After 3 hectic weeks on the road from country to country, took most of my notes in the mini scratch pad, ideas, threads, and analysis from all the things orbiting around this life.
This was my decision to grab some extra sleep even though I would have to step up the already hetic pace of getting to the airport without taking measures to reset all of my belongings in one nice neat compact design, been up late to write, doing some intel on the urban lifestyle with a few friends as they pass the time getting high and musing about the upcoming weekend of the college basketball tournament, of course these folks presist in getting me to join in their pharma-weed fiesta but had to kick my old habits in order not to feel so edgy, desperate and suicidal, last of all is sleep, have had trouble with it for a couple decades now maybe living in Vegas contributes to this, my job as well, former lifestyle definitely, so now I have a beer or two, is this called slowing down? Who knows, all I know is I can't go on burning both ends and expect to remain rational, relevant, or conscious on any sort of tangible level which may work to the likes of William S Burroughs, Salivador Dali, and Samuel Beckett, but not for me anymore which leads me to this morning, just got off an airplane 3 days ago, right to another job, straight from the plane with the clothes I was wearing to fry my brain on the future of the Web with such people as Larry King Aston Kucher, and James Cameron. There was an entire cabal of tech heavies attempting to explain the end user purpose of the Web 2.0, empowering the people, the global village, right down to the village idiot, who shall all have a voice in this new frontier, a position, a slice of digital life, 40 Terabytes and Quad Core CPU. All the guest speakers were very convincing in the aspect of Morrison's "We want the world and we want it now." this idea could not be anymore accurate in this moment. Information mining is the new cool from Facebook to Twitter and every uber-tech application or game like website, likes and dislikes are being harvested on a scale unseen in any time, an advertisers wet dream, part digital, part human emotion, an algorithim that hones in on the consumeristic pulse of the global customer. Thought Microsoft, Google, or Apple was big, wait till some teenage genius develops software to mine, interpet, and deliver real time data on a global purchasing habits, preferences and desires, like catching fish in a barrel, all too easy, this is not to far off, it has been forseen, therefore should be respected and adhered, and for the savvy few, capitalized upon.
I won't lie, I will be one of those few, the easy money is out there, so why fight it, get on board, before the train leaves the station. What this all has to do with sleep deprivation, nothing but conscious choice to either labor for a dollar or get someone else to do it for me, that's the difference, so extra 20 minutes equals running out the door thinking I will check my bag in at the airport, but already checked in online claiming zero bags, have to pay for bags now, irony soon to follow, have to throw everything in a suitcase including various things I will eventually have to toss in the trash, out the door, no breakfast, glance at an envelope I've been trying to mail for a week, change of address form, new place, no mail, no time to check mail either.
I need an assistant, or just plain assistance, rehabilation, the full main course, push that thought to the side, now on the clock, late check for bags starts in 20 min, still across town, long term parking, run to the shuttle, forget to dump all my work things that won't pass security, utility knife, nail clippers, colonge, and various metallic gear, think about checking bag, power walk to airline check in, damn parking lot of pissed off people, looking lethargic as the clerks behind the counter who do not appear to be in any hurry to get these passengers on their way. Resigned to the slow progression of serivce I immidiately find a trash can then dump what is needed to pass security, then power walk back to the terminal gate entrance, line moving, good, 40 min till flight leaves. Security nice enough, more than usual at least this guy talks and does not give you that SS brigade like stare of judgemental quiet after sizing you up while pretending to maintain some sense of civility without reporting me like some member of Orwell's The Spies or Junior Anti Sex League, use to the once over, cause I look like the face of the enemy, so be it. Now throw everything onto the conveyor belt, strip down, no metal, no battled war, no sense of direction, everyone looks a little pissed off this morning, convention crowd, nursing hangover, no cure, four days of irrational behavior mixed with gambling losses, over intoxication, and the shakes, all this has the amatuer partiers on edge, going over scenarios in the their heads of how these,mostly, men will explain all those 300 dollar ATM charges, company dinners?, sure sounds like a real good excues, the wife will fall for it no problem. I can see a few guys in this frame of mind processing multiple storylines, sorting out which one will be the most effective in explaing that 2000 dollar hole in the bank account, I have done it, but I maintain my own business account, sans anyone else's name on the account, only answer to yourself and when you can't do that, immediately stop your behavior or push it until the authorities wrangle you in for a long stint in federal prison, it's all about choice, the indecisive people are those full of fury and regret, don't be one of those types.
Embrace success and failure equally, it will serve you well, off the soap box too preachy, back in line as the starter's pistol cracks out into the lobby as the next tram to the terminal gate arrives, scores of weary travelers initate a stampede of carry on luggage, shoes, and any unsecured handbags mowing down the elderly, handicap, and small children, nothing can crest this deseperate tide of people who can't leave Vegas fast enough as if some dark long invisible arm was slowly catching up them, reeling them in like bait for some larger unseen catch, dangle that savings, retirement, college fund, right over the fire, burns right up, what guy can't get into loose, fast, and readily available debauchary. It's standard operating procedure for subconscious minds that are looking to run the ship aground for no apparent reason, instinct, predestination, and a general will to experience the extreme where it shall wait open armed receiving wealth like a fortunate charity or a never satisfied high maintenance lover, just keep feeding the furnance, fan the flames, enjoy the moment, those soft, suppple, youthful female escorts deliver forget the cost, dream big, pretend for a day or two, rock star status is your domain, like an old pair of comfortable shoes, sex, drugs, and rock and roll is in my DNA, have never known life without it, pay the price, accept the sleepless weeks, overdose near death like paralysis slowly overtaking your hands, limbs, then heart, that's death buddy, paying a visit, nothing more than an introduction or tease, cause once your dead, well, what really matters, so teetering on the edge, clarity reigns supreme and if you walk the edge long enough, you will either develop the clairvoyance of a saint or the passionate rage of the insane.
