Lively up yourself and don't be no drag

Had an interesting encounter the other night. I was coming home waiting for the bus and I saw this guy I used to work with. Normally I would have avoided eye contact with him and attempting to move on but this was impossible as he was taking the same bus as me. I had just come from the beer store and he had as well. I always drink microbrews and he commented on my choice. He said he usually drinks budweiser because its cheap which I detest. Still there was a strange unspoken understanding between us which I had never felt before. As if we both knew we were going home alone to drink a bunch of beer and a strange sort of kinship because of it.

And now its time for me to leave you behind

Fuckin A. I am a psycho. I have finally come to terms with this fact. I am a fucking psycho and its hard to come to terms with. Perhaps I am self absorbed too much. Like the god Narcissicus. He was so handsome that he looked at his own reflection so long that it stole his soul. Something like that. Just want to move to a cabin in someplace like northern Maine where no one can find me. Nobody can fuck with me.

Shes fast enough for you old man

I want to bomb all females. And not the supposed 'surgical strikes' employed in Iraq I mean carpet bombing. The bombing used in world war 2 against Britain. All those fucking bitches. Up at the early hours of the day for godforsaken work.

Why is everbody always badmouthing the mafia?

Feeling better somehow every day. Been a long time but I am slowly starting to see. Was watching this vile program Secret Girlfriend on comedy central. Hate being around a lot of hot women. Just reminds me of my shortcomings in that regard. As if they're very existence and my failure to get one if proof of my futility. Strange how simple things like that can cause someone so much anxiety. Can't seem to calm down raging thought which seem to be springing up like a raging tide. I know there must be a way to figure out how to get things done.

Unforgettable thats what you are.

Back in the 1880's there was a Paiute Indian called Wokova. He taught all the Indians that if they danced something called the ghost dance that all the white people would vanish and the buffalo and game would return and be abundant once more. The ghost dance religion was a variation on Christianity but the white officials at the reservation did not understand it as much. The Ghost dance spread like wildfire among the tribes of the west. He brought them hope as at that point they had lost almost everything they had. Their way of life, their land, everything. And as they began dancing the white officials slowly began sounding the alarm and magnifying the situation until what happened was the wounded knee massacre. But it really was a culimination of American Indian policy from the start. Anyhow sometimes I feel that way. Like just checking out of everything. I have an ancestor my Grandfathers's dad who walked out of the New york stock exchange and started a new life on a farm in New Jersey. SOmetimes thats what I feel like doing.

Indians are dancing in the snow and are wild and crazy

Dave awoke slowly as the rays of the early afternoon sun came flooding in slowly. He awoke not because of that but mainly because his body felt it was time to rise. He glanced over at the digital clock on his nightstand 2pm. Dave took this into account. Time seemed to lose all of its significance when one was unemployed. Nowhere to go, no obligations, no money. They had canned him almost three weeks ago but he had been staying afloat alright. Dave had ascertained exactly why they had fired him. It could have been his frequent tardiness, or showing up high, or drunk, or selling drugs out the back, or a combination of all these factors. All they had told him was they felt it was best that he not work for them anymore. Or something to that effect. He had been extremely high when they had told him so most of the words had been something of a blur. Dave arose from his bed and slowly made his way into the living room. It was a small one bedroom that had all the basic needs one could ask for. There were bottles of beer, pizza boxes, chinese food cartons and assorted refuse scattered about the small living room and Dave pondered to himself how he let himself live this way. In some ways it was easy, don't clean just let everything go. But in some ways it was hard because he knew it would make life harder for him in the long run. Dave meandered toward the fridge extracting a can of beer. He pulled the tab and took a drink. He had found out another good way to make money, buying 30 racks of beer and selling them to underage kids at a markup. He had managed to do alright since his termination, getting unemployment and increaseing his weed selling operations. It wasn't alot of money but it was enough to get by, for now. He took another swig of the beer pondering the days operations.

Out of the blue and into the black

1975

'My friends we got some real problems here.' John O'neil said as he took a sip of scotch. 'Someone is fuckin snitching and it ain't on our end.' Pasquale pondered these words as they sat in the backroom of Sal's pizzeria. It was Pasquale, John, and Vito the boss. Pasquale had risen to the rank of underboss by then but it only seemd to bring more problems. 'Major indictment they already arrested a few low level guys from the Cieceros and pretty it'll be alot more.' John had eight brothers and sisters and all of them had entrenched themselves in one positions or another in city politics. One was a detective, the other a district attorney, one was even an aide to the mayor. It was because of this that John had managed to blend so well into the Italian's inner circle. Normally they didn't trust non-Italains that well but John was a big shot with the teamsters and allowed them to profit enormously as well as himself in the process. 'So what do you suggest.' Vito said calmly from the back. Vito didn't speak much but when he did he commanded authority. 'I'd say just do some housekeeping, find out you seems weak and who seems strong. I know they got a few witnesses but they haven't released the names yet.' Vito nodded his ascent slowly. Vito and some of the other bosses had started to doubt John recently mainly because of his boozing. It had always been an issue but recently it had spiriled out of control. Oh well, Pasquale thought, we will see what happens.

Smokin cigarettes and watching captain Kangeroo

March 1965

'Salud Louie' Pasquale said raising his glass to commemorate the moment. They all drank in unison as he drank as if all sharing in the same sorrow. Louie had gotten pinched in an extortion scheme, but he had done the right thing he didn't rat he didn't give them shit and so he was going away for a few. 'You did the right thing Louie.' Pasquale said as the toast was over. All of Louie's friends and family were there including all of Pasquales crew. Louie sat in the corner after it was all over, aloof withdrawn. Pasquale contemplated going over to him but than thought better of it. Louie was in one of his moods. He was just like that sometimes, woulden't talk much seemed to shy away. There was something off about Louie that Pasquale had noticed from the start. Something about him that just didn't seem to fit in. He would be there at the cardgames and he wouldent say a word just sitting there was an impassive face. Admist all the others bawdy talk and boasting Louie would just sit there and stare. Some of the others in his crew called him 'the rock' because of his impassive face. Still Pasquale understood somehow. There eyes would meet sometimes and they would share a quick moment of understanding. Louie was not cut out for the life. He was born in the wrong time, the wrong age. Pasquale walked through the smoke filled bar to where Louie sat at the end of the bar. 'You alright louie?' He asked. 'Yeah. Just depressed worried about how Dianne and the kids are going to do.' Louie slouched taking a large gulp from the drink in front of him. 'Don't worry Louie all take care of it.' Pasquale said. Take care of it he he had already. Louie's wife had come to him a few months ago wondering what to do about him. She had told him about Louie's depression and how he had told her about contemplating suicide. Pasquale had listened to her concerns but he had also taken advantage of her in her time of weakness. He had slept with a member of his crew's wife. It was an offence which was punishable by death in their life. Pasquale had been destroyed by guilt because of it. It was something he knew he could never live down. 'I am a bad man.' It was the first thing he had told his wife when they got married. She had taken it as a joke but he had been in earnest. Pasquale had told her that so she would know what she was getting into, but now he pondered those words. 'Another round for Louie!' He said to the bartender raising his glass.

