. Her aggressive behavior was taking precendence once more, this is where the name Beta Crocker had been given light.
Beta had recently moved in with a bunch of roomates and of course the types like Beta always like to have guys around if nothing else for a feeling of security, secondly for the fact most woman don't not get along with her type of dominating behavior, if to make up for the lack of socially acceptable physical beauty an area they continously refuse to adhere to and would rather not deal with that issue at all, so they seek out the male Beta type. There are Alpha males, guys who are aggressive, physically attractive, like to run the show, take control, and call the shots, Beta Crocker told me these are the kind of guys she likes, as we sat at a bar and watched this semi attractive woman, give this Beta male a bit of good night hug as to say, according to Beta Crocker that it is nice to tease you with my looks but you will never get any of this pussy. I almost fell out of my seat when Beta said this, she told me when she worked at restuarant like this place that the Beta tease, Alpha please was the usual M.O. by herself and women at the bar. Sure, Beta, is about 5'8'' 170, not sure where she got her attitude of attractiveness but I was laughing on the inside for sure, maybe word got around that she gave decent head, either way, from my point of view my presence here was nothing but a mercy kill, giving her something no other guy in my league would not do without the assistance of alcohol, drugs, or both.
For some reason Beta Crocker like to eat up Beta males, there was a picture with her nickname and a machine that looked like what they put the sandwhiches in at Quiznos, except it was the head of a guy. The humor never ends, the two concepts did not make sens, her bending to the will of Alpha males did not jive with her dominate behavior of dining on Beta males or it could be that she was not socially desirable by Alpha males and like most people in life, rather than conform decided to infect her subordinates with elaborate plans of control. Beta Crocker is under the impression of something, enough to text me somemore, luckily I live in a gate community which is wonders for keeping the loonies at bay. I let her over to my house once, sort of began picking up a mess of clothes, then went into the living room to play some music, when I returned the bed was made, clothes picked up, and my work clothes placed in my backpack, that was it, I had no desire to audition a maid, then told her it was time to go, some people just go off on tanget that only make sense them, sort of like my writing, but this action was a prelude to offering her services in other areas such a decorating, involving herself in my personal life, and how I lived my life, no more, don't respond to the text, but they still arrive, another damn lost child in the ocean of absurdity. She has served enough of a purpose for me, to tell you her story which is the story for so many people in Las Vegas, looking to take another rung in the ladder at the expense of the misery of others, people like Beta Crocker have long since moved beyond feeling, they are single cell viruses seeking their own personal pleasure, perservation, and agenda, tasting refinement when possible, but fast food dining inbetween, it is all about take, take, take, a slogan Las Vegas has long since perfected.
A tough story indeed, everyone goes through the pains of relationships, so here was Beta Crocker giving me the latest lowdown, I did not really even process it for if nothing else to get it down here, half of me wanted to bail the whole scene, there is something about crossing that sexual line where people feel entitled to move into your personal space, to some degree involved their own ideas, needs, and future plans into mine. Beta took very little time in doing this after our first encounter, of course satisfying their sexual needs never hurts, like a junkie, they want another fix and my own personal space be damned, I had already erased her phone number, granted she could hold her own in the bed, yet everything else just did not make sense. I did not mold well with general public tastes, watching movie rentals or hanging out drinking beers; these were nothing but prelude to her getting sex, myself as well and after the first time I thought forget it, no more, this is not worth the general disgust I feel toward myself in hitting this woman, but the second time she drank down my cum and it was not too bad, even more remote this time, like automatons seeking personal satisfaction, keep the talk, the feelings, and moment to spare parts. Luckily, I work a lot which helps me put others at a distance when convenient, after giving her the brush off, a month or so passed and I get another text from her, seeing if I wanted to go out. Her aggressive behavior was taking precendence once more, this is where the name Beta Crocker had been given light.