Uncaring attitueds, business in motion, get on with your work or get out of the way as the turbulance of commerce proceeds, thinking about where I will stash the carry on bag in the plane, seat is in the tail end, so usually I am the first to board, but not today as I dash out the escalators where others who barely manage their time, while condensing, the handles of the roller bags in mechanical precision of a military unit or a well rehearsed symphony as they start the crazy climber workout routine up the escalator eventually stepping off toward some distant gate with the intention of catching up on some well needed sleep as the flames of hell rapidly close in on their heels looking to finish off the job the Las Vegas Strip set the stage for, nothing for me to run from, only to, a line of passengers already awaiting to board nearly out to the terminal guess I will have to place the roller bag where ever, deal with it later, but no such luck, the plane is out of space, have to check my bag in now, insert irony after having to ditch 60 bucks in equipment, still have to head to baggage claim, at least they did not charge me for the priviledge. Time to make my way down the aisle where a man casually takes his time holding the rest of the passengers while putting his belongings in the upper cabin as if sending his first born off to college, so meticulous and teary eyed, a parent some what relucant to move on to the empty nest stage, clinging to his jacket, folding it like a veteran burial flag, the stewardess chimes in as the couple already seated in his row rue his presence, a culmination of first class prejudice due to the fact that the husband and wife team wanted an aisle and window combo, leaving the middle seat available, now they would have to look over this guy who might have been European, tough to tell, either way he had already gotten the goat of these WASPS who in their collective beady eyed mannerism had Euro guy pegged as some high level dissenter against the moral fabric of everything the United States stood for, Benedict Arnold, Lefty Rosenthal, and Saddam Hussien all rolled into one, sleeping with the enemy they call it, at least for the next 4+ hours on this flight, well the Euro guy finally moved aside with enough room to get seated before being told to put away my remaining belongings, we are already late, the stewardess chimed in and that's what 20 extra minutes of sleep will buy you.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
DMV Daycamp Part 1
Should have known at 7am when the line extended around the circumference of the building that as the earlier people in line broke down their tents and campsites from the previous night waiting to get a spot near the front door, I might be in for a long day at the local DMV office. Not that this particular office happened to be the only one located in Las Vegas, in fact there probably is somewhere between four and eight within the valley, furthermore technology has caught up even in the government sector which historically known for being ineffiecent and slow Nevada DMV is on the internet where I usually handle any affairs in regards to the re-registration of either of my cars. Unfortunately, they don't handle address changes to driver's licenses online or changes in title, maybe the second one, either way, it was time to trade in my official looking identification for the new and improved Mickey Mouse style ID that looks like something you might have been manufactured in one of those many machines found in carnival midways back in my youth. My junior high school ID looked more official than the new Nevada ID, maybe having the card look so fake would cut down on the ever rampant false identification sites that any high school and college freshmen could easily point you towards, Kinkos could have produced a finer piece of work.
Either way here I am stuck in line with the rest of the Las Vegas masses and I am not talking about your Summerlin, Henderson, or Southern Highlands type crowds, were talking poly-lingual, multicultural, and for the most part working class community of Las Vegas, there is already an older lady behind me complaining about the length of the line, disclaiming, how can there not be any jobs, they need more people in this building to make the line short, even with Obama in office, she cannot seem to get her justice, marooned on this desert island for the next 4 to 6 hours, the first one or two hours out in the sun, which may have induced her disgruntled nature in the first place, her man to the side, seem to be all too familiar with this brand of complaint, doing his best to stay silent in order to appease her momentary anger at the Nevada DMV. I thought does this happen to old people, do they just complain, and I'm not going to call out women, but maybe it is the fact I grew up around a mother who did and still does nothing but bitch about things she refuses to handle or has no control over in the first place.
I did not want to go to the DMV today, but jeez, I have to fly out of town for work, for another week, spent the last week out of town, and the week before that living in a hotel trying to kick a drug habit, so life goes on, yet for some it never is rosy or upbeat, only that dark cloud that seems only hang over them if for no other reason for these type of people to have an excuse, an outlet, a reason to be so negative, hostile, and aggressive all at the same time, this behavior makes me nervous and when it is a stranger things can feel weird enough to the point where you want to tell the person to shut the fuck up, punch them, or leave, not enough psychologist in the world to undo all the angst, conflict, and self pity I sense in these people, my mother especially, make them all run for cover, though her public persona is nothing like the paraniod, schizophrenic android that I witness everytime I visited her or take her shopping, it is like being a kid again after she has come home from work, divorced with no husband or other person to workout her frustrations with work and her life in general, my mother would dump all her emotions in my inbox, lap, brain, turning me into a short fused, quick tempered, distrustful machine. It has taken nearly 40 years to pry myself loose from all of those hollow emotions and at first when I agreed for her to move to Las Vegas I did it with a medium sense of regret, thinking how I spent most of my life distancing myself from her in order to be spared the wrath of spite blossoming from her mouth like a volcanic explosion.
Contrarily, her presence out here up to today has taught some vauable lessons about myself and how much she has been an influence of my behavior towards others, like studying a animal in their natural environment being around my mother has helped understand just how twisted up these dark buds inside me became this bouquet of evil, a golem of spite, hatred, and frozen emotion, in the end her presence led me out of the tunnel from all the crazy shit going on around me within the confines of Las Vegas as well as the world.
Finally inside the DMV where a lady at the door works as controller, receptionist, and bouncer all in one breath, as many would be line cutters make their best attempts with fleeted footed and deviled tongue to make their way past this gatekeeper to the halls of bureaucracy. The woman at the door was no easy target, all the classic mindgames had been given a shot, the Trojan Horse, the old heart attack routine, nothing fazed this lady who sent person after person to the back of the line or out back to their car to mumble to themselves, like insane homeless people do on the streets of downtown Las Vegas, over being denied plotting their next challenge at the gates of Nevada DMV. Have to split, pick this up when I get back, off to the airport, stay tuned.
Either way here I am stuck in line with the rest of the Las Vegas masses and I am not talking about your Summerlin, Henderson, or Southern Highlands type crowds, were talking poly-lingual, multicultural, and for the most part working class community of Las Vegas, there is already an older lady behind me complaining about the length of the line, disclaiming, how can there not be any jobs, they need more people in this building to make the line short, even with Obama in office, she cannot seem to get her justice, marooned on this desert island for the next 4 to 6 hours, the first one or two hours out in the sun, which may have induced her disgruntled nature in the first place, her man to the side, seem to be all too familiar with this brand of complaint, doing his best to stay silent in order to appease her momentary anger at the Nevada DMV. I thought does this happen to old people, do they just complain, and I'm not going to call out women, but maybe it is the fact I grew up around a mother who did and still does nothing but bitch about things she refuses to handle or has no control over in the first place.
I did not want to go to the DMV today, but jeez, I have to fly out of town for work, for another week, spent the last week out of town, and the week before that living in a hotel trying to kick a drug habit, so life goes on, yet for some it never is rosy or upbeat, only that dark cloud that seems only hang over them if for no other reason for these type of people to have an excuse, an outlet, a reason to be so negative, hostile, and aggressive all at the same time, this behavior makes me nervous and when it is a stranger things can feel weird enough to the point where you want to tell the person to shut the fuck up, punch them, or leave, not enough psychologist in the world to undo all the angst, conflict, and self pity I sense in these people, my mother especially, make them all run for cover, though her public persona is nothing like the paraniod, schizophrenic android that I witness everytime I visited her or take her shopping, it is like being a kid again after she has come home from work, divorced with no husband or other person to workout her frustrations with work and her life in general, my mother would dump all her emotions in my inbox, lap, brain, turning me into a short fused, quick tempered, distrustful machine. It has taken nearly 40 years to pry myself loose from all of those hollow emotions and at first when I agreed for her to move to Las Vegas I did it with a medium sense of regret, thinking how I spent most of my life distancing myself from her in order to be spared the wrath of spite blossoming from her mouth like a volcanic explosion.
