The following is a decade old, and hopefully comes across as a giant middle finger to Dick Clark, in its own inimitable way.
-----
The year winds down. The pulsating clicking ticking clock of time draws everyone one more year down the spiral of mortality. Everyone is happy, cheerful, and festive. They don't know what is to come, but it always has to be better than how it was.
So they say.
Screams of terror in the streets echo down back alleys while a shiver runs up the spine. The city is crawling with vermin. Somehow the rats deal with this 'humanity'. The gears are starting their halt as they grind further into each other. Sparks of hatred and rage begin to fly anew as every soul who yearns alone is stuck in their holding cell. The prison cell of society and conformity.
Grind away, gears of doom, as the pathetic degenerates wait for a reset on life. A chance to say things will change even though they won't. All lies are formed in the rotting heart of human nature. Nothing will change. All that remains is the reset. New faces gone just like the last ones. Death and Tragedy rear their ugly heads and grin with diabolic glee as they prepare to disembowel this new start.
The new year will be just like the last one: Dead from the beginning, and only going further down the spiral.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Mindbending Metalheads
Greetings once again, citizens of the galaxy.
Yes, yes, I've been away, but lethargy and video game systems go hand in hand these days.
I had an experience this past Saturday that has given me pause, and I find the odd nature of the events forthcoming noteworthy.
A friend of mine is in a local metal band which is actually quite good. They're a find blend of Pantera, Metallica, Carcass, with a hint of Mercyful Fate thrown in. (See them at www.cynonyte.com.)This past weekend, they put on a show at a little hole in the wall about 45 minutes outside of town, and I deigned to enter the realm of underground metal.
Boy, was I in for a few shockers.
So tell me, please, which of the following seems most out of place. I can't decide.
Oddity #1:
A short, somewhat obese, nerdy black teenager wearing glasses and a 'Rancid' t-shirt. It's not that I'm trying to stereotype here, but it's just typically something one doesn't see at a metal show. Not in the south. And to further prove it's not a matter of race, Living Colour is one of the best metal bands to have existed, and they're ALL of African descent. Anyway, my point is it didn't quite fit, and she wasn't the only one. Most of the teens didn't fit. Come to think of it, did I dress that poorly as a teen? Ugh.
Oddity #2:
A woman talked to my friend so that she could hook her daughter up with him.
I'll let that sink in.
Oddity #3:
Here's the doozy. First, a blonde woman walks in. She is wearing a pink and yellow frill short-short-short skirt with mid-thigh stockings. Not the lacy kind, either. The ones that a dance instructor might where. She's also wearing a mini-jacket top (which matches that horrendous skirt, no less) over a t-shirt. Now, if this outfit had been black, it would have worked. It was not. It was pink, white, and yellow. Where is Hank Rollins when you need him.
Behind her enters, apparently, her 'man', though I do wish I could confirm he is a member of our species. He is wearing blue jeans, boots, and... get this... a 'Goodwrench' Dale Earnhardt jacket and a Dale Jr. hat. He is drinking beer and going "woooooooo". At a metal show. If the place had been full of more people, I may have stabbed him.
Yeah, I took my knives; it was a frickin' metal show.
So there you have it; an evening of pretty awesome music surrounded by thoroughly creepy people.
Just thinking about it, I feel the need to bathe.
Yes, yes, I've been away, but lethargy and video game systems go hand in hand these days.
I had an experience this past Saturday that has given me pause, and I find the odd nature of the events forthcoming noteworthy.
A friend of mine is in a local metal band which is actually quite good. They're a find blend of Pantera, Metallica, Carcass, with a hint of Mercyful Fate thrown in. (See them at www.cynonyte.com.)This past weekend, they put on a show at a little hole in the wall about 45 minutes outside of town, and I deigned to enter the realm of underground metal.
Boy, was I in for a few shockers.
So tell me, please, which of the following seems most out of place. I can't decide.
Oddity #1:
A short, somewhat obese, nerdy black teenager wearing glasses and a 'Rancid' t-shirt. It's not that I'm trying to stereotype here, but it's just typically something one doesn't see at a metal show. Not in the south. And to further prove it's not a matter of race, Living Colour is one of the best metal bands to have existed, and they're ALL of African descent. Anyway, my point is it didn't quite fit, and she wasn't the only one. Most of the teens didn't fit. Come to think of it, did I dress that poorly as a teen? Ugh.
Oddity #2:
A woman talked to my friend so that she could hook her daughter up with him.
I'll let that sink in.
