Yes, modern American society is falling apart. Most of us might even say that we want it to fall apart. What is good about being prodded through an educational system, possibly ending with a  college degree that costs more than 3 years of a beginning salary, just to enter into a lifetime contract of more inescapable consequences. Freedom is a lie, wealth from knowledge is a lie, future families are not guarantees, skills don’t necessitate success, and too many fucking dumb people are already in charge of who gets hired for which positions. Young adults with degrees are competing for unpaid internships, true, if they can afford to remain unpaid, otherwise they are competing to be delivery boys, janitors, sales clerks, bag boys, parking lot attendants, waitpersons, and baristas. We are asked to debate metaphysical realities one year and then are doing our best to pretend we really want to mop your floor the next. Fuck you. The problem is not with the new, it’s with the old.

Modern American society will give any intelligent young person an immediate existential crisis. “You can do whatever you put your mind to.” A fine inspirational phrase without any direction whatsoever. This is why there are so many singer-songwriters and poets trying to make their passions into a career. “Reaching your goals takes hard work.” Another fine phrase that implies hard work will guarantee the achievement of goals. This of course drives those of us who are “mature” to put off families and aim for financial success. After all, our parents were always lamenting their lack of resources and we wouldn’t want to put our kids through that same stress. Also, we’re too exhausted for kids anyway. Med school takes it out of you and serving sandwiches to douche bags really really takes it out of you, at least emotionally.  I know these sound like excuses since times were so tough in the sixties and seventies and eighties and you could barely put cheese and crackers in our mouths, but the motivation to repeat this cycle simply isn’t there.

Why would we join a military that kills for unclear reasons, teach children with your failing methods, raise families in poverty and threat of a falling society, vote for millionaires, vote for non-millionaires who cannot win, talk to girls who wish they were the bitches on tv, talk to boys who want the bitches on tv, stay sober when we are getting up every morning to get you coffee with our philosophy degrees, go to church when they tell you Jesus wants you to help them build a new roof, work our way up any corrupt ladder, donate our apparently worthless time, pay our arbitrary bills, or ever focus on anything as much as we love to focus on things that might really piss you off. That’s why we still love to be juvenile, why we love to assert ourselves, why we love career damaging tattoos, fucking swearing all the time, smoking for no damn reason, staying in the the goddamn basement, writing un-researched blogs, supporting socialism, keeping our heads down, embracing apathy, and generally killing ourselves.

The parasite will always find a new way to eat itself when the land it preys upon runs dry.

Adding Fire to the Faggot of my Alma Mater (Westboro Baptist Picket Line)

And the Westboro Baptists
came to the haven of my education
And the Westboro Baptists
knew nothing of the souls that reside there,
yet they feared for the innocent penetration of assholes
And the Westboro Baptists
were tickled by the writhing prick of media
in all the appropriate, consecrated places
And the Westboro Baptists
took the necessary cardboard steps to communicate
God’s judgment in His untimely absence
And the Westboro Baptists
clung to the freedom-of-speech-laws-of-man
as efficiently as angelic lawyers
sinking unholy claws into protection clauses
for neo-Nazis and the KKK
And the Westboro Baptists
did not explore each other’s bodies in public
or urinate drunkenly on a soldier’s grave or
burn an American flag without reason
And the Westboro Baptists
were protected by those in service
who hated them
And the Westboro Baptists
Spoke eternal words in simple phrases, still
believing it was prophecy
And the Westboro Baptists
ignited my silent pen
with the flint of their anger
And the Westboro Baptists
interpreted Christ’s wounds
as a request for further bloodshed
And the Westboro Baptists
drank the tears of a disenchanted Nation
as a Eucharist, bathed in the fire of hell
as a baptism, hated faggot army men
as salvation
And the Westboro Baptists
saw their own safety as a sign of
God’s protection for speaking the truth
and their persecutions as a sign of
manifest destiny
And the Westboro Baptists
praised the deaths of my friends.
And the Westboro Baptists
made me want to suck cock, throw bricks,
perform religious castrations, burn churches,
suicide bomb, recommend abortions,
drink poison, and protest
with my other god damned cheek.