I don't give a fuck about jail. This is my business. This is what I do

Pasquale DeCarlo stared into space as the district attorney gave his closing arguments. His face was impassive betraying nothing of concern or sadness or anger or any inkling of his possible feeling. It was a zen like state which he had perfected over the years from dealing with policemen. When they would ask you questions and in the old days beat the shit out of you if you didn't answer. Still Pasquale knew the gist of what the District Attorney was saying. Knew that basically it entaile that he was fucked and bound to go to prison for a very long amount of time. He knew the District Attorney for a long time. As a kid he had been raised in the same neighborhood that Pasquale had run. The District Attorney's father had steered the boy away from Pasquale and his haunts and Pasquale had understood. The father had wanted something better for his son than a life of crime and deceit. Pasquale had even respected this. But for him a life of crime and deceit was the only life imaginable. The state had a good case, well founded, with alot of evidence he had already started to realize this. Just a few years ago it seemed, this whole matter could have been cleared off by paying off the local police department, but times had changed. It was no longer a matter of local police departments but large governmental bodies which had turned they're collective eye towards organized crime. Pasquale pondered to himself wether he thought he had done wrong. In his mind he had done only the things nessacary to mantain and hold unto his power. All of the casualties had had caused as a result of this had been inflicted upon men who knew the rules of the road. Who were a part of the system. He had given the arrested officer nothing but his full name and his mother's adress and that was it. If they were looking for a snitch they had come to the wrong place. He would rather face the longest sentence possible than snitch on his worst enemy. In his mind it was the worst thing a man could possibly be. Pasquale watched as the District Attorney finished his closing arguments. His lawyer stood up and prepared to offer the defense. He knew the effort was most likely fruitless but he had not said this yet to his lawyer. He had wondered sometimes what would happen if someone just came into court on a serious crime and just said 'I am guilty I am a bad man and I deserve this.' Perhaps the honesty itself would floor the jury. It would likely be a long trial Pasquale thought to himself, spanning a long career. He wondered how long it would take and how he had gotten to arrive here..

System's normal all FOULED up!

I remember being a young lad maybe 6 or 8 and I was talking to my mother about Columbus day. I think it was something to the effect of being glad for having the day off from school, which I despised. I remember she replied by telling me about the horrible things the Columbus had actually done to the native's of hispanola the island that he first landed upon. On his second voyage he had brought with him a breed of dogs known as the mastiff to subdue them. The dogs were feared more than the cannons, because they could outrun the cannons, but the dogs were worse. They starved them to make them more bloodthristy. Still it changed my opinion forevermore about Christopher Columbus and what his signifigance is. How history is manipulated by those who interpert it. How this dude who was actually kind of a thug, an asshole, and otherwise sadistic individual came to be venerated enough to have his own day.

Just because your nametag says manager doesn't make you better than me

'I don't know about you, but I am so fuckin sick of this cloak and dagger shit.' Frank said taking a bite of his muffin. 'Its just the way things are nowadays, it ain't like the old days when you could just pay off just pay off officer mick with a few bucks of your take and a fifth of whiskey.' Jimmy looked around their surrounding and could not help himself wishing he had made his way up in the old days. 'Times are not good, I will give you that, but we're still earning.' He took a sip of his coffe. 'I'm earning but I got to look behind my fuckin back every two second to make sure its safe. I'm paranoid I mean whats the use?' They both felt uncomfortable in the booth in the back of the Friendly's. It wasn't their usual type of place, and they stood out like sore thumbs. Two swarthy Italian's with a penchant for using the f-bomb. Already they had raised the eyebrows of severl customer, eyeing them uneasily. 'I just can't tell who's really running the show, we get these random message's from the bogeyman now and again but who really knows, who actually seen the guy?' Jimmy's eyebrowing raised. 'Don't call him that.' He said annoyed. It was the moniker Frank and several other guys in the family called Vito behind his back. He had gone on the lam over two years ago after he had heard about the RICO indictment against and no one had seen him since. Already he had been known for his reclusive ways, he never spoke on the phone and only had one on one meetings with a handful of people. 'What is he going to get me?' Frank said mockingly. Jimmy stared straight ahead attempting to calm his nerves. A few years back he would have gotten up over that booth and proceed to knock Frank teeth in. However the years had tempered him and he kept his cool. Vito had brought him up in the life and had vouched for him. 'Anyhow he wants you to kick up his share to Tommy now.' Frank took a sip of his coffe looking around. 'Sure, I just want to get out of here this place gives me the creeps.'
'

And i'll be over you.

Hal had always hated family gatherings. And the one to come was sure to be a doozy, all manner of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparent and assorted siblings were due to be there all full of questions. 'Cross-interrogation' he had called it in his mind. The feeling that he needed to explain himself, to justify his existence, as if living on its own were not enough. He stood now in his apartment drinking a beer pondering what it would be like if he were to actually answer honestly to the question of 'what are you up to?' If he were to say 'Yeah actually i'm doing really horribly every day and I wake up every morning really depressed yet I force myself to work. I work a horrible job and on the side I sell weed which manages to compensate for the amount I smoke.' Something to just rock they're world to get them to think twice before they tried that again. Hal knew he was a contenious subject amongest most of his family, the subject of much speculation and myth. Part of it was because he seldom interacted with the vast majority of his extended family and part of it was his introverted nature. He only showed most people a certain portion of his nature until he could feel comfortable with them.

All too easy.

John O'neil eased his car into the space at the end of the street. He chose a spot in the shade as the tempeture had nearly hit the 100 degree mark. It was the kind of the heat that living things died in and it had put him in a foul mood. He was pouring sweat, practically dripping, the product of the heat and the double scotch he had consumed at lunch. It was heat like this that reminded him of another place, another time. Of his time in the pacific as a marine, surronded by the stench of death and decay, leeches, mosquitos and rain. He remembered as he had seen his friends all around him being killed, of being pinned down in his position for so long, he remembered thinking that if he survived the ordeal if he came back he would do good in the world. That he would become a positive force in the rest of his years. John had came back alive, even with a few medals on his chest to show his valor. Still all the plaudits and all the accliam could not get rid of the memories, the horrific images that stayed with him and never seemed to fade. He had joined the union as a laborer when he got back, through a connection from his cousin and had taken the job as seriously as the army. The work was tough outside in the sun, but he liked it. He liked the kind of people he worked with, the working folk. Many of them had come from the same kind of backround as him. Still John had always been cleaver and he could slowly start to see who was really pulling the strings. He was a natural leader and he began to move up to become an organizer and than slowly he began to see even more closely who was really in control. Men whose interests coulden't be farthur from the workers. Still he had rationalized it away feeling that it was a nessacary evil to deal with such characters. And he had enriched himself considerably as he had done so. John lumbered out of the car and walked toward the social club. The Palma restaurant and bar looked like any other neighborhood establishment blending in quite well with the decor. Few would have guessed that withthin those walls some of the most important decesion about city contracts were being made. John himself would not have guessed it either were it not that he was so deeply immersed. He got on well with the Italians, they shared the same religion and the same attitudes about certain things. They had both faced discrimination and persecution upon they're arrival in this country and had struggled to make their voices heard and obtain status. He reached the door and walked in, the place was somewhat dimly lit and at first the denizens seemed to look at him warily, soon he saw a familiar face 'Johnny!, you mick bastard what bring you out here.' He regognized Tommy instantly, 'I guess to see what you dago's are up to.' He sidled his way up to the bar shaking Tommy's hand. 'Is Vito around?' He asked. 'Yeah he's in the back taking care of something. You need a drink?' 'You really need to ask? Yeah get me a double scotch straight up.' The bartender, and aging Sicilian quickly obliged producing a glass on the bar and pouring a generous amount into it. The Sicilian had owned the bar for years, but had fallen on some hard times. He was an uncle of Vito's and Vito had agreed to purchese the bar from him and let him continue to live in the upstairs apartment in exchange for him letting Vito and his associates congreagate there. 'So how you been Johnny?' 'Alright except for this fucking heat.' He took a long swig of his scotch. 'I been inside with the AC all day my friend.' Tommy remarked. 'Some of us got things to take care of.' John remarked. 'By things you mean bottles of scotch?' Johnny laughed. 'Well that too. But i'm getting thing done in the process and thats all that matters.' Johnny finished the scotch off. A short swarthy figured emerged from the backroom. 'Johnny, how are you.' Vito said as he emerged.