Oddity #3:
Here's the doozy. First, a blonde woman walks in. She is wearing a pink and yellow frill short-short-short skirt with mid-thigh stockings. Not the lacy kind, either. The ones that a dance instructor might where. She's also wearing a mini-jacket top (which matches that horrendous skirt, no less) over a t-shirt. Now, if this outfit had been black, it would have worked. It was not. It was pink, white, and yellow. Where is Hank Rollins when you need him.
Behind her enters, apparently, her 'man', though I do wish I could confirm he is a member of our species. He is wearing blue jeans, boots, and... get this... a 'Goodwrench' Dale Earnhardt jacket and a Dale Jr. hat. He is drinking beer and going "woooooooo". At a metal show. If the place had been full of more people, I may have stabbed him.
Yeah, I took my knives; it was a frickin' metal show.
So there you have it; an evening of pretty awesome music surrounded by thoroughly creepy people.
Just thinking about it, I feel the need to bathe.
Monday, November 10, 2008
A Message From The Front Lines
Admittedly, I'm not just killing people these days on my trusty Xbox, but I am nevertheless enjoying the various tediousnesses of the proffered products related to said electronic marvel of social destruction.
So, I've been gone a while, and plenty has happened. Well, ok, one thing has happened.
Yes.
We.
Can.
Wooohooo!
Interestingly, I was at a political rally as a teen, attending a Clinton election night hoopla with my mother. I remember quite starkly that as he was announced as the elected official who would lead this nation, my mother began to weep.
Not until November Fourth did I understand why.
I called my grandmother that night. My grandmother has agreed with me that pessimism (and a healthy streak of agnosticism and atheism) runs in our family. So it was with great difficulty - through heavy sobs and unexpected though welcome tears - that I was able to explain to her that my mother, on some level, made so much more sense to me now.
It is a pleasingly heavy blow to the soul for those of us who see no hope to suddenly have a platter of it shoved down our reticent gullets.
Additionally, a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders; a burden that was not mine to carry has existed upon me for nigh on 8 years. It is only now that I see my venerable hatred as greatly fueled by the crimes and treasons of eight years of social and governmental idiocy.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still a misanthrope, but with the seeds of hope firmly planted at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, perhaps I can find a better outlet for my pent up rage and hostility.
One that won't scare women away.
So, anyway, to recap:
Xbox is fun. I cried when Obama won. I still hate people, but maybe - just maybe - there's hope for us yet.
All that being said, I should be posting more as well.
See you soon, citizens.
So, I've been gone a while, and plenty has happened. Well, ok, one thing has happened.
Yes.
We.
Can.
Wooohooo!
Interestingly, I was at a political rally as a teen, attending a Clinton election night hoopla with my mother. I remember quite starkly that as he was announced as the elected official who would lead this nation, my mother began to weep.
Not until November Fourth did I understand why.
I called my grandmother that night. My grandmother has agreed with me that pessimism (and a healthy streak of agnosticism and atheism) runs in our family. So it was with great difficulty - through heavy sobs and unexpected though welcome tears - that I was able to explain to her that my mother, on some level, made so much more sense to me now.
It is a pleasingly heavy blow to the soul for those of us who see no hope to suddenly have a platter of it shoved down our reticent gullets.
Additionally, a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders; a burden that was not mine to carry has existed upon me for nigh on 8 years. It is only now that I see my venerable hatred as greatly fueled by the crimes and treasons of eight years of social and governmental idiocy.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still a misanthrope, but with the seeds of hope firmly planted at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, perhaps I can find a better outlet for my pent up rage and hostility.
One that won't scare women away.
So, anyway, to recap:
Xbox is fun. I cried when Obama won. I still hate people, but maybe - just maybe - there's hope for us yet.
All that being said, I should be posting more as well.
See you soon, citizens.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Anatomy Of A Killer...
Well folks, I know I haven't been on lately, and here's why.
I've found an alternative to sublimate my inner anger. I play Call of Duty 4. A lot. Like, tons.
And people die. A lot. Like, tons.
So remember: Our economy is fucked, our government corrupt, McCain bad, Obama good, and I like Reese's. Who doesn't?
Off to kill. More to come at some point.
Thanks for your patience.
I've found an alternative to sublimate my inner anger. I play Call of Duty 4. A lot. Like, tons.
And people die. A lot. Like, tons.
So remember: Our economy is fucked, our government corrupt, McCain bad, Obama good, and I like Reese's. Who doesn't?
Off to kill. More to come at some point.
Thanks for your patience.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Just The Facts, 'Man
For as long as I've been alive, the Dallas Cowboys have been considered "America's Team" for reasons I could not, for the life of me, comprehend.
