Archive for the 'Rants' Category

Bukowski Died 13 Years Ago Today

Friday, March 9th, 2007

oregon_small.jpg

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
I won’t blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won’t blame you,
instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons
our nights
our bodies
spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won’t use it
yet.

“Raw With Love”, -Charles Bukowski

Science Gone Very, VERY, Wrong.

Tuesday, June 27th, 2006

This, is the most abhorrent abdication of responsibility I’ve ever witnessed.

What the fuck are these nut jobs thinking?

“Yeah…so, if too much sun and pollution makes the planet too warm, we’ll just…you know…block out some of the sun.”

Brilliant motherfuckers. Absolutely brilliant.

BTW - Everyone, really…go see Al Gore’s movie, An Inconvienient Truth.

Why do I spend so many days feeling like I’m insane, when it’s pretty clear that it really is in fact, most of the other people in the world?

I have an idea, why don’t we set a few oil wells on fire as a sacrifice to God? Maybe he would see how much of that precious blood money we were wasting on his behalf, and just block out part of the sun for us?

I hate people. I really do.

It’s really not complicated in any way, shape or form. Pollution, caused by humans, is causing global warming. Either we stop polluting, or we die. If we can’t stop, because we love our way of life too much, we die. Think about that.

The idea these insane fucktards put forth is to block out some of the sun, so that we can continue to pollute and not change our lifestyles. If we aren’t willing to change when our heads are literally on the chopping block, what makes them think we will change when we know we have a few more years to deal with it, because of the giant Blu-Blocker we’ve put in space? All that would happen is that in a few years, we’d have to block more of the sun. A few years after that, even more…then, no sun would be left. Hey! No global warming if there isn’t any sun getting to us!

I say we either find a safe and sane way to correct global warming, or we die. Either way, we brought it on ourselves.

Inspiration

Tuesday, February 28th, 2006

“The world is like a ride at an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it’s very brightly coloured and it’s very loud and it’s fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question: Is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, ‘Hey – don’t worry, don’t be afraid ever, because this is just a ride …’

And we … kill those people. Ha ha, ‘Shut him up. We have a lot invested in this ride. Shut him up. Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real.’ It’s just a ride. But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok. Jesus murdered; Martin Luther King murdered; Malcolm X murdered; Gandhi murdered; John Lennon murdered; Reagan … wounded. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just a ride. And we can change it anytime we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love.

The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here’s what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money that we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace. Thank you very much, you’ve been great.”

-Bill Hicks
1961-1994

Last Thoughts on Woodie Guthrie

Thursday, January 12th, 2006


by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you’re too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin’ behind an’ losin’ yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life’s busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin’ up
If the wine don’t come to the top of yer cup
If the wind’s got you sideways with with one hand holdin’ on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood’s easy findin’ but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin’ and the street gets too long
And you start walkin’ backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow’s mornin’ seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin’
And yer rope is a-slidin’ ’cause yer hands are a-drippin’
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe’s a-pourin’
And the lightnin’s a-flashing and the thunder’s a-crashin’
And the windows are rattlin’ and breakin’ and the roof tops a-shakin’
And yer whole world’s a-slammin’ and bangin’
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
“I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn’t they tell me the day I was born”
And you start gettin’ chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you’re lookin’ for somethin’ you ain’t quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world’s a-watchin’ with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she’s long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they’re fryin’
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell’s bangin’ loudly but you can’t hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes’ve turned filthy from the sight-blindin’ dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an’ fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin’ three queens
And it’s makin you mad, it’s makin’ you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin’ around a pinball machine
And there’s something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin’
But it’s trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin’ in bed
And no matter how you try you just can’t say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion’s mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you’d never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin’
On this road I’m walkin’, on this trail I’m turnin’
On this curve I’m hanging
On this pathway I’m strolling, in the space I’m taking
In this air I’m inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I’m playing, on this banjo I’m frailin’
On this mandolin I’m strummin’, in the song I’m singin’
In the tune I’m hummin’, in the words I’m writin’
In the words that I’m thinkin’
In this ocean of hours I’m all the time drinkin’
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they’re around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
“Cause sometimes you hear’em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin’
And you can’t remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it’s something special you’re needin’
And you know that there’s no drug that’ll do for the healin’
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin’ train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That’s been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don’t bar no race
That won’t laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin’ long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it’s you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you’re sitting
That the world ain’t got you beat
That it ain’t got you licked
It can’t get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope’s just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner ’round a wide-angled curve

But that’s what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
“Cause you look an’ you start getting the chills