Now, this whole racism along the border thing has been going on for a while now and varying degrees of mis-educated citizens have been trying to pass absurdities into law, such as English-only laws, for as long as their daughters have been getting pregnant in their early teens. But seeing these extremists have any success in the political mainstream should be a terrifying wake-up call to those of us who don’t own twelve guns. Sure, the overt racism sneaks in behind the guise of promoting unity and preserving America (two things that are only arguably good), but the ideas are fully tainted with a smell even worse than Mexico. The joke I just made should illustrate my point. These people who aren’t “racially motivated” should examine themselves to see if they even like the brown people who aren’t motivating them. Clearly, they don’t want them or their culture in Arizona, for fear that America’s current utopia might be wiped out in a wave of siestas and cars that ride far too low. All I know is that when a group with all the power decides to pass a series of laws directed toward interfering with the natural progress of an easily recognizable weaker group it creates a fundamentally bad situation in which fundamentally bad people thrive. It’s like this parable:

There once was a man who wanted to own a farm, so he began raping the local townspeople until they agreed to build him a farm as long as he agreed to quit raping them. Much pleased, the man began referring to himself as the farmer. After a while he decided he needed workers for his farm, so he put out a notice begging the townspeople to come and work for him, despite his history of raping them.  The townspeople were actually quite poor, having never thought of raping their way into success, and so the farmer was flooded with applicants, many of whom had to be turned away. As the farm grew in size and wealth, the farmer would add more and more workers, many of whom he began raping anyway, since he was the only one with a decent farm and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do. Eventually, he began to notice some of the workers on his now fully functional rape-farm raped doggy-style like the farmer, while others raped missionary-style, like the average townsfolk criminal who had yet to move to the farm or who was simply visiting the farm from the town, so attracted was the criminal by the sounds of raping. And so the farmer tried to fire all the missionary-rapists, a style of rape which the farmer found completely disconcerting, but the population of missionary-rapists only grew along with an entirely new breed of rapists, the missionary rape-babies who mostly enjoyed raping reverse-cowgirl. All was lost.

As you can see from this parable, everyone in Arizona is a serial-rapist.

If the internet has taught me anything, it is that bullshit is still bullshit no matter how well written, which is why this blog has no shame. I enjoy words, but I will not pander to the hard-headed simpleton who consumes well thought out arguments with the daintiest of spoons just to find the few logical fallacies that then render the entire idea harmless to their pretty little cognitions. In other words, sometimes I will simply write the word fuck and be done with it.

I really enjoyed Avatar, but you know what?

Fuck Avatar. Fuck Avatar for spending that much money, putting that much work into a movie, and still coming out with a bungled piece of shit that isn’t anywhere as relevant as District 9 or possibly even 2012 (a truly shitty piece of cinema glory) for that matter. Fuck Avatar for forcing me to enjoy Avatar because of technology that will later be employed to make a film that is actually good, but that no one will notice.

All that being said, you should all go watch Avatar. It is cool and beautiful with some slightly hidden hints of originality.

Contradictions: it’s what’s for breakfast. We are creatures who can kill nobly and therefore ruin nobility. We are creatures who have different genetic make-ups, yet who claim a common worth above the world we parasitically feed off of in order to save the world from ourselves. A victory always involves the defeat of another, but sometimes, goddamnit, you gotta win. Morality is the soup of our ancestors and our brains are broken if they don’t comply, enter psychology, exit with pills. I can never be proven right in any statement I ever make because there’s always some other person out there who thinks my narrative makes me an asshole, because their narrative makes them an asshole, which is all somehow a part of the Western metanarrative that most white people are supposed to be upset about.

The same joke that I thought was funny yesterday has lost its humor as soon as I’ve got it figured out or am not in the mood. Thank God, or whatever, for biology and the miracles of nature such as women’s periods aligning, and best friends completing each other’s sentences, otherwise we’d all just kill each other and the world would be full of large nomads and weasly little rats with large guns.

