31 December 2010


Since this entry will most likely be the very last one for the calendar year 2010, I thought it would be appropriate enough to summarize my attitude towards the twelve-month period just now limping to a finish. So, without further ado, here goes:

fuck, shit, piss, garbage, vomit, stench, noise, pain, dust, tooth decay, collapse, depression, assholes, smog, greed, arrogance, indifference, stupidity, anger, tension, blood pressure, flat tires, emptiness, failure, disaster, broken computers, disintegration, debt, bill collectors, 13% “official” unemployment (Sacramento County), snapped shoelaces, pot holes, gray hair, deterioration, dents, scratches, bruises, idiots, suburbia, unclipped fingernails, asphalt, perspiration, bad coffee, junk, ignorance, bald spots, rug burns, bankruptcy, war, dislocation, homelessness, deforestation, mass murder, gridlock, toxic waste, hollow spectacle, ants, plastic, deception, endless babbling bullshit, hidebound opinions, clueless certitude, the internet, public libraries, old people, young people, animal fat, monotony, monkey-motion, boogers, racism, Krazy Glue, beer, diesel fuel, seatbelts, Honduran underpants, rust, teabaggers, busted furniture, dogs, hot air, death, phony cordiality, hypocrisy, professional sports, bank charges, sheetrock particulates, bad breath, jury duty, sinus headaches, unconstitutional searches and seizures, cell phones, weight gain, dirt, grime, constipation, corruption, the Clown Train, crap-heads, fender-benders, larceny, propaganda, nitwits, halfwits, fucktards, douchebags, turd-eaters, consumerism, tee-vee, Romanians, suicidal tendencies, wasted motion, revulsion, hackery, lies, squalling toddlers, squalling adults, know-it-alls, know-nothings, snobs, pinheads, shitheads, bastards, spammers, rain, poverty, fraud, ass-gas, dope, hot mustard, heater cores, torpor, sloth, decadence, laziness, gag reflexes, online contests, pitch-correction, tonsil wash, cut-and-paste, crimes against humanity, birdshit, voicemail, debit cards, atomization, wood screws, hub caps, calluses, bitches, cutesy-hyper Valley Girl talk, parking lots, SUV’s, windshield ice, dead squirrels, dumbfucks, pretension, regression, compartmentalization, stereotypes, enormous gaping pie-holes, street signs, large noses, fat lips, giant thighs, scrawny asses, tailgaters, corporate chain coffee dumps full of spastic chittering cross-eyed chimps . . .

If I've left anything out, I sincerely apologize. Whatever.

10 December 2010


Gray, wet suburban murk; ugly gloom made worse (if that’s even possible) by the pinheads and dumbfucks who blight an already wrecked, blasted landscape with their dubious presence; non-stop christmas vomit-noise; thoughts of self-destruction clamoring for attention; myopic, infuriatingly insipid vocal-chord polish heaved around in great toxic waves, mostly about professional sports or various tee-vee shows (among other stupidities) . . . Just a normal December day at the bottom of the bottomless hellpit.

What a bloody-assed cluster-fuck of hobnailed asshattery. And that’s on its better days, which, believe me, don’t happen all that often. Makes one wonder just what my goddamned point is then. But that’s a problem pretty much all the time, so who cares? Honestly, I could just shit myself blind right about now. Hardy har.


Sitting in a public library on a weekday, and you’ve never seen so many desperately depressed people interspersed with the usual clutch of older folks who don’t appear to give a crap about much of anything, bless their little hearts. Overweight women with cell phones and squalling little monsters in strollers round out this weird tableau of profound hopelessness. Why am I here? It’s a mystery. Could be because habits are hard to break, and consuming free wireless internet bandwidth to no good purpose has certainly become an insatiable top-drawer habit that ain’t going anywhere, at least in the near term.


LATER: The coffee-dump zombies won’t stop talking; how is it that some poor, retarded unfortunates were born with their speech apparati up their noses (or some other, less flattering openings in their corporeal envelopes)? Were their parents crack addicts? Did their progenitors accidentally swill, oh, I don’t know, a steaming mug of lacquer thinner, instead of the customary discount beer or industrial vodka sold in plastic bottles? That might begin to explain a few things, above and beyond the superficially trivial (but no less enraging) flatly nasal delivery of apparently endless supplies of malodorous ass-wind inexplicably re-routed through the truncated confines of their fucking heads. But then, why would it matter? I just wish they’d shut up and go away -- the last thing anyone needs is to actually figure out what makes these untermenschen tick, for crying out loud.

We’ve all heard and read plenty of criticism of your average American and his or her unwillingness to engage in meaningful conversation (among an endless litany of outrages and perversions). This criticism is well-warranted, of course. However, I would posit that the only thing worse than suburban androids who don’t talk about anything are suburban androids who do talk about anything. The drivel is absolutely astounding; you’ve never experienced a more amazing melding of minds, a more confident public display of iron-clad self-righteous certitude than that provided, for example, by a garbage truck driver and a washed-out wad of fuck who picks up trash in strip-mall parking lots. What an impressive exhibition of brain power and sheer intellectual prowess -- what is it about suburban rubbish handlers? Who the hell knew they had so many opinions on so many topics of critical importance? I definitely didn’t. Seriously, they leave no stone unturned: corporate business practices, basic economics, the Oakland Raiders, governmental inefficiency and over-regulation, historical expositions on the surprisingly diverse evolutionary path of dumpster lids, opaque references to homeless people who sleep in cardboard boxes and how they’re all criminals . . . and all that is just for starters! In fact, they’re now standing out in the rain, right at this very moment, still flapping their gums! Unbelievable! To be so committed to the “removal of all doubt” about one’s abysmal ignorance. I’d be most impressed if I wasn’t already thoroughly disgusted by the whole fucking thing. AHHHG!


Still rainy-ish outside, still no good news to report on anything in particular; no jobs, no hope, no escape, no point, no reason. No nothing, except expanding gut-flab and backaches.


Happy holidays! Sigh.

04 July 2010


I just wanted to raise my bruised head out of the glurp, the cloying, syrupy goo of unemployment and desperate destitution and stationary panic -- if only for a moment, to suck down a few pointless breaths before resuming the long, steady sinking into . . . whatever it is I (we) am (are) actually sinking into. Could be anything. Anyway, trying to reconcile the indistinct implications of “Independence Day” with the crumbling existential sewer in which we find ourselves is difficult enough; understanding how the noisy, stench-riddled expenditure of platitudinous bullshit and cheap Chinese-made fireworks fits into the picture is, well, quite beyond my rather limited imagination. It all must mean something, right? It must.

Then again, maybe not. Whatever. In any case, days like today always seem to put me in a mood. Particularly when said day is just another in an endless procession that has gone on way too long. I wish I had an answer to this nonsense. Anyhow, for reasons unknown I was put in mind of the following quote from Dalton Trumbo. I’m not sure if it has anything specific to do with the Fourth of July (probably not much), but it resonates with the times nonetheless, somehow, someway. From the introduction to Johnny Got His Gun, he writes:

“Why should I look, it wasn’t my fault, was it?” It was, of course, but no matter. Time presses. Death waits even for us. We have a dream to pursue, the whitest white hope of them all, and we must follow and find it before the light fails.

So long, losers. God bless. Take care. We’ll be seeing you.

Have a happy July 4th, everybody. I’m going back to sleep.