Loyality, dedication, and efficency, all staples of 20th century work ethics have been thrown aside in the 21st century, strip everything down to the bare bone and declare a profit, hard to understand where the economic recovery has sprouted, sure have not seen it much in the US over the past few months. The media in their Orwellian nature to back a president who has done little for the constituants who put him in office, manipulate ideas, facts, and mathematics to tell the public, not to worry, go ahead and spend some more, buy up everything in sight, what choice do you have, all this is being financed by the Chinese anyway, so as long as our country hands over the latest technology for them to mass produce everything shall be fine, if that fails then go ahead with the encoded sequence to launch the the nuclear missles in the general direction of China, but who the hell will make all our cheap creature comforts? Furthermore, our addictive nature to television, food, and wasting time supercedes any real political ideology, wait, will whittle ourselves down somemore, wait, cut, slice, extract the remaining amount of reason, then go about the day.
Surrounded by spongers and two faced people who shall be the cause of your demise, undermining everything you do with a smile, we all lie to each other and pretend to be allies, but in the process continuously seek new ways to sandbag our fellow humans, so we can wake up in the morning to grab a bagle or coffee. Do not be fooled with camraderie, having beers, lunch, or hanging out in the strip club, it all means nothing, you will be ran right over with no one else looking back, shaking their heads as they pass while being thankful it was not them. There has to be a stopping point, are they any decent people left who are not already full of a thousand excuses from having to buy diapers to being upside down in a mortage they should have ever taken on in the first place. The stories of misery run so deep, no wonder the suicide rate has gone through the roof lately. People can no longer take the strees of living under a pile of bills, with the uncertainity of retaining employment, so don't participate in other people's bullshit anymore, realize most everyone for who they really opportunists with no real sense of purpose but to consume, procreate, and stand on the sidelines when the hard decisions have to be made.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Midnight Travelers
They wait folded up in chairs enduring long layovers in US airports, delays, cancelled flights, missed connection due to excessive drunkeness in the streets of Las Vegas, coiled up like snakes fighting to get some sleep the past week has seeked to escape. I know the feeling doing time in so many international airports throughout the world, flights abroad leave at certain times, very infrequently, once a day, miss that flight, might as well head back into town for another night beating the going, trying to stay up or not sleep through another alarm. From excessive indulgence to bad timing, I have had to stay up more than a few days at a time to get back home, completely derranged, possessed, and erased, life becomes a thin film of existence, celluloid, can't understand anyone, just nod, grunt, and attempt to say a few words, no one can understood me. I watch these midnight travelers in the early morning as I catch a domestic flight to somewhere in America, still somewhat jealous that they are off out into the larger world, a world much grander in scale than the crap they sell here in the states, but soon I will be out amongst them once more, free for a brief time to live with judgement.
Tabloid Racks
What is about the magazine racks at the check out counter, almost is if they had placed a bunch of sex mags on the shelves, something compels me to look over, analyize the latest gossip about A List movie stars with whom I have nothing in common with what so ever. Not much different than surfing the internet, just passing time, dumbing down, feeling the fantasy of digging into the hard times of those more fortunate than myself, a rally cry, a pledge, a victory over those who we allow to manipulate, control, and dictate our futures through social culture, economic trends, and the elusive fantasy of success. There is no real reason for these magazines, except to supplant, drugs or booze, they have the same effect, crawling away into another space, into another world, far away from the vicious reality of surviving in a world drowning in overpopulation, wasted natural resources, and a union of masses who would rather flush the mess down the toilet then fight to save anything.
All these celebs, stalked like wild animals wherever they go, no matter what place on the planet, there is always some photographer hiding the tall grass, a catcus, or cocunut tree waiting to capture that golden moment which will put them on the map in the paparazzi department, either way, people must love the mags cause the store keep putting them out on the shelf to be sold, I get pissed at myself whenever I look over to read the headlines, a guilty pleasure, not even a real pleasure, but curious to see what the hell someone has painstakingly gone over in order to shape up into a some form of reading material, total junk, but to our society it supercedes, the evening news, politics, and global harmony, this is the real world, the silver screen, the super hero idealistic man and woman who the public shall never resemble, the masses live through the actors and their superstardom, somehow feeling connected, intertwined, and relative to their experiences when in fact most of the people live in hollow compact apartment, slowly dissolving on obseity, alcohol, and depression, drifting further away from sanity into another realm of no pain, where belief is enough to invoke change while riding the escalator to heaven, saved by the grace of Hollywood.