Beta had recently moved in with a bunch of roomates and of course the types like Beta always like to have guys around if nothing else for a feeling of security, secondly for the fact most woman don't not get along with her type of dominating behavior, if to make up for the lack of socially acceptable physical beauty an area they continously refuse to adhere to and would rather not deal with that issue at all, so they seek out the male Beta type. There are Alpha males, guys who are aggressive, physically attractive, like to run the show, take control, and call the shots, Beta Crocker told me these are the kind of guys she likes, as we sat at a bar and watched this semi attractive woman, give this Beta male a bit of good night hug as to say, according to Beta Crocker that it is nice to tease you with my looks but you will never get any of this pussy. I almost fell out of my seat when Beta said this, she told me when she worked at restuarant like this place that the Beta tease, Alpha please was the usual M.O. by herself and women at the bar. Sure, Beta, is about 5'8'' 170, not sure where she got her attitude of attractiveness but I was laughing on the inside for sure, maybe word got around that she gave decent head, either way, from my point of view my presence here was nothing but a mercy kill, giving her something no other guy in my league would not do without the assistance of alcohol, drugs, or both.
For some reason Beta Crocker like to eat up Beta males, there was a picture with her nickname and a machine that looked like what they put the sandwhiches in at Quiznos, except it was the head of a guy. The humor never ends, the two concepts did not make sens, her bending to the will of Alpha males did not jive with her dominate behavior of dining on Beta males or it could be that she was not socially desirable by Alpha males and like most people in life, rather than conform decided to infect her subordinates with elaborate plans of control. Beta Crocker is under the impression of something, enough to text me somemore, luckily I live in a gate community which is wonders for keeping the loonies at bay. I let her over to my house once, sort of began picking up a mess of clothes, then went into the living room to play some music, when I returned the bed was made, clothes picked up, and my work clothes placed in my backpack, that was it, I had no desire to audition a maid, then told her it was time to go, some people just go off on tanget that only make sense them, sort of like my writing, but this action was a prelude to offering her services in other areas such a decorating, involving herself in my personal life, and how I lived my life, no more, don't respond to the text, but they still arrive, another damn lost child in the ocean of absurdity. She has served enough of a purpose for me, to tell you her story which is the story for so many people in Las Vegas, looking to take another rung in the ladder at the expense of the misery of others, people like Beta Crocker have long since moved beyond feeling, they are single cell viruses seeking their own personal pleasure, perservation, and agenda, tasting refinement when possible, but fast food dining inbetween, it is all about take, take, take, a slogan Las Vegas has long since perfected.
Self D3struction/Technical Difficulty
There was a moment when the limitations of technology run headlong into the ever pressing demand to create, at a faster pace with increasing intensity, time warp speed that takes hours into days, into months, then years resulting in a lifetime that ultimately erases, resets, then buries any such knowledge like the desert relics of Egypt. I did not plan on snapping my laptop in half when writing the bit about the Miss USA contest, low cost computers have all seem fit to put some sort of moving cursor pad at the bottom of my hands, where due the constant rapid movement of my fingers buttons will be pushed unintentionally causing to have to stop in mid thought, which if constantly occurs, drives me insane, this exact thing is happening right now, not with as much regularity but enough to almost get me pissed and snap another laptop in two. I will take a picture of it and post it, in the next couple of days, between a four day bender this weekend and the overt amount of damage this causes to my body, coupled with my new found self improvement obession, my insanity meter has been busted from too much use, I seem to be discontinuing one lifestyle for another, but in this transition period there are now two tracks of committed behavior desiring to go all out, push my body and mind to the limit, granted the late night party scene is beginning to fizzle out, but not entirely, there are just too many people here in Vegas who don't want me to leave it behind, as if I am funner than the rest of the idiots in this town, which may be true but at the end of it, these peopl feel like a deseperate wave of zombies who see no end to their own behavior, so they try to drag down everyone else around them.
