Posts Tagged ‘depression’

First Time in a Hookah Bar

Friday, 3 April 2009

It wasn’t smoky. A young girl behind the counter with fine tits, thick lips and a shiny forehead greeted me. I told her I’d never been, but my money was green, and how does it work?

While she explained the process the pot-bellied hippie who owned the place (I’d seen him on the bar’s website) stared unhappily. I took it personally. There’s a communist nigger in the White House and his business was hopping, so why the long face to go with the long, gray beard?

I motioned to an empty table behind me, dropped the $$$ and the little girl brought out the hookah. It looked like Aladdin’s bong. I was nervous because I thought I’d have to set it up myself, water and charcoal and shit. But they did it all. The rules
were that the hook could only be moved around by the staff. Break it and you’re out 50 bucks.

The girl hooked up the hookah pipe. She’d recommended the “Purple Haze” flavor for me. I took a hard drag on the hose. Purple Haze tasted like moth balls floating in Grape Kool-Aid at Grandmother’s house.

Thursday was Trivia Night. A loud, young, obnoxious prick on a stage nook was reading off questions and the crowd was shouting out. They were having a good time.

With dawning horror I realized that except for the pot-bellied hippie owner, I was the oldest one in the place. I was sitting by myself at a large blocky table that could seat four. Comfortable looking couches flanked the table but there were people nearby, young people, and I wasn’t about to move. Youth surrounded me: baby faces and cell phones and a few girls with short-shorts that looked painted on their cute little bobble-asses.

I decided it was all a Lie, I was really 25 and these were middle school kids. In another 5 years they would all be elementary school kids. When you’re very old every person under 40 must look like a child.

I took serious drags on the hookah, savoring the taste of Grandmother’s mothball cunt. I had nothing else to do. When I was young I was a young loner, I would always be one. My youth had been wasted. I would always be afraid of people.

I made that hookah water DANCE with my long serious drags. The flavor grew on me, a little. Flavorful smoke alternately blasted in a narrow cone and squirted out of my tired lips.The hookah menu had almost 40 flavors to try and golly gee, I’d keep coming back almost 40 times this year and try them all!—I lied to myself. I wondered if I would ever go back. No one I knew smoked.

The trivia portion ended. Loud rock music now blared on the PA. One of the songs was Europe’s ‘The Final Countdown’. The young people seemed to like it, singing along in places, but they didn’t understand it; they mocked it as cheesy and it was, but it was beautiful to me and marked a certain time in my life and I didn’t like hearing it mocked.

I was sad and felt sorry for myself. I’m always alone in crowds; that other people might also feel alone didn’t matter because you can’t be alone together.

The Purple Haze was making me slightly giddy, almost high, except it was an illusion. It was likely my high blood pressure kicking on, making the body’s race towards death an easier downhill coast instead of the slogging speed of inevitability.

I wanted to kill the hippie for not welcoming me to his hookah bar. Times are tight and he probably needed all the business he could get…I didn’t want him to kiss my ass but just say hello, say, “Welcome” to a potential new customer.

The bar was getting ready to close. Laser lights danced on the walls. The young pussy hugged and kissed the young cocks goodbye. They were all happy, if only for this moment. I knew they were afraid and got picked on by the world and needed to band together.

I left alone, the same way I entered.

No one I know smokes.

Not even me.

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Obama crack corn and I don’t care

Wednesday, 21 January 2009

Obama comes across as an uninspiring, arrogant phony but I don’t hate him, I almost pity him. I aleady know how the story of the next 4 years goes. Would you like a sneak preview?

Obama enacts Same Old New Deal and expands government’s size and illegitimate power. Economy eventually recovers, taking much longer than it would have if government did nothing. Team Obama takes credit for what the free market did.

OR

Obama enacts Same Old New Deal and expands government’s size and illegitimate power. Economy fails to recover fast enough to people’s liking. The half of the country that didn’t vote for Obama takes up arms. Cleansing begins.

