For a guy so interested in developing nuclear bombs, no wonder young Kim has turned himself into a replica of the “Fat Boy” bomb dropped on Japan at the end of WWII. Also no surprise that Donald Trump would take the road most worn by his psyche, the fat insults when describing him.
1.21 jiggawatts notwithstanding, it seems preferable to continue on in the year 1955 and enjoy the fruits of the post-War period, while fighting for equal rights and agitating against foreign wars by leading by example. The mid 80s could’ve survived without him. Once you’ve watched the movies 100 times, you start thinking of them as documentaries
Or maybe not.
I have my own damn problems. Don’t bother me with this shit.
I am trying to change my life though I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do it. My worst fear is probably that I will wake up one morning, or afternoon knowing me, and I’ll be 65 years old and won’t have finished anything or really worked on anything or really done anything and I’ll cry for all the days and months and years I’ve wasted. I think I’ve lived that life before and the biggest fear is that the thought will be haunted by deja vu. I want to make good choices. I want to succeed art something again. I am a morally weak man. Boy plus 22 years really. Is there a name for what I’ve become? I am scared. Nothing but scared. I wish I could turn to God to ask for help.
One of the first things I bought with my own money was a boombox with a dual cassette deck and a small volume indicator that lit up tiny red squares to the pulse of the music or voice of the DJ. On Saturdays, Sundays if I missed Saturday, I’d lie in front of the radio with my box fan pointed at me and listen to the top 40, writing down the entire thing on a legal pad I stole from my father’s desk. I think I got a lot of names wrong. I know this is true because in the summer of 1985 (I was 9 years old and didn’t yet understand the appeal of David Bowie, perhaps because that was the summer of his duet with Mick Jagger, “Dancing in the Street”) I won a copy of Night Ranger’s 1985 album by being the ninth caller to Z104 and naming the number one song, which I incorrectly identified as “Saint Elbow’s Fire.” I thought it strange that my mother automatically knew the term as it only existed for me as a Night Ranger song, something they probably invented in their genius. I believe the cover had the band in a WWII airplane. There were marks on the front where somebody, possibly Kemosabe Joe, had made indents with his long greasy fingernails. Kemosabe ws the morning zoo type guy. A hero for all. Z104 played rock but that also meant they played Thriller and even one time while we waited for Mommy in the car with the radio on outside the building with the dentist, they played “PYT,” which stood for Pretty Young Thing, though nobody knew just quite what that meant back then. There was a part of the song where Mick told PYT to repeat after him and there was some suggestive huffing and puffing, fine if I’m at home writing down the band and song names in my best handwriting, but embarrassing if I’m with my mom and sisters in the car.
It was like that Frankie Goes to Hollywood song. I never quite understood the meaning of that one because of the shirts that went with it. “FRANKIE SAYS RELAX–DON’T DO IT.” I kind of wanted one of those shirts but couldn’t figure out where the shirts supporting Frankie were, as though they were instructing people NOT to do what Frankie says. They were pro-tension shirts, obviously and Frankie was in the camp that advised a slight delay before you “come,” whatever that meant. I grew up in a house of three females and me. Every other weekend at my father’s house, it was my two older sisters, my two older stepsisters and my stepmother and my father and me. The only thing I had in common with dad was the pages with the mutual fund quotes. I was going to be a right business master until I decided it was cooler to be a drug addict who sometimes engaged the world of the arts.
Yes, Frankie advised all to “relax, don’t do it, when you want to come.” Also he warned, “But shoot it in the right direction, make making it your only intention, ohh, yeah…” The whole song was about jizzing but it was so obvious I didn’t know and could sing along if we were the kind of people who did that. Instead, we were the kind of people who lip synched at church. My mom actually sang and was in the choir sometimes.