No redeeming qualities.

'I don't like it.' The fat man said as he stared at the television. 'Whats that?' the girl next to him replied. 'New orelenes, went there once, bunch of rednecks.' He muttered offering something of a half-assed explanation. How incredibly insightful, Frank thought sarcastically. He stood in the back of the breakroom waiting for his time to begin. Fifteen minutes. The fat one always showed up an hour early, usually to watch wrestling until his time began. Frank could never understand that. Sure he tried to make it in at least a few minutes early to be on time but an hour? That seemed like tourture to him. A full hour of being on the premises without being compensated at all. Utter stupidity he thought. He had been on edge for the past week though. No booze, no weed, and no sex had seemingly taken its toll on him. It had been six days since he had taken a drink, three days since weed and a millenia since he had gotten laid. Normally the last one he could deal with but the lack of booze and weed had made him think about it more. He wanted to kill someone. Well maybe not kill exactly but at least maim and he had felt himself snapping at everyone. Frank looked at the clock, ten more minutes to go. He worked the night shift stocking shelves and normally he would be happy as a clam. But normally he would also be either drunk or stoned. Since he was neither he felt increasingly on edge, that if someone fucked with him in any way that he would snap, go insane. That he would behave like those postal workers from the early nineties, mowing down his co-workers indiscriminatly. The thought had ouccured to him before but he has brused it aside, as an idle fantasy, a product of too much time spent alone. The main thing that kept him back was his faculties of logic and reason and that jail sucked so very much. Frank glanced at the fat man again attempting to ascertain some knowledge of his nature. They had worked togeather for five years yet had seldom spoke even in passing. It was that way with human beings, he had thought, that people could be neighbors for years and yet never exchange a single word. How we all isolate ourselves from one another. Five minutes. Frank stared at the clock hoping it would perpetually remain at five minutes to ten. That time would stand still and he woulden't have to actually experience the next eight hours. Still he knew this was mere conjecture, mere fantasizing on his part. Frank looked back up at the clock, two minutes, I guess its time, he thought as he walked down towards the time clock.

The good idea pt 2

'Are you sure you know where your going?' Joe asked betraying the anxiousness he felt. They had been wandering around the third floor for almost a half hour and Alan had yet to find the door of the Russian. Several time he had come close almost to the point of indicating this was was place before they had heard the low din of voices, and steps. Joe had a fear of knocking some random person's door down of coming in and than leaving realizing they had the wrong place, of arrest, serious jail time, all of the extremes involved in such a breaking and entering operation. It was true what Alan said, that someone who is in the business of dealing drugs would not likely call the cops. What was also true, that he knew without thinking about it too much was that drug dealers might have friends. Friends who would not be as forgiving as the cops. Still Joe had not voiced these concerns. Most likely they would be disregarded even mocked so it struck him as an exercise in futility to even raise them. Joe was used to being belittled, disregarded, even blatantly mocked in his dealings with Alan. It was the price he paid and the price he accepted when he did business with him. 'I think this is it.' Alan said stopping before a door marked 14. 'We passed this one earlier and you didn't say anything.' 'This time I remember its all coming back to me.' Joe took all he was hearing with a grain of salt. 'Well your doing the kicking, you convinced me to come along, this is all your idea.' Alan hesitated, 'Come on man were both in this together.' 'It was your idea in the first place.' Alan finally assented. 'Alright.' He raised his boot and gave the door a powerful kick near the middle of it. 'Fuck!' Alan screamed recoiling his foot. 'Alright we just gotta give it a few tries.' Joe felt reluctant to make the effort but he figured that he had expanded enough effort and taken enough time to take it worth his while. He kicked the door with all of his strength and it seemed to move slightly. Alan took another shot at it and the door seemed to move slightly. Joe raised his foot and kicked with all his might the the door suddenly open and a breeze swept through. Alan walked in cautiously as if stepping upon the surface of some alien planet. Something about it seemed unreal. Joe followed in the same fashion reluctant but eager to push on. It was a spartan affair with few decoration of adornments and mainly the basic things needed for a lone person to inhabit a home. At first Alan seemed unsure as if this were the right place but soon these feelings were assuaged. He went into the bedroom and extracted a backpack. He opened it and pulled out a massive bag of herb. 'Now were in business.'

'

Good idea pt 1

Joe waited outside the large brick building shivering slightly as a cold wind caught him sending chills down his body. He paced slightly as he waited, nervous in anticipation of what he was about to participate in. The apartment building was a dark, brick, somewhat run down affair, as if it had been neglected for some time. The door to the inside was locked to keep out the derilects who sometimes attempted to get in and sleep. This is crazy, Joe thought as he paced up and down the sidewalk. Break in's, robbery, it was not his bag. But his friend Alan had described it in a way that had made it hard to resist. Free bud, scales, bowls, maybe even cash. Enough to set them up good if they played the cards right. And of course, the perfect target. A drug dealer, someone who could never call the police even if they wanted to. 'Hey, you ready?' Joe was awakened from his thoughts by Alan. 'Yeah, just feeling a little nervous.' 'Ah it will be fine, lets smoke this jay.'Alan suggested. 'You got some?' Joe asked. 'Obviously.' Alan reached into his pockets and extracted a medium size bone. He took out his lighter and started torching it, 'Right here?' Joe asked. 'Why not?' Alan said as he inhaled. He passed it over to Joe, 'You see you worry too much. You overthink everything. Make it more complicated than it has to be.' Joe took a large rip and handed it back to Alan. 'So run his all by me again.' Joe said. Alan took another hit and handed it back. 'Ok this Russian kid Anatoly, kind of an asshole sells a shitload of bud lives on the thrid floor. He's gone back to the motherland for a month, so all we got to do is get in kick down the door and take what we need and get out.' Alan passed the joint to Joe which was getting smaller. 'First of all how do you kick down the door, second won't that make alot of noise?'
'There's a weak point in the door, if you kick hard enough you can bring it down. Second this building is filled, with drug dealers, crazies, and prositutes no ones going to do shit even if they do hear anything.' The joint was done by now and Joe was feeling slightly more at ease. They moved closer toward the door. Joe had seen little activity coming in or out from the building in the 45 minutes he had been standing outside. Suddenly he noticed a figure coming toward the door. The man opened it and Alan eased his way in and Joe followed suit. The man eyed them warily but seemed unproturbed. The hallway had a musty odor, with the faint undertone of booze. 'Alright lets do this.' Alan said as they ascended the stairs.

