Friday, February 11, 2011

The nonsense of the now

Haven't posted for a while because I'm sick to death of the simplicity that surrounds me, us.

I was worried about past blogs. I was hard. I was getting to where I was. I was getting angry. Turns out that's where I live ... at some level.

Let's stop dancing.

We're living in a severely fucked-up world.

You won't find a more optimistic fuck than me. But I am losing faith.

I believe, as a basic part of my mettle, that we are the greatest gift to one another. It does not seem that way sometimes.

I love.

We all do.

It becomes increasingly difficult to love, though, when there is such mean-spiritness around me  — and you, I'm sure.

It becomes increasingly difficult to abide the crankiness and sourness of the present moment.

It becomes increasingly difficult to accept that people are mesmerized by their television sets, rather than being involved in their worlds.

It's depressing — not uplifting or graceFULL.

I want to be a person one can turn to when times turn south but, more and more, these folks I call and know as friends are too involved in the nonsense of now.

It becomes increasingly difficult to be me.

Altogether, it's disappointing. Because you guys are pathetic fucks.

Give me a text break.

Give me a blog break.

And Facebook? Are you kidding me? What a waste of emotional and typing energy!

I was talking with friends tonight. They have theories about science that are totally out of whack with anything that remotely compares to factual. It both enlightened me and pissed me off.

How hard is it to understand that the universe is finite? Isn't that junior high?

We espouse all this high-falutin intelligence but, I swear, we are the dumbest species ever. We are still arguing about evolution.

I am so fucking disappointed.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Things better left unsaid

I have far too many psychological, emotional and intellectual dysfunctions to be of any use to a good woman.

That's probably what I should have written in my Plenty of Fish (POF) profile. Instead, I waxed about what a great fellow I am.

Turns out, sadly, that I'm Plenty of Trouble (POT) — too much baggage, really, to be taken seriously.

Isn't that what we do, though. We think so highly of ourselves, particularly when we are trying to impress others. Yes, I went to university. Yes, I know something about quantum physics. Yadayada.

Meaningless really.

How does one embrace the scope of one's life without sounding high-falutin? I've done some innovative things — bold things, stuff no one has ever heard about. I'm actually a spectacular guy. Yeah right.

No one wants to hear about how, when I picked up a fare at the bus depot, I dropped her that $20US tip I'd just received from a bunch of drunk, and wealthy and toffee-nosed Americans. She needed a place to stay. I would have taken her to my place but some sort of weird gallantry took over. (I should have taken her home; banged her; then taken her to that shelter. Whatever.)

No one needs to know some things.

I don't talk about the abduction of which I was unwittingly a part. Call comes over the air about a guy and his kids at the bus depot. (It's always the bus depot.) They need to go to the airport, pronto. I get there, pick them up. But there, in the rear-view mirror is this woman and a security guard chasing me down. I drove off into the afternoon sun.

When we got to the airport, there's a waiting jet. My fare left; didn't tip.

I had kidnapped two children.

Yes. There are things we cannot talk about.

Enough said.

P.S. The lovely woman who messaged me on POF: Sorry about being such a dank. Call me some time. Or, having read this, maybe not such a good idea. Take care.