Bock Rottom

Bock Rottom:  Seems I’m here an awful lot; instead of a nametag I deserve an embroidered patch.  Obviously I couldn’t care less about regularly updating Meatlights, everything has already been created and the “artists” are just stirring the vomit.

I still hate everything, but only if I think about it, so that’s an improvement?

I might see my meditation master this year; ask him if God is still an asshole.  I won’t ask because I know the answer.  I’ve got some years left before I lay down in the bathtub with a shotgun.  It’s a pretty common way to go for the American Male age 50s** and up: worn down like a Christmas candle under flamethrower:  ex-wives, angry kids or no kids, no money, no future, just hated Job(s).   A deceased actor (not famous) once said he’d take a rowboat out and use the shotgun there, that way no one would have to clean up the mess.

Salinger is dead.  Wonder if there will be more of his work released by his estate?  How can they not, it’s BIG money…even forgeries would sell.  But where can you go from Holden Caulfield?

Only down.

Holden is eternal, we are not.  I cannot idolize anything or anyone, a sign of maturity.  The only reason anyone chooses maturity is so they won’t get burned again.  It’s an illusion, a lie.  You are flammable until the day you die.

** Another decade and a half until I reach 50, but I was born 1000-years-old.
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