Contrarily, her presence out here up to today has taught some vauable lessons about myself and how much she has been an influence of my behavior towards others, like studying a animal in their natural environment being around my mother has helped understand just how twisted up these dark buds inside me became this bouquet of evil, a golem of spite, hatred, and frozen emotion, in the end her presence led me out of the tunnel from all the crazy shit going on around me within the confines of Las Vegas as well as the world.
Finally inside the DMV where a lady at the door works as controller, receptionist, and bouncer all in one breath, as many would be line cutters make their best attempts with fleeted footed and deviled tongue to make their way past this gatekeeper to the halls of bureaucracy. The woman at the door was no easy target, all the classic mindgames had been given a shot, the Trojan Horse, the old heart attack routine, nothing fazed this lady who sent person after person to the back of the line or out back to their car to mumble to themselves, like insane homeless people do on the streets of downtown Las Vegas, over being denied plotting their next challenge at the gates of Nevada DMV. Have to split, pick this up when I get back, off to the airport, stay tuned.
Grocery Shopping
Well finally have a fridge and sometime to hit up the grocery store, after the past few months of hanging out at the local haunts for my daily dose of meals, it is back to the somewhat weekly ritual of grabbing a shopping cart with busted up wheels and heading back over to the once habitually visited Vons, known as the new Ghetto Vons, not to be mixed up with the Old Ghetto Vons with such diverse characters of homeless, panhandlers, drug addicts, boozers, and insane with generally nothing else to do except everything from accost to entertain the passing customers as they made their way into or out of the grocery store, while ocassionally mustering up enough courage to make a liquor hijacking just before they closed down one side of the store's entrance, in fact due such dilgence and persistance of would be theives, the old ghetto Vons had to permanately shutdown the liquor store side entrance permanently to cut down on the amount of looting from everyone from frat pledges to derrange sociopathic binge drinkers.
The new ghetto Vons is conveniently located near a brand new park in a section of central Las Vegas that is known more for its high level of crime than its proximity to the strip itself. On this block you can find anything from low end narcotics to mindless meth addicted prositutes wandering about in search of some easy money whether from the nearby conventioners of the Las Vegas Convention Center or from the random local on their way home from a long evening cleaning out slot machines at one of the many strip hotels. So there tends to be a lot of action in front of the new Ghetto Vons tonight, your usual assortment of people with little to do, a few guys hanging out with the local rent a cop, whether life long friend or sort of new hanger on who takes up most his time with attempts of talking to marginally and down right nasty looking women who are either bent on gorging down on food or lost in the Las Vegas fantasy of what can you do for me, well checking in at 185 plus with marginal looks still seems to have a way of effecting even the most selective man, just the nature of the male in general, get it in if you can, then deal with the emotions, the attachment, and eventual misunderstandings that will follow.
Of course, someone is going to hit me up for money on the way in, just a classic part of the grocery shopping experience, not much to get around it, the rent a cop don't care, he's from a poor background, so it has been part of his culture from the get go, every since the rent a cop was old enough to sneak into a 7-11 and fill his pockets full of candy then run out before the cashier could stop him, now look at his lot in life, passing time, waiting to be discovered as the next rap star or merely holding down some sort of position, allowing him to pay for the weed, the booze, and maybe a hooker off of Craigslist. I pass the gauntlet of characters on my way in while nearly taking out the sliding door entrance to the place, had a few on the way in, weather too nice now, to consider full time sobriety, have really been putting in the effort to kick all the drugs and for the most part have been successful, no hard stuff or late nights that did not involve something work related to keep me up past 12a, sort of weird getting 8 or 9 hours of sleep then falling into a schedule to maintain the motivation the push further away from my addictive binging tendencies, not really summer party weather yet anyway, even as the Winter Music Conference in Miami ramps up this week, a mecca for decadent behavior where staying for four days straights is fairly ordinary, while turning the mind into the vehicle for hallucingenic behavior, maybe next year.
Inside Vons, have to go through the memory to remember exactly what I usually buy inside the grocery store, not too many things, if only for the fact that cooking takes so much time and after working 12 to 20 hours in a day with the idea of having to do it again the next morning usually puts me in the realm of food that is either pre-prapared or more along the sandwhich level, not much activity, only the process of mashing a couple of things together then getting on with the rest of my evening, involving writing or business stuff, topped off with a solid helping of Facebook or some other means of distraction to further distance myself from dealing with all the real thoughts and tangents floating through my mind at the time. Secondly, I live upstairs now in a condo, so the though of making three trips to the car for groceries has seriously put a limit on exactly what I am willing to carry in one move back to the condo, real singles lifestyle, well if that was the case, eating out every night or not eating all would suffice, make washing dishes, taking out the trash, and establishing a nest of plastic bags all the more irrelavent.
Of course, there are plenty of strange folk in the grocery store tonight, some kid with a blonde mohawk, beat up black cut off jeans, with metal chains, and that Hells Angel's like cutoff sleeves jacket with some old school band banner on the back, like the Addicts, GBH, or the Crass a real throw back to the early 80's which seems to be all the rage lately, another blog for another time, plus all the regualar assortment of folks who are heading home or looking to finish off the rest of the balance of their WIC cards by purchasing goods for other people then trading them in for cigarette, alcohol, meth, or crack money, why just sell the card up front, some people do, given the opportunity, jeez when I was back on that shit, they just had the coupons that looked like money sort of, my mom would drive us clear across the city to an even crappier part of town than we were living in at the time, in order to avoid detection from anyone we might have known, what can you do when you have no family support and the world has turn their back on you, move forward and never forget, let it burn forever, making success all that more sweet, but humble at the same time, while dodging the sell out, the ever prevalent sell out which has accomplished task of melting down more brains in this world than all the most powerful drugs combined, but every economy needs its consumers so fall in line.
