co-x

Co-helpless? Co-interdependent? Co-conspirators? Co-wtfc.

I ended up reading http://www.orange-papers.org/orange-deprogram.html and parts of the rest of http://www.orange-papers.org last night.  When I got back from the coffee shop there was a single sheet of notebook paper that had been fed under my door.  I owe $14 more than I thought I did.  That’s all it said, but it was a full page of text.  She’s practicing her eviction letters.  Says I have to give them a month’s notice.  I love when people make assertions that clearly aren’t legal, true, or -sensical.

I woke up around 12:45 this afternoon.  It was freezing in my room.  I ate the last of the spaghetti and sauce that my mom had given me for Christmas, drank a good 20 oz of coffee that Emmy J’s’ cutest barista gave me that was leftover from close of business yesterday, and smoked a bowl.  Then I cried.  Stopped.  Curled up in the fetal position on my bed and cried some more.  I was careful to be quiet, ‘cause I don’t want to give the roommies the satisfaction.  Or, any inclination that they should, or are even capable given their past interactions with me, of trying to help.  It took about 6 of Doreen Virtue’s angel cards to pump me up, with all of this, to get up and go.  I had to go to the bank, and I know I’m short on rent unless I have an anonymous angel (I don’t).  I had to go to the bank to deposit the $30 check my mom had given me from when she used the rest of the credit in our shared account at the local whole foods store (they call it a coop, I don’t see it).  Fucking Christmas.  I always lose precious survival funds at Christmas.  Prove my love.

Sunglasses are retarded.  Fuck your eye-shields, liar.  You can always tell the people who feel guilty because they know they have been able to steal, plunder, and enslave more people than anyone else, because they hide their beautiful eyes behind darkened plastic.

Every time I hear Bounce That (Girl Talk, Night Ripper, 2006), I think my watch alarm is going off.  It’s like hearing sirens on a recording when you’re in your car, ‘cept these headphones block sound so well, I probably wouldn’t hear my watch if it did go off.

I follow over 1500 people on twitter, so when I log on, I barely have time to do anything but read the feed.  When I spend time with people, I tend to pick up many of their quirks, and I follow some of the coolest people on the planet.  All races, all genders, and all moods.  I go from ecstatically happy to suicidally depressed to busting a gut laughing every 15 seconds or so.  It’s a rush.  I have kids in my feed because kids are fucking cool, much smarter than most people give them credit for, and highly entertaining.  Plus, if they’re ballsy enough to speak to me, I’m proud to call them my friends.  No, we don’t agree on everything, and my lot in life oddly echoes the horrible enslavement of the involuntary nuclear family.  I don’t know.  Maybe part of me wants to try to show them how to deprogram themselves when they’re ready.  I think I’m still just trying to make friends who will cheer me up on a whim.  Mostly, though, they’re tv watchers, destined to grow up to be tv watchers like their parents.

Hey, if you don’t talk to anyone about anything but what you read in a book or saw on TV or in a movie, you don’t really have any friends either.  Friends touch each other and help each other find food and stay safe/warm.  I ain’t got any of those.  I got competition, critics, landlords, businesspeople, and a ton of people who dismiss me for being “creepy” without speaking to me.

I probably smell pretty bad under my clothes by now.  I can’t really tell from the outside, but I’m probably used to my stank.

I started planning a FB post:

Hi.  Starving artist here.  Last honest politician, maybe the only one that ever existed.  Musician, dancer, videographer, computer nerd, teacher, and the best jobless communicator that I’ve ever met.  Gentle, shy, appreciative, educated, yet physically capable.

Any critical, judgmental (even jokingly) comments will result in your being de-friended, permanently.  Any honest and reasonable proposal will be given attention relative to its win-win creativity.  I am what I am, and I have what I have (me, nothing else), and I know I’m not in a position to make demands.

Whaddaya think?  Yeah, I’m not posting that.  If they’re not reading twitter and/or on here, fuck ‘em.  I feel like all of that is so painfully obvious that saying it out loud is almost insulting.

I’m $64 short on the $214 of rent that was due 4 days ago, and I have had no income other than farm work and gifts from my parents and little sister for the past 4 years (not completely true. I had a few short-term temp jobs before I failed a “drug” test and they fired me).  I have $32 in cash, $5 of which will be spent on lunch/dinner/supper here.  French fries are how I splurge on myself and keep the managers from asking me to leave.  I already get less “service” here at the Tilted Kilt (sort of an Irish Pub-themed hooters with better uniforms), but that’s just because I’m at that ready-to-fuck point when she walks up to my table for the first time.  I don’t get the judgment people put on places like this, strip clubs, and the like.  Your average diner down the street or bar around the corner does the same thing with attractive women.  What is that?  Are you paying for the right to sexually harass women?  I know some of you are.  I see it.  Plenty of you just like being in the presence of girls who are TV/magazine “hot” who you can’t otherwise speak to like real people.  So, you strip ‘em down and make ‘em even more vulnerable, then dismiss them as, what?  Women?  All men who say women are difficult to figure out really haven’t been paying attention to either the women around them or their own feelings.  Females are as capable and essential to the operation of the whole universe as you are, dickhead.  I dunno.  This is a pretty peaceful place.  I mean, it’s surrounded by TVs and serves poisonous food and alcohol, but how does that make it any different from most any other restaurant, bar, or your house.

And the cop shares a donut.  I think it’s either that or doughnut.  Does it matter if everyone who’s talking either understands or is too scared to ask? Fuck’’em.

Have I told you I’m running for President?  I know I have.  No corporations or for-profit businesses will be allowed to mention me or contribute to me, so I have no supporters.  If any of my friends have any suggestions for finding other people who would be interested in me having any more say than a part-time dishwasher who blogs and tweets in his spare time, you should let me know.

Two pages, and I’ve said about everything that was on my mind today.  I’m just gonna sit here and watch sports on TVs.

So, the silver-and-gold 10th anniversary commemorative 9-11 coins are out!  $29!  Buy three!

Then, I realized, the people who make it on TV, with that authoritative tone and head nod, they just maintain the mindless babble, occasionally letting attractive people share screen-time.  That’s just to fill the space between the commercials, though.

No matter what is on the sound system, which is making me not put headphones on, which is making me hear all the fucking dudes in this sausage fest.  It’s so fucking lonely here.

Thirty seconds of BMX half-pipe makes up for hours of football and retarded fat men and ex-athletes babbling about worthless nothing.  Rockin.

Fries are on the way. Tweet you soon.
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-01-4 (Tuesday).

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