The only one that called me was the fatty

Bill sped down the open road his eye fixed upon the white lines in the center. The rain was coming down in torrents, buckets, thick drops as if the clouds were unloading every last bit of moisture contained withthin them. Still Bill drove, oblivious to the massive tempest unleashing itself upon the earth. He had consumed several glasses of scotch yet he felt clear and intense as if all his faculties were gathered in perfect harmony. Revenge was his object. Bill had the means to obtain this goal, he had the will. A loaded .44 sat in his glove compartment and a full dose of vitriol and venom lay within his soul. Bill remembered a long time back that living well was the best revenge, to let bygones be bygones to let things slide. However Bill had never been one to subscribe to this notion. To him getting revenge was the best revenge. Vicious, cruel, horrible revenge in the most extreme way possible. It was tit for tat every sinlge injustice done to him would be responded by a justice far worse and more extreme than the original crime. In Bill's mind it was simple mathematics, everything had to be righted to be made so everything was on an even kilter. In Bill's line of work this attitude was not only tolerated, but recommended. To not exact payment, or to allow something like that to slip was a clear sign of weakness. To show any sign of weakness was all but an invitation to allow all manner of competition to rush in and exploit that weakness. By the time it was all over all of his operation would be defunct, kaput, taken over by more bold adversaries. But Bill had never been that type of operator. When he felt something wrong had been done to him or someone was cheating him he found out the truth and if the rumours were indeed true, head would roll. People would die, dissapear, never to be found again. Bill was an expert at making people dissapear and also adept at thinking up a damn good alibi for himself after. This one would be more difficult as his target was more linked to him and he intended to carray out the grisly work himself. Still he had confidence in his abilities. Bill knew
he would likely be questioned in regard to the suspects wherabouts but that without clear evidence nothing would come of it. Because he intended to have nothing be found, not a single scrap of fiber, skin, nothing. The person would just dissapear.

By the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million strong

Masturbation is like the back end of the pantry. The dry goods, the ramen noodles, the macaroni and cheese the things one eats when one has exhausted all the meat,vegetables, and main staples. Sure it does the job. It satifies the urge of hunger and it is realtively cheap and easy to make. But still when one has only ate ramen for a prolonged period of time you begin to yearn. Yearn for something better. For some steak godamnit, or some kind of better nutrition.

Hilarity

The figure across the street looked weak, emaciated, and seeming to have trouble walking as it lumbered slowly down the street. Frank watched it as he pumped gas into his semi, it looked like a man but there was something amiss. The way it walked suggested a drunk, perhaps a derelict on a bender yet that also defied logic. The truck stop was in the middle of a rural area and the nearest town had to be at least a mile away. Frank had taken the first exit he could see for gas as he had been driving for 17 hours straight. It was quite possible that his eyes were playing tricks on him or there was some kind of feasiable explanation for a man walking on a rural road at two in the morning. The figure moved closer by now about 30 feet away down the street plodding towards the truck stop slowly and methodically. It had been unusually hot the past few days and Frank could feel sweat gathering upon his brow as he finsihed pumping. Something was wrong here, something told him he did not want to find out exactly what the man's purpose was at this late hour. Frank sensed strongly the need to get out of there and back on the road. There was an eerie silence which rapt the air with only the buzzing of myriad insect filling the night air. Frank walked up to the gas pump and slid his card. He pressed the button selecting his method of payment and waited as the machine processed it. The man had crossed the road by now and Frank could see him more clearly as he entered the streetlight. The eyes had a glazed over look and he could see also the open wounds which dominated his face. His flesh seemed to be peeling off by the minute as he slowly walked toward the gas station. He looked like the walking dead. Fank watched as his card finally processed and quickly got back into his truck. Frank quickly gunned the engine as the creature was now closing in on his truck. He could hear it emit a low groaning sound which sent a chill down his spine. Whatever that thing was he knew it wasn't human and he didn't want to find out what. As he drove off he heard a thud against the passenger door. The creature lunged at his veichle but not quite fast enough. Frank looked into his rearview mirror and saw it continue toward the gas station. Something fuckin strange in his town, he thought as he heading toward the highway.

The truth finds its way up through the sands of deception

Why is everyone so down on sluts? What harm have they ever done? Besides of course the ouccasional std or unwanted pregnancy they bring joy to countless individuals. What wrong with wanting to spread around some love? Not that sex and love are interchangeable but still. And no girl will ever ever admit to being a slut. The charge will almost unvariably be wholly denied. I would love to just see a girl just say yes! I am a slut. And I wholly own up to my whorish behavoir and will continue in such a hilarious manner. By golly whats wrong with that? And of course there is the whole over side of it, where a dude would never deny banging alot of chicks. In fact its complely opposite where a mans whole measure of himself and who he is seems hinged upon his sucess with the opposite sex. If there were a term for a male slut surely no male would deny such charges. I mean what is so wrong with enjoying the act of sex? For godsake its a beautiful thing and of course its natural that some people would enjoy it frequently. I wish I could just change all the rules of the game. I feel as a male, the females have all the cards. They are the coveted ones the ones sought after and I am expected to be the pursuer. Why am I not similiarly coveted? I feel I have enough redeeming qualities to merit such lust.

Get ready you mutha, for the big payback

So I had a weird encounter with a bus driver which totally threw my day out of whack. I was getting on and I did not realize I had left my bus pass with my other pants, so I put thirty cents in the fare box before acknowledging that I didn't have enough. The bus driver look at me angrily obviously pissed off by my lack of funds and I said that I saw the bus drivers usually let people through to which he countered, 'you put in thirty cents and you expect me to let you on. Just tell me your short next time.' Eventually another passenger lent me a dollar to put into the fare. So most people would assume this ugly encounter was over right? That the feelings of animus and rage between our two parties would have subsided? That assumption would prove to be incorrect. As I pressed the button for my stop which clearly rang and was audible I was than let off a good three blocks from my stop well past the stop light. Clearly passive/agressive bullshit on the part of the driver. I can understand from a certain vantage point as someone who deals with people daily and has to deal with the bullshit but on the other hand it pissed me the fuck off. It was so obvious, so intentionally designed to obtain some kind of 'revenge' on someone who did something that is done all the time. Maybe I am wrong slightly, maybe there was just reason for his umbrage. Certainly a proportion of the bus fares go to the bus drivers salary, and maybe he had had a long day of non-fare payers before me which is certainly commonplace.

I'm pickin up good vibrations

So its been awhile since I rapped on this thing. And few things have changed but still some things stay the same. I think I would be a good raiseing children in 1902. I remember reading that back then people were more stoic and less emotive and the concept of childhood had not yet fully evolved. Children were thought of as little adults and dressed and expected to act as such. I think for me the number one thing that would piss me off about raiseing kids would be the constant shout and loudness and strange irrationtal behavoir. Also I was pondering about life in the 1850s. The impetus for this thought came as I saw a notice that the power was going to be cut off in our apartment for a few hours in the morning because of some kind of surge. I knew that certain people had calling cards which specified the times in which someone could call on another person. I coulden't help but wondering if someone came in and just popped in at someones house would it be acceptable. What would be the standards for social conduct in an era without means of notifying someone beforehand?