Get hit on by some crackwhore with a shovel butt, checking me out as if I might hit her up with some money or something she can pawn to score a twenty rock which might only end up being a ten, yet as long she gets that taste, that smell, and crackling sensation of a hit, everything will workout in the end, cuts down on the food bill as well. Otherwise, pretty slow night in the store and I am out of there in ten minutes, pushing my cart pass the assortment of magazines ranging from Men's Fitness to WWE magazine, there is a subculture for everything but the fact publishers still put out real hard copy paper based material in the 21st century seems to me nothing but a losing proposition, the internet has taken the lead in the information age and will not relinquish the title no matter how many steriod filled actors you put on the cover of a magazine. Aisle after aisle there is an over abundance of processed food to induce the most highly dose of dopamine from the indulgence of carb based foods, it reminds me of the scene in The Hurt Locker where the main character comes back to the US after his tour in Iraq to go grocery shopping, he is in the cereal section surrounded by two lanes eight feet high full of cereal, this is what freedom has been fought for, the priviledge to walk down a shopping lane with one hundred different choice of what to eat for breakfast, feels overwhelming, Trix, Coco Pebbles, or Lucky Charms, not too much in the health department and for what that stuff costs nowadays, I have the feeling there may be something more in those cereals than merely sugar that keeps parents bending their will when the kids start screaming about having to get the generic cereal knockoff of all the greatest and hip cereals of the moment. It is fairly late in the evening, stockers are doing a bit of maintence on the products, bringing the backstock to the front in order to give a more picturesque look as if preparing the location for a scene in a movie or some other sort of advertising vehicle, but not tonight, time to move past all the people over at the dollar DVD rack and various others arguing over the merits of 22 ounce malt liqour beer versus the typical white trash 12 pack. Once in line, a cashier is posted at the register sitting down on a stool, spreadout sort of like Jabba the Hut and here I see where our collective decadent ways have taken this country to a place of overweight, unconscious, and unconcerned lifestyles, craving consumption in any format, for no reason, programmed to continue purchasing, eating, and driving waste out into the oceans of the world. This cashier is a prime example, could be considered a victim or nothing more than a willing participant as her girth lays out upon her hips like a laid in bean bag, at least she can reach over and bag the groceries, do not expect her to get up to put them in the cart, so I oblige, while still wondering how we have let people, ourselves, and society come to this point, where everyone is afraid to say, enough, do we have to be slaves to this system of having three beers everyday, honking down all the drugs people can get their hands on, or simply smoking themselves into a safe shelter far from the legions of other people who have locked themselves into the cubicle culture of America, unwilling to participate in the change that is taking place in the world without them, the future is passing this country by, no one really cares, the curtain is closing, will there be an Act Two for America or will this soverign nation get globbled up into the Web 2.0 that is here now. As I grab my groceries to leave I look over my back at the local cretins sizing up my wallet and my attitude, automatically, hostility masks my face, signalling to any would be predator that I am not worth the time, effort, and injury getting with me shall involved, back to the safe confines of my gated community, later.
The new ghetto Vons is conveniently located near a brand new park in a section of central Las Vegas that is known more for its high level of crime than its proximity to the strip itself. On this block you can find anything from low end narcotics to mindless meth addicted prositutes wandering about in search of some easy money whether from the nearby conventioners of the Las Vegas Convention Center or from the random local on their way home from a long evening cleaning out slot machines at one of the many strip hotels. So there tends to be a lot of action in front of the new Ghetto Vons tonight, your usual assortment of people with little to do, a few guys hanging out with the local rent a cop, whether life long friend or sort of new hanger on who takes up most his time with attempts of talking to marginally and down right nasty looking women who are either bent on gorging down on food or lost in the Las Vegas fantasy of what can you do for me, well checking in at 185 plus with marginal looks still seems to have a way of effecting even the most selective man, just the nature of the male in general, get it in if you can, then deal with the emotions, the attachment, and eventual misunderstandings that will follow.
Of course, someone is going to hit me up for money on the way in, just a classic part of the grocery shopping experience, not much to get around it, the rent a cop don't care, he's from a poor background, so it has been part of his culture from the get go, every since the rent a cop was old enough to sneak into a 7-11 and fill his pockets full of candy then run out before the cashier could stop him, now look at his lot in life, passing time, waiting to be discovered as the next rap star or merely holding down some sort of position, allowing him to pay for the weed, the booze, and maybe a hooker off of Craigslist. I pass the gauntlet of characters on my way in while nearly taking out the sliding door entrance to the place, had a few on the way in, weather too nice now, to consider full time sobriety, have really been putting in the effort to kick all the drugs and for the most part have been successful, no hard stuff or late nights that did not involve something work related to keep me up past 12a, sort of weird getting 8 or 9 hours of sleep then falling into a schedule to maintain the motivation the push further away from my addictive binging tendencies, not really summer party weather yet anyway, even as the Winter Music Conference in Miami ramps up this week, a mecca for decadent behavior where staying for four days straights is fairly ordinary, while turning the mind into the vehicle for hallucingenic behavior, maybe next year.
Inside Vons, have to go through the memory to remember exactly what I usually buy inside the grocery store, not too many things, if only for the fact that cooking takes so much time and after working 12 to 20 hours in a day with the idea of having to do it again the next morning usually puts me in the realm of food that is either pre-prapared or more along the sandwhich level, not much activity, only the process of mashing a couple of things together then getting on with the rest of my evening, involving writing or business stuff, topped off with a solid helping of Facebook or some other means of distraction to further distance myself from dealing with all the real thoughts and tangents floating through my mind at the time. Secondly, I live upstairs now in a condo, so the though of making three trips to the car for groceries has seriously put a limit on exactly what I am willing to carry in one move back to the condo, real singles lifestyle, well if that was the case, eating out every night or not eating all would suffice, make washing dishes, taking out the trash, and establishing a nest of plastic bags all the more irrelavent.
Of course, there are plenty of strange folk in the grocery store tonight, some kid with a blonde mohawk, beat up black cut off jeans, with metal chains, and that Hells Angel's like cutoff sleeves jacket with some old school band banner on the back, like the Addicts, GBH, or the Crass a real throw back to the early 80's which seems to be all the rage lately, another blog for another time, plus all the regualar assortment of folks who are heading home or looking to finish off the rest of the balance of their WIC cards by purchasing goods for other people then trading them in for cigarette, alcohol, meth, or crack money, why just sell the card up front, some people do, given the opportunity, jeez when I was back on that shit, they just had the coupons that looked like money sort of, my mom would drive us clear across the city to an even crappier part of town than we were living in at the time, in order to avoid detection from anyone we might have known, what can you do when you have no family support and the world has turn their back on you, move forward and never forget, let it burn forever, making success all that more sweet, but humble at the same time, while dodging the sell out, the ever prevalent sell out which has accomplished task of melting down more brains in this world than all the most powerful drugs combined, but every economy needs its consumers so fall in line.
