From "A Weary Hour," by Thomas Mann

"Here was the depressing truth: the years of need and nothingness, which he had thought of as the painful testing-time, turned out to have been the rich and fruitful ones; and now that a little happiness had fallen to his lot, now that he had ceased to be an intellectual freebooter and occupied a position of civic dignity, with office and honours, wife and children- now he was exhausted, worn out."

A visit

I think I might be back for a while. I always know when I need to stop by for a visit.

Bulls Eye Bitches

You might know what that means, if you know me. Let's just say that what ever it was robbed me of two months, changed a lot of my habits, and fleshed out the flabby ignorance that I always thought was there.

Not from me, of course. I was fucking brilliant, even if I can't spell. I knew right where to be, what to do, and where to put people. Ok, so not everything, but goddamn, can't I get an executive who is not retarded and out of touch?

If I ran a company that served high end meals, and I wanted to move my target audience more toward a 15-20 demo I sure as hell wouldn't put myself up front making decisions that I had no idea about. My VP doesn't even get Facebook. His wife runs his page, among other things. His great idea for my bar was to have a game board etched into the top of a bar table so people could play...wait for it...BACKGAMMON. Who the fuck plays Backgammon?!

Actually, we have had several 50+ individuals play the game, so what do I know. Oh, wait, WE WEREN'T TRYING TO ATTRACT THAT DEMOGRAPHIC. But, I digress.

Human frailty finds effective ways of rearing its unabashed head in many ways. fear of embarrassment by the brightly shining underling is apparently a long lasting tradition. I can tell you it is virulently still alive. It's hard to hold my tongue, but in the end I laugh. What's it matter if he is afraid and takes it out on me?

Work. What's the point lamenting? Seems more of a waste than listening to the bellowing of the old washed out retreads anyway.

I read this book that my neighbors mom self-published. I certainly can respect the effort, I know I would love to be published, but I have a couple of gripes. First, this was a religious pamphlet hidden in the folds of a psi-fi thriller (which I love) wrapped in a pseudo love story. There was a lot going on.

The future human (did I mention time travel) was named Tln. I guess verbs are inefficient in the future.

The story began in a relatively captivating fashion, and some of the characters were developed pretty well, but the last 25 pages were drowned in quoted scripture and "God speak." The sinister part of the way the book was engineered was the way it omitted any overbearing faith message and sucked you in with the time travel / worm-hole story. Then there was the river guide heroine and her dead love that reappeared after a year with an, "I'm tired and it's a long story so I'll explain it in the morning." Tell me now Bitch!!

Yeah, it was going right along there like some of my favorite comic books and then, SMACK, god is your savior and you should repent to find meaning in your life or the "Neos" will suck all the meaningfulness out of your life. It was like someone had chopped the cum shot off your favorite sex scene. I know, the book was totally obscene!

Anyway, I told my neighbor that it was a great book and that her mom would for sure win the Pulitzer, and that of course she should have spent her retirement money on publishing the book because it was going to make way more money than she used to have in her 401K. What? She did it to me first.

I gotta go, I have to get up at 4am and I hate it. You'd think I was a fucking truck driver. I'm going to listen to "Hey Stephen," smile a little bit, and try to sleep sweetly. Very sweetly.

Misery

So, there's this guy. He's fat, 37, bitter, and basically alone. I would say he's an asshole, but I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea. I mean, he can be an asshole, he acts like an asshole a lot of the time...shit; writers license. He's an asshole.

That's not to say he's not a lovable asshole. I love this asshole, but goddamn man, get your shit together.

This guy lives with a withering, life sucking, frigid bitch, whose best explanation for her inability to get past her abandonment issues is, "You have to have options." She is a soulless cunt. I know, dirty word, but there we are.

The cunt used to be hot. Now she's a little pudgy, a little wrinkly faced, and more like that girl who needs to keep standing in the shadows. Her looks made her blathering tolerable in the past. Her princess behavior was not so frowned upon when you could look forward to bending her over the couch. No on looks forward to that shit anymore. Not even when they're mad.

So this cunt and the lovable asshole share an abode, as well as a 15 year hate fest between the two of them. They carry with them the angst of ignorant youth when they made uninformed assumptions about each other and locked them in their respective heart boxes. Those boxes are so shut up the Spanish Armada couldn't piss them open. That was a strange analogy.