All these celebs, stalked like wild animals wherever they go, no matter what place on the planet, there is always some photographer hiding the tall grass, a catcus, or cocunut tree waiting to capture that golden moment which will put them on the map in the paparazzi department, either way, people must love the mags cause the store keep putting them out on the shelf to be sold, I get pissed at myself whenever I look over to read the headlines, a guilty pleasure, not even a real pleasure, but curious to see what the hell someone has painstakingly gone over in order to shape up into a some form of reading material, total junk, but to our society it supercedes, the evening news, politics, and global harmony, this is the real world, the silver screen, the super hero idealistic man and woman who the public shall never resemble, the masses live through the actors and their superstardom, somehow feeling connected, intertwined, and relative to their experiences when in fact most of the people live in hollow compact apartment, slowly dissolving on obseity, alcohol, and depression, drifting further away from sanity into another realm of no pain, where belief is enough to invoke change while riding the escalator to heaven, saved by the grace of Hollywood.
Retiredpornstars.com
Saw the name on the back of a window, a sticker of ill fortunate nature, where the relics, dried up whores, and drug fiends of the sex world unite for another trip down memory lane. Stories of syphills, HIV, crack cocaine, meth, 80 men gang bangs, and a total loss of conscience all merge together under one heading. Is a porn star ever really retired, jeez, some diseased pervert will pay money to fuck just about anything anymore, animal, children, freaks of nature, whatever, money crosses all lines and supposely washes away all sins, total bullshit, looking around in Vegas in the suburbs watching all the stripper, hookers, and sluts going grocery shopping for their kids will tell you enough in one day to know that the scars run deep, there is nothing proud, worthwhile, and meaningful about sucking cock and taking it up the ass, I'm sure plenty of prisoners in jail detest being on the receiving end of prison politics, sodomy, rape, animalistic ritual sex, we all crave it, watching it on the internet, television, or on some street corner in the alley only feeds the desire to enact, perform, and take part in such high levels of deviant performances. People have to find new ways to make money and luckily in society such ours there are a million new ways to scam the public out of their wages and most porn stars are savvy enough to know this, so expect the clone site of retired sex stars to give the Facebooks of the world a run for their money, cause that pussy is a cash machine right up until the moment the last bit of dirt hits the coffin lid.
Opposing Forces Unite
A deranged man walked around the Vons Gas station looking for some spare change. Why lie I need some beer, give me a few bucks, broken down here in this car over down the way, just something to keep me going. All the lines, a thousand more, did not matter, just get out of my presence, etched across the face of an uncomfortable white man, being confronted by a black man over who needs what, who gets what, and by the exact means. There was no way the brother possibly even thought about asking me for money, I don't waste anytime, just beat it, don't have time to listen to the soft sell or the hard sell, intimidation, guilt, or a general sense of oppression, skip it, might give them a few swallows of the gas going into my van, otherwise not interested. The best part is when the panhandler thanks me for turning down their pleas for money, oh the good lord...... on and on, doing my suffering for the afterlife where things will be much better that is why everyone is on drugs, booze, or food, distractions galore, forget about life as a failure, induce coma, lay back and imagine a better world in the mind.
By now, the local store clerk cretin has been alerted to the handywork of the bum who resorted to calling the white guy a racist while transcending into another entire diatribe blaming this man for the every atrocity conducted by the white race since the dawn of civilization. So the lackey clerk sent in the rent a cop security officer who happen to be black, like a repellent or avenue to mitigate the race card being overused at the time. The rent a cop had seen the brother's routine all too often and told him as much. This activity snapped the brother out of Farrakaan mode and into the united brother front, we are in this together to defeat the white man, let us unite, overcome, and rewrite the history books. The security guard got the homeless man moving in a direction from the customers off toward the bus stop where such behavior would easily be tolerated without judgement, rebuttle, or any sense of recognition, just another looney out on display. Negating race, pitting brother against brother, one paid by the streets, the other by the mechanisms of corporate America, shows you no matter what you have to choose a side, who will you defend when the time comes down, only one shot in which the rest of your life will be judged, a corporate slug or comatose binge freak, opposing force seeking death in the streets of Las Vegas, show teeth, violence, or death, nothing else will be tolerated.