Perhaps we should even be grateful for religion. Religion of all varieties, whether it be centered on a theology or a philosophy. These groups loosely unify at least a few people together and prevent chaos and loneliness for everyone from anonymous alcoholics to blind Jehovah’s Witnesses. It’s good, goddamnit, to have someone to talk to, unless you don’t want to talk to anybody.

BUT THE ARGUING, the squabbling, the metanarrative bullshit. This logjam of thought known as doctrine, outlined by rules, and enforced by currency only makes us feel holy. Holiness is godliness and therefore permission for violence against anything you don’t like. Not just physical violence, but disrespect in all its most thought-stunting and crippling forms.

Spirituality is a safe place to hang out and avoid impacting anything, apathy toward taking responsibility for one’s own thought. That’s one hell of a statement I just made, the kind that could send me to hell if I’m wrong, hell being that great metaphor for… something. If you’ve gotta be religious though, then humanity requires some form of spirituality- biological communion with the great unknown or someone else’s biology. Otherwise, we’re back to the big clusterfuck known as “the things I talked about in the previous paragraph.”

There’s some kind of balance out there, no matter what you call it, but goddamn it don’t take the terms so personally. Anyway, you go ahead and try to figure out what that balance is. I’ll be here starting a cult because I don’t get laid enough.

On October 27th I took a job as a low brick in the legal pyramid scheme known as the Kirby Corporation. Having entered the dirty world of employment out of necessity, I expected a certain amount of dishonesty, greediness, and competition, but I found these things in an abundance that toppled the imagination. As I have stated in this blog quite recently it is difficult for me to like people, knowing that they are morons and often mean, yet deep down I persist in the hope that I will one day encounter a pile of money that does not require me to lie, cheat and steal to attain it.

Fortunately, to my surprise, it wasn’t all bad.

Point-counterpoint:

Point- I overcame my fear of knocking on strangers’ doors. I realized my previous assumption that the majority of the population opens their doors with a loaded shotgun was true only of myself and several scary movie characters.

Counterpoint- After thirty minutes or so of knocking doors in the rain I began to wish that someone would open the door with the aforementioned shotgun and put me out of my misery.

Point- I enjoyed meeting families and hearing their stories and I especially enjoyed observing their different habits, such as smoking on the porch after all the kids were in bed, or drinking only Coors Light, or getting stoned in their garage with the door open so that they could wave to the neighbors.

Counterpoint- I hated trying to rush the few hospitable people left in the world into making a decision about a vacuum that costs as much as a cheap car.

Point- I liked having to stay emotionally positive as part of my job and learning to overcome rejection.

Counterpoint- Some asshole in Pasco made me cry by yelling at me in the wind and rain and I’d already skipped his house on purpose because I felt the disturbance of an asshole in my spirit when I walked past it.

I would continue writing about the experience in this fashion, except I am out of positive things to say. As you may have gathered from the introduction, the whole opportunity blew serious balls. Never mind the overtly racist employers (“we don’t sell to Poon-jobs, or Chinamen”), never mind the lies told at the doorstep (“Hi, we’re doing a canned food drive for the local homeless of the Tri-Cities”), and never mind the unpaid 13 hour days… wait, do mind the unpaid 13 hour days. I ultimately quit because they lied to me about my salary, sort of. A lie of omission. They said “70 appointments a month, $2,000,” without adding “You’ll be lucky to get 30.”

So, at the end of the day I’m still $60,000 dollars in debt and am close to being in actual trouble… no, I’m in deep shit. My question going into the job was how can I make a buck in this society of pigs? I have now realized that the piggier the corporation, the more shits they take on the money before they wind up just eating it themselves. Perhaps I need to retreat back into the world of academia, avoiding real work and planning the next socialist revolution until it actually becomes feasible enough to be squashed by someone at the top of the pyramid.