My dad arrived in the middle of the service and brought us kids packets of Life Savors. Who knows what he was getting up to but that was the summer he bought a green Karmen Ghia convertible that had enough room for two and a large towel for when it rained. That was the last summer my parents were together. anybody could’ve seen that one coming. Weeks later , he moved out of the country and our private wooded six acres and brand new two story round house to his own apartment in the city because it was too damn noisy at home for him.
I wanted to tell him to relax, especially when there was a line at McDonald’s and he became vicious. He was the guy who yelled at the slowness of the line as though McDonald’s was funded by taxpayers.
He was in the army before college or after college, not sure, but he used the army to pay for college and got lucky as he was too young by five or seven years for Korea and Vietnam wasn’t a huge thing yet. Besides as my parents were fond of saying, he was too short to hold a gun so he typed while he was in the army. I still can’t imagine him obeying anybody’s orders. He had a friend from the army named Herdon. Right after Herndon came to visit with his 20 year old Asian bride, my father started listening to Kool and the Gang and Billy Joel, especially the song “The Longest Time” and that gave him the courage he needed in his convictions he needed, that entire album really, to leave my mother and file for divorce. That summer we took a trip to Ohio to visit his mom. He was an only child and hand his aunt had passed and left him like $65,000. That gave him even more courage to leave us. Especially when my mother didn’t ask for half of the money and said she didn’t want it. Her conviction that she didn’t want any of his money sabotaged our lives until I was 18, as she didn’t ask for spousal support, just a bit of money for the kids, which was almost enough to buy food for our family for the month. She went out and took a job that made her work all kinds of crazy hours and so I never saw either of my parents much at all ever again really. I was home and when I was home I was home. I started going to the drug store and spending $20 a day on sweets. I’d buy all kinds of candy bars and other pure sugar treats. I started to get fat that summer but I was still young enough that it didn’t really catch on that quickly.
Dad was dating my oldest sister’s friend Sandra’s mom because she was the answer to all of Billy Joel’s questions on that album. He only lived alone in that apartment for a few months and suddenly they were married after a trip to City Hall for which I got out of school early one day. My mother had to write that note and she didn’t like doing it. Obviously. She dated some characters only out of a kind of spite that was supposed to show how much she valued my dad and how he could be fully replaced with, say, the completely paralyzed guy she dated first. His buddy drove him up in a van and carried him up the stairs to the second story deck off the kitchen and set him down on the couch. I watched them make out for a while and felt sick and went to my room, closed the door and didn’t really come out ever again. Not for another 10 years at least. I still go to my room, close the door and lock it. Every bad habit I got I picked up because I refused to allow my true feelings of anger and frustration to surface and that dad still wanted to even be a part of my life. He didn’t care about mom anymore. If I screwed up too then he;d be gone from my life, too. We didn’t have a really understanding relationship. He wasn’t a coach, he was a judge. An official who disqualified me at swim meets. The umpire who called me out looking at baseball games.
Even now, writing this makes me feel so uncomfortable that I want to go to my room, close the door, just practice feeling safe under the covers.
Right now I’m feeling the same misery and sense of lonely loss in my life. I’m scared. Terrified again. And now I’m 40 years old. the same age as he was when we sat around watching Real People and That’s Incredible with Sarah Purcell, and memorably, the 1984 Winter Olympics from Sarajevo, Yugoslavia. I enjoyed the ice events. The bobsled, especially. I snuck a bowl of water outside, took a shovel and attempted to build my own bobsled track. The water sadly sunk into the dirt. It wasn’t anything close to what I’d hoped would happen. So I got on the Texas Instruments TI994A computer we got free with the house full of beige carpet and I write a program in BASIC called Star Car. I got to the point where it asked you to name your Star Cr and there was maybe a word that moved up the screen when you type run but that’s all. My best friend Jonathan had Macs and Apples at his house and we’d play on the computer for hours. Our favorite after Jawbreaker was this game that let you buy and sell stocks.
Once I slept over and woke up to snow. I think I stayed the next night over, too. After that, I started missing my mom too much and had to go home even though it was treacherous to drive and she preferred not to.
