it's a long long lonely time, before the dawn

I am a functioning addict. Though it is somewhat questionable on the meaning of “functioning”. I spend my evenings polluting my body and my mind. Pounding poisons in an attempt to kill my feeling, to stop the depression, to be happy. Addicted to the black death cult of virtual life, I gladly drink their sacrificial offerings. Swipe left, swipe right and my virtual life is wanting all to see. I swallow the greasy liquid, inebriated at the sense of my virtual friends. I hang with the beautiful people and gorge myself on their likes. Loosing count, my body thirsts for more, guzzling the feeds, saturating my existing and blacking out my brain. Night after night my body shakes in the troughs of a burning alcoholic light in an attempt to stave off the encroaching blackness. And I continually yearn for followers as my virtual friends seem so real, so alive and I but a repost. Drunk, inebriated, every poor oozing alcohol, I never see the end of the evening and pass out without recognition of the time or night.


Why am I still alive?

Paradise by the dashboard lights

……cold and lonely in the deep dark night.

Here I have exceeded 5000 views, yet very few want to follow. Paradise lite? The glow from this screen, harsh, controlling, stripping naked my bare raw pains. Truly the Illuminati.  As night falls, I find myself back here. As the coldness sets in and chills with brain freeze intensity, I view my blogosphere. As the world crumbles and darkness takes hold, I stare blindly at my dashboard and do, write nothing. This is Paradise, electronic glowing ecstasy. Here digital profiles want to see what I type, and my eyes go blurry in the sparkling aura of this computer bliss. Then I imagine that I am popular, and that there are people out there. That this here is virtual Heaven and I have a virtual presence, a virtual character, a virtual life.

Yet all the pretty people are on Instagram. I NEED filters!!

Picture me star shine. I love you all and you are all my friends. This is such a great community and our connection will never end.

Sad and lonely, Sad and lonely, Sad and lonely……..where is the power button……..

may i

Tbt to winter ice and snow. My thoughts are clouded with cold winter weather on May days. Even in New England this is just wrong, all the ponds were steaming and the frost lay on the buds this morning. The skys, now bright with shadow casting sunshine still cannot melt thru this funk I have. It is raining inside with big drops falling from the ceiling and out of the light fixtures. The halls were overflowing with the late morning hoards. Just another day in paradise. Dripping wet zombies, mulling together in communal dishevel. Sunshine always agitates the hoard. They bunch up in congested followings, a constipation of the buildings innards. Disingenuously as it was, of any crowd dynamics. Standing amidst the rotting dishevel, I once again question my existence, the world and the choices I have made. It seems to always come back to this…forever. Paint this picture black on black. Shit, why am I still doing this?

Daffy D

It’s World Intellectual Property Day.  Creativity boiled down to ownership in this new digitized culture. A somewhat slippery slope, as they say. The more it becomes institutionalized, the more abstract it gets.

“Please read our terms of service and click accept”

So if I have envisioned this whole world and everything in it. I have created the emotional and physical landscape in which this mortal flesh transverses, then I own everything.  What’s mine is mine, what’s yours is mine, what ever you touch is mine, “mine, mine, mine, giveme, giveme, giveme.”

When our property begins to own us, when property becomes greater than people, when we fear the lost of property and lust to take other’s property, then we have lost our humanity. But what the hell, I’m beginning to believe that there are no humans left.

“It’s dissspickable!”

Why I need a blue haired cosplay suicide girl

The sun is shining in my eyes and I left my fucking sunglasses at home. You can feel the spring advancing, coiled venomous snake ready to strike. I use to reveal in how random life was, now an old grey and weathered fat drunk speaks to me at the bus stop like we were old friends.  Was that a drone, there by the corner of the building. I swear that was a drone. Why am I waiting on this bus? And why won’t this drunk leave me alone? Excuse me, WHAT IS IT? Do I have a “fucking care” look on my face? The construction continues across the street, loud and noisy like Godzilla belching out a fur ball. Still the suns burns thru my eyes as the breeze tattoos my face. “And the radio plays that forgotten song”.