Get hit on by some crackwhore with a shovel butt, checking me out as if I might hit her up with some money or something she can pawn to score a twenty rock which might only end up being a ten, yet as long she gets that taste, that smell, and crackling sensation of a hit, everything will workout in the end, cuts down on the food bill as well. Otherwise, pretty slow night in the store and I am out of there in ten minutes, pushing my cart pass the assortment of magazines ranging from Men's Fitness to WWE magazine, there is a subculture for everything but the fact publishers still put out real hard copy paper based material in the 21st century seems to me nothing but a losing proposition, the internet has taken the lead in the information age and will not relinquish the title no matter how many steriod filled actors you put on the cover of a magazine. Aisle after aisle there is an over abundance of processed food to induce the most highly dose of dopamine from the indulgence of carb based foods, it reminds me of the scene in The Hurt Locker where the main character comes back to the US after his tour in Iraq to go grocery shopping, he is in the cereal section surrounded by two lanes eight feet high full of cereal, this is what freedom has been fought for, the priviledge to walk down a shopping lane with one hundred different choice of what to eat for breakfast, feels overwhelming, Trix, Coco Pebbles, or Lucky Charms, not too much in the health department and for what that stuff costs nowadays, I have the feeling there may be something more in those cereals than merely sugar that keeps parents bending their will when the kids start screaming about having to get the generic cereal knockoff of all the greatest and hip cereals of the moment. It is fairly late in the evening, stockers are doing a bit of maintence on the products, bringing the backstock to the front in order to give a more picturesque look as if preparing the location for a scene in a movie or some other sort of advertising vehicle, but not tonight, time to move past all the people over at the dollar DVD rack and various others arguing over the merits of 22 ounce malt liqour beer versus the typical white trash 12 pack. Once in line, a cashier is posted at the register sitting down on a stool, spreadout sort of like Jabba the Hut and here I see where our collective decadent ways have taken this country to a place of overweight, unconscious, and unconcerned lifestyles, craving consumption in any format, for no reason, programmed to continue purchasing, eating, and driving waste out into the oceans of the world. This cashier is a prime example, could be considered a victim or nothing more than a willing participant as her girth lays out upon her hips like a laid in bean bag, at least she can reach over and bag the groceries, do not expect her to get up to put them in the cart, so I oblige, while still wondering how we have let people, ourselves, and society come to this point, where everyone is afraid to say, enough, do we have to be slaves to this system of having three beers everyday, honking down all the drugs people can get their hands on, or simply smoking themselves into a safe shelter far from the legions of other people who have locked themselves into the cubicle culture of America, unwilling to participate in the change that is taking place in the world without them, the future is passing this country by, no one really cares, the curtain is closing, will there be an Act Two for America or will this soverign nation get globbled up into the Web 2.0 that is here now. As I grab my groceries to leave I look over my back at the local cretins sizing up my wallet and my attitude, automatically, hostility masks my face, signalling to any would be predator that I am not worth the time, effort, and injury getting with me shall involved, back to the safe confines of my gated community, later.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Saint Patrick's Wrap Up
Not as fun as planned but that tends to happen when you get a thousand self conscious drunks wrapped up in side a temporarily fence interment camp. Already drinking at 5pm, so this will end fairly ugly if I don't curb the booze, have to fight off the constant harrassment to do shots of Jamisons and Irish Car Bombs, have another friend who is not into partying at all, so the momentum has begun to stall, no one wants to talk to anyone, all the hot girls are in two camps tonight, the first is an assortment of lesbians who are more friendly that anyone else so far, much more entertaining, get some advice from one of the lesbians about a blue eyed brunette sitting at another table and tells me the woman looks boring, how profound, how true. The other camp happened to involve the blue eyed brunette who was with the usual amatuer work week cubicle crowd who take advantage of such days like St. Patrick's Day to get awful wasted, one such example was a particular blonde with a looked that had seen better days but still retaining a fair bit of sexiness, sort of like a drunk sorority girl, something to do, someone to do, not much thought beyond that, share a cigerette with her, as one of the knob geek guys in her group tries to tell me to beat it that she's not interest, well she's leaning on me pretty hard, either this blonde is going to fall down or has a hand on my ass as a sign of general friendliness. I have trouble taking this guy seriously, but have drank enough tonight to entertain the thought of fighting, have done it a couple times in the past few months and is not as much of journey to reach mentally.
The paddy wagon is parked outside waiting for the likes of me, begging to take me downtown, it has been actively seeking my presence for a full time position in the penal system. Not tonight, so I talk to the lesbians some more, but am pissed, smoking the last of a cigarette, no way I am going to let some douche bag losers get over on me so I head back over to the one who was giving me shit, figuring at least a few of the lesbians will jump in, so I call the guys out but no one seems to care, they have hot chicks I am just some old fuck hangin with some dykes and a bunch of guys with no game, what did they care, everyone ignored my ravings, continuing the partying without me, suckered again, punked me twice, now making me look like some loser rookie no pussy having chump and they would be right, defeated I went back over to my friends who are wasted entertaining themselves with the general crowd by picking out fat or unattractive women daring each other to go over and put a move on them, not much fun, so I wander off and attempt to strike up conversations with anyone, just to get a feel of the crowd, which did not add up to much, outside of the ocassional weirdo like myself, many people sang along with the Irish band up on stage at the moment, large choruses of Up Yours, repeated over and over again, I did not get it, understand the song or the context, unconcerned as well, went and got stoned instead, helped to put up a barrier between myself and the crowd, now there was nothing stopping me from talking to anyone, most people sort of put up half conversation while trying to figure a way to get away.
Fairly messed up by now, already alienated a friend's female acquaintences, surprising, it usual takes a strong cocktail of substance abuse, alcoholism, and directness to send them running to the hills, too intense, crazy, and insane, my behavior, desire, or general wisdom of living the glamorous life, a place people go once a year, a place where I check in for work on almost any given day whether at the job, at home, or on the road. It follows me constantly banging on my front door for attention. Ran into someone I use to party with back in the late 90's, how this guy seeked me out was beyond a sense of randomness. He looked as fucked up, wired, and sleepless as I remember him when he would nearly overdose on any drugs he could get his hands on, then curl up in a corner and hallucinate till the sun came up, paralyized like a statue as if his head might explode at any given moment, then would suddenly disappear, vanish until the following weekend where his ritual would be performed all over again, successive week after week until the club burned down and everyone went their seperate ways. Now he was sizing up to be another satellite in Miller's junkie club, who hit me up to party when things get slow and lately times have been anything but slow, so after the casual conversation consisting mostly of party stories, he wants to be dailed into the club so I give him my number then shuffle him off on another friend as I try to lock down some woman tonight, not much success so far but some nights can turnout that way, best thing is to not let it effect your mind, let it destroy the idea of going out and discovering something about the public, about people, and about myself most of all, not everyone will respond, this world has got so fucked up lately making most everyone defensive or completely uninterested, animatronic, emptying all the life from their face, even in the most attractive of clothing can't disguise, transparent, hollow, and hidden but there are lessons in those types of people too and they are not always pretty. Time to leave, let the night crew of posers roll in with their green shirts, green thigh high stockings and green beads, done with the five dollar beers for the evening, rest up for a better and not so popular reason to get wasted.
