Posts Tagged ‘ghosts’

A brief spike in traffic

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

For 3 days running I had over 100 views to the site, akin to a miracle.  I’m not that interesting, so it must’ve all been for recent Jeopardy! contestant Rachel Lindgren.

It’s my duty to warn you thirsty nerds AGAIN that smart women are not a solution to anything and being a sapiosexual is a road to nowhere.  If she’s smart while you’re enamored (subtract 25 IQ points for each boob and asscheek) you’re in QUADRUPLE the danger of being manipulated.  Not that I overly give a shit what happens to you, you’re probably better off than me.

I believe this blog is now 10 or 11 years old, which means little because I rarely posted after 2009, was it?  It has brought me neither joy nor grief, certainly no money or gavina.  I don’t read my own shit so I’ve forgotten most of it, except to remember impassioned movie reviews about Batman (pointless) or politics (far more pointless) and cussing out my wage slave job while doing nothing to improve my lot in life.

Two things happened in the last 5 years which changed the entire arc of my  inclinations, I got out of the shit job and I “discovered” whores.  Also, my father died  at 73 of natural causes, if you count lung cancer as natural.

The whores saved my life.  Once I was getting laid fairly regularly all the Mysteries of Womanhood evaporated, which was bittersweet, but poetry is either written out of your system or it burns you from the inside out like drinking bleach.  Poetry IS drinking bleach, usually for the reader. 

The women’s humanity made me less of a misogynist, and it even seemed a few of them enjoyed the ride beyond getting paid.  (I haven’t been laid in over a year due to health problems so that’s on pause.)

I’m closer to 50 than 40 now.  I’m not better than I was in 2006, but like to think I’ve learned much the last 10 or 11 years.  I wouldn’t trade my scant “life’s work” of writing for falling in love.   

Here are the final lines from a long ago poem.

I know it’s coming, death or a balloon.

The slitted eyes of a petted cat.

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Dream shit

Friday, 2 November 2012

The first part of the dream I was running around a Walmart-type building which housed a giant ballroom in the basement. I was chasing a girl I’d loved in high school (blown it).

The Walmart was closing and people were being kicked out.  I followed the girl to her car.  She ignored me completely, as if I were a ghost, and left with someone else.

The second part of the dream I went back in the store and beat an eight-year-old to death with an axe handle.  I then ran around the strip mall parking lot, avoiding other members of his evil family.  I had a cellphone but could not dial 911. Finally I decided I would have to kill all of my pursuers rather than be hunted.  I stole cars and just before awakening, hung over traffic clinging to the ski of a helicopter.

I blame eating both steak and chicken salad during the same meal last night.  The girl, long now a woman, is married in real life, out there somewhere in the world…

 

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