havin' fun

Increasingly I find myself isolated, shunned, and avoided. Yet at the same time I have this uncomfortable feeling in my gut that tells me that my social media presence is being scrutinized by those who wish me harm. Diagnosis paranoid. After all it is “social”. Look I have a follower!  I have come to a cross road in this existence, yet am forever stuck at that intersection. An event horizon that eats time itself. And the snow is falling for the first time this year. Stick wet snow that is coating the tree limbs like cholesterol in arteries. In it’s silence I want to scream. The door to the elevator closes. Action quarantined. It seems like all I know is falling into pieces, the wound opening in my heart sheds tears and the flame is extinguished. My pale skin is too cold to the touch, bloated with fear. Enlightenment no longer keeps me warm and has become a numbing burden cast upon the condemned. Finalization Terminated.

"Nobody likes you, everyone left you, they’re all out without you havin’ fun" -Green Day

Having a better outlook on life will lead you to success.

Really? Here’s an idea….FUCK You.

We have developed an industry of Inspirational self-help drivel that is being doled out in ever increasing fervor to placate people into believing that they have control over their lives and destiny.  It has become a non-ending meme flow of “count your blessings” “don’t worry, be happy” pretentious pseudo advice to manipulated the forlorn and adrift population. A cult of feigned positive attitude for the culturally abandoned.....

So I started writing that the other day, then comes Beirut and Paris. I don’t know what to say anymore. People are assholes. But then again, maybe if I had a better attitude…..

found

The pain is constant, dull ache spreading engulfing conquering, like the background noise of the air handlers. It is comforting, a warm blanket to wrap around oneself and feel at home with. It anchors me to this existence, my touch stone. And there are no worries, all is well, the sun is shining, it is another day, this is truly bliss.  Pain is bliss, it shows me that she cares. It becomes my self-worth, my meaning, my future. Here I more than accept it, I revel in it, enjoy it. It is my badge of honor, my sacrifice, my commitment, my expression of love for Mother. And she lovingly turns the screw a little tighter. Through it all I have found myself, I have purpose, I exist as a vessel for Mother to fill with pain. Mother had flayed  me and I have found my true inner presence amongst the blood. I am here for Mother, I love Mother and she loving and forcefully inflicts her will upon me. She hurts me to show her love. Mother smiles at my cries of agony, I am happy, this is Paradise.

WELCOME BACK

Oh..where was I? Where am I?

I have been blindly following social media, drifting aimlessly through the matrix, hoping someone, anyone is looking for me. But I get no offers. Is our whole lives just a search for validation, recognition? There I wander, I can see my shadow out of the corner of my eye. But to focus and the whole quantum presence of it falls apart, crumbles and disintegrates. The covalence is gone and alone I stand once again. Surrounded by multitude, yet totally forlorn. So I guess, that I can say, that I’m at peace with myself. Solitude, lonely, peace. See there is a silver lining on everything.

Awake,..I’m awake. Yet this all seems like a dream world. One horribly realistic, HD version, virtual dream world. I try to reach for analogies, searching for that phrase, that description, to make this all come together. 42. And so my meaning is once again lost while I vibrate for an entanglement that doesn’t exist.

I’m at work, yes this is work. This is my desk, this is my place, this is my job. This is, this. What every it is it is, there is no hope, there is no promise. Failure is not an option because success is not available.  Peace, I am at peace, total peace, serenity.

Welcome

Today's Happy Thought

So in the end, it amounted to nothing. For when all was said and done, effort, dedication, accomplishments were all for naught. All that there is, is. There is no before, only this moment.

