California Penis Kitchen: 1-1

All right, it’s really California Pizza Kitchen but that didn’t cause you to visit.  I brought home their supermarket chain thin crust BBQ pizza (don’t ask me which one I don’t remember).  WAIT!  Look at the link, next to the pie it says THIN AND BEAUTIFUL, two things I ain’t and sure as hell won’t be after eating the entire thing in one shot, which I did.

BBQ was Delicious as in ‘I’ll-box-a-kangaroo-with-bare-knuckles-for-another-one’ Delicious.

The one CPK failed at was their limited-time-only cheeseburger pizza.  Eh. Too much dill overpowering the other ingredients, didn’t care for it, altho  there’s really no such thing as bad pizza or bad sex, except maybe in prison.

You’re one and one, California Penis Kitchen.  Until the next time I have 8 bucks and a day off you’re off the hook.

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

Some men are alive only because it is against the law to kill them. –attributed, various

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

I came very close last Friday.

My intended target was a vile old bastard, universally despised, with an unkind word for everybody, summarized in this passage from Henry Miller’s The Air-Conditioned Nightmare: “a man, and I say it calmly and soberly, whom I could kill in cold blood.  I could shoot him down in the dark and go quietly about my business, as if I had just brushed a mosquito off my arm.”

There are no clichés or maxims that will save you in the fiery moment you decide someone must die.  I didn’t give a fuck that the bastard himself probably suffered the most from this cruel remarks (not always true; sociopaths feel nothing).  Once I decided the world would be better off without him, fantasy after fantasy about inflicting a gruesome death upon him played and replayed.

It was the hated job where this all took place (too many cameras around) and I’m wondering if on Monday there’ll be any blowback from the events Friday.  The old bastard now knows I hate him, but not how close he came to getting his head bashed in.  I swear to fucking Christ just typing this makes me ready to kill all over again.

But I’ve said too much. The prisons creak with murderers and the only difference between them and me (and you) is they acted on their impulses.

The rude elderly pissant, a coward who likely was treated cruelly by others, is not worth this many words, or any words, as there are millions like him around the globe:  horrible, failed human beings despite displays of wealth or other outward appearances.

A real human being accepts his own depths of hatred as natural and normal, the monstrous power of emotions over the feeble intellect.  Hopefully society provides enough programming that the deadliest impulses stay suppressed.  Hopefully.

If I see the old SOB again–and I’m sure I will–I can’t tell you I won’t feel this furious.  It’s natural to destroy and even more natural to destroy ugly things.  Right now my hatred remains beautiful and alive.  Something’s gotta give.

JERKING OFF IS LIKE A BREAKFAST BAR

Dropped a small amount of shrooms–stems only–no caps. I chanted over the dried bits and pieces which look like twigs and I chanted while beginning the trip which turned out to be a dud. My pupils did not dilate, I had no hallucinations. I jerked it, then took a shower (always a brilliant idea, dropping mind-altering substances and then standing on a wet, slippery surface).

I’m sorry this post will go nowhere, but NOTHING happened except I got a small burst of energy and the title for this post: JERKING OFF IS LIKE A BREAKFAST BAR. Because it doesn’t have to be breakfast time to enjoy one. Oh no, you can jerk off evenings, Tuesdays, one minute past high noon and in the fountain at the mall, as long as you can outrace Security with your pants around your anks.

The shrooms did not enhance the onanistic experience. Perhaps my dreams will rock…

Before all of this shroom business I surfed the internet for the phrase, “Accept there is no justice”. The reason no one accepts this obvious truth is their ego is in the way. No one likes to be shat upon and revenge is very close in the hearts of humans, like a rifle hidden just inside the jamb of the front door.

Earlier today I explained to a Buddhist woman that I believe there is a God, as in an intelligent, conscious energy with thoughts of its own. She disagreed, using the sentiment that, “We are God,” not in a blasphemous way but in the sense We are the Perceivers. I have no beef with that, I was more annoyed she doesn’t smoke dope anymore. Ironically or not, historically-speaking, the best-functioning religion that’s caused the least harm appears to be Buddhism, an atheistic religion.

I didn’t mention today was the 4th of July right away because I’m not feeling it. With a respectful nod to American soldiers who gave their sanity, limbs and lives, I have no independence of my own, all my so-called personal freedom is mixed with severe punishment. After all, one is free to quit one’s hated job and starve on the street. One is free to choose drugs and then be warehoused in nigger college, aka prison. One is free to write the words “nigger college” and then have the hyenas and jackals scream for one’s politically-incorrect head. One is free to jump off a tall building, only to discover one’s freedom to fly ends as gravity begins.

I just ran to the bathroom to check my pupils. If they were ever abnormally large they’re back to normal now. It’s one hour into July 5th, everything is back to normal, we can forget freedom and sacrifice for another year.