Submerged

Passed through the neighborhood bar this afternoon where the one of my favorite bartendars has decided to go sober. One can never be sure of the reasons, but she has lost a bunch of weight and looks ten years younger, granted not very many people could over indulge in the alcohol like this woman. She claimed it made everyone looks prettier after ten shots of tequila, which might be true but does not change the overall theme of working in five shifts a week in blue collar video poker bar. The place is slow as the sun starts fade in the sky, a veil over the sun reflecting the larger nature of Las Vegas, the erosion, the demise, the final act, whittling people away one at a time, seeking to break them into weakend desperate souls who have nothing left to do but retreat to such places as this particular establishment to drink one dollar or two dollar bills. The sports books are crowded still, especially during football season, any sort of information betters can pick up through the many conversations floating around during the hours before game times may make the difference between paying the rent on the weekly room or just giving up, heading down to Sands Ave to score to cheap street drugs.

Desperation flows like the floodwaters of a river past its natural flood zone. Every winning bet a small victory of stemming the inevitable tide of self mutilation or suicide as the small time gamblers file past me like workers from an assembly line shift. They appear transparent, faceless, and emotionless, robots seeking a temporary solution to a mortal problem. Success has escape us all, turned everyone here today into manic pellet seeking mice pushing the feeder button that no longer respsones to our requests, doling out nothing but puffs of stale cattle fodder filled air. Begin the funeral services why delay our true calling as conveyor belts for cheap beer, video poker, and the ocassional sexual encounter, for most that would be considered quite an existence in this town, a small time champion with the ability to hurdle the most dynamic troubles that grind up the majority of part time laborers in this town. I have watched them kill themselves one day at a time, then dissapear in a vague fog of anonimity where for a brief moment their time on this rock will be recollected then forgotten with a good night sleep, so don't be fooled into kindness for the reason of survival because it is an empty game with no rewards those whom you offer such things will only see them as belated gifts on birthdays long since celebrated where the trash can embraces discarded loyality. If you are going to care, just care and think nothing of it more.

I tipped the bartender then thought about writing something more than a daily blurb, luckily sleep can delay such tasks one more night and that is just about all I need, one more night with no distractions, thoughts of failure, or delusions of distilling my brain into pop culture trivia. This world needs impact, raw emotional truth, and understanding of a larger idea than people in American society seem capable of embracing, so as the our society moves along into the night of the 21st century cutting the ties to the self indulgent nature of the 20th century remains the only thing left to move on to recapture the world, not with guns, but with our imagination.

Riding the Gravytrain

More artists today, with plenty of high end technical gadgets, my hearing is so awful the extremely loud soundsystem does not bother me, hate to think about the day my ears fail me completely. Still obsessing over sexy female dancers, they are on display for my personal entertainment, time to sodomize my mind with thoughts of these women in compromising positions, happy to be able to post while on the clock, get too beat up after work, would rather watch a tv show, cook something, or run around the neighborhood, dodging all the hookers, dealers, and police. Nice way to earn a living this week, amongst the higher ups in the food chain, where the money is a prelude to larger dreams like screwing young twenty something dancers.

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Rehearsal

Can now communicate from my cell phone not sure how this post will look, not much on the edit, lots of hot female dancers keep my mind and thoughts occupied with dirty intentions, life in the live tv production world consists of many people coming to the conclusion of riding out a turbulant tsunami like wave till it crashes on the beach destorying all inhabitants of coastal area only retreat from gravitational pull leave nothing a path of destruction as the only evidence of its presence.

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The Hard Dollar

There are days like tonight where the money I make comes at quite a sacrifice of sanity. Every time a large sense of failure as well as ineptness seeps into my mind questioning the entire purpose of existing in the first place. Old grey hair weather beaten malnourished unkept discarded throwaway men circle the parking lot looking for parking space at the Las Vegas Convention Center dressed in the same clothing they have been wearing for the past thirty years. Their appear use to give me a great deal of laughter and thought in my younger days working as a laborer, now time has played its cruelest joke making one of them. This sense of humility and humbleness more than likely fuels my desire to return to such jobs where the gathering of people might resemble a typical weekend NASCAR crowd or line down at the local food bank. The style consits of beat up jean shorts, casino themed giveaway t-shirts, and non descript athletic shoes. However, one of the first things I hear a couple of fellow laborers talking about are the recent purchases of luxury sedans, hourly wage earners on a six hour call can afford seventy thousand dollar automobile when they give off a vibe of someone you might run into walking the AM streets in a meth stupor put me in a state of disbelief.