By now, the local store clerk cretin has been alerted to the handywork of the bum who resorted to calling the white guy a racist while transcending into another entire diatribe blaming this man for the every atrocity conducted by the white race since the dawn of civilization. So the lackey clerk sent in the rent a cop security officer who happen to be black, like a repellent or avenue to mitigate the race card being overused at the time. The rent a cop had seen the brother's routine all too often and told him as much. This activity snapped the brother out of Farrakaan mode and into the united brother front, we are in this together to defeat the white man, let us unite, overcome, and rewrite the history books. The security guard got the homeless man moving in a direction from the customers off toward the bus stop where such behavior would easily be tolerated without judgement, rebuttle, or any sense of recognition, just another looney out on display. Negating race, pitting brother against brother, one paid by the streets, the other by the mechanisms of corporate America, shows you no matter what you have to choose a side, who will you defend when the time comes down, only one shot in which the rest of your life will be judged, a corporate slug or comatose binge freak, opposing force seeking death in the streets of Las Vegas, show teeth, violence, or death, nothing else will be tolerated.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Lord of the Carts
Part good samaratin, part obsessive compulsive, there did not seem to be any obvious reason why this street broken, mentally aloof, and universally disconnected human being felt the desire to organize the grocery carts in the metal corral left out in the parking lot which served as holding station for them until some teenage clerk found the time to wander around the area to grab all the baskets. Out of disarray came a blossomed flower of orderliness; the guy wanders around the lot gathering every stray cart as if it was a lost lamb in need of shelter and security. He did not work there, pushing the metal baskets between rows of oncoming vehicles, focused, committed, and unwavering, determination flowed out his pours like sweat from a person on a overly humid afternoon. This was all an attempt at one person seeking to control his environment, dressed in a well soiled, oil stained t-shirt, cut off pants, and a pair of dumpster salvaged dress shoes that looked to be a few sizes too large for the master of the carts.
He did not work there, still his nature to neatness felt a bit misplace especially after giving him the physical once over, personal appearance was nothing, but the calling to act as personal shepard to the grocery carts of Food 4 Less took the upmost precendence. I could not figure out exactly what was motivating this human being to undertake such a ritualistic routine, no one else around bothered to give it any thought, they were too caught in up whether to buy generic or brand name goods, what to cook for dinner, and if they really could afford to eat in the first place anymore. Such heavy weights on the minds of your average grocery shopper could create an unintended short sighting in regards to the personal mission of the Lord of the Carts who at the moment fell back in ranks to the rear of the parking lot, standing between empty parking spaces observing his domain, like a cattle rancher watching the herd as the sun sets in the west, stoic, proud, and overwhelmed with personal hubris, a champion overcoming the impossible, relishing victory in a subconscious moment of reflection. His actions created effiecency, facilated happiness in the eyes of the clerks who merely had to push the carts back in the store now, and finally feed his personal need to generate order in a society so bent on giving up to the everpresent eroding tide of urban decay. The battle would continue on forever, but his own individual front amdist the grocery store parking lot shall serve as a glimmer of hope for those cumplusive types who wallowed in the vices of self control, a psychotic fung shei episode that had no resolution, crumbling blocks stacked over and over again, yet if you forget you ever piled them up in the first place, there would be nothing to get angry about, this guy at that idea mastered, toiling relentlessly once more to reestablish a balance, no amount of lithum, methadone, or antipsychotic could remedy, this fight was his rehabiliation, maybe that is why no one stopped him from continuing the effort, just reaping in the benefit of the constant struggle to the entire house of cards from collapsing, no emotion at all, a robot of specific actions, applause held as the shoppers filled up the carts, then emptied them into their automobiles, unaware to the toil taking place amongst them.
He did not work there, still his nature to neatness felt a bit misplace especially after giving him the physical once over, personal appearance was nothing, but the calling to act as personal shepard to the grocery carts of Food 4 Less took the upmost precendence. I could not figure out exactly what was motivating this human being to undertake such a ritualistic routine, no one else around bothered to give it any thought, they were too caught in up whether to buy generic or brand name goods, what to cook for dinner, and if they really could afford to eat in the first place anymore. Such heavy weights on the minds of your average grocery shopper could create an unintended short sighting in regards to the personal mission of the Lord of the Carts who at the moment fell back in ranks to the rear of the parking lot, standing between empty parking spaces observing his domain, like a cattle rancher watching the herd as the sun sets in the west, stoic, proud, and overwhelmed with personal hubris, a champion overcoming the impossible, relishing victory in a subconscious moment of reflection. His actions created effiecency, facilated happiness in the eyes of the clerks who merely had to push the carts back in the store now, and finally feed his personal need to generate order in a society so bent on giving up to the everpresent eroding tide of urban decay. The battle would continue on forever, but his own individual front amdist the grocery store parking lot shall serve as a glimmer of hope for those cumplusive types who wallowed in the vices of self control, a psychotic fung shei episode that had no resolution, crumbling blocks stacked over and over again, yet if you forget you ever piled them up in the first place, there would be nothing to get angry about, this guy at that idea mastered, toiling relentlessly once more to reestablish a balance, no amount of lithum, methadone, or antipsychotic could remedy, this fight was his rehabiliation, maybe that is why no one stopped him from continuing the effort, just reaping in the benefit of the constant struggle to the entire house of cards from collapsing, no emotion at all, a robot of specific actions, applause held as the shoppers filled up the carts, then emptied them into their automobiles, unaware to the toil taking place amongst them.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Backwoods
There is a discreet balance in the scenery out here in the Ohio backwoods. Large, thick tracks of treelands surround the retro grade neighborhoods that have been frozen in time since the 50's. General stores, gas stations with service attendents, and a myriad of local drivers in half broken down rusted out domestic brand lifted trucks with confederate flags are the norm. Yet no matter where my travels have taken me over the decades, the invisible magnetic beam of the weird somehow continues to pulls such outlandish individuals as those who drive such trucks into my presence. The first one must have been supplementing his income with regional meth sales as the guy behind the wheel and his friend cranked up the latest death metal sounds that Wal Mart had not already gone out of there way in banning due to sacriligous nature. Either way, these two epitomized the essence of rebellion in the small town country of southwestern Ohio, which happen to more or less border Indiana and Kentucky, don't think the proximity really had anything due to the stereotypical characteristics of the two individuals who in their cut of sleeve/ shirtless nature took turns leaning out their respective open doors while crusing down the roadway. Couldn't tell if this might be part local custom, mating ritual, or an all out effort to invoke a new form of intimidation not scene since the movie Deliverance. Of course, the fact I was driving a shitty little Hyundai compact car in the land of the free, home of the brave may have highlighted my already unwelcomed arrival.