Either scenario is fine with me. You can’t let politics prevent you from enjoying your life, even if your life story includes being swept up in a revolution. No government agency, politician or President has ever brought me prosperity, pussy or anything else. What I want is up to me. How I’ll get it is also up to me.

Due to laziness, there will probabaly be a real civil war or insurrection before I write about a fictional one.

Death will be my Christmas

Thursday, 25 December 2008

“There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”  –Erna Bombeck


It’s 0140, Christmas morning.  I stopped being a child long ago.  There is very little of me left.

I like adulthood for being able to tune out Christmas music and ignore decorations.  The economy has so many people on edge that spray-snow-in-a-can optimism and cheer has dropped off.  Fatigue is in the air like burning tire smoke.  I want to take a chainsaw to the size of our criminal government, carve it down to something small and useful, like a pocketknife.

I went to the drugstore to peruse the As Seen on Tv crap.  Everything was still $19.99.  No Chia Pets!

No one needs a Chia Pet, that’s why it’s brilliant.  I don’t need one: I have dope.

I’ve smoked-out only once, “in moderation”.  I felt no happier.  I am going through the motions of being alive.

I saw a girl in the drugstore.  Tan jacket and ponytail, not ugly, not beautiful, but lovely.  Life.  I looked at her head, at the chestnut ponytail.  Life.  How pointless and precious.

I didn’t buy shit.  I had bought shit earlier, elsewhere.  I averaged approx. $50 per person times 5, an enormous sum for me.

I’d make it a thousand but I don’t have it.

I hate gifts, even getting them.  Let me explain.  I live in America, do you?  We can get nearly anything we want at any time of year (if you want pot all you gotta do is befriend 3 strangers).  Gifts:  if someone I know wanted something badly and I could afford it, I’d get it for them.  The people I know need what they want, they don’t waste.   I don’t like being forced to do anything; take something pleasurable like buying a gift for someone, and make it mandatory.  That’s hell.

You cannot opt out of the gift game unless you are a hermit.  I’ve tried.  It’s horrible to receive anything when you have nothing to give in return.  And yes, I tried warning everyone I knew not to give me anything.  It doesn’t work.

I have no useful advice for surviving holidays, any of them.  Enjoy what you can.

Death will be my Christmas.   Not suicide but natural death, I can wait.  I look forward to the change of pace and new environment, even in Hell.  It’s hell anyway to be alive yet numb.

Your new God is the absence of Light

Monday, 6 October 2008

As the world burns green they tremble at their lost money, but it’s the end of their world, not mine. I’m already inside the Singularity where nothing matters. I’ve been here for years, numb. A handful of cake or a handful of shit, it’s all the same to me. I eat both. Stealing or giving, kissing or killing.

All the same.

Nothing surprises me for long. Death is nothing, a shift in fortunes and pale energy. A body dies, the maggots win the lottery.

You are getting exactly what you deserve. Should I rise while you fall, it’s meant to be. You believed this when you were on top and I was down.

Now we are both down.

I’m getting the last laugh and I stopped laughing years ago.

Ha.

Apocalypto Now

Monday, 14 January 2008

Saw Apocalypto today.  Depressing.  Several sources claim it’s “adrenaline-rush” fast but it ain’t.  There are long lags.  Having your heart cut out and your head cut off shouldn’t involve a DMV-style wait in line.  It’s gory and violent but, like 300, there just isn’t enough (I can’t sit through gorefests like the SAW flicks but do expect more blood in these adventure/war films).

A real problemo I have with entertainment these days is the lack of even “movie” logic.  I understand that by not sending the hot teen girl into the “abandoned” warehouse to look for her lost bottlecap, no one can cut her head off.  But could you at least make it something worthwhile for her to search for, like car keys?

The problemo I had with Apocalypto is the beginning where one of the tribal elders is a dumbass whose lack of curiosity leads to doom.  It’s a miracle he lived to be an elder.  On the plus side, one of the villains looked like an asshole I used to work with, were he an ancient Mayan.  I was delighted at what happened to him and wish I could do the same to my old co-worker.

I liked Apocalypto, it’s well made, but I have no reason to ever revisit.  There’s just no point.

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