Sober Drunks

Sober Drunks

May actually be worse than the drunk ones.  Why don’t we just let these people drink themselves to whatever point they see fit?

I have spent my life cleaning up other people’s messes.  I’m done.  If you don’t want to invest in me (and anything beyond my survival goes to “my” coop, which is still only mine because nobody wants to contribute to the commons), they just want to benefit from it.

Here’s what you will know about the new soldiers of planet earth: they understand “the collective” and the importance of each and every single person in the functioning of the whole.  There are no useless people.  If you still believe that there are, you are clearly one of them.  Why bother putting your mental or physical energy towards a self-destructive belief like that?  It’s funny, because the worst offenders these days actually have pretty interesting ways of denying sexism, racism, xenophobia, and just the downright fear of allowing a full stream of information into their fragile little consciousni.  Allow every construction.  Does it work, quickly, or in fewer characters?  Then use it.

Who am I?  I have no idea.  I’ve never made any effort to define myself, for to do so would only limit me.  I’ve adopted certain descriptive words, but that’s only so you all know ought to be embarrassed at my arrival.  Nice try.  I will crush your entire conception of reality in minutes.  I’ll de-program by the thousands without breaking a sweat, and once it’s time to sweat, I can and will move more tonnage, cubic yards, and dance floors than any of you pathetic weakling crybabies could even imagine a single person could do.  Oh wait, that’s just what I’ve already done.  My ticker’s on the whack again.  Biological clock my ass!  Your body itself wants to be used for its intended purpose.  Moving.

You deny your motions because they reveal your cruelty/enslavement/disconnection/pain/excitement/joy and either you don’t want to see or know about that thing yourself, or once your little “social” circle gets wind of any real happiness in you, they’ll beat you back down to their level right quick.  They have a limited conception of relationships.  You’ll have to bypass that entirely.  Get down to means of communication, times, and specific physical acts.  Look, you’re far more judgmental than you realize (if that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black/me talking to myself/obviously referring to me, I don’t know what is), and you can do a lot with your words.  Motion reveals understanding.  If they move counter to what you’ve explained, they don’t get it, whether they say that they do or not.  Just being able to repeat back an argument, a “hot-button” issue, or an event in another place that has been covered by the media does not mean you understand the underlying issues of any of these things.  Also, just because you look “like a hippie” or something, from the outside, does not mean that you are.  Most of the people I know who look like hippies are the exact same corporate slaves who self-identify as staunch republicans.  They just have a different myth for the little circle they run in, and a different explanation for why and how the world works.  Or, they’re the maintainers.  The love-blockers.  These are the most frightening to me because they seem to understand the proper means of acting, yet they do the opposite.  Those are, what… sociopaths?  Psychopaths?  Here’s the other thing, though.  What happens when the entire society has become self-destructive?  Then what do you call the people who just want to stop the “society” from continuing its cruel and horrible work?  I’d say angels, healers, teachers.  I dabble in these things, when I’m not hating myself.

I’m almost sorry that I haven’t been able to fully integrate my tweeting and reading tweets.  I know it makes me a “lurker,” but what’s so wrong with that?  I bet there are TONS of you who go weeks reading on twitter but not alerting others to your presence.  I shouldn’t speak in weights, huh.  And, really, I have no fucking clue.  There’s no way for me to know how you tweet, and it doesn’t really even matter.  It’s just something I think about, especially when tweeters complain about other tweeters.  Really?  Can’t we leave that to the irl bullshit assholes?  I’ve done it, I know.  But it feels wrong.  Oh, and if I star your whiny “somebody talk to me” tweet, DM me.  It means I’m online and if you want to talk TO me, you should feel free.  I’m not a very good conversationalist.  That should be clear from my feed.  I end up insulting the people who should be my friends.  It’s almost as if when a woman mentions me who I feel I’d be compatible with, I just fucking scream at her about nothing.  I don’t get that.  I mean, I get how the other attributes of my personality have put me in this position, but how nobody that I’ve ever met wants to either contribute to my business or wellbeing, employ me, or recommend me for another to employ, my sense of responsibility sort of re-defines itself.  My network is helpless, at least to me.  I don’t know if that means I don’t provide anything that they want or need, or if they don’t see the monetary worth in what I do.  I give everything away.  I have to.  Any time I have clung to anyone or any thing, they have beaten me as senseless as the rest of you.  Fucking panopticonic guard dogs.  I can’t stand being in this house.

I’ve been surrounded by cruelty for so long, I don’t even remember what a safe environment feels like any more.  I’ve never had a safe harbor.  I’m a factory kid.  What in the fuck ever made me dance in front of people, decide to pick up a guitar, or to study and think and write is beyond me.  I should be making like $25/hour moving heavy things around in some sort of manufacturing operation.  That was my destiny.  That should have been my family heritage.  Now what am I supposed to do?  Nobody will look at my green factory idea, let alone give me property for it, and the whole banking, investment, funding mechanism in this country is as broken for property as it is for music, so what the fuck would be the point in trying to clean up that mess at the same time.  Fuck it.  Scrap it all.  On punishment of death, you will cease your banking operations immediately.  You have to understand this concept of money before you’ll get anything else that I’m talking about.  Go watch the bank playlist at my YouTube page.  All of it.  Each and every single person must have the personal capability to assess the honesty and sincerity of anyone asking for money.  Y’all have to help us dig, and y’all have to help us keep an eye on its use.  Yeah, especially now, when there are still so many addicted competitive hoarders running around.

Without a critical mass of people to adopt the physical requirements of this thing, getting the cash to do anything wouldn’t even matter.  If all that would happen is a bunch of people treating it like they treat their employers, the properties they rent, or the past “meetings” they’ve attended for hierarchical organizations, there’s no fucking point.  You can’t create a balanced and grounded human algorithm if there’s any of that attitudinal shit between the dirt and the sky.  Any.  One bad apple.  So yeah, I barely expect you to understand my brand of exclusivity.  Except for a number of tweeters.  For the first time in my life, I feel like there are people who at least have a vague understanding of my purpose in life, my goals, and our shared destiny.  And, this is not to say that I will or will ever need to meet any of you in person.  Doesn’t matter.  You can talk.  You can eTalk.

It’s so fucking cold here right now.  Single digits.  I think I’m going to try to catch some afternoon sun and coffee soon.  I may even leave my computer here and take a notepad and my mp3 player.  Yeah, shut up.  I know it’s still isolating myself from their words, but it’s easier to take someone’s attention away from a book, isn’t it?  Look, I pop off those headphones and turn away form what I’m doing for anyone.  I’ll say hello, no problem.  But, much like with @ replies on twitter, why are you talking to me in public?  You know how I’m going to react, you know you aren’t interested in helping me eat, and I’m fucking starving, so don’t expect me to sit and chat with this whole room of people when every time I listen to then they’re judgmental assholes.  All I’m going to tell them (and, it will seem like I’m saying this to you) is that they’re judgmental assholes.  Get me out of the hate-storm if you want me to let my guard down.  These fuckers have shown themselves as vicious, throat-ripping-driven enablers of hate.  Again, your ability to maneuver through their shitstorm means you’re probably enabling this kind of behavior as well as endorsing it.  I really wish I didn’t take other people’s being mean to unseen third parties so personally.  I wish I could dis-identify myself from all of the out-of-sight of you the way you guys do.  I know I’d get laid more.  Fuck it.  I’m so hungry.  I gotta find something to eat.


p.s. miguel, that stew was delicious. Thank you.

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-01-2 (Sunday).

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