In the quite electronic green hum of the fluorescences her voice arrived as a cold sharp shiv stuck thru the back of the neck. “Good morning x, your assignment has been reallocated”. Her voice was different now. Over the long drawn out “Lean” season, it had changed. It’s tenure, it’s sharpness. When before, her personable approach only slightly vailed an underlying coldness. A coldness that had playfully enjoyed evil. Now, there is no vail, officially cold and strictly authoritative. No emotion, no connection, no humanistic qualities. Grey corporate dogma slithered out of bright red lips in a new ultra sexualized redux. Tummy tuck here, face lift there. Mother was gone. Her new title, M. Governess, as in line with the Lean methodology, quickly became shortened to the fashionable “Madam”. What is irony, but something that no longer could be afforded.  Every morning the hoards would all line up, zombies, wherpeople, vamps, humans, trolls. Madam would lead us in reciting of our mission statement and values. Then we would march in corporate line to our assignments. There to labor, recording every 15 minute interval for the productivity matrix and to await Madam to call the numbers. Those who numbers were called, were never to be seen again. For numbers have no importance. Numbers are but arbitrarily imposed segregation and have no bearing on efficiency. And daily the corporate pace intensified, burning on new fuel in some far-off unseen mysterious furnace. “Good morning Madam, how can I help you today” I responded in a false cheery vibrato. “x, in alignment with the Enhancement and Employee Recognition Initiative, 62% of your resources will need to be dedicated to collaboration with the Mid County Empowerment Collective”. “But Madam”, I responded, “Mid County Empowerment Collective is not on our network and forty miles across the state. Presently I am required to dedicate 32% of my energies to Strategic Management, 75% of them to the Intrinsic Knowledge Group and 22% to the Learning Collaboration and Development Organization.” “Yes x, the Mid County Empowerment Collective is part of our corporate structure and your resources will efficiently engage and enhance Empowerment with Intrinsic Knowledge, Learning and Development. Are there any other questions?” Madam responded. “Yes, Madam”, inquisitively I probed, “where will I be stationed and who do I now report to?” “x”, Madam responded with that authoritative bureaucratic arrogance, “you will continue to remain on South Campus, when not required to be at MCEC. There within the Inner Circles of Hell, reporting to M.Dante as a class 5 Sub Administrator Pre-Director. Nothing has changed.”  

And the days past on. Faint remembrance of time remands and I don’t recall the smell of fresh air, the color of the sky or the touch of the sun. Welcome to today. Lean, efficient, engaged, empowered, and full of satisfaction and happiness. So I am told, so it is.

a word from our sponsor....

Melodramatic….

Sometimes it is a hard thing to avoid. I have been pondering lately, if I am being melodramatic (well I did use the word “pondering”) about this whole thing called my life. “Shiit homie…yo ant got no life”

Well yea, there is that.

It seems that I have exceeded my data usage for this existence. Unable to upgrade, I am forever trapped seeking free wifi zones. I would have been all set if they let some of my old un-used yearly life data roll-over. I knew I should have gone with that other carrier, Buddhism. But I was always worried about their signal strength. Now I’m stuck in this contract …for eternality….

Life mimics TV commercials, and I seem to be in the wrong ones.

Really? The “truck guy” is so much more “macho”? Chevy, get real, that is so base, and insulting. But then again, this is America, and stupidity does rein. And when it reins, it…it…well..actually, around here, all it has done for months now is snow. Snow, Snow, SNOW, SNOW, SNOW! All my world is asphyxiated in white death. Sealed with heavy sugar frosting while sharp barbed icicles teeth shine from eaves. Houses have become winter monsters that have eaten their inhabitants. Trapped and isolated they are slowly being digested into pail wild eyed schizophrenics that twitch and blink and talk in hushed voices to themselves. Not only has it been the coldest February in history but the coldest month ever recorded. I can’t stand the sight of the fucking white shit suspended in the atmosphere. My temples, splitting and aching from the cold, beating beating a deafening scream. Pounding out enormous circadian rhythm, so fucking loud that I can hear nothing but a booming hiphop beat. I want to put a fucking gun in my mouth and spread what intelligence I have left over the white shit piles of ground ice glass. Loud, scream, pounding beat that I cannot even recognize my own meloD……    

