I have goals, and dreams that I’ve held for so long; however, I’m obligated by my nature to be happy. Sad, sad that the world has become so unkind and so twisted.
I feel my only real option is to retreat into seclusion with a few friends who share my sentiments. We’ll start a commune and focus on water, food, and shelter: the basics. Eventually we’ll recall our former ambitions, but they will merely be shadows of what we’d given up to be cleaner humans.
Guess who’s trying to apply for foreign visas now…all those kamikaze loyalists who said, “if you don’t like America so much, why don’t you live somewhere else?”. Jumping ship are ya? How easy we’ve learned to fall.
Well, an unadulterated critique is absolutely necessary if we’re to escape our “Imaginarium Government” ( yes I made that up-it means they make shit up). Things are fucked up, and there’s no one to blame but 1. ourselves (for mindlessly not knowing), and 2. the “pour salt on the wound” machos we continue to vote into office.
Don’t write your congressman an e-mail as Obama so graciously offers as a solution, I’m talking Sans Culottes grab-a-rake shit and demand something different from this country.
What are we to do with insurmountable student loans at criminal interest rates, all under the guise of flirty Sallie Mae? Not even mentioning the perpetual brain-bashing that College degrees would make us money!
That might have once been true; however, almost every being with opposable thumbs has drank their way through either two or four years of a styrofoam education. WHAT CAN WE POSSIBLY KNOW NOW THAT WE DIDNT BEFORE and WHY IS SCHOOLING SO CRIPPLINGLY EXPENSIVE IF EVERYONE NEEDS ONE? That means that EVERYONE (except the super wealthy- let’s watch them on tv) will be 40 feet underground for 40 years until they die and their loans can be paid by their children.
…and all in the name of education. The “Real” education is realizing you are part of an abusive system that has no soul and no more moral or ethical dilemmas when it comes to giving you money, and making certain you can’t pay it back.
What dooo we do?
My friend Hector’s family makes doors in Texas. That’s their business, and their sole source of income. I made sure to consult him, as he as worked there many years, before I went on with my usual uncontrollable rant. Hector assures me that doors are simply wood that have been shaved down to their slender form, and held together with nails and glue. “Not all doors are completely the same as far as aesthetics go” he says; however, “the form, the function, and the shape are all very similar.”
9:30 am, Williamsburg. Dealing with my usual lack of sleep. Embracing my slow and thoughtful treck from the boy’s house to Blue Bottle Coffee. Enjoying my iced Kyota blend, and day-dreaming about the whimsy and mayhem of my neighborhood.
Had a braised goat sandwich at Diner with one of my best peeps, and unknowingly watched a bank robbery across the street. Now I’m feeling silly, thinking back how “Catch him!” and “Ketchup!” sound all too similar from the mouth of a frantic Hasidic banker.
Had to pause this several times to scream. So awkward!
I’m an inactive man of action.
I threw up on someone by myself
I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing
Vintage is not what it used to be
I wear a rape whistle that only dogs can hear.
Never date a guy who owns a surfboard in a land-locked state.
The Lottery is the only sure way to make a buck these days.
Dumb people who hang around smart people and just say “ah, that’s what I was gonna say!”
Never eat chips with headphones on, there’s no way of telling how loud you’re being.
Avoid, at all cost, the expression “a gazillion”.
Helen Keller and Anne Frank are the same person.
What should we think of grown men who drink strawberry banana juice?
Our generation is a group of inactive activists.
Expiring for love is beautiful but stupid
Turn soft and lovely any time you have a chance
This is my little girl. She is brave and clever and funny. She will have none of the problems I have. Her heart will never be broken. She will never be humiliated. Self- doubt will not devour her dreams.
Twitches, those slight physical reactions which command attention outside our will, reveal our intimate concerns. They leave us exposed, wide-open like books, ready to be read. When intimate concerns become public matter, we restrain ourselves, censor our movements, and thus risk insincerity: our actions become mere acting; but our twitches can never be fully controlled: they reveal the disturbing bodily truth about love.