Now, though, I get it.
The Dallas Cowboys are a microcosm of this country.
The Cowboys were founded in 1960, and joined the NFL in 1970. This country was founded in 1776, two years after the beginning of the Revolutionary War, but the Constitution wasn't ratified until 1789. So, we both started out as pieces of something else, and became part of a greater whole. Admittedly, Jerry Jones is a better owner than W. But that's neither here nor there.
The Cowboys, as much as I hate to admit it, do have a winning tradition, fighting out many hard slogs under inhumane duress, navigating through enemy territory and destroying the opposition. Sound familiar? It should.
Moreover, they have had many great leaders. So have we. But times change, you see, and microcosms don't always really hold true to the macrocosm it is influenced by. The Cowboys are still winning, actually. This country, however, is not.
As much as this is the only real facet that unscrews this whole theory, one need only look at two players on the team who exemplify the vileness of human nature, and how it is thoroughly representative of our culture in general.
Terrell Owens, while talented and an admittedly amazing physical specimen of homo sapien sapien, is an egotistical, greedy, self-absorbed dimwitted fool. This is not to suggest he is unintelligent; he obviously needs some brainpower to process the analysis of football games, but he is not nearly as smart as he believes. He thinks he is clever when he's not, witty when he is cocky, funny when he is sadly egocentric, and false when he most needs to be true.
Do any of these qualities remind you of some of the festering douchebags who need to be shot out of a cannon that you know?
Which brings us, of course, to our dear friend Pacman Jones. He asked to be called Adam, saying that his past was behind him, but fuck him, he's a thug and a punk, so lets just call him Pacman. Though who would name themselves for a golden pie that eats pills and sees ghosts...
Anyway... little wokka wokka was caught in an altercation, which makes it - hold on, I need to take my shoes off - 11 or 12 incidents involving legal problems since 2003, all but once since 2005. That's right folks. If it was you or me or any other non-rich person, after the 5th time they would have just locked us up for 30 years; we'd be considered a menace to society.
Again, the traits here are whats important: total disregard for sound law, blatant disrespect toward law enforcement, no consideration for his fellow man (or woman), bad decisions with no consequences (I don't count his suspension), and a violent nature that is compounded by (I'm guessing here) a belief that all of this is brought upon him because of racism, because no one understands what it means to be Black in America.
Which, of course, is utter bullshit. That's simply what it means to Be in America.
There is indeed a psychology to the criminal mind - just as there is a psychology to the mind of a competitor - no matter how developed or under-developed it is.
This country - like the Cowboys - is only as good as the people who make it up. It will only be as successful as its people, and will only function as a unit if everyone does their part, learns to grow, and comes together.
Make no mistake, this is not a matter of race. Never has been, never will be.
Unless, of course, we're talking the human race.
Which makes it a pathological condition.
We need a fucking shrink.
Now, though, I get it.
The Dallas Cowboys are a microcosm of this country.
The Cowboys were founded in 1960, and joined the NFL in 1970. This country was founded in 1776, two years after the beginning of the Revolutionary War, but the Constitution wasn't ratified until 1789. So, we both started out as pieces of something else, and became part of a greater whole. Admittedly, Jerry Jones is a better owner than W. But that's neither here nor there.
The Cowboys, as much as I hate to admit it, do have a winning tradition, fighting out many hard slogs under inhumane duress, navigating through enemy territory and destroying the opposition. Sound familiar? It should.
Moreover, they have had many great leaders. So have we. But times change, you see, and microcosms don't always really hold true to the macrocosm it is influenced by. The Cowboys are still winning, actually. This country, however, is not.
As much as this is the only real facet that unscrews this whole theory, one need only look at two players on the team who exemplify the vileness of human nature, and how it is thoroughly representative of our culture in general.
Terrell Owens, while talented and an admittedly amazing physical specimen of homo sapien sapien, is an egotistical, greedy, self-absorbed dimwitted fool. This is not to suggest he is unintelligent; he obviously needs some brainpower to process the analysis of football games, but he is not nearly as smart as he believes. He thinks he is clever when he's not, witty when he is cocky, funny when he is sadly egocentric, and false when he most needs to be true.
Do any of these qualities remind you of some of the festering douchebags who need to be shot out of a cannon that you know?
