I am so very restless. Full moon and windy weather that seems like spring instead of winter. I’ve been driving nowhere to do nothing and roaming my house, lionesque prowling and growling at those around me whenever I go out of the house.
I am feeling very antisocial.
My impulse control is at its limits from moment to moment just trying to keep me from putting a boot into my TV screen.
Probably it’s a good thing that I have things to do this weekend, but no date. First time she says something like “there’s a piece of lint in your hair, let me get it for you”, I’d be off on her about controlling women. (Please laugh with me over that line.)”
No doubt the universe unfolds as it should.
You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you just might find, you get what you neeeeeed.
Workin’ on mysteries without any clues.
Rock lyrics are the popular poetry of our day and it infuses our life, doesn’t it? Little platitudes for living, like a perpetual AA meeting full of “the gurus” who have a slogan for everything. But they resonate as true, so we put up with having our philosophy of life reduced to six monosyllabic words.
I’m living a bumper sticker life.
My desperation got louder.
I want to howl along with the Watermelon Slim that’s been in my CD player for days now.
Can a guy with the top down on his Miata in mid January sing the blues?
I’m sick of the vapid, insipid daily-ness of life.
The self-centered alcoholic in me (he’s the babysitter for the scared little child. fucked up, huh? that’s the way it is inside here) loves chaos to the extent that I want any change, even if it’s for the Murrah Building to be blown up by some looney tune militia white trash conspiracy.
Bring on the explosions! Let there be gunplay! Automatic weapons and anarchy!
I want electric stations and highway overpasses to shatter.
Make the sewage plants splatter fecal matter over the entire town as a homemade biological disaster.
Throw grenades into emergency rooms and shoot the RPGs at the communication dishes at the police and fire stations.
Blow up the grocery stores and set fire to the liquor stores.
A molotov cocktail through every car window, every plate glass storefront and over the fence at the lumber yards.
If I can’t have the love life I want, I’ll have none at all.
Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
Better to die on my feet than live on my knees.
I’m an unwilling prisoner of capitalism, of behavioralism, of western rationalism, of television and movies and radio and cell phones.
I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore
There. Again. Captured by a slogan from a fucking 30 year old movie.
I want to kick the shit out of everyone who’s ever read the Bible and kill anyone who hasn’t.
I want to call down the wrath of God on Pat Robertson.
I want to level Carthage, leaving no one stone on another, salt the earth, kill all the men and take all the women into abject slavery. ( Ever wonder where racism started? Right there on Cicero’s lips: “Carthage must be destroyed!”. That’s what I think, anyway. How can we ever know the consequences of our actions? Yet, we pick arbitrary points of time and call ourselves good or bad never knowing the end of the story. Back to the rant.)
I want to sleep with the Whore of Babylon. You out there, honey?
I want to slay Medusa and defy her father, Zeus.
I want to sail with Odysseus.
I want to rocket to another planet.
I want to sleep all day with the covers over my head.
I want to heal the sick and raise the dead.
I want to be remembered and missed.
I want to be centered and serene, unperturbed and calm throughout.
I want to be like water, always flowing naturally.
I want to let go of the unimportant and challenge myself to achieve infinitely.
The world actually will unfold without my exertion.
My fellow humans will do the best they can by their own lights and within their own time.
For I know the plans I have for you … They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
Jeremiah 29:11