There was not much I could do, besides turning back around to the Indiana border, most anyone with all their teeth and a bit of an education would stand out in these parts which makes the fact that a major university sets somewhat hidden in these mountainous hills, a bastion of learning where the overall intelligence level probably makes the entire state of Ohio appear partially capable of thought process, but do not be fooled it is down home right here in the backwoods, as the two screwballs bang on the sides of the truck doors to the death metal music while driver revs the engine somemore, not much else to do but laugh, already half pissed off because none of the road signs match any of the maps in my possession. There must be some sort of code or legend on the map I am missing which shall translate the myraid of posted highway markers alongside the shoulder, going on nothing but instinct at the moment, roadside taverns be damn, should just pull over and forget it, have a few drinks with the locals, instigate some violence then head down to the police station.
Regardless, the Dukes of Hazzard turned in another direction motivated by other means of spreading narrow minded hate amongst the citizens of Hamilton Ohio or wherever I happen to be at the time, everything looks the same, the houses, the treeline, the shaved mullets, and mini cars with sticker letters spelling out car detail services even though the car with the letters on it has not been detailed in years, missing bumpers, primer paint job, cracked windows, and enough junk the back pickup to make even the most endeavored horder turn awash in envious bliss. Guess the whole rebel flag thing might have to deal with our current president or proximity to Kentucky, quite possibly just small town America period, as if it matters anymore, symbolic if anything, like any other extremist activity in the US, outside of ideology Muslim related. Had to stop in a convenience store for directions finally, did want to spend the entire night driving around in circles looking for Miami University, the place just sort of appears alongside the road without much prompting which makes me crazy, either way, not much left to do but roll down the window, crank up the Greatful Dead and open a beer.
There was not much I could do, besides turning back around to the Indiana border, most anyone with all their teeth and a bit of an education would stand out in these parts which makes the fact that a major university sets somewhat hidden in these mountainous hills, a bastion of learning where the overall intelligence level probably makes the entire state of Ohio appear partially capable of thought process, but do not be fooled it is down home right here in the backwoods, as the two screwballs bang on the sides of the truck doors to the death metal music while driver revs the engine somemore, not much else to do but laugh, already half pissed off because none of the road signs match any of the maps in my possession. There must be some sort of code or legend on the map I am missing which shall translate the myraid of posted highway markers alongside the shoulder, going on nothing but instinct at the moment, roadside taverns be damn, should just pull over and forget it, have a few drinks with the locals, instigate some violence then head down to the police station.
Regardless, the Dukes of Hazzard turned in another direction motivated by other means of spreading narrow minded hate amongst the citizens of Hamilton Ohio or wherever I happen to be at the time, everything looks the same, the houses, the treeline, the shaved mullets, and mini cars with sticker letters spelling out car detail services even though the car with the letters on it has not been detailed in years, missing bumpers, primer paint job, cracked windows, and enough junk the back pickup to make even the most endeavored horder turn awash in envious bliss. Guess the whole rebel flag thing might have to deal with our current president or proximity to Kentucky, quite possibly just small town America period, as if it matters anymore, symbolic if anything, like any other extremist activity in the US, outside of ideology Muslim related. Had to stop in a convenience store for directions finally, did want to spend the entire night driving around in circles looking for Miami University, the place just sort of appears alongside the road without much prompting which makes me crazy, either way, not much left to do but roll down the window, crank up the Greatful Dead and open a beer.
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