This is the condition I found myself in before two Mormon missionaries knocked on my door. Having just quit my own door-to-door hell, I opened the door with great sympathy and even ended up going down to their church for three hours to talk about theology. Apparently, this goddamned life is worth it because someday, if we follow Jesus, we’ll become gods ourselves. I really liked how accepting their view is of all people generally getting what they want in the end. They would have sold me if it weren’t for the fact that what they were saying wasn’t a) true or b) sane. Also, I have no interest in being the big man on top of the whole pyramid, Mormonism has got to be the most Americanized version of Christianity I’ve found yet, but they’re nice people and their women are often hot as the sun, so I’ll let it slide.

Anyway, I might hit up that church next Sunday, quote something out of the book of Nephi and see if one of those poor kids can help get me a job. Fuck.

The thing about living in a glass house is that you have to look at your own reflection all day. Blogs are like glass houses where the glass is made of the persona one creates for the internet, any cracks in the persona and it’s that much easier for rocks(readers) to fly through the walls.

So far, the persona I have created for this blog is that of an insane person addicted to pain-killers. The reality of the situation is that I am not addicted to pain-killers. Perhaps there is no redeeming this blog, it causes nothing but deep personal reflection(shame) and a chance to let my Id run wild (if that’s actually a thing that exists).

The thing is, it’s fun to stand on a virtual soapbox in order to tell you that Republicans are in your coffee and dandruff is in your Jack Johnson cds. I don’t have to explain myself at all, I just keep pumping out these matchstick machinations and patting myself on the back.

Perhaps this blog is a grand experiment in which I see how vile I can make my virtual personality before it actually starts affecting my behavior in real life. I’m not sure where that line gets crossed or what to pay my hit-man for only grazing the infant.

It’s time to get serious for a second: there is something wrong with the world, but it’s nobody’s fault. It’s not Adam and Eve’s fault, it’s not God’s fault, it’s not Satan’s fault and it sure as hell isn’t my fault. It’s probably your fault, but I’m going to let you off the hook this time in hopes that you return the favor. We’re all surrounded by things we do and do not like, but we can’t just get rid of the stuff we don’t like. If we keep living as though we can get rid of things we don’t like then eventually we’ll just shoot each other. Don’t get me wrong, shooting you would be an adrenaline rush, but then some guy named Steve would just shoot me for shooting you. Zero tolerance, no child left behind, endless war bullshit. I want to know which one of us decided that humans should punish each other, what a fucking miserable idea.

So what do we do with this world? I don’t know. You don’t know either. I do try and figure things out I can do. I try to make some people around me feel good. Other people I try to stay away from because they don’t make me feel good. So far this hasn’t worked exceptionally well as a way to live, but at least I’m not shooting at anybody… with bullets.

Today I read an article about a justice of the peace who claims not to be racist, even though he denies marriage licenses to interracial couples. He does this because it is his experience that these marriages don’t last long and that the children are not accepted by either community. The thing about this guy that bothers me the most, other than the fact that he’s an obvious penis-brain, is that his humanity reminds me of myself. It reminds me of you too. Trying to effect a positive change on the small portion of the world you have a say over. Not that I think banning interracial marriages is a positive thing, I think that’s a mentally challenged response to something society has made difficult. The thing is, the man is banning marriages based on his moral convictions, even though he is breaking the law. We’re all living in the same lie, our convictions are simply different.

But why abandon the pursuit of truth? Here are some universal truths: bullets hurt, starving hurts, dying leads to death, and inclement weather is annoying. We should work on those problems. That’s something we can actually understand.

In the meantime, I’ll keep writing this manure.

And so, I give you this: a video of myself eating

Today I have an interview for a real job, selling Internet.

See, when God was deciding which humans to bless with superior looks and intellect, he accidentally got high on angel dust (inventing hard drugs before humans as any responsible god would do). In His vainglorious attempts to create me, he kept fucking up, thus getting knockoffs like Ghandi, Nietszche, and Van Gogh. But now, in our current times, where kings kneel and oceans tremble, we can all recognize the fruit of this intoxicated labor. From the supple flavors of ambrosia, I errupted like a Grecian orgasm in order to explain the art of blogging.

