Unwilling to Learn

Truth be told, I am in love with the world. Now that doesn't mean that my life is rosey and perfect, what it does mean is that I have reached a level of curiosity about almost everything from the micro-to the macro-scopic, that is at times both mind -expanding and depressing because I can never know it all, nor will I likely come close to actually grasping the possibilities just out of our current reach. Fortunately,I have the opportunity, desire and courage to read about and experience those things I find most interesting. And, some of those intellectual encounters are life-changing, so I am honestly bothered by people who choose to limit themselves. As far as I ca tell, the only people unwilling to read everything are people who are afraid to learn anything, and I have met plenty of them. They look just like the rest of us. They wear clothes, comb their hair and brush their teeth. Well, they even participate in the community, and that is a scary thing because they know close to nothing, but claim to have the answers. In fact, they are one of the real monsters that inhabit our world. Sometimes you can tell them apart from everyone else because they wear ignorance like billboard, they even proclaim its beauty, and then promise to refute intelligence, knowledge, and wisdom on the principle that if they want to believe something, then it must be right. The real dangerous ones claim to just magically know everything, and have the proof somewhere, and they promise to show it to you when they get around to it. hey might even remember someone's name who wrote a book on the topic. Doesn't mean they actually read the book, but they do acknowledge that books exist. To his disgust, most books are written by smart-ass liberals hell bent on destroying a good way of life that was perfect until... well, they will find someone to blame; just pick a group, I am sure it will work for now.

You can even try this at home.Just pick a subject like flourescent light bulb. Now, tell yourself that we don't really need them because the old incandescent bulbs worked just fine. Besides, when we used incandescent bulbs the economy was stronger and the average American could afford to own a car and a house in a decent neighborhood, but now things have changed. State that you read something in the New York Times that was outlining the fall of the American middle class, the middle class who worked good jobs. It was a middle class made up of skilled and semi-skilled labor who often worked in factories manufacturing things like the incandescent light bulb, but now that light bulb is gone and so are those jobs. Thousands of people lost their jobs because of a bunch of hippies and bleeding-heart liberals who put more faith in science than the greatness of America, just ask and you will tell everyone it is so. And if you say it, and if the New York Times says it, then it must be true. It doesn't matter whether the NYT actually published that article or not because it sounds good when you say it. Let it be written (or not), let it be done.
All that's left is the blaspheming and fornicating by those folks who wish to first destroy this great nation ideologically, and later physically.And by physically you mean through immigration.
See how easy it is to take yourself down a path of total nonsense? Fun, isn't it. Maybe that is why so many people have built entire lives on such a philosophy, and worked quite diligently at spreading that ideology far and wide. For those who would contest their insanity with facts and evidence, they simply shout, "Off with their heads!" or something equally disturbing. They usually also have a rule written down somewhere to ensure that no one can contest their decree, and these rules generally come from 1) religious doctrine or 2) the Constitution. In both cases, this is meant to strike fear into the hearts of mere mortals, and in many cases it does, which means we are basically screwed.
So much for getting anything done.  

Beer and Vicodin at the movie theatre is the best way to watch a flick with the in-laws. 

Rabbit hole

I increasingly feel as though  I am a foreigner inside of my own existence. Sure, it is strange to stand in the middle of a crowd ebbing and flowing throughout the day while I just stand there unnoticed, barely touched by small turbulence of the passers-by. A muted song, like a memory wrapped in hallucinogens, almost inaudible, holds me in place against the tug to escape into a new world vision traveling from a syringe into a popping vein. None of that makes sense, either because that is a rabbit hole that is far too difficult to escape. One simply does not say goodbye and walk out that door. 

Then, there are the days when I go to work sply because I am afraid of myself. I need a distraction. I need to be surrounded by other people where I will still be anonymous, but noticeable to hold on throughout the day. On those days, it is quite possible that if I was to go off alone, I would likely commit suicide. One of the scariest things about me it me is that I have these unstopable thoughts that I should just do it, and I have to constantly rationalize myself out of going through with it. Usually, I just try to think about how I would kill myself. I mean, I don't want to be careless of inconsiderate, so slashing my wrists or shooting myself inside of the house is out of the question because I wouldn't want my wife and children to have to live with the memory of my death inside of the house. My wce believes in religion, and although I think it is nonsense, she might think that evil spirits lurk in the hallways where I spilled my own blood. That would be cruelty beyond belief, even though it is rooted in belief. Then, I figure I could slash my wrists inside of my truck. I hate my truck, and although I have driven it for close to ten years, I have never liked it. Well, there was that time while I was on anti-depressants that is saw its usefulness and stopped hating it. Maybe I just dislike it, but if I got blood all over the interior then it would be difficult to sell. Unfortunately, my family wouldn't get much life insurance money if I commit suicide, so they would need the money from selling the truck.

By the time I get to that point in that internal conversation I have distracted myself enough to make it through the day, and if I get through to the end of the day, there is beer. And beer is good. 

I increasingly feel as though  I am a foreigner inside of my own existence 

Today is the kind of day where I could seriously put a bullet in my head, except that it would ruin my children's Christmas. I'm sure I already ruined my wife's a long time ago. Don't worry though, I would never do it in the house. I'll do it in my truck. I've never really liked my truck, so that seems like the most logical place. 

Sometimes I don't realize how drunk I was until I try to remember the night before. 

The strongest trees grow in the most fertile ground, and it is the death of what was once beautiful that makes the most potent fertilizer.  

In conversation with Martin Vela Sanchez 

It is the death of what was once beautiful that makes the most potent fertilizer to feed the strongest trees. 

Pseudo-bossa nova hipster orders from a faux retro barkeep

Happily, he buys his drinks for the price of an hour's wages 

The scruff along his sunken jawline 

His middle-class origins 

the suburban foundation found in unpaid credit cards 

Warm bedrooms and cozy single-family tract homes Forsaken 

as he eagerly embraces a struggle he has never known 

Rancho del Rey

The perfectly spaced evergreens stand guard along the smoothly paved and perfectly striped suburban street

Rancho del Rey

The perfectly spaced evergreens stand guard along the smoothly paved and perfectly striped suburban street