“Cause you can’t find it on a dollar bill
And it ain’t on Macy’s window sill
And it ain’t on no rich kid’s road map
And it ain’t in no fat kid’s fraternity house
And it ain’t made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain’t on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it’s funny
No you can’t find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain’t in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you’re bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain’t a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain’t in the rumors people’re tellin’ you
And it ain’t in the pimple-lotion people are sellin’ you
And it ain’t in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star’s blouse
And you can’t find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can’t tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain’t in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain’t in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain’t in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin’ and tappin’ in Christmas wrappin’
Sayin’ ain’t I pretty and ain’t I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can’t even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you’ll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain’t in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who’d turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can’t find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain’t in the ones that ain’t got any talent but think they do
And think they’re foolin’ you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while ’cause they know it’s in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin’, “Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain’t there no one here that knows where I’m at
Ain’t there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN’T REAL”

No but that ain’t yer game, it ain’t even yer race
You can’t hear yer name, you can’t see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin’
Where do you look for this lamp that’s a-burnin’
Where do you look for this oil well gushin’
Where do you look for this candle that’s glowin’
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You’ll find God in the church of your choice
You’ll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it’s only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You’ll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

Copyright © 1973 Special Rider Music

Bureaucratic Airline Bastards

Tuesday, December 13th, 2005

I had one of the most profoundly unsatisfying experiences with United Airlines and Orbitz yesterday.

See, when I booked my flight home to Oregon, I booked it all the way to Redmond. Then, several days later, I decided I would rather fly to Portland, stay a couple days, and then drive down to Bend with some friends.

One would think that all this would require is notifying the airline that I would like to have my bag taken off the plane in Portland, and that they are free to go ahead and sell that seat to someone else. But OH NO! Not that easy. If I want to stay in Portland, I have to PAY THEM an extra $350! Can you even fucking believe that shit?

The reasoning behind it is even more retarded. See, what they do, is instead of canceling just that particular flight off of my itinerary, THEY REBOOK THE ENTIRE TRIP, at whatever price is the current going rate. Well, it turns out the current going rate is $250 more than it was when I first booked, and then they charge a $100 change fee on top of that.

I already PAID for the entire fare, all the way to Redmond, all I want is to NOT fly on part of it. They can keep my money for that leg of the flight, and resell the seat to someone else that they are screwing. But no. It costs $350 to not fly on that flight that I already paid for.

Now, here’s the real kicker. Right now, I can book a flight from Redmond, back to Portland on the 22nd, which departs out of Redmond 1 hour after I arrive, for $94! WHAT THE FUCK!?!?

I’m simply dumbfounded, and well, hateful.

So my plan as it stands right now is to go to the airport on the 22nd, and while checking in explain to the nice ticket person my situation. If they tell me it costs me $350 to change it, I’ll just tell them I want a one way ticket from Redmond to Portland that departs as close to my arrival time in Redmond as possible. I’ll then lead the ticket person right along the convoluted illogical path I’ve been on for the last day. And if I get lucky, they’ll take pity on me and give me a break and just let me not fly from Portland to Redmond in the first place. I know they can do it…the ticket counter people have all the power. If it doesn’t work in Hartford, I’ll try again when I’m in Chicago. If it doesn’t work there, I’ll make a last ditch effort in Portland, and if it still doesn’t work, I’ll go ahead and buy the ticket from Redmond back to Portland, and fly back and forth, drinking their free micro brew and fuming with rage.

Astrovan Dumbfuck

Thursday, September 1st, 2005

I know…what you see here is not a Chevy Astrovan. It is in fact a Nissan Quest. The titling of this post is not meant to imply the story, other than a short sidebar, is about an actual Astrovan. It’s more about an actual dumbfuck that works at my office. I just titled it Astrovan Dumbfuck because it’s a band name that Endub and I came up with driving around Bend.

No the dumbfuck is the woman in my office who owns a blue Nissan Quest much like the one above, with the obviously difference being the color. There could be another big difference though, although I can’t tell from the picture. The one at my office has the world loudest, most sensitive car alarm. A very slight breeze sets it off….over, and over, and over, and over again. All day long.

Each time it goes off (so far today it seems to be about twice an hour), it will blare for about 5 minutes right outside my office window…then the Dumbfuck waddles her ass out there, disarms it, and then re-arms it, and then waddles back inside. The sheer repetition alone should trigger something in any primate that perhaps something here is totally inefficient, but I could be, and apparently am, wrong.

I don’t want to imply that today is the first day this has occurred. I live right by my office. In fact, my office shares the parking lot with my apartment. (This sucks, but is a story for a different day.) Dumbfuck comes to work at 6:00am. I usually get up at 7:45am. Sometimes though, I get up at 6:00. Can anyone guess why?

To add to her already astounding idiocy, directly across the street from our office, is the Police Department! It’s not a real high car theft area. I am quite certain that wandering groups of thugs do not roam the area, waiting until they see a hot Nissan Quest minivan parked right across from the police station, before they decide to pounce and go for a little joyride. So there is really no reason for a car alarm in this case….not that there really ever is, since they are so fucking frequently set off by their owners that when I hear one, I don’t even look anymore. If I do happen to glance and see someone near the car, I assume it’s the owner, being a dumbfuck.