Mary's little Frankie

My heart has stopped beating, all that is left is this curser, slowly flashing on the screen. A rhythmic slow four beat. No blood flows thru these veins, embalmed with alcoholic fluids, one would think that my organs wouldn’t be rotting away. Can one call that irony? The length of stay has exceeded the deductible. A half-life unto itself, it has more activity than I. And the sky is covered in clouds, neutral grey banality that drags on for infinite time. I didn’t want to stay, I didn’t want to come back here, I didn’t want to be pieced back together. Now looking at the scars, somehow, I feel that they didn’t do it right. Whatever, I guess then that you can call me complicated and if the curser is the only living pulse, than I am truly the cursed. Virtual life, virtual human, virtually worthless.

Pulsating curser, pounding, reverberating, damning. Why do you haunt my psychic and nail me to this reality.

I have a new understanding and sympathy for monsters.

Frankenstein.    

"Monsters are such interesting people"

-Buggs Bunny

i am dead


blackness


emptiness


nothing


.

yopp

“This,” cried the mayor, “is your town’s darkest hour! The time for all Whos who have blood that is red to come to the aid of their country!” he said. “We’ve GOT to make noises in greater amounts! So, open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!” Thus he spoke as he climbed. When they got to the top, the lad cleared his throat and he shouted out, “Yopp!”

And that Yopp… That one small extra Yopp put it over! Finally, at last! From that speck on that clover their voices were heard! They rang out clear and clean. And the elephant smiled. “Do you see what I mean?... They’ve proved they ARE persons, not matter how small. And their whole world was saved by the Smallest of ALL!” “How true! Yes, how true,” said the big kangaroo. “And, from now on, you know what I’m planning to do?... From now on, I’m going to protect them with you!” And the young kangaroo in her pouch said,…

“…ME, TOO! From sun in the summer. From rain when it’s fall-ish, I’m going to protect them. No matter how small-ish!

-Dr. Seuss, Horton Hears a Who

waiting 2

She smiled at me, which shouldn’t have seemed odd, but it did. “Hello”, she said with an overtly joyful voice. “Good morning” I responded. “Isn’t it a beautiful day” she said, “I love summer days like this, it brightens up the whole prospect of our daily journey”. Strange I thought, she doesn’t look or act likes a zombie, yet the weather conversation? Something’s not right here. “Yes”, said I with a certain non-comitial response, “summer days are nice”.  “I’m sorry”, I continued, “I seem to have forgotten your name”. “Oh, silly”, she responded, “that’s because we haven’t meet yet. My Name is Heather, and your name is”? She inquisitively questioned. “X, my names X”, as I quickly delved for more information, “and what do you do here Heather? I normally would know of a new employee coming on board in this department, especially one as lovely as yourself, why hasn’t our paths crossed”? as the old whore in me came out. “X”? She said furloughing her brow. “Oh, Mr X” she continued with a glint of recognition of my name. “I work for the consultants group”, now with an adversarial tone in her voice, “I am a part of the pre-screening team assigned to the new efficiency project”. “Oh, LEAN, I heard you would be about", I responded.

 

The scampering, first you hear their scampering. Light patter that stands out from the white noise of existence and the sound of your tears dropping onto dirt. Then you see one, it’s face peering down at you in the hole and sniffing the air, only to disappear as quickly as it arrived. All the while, the scampering increases. There must be hundreds of them out there, building up their numbers, increasing their presence. Just waiting in the background to befall you and strip your limbs bare. There is nowhere to run, and no one to listen to your screams. Inevitability weighs heavily on you, and you feel like just another piece of cheese. For here comes the rats.