Which brings us, of course, to our dear friend Pacman Jones. He asked to be called Adam, saying that his past was behind him, but fuck him, he's a thug and a punk, so lets just call him Pacman. Though who would name themselves for a golden pie that eats pills and sees ghosts... Anyway... little wokka wokka was caught in an altercation, which makes it - hold on, I need to take my shoes off - 11 or 12 incidents involving legal problems since 2003, all but once since 2005. That's right folks. If it was you or me or any other non-rich person, after the 5th time they would have just locked us up for 30 years; we'd be considered a menace to society.
Again, the traits here are whats important: total disregard for sound law, blatant disrespect toward law enforcement, no consideration for his fellow man (or woman), bad decisions with no consequences (I don't count his suspension), and a violent nature that is compounded by (I'm guessing here) a belief that all of this is brought upon him because of racism, because no one understands what it means to be Black in America.
Which, of course, is utter bullshit. That's simply what it means to Be in America.
There is indeed a psychology to the criminal mind - just as there is a psychology to the mind of a competitor - no matter how developed or under-developed it is.
This country - like the Cowboys - is only as good as the people who make it up. It will only be as successful as its people, and will only function as a unit if everyone does their part, learns to grow, and comes together.
Make no mistake, this is not a matter of race. Never has been, never will be.
Unless, of course, we're talking the human race.
Which makes it a pathological condition.
We need a fucking shrink.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Blogging To The Beat Of A Different Drum?
I've a confession.
I'm unsure where to take this blog next, as ranting and raving tends to become somewhat tedious and mildly repetitive. Not that it needs to go anywhere... but hear me out.
I suppose the novelty of this blog could surely where thin; how hard is it, really, to hate humans? And how hard is it for you to grasp that I hate them? Sure, I have some funny stories, wacky ideas, and amusing anecdotes of actual experience, but what of it?
Suffice it to say, I actually enjoy having this available, as it gives me a place to sound off as needed.
You may have noticed that with the exception of an occasional glancing blow, I've never really stated my personal political views, my opinion of the election process this year (or in general), or, really, anything of social substance that might come across as well-thought out and worthy of general journalism, even though I contend I could if I tried.
For the most part, I refrain from doing so because I have a very small readership and such wisdom and insight would ultimately be wasted, especially with Chez over at Deus Ex pretty much summing up my general feelings on most matters - and in a much more professionally presented way.
Ultimately, without readership, overt commentary is useless and pointless. Ranting and raving serves a lesser purpose - it lowers my blood pressure.
Admittedly, though, I really just want to write, and in lieu of my geeky Star Wars fan fiction obsession, I have other ideas I've tossed around for some time up in my brain that don't involve the aforementioned undiscussed.
So, I guess it comes to this: what do you, my readers, want from me. Fiction, fan fiction, poems and short stories (look out Poe and Lovecraft!)? Or just keep ranting away, supplying you with various kung-fu movie scenes and random humorous clips to keep your days a little less depressingly real.
I would appreciate some comments on this post concerning the matter.
Help me decide, because I'm too lazy to do so...
and the voices in my head can't agree on anything.
I'm unsure where to take this blog next, as ranting and raving tends to become somewhat tedious and mildly repetitive. Not that it needs to go anywhere... but hear me out.
I suppose the novelty of this blog could surely where thin; how hard is it, really, to hate humans? And how hard is it for you to grasp that I hate them? Sure, I have some funny stories, wacky ideas, and amusing anecdotes of actual experience, but what of it?
Suffice it to say, I actually enjoy having this available, as it gives me a place to sound off as needed.
You may have noticed that with the exception of an occasional glancing blow, I've never really stated my personal political views, my opinion of the election process this year (or in general), or, really, anything of social substance that might come across as well-thought out and worthy of general journalism, even though I contend I could if I tried.
For the most part, I refrain from doing so because I have a very small readership and such wisdom and insight would ultimately be wasted, especially with Chez over at Deus Ex pretty much summing up my general feelings on most matters - and in a much more professionally presented way.
Ultimately, without readership, overt commentary is useless and pointless. Ranting and raving serves a lesser purpose - it lowers my blood pressure.
Admittedly, though, I really just want to write, and in lieu of my geeky Star Wars fan fiction obsession, I have other ideas I've tossed around for some time up in my brain that don't involve the aforementioned undiscussed.
So, I guess it comes to this: what do you, my readers, want from me. Fiction, fan fiction, poems and short stories (look out Poe and Lovecraft!)? Or just keep ranting away, supplying you with various kung-fu movie scenes and random humorous clips to keep your days a little less depressingly real.
I would appreciate some comments on this post concerning the matter.
Help me decide, because I'm too lazy to do so...
and the voices in my head can't agree on anything.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
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