The crew of laborers outside of myself and my assigned partner had taken their own personal liberties to play the waiting game. A time oriented excursion of long walks, smoke breaks, and cell phone calls around the large multi-stadium sized building where anyone with enough skill and experience could find a hundred place to remain hidden amongst the biovauc of anonymous faced workers going about their business. Our supervisor was around yet almost seemed to be in on the relax nature of our endeavors. What did he care, slowly dole out the instructions, be vague, and offer little assistance, it was no wonder the overall process of getting things done in this trade slowly down to a near grinding halt. This entire scheme happened to be nothing more than a charade to extract as much money as possible from the hundreds of national and multi-national companies displaying their products for this particular tradeshow. All expenses looked to be built in from the high end technology media exhibits to the legions of street creatures lining up for battle at the perimeter of the labor check in tent.

There was the customery ra-ra speech from some employee of the month candidate foreman who praised the crowd of workers with large amount of bullshit psych gibberish that went completely over the gathering's heads, plenty of confused looks and silent faces until the finale where the supervisor grunted, screamed, and raised his arms in a hostile stance of victory as if the infidels had been crushed for the last time an indirect reference to a few vulgarities was all it took to get the people around me patting themselves on the back for another successful trade show. I felt cheated, misled, and soon to be regretting my decision to take this call. The work at this level is pretty dumbed down as my immediate supervisor raised up a two signs that our crew were to collect throughout the convention center. At first I thought he was joking, sort of giving the dumb dumbs a bit to chew on and the obsessive compulsives an incompletable task to drive them right back to the aslyums in which they had escaped earlier in the year. Either way, gathering up the signs turned out to be an exercise in looking busy while getting paid. A group of twelve wandered throughout the various halls spread out through the convention space collecting small signs that were folded then taped together and placed in small cardboard boxes. Well, at least it beat rolling up carpet which plenty of other laborers had drawn, one of the worst jobs ever, cause you always get paired with someone who does not give a shit, second, the rolls always come out on uneven provoking some supervisor to materalize out of then air and get all shitty in regards to how the carpets need to be rolled evenly so they fit on the metal lances placed upon the forklift. I never cared when drawing the carpet assignment, just kick those things up into a roll, then move on, those supers. would go apeshit after about twenty or thirty of them, getting out of his electric cart, which was something those types never did and giving us a clinic on how to properly roll a carpet, here I am standing around with convicts and killers, they certainly did not care, in fact I could see one or two of them making mental notes on seeking this fool out after work for a bit of a clinic in taking a knife to the bellying then being wrapped up in one of those carpets bound for the city dump. Still, the supervisors never appeared imitimated, merely frustrated and or confused at our overall lack of ability to grasp the concept of the carpet roll, there were no other jobs as dumb down as this, nowhere else for the supers to send us, except maybe pushing around crates, getting them to the proper booths, but even that required paperwork and an ability to read. It was nothing more than the fact all those around me at the time just did not give a fuck, never have, never will, content to eek out an existence on the fringe and if jail time was involved that just happen to be how shit went down at the moment. Personally, I felt like a retard for volunteering for such labor when earlier in the week I was working on a big budget entertainment show, but fortunately these gigs give me perspective, material, and a bit of reconnection with those days when such type of work was all that I had, nothing else, just life at the convention center with the masses, grinding out money to support a family and hopefully get drunk.

Punk Rocks Last Gasp

Is there really any true sense of anti-establishment anymore, where hundreds of young kids pay 25 bucks to go watch a bunch of middle aged punks from yester year attempt to rekindle the flames of anarchy and defiance. In this overweight, overly indulgence, and boats filled with cheap consumer goods from China fest still contain meaning, validity, and identity, it feels like the people of today are rebelling against having too much, as opposed to at least in my opinion back in the early days revolting against not getting what people wanted. The problem turned out to be the masses were given the opportunity to consume, more than before, maybe some people, there are plenty of others out there sleeping with boxes on their heads in worn out threaded shorts with no shoes on and a small plastic piece of cardboard to use as a blanket. Not much of that tonight at this particular music venue just plenty of 30, 40, and 50 dollar bar bills being rang up at the cash register without much thought. The so called punk ethos did not exist tonight here at a corporate ran facility where the only other thing more noticable than the deseperate reach to channel some hostility out on the dancefloor was the throng of swapmeet like cubicles selling all sorts of band merchandise from bandanas to painters caps, where were the thong panties I thought, probably had to ask for them and in the immortal words of the opening bands lead singer who looked like she belonged on one of the many Disney Channel teen oriented television shows, had said before their last number in order to get the crowd into a mosh pit fevered frenzy, "Let's punk rock like it's 2002!" maybe 1982, even 92, being old, does not make me jaded, but merely gives me a large window to view the world from, I personally enjoy this perspective because it is really the only redeeming factor in life, whether others want to hear about it tends to fall into the negative catagory, due to a few reasons, the first being a so called era, genre, or calling is new to some people, music is always a battleground for this concept.