waiting room

How do you dig yourself out of a hole? Sitting at the bottom, looking up the steep vertical sides to the small area of light at the top where the sky once stood. One begins to realize that maybe you were a little over zealot in your singular focus on digging. That your grand effort to find a solution possibly may have taken you too deep. That your choice in a shovel, might have been the wrong tool for the problem at hand. And it starts to become hard to breath, there seems to be no oxygen left. Your eyes squint to recognize the light and your aching sweating limbs begin to feel the walls closing in. Your blistered hand, unable to grasp the shovel anymore cannot help the tears from rolling out of your eyes sockets. Through rock and earth and grave you have dug, believing that was the direction to your salvation. Only to find that the dark solitude, the pit of your existence, was your own well intended efforts. The mistakes I have made are but pail ghosts to the reality of this situation. Painfully obvious, now standing at the bottom, that your efforts were for naught. Misguided, stupid, wrong screams the earthen crypt and you have nothing better to do but await for the rats.

tab

I have aced the first two classes, yet the sun doesn’t shine. I come to this lost world with an inclining of what might have been, only to find a desert lost in an oasis of all things. Seeking relief from the stifling humidity of the crying air, I hope that this dryness will stop me from hacking my brains out. At least I left the machete at home. Maybe I can find a sweet cosplay girl. Is that really your blue hair? Nice horns, Shiklah? Yet, like the lack of shade I get no offers. “Getting by, is the new Good”, my mantra, slithers out from the hot dry sand, a poisonous serpent that hisses at my face and claws at my eyes. And in the dark the sand fleas parasitically suck off my weathered skin, taking what is left of my blood, leaving me a pale white walker wandering across this wilderness. Can I use anymore nerdy references? Should I bring out the geek in me? “Do I dare to eat a peach?” “I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each”.  So what exactly am I whining about now? What would it be like to feel empowered? To have some control over ones destiny? Could I still be whining about that same ‘ol shit, really? One would think that I might have learned. Hi, yea I’m getting…b…GOOD, I’m Good. Yea, Good, how about you? Hey, if you just open it in another tab, then you will have both of them right there. You won’t have to use the back arrow.

 

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-

Almost, at times, the fool.

T.S.Elliot

...uh..

My brain is nothing but mush. Gelatinous lard that just weightily lays there. Small waves of motion slowly move thru the mass as the sounds of the voices, the screams, the sirens and alarms ripple like spastic jello dampened reverb within. And there are no words to describe the semi-solid presence and apathetic nature of nothing. Yet still it exists, and a brain is a brain. I scoop it up off the night stand and drop it back into my scull. The soggy squishy sound it makes as it gloops into the void makes me want to puke. Ah, ready for another day. Wandering thru the fog, from obscure place to obscure time, I seek meaning in nothingness and can’t even gain amusement in the zen of it all. The halls are full of zombies, yet they too cannot stand the sight of my brain and stench of death that hangs upon me like an off color yellow paisley ascot under a white shirt. Here my days pass in a ie browser sort of way. Never quite realizing a given potential as the umbrella corp churns to destroy human kind. Dull is the color, the word, the meaning and zombie just want to talk about the weather.


my heart wants a transplant because it thinks I’m nuts, my logic wont open and my eyes wont shut. –Ian Hunter

Case in point

.........as in the case of “the person” and “the situation” as the influencers on behavior, research suggest that S be the primary most powerful influence, thus S>P.  This seems to suggest that man is generally controlled predominantly by external forces in a reactionary and self-preservationist role. Though I feel that the understanding of how both S and P effects a person’s behavior is paramount to any leadership initiative, I think that to be generically suggesting that S is a greater influence of behavior is misleadingly repeating the “nature versus nurture” (Francis Galton, Hereditary Genius 1869) debate. I feel both both S and P are interwoven in a complex relationship that cannot be boiled down to a simple division of developed influences, and that "the person brings..........

So basically, I don't care, fucking zombie bossman. I'll put a bullet through your fucking head, and that has nothing to do with the situation.....

Dick-head

All this winter, all this cold.....
Yet the cold war is heating up.
How can I ever see even if the haze has been burned away by morning sky.
I feel old, warn down, and weary.
Crying didn't help, neither did booze.
And Lizzy is so cra cra
Yet a movie called Nymphomaniac is being released,
I guess things arn't all bad


Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by the sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
                                                                -William Shakespeare