The paddy wagon is parked outside waiting for the likes of me, begging to take me downtown, it has been actively seeking my presence for a full time position in the penal system. Not tonight, so I talk to the lesbians some more, but am pissed, smoking the last of a cigarette, no way I am going to let some douche bag losers get over on me so I head back over to the one who was giving me shit, figuring at least a few of the lesbians will jump in, so I call the guys out but no one seems to care, they have hot chicks I am just some old fuck hangin with some dykes and a bunch of guys with no game, what did they care, everyone ignored my ravings, continuing the partying without me, suckered again, punked me twice, now making me look like some loser rookie no pussy having chump and they would be right, defeated I went back over to my friends who are wasted entertaining themselves with the general crowd by picking out fat or unattractive women daring each other to go over and put a move on them, not much fun, so I wander off and attempt to strike up conversations with anyone, just to get a feel of the crowd, which did not add up to much, outside of the ocassional weirdo like myself, many people sang along with the Irish band up on stage at the moment, large choruses of Up Yours, repeated over and over again, I did not get it, understand the song or the context, unconcerned as well, went and got stoned instead, helped to put up a barrier between myself and the crowd, now there was nothing stopping me from talking to anyone, most people sort of put up half conversation while trying to figure a way to get away.
Fairly messed up by now, already alienated a friend's female acquaintences, surprising, it usual takes a strong cocktail of substance abuse, alcoholism, and directness to send them running to the hills, too intense, crazy, and insane, my behavior, desire, or general wisdom of living the glamorous life, a place people go once a year, a place where I check in for work on almost any given day whether at the job, at home, or on the road. It follows me constantly banging on my front door for attention. Ran into someone I use to party with back in the late 90's, how this guy seeked me out was beyond a sense of randomness. He looked as fucked up, wired, and sleepless as I remember him when he would nearly overdose on any drugs he could get his hands on, then curl up in a corner and hallucinate till the sun came up, paralyized like a statue as if his head might explode at any given moment, then would suddenly disappear, vanish until the following weekend where his ritual would be performed all over again, successive week after week until the club burned down and everyone went their seperate ways. Now he was sizing up to be another satellite in Miller's junkie club, who hit me up to party when things get slow and lately times have been anything but slow, so after the casual conversation consisting mostly of party stories, he wants to be dailed into the club so I give him my number then shuffle him off on another friend as I try to lock down some woman tonight, not much success so far but some nights can turnout that way, best thing is to not let it effect your mind, let it destroy the idea of going out and discovering something about the public, about people, and about myself most of all, not everyone will respond, this world has got so fucked up lately making most everyone defensive or completely uninterested, animatronic, emptying all the life from their face, even in the most attractive of clothing can't disguise, transparent, hollow, and hidden but there are lessons in those types of people too and they are not always pretty. Time to leave, let the night crew of posers roll in with their green shirts, green thigh high stockings and green beads, done with the five dollar beers for the evening, rest up for a better and not so popular reason to get wasted.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Cut the Ties
50th Post, not exactly how I planned this thing when I began it, should have hit 50 posts a long time ago, but someone once said life was meant to be lived, so go out there and do it and in the past 3 months or so since this blog has been in existence, it has gone on hiatus more times than the most doped soaked rock band ever in existence, whether due to creative differences within inside myself, binging, or attempting to escape the shackles that gave birth to my new writing platform, I hope it has been if anything, eye opening, how about fun, let's have some fun, get out there, tear the strip to piece, truly find out what makes this place, tick beside all the usual stuff we read about on the internet and view on television. Most people who live in Vegas know there is another entire set of consequences as well as benefits that come with having a solid knowledge of the nocturnal beast who never sleeps, only migrating underground during sleep deprived days at work or weekend long speed runs to the shores of insanity where Pleasure Island and the Sirens of Havoc demand, blood, interaction, and souls, this entity needs souls, victims, stories, and once and a while redemption, whether by the noose or overdose, the end is never too far as I spend my time wondering how to maximize my IRA, looking over stocks, getting older, if a bit wiser, running out time, going business class, watching too many people I work with who are ten to twenty years older than I am, forced to work with nothing in the bank, is this the person I will eventually end up as, the old fool, in a sea of young pussy, pure drugs, and unlimited credit. One can only hope.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Flat
Do not seem to feel that impending doom, my equalibrium spinning out of control, wait, there it goes as if I'm am flipping head over heel as I sit here and write this in my chair.No amount of distraction can keep me from the task of writing, even being sleep deprived does not slow me down, maybe only a lack of desire to think about, digest, and interpet my environment, call it being lazy or sometimes there being an empty space where I almost feel content with life, not in the usual way of "Oh, look there, he's a bit better isn't he, nearly social, about ready for test trails with the public, but let's be weary, all those civil suits and political favors to keep this one out of trouble. A right handful is this one." On my best days, truer words could not be spoken, tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day an ocassion for nearly everyone to binge on alcohol without fear of reprecussions outside of the random gun play or shuttle service down the local police precinct.
In my latest mission to lay low from such potential disaster, there does not look to be much hope on skirting around the first real boozefest of the year, not counting Valentine's Day for those broken hearts who need chemicals and alcohol to mend their fragile souls. No St. Patrick's Day is the first real nice weather in Vegas outdoor opportunity to usher a whole calender of debauchery on par with seasonal Roman outings. I'm looking at all this in the face, wondering what my future holds for me, how many more of these rotations in the party club do I have left or really even desire, is it even possible for me to stand around a bunch overt amatuer drunks without breaking down in order to show them how real professionals get down, I mean, how does one become a professional party machine, is corporate sponsorship necessary? Certainly does not hurt, look at the most famous rock and rollers, dead or alive, someone paying the bills, never got in the way moralistically with ingesting enough cocaine and heroin to support the economies of many third world countries, so as I rot my liver a bit further, after making the futile effort of getting some sleep, eating some vitamins, and working out, I can put on some green, head down to party HQ and if nothing else do some recon on the nature of the holiday ritual, where suits suck it up the next day, head down on desk, hidden by some anonymous cubicle or they sleep right through their alarm, maybe call in sick, anyway this is all after effect, the moment is what shall be worth investigation, nothing else and tomorrow I will make every attempt to do so, later.