This tends to be true of most in life, regardless of success and failure, isolation and loneliness have more to do with the constant desire of people to fuck themselves up beyond all recognition, then when things go down the tubes they start pointing fingers at those around them, wasted in a desending spiral which results in their brain melting down to the point that they just lay around the house watching television all day or if they have a job, wander around aimlessly figuring out new ways to keep the job and fight the boredom of a position with no future, either way deadends are abound. I do my part by interacting with these people in order to get some sense of what drives this life, how mere existence can be satisfying, maybe not having to try so hard or really figure anything out. Drugs help, like a fast forward button, tire oneself out, no options, no problems, nothing to offer to the rest of society who for the most part feels the same way, tired, uninterested, comatose, smart to have learned how get just enough, not necessary a problem with that unless this is not your ultimate goal, but grinding oneself into the ground to the point exhaustion leads to errors in judgement that can cost you money, time, and ocassionaly your life.
I have had to fight this maliase, this waking dream of missing out on self realization, but banging on this keyboard can drive me crazy after a while when the only real end result people might care about comes with the idea that people find what I write entertaining, thought provoking, and relative, which is fine, writing is ultimately the toughest thing, the second is learning the balance between finding things to write about, experiencing life, and the fallout from burning the candle at both ends, doing all the above can take a lot out of me, even though I am in better shape than the last 15 years, does not matter, information comes in, then it goes out, gets put down in words or shuttled off to the back of my mind as some slowly dissapating idea that turning into a faded memory. This is the ultimate frustration, not quite as direct as a laptop computer that is constructed with hotkeys, control functions and finger pads, somehow these things can be overcome, a delicate symphony of dexterity that gets smoother over time, guess I will have to write to make this much more effortless. This will not be last laptop I destroy, went through 4 of last year that is why I buy them for 200 dollars now, when they were 1000 dollars, the pain felt much more severe, these are mere instruments now, disposable, just like our emotions.
This tends to be true of most in life, regardless of success and failure, isolation and loneliness have more to do with the constant desire of people to fuck themselves up beyond all recognition, then when things go down the tubes they start pointing fingers at those around them, wasted in a desending spiral which results in their brain melting down to the point that they just lay around the house watching television all day or if they have a job, wander around aimlessly figuring out new ways to keep the job and fight the boredom of a position with no future, either way deadends are abound. I do my part by interacting with these people in order to get some sense of what drives this life, how mere existence can be satisfying, maybe not having to try so hard or really figure anything out. Drugs help, like a fast forward button, tire oneself out, no options, no problems, nothing to offer to the rest of society who for the most part feels the same way, tired, uninterested, comatose, smart to have learned how get just enough, not necessary a problem with that unless this is not your ultimate goal, but grinding oneself into the ground to the point exhaustion leads to errors in judgement that can cost you money, time, and ocassionaly your life.
I have had to fight this maliase, this waking dream of missing out on self realization, but banging on this keyboard can drive me crazy after a while when the only real end result people might care about comes with the idea that people find what I write entertaining, thought provoking, and relative, which is fine, writing is ultimately the toughest thing, the second is learning the balance between finding things to write about, experiencing life, and the fallout from burning the candle at both ends, doing all the above can take a lot out of me, even though I am in better shape than the last 15 years, does not matter, information comes in, then it goes out, gets put down in words or shuttled off to the back of my mind as some slowly dissapating idea that turning into a faded memory. This is the ultimate frustration, not quite as direct as a laptop computer that is constructed with hotkeys, control functions and finger pads, somehow these things can be overcome, a delicate symphony of dexterity that gets smoother over time, guess I will have to write to make this much more effortless. This will not be last laptop I destroy, went through 4 of last year that is why I buy them for 200 dollars now, when they were 1000 dollars, the pain felt much more severe, these are mere instruments now, disposable, just like our emotions.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
The Crumbling Facade of American Beauty
It was apparent by the time that they announced the final 15 contestants in Miss USA pagent, the overall mood backstage at the live broadcast of the event would take a gruesome and somewhat surreal turn. It began with a conversation; Miss Florida was busy munching down a series of chocolate chip cookies as if to signal in a final fit of despair that all the effort and work she had spent the past year, quite possibly her entire life had been cast into the fire of failure. Miss Florida showed no shame, fear, or self consciousness in her new ambition to live her life in the next few hours like an other college aged woman her age. The dismissed group of 36 women exhumed an overall feeling of collective army of beings raised on positive reinforcement, outright praise, and near deity like worship for their beauty pagent quality, but on this ultimate American stage of scurtiny their smalltown hopes only served as more trash residue for the cleaning staff later in the evening. About a dozen woman ran crying in various directions, looking for any dark corner to console their wounded pride.