One man show

I'm a one man show no one else on my team/ no copilot in the next seat no one else on the scene/ staring deep in the dark isolated from the rest/ got no one holding me up through this grand long contest/ I detest so many things and the evils they bring/ sad souls looking down upon this world that we inhabit/ follies coming all around both comical and tragic/ trying hard hoping somehow to break the bad habits/ without the aid of witchcraft or black magic/ to just have it and let loose for a few/ feeling like an island with a one man crew

You best watch yourself were wanted men I have the death sentence on tweleve systems!

I just finished reading the book Murder Machine by Gary Capeci and Gene Mustain. It chronicles the rise and fall of the crew of Roy DeMeo a capo in the Gambino Crime family. The Roy Demeo Crew was believed to have been responisable for over 100 murders in the New York area. The crews method of dispatchment was quick and effective. After shooting the victim in the head another member of the crew would stab the victim in the heart the stop the blood flow. After this they would usually wait for a while for the blood to congeal before they proceeded. On one ouccasion they ordered out for pizza and hot dogs while they waited. After the blood had congealed they would dismember the body peice by peice and package it in plastic bags and drop it in a nearby dump. This book read really well for me and had a good narrative which kept me reading. Another thing I found interesting was how some of Roy Demeo's fellow colleagues became disgusted with his brutal methods of dispatchment. After a member of Roy's crew Chris Rosenberg ends up making a deal with some Cubans from Florida for Cocaine and bring them up to New York to make the deal. Instead of giving them the money Chris ends up murdering all of the Cuban representatives and taking the cocaine. As a result of Chris's indisrection the Cuban who has contacts in the Columbian drug cartel sends up some muscle to New York to sort out the situation. Roy Demeo's handler in the Gambino Family Nino Gaggi sends his nephew Dominick Montiglio to sort things out with the Cuban's. As a result of his paranoia Roy ends up killing a young vacuum cleaner salesman who was sitting outside his house making his rounds. In the end he winds up getting killed because the Gambino heirarchy beleives he would testify against him, overall a great read.

I don't look at you that way

Is there come kind of curse that I have developed where somehow all the girls im attracted to see me as only a platonic friend? It seems to be so. I can remember already three oucassions where this has happened in my experience one of them very recently. I was told I was 'a good guy to smoke with and share words of wisdom.' Maybe I should just start being a fuckin asshole to everyone and no one will see me as a fucking friend. It really fuckin blows though I feel like im never taken serioulsy in that way. That i'm thought of as some kind of celibate asexual freak by the opposite sex. What the fuck? It really doesn't make any sense and then you always see these fuckin jackoff assholes getting really hot girls. Godamnit.

Nobody asked you to come in ten minutes early

Redundancy, complete and utter redundancy. The same thing ouccurring in the exact cycle day in day out with no change or alteration in the pattern. A maze whose turns and corners lead in the same path to the exact same place where you strated every single time. It all feels that way and yet somehow I feel detatched from it all as it holds no interest. Fuck. Drinking beer on another sunday again and I find myself feeling low and depressed. As Lenny said once in an episode of 'the simpsons,' 'nothing like a depressant to drive the blues away.' It is true it is strange to attempt to cure ones woes with something that only execerbates them. But still you start to feel good on some level, numb to what you would otherwise feel without it. It becomes like a companion to you, a friend which will always be by your side to cheer you up. To clean away the horrors of the day to make you oblivous to the world.

I flow like the blood on a murder scene

It is my firm belief that some individuals of certain persausions and temperments are simply in need of a good ass kicking. Maybe not always in a physical sense but in the sense of taking them down a few notches, of making them recognize that that are not all that they make themselves out to be. Mainly is bring them back into normal humanity, to make them act maybe even somewhat like a normal decent person. I find it quite staggering how it seems as if normal, decent people are in such a staggeringly short supply. Perhaps just instilling some basic regular humanity into some of these people to bring them back. Obviously not everyone and all people are ever going to entirely get along and cooperate with one another but simply getting people to stop being jackoffs to one another and acting somewhat normal would be a start.

I gave myself a good talking to

Why does everything have to be so complicated? More specifically why do things which would seem to be simple task's turn into overwrought complex affairs? Obtaining herb is a prime example. One its face one would think it was only a matter of finding someone with plant matter and a scale and having them weigh it out and sell it to you. However when the time comes you are sometimes met with delay and a long complicated explaination as to the cause of said delay. Then you are provided with a host of unneccesary information regarding the reasons for the delay. Meanwhile all you really desire is to know when the thing will really go down.

None is more contemptiable then those who defile the way of Bushido

I was reading the newspaper today in the op-ed section about a late term abortion doctor George Tiller who was murdered by an extreme anti-abortion activist. There was a peice from someone who obviously was more favored toward the pro-choice side and one from a group calling itself 'operation rescue.' Anyhow the pro-life group article said that their were legal means to call attention to abortions moral injustice and not the vigilantism employed by the killer. At the end it stated, 'Tillers homicide must be denounced, but so should the killing of voer 45 million innocent babies through abortion,' not exactly an endorsement of the murder but still a certain sympathy for the killers motives. I coulden't help but thinking maybe a service was being done not having an extra 45 million human beings on the planet. First of all we are massively overpopulated to begin with, secondly there are many extenuating circumstances such as where the baby had a fatal condition or deformities of their health was at risk. Or in circumstances such as rape, incest, or maybe the person is just not prepared to be a parent at the point in time. Is it not something of a disservice to society to have individuals not truly prepared to raise their child raising them and having the child become a murderer, rapist, etc; So in these people minds all babies should be brought to term regardless of circumstances and situations. And some of these really pro-life segment mainly the catholics are against any form of birth control whatsover which in turn leads of aids, stds, and so forth. Of course by calling themselves 'pro-life' they paint the other side as 'anti-life' or even 'pro-death' and who would want to be identified with something like that.

Ain't no time to hesitate and debate do it now

Failure is a terrible thing. A horrible feeling to have the persists long after the defeat has ouccurred. The vanquished may understand why they have lost and analyze the reasons for they're defeat but the sour taste of defeat lingers on. It has lingered on for over a hundred years in the south and spawned both a literary movement and a culture, as well as a seris of laws aimed at stripping away the rights of its black citizens. You can see it during the civil rights years when again many southern politicians argueing that by integrating school they were infringing on their 'rights.' In fact was reading in this book about the south and the Civil war Confederate in the attic this woman who was saying that slavery was 'not all that bad.' The woman was part of a group which wanted to preserve the confederate flag as its symbol. In some ways the strong rememberence of the war makes sense, it deveastated southern cities and towns reducing most of them to rubble. But at some point you would think they would move on, to change old attitude and streotypes.