In hated my childhood then but now when I remember it I feel as though I had a lot of things I could rely on that I will never ever again be able to rely on. That has made me incredibly sad and now I want to go hide somewhere and press the restart button. How growing up with a restart button had affected my generation has not been minor. Before you didn’t restart a game of Monopoly if it didn’t go well and before you needed a friend to play a game with you. Now you could play 1P.
Now you don’t even need that.
Saying that makes me sound like a bitter out of touch old man. That I probably am.
Despite the discovery of thousands of exo-planets, we are very probably alone in the universe.
The universe is vast and full of potentially habitable planets and math says that at least some of them must have intelligent life, but as we can’t pin down exactly how life was created here on Earth, the process of abiogenesis, how do we make calculations for other planets? The Drake Equation is more at home in the Bible than in a science textbook. Faith in astrobiology?
There are 10 to the 23 planets in the observable universe. But chances are good that there are zero, if any, seriously advanced, space-faring civilizations out there. Certainly, none of them are using their stars as an energy source. And there’s the problem of the cosmic speed limit. If other civilizations exist, they are likely nearer our own technological level. At some point in the grand narrative of evolution and its narrative of genetic recombination and natural selection, the nature of consciousness begins to wrap around the pole of evolution and slow down, eventually coming to halt, like a tetherball run out of rope.
We are the victims of a period of rapid evolution over the past 200 years. We are two or three inches taller today then we were back then, but that doesn’t meant we will be 100 inches taller in 1000 years. It’s taken 7,000,000 years for our brains to triple in size. But that growth was necessary to our survival. Evolutionary adaptions are inspired by predations, anthropogenic disturbances, none of which will be a factor the higher we climb into the tree of technology. All that can be known is limited to the internalized representation and understanding of that knowledge. At some point, the lines run together. Human intelligence works on the order of abstraction and reduction.
If you want to think about it this way–think about how many different species of life have existed on earth since the beginning–over FIVE BILLION, 99% of which have gone extinct. And how many of those FIVE BILLION species evolved into the one dominant species on the planet? One. So life has started FIVE BILLION different times on Earth, so many different forms and combinations, but only one has been able to master the planet.
We don’t evolve at our pleasure, so what’s to say we haven’t already stopped evolving? There are no more genetic pressures pushing us forward. It’s become strictly novelty. We might make a few gains in life expectancy. Medicine will improve. But without that pressure, a life that lasts 150 years becomes equal to a life that lasts only 75 in quality. Evolution is a feedback loop. Yes, evolution happens by drift, gene flow, and mutation and I’m not suggestion we’ve reached a level of complete stasis.
Once evolution has two or more positive selection pressures, it cannot be changed. This means, we will always have two arms instead of three. Gravity will never pull something uphill, no matter how much we want it to.
In the case of an Elon Musk dream world where all biological entities eventually merge with machines–who cares? What’s exciting about that? A universe without mistakes is a dead universe.
But, the numbers are there and can’t be hidden. Yet there seems to be a relation between consciousness and evolution. That voice that says “I am” is the exact same in all seven billion of us. We come from the same source, it just appears that we are different.
Honestly, I wouldn’t give a dime to travel into space. I have no desire at all.
The Second Law of Thermodynamics says that disorder/entropy in the universe increases with time, as things get naturally more disordered and lose their symmetry.
We’re probably not the first, but we could be the only. At least for now.
I have almost zero memory of doing this 30 day beer fast.