I found the spartan like quality to the immidiate elimation process very reflective of America's overall nature towards hyperactive scrutiny and judgement to compartive elements that only truely exist in the make believe world of Hollywood. None of these words would have help this cadre of ladies who double over heaving, writhering in spasms, gasping for breath, as if violated, raped, and let in on the punchline of some cruel joke at their expense, left to drowned in humilation of the capacity audience in the building as well as the viewing audience at home, only to further add to this tsunami of disgrace the women had to quickly change into their swimsuits, then parade themselves out to the invisible
I found the spartan like quality to the immidiate elimation process very reflective of America's overall nature towards hyperactive scrutiny and judgement to compartive elements that only truely exist in the make believe world of Hollywood. None of these words would have help this cadre of ladies who double over heaving, writhering in spasms, gasping for breath, as if violated, raped, and let in on the punchline of some cruel joke at their expense, left to drowned in humilation of the capacity audience in the building as well as the viewing audience at home, only to further add to this tsunami of disgrace the women had to quickly change into their swimsuits, then parade themselves out to the invisible
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Soccer Mom Luncheon
Lunchtime at the Venetian with the return of spring as well as a recent reinfusion of convention goers who find no problem hammering down drinks at 12 in the afternoon, while contemplating the possiblities of leaving their life at home for a future in the summer sun of Las Vegas. It always amazes me how people can seem so readily comfortable here slinging back drinks, mimicing the behavior of any chronic alcoholic drunk from most cities in urban America. A well worn woman of early thirties is propositioning a friend of mine for sexual monetary type exchange. The woman has the allure of a two kid parent who is spending the afternoon hooking while the kids are at school as an opportunity to make a bit of additional funds for this current lull in the economy, just not enough slots in the corporation for middle management, but plenty of opportunity in the theater of pain, a production in which this particular woman appears to hold one of the main character leads.
She asks my friend if he is here for a convention, he tells the prositute that he is working on a television show, then asks what she does for work, already knowing the answer. An entertainer, hmm, really I thought, she replies, I have a really good show that you will definitely like, all he needed was some money and a room. Such a desperate, lowdown, and spiral towards the bottom. What kind of fantasy was this hooker caught up in, while attempting to peddle her ass at 12:30p on a Wed. how many rungs down the ladder had this woman already fallen, what kind of astrocities had this lady endured to come to this point, where she would flat out lie about how much a sexual animal laid in wait for any man with the right amount of money. This two kid lady had two deflated beachballs for an ass, size 20 tire for a waist, not even that cute in the face, who was the clientle for a woman of this brokedown nature, a used car, coming near the point of throwing a rod in the engine.
I could not look at her, one I did not want to give her the impression that my interest in her act was more than a sociological observation, two, there was something extremely painful in this wholesale auction of her body, like a cattle rancher trying to sell a cattle with Mad Cow disease. This hooker looked to be selling dark misfortune dispair, a opaque elixir that would instantly disentegrate anyone foolish enough to ingest her poison. Lastly, the accompaning environment of a Las Vegas casino only made her folly all the more comical, where was her head, absorbed in the refusal to accept the downfall of Rome, a post gluttonous world where her vaginal cavity might have been more highly regarded and seeked out, but today, this woman was nothing more than trash on the side of the highway to be constantly blown off onto the tall dry grass, covered with other filth, trash, and dirt, day by day, month by month, year, by year, until she is nothing more than a forgotten artifact to be unearth sometime in the future to be studied like a tribesman who exhibits all sort of antiquated hunter and gatherer characteristic, her novelity, a fossil appreciated only the twisted arcane sideshow salesman.