These fuckers live together, not married, not in relationship, not even sharing a coital toss from time to time, and all I can ask myself is, "why?"

I'm married, have been for eight years. My wife is a crazy bitch. Sometimes. My wife tortures me. Sometimes. My wife is the most confounding, irrational, loony toon out there. Sometimes. But she is also wonderful. She takes care of me. She makes me feel safe. She smells like home (if I could smell I mean). I need to do her more. She would like it if I did her more. She's like a goat. My little goat. That was endearing, by the way. My term of endearment; "My Little Goat." She doesn't like the goat name. Baaaaa.

So I see this asshole allowing the cunt to stay only to exercise himself of all the demons he has projected upon her. All the failures that he currently see surrounding him are, in some way, attributable to her. She robbed him of his young adulthood. She took his masculinity. She unsheathed for the world his weaknesses and she left him bloody and helpless. Several bad decisions followed, not least of which was a seven-year fecklessly failed relationship with another idiot, but it was all the cunts fault, right?

Asshole.

The cunt, princess, frigidly stupid bitch that lives with him made similarly poor decisions. After fucking the asshole out of her she found a man to beat the cunt back in. Eight years of those lessons before she was restored, and now they are "friends." She keeps the beater close because it empowers her. Cunt girl keeps all the exes close so that she can diddle whatever heart strings that remain. She likes to feel power. Problem is she is alone with all her options. Stupid cunt.

So these ding dongs jab and poke and prod one another in whatever sublime or obvious way they can. They remain justified, to themselves, in their behavior, and each day starts the same marathon of hate all over again.

Why do people do this shit? They don't even have kids together. If they had kids they could focus on the children and ignore each other. They could fake it. They don't fake it. They seethe. They blister and burst their oozing bile upon each other to no avail. They have such hatred for one another and it is obvious to any who looks upon them. And still they stay.

I just don't get it.

They do have a pool though. That's cool. Puerto Rican women are crazy. I don't care if she reads that.

A true beginning

So, I'm a terrible fucker. No. it's not in the Charlie Manson vain. Nor is it in the wah, wah, please tell me I'm not so bad guy motif either. No, I'm just a under-achieving, self absorbed shit. It's okay, I'm comfortable with it. I have a healthy dose of self loathing attached to my own ego maniacal vision of the earth, so there is that balance. Still, my story is a different interpretation. It's not common. It is my own walk, and it is what I should be writing. Gonzo is short and cute. Shannon is colorful and concise. I am "phassade;" mistakenly correct in the very definition of the word and I won't be afraid to be that any more.

I wonder how people find themselves in the lives they get. Take our find friend, David Duchovney, or how ever you spell his name. That guy couldn't act his way out of a wet paper bag, but there he is, married to a hot piece of ass, screwing everything that walks in his cloud of "sexual addiction," and still starring in a successful series about being a self-loathing Lothario who fucks everything that moves. He must be a fucktastic writer because what else would justify his continued work?

Still, I have to admit that I admire the staying power of such a talentless piece of shit, and I have to be honest; that piece of shit grows on you. He has to be writing that show. He knows how to keep you coming back with the sixteen year-old fuck that banged him into submission and now teases him with her prowess. If you have yet to see it I know you are Googling it right now. Don't lie to yourself. You're doing it right now.

It reminds me of a time that I was finger banging a girl so hard that she had to tell me that I was going to shove her tampon into her throat. Now, aside from my horror and utter humiliation, there was a humor to the situation that only she could grasp at the moment. One of the funniest moments of my life and I was not entirely able to appreciate it's brilliance until years late.

So, I make a promise from here forth; I write for no one but me. I never feigned being a writer. I always wanted to be one, but the whole "finding my voice" always dampened the whole experience. Too much though in there. I just put stuff down and hope that enough people hate it that they want to respond. That's what we die for. Your response.

I have to say that the best and emotive era of music was the self deprecating and hating moments of the 90's with the grunge rock self-effacing lyrics of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and STP. Rage, desire, and the knowledge that we don't know anything; ever. Cobain was so stupid to die that way. Asshole. He could be on Hoho boxes right now. Instead his wife looks like she's been abused by her pimps crack whore father, and that's a whole other world of disappointment.