I analayzed bombing operations, and how to make them more effiecent

Fuck. Fuck it all. Its all wholly fucked anyhow. I hate women. Hate them all. Hate that I want them hate that they exist hate the whole concept of human procreation and the desire to do so. Hate people in general for holding this tenet up to such high esteem. The moron's the fuckin idiots are reproducing at a far greater rate then anyone of intellectual merit is and the feeling is to throw in the towel. Woman are like that fuckin Vietcong and seeming more elusive by the mintue. I don't know what the fuck to do and my befuddlement is becoming more intense by the mintue. I feel like I am destined to be celibate that I will never truly understand. It is defeatist thinking but there is no one to communicate with so maybe it makes sense. I need to put myself out there and do something. I am having fucking dreams about this shit now and women and having a diesel girlfriend and all that. I know its possible i just need to unlock the possiability.

Its so rude to honk your horn

I was watching this movie on late at night a few weeks ago on tv. It was on from 2am to around 4am but I had to see how it ended. It was certainly well worth staying up for. It's called Mississippi Burning and it shows some of the most brutal, ugly downright evil side of the human character. It follows the exploits of two FBI agents Wilhem Dafoe and Gene Hackman who are sent down to Mississippi in 1964 to investigate the dissappearance of three civil rights workers from Chicago who were sent down to organize black voter registration. Dafoe and Hackman represent two characters seemingly at odds with each other; Dafoe an idealistic young agent from the justice department with a by the books attitude. Hackman a native Mississipian with a more unorthodox tough cop approach. At first Hackman's character seems more sympathtic to the Mississpian side constantly arguing with Dafoe. As they begin their investigation they both encounter suspicion and downright hostility from the local sheriff's office and from the people of the town in general. Also it becomes obvious that the deputy is an active member of the Klu klux Klan and likely a role in the dissapearance. For the first three quarters or so of the movie Dafoe tries all manner of conventional approaches, bringing in more agents, attempting to question the local black populace and the deputy and others. It soon becomes obvious that these tactics are inadequete to deal with the case, as witnesses are beaten, intimidated, houses and churches are burned and the complicity on the part of the local police and mayor becomes obvious. As I was watching this movie I became so pissed off so frusterated that these racist assholes seemed to have the other hand I almost wanted to turn it off but i had to see how it ended. Finally after disagreeing with Hackman for most of the movie Dafoe's charcter finally agrees to do things his way. First they bring in another agent from an unknown department who kipnaps the mayor and brings him to a shack. The agent a large African-American fellow tells the story of a boy from another town nearby who was castrated for looking a white woman. He then threatens to do the same to him if he doesn't tell him who was with the deputy that night. Also Hackmans finds out from the deputie's wife that he was involved. Slowly but surely the tide starts to turn as they get another Klan member of the posse to confess after revealing that his cohorts have already squealed. After they drive him around and ask him a few questions they drop him off in the black side of town. Hilarious. Thus through the use of several over unorthodox tactics they end up convicting most of the posse for civil rights violations. All and all it is a fascinating study of the dark side of humanity.

Always mystify, mislead and suprise the enemy

I was talking on IMs to this girl from Iowa recently when I had what I will call an interesting exchange. We had chatted a little bit before but had never really gone much beyond the standard superficial conversation. So we were chatting and she was telling me about how she was going to school to be a chef and all these normal things. Then I mentioned something about books about how I like to read. Then she asked me if I read the Bible. I said something like no why would I read the Bible. Then I said something like the Bible was interesting from a historical sense to which she replied 'The Bible is history.' It was at that point that I knew I was dealing with some kind of nut or extremist. I tried to steer the coversation away but in the end I could not resist the challenge. I asked her if she believed the earth was created in seven days and she said 'seven billion years doesn't exist' whatever the fuck that means. So in the end I found out she was one of those end timers who believe that rapture is coming and the apocalypse and sinner going to hell and all that fun stuff. I asked her why she believed in all this and she just said it was how she was raised and what she was told. She was clearly just parroting something that had been drilled into her head since youth. Needless to say it was somewhat dissapointing but I had to end the conversation shortly after. It seemed strange to me because she seemed like such a normal realtively cool person beforehand, yet the facade was just that. It was kind of like another incident I had with this girl Shanti who seemed really cool but turned out to have really horrible conservative beleifs also. Although she was also a complete psycho in general but the horrible beleifs did it for me. I think its just certain people who opinions are so far on the other side of the spectrum from each other that normal conversation is impossible.

You don't need to see his identification

Its always a strange thing when a random person starts talking to you in public. Your first reaction is what the fuck is going on, who is this person and why are they talking to me. Then a context is form where be it inquiring about the time, or where something is, or an innane comment about the weather and order is restored. Balance is attained. It is interesting how we as people desire to be with one another and yet take so many measures to isolate ourselves from each other. There was in incident in the news a little while ago about a person who got hit by a car and all these pedestrains walked by and complely ignored them. Just did not want to get involved at all. I says alot about our isolated nature.

Lets just say we'd like to avoid any imperial entanglements

I was thinking about the glorification of war and how it contrasts so strongly with the accounts and experiences of people who have actually experienced war and combat. They seem to be so entirely at odds with each other. War and being in the millitary in general is one of the few contexts in which human beings can actually kill each other without retribution. One of the few mediums where homicide is sanctioned and actually honored. And so it is of little suprise that the people who have come back from this experience are largely scarred by the experience and very much reluctant to commit themselves to such an endeavor again. I was watching the Civil war and it was talking about how one Union veteran remembered a certain battle as 'the most terrible day I have ever lived.' Now I can think of a few bad days I have had over the past years maybe even really horrible days, but the worst day ever, that sucks. Seeing people you have grown accusstomed to and maybe from your home town be blown to shards for hours and hours, that bound to fuck up your day. And mind and how you perceive that world.

If you only knew the power of the dark side

John Wilkes Booth is an fascinating character to me in history. Specifically his intense interest and devotion to the southern cause. He was a successfull actor before and during the war and could have lived out an easy life but he felt a strong hatred for Lincoln and loyalty to the south. I looked up his history online and I found out he had been born in Maryland to British parents an acting family and I still coulden't really ascertain what it was that motivated his sympathy towards the south. In fact one of his brothers Edwin intensely disagreed with his feelings about the whole thing and refused to perform with him during his later years. He spent his last days brooding alone drinking heavily, and pondering ways to at first kidnap and then assassinate the president. Also I find it interesting that Lincoln would have attended the showing of 'Our American cousin' without any kind of guard or protection against possible threats. I guess it had not happened before but Booth just walked in while the president was engrossed in the play and shot him in the back of the head. And a student of history wonders how reconstruction and that whole process would have been different had Abe been at the helm instead of old Andrew Johnson. Probably alot better.

Then i'm off to applebees..

"Wasted", 'shitfaced,' 'hammered', the adjectives used to describe an extreme state of intoxication all sound somewhat unappealing. It seems strange that so many people who actually like to put themselves into a state of conciousness known as 'trashed.' Although this vocabulary is understandable as anyone who has been in said state can readily attest. I prepare for another long day of toil admist a severe deficiancy of sleep. Thats another word I get a kick out of 'toil'. To me it conjures up images of dirty laborer shoveling coal into some kind of furnace or engine faces dirty and covered with sweat. Although the toil I am about to go into is nothing near that sort of physical intensity it is more a mental challenge. Being able to make it through those hours.