No one was biting on her line as she offered up her business card, a generic laminated photo of a nude model that looked nothing like her, toss that thing in the trash, as the prostitute walks off to find a Midwest american who is on the fence with flirting with the dark side of our self indulgent nature in the US, what better way to start down the path that leads to obessesive means, ask Tiger, Ben, anyone who takes that first step toward the dark hallway, where nothing but abused half shells of human seek more hell, more pain, more reaffirmation that their current state of exsitence is well deserved, justified, and necessary to continue living, the ultimate excuse in treating everyone else like shit, give and get, one feeds the other, a continous cycle, where immediate gratification trumps everything else, feelings, humanity, and self respect. I have put some distant from this dark well, but have no problem recognizing it, more haunting now, intense, visceral, yet no longer living amongst this crowd makes my relation to this apparition cruising the Las Vegas casinos no more a bad memory, I still feel her charade, the impending mortality facing this hooker whether, tomorrow, next month or year. Fatality flows throughout this woman's blood that thickens day after day, no more heartbeat, conscious love, all solidifies like granite, medusa looks at herself in the mirror, turns to stone, yet no one cares.
She asks my friend if he is here for a convention, he tells the prositute that he is working on a television show, then asks what she does for work, already knowing the answer. An entertainer, hmm, really I thought, she replies, I have a really good show that you will definitely like, all he needed was some money and a room. Such a desperate, lowdown, and spiral towards the bottom. What kind of fantasy was this hooker caught up in, while attempting to peddle her ass at 12:30p on a Wed. how many rungs down the ladder had this woman already fallen, what kind of astrocities had this lady endured to come to this point, where she would flat out lie about how much a sexual animal laid in wait for any man with the right amount of money. This two kid lady had two deflated beachballs for an ass, size 20 tire for a waist, not even that cute in the face, who was the clientle for a woman of this brokedown nature, a used car, coming near the point of throwing a rod in the engine.
I could not look at her, one I did not want to give her the impression that my interest in her act was more than a sociological observation, two, there was something extremely painful in this wholesale auction of her body, like a cattle rancher trying to sell a cattle with Mad Cow disease. This hooker looked to be selling dark misfortune dispair, a opaque elixir that would instantly disentegrate anyone foolish enough to ingest her poison. Lastly, the accompaning environment of a Las Vegas casino only made her folly all the more comical, where was her head, absorbed in the refusal to accept the downfall of Rome, a post gluttonous world where her vaginal cavity might have been more highly regarded and seeked out, but today, this woman was nothing more than trash on the side of the highway to be constantly blown off onto the tall dry grass, covered with other filth, trash, and dirt, day by day, month by month, year, by year, until she is nothing more than a forgotten artifact to be unearth sometime in the future to be studied like a tribesman who exhibits all sort of antiquated hunter and gatherer characteristic, her novelity, a fossil appreciated only the twisted arcane sideshow salesman.
No one was biting on her line as she offered up her business card, a generic laminated photo of a nude model that looked nothing like her, toss that thing in the trash, as the prostitute walks off to find a Midwest american who is on the fence with flirting with the dark side of our self indulgent nature in the US, what better way to start down the path that leads to obessesive means, ask Tiger, Ben, anyone who takes that first step toward the dark hallway, where nothing but abused half shells of human seek more hell, more pain, more reaffirmation that their current state of exsitence is well deserved, justified, and necessary to continue living, the ultimate excuse in treating everyone else like shit, give and get, one feeds the other, a continous cycle, where immediate gratification trumps everything else, feelings, humanity, and self respect. I have put some distant from this dark well, but have no problem recognizing it, more haunting now, intense, visceral, yet no longer living amongst this crowd makes my relation to this apparition cruising the Las Vegas casinos no more a bad memory, I still feel her charade, the impending mortality facing this hooker whether, tomorrow, next month or year. Fatality flows throughout this woman's blood that thickens day after day, no more heartbeat, conscious love, all solidifies like granite, medusa looks at herself in the mirror, turns to stone, yet no one cares.
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