I remember I used to frequent a bar called Crossroads and I became one of the weird regulars who came in around 7 pm and stayed all night. It was a 24 hour place with video slots and keno on the bar. Once I hit a royal flush and won $1100. I bought a round and then another and I think I woke up the next morning with about $50 left. I was living on $300 after I paid my rent. I’d lost my keys one night during the beer fast and had to kick my front door open. I busted the frame so the door wouldn’t close or lock and if it was windy it was very likely that I’d come home to an open door and a cold apartment. I remember going crazy toward the end of the fast and taking a shopping cart from the old Safeway in the same shopping center, now a Grocery Outlet (GroceOut for short), and rammed the fucking thing into a glass wall but I’ve no idea what happened. I was in a dream state and I thought I broke into a bank vault and was arrested but 10 or 12 hours later I woke up and was safe in bed. My bed was a futon that had lost its batting, so essentially, I slept on the dirty carpet. One night I got some speed from this guy at McDonald’s and hung around this sleazy monthly motel all night talking to the other tweakers. I met a girl named Chris who was missing a front tooth. She said she was raised, adopted, by a local TV news guy who did regular “white glove” inspections. I was happy that night. The next day I read in the paper that they were hiring for a new Chili’s within walking distance. I did the rest of my speed and went to the interview, at a hotel. I was very personable and impressed them despite not having any waiting experience, I got the job. I remember the hiring manage said, “You’ve got something natural that you can’t teach and that’s your easy outgoing way.” Needless to say I am a hard-shelled introvert unless I’m on speed. I went to Chili’s and tried but I couldn’t figure out the damn ordering software. It didn’t make sense to me. People much much stupider than me had no problem and could handle five or six tables at once no problem. I’d switched to buying Oxys from a guy named Pete, who showed up once at Chili’s with his black friends and ignored me. Everybody there was on some sort of drugs. Same with the Starbucks warehouse where I worked for about two weeks until I couldn’t take it any more. I was the only one at either place who had a college degree but I was the worst employee. I couldn’t figure out the stacking methods at the Starbucks warehouse either. I just sang The Coffee Song and picked up huge boxes and out them on the slapper. There was a kid at Starbucks who worked the graveyard with me and then went to Tahoe and worked construction another 8 hours. I don’t know how he did it. Well, I do. He did a lot of speed. Those Bukowski jobs are the worst. Contract labor. I didn’t even officially work for Starbucks but was a temp for the Manpower service.
Around that time, Darla and I met this kid from Wisconsin named Travis. He was a rich kid who had lost his girlfriend and best friend to overdoses in the past year, so he was just the kind of stable we required. Eventually he went broke. Once he gave these two tweakers $400 to score some oxy and they just took off with it. When he ran out of money he called his mom in Dayton and cried until she agreed to pay for him to check into a $5000 a day rehab.
So many years, so much of my life has been killing time, waiting for something to come along that never did. I don’t know why I accepted shit but I really did. I had confidence and success when I was 25. And then it disappeared.
Always waiting for some sign saying okay, now is the time to write the book. Or, now is the time to start the business. Or now is the time to quit putting poisons in your body. I was terrified of dying but apparently I was all set for it.
What do I have now? A blog that got 130 visitors last year? Hardly a success. Now I’m stranded in Mexico with a huge habit. I’ve got to stop finally and then get out the beginning of next month. I have no choice. I’ve put off everything.
Never do I feel so comfortably uncomfortable than when I have my rent paid, owe my connect no money and have no other plan but to lie in bed for three or four days until I kick. It never comes off of course. After 48 hours I give in. Once in December I made it almost 80 hours. Just about done. But the boredom is the worst part. I don’t have the life skills necessary to live without knocking myself unconscious for 12 hours a day. It’s no way to live. Being well for 12 hours. Sometimes as much as 24. Then being sick. Then taking tramadol trying to beat it and now having narcotic induced gastroparesis. It’s the worst. The day after I do tramadol I vomit. I have these horrid sulphur burps and nasty diarrhea and then I’m fine for a day and then I wake up and do it again. I sit in front of the toilet, my eyes streaming with tears, my stomach torcido, twisted, trying to wring itself out. It hurts.
All of my clothes smell. I need to take them to the lavanderia today. I need to do a lot of things. I will probably wait until the last minute and then make my decision, as usual. I don’t know what happened to me, my life., my potential.