I have watched 40 plus year old grown men start fights with 18 year old kids over, being down, being real, having an understanding of wanting nothing, getting nothing, living with the lies of family, friends, and the larger world, being discounted at every turn, where music and art meet in the form of communication, not just a reunion tour to go see so you can tell your non cool friends you got to see Band X twenty five years after anyone stop giving a shit about them, which in a lot of ways is valid, cause for some reason, it means something to go watch a band crank up the hits one more time, damn, the Stones still do it and I count myself amongst the people who will find someway to get into that show, even the Roger Waters doing the The Wall in its entirety breeds more of the stairway to nostalgia, which only stagnets, music, art, and culture, being reflective is one thing, but breaking out the head of Walt Disney from the cryogenic chamber is another, yet this what our society has done on an epic scale. Homogenize everything single thing ever produced, digitized it, then reassembled the pieces to make the masses homesick for catered spoon fed emotion, it is so American and so dead, no one else outside of this country cares anymore, why can't the people of this nation get that in any capacity. The ship is sailing, reliving the good times will not make them anymore significant, just, or real; no matter how many drinks, pills, and drugs you take, it is nothing more than masterbation of the body, mind, and soul, a death sentence, no parole, possibly escape.

So as the crowd in the mosh pit, lightly push each other around, authority rules instilling paralysis in those people to not let out the anger, the fear, and disgust with our society, muted in potential consequence they become passive, subdued, and negated by a band call the Ministry of Love an appropriate titled band for the ocassion who in Orwell's sense did their job tonight very well.

Buying Groceries

Have not really thought much about getting groceries for anyone beside myself in the past year, being alone affords me the luxury of have to worry about my friends and ocassionally my own sanity depending on how bad I abuse its own fragile existence, but at the store, here I am putting in items for someone else who has stayed over a few times and without getting into all that happened, the thing that stands out the most right now is this idea of buying food with another in mind, yeah, she likes bagels in the morning, I have no toaster so just throw them on the stove for a few minutes, of course it is nice of have a half naked woman walking around in a t shirt that never gets old, no matter how old I get, even funnier the older I get the more juvenile shit like that takes on a fresher meaning, like it might be the last time, who know, more than likely.

National Mental Breakdown

Could have been due to the uncertainity of the election for Senate or my weekly excursion out onto the streets of Las Vegas, people seemed to be awfully distracted today with a heighten sense of fear, maybe the realization of how permanent our nation's transition into the 21st century will not offer all the advantages is so readily abused in the 20th century has something to do with it. The era of contemplation, incestous corporate ladder structure, and petty baseless xenophobic views is coming to a close. A once wide open fast track has been rerouted across the Pacific to China where young adults of certain social standing will have now have the opportunity to rot their minds on pop culture, social media, and the illusion of attainable success. I sense a dark curtain beginning to draw around the US, one group attempting to draw the drapes shut, while the other desires to pull them wide open in a global embrace that does not really care too much anymore about our place in the world, outside of the possiblity of not destroying it. The US as a rouge nation, an axis of evil, sounds crazy ,but in some circles that projection has already been solidified, luckily the extent today only made it as far as the intersection of a local Las Vegas intersection.

Already had two close calls today with drivers impaired by stress or genetic defect which causes them to run red lights with complete disregard for any other cars in the general area. It was possible a lingering hangover from the Halloween weekend could be having an effect on the people in town, how would I know, slept in on Sunday night, however an invisible hostile air happen to be telling me other things, like how no one is happy with anything going on in the states, suicides, murder, and overdoses are probably on the rise, giving a shit about the future has become out of fashion, overpopulation, not enough work, adults, teens, and kids, still having more children, the impact of metal upon metal transportation vehicle turned into a symphony of high impact mayhem plays on the midday airwaves of gridlock traffic. The worst of the damage had to be a driver who got T boned on the passenger side by someone clearly running a red light by at least ten seconds, not sure if the driver was fleeing a crime, but she caved in the driver's side door knocking the person inside unconscious then got out as if high on speed with a naive innocence as if trying to negate the realization that her future had possibly just taken a turn for the worse.

The car hit happen to be the person in front of me at the turn signal thankfully I was distracted talking to someone on my cellphone not too worried about driving about like a bat on PCP and speed, so I got to offer up a play by play to the friend on the other end of the line, like a movie stunt gone bad, immidate impact, a short silence, then the sound of far off sirens as strangers nearby gather like beings at a funeral. I was probably obligated in some moral sense to stay there and offer up my thoughts on the accident to the proper authorities, but explanation of such things is like the telling of the Rashoman story, four views of the same incident all told in quite different manners of interpetation and the growing curiousity of sizeable legion of witness set my conscious at ease that the matter would settled, as my own sense of self preservation kicked in that invisible of force of hostility had pulled my name today, on the streets we are all fair game, open season, chalk it up to laws of gravity, darwinism, and a primitive sense of blood feast during the pagan moon. I had escaped luckily, just have to watch for the signs, those faceless beings who are nothing more than angles of death with judical courts at their back, guns, autos, drugs, and an extreme sense of fear to kill everything to diminish those feelings of their own mortality, a last ditch effort for the obsolete of the 21st century to be heard before they are grinded up into cement and used as the foundation for the leaders of tomorrow.