In my latest mission to lay low from such potential disaster, there does not look to be much hope on skirting around the first real boozefest of the year, not counting Valentine's Day for those broken hearts who need chemicals and alcohol to mend their fragile souls. No St. Patrick's Day is the first real nice weather in Vegas outdoor opportunity to usher a whole calender of debauchery on par with seasonal Roman outings. I'm looking at all this in the face, wondering what my future holds for me, how many more of these rotations in the party club do I have left or really even desire, is it even possible for me to stand around a bunch overt amatuer drunks without breaking down in order to show them how real professionals get down, I mean, how does one become a professional party machine, is corporate sponsorship necessary? Certainly does not hurt, look at the most famous rock and rollers, dead or alive, someone paying the bills, never got in the way moralistically with ingesting enough cocaine and heroin to support the economies of many third world countries, so as I rot my liver a bit further, after making the futile effort of getting some sleep, eating some vitamins, and working out, I can put on some green, head down to party HQ and if nothing else do some recon on the nature of the holiday ritual, where suits suck it up the next day, head down on desk, hidden by some anonymous cubicle or they sleep right through their alarm, maybe call in sick, anyway this is all after effect, the moment is what shall be worth investigation, nothing else and tomorrow I will make every attempt to do so, later.
Only The Lonely
In an effort that would have made the characters in Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest proud, I used an increasing intellectual strength to generate a loophole in my current state of house arrest, sans partying, sans alcohol, drugs, and the entertainment of the public at large. So here I am back in familiar haunts like a 38 year old at a 20 year reunion, everyone looks slightly recognizable, however the cold harsh reality of time has either worn them rail thin or unslightly like a half deflated blow up doll, hanging, sagging, a victim of gravity's pull. The bar looks to be rather segragated tonight on the opposite side of me are the less desirable women playing video poker, sipping on mixed drinks talking amongst each other scoping out all the cool guys in the middle of the bar who wear the lastest in unisexual clothing, covered in tattoos, and attempting to present themselves with a cool reserved for the likes of David Bowie, Lou Reed, and Dennis Hopper. These posers are pretty fucking annoying cause they like to hog the attention of the female bar staff who in themselves are somewhere between 6's to 8's, really depending on how much I have had to drink and what other women might be in the bar, these girls are around, pretty much have been hired to entertain the mostly male clientele who huants this place with such regularity for just such reasons, not much else for these middle aged grey hairs and corporate suits who seem to fit in nowhere else.
At this bar, there is no real theme, set schedule of appearance, velvet rope or steriod filled doorman to check hipness credentials, all sorts fill the place tonight, seperated by socio cultured difference via paycheck, reality television, and social networking. The barmaids are dressed in semi regulated stripper gear with a dash of naughty school girl, appears to be the heavy trend in Las Vegas now that the sex, err, stripping, mean err, entertainment industry has gone down the tubes from the turn in the economy. Plenty of these women have found their way into the bartending industry, with mysterious backgrounds and stories that make little sense, cautious, bred that way from so many years of leecherous men trying to dupe them into sexual activity and some succeeded. Low cut plaid skirts, knee high knit leggings, corsets and bra for the less attractive types who have to fight for the attention of this crowd of misfits who look to work on their lines of talking to women in order to find out what works and what doesn't with the remote hope they might somehow get a date with one of the bartenders and go from there.
The place is an English bar of sorts, like an inn, there is a large group of British folk whether they now lived in Vegas or were merely visiting could not immediately determined. They just carried on in their usual brash behavior mocking one of the corset and bra barmaids who did not have the relavent sense of refill the continous conga line of empty beer pints lining the bar, so the barmaid's name was Barbie, one of those real sort of bubble head names these Brits had no problem lampooning throughout the night, little did these guys give a shit about these barmaids whom to them must have looked like a stray pack of hookers, a few whistles and cat calls later, a brief battle began with a stolen Iphone which was not noticed for at least a half hour, where
Barbie began hacking into the phone, linking the guy's Facebook page with all sorts of Gay porn, how creative, topped off with a healthy dose of middle fingers and fuck you's, generating all sorts of laughter, I was in tears, cause the only person really taking all this seriously was the knob muscle male bartender who was off talking with one of the locals at the bar who interjected in the most masculine way, "Is everything okay?" as if this steriod filled douche bag could handle this small crew of Brits, let alone your average rouge drunk, he was not good for much, except cockblocking me and other guys at the bar, showing off his lame ass tats to semi attractive girls at the bar, this whole tattoo thing has gone off the chart, the ultimate statement in retardation, Mauri, ritual, or old school WWII style tattoo art is one thing, but the lengths people will go to get laid astounds me.
There is a new barmaid in tonight, I personally have not been on a fieldtrip for a few months to this particular bar, from work, rehab, and lockdown, there has not been much of a reason to come down here, looks like a new set of talent, so to speak, this woman is one of them with the customary arm tattoo that has become the new trademark of that woman in transition from intelligence to the slow burn of transforming into the safe landing of beautification in which concludes with finding a man who will objectify her and pay handsomely for the opportunity to do so and within a bit of conversation over the night this entire concept plays itself out, if only for me striking up a conversation with a guy who was a medical officer of sorts who knew the woman as a former paramedic, hot female paramedics who can't handle that, all for mouth to mouth resusication, funny how the smallest of threads once pulled open up a world of a person whom I do find attractive and interested in, if just for the fact she is hiding her intelligence behind a caked on facade of this week's hot slut, it really was funny, how this woman arrived at this place serving drinks tonight, married to some guy who gave her whatever she wanted, well, why work here then, even if two nights a week.
I thought about this as this woman let's called her Sandra, who is shmoozing it up with some baffon in a double chin and suit, typical middle management knob who tries get over on his off the rack outfit, otherwise they are wearing that Miami Vice sports coat look, come on, god damn fucking fashion contest here, get out the runway, line up, show some ass, grab your ankles and let some dyke fuck you in the ass in order to get some action, does not add up, I will not be party to it, party to these new rules of metrosexualism, bending my will, going against this outright assualt by women to turn the table on guys by making them jump through all the bullshit hoops, from working out, tanning, dieting, and shopping, such a waste of effort, yet looking at the cool club over in the middle of the bar they have no doubt bought into the cause and for it, this generation is lost in attaining any sense of individuality. Nothing but pock marked robots fighting over the same dead flesh, same rotting corspe, same momentary illusion that fades into a viscious circle of debt, dumbness, and paralysis. Trying to flirt with the new barmaid a bit, but I play by my own rules, she expects some asskissing, I know the game, but choose to ignore the standard route, have to fuck with them a bit, send them away, ignore them, why, who knows, it works, it is cruel, pointless, and stupid, still, must be done, lure them into the realm of psychological warfare, short curcuit all those warning signals that go off when approaching a smooth talker, if nothing else I need the practice, get my game back together, not quite that easy when turning 40 in another month, but looking around here, there was not much compettion, I might not be 26 anymore, but since that time have learned a thing or two about people, our society, and most of all myself.