Every day is horrible to you

I remember a few years back having an argument with my friend Joe about different senses of humor. I was talking about the Blue collar comedy tour and all the 'redneck' comedians that I so strongly detested. Foremost of them was 'Larry the cable guy', the one who looked the most redneck of them all. And I think the most terrifying thing about him is that he likely in reality resembles a large portion of the population in the south. Anyhow I was saying that a large portion of the redneck humor employed really base and obvious jokes. In essence I was saying that it was dumbed down comedy. Basically our argument centered mainly on my contention that there was different senses of humor that appealed to different people. For instance a fart joke or a slapstick routine compared to a good satire or a play on words. One is easy to understand and comprehend. The other is more subtle and crafted more intensely. I think just it seems its really common in a lot of comedies to employ obvious forms of humor and I find it depressing. Word

Maxamize efficency

I was reading once Tuvan throat singing that it was developed by nomadic herdmans galloping alone on the vast steppes of Tuva. The isolation it was implied in a way inspired this unusual form of singing. I was wondering what other patterns of behavior might develop amongest individuals alone for a long time. Would you start to talk to yourself? Or end up having whole conversations? Create a vast paralell world with its own chracters. Like someone living by themselves for a long time. Perhaps the isolation could also be honed, someone alone with their own thoughts could write stories create intricate tapestries and worlds. Whatever else might be true and I know this from myself, it certainly creates in individual somewhat uncomfortable in large groups. A burden and a curse.

Fear will keep the local systems in line fear of this battlestation

A fine Saturday midmorning. One of those days I wish I had a duplicate, a doppelganger or a clone of some kind. Someone who I could dress like myself and punch and for me and work my shift while I was whiling away the day engaged in all manner of toomfoolery. Of course they would also have to be only semi-sentient and independent so I woulden't have to split part of my check with them. Well maybe a small portion. Alone again in this weird apartment contemplating many things. I yearn for something, anything. Activity of some kind new experiences anything of any stimulation. That perhaps is the saddest thing of all. If I did suddenly have some kind of circumstance where I did not have to work its unlikly I would be able to conjure up anything of interest at all. Likely I would be back here at this horrible computer doing this or something else. I need a freighter capable of intersteller transport. To flee. We cannot get out, a shadow moves in the distance, we cannot get out.

When I left you I was but the learner now I am the master

Chi levels feel quite low today. I hate the fact that over the past few years it has become somewhat fashionable for people to identify themselves as 'rednecks'. This strange celebration of yokels which usually coincides with the waving of the confederate flag really riles me up. Maybe my defination of redneck is different from those identifiying themselves as such but to me it conjured up images of racism, the KKK, lynch mobs and all the fun stuff. When I was in seventh grade in a small town in Massachusetts there were groups of kids in my school who thought of themselves as 'rednecks' and they were the most openly racist, douchebags in pracitcally the whole school. Perhaps it stems from that fact that white people sort of lack culture in some sense. By that I mean if your not strongly ethnic Irish, Italian, jewish etc; Your just an 'American' and what the fuck is that? Just some white person. Ahhh bad times. Need to raise chi levels to their proper place for tommorow.

We are rock'n roll animals.

I'm reading this massive book about the mafia right now and what I find fascinating is the many complex scams and rackets operated by the mafia. Dummy companies, offshore bank accounts, entire lives lived in deceit and subterfuge. Most people during the course of their lives leave a long and extensive paper trail. Not mobsters. They exist as virtual phantoms with everything they own in their mother or a realtives name so that the only record of their existence is their birth certificate and arrest records. The crimes catalouged in the book by mafiosi range from simple bookmaking and extortion to kickbacks from unions and construction companies. It is interesting because as I was reading it I began to think of the whole underground economy the vast world hidden from the general populace hiding in the shadow.

I might even be a rockstar

Back in the day, wayy back in the day going out to the arcade was an adventure. It was an experience that rivaled christmas, halloween, and any other childhood outing in terms of sheer exuberance and hilarity. Me and my friend Robin would get dropped off at the mall get about 20 dollars and we would get quarters from it and play until the whole thing ran out. Usually Mortal Kombat or the X-men game. I remember the X-mean the most vividly, we passed through level after level defeating various henchmen and bosses and continuing to replenish and reup and keep playing after numerous defeats. It all seemed so magical at the time, so inspiring as we both came from small towns in the country, and I personally was never allowed acess to any kind of video game system. For those few hours it felt as if we were gods of the arcade, we owned and kicked some ass. Good times.

We went through all this fuckin trouble and somebodies skimming us?

La cosa nostra also known as the Mafia was once a very powerful force in America. I'm reading this book right now called The five familes by Selwyn Raab chronicling the history of the American Mafia in America. It spans the history of the American Mafia from its origins in Sicily in the middle ages to the present day. It began in Sicily arising in part from a seris of invasions and ouccupations by various foreign powers throughout the years. As a result of this there developed a culture of mistrust for authority which continued throughout the years. At first these bands were developed as a means of resistance against a forgeign power but as the time wore on developed into a criminal enterprise extracting protection money from landowners. As the flood of immigrants from Southern Italy and Sicily into American increased during the late nineteenth century and early Twenteenth centuries so did some who imported these same traditions. During prohibition these Italian gangs developed more and more power and ended up surviving afterwards because they were more brutal and vicious then their Irish and Jewish counterparts. After prohibtion the Italian gangs ended up assassinating or otherwise persuadeing the remaining ethnics gangs in New york to surrender thus enabling them free reign over their respective rackets. As the years progressed and their power increased they also gained control over policiticians and labor unions. They also had interests in Cuba and had substantial interests there. It amazing to me reading about it the extent of their influence and power. That a small group of peasant immigrants could form such a powerful criminal empire it indeed noteworthy no matter what your position on the merits of it.

And they use us til they refuse us

Jefferson Davis the first and only president of the confederate states of America is a fascinating character in the rich tapestry of American history. Defiant to the end about the righteousness of the confederate cause, he issued this statement after the fall of Richmond: "Relieved from the necessity of guarding cities and particular points, important but not vital to our defence with our army free to move from point to point, and strike in detail detachments and garrison of the enemy; operating in the interior of our own country,where supplies are more accessiable, and where the foe will be far removed from his base and cut off from all succor in case of reverse, nothing is now needed to render our triumph certain, but the exhibition or our own unquenchable resolve. Let us but will it and we are free." This was after Shermans army had marched through Georgia and South carolina burning and destorying everything in sight. Also aftet the confederacy had also suffered massive inflation from printing currency without any backing and from the Union blockade of confederate ports. You have to admire his determination and resolve I suppose. After the civil war Jefferson Davis and others led to a literary movement known as the 'lost cause' which exulted in the merits of the Confederate cause and the north crimes against her people and soil. In some ways one can imagine and indeed in some ways understand the factors underlying this seniment. A large portion of the cities and villages of the south were completly destroyed and devastated as a result of the war. In the end the strategy of total war was deemed to be the only means nessacary to end the conflict. When I see pictures of the cities of South destroyed by the war it reminds me of pictures of Europe after world war 2 vast expenses of destroyed, blown up buildings, a vista of ruin and devastation. And the sense of defeat really resonated with the Southern people so I think it is part of the reason why they still remember the Civil war so acutely. If New York or Boston or Washtington were reduced to burning piles of rubble and the countryside of New England was burned and raped and pillaged for all that is was worth, I imagine we Yankees would feel a similiar sentiment.