Wouldn’t you be embarrassed if your car alarm was going off 20 or 30 times a day, and drawing attention to your poorly maintained Nissan Quest? I know when I drive cars with alarms (even nice brand new Volvo’s) it embarrasses the shit out of me when the alarm goes off. I just don’t get it.

Anyway…there really isn’t a point to this whole story other than to comment on how passionately I hate the owner of this particular shit-box for her incessant irritation of me. If anyone ever does steal her car, I guarantee it’s going to be someone that works here, or lives in my apartment building, simply to get the fucking thing to shut up…violently, and permanently.

Oh….there it goes again! I started writing this about 10 minutes ago, right after she disarmed it last time…and it’s currently going off again! Darwin, please come work you magic on this bitch…please. There is no way this is the only realm she’s well below the fittest in.

Obligatory Meta-Blog Post

Friday, April 29th, 2005

Does anyone else ever have the impression that you’ve just woken up and have been living in some dreamy haze running on some kind of autopilot for the last however long?

It happens to me more than I care to admit. I’ll be standing around smoking a cigarette, and all of a sudden feel like “I’m back! What the hell have I been doing! Have I screwed anything up while I was cruising along there?”

I don’t know what it is, maybe the first signs of some deep seated psychological issue I’ll have to deal with when it come crashing full blown into the forefront when I’m 40 and can’t stop naming the paint speckles on the walls. The beginning of some sort of dis-associative personality disorder? Who knows.

Maybe it’s just me constantly thinking about stuff not immediately in my surroundings, leading me to fuzz out what actually goes on around me unless it someone does something to really snap me out of it and get my attention. I know my ex used to complain I tuned her out all the time, but now I realize that was probably because deep down inside I knew she was a crazy sociopathic automaton sent here by some alien race to really show the full breadth and scope of my emotional joy/pain response, and thus my subconscious mind must have been trying to prevent her evil alien voodoo from working. (An effort, that while valiant, failed. Unfortunately.)

I also think it may have something to do with the sheer overload of information we deal with in our lives. Now don’t get me wrong, information overload is both my job and my hobby. I love it. Google is the all knowing oracle as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know how I would live without it, I just know that I would know a whole lot less. I mean, I can’t even remember the last time I wanted to know something, but couldn’t find it on Google. Can you?

I used to be addicted to TV when I was a little kid. I think primarily this was due to my parents choosing to severely limit my TV intake, thus triggering the notorious child response of “if I can’t have it, I want it oh so much more” that also typically leads college freshman from sheltered homes to a downward spiral of S.T.D’s and booze their first year. My parents didn’t mind me occasionally drinking, or smoking plants besides tobacco, thus I never went crazy with either until much later. However, they didn’t like me watching TV. I couldn’t watch G.I. Joe ever, which I am still to this day thankful for. But any time I would go over to my grandparents house, I was GLUED to the TV the entire time there. It was summers full of MTV and the occasional lap up and down the street on the skateboard.

Now though, TV is immensely boring. Even interesting shows on the Discovery Channel and such are boring, simply because just sitting and staring doesn’t seem like it’s doing enough. I need to be clicking, constantly chasing down references in the content I’m digesting and getting a broader view on things. TV, for obvious reasons, doesn’t provide such ability, and thus doesn’t sustain my attention for very long.

Anyway, I guess what I’m getting at is that all of this culminates into me leading a life where my internal narrative is pretty much driven off of information I’ve read, and not so much things I’ve actually done, or places I’ve gone. I don’t know how many times in conversation you will hear me say “I read this article that said…” or something to that effect, but it’s bound to be a lot. And I can only assume that such symptoms must be shared by an increasing amount of people in our society as it becomes more and more information saturated. This is most obviously demonstrated I think by the popularity of blogs. What is it about reading about someone else’s life, someone who you very well may not like or be interested in at all if you met in person, that is so appealing? The anonymity, the voyeurism involved? A combination? It ultimately doesn’t matter though, because I’m certainly hooked. Along with many others.

It marks quite a turnaround. Remember when “home” pages with pictures of cats and all sorts of useless information about your life was a favorite bitching topic of those who believe the Internet should contain only information that is useful, and that by throwing all this crap out there, we harm the signal to noise ratio? Whatever happened to that school of thought? Blogs are essentially just slightly fancier home pages. But for some reason, a big change has come to pass and they have blow up into the next big thing. (Or have they have jumped the shark already?)

Jumped the shark or not, why the change? Is it possibly a desire for intimate personal connection that the modern world has stifled? I don’t have any answers. Only questions.

Anyway…my incredibly short attention span seems to have burned itself out on this train of thought. So I’m off to go dig up some more useless trivia, and read about the lives of people I’ll almost certainly never meet.

Benedict XVI: Election of a pope

Tuesday, April 19th, 2005

Benedict XVI: German cardinal elected pope - Election of a pope - MSNBC.com

Does anyone have any idea what the hell this means?

“The fact that the Lord can work and act even with insufficient means consoles me…”

Why on earth would that console you? What kind of supreme being do you pray to, you crazy old bastard?