I recently traveled to Canada for a family wedding. I went with my father, who was a total piece of shit to us growing up, but has become something altogether different now. The wedding was his daughter's, my half sister (first time I ever put that down anywhere) and what I found was that Canadian people are just as stupid as anyone else. Aside from the cute "ay's" and long held "ooohs," they are as equally fucked up as anyone, and that gives me so much hope! If the married brides maids can hit on me in front of their husband that obviously there is no virtue anywhere. Where else can you go and have a 45 year-old crank grab your ass and tell you she wants to fuck you and then have her sit next to your seventy year-old father and tell him the same things as she licks her lips and looks at you. That is true harmony.

I find people to be emotional and obtuse. Emotionally obtuse actually. Megs has it best in the emotional distance that she maintains, because our experience cannot not be enjoyed when mired in reactionary emotion. You can't enjoy your wife if you are constantly mad that she won't unplug that goddamn hair straightener. But being mad and wanting to punch her in the face all night just ruins your night anyway. Same goes for her and her discovery of your multiple Internet porn visits. What good does it do to get mad about that? At least he isn't fucking all the neighbors, the secretary, and the waitresses at his favorite restaurant. It's all about perspective right?

Anyway, I will be more cynical, more combative, more dark, and sometimes there will be a little tear jerker here, but I need to write for me and stop trying to be cute. I'm an asshole. That's it in the entirety. It's all I know, it's truthful, and in the end it won't matter a like anyway, so who fucking cares.

Man that felt good. By the way, I did not shove said Tampon into said throat, and it appears that girl turned into quites a great girl. Gotta love Facebook and new discoveries of old experiences. Are you supposed to remember the name of everyone you ever put your finger...never mind.

I need a fucking editor.

Middle of the Road

There have been several times in my life where I have taken pause to examine the path that I am on, where it has taken me, and where it leads. Those are landmarks for me, and most often I can recall those times with vivid detail. As I look around now, I see that the "importance" question resonates more deafeningly now than ever before and I suspect that will be the case at each stop along the way.

I wonder how I will assess this path in three years time.

It occurs to me that some are often troubled by the habitual nature of our daily lives, and the repetition involved in maintaining a stable life. Save for the filthy rich, and boo to them, most of us are solidly based in a series of events that become more uniform each day. It's a question of efficiency really. How do I get the most out of each day. It requires a certain routine and structure, and often robs us of spontenaity and verve.

Therein belies the question that we struggle with when we take in the paoramic of our lives.

"Is this really what I am suppossed to be doing?"

It is purely selfish. There are no two ways about it. The very question discounts the lives and love of the ones we have chosen to surround ourselves with, but all the same, there is the question.

"What would I be doing if...?"

Its like dreaming of the lottery, but in a dirtier, less fantastic way. It is how we question what we are and what we are to become.

I have always taken comfort in the knowledge that I was meant to be a father and that I have always, in one way or another, been driven toward a family life. Those bonds have produced meaning in my life that I did not possess before, and still, what else might I have become?

I wonder how long it will be that my 13-year old daughter will push me away and how will I manage the heartbreak that her push causes. It is age appropriate, but it still kills me.

I wonder if I will ever be as close to my 8-year old daughter, remembering how close I was to her sister, and I know that my work will prevent that opportunity for some time. I am simply not there to achieve that bond.

I wonder if my wife loves me enough to stay with me all my days, and will she be there when I am no longer the man she has created in her head (thank god for imagination and low expectations).

I guess I wonder if I will be alone and if it will matter that I loved these people in the only manner I know how.

This has been a tough landmark so far.

"You're Not A Kiss Ass"

The Amazing Dentist has two Amazing children. One of them is a delightful young lady who is dating a non-Asian male. She no likey non-Asians.

The Amazing Dentist shared with the Amazing daughter that the boyfriend was a "suck-up."

The Amazing daughter shared the news with caucasion boyfriend. The college kids are crazy with the information they share.

The white boyfriend was enjoying dessert at the Amazing's house after the afore mentioned psychedelic Turkey dinner and had the occasion to say to Mrs Amazing,

"I hear you think I am a kiss-ass."

Not a beat ensues...

"I never said you were a kiss-ass. I said you were a suck-up."

Wine was enjoyed by all!