To blog one must have a certain air of victory over pesky issues like truth and understanding. One must triumph over the dull embers of logic and bring forth upon one’s own continent an old nation of treason and deceit. One must grasp a subject so lightly that even the great goddess, Wikipedia herself, does not stand a chance of being any more off balance in her own self-serving democracy. Fuck logic. The stupid bitch threw me out of her house yesteryear.

To BLOG, one must drink copious amounts of newsfeed from reliable, comedy-related sources and distribute retarded versions of the same stories as gospel.

To BloG, one must understand the lingo of one’s generation and then spit upon it with superior tipos.

Fuck blogging and its innappropriate grasp of traditional sources of information by the throat. If I wanted to get my information from a nearly illiterate s.o.b. who googles pictures of girls named Tanya just to get a stiffy, I would keep asking myself to explain things to myself.

Trust me, no one writes blogs except sad sacks of marketing excrement who can’t procure enough courage to ask for a corporate couch to sleep on.

I suck.

How to stop being so pathetic:

1) How to get over that girl or guy that just won’t stay out of your dreams, mostly because they’re super hot and you’ll probably never touch another person that hot again ever:

This is a problem that I used to struggle with beyond all others. I don’t know how many sleepless nights I’ve spent pining for the same unattainable girl(s). After years of letting my mind shit all over my heart, I came upon a solution in the most natural of ways.

See, the main problem was that I was loving too much. No one ever told me that an excess of love could be unhealthy. Instead, they’d say things like “stop looking through my underwear drawer.” As it turns out, when you take all of that love you ordinarily feel and flip it upside down into a general disregard for the well-being of other people, all of those pesky romance issues just go away.

Now, I’m not advocating hate, that would be way too hard. I speak from experience, hating everyone is exhausting. Besides how tired it made me, I realized I was trapped in the same obsession as before. After all, there’s nothing quite so hateful as love. Either way you have to follow the person around thinking of things to say or do that will make your feelings known. If you’re in love, you write a poem or buy flowers. If you’re in hate you write painstaking letters from magazine clippings and sit outside their house all day with a blowgun in the rain; there’s a slim difference.

Instead, the proper response to feelings of obsessive love is to swear loudly about that person in bars. While you’re at it, swear about other people too and maybe spit in their drinks. Who gives a fuck?

2) How to find true love:

Get ahold of some money and buy love some gifts, but make sure love isn’t smarter than you or it will annoy you for the rest of your life unless you bury it in the backyard at 3 in the morning.

3) How to become talented:

Pick whichever talent you desire to have, then from that moment on start telling everyone you know that you actually possess the talent. This practice works especially well in the music business (thus: John Mayer, Creed, Toby Keith, James Blunt, ect.), but don’t be surprised if telling people it’s true works for everything (thus: democracy, KFC, Nicholas Cage, AIDS, and the Bible).

However, and this is of the utmost importance, never try to prove it. Let people think they aren’t cool enough to see your talent in action and it will become cooler than you could ever imagine. For example, a friend of mine told me that before he met me he thought I was famous because I was mostly silent and wore a beard. Learn to live by this mantra: looks are everything.

4) How to maintain emotional balance:

Take whatever sounds good and put it inside or wrap it around the outside of your body.

5) How to keep you and your family safe:

Put money in an unmarked enevelope and wait for my phone call.

6) How to keep your relationships healthy:

Make up whatever relationships you would like to have, with whomever, and then conduct all of your interactions inside of your own head. Then, when your ready, get drunk and swear at them in person.

7) How to get a decent job instead of wiling away countless hours maintaining an Internet blog that nobody reads:

Instead of pursuing your passions, going to a good school, and graduating with honors…get born better looking, drop out of high school, and get someone pregnant for outside motivation to succeed. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like kids (who does?), the government will chase you down and hand you all the resources or jail you could ever need.

Well, that concludes this shit.