Walk without fear into the fire or was that fire walk with me, either way does not take much to put a hook in, play around, she tries to outflank me by going over and talking to the tattoo douche bags and the suit, fine, play that game, so I strike up a conversation with the medical officer sitting next to me who happen to roll in on his day off, this is where the bridge between anonymity and Sandra come together and within a half an hour I can pretty much size her up as a person who has given up on her passion, dreams, and future, punishing herself with a prison sentence as a barmaid in some off the strip tavern, wheels spinning as she gets older and older, till the dreams are all gone and nothing is left but survival, Sandra can see this off in the horizon and has started to tear a bit when talking about her former career as a medic, the medical officer told me she was a good one and was a shame she had ended up here, the two of them swapped stories of the old days. There was something still there behind that Vegas facade, a real human being peering over the wall this city builds around people without regret, fear, or consent, it is a long way down that wall to the other side, ground nearly out of sight, Sandra hesitated wondering if the impact upon landing was worth the risk of being free from this cycle of physical surface existence. Would she jump, her eyes snapped back into a drone like gaze so familiar with so many people here, I knew she would not.
At this bar, there is no real theme, set schedule of appearance, velvet rope or steriod filled doorman to check hipness credentials, all sorts fill the place tonight, seperated by socio cultured difference via paycheck, reality television, and social networking. The barmaids are dressed in semi regulated stripper gear with a dash of naughty school girl, appears to be the heavy trend in Las Vegas now that the sex, err, stripping, mean err, entertainment industry has gone down the tubes from the turn in the economy. Plenty of these women have found their way into the bartending industry, with mysterious backgrounds and stories that make little sense, cautious, bred that way from so many years of leecherous men trying to dupe them into sexual activity and some succeeded. Low cut plaid skirts, knee high knit leggings, corsets and bra for the less attractive types who have to fight for the attention of this crowd of misfits who look to work on their lines of talking to women in order to find out what works and what doesn't with the remote hope they might somehow get a date with one of the bartenders and go from there.
The place is an English bar of sorts, like an inn, there is a large group of British folk whether they now lived in Vegas or were merely visiting could not immediately determined. They just carried on in their usual brash behavior mocking one of the corset and bra barmaids who did not have the relavent sense of refill the continous conga line of empty beer pints lining the bar, so the barmaid's name was Barbie, one of those real sort of bubble head names these Brits had no problem lampooning throughout the night, little did these guys give a shit about these barmaids whom to them must have looked like a stray pack of hookers, a few whistles and cat calls later, a brief battle began with a stolen Iphone which was not noticed for at least a half hour, where
Barbie began hacking into the phone, linking the guy's Facebook page with all sorts of Gay porn, how creative, topped off with a healthy dose of middle fingers and fuck you's, generating all sorts of laughter, I was in tears, cause the only person really taking all this seriously was the knob muscle male bartender who was off talking with one of the locals at the bar who interjected in the most masculine way, "Is everything okay?" as if this steriod filled douche bag could handle this small crew of Brits, let alone your average rouge drunk, he was not good for much, except cockblocking me and other guys at the bar, showing off his lame ass tats to semi attractive girls at the bar, this whole tattoo thing has gone off the chart, the ultimate statement in retardation, Mauri, ritual, or old school WWII style tattoo art is one thing, but the lengths people will go to get laid astounds me.
There is a new barmaid in tonight, I personally have not been on a fieldtrip for a few months to this particular bar, from work, rehab, and lockdown, there has not been much of a reason to come down here, looks like a new set of talent, so to speak, this woman is one of them with the customary arm tattoo that has become the new trademark of that woman in transition from intelligence to the slow burn of transforming into the safe landing of beautification in which concludes with finding a man who will objectify her and pay handsomely for the opportunity to do so and within a bit of conversation over the night this entire concept plays itself out, if only for me striking up a conversation with a guy who was a medical officer of sorts who knew the woman as a former paramedic, hot female paramedics who can't handle that, all for mouth to mouth resusication, funny how the smallest of threads once pulled open up a world of a person whom I do find attractive and interested in, if just for the fact she is hiding her intelligence behind a caked on facade of this week's hot slut, it really was funny, how this woman arrived at this place serving drinks tonight, married to some guy who gave her whatever she wanted, well, why work here then, even if two nights a week.
I thought about this as this woman let's called her Sandra, who is shmoozing it up with some baffon in a double chin and suit, typical middle management knob who tries get over on his off the rack outfit, otherwise they are wearing that Miami Vice sports coat look, come on, god damn fucking fashion contest here, get out the runway, line up, show some ass, grab your ankles and let some dyke fuck you in the ass in order to get some action, does not add up, I will not be party to it, party to these new rules of metrosexualism, bending my will, going against this outright assualt by women to turn the table on guys by making them jump through all the bullshit hoops, from working out, tanning, dieting, and shopping, such a waste of effort, yet looking at the cool club over in the middle of the bar they have no doubt bought into the cause and for it, this generation is lost in attaining any sense of individuality. Nothing but pock marked robots fighting over the same dead flesh, same rotting corspe, same momentary illusion that fades into a viscious circle of debt, dumbness, and paralysis. Trying to flirt with the new barmaid a bit, but I play by my own rules, she expects some asskissing, I know the game, but choose to ignore the standard route, have to fuck with them a bit, send them away, ignore them, why, who knows, it works, it is cruel, pointless, and stupid, still, must be done, lure them into the realm of psychological warfare, short curcuit all those warning signals that go off when approaching a smooth talker, if nothing else I need the practice, get my game back together, not quite that easy when turning 40 in another month, but looking around here, there was not much compettion, I might not be 26 anymore, but since that time have learned a thing or two about people, our society, and most of all myself.
Walk without fear into the fire or was that fire walk with me, either way does not take much to put a hook in, play around, she tries to outflank me by going over and talking to the tattoo douche bags and the suit, fine, play that game, so I strike up a conversation with the medical officer sitting next to me who happen to roll in on his day off, this is where the bridge between anonymity and Sandra come together and within a half an hour I can pretty much size her up as a person who has given up on her passion, dreams, and future, punishing herself with a prison sentence as a barmaid in some off the strip tavern, wheels spinning as she gets older and older, till the dreams are all gone and nothing is left but survival, Sandra can see this off in the horizon and has started to tear a bit when talking about her former career as a medic, the medical officer told me she was a good one and was a shame she had ended up here, the two of them swapped stories of the old days. There was something still there behind that Vegas facade, a real human being peering over the wall this city builds around people without regret, fear, or consent, it is a long way down that wall to the other side, ground nearly out of sight, Sandra hesitated wondering if the impact upon landing was worth the risk of being free from this cycle of physical surface existence. Would she jump, her eyes snapped back into a drone like gaze so familiar with so many people here, I knew she would not.
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