Love lifts us up where we belong

I want to enfilade a large portion of ifantry with fullsides of artillery filled with canister, grapeshot, and sharpnel. I was watching the news and they mentioned something about the cold and 'hoping you have a warm cup of coffe in your hands.' I coulden't help but be somewhat amused as I had indeed a cold glass of beer in my hands at that very moment. Sometimes I wonder why things that I think should be realtively simply seem to remain instead far more complicated then is truly necessacry. What the fuck? Sometimes I wish the ambiguity of life would make itself more clear so early yet I know once I pass out it will be so late.

There is a rancor in our hearts which you can little know

Despair, disgruntled, demoralized, dispirited. It seems as if all words describing some form of sadness or discontent come in ds. It all seems like a vast chasm of nothingness, of something out of sync or not right. A path trodden with little direction wandering aimlessly finding nothing. I just don't know what the fuck to do. About anything. I feel like Simon Pegg's character in 'Shaun of the dead' in a state of despair feeling with worlds about to end as the world itself turns into a zombie apocolypse. I need a shaman, and elder, somehow with wisdom. Something. Just can't seem to figure out what. A peice of the puzzle is missing.

Silent tongue and clenched teeth and steady eye and well poised bayonet

One of the things I love the most about the era of the American Civil war is the various letters and statements by soldiers and politicians and even common people of the time. The language they use is so fluid and descriptive and seems to sum up the whole of the subject they are speaking on. Abraham Lincoln is one of the most famous, one of my favorite qoutations from him is his statement to those opposed to fighting against slavery. "You say you will not fight to free negros, some of them seem willing to fight for you; but, no matter. Fight you, then exclusively to save the union. When victory is won, there will be some black men who can remember that, with silent tonge, and clenched teeth, and steady eye, and well poised bayonet they have helped manking unto this great consummation; while I fear there will be some white ones, unable to forget that, with malignant heart and deceitful speech, they have strove to hinder it." It comes across as so descriptive and I love the image of the soldier fighting against all hinderences and prejudices. I've always loved qoutes in general and the period is in my opinion one of the best for it.

In addition to being a postmaster im also a general, and its the job of a general to by god get things done!

So i've been reading this massive one volume history of the civil war The battle cry of freedom by James McPherson. Its a challengeing book on many levels. Interesting but very detailed and it actually took me a few chapters to start to really get into it. But now I am in the thick of it and the pages are flying by. I think one of the things I like about it, which I also liked about the Ken Burns documentary The Civil War is the depictions of the various players and characters and their personalities. I think General Grant is one of the more interesting characters in the war. "He had discovered that this laconic, informal, commonsense manner inspired respect and obediance from his men. Unlike so many other commanders, Grant rarely clamored for reinforcments, rarely complained, rare quarreled with associates, but went ahead and did the job with the resources at hand." And also what I find interesting is that Grant had no strong reputation before the war, he had served in the Mexican war, but had been discharged from the army in 1854 for drinking. This in contrast to McCllelen who came into position of General of the Army of Potomac with plaudits and acclaim and indeed had trained and turned the Army of the Potomac into a discilplined fighting machine but when it came time to actually use the Army in battle he demurred. Fell back, constantly thinking of reasons to postpone a full scale assualt. One can almost understand how someone having built up such resplendant legions would be reluctant to hurl them into a storm of musketry, grape shot and sharpnel. In almost every battle McClellan outnumbered Lee and the confederate army signifigantly yet still he refused to go on the offensive. I can't help but wonder if the Army of the Potomac had had a slightly more bold and offensive commander if maybe the war might have ended sooner.

And if you like the wicked sound then clap man

Late at night I sometimes watch TV and I always see all these random commercials. They subjects of them vary, 'girls gone wild' is probably the most frequent of them with scantily clad young ladies strip down and do various things to each other. But also alot of get rich quick shchemes and weight loss ads. The adds for weight loss always or frequently seem to emphasize the message, 'lose weight without excercise.' And basically the entire theme of the ad was lose weight without doing anything. When has anything ever been accomplished without some kind of effort. What the fuck happened to suck it up and doing some fucking work. Put effort into it stop eating all the unhealthy shit, adjust your diet. Take the steps needed to accomplish your task. General Sherman in the civil war marched through miles of swamps in georiga with regiments ahead of him chopping down trees and making their own roads through miles of terrain. For god sake anything is possible and when you consider the spectrum of experiences the human race has been exposed to over the history of time. Slavery, opression, extermination and yet through it all somehow it had survived. Individuals have endured and even created a culture and kept hope throughout a very dark and hopeless era.
The slaves in America despite all the efforts of the slave masters and the system of slavery always had a strong understanding that what was being done to them was wrong. Despite all the efforts of a society to demote them to a lower caste in the world they still harbored hope and yearned to be free. People in America all of us have it so easy and we do not fully apperciate it. I was talking to a co-worker of mine who was talking about walking across the Sahara desert when he was nine was a group of people from his village who were fleeing from a civil war. I know for a fact that when I was nine years old that shit would have fucked me up. But it is truly a different reality. Different people experience different realities and their outlook on the world is shaped by these realities. I think the point is you should excercise, excercise is good it makes you feel good and look good. But more broadly I think there is just a general apathy among alot of people here. A sense of utter obilviousness about all around them. Although I am of course guilty of this myself but I try to recycle and I have always a sense of a broader picture. The remote control again and ingenius invention, but still it had something that has enabled us to literally sit in a chair and not have to move for long intervals of time. And then they also have chairs with refridgeratos built into them so one can eat a snack and watch tv without having to get up at all. Crazy man.

I am filled with inutterable loathing.

Sometimes I simply just do not understand human beings. Human nature. What exactly is it within some people that causes them to behave like complete jackoffs for no apparent reason. Why is it they seem to be so much interested in the affairs of others and in things that in general do no concern them in the slightest. Are they aware that they are going around every day behaving in a disgusting, abhorrent manner towards all around them? Or are they just generally oblivious to the abrasive nature of their general personality. I think most like the latter. They live in a delusional existence with their own warped sense of reality utterly divorced from the truth. I have this co-worker who is continually a pain in the ass. And I had an argument with her in which I disagreed with her. I with then told to 'go to hell and die'. And that I was an asshole. I did little to merit this response but I responded in kind 'no one here likes you.' Or something to that effect. Now given the abuse I had taken I could have actually responded with much harsher words than that but I held my tongue. But still it was nessacary to respond in some way instead of just roll over and be treated like an asshole. There was one point in my life where I would have done just that but that shit is over and I will no longer deal with that shit.

Now the night will through its cover down

Its always strange to see someone your used to seeing in a certain setting or backround in a different context or enviroment. Especially if you've only seen them in that one said enviroment. I experienced that a little while ago when I was working as a temp for Aerotek at the Yankee candle company. This fellow I used to obtain some herb from was working there on second shift while I was on thrid. WEird shit seeing that dude. It also happened recently when I was at the Y with this kid who worked at Shaws. ALthough that particular instance made slightly more sense. I think it just changes your percption of them.