I guess this guy I went to college with, let’s call him Grovestock because that’s his name, was arrested for molesting a 12-year-old, apparently. He was always a bit off. I noticed on Facebook that he changed his profile pic and background pic to shots of him at the gym, posing with his shirt off. Yuck. He took down the family photos. I think he has three kids. Or HAD. Yuck. And now he posts quotes that betray him, like Zig Ziglars. When you’re posting Zig Ziglar quotes, chances are that your life ain’t going too well. The quotes are usually about how it’s easy to find “dirt” on people but only true love looks for the “gems” in that dirt. I kind of want to call him on that sometimes. Or else unfriend him but my phone doesn’t let me do anything complicated in facebook. It goes into a clickhole and has said I have a friend request waiting for five years now. No idea how to address that. I don’t get why this kid, now a creepy ass 40 year old child molester, would put his perfect little life up for grabs like that. Did he learn nothing at college? Think he lost his job, too. I’m fascinated by the stuff he puts on his board now. Wall. I’m so 20th Century. He seems unable to take blame for what he did. I guess the whole thing was too traumatic for the girl because he’s not in prison but WTF. He had the most annoying girlfriend for like three years in school. Same girl. At one point they appeared to get the same short hair cuts. He thought he was hot shit, I remember. I find the entire affair pretty distasteful.
I’ve had 30 years not to weigh in on this movie, but as they seem to run it down here on Edge once a week every week I watched it again this morning. KK Three, I think. I watched it in Spanish of course. The plot is rather convoluted but features the usually embarrassing music on the soundtrack, Joe Esposito’s You’re The Best Around comes to mind. I might have been the last reporter to interview Pat Morita before his passing. We sat at a bar and did shots. It was 11 am. He came in to the casino bar with his young wife. Anyhow, I don’t understand why the people fighting Daniel Larusso didn’t just fight fair. They wouldn’t lose all their points and seem like they could beat the guy in seconds. Because Daniel Larusso really kind of sucks at karate. Who knew you couldn’t reach the highest levels of the discipline in four weeks by washing old cars? I once bought a karate magazine at age 12 or 13 and learned one move for when someone has hold of one leg. I’ve performed the move in a fight and smashed both of us. I almost ordered one of the ninja suits from the ads in the back of the magazine but didn’t. Ended up tossing the mag. Also used to buy Entrepreneur mag a lot and read about the home businesses. Passive income. Then I started investing my money in drugs. Still don’t have my own business. I am writing a book about getting free of heroin and going through withdrawals but who the hell knows. Not entering any karate tournaments any time soon.
It’s already Friday. Such a quick week despite only getting about 16 hours of sleep since Saturday night. That’s a lot less than the normal 80 hours a week I usually approach. That’s because I hate myself and hate my life and what I’ve done to it but that’s for another blog. I didn’t sleep because I was using something to try to get off of something worse and it sort of worked though tonight I answered my phone and my connection brought over two bindles of whatever. I only did one but it totally refreshed my mind and gave me energy where just a few hours before I hardly managed to force myself out to the tienda to get some water and a snack. Haven’t eaten much since I had a pizza on Sunday during the Super Bowl.
I’ve been very suicidal. At 20 something it seems like it’s not really worth it because you figure you’ve got so many good young years left that something good is bound to happen. At 40, I haven’t got a clue why I didn’t just stab myself. If I had a real cutting knife in my kitchen I probably would have. I haven’t been this depressed in years. I realize I’ve most of my money and the last 13 months pursuing nothing but chemical annihilation for 12 hours at a time. And trying to avoid the withdrawals from such. Sad music helps but it makes it all even worse. I don’t have any plans for my future anymore. Not a lot of hope that I will ever be strong enough or have the character required to actually change my situation either. I make so many fucking mistakes and then I keep on making them and making them until I’m stuck. I can’t even write anymore. The misery knocks around in inside my head like a rubber ball and somehow makes me feel even worse. How the fuck do I get myself out of this miles-deep rut?