Socialism and Clickbait

Day 60, or so. Outlook remains bleak, though the gravity of light keeps tug tug tugging away at the few remaining remnants of hope; resurrecting delusions of grandeur that were long dead and buried (Can't they just STAY dead?)... I'm in kind of a floating state at the moment. It's a strange mixture of desperation and dread, blended in with just a bit of cheery-eyed optimism (blech!).  Unemployment, as the government terms it, continues to teach me things I never thought I needed to know. For example: Interviews Mean Nothing I've had several in-person, in-office interviews since the Great Lay Off, and each one seemingly went according to plan. Dressed up in my Sunday Best, fully shaven and supported by the best attitude I could muster, I represented the professional idea of myself with the utmost professionalism, answering questions (somewhat) honestly, thoroughly and within the parameters defined by the Wise Sages of Job Candidate Protocol so many years ago.

The Earth continues to spin around the sun at a ridiculously fast pace, blissfully unaware of the pitiful pleas for pause and patience emanating from its surface. A man begs for more time, only to watch his desperation gradually, unrepentantly disappear into the Great Void. The breakneck momentum of the universe wins again and always and ever. I once believed in the power to control universal momentum; that I could somehow direct it toward my own ends. At this point, I feels as though all I can do is try not to fall as I stumble from point A to situation X, and that I'm almost better off accepting that I have no control whatsoever. Another year in the books. A little less wiser. A lot more confused. The more stumbling and bumbling I do, the less I have figured out. Kudos to those who have all the answers. I still have a ton of questions... Things move so fast. I'm not sure the human brain is built to process the unrelenting tornado of sensory information thrown its wa

Admittedly, I've been hooked on the whole Russia-collusion narrative from the very beginning. From the first reports of potential Russia-Trump election meddling onward, I've been near obsessed with the story, its many, many, many developments, and its ostensible expansiveness. Though the story has ebbed and flowed from the start, ranging from the ultra-banal to the rabbit-hole intrigue of geopolitical/financial deception and manipulation, I've been undeniably drawn to it, near the point of choking in its unrelenting grip of death. The slow drip drip drip of detail and development and update has been expertly delivered, keeping the addict salivating and just desperate enough to hang on, perhaps in spite of indications, and the occasional gut feeling, that the tiger had no teeth...that there was nothing really there. The pace at which this Russia thing has moved along has been, at times, enough to nurture doubt in even the truest of believers, myself included. Even the mo

I've always had a distaste for Public Relations, or anything officially labeled "marketing material," for that matter.To me it's always been about selling something, be it a product, a persona or simply an idea, and truth gets polished, tainted and eventually lost in the process... Public Relations (i.e. marketing) is all about controlling the narrative. And how do you "control the narrative?" By lying your fucking ass off, over and over and over ad infinitum until the lie sticks and gets reprinted as generally-accepted fact. I admire those that have such a knack for pulling it off, though I tend to lose that admiration over the course of peeling back each consecutive layer of abject bullshit. You spend enough time pulling back layers and you develop an inclination to just give up. On everything.You give up on one bullshit pie, it becomes easier to give up on the next, and before you know it, you're swimming in soul-killing cynicism. Anyone attem

I have to admit...I was beginning to think it wouldn't be a problem. A self-proclaimed news addict, I've spent countless hours over the past 5-6 months with my head buried in my phone, my laptop and the various 24-hour stations in search of the next Russia-related "scoop." Most of the time the items have been merely filler; countdowns, what-ifs and innuendo designed to satiate the consumer's blood-lust and keep them coming back for more at the beginning of next day's news cycle. It worked. I was completely hooked--almost to the point of neglecting my nightly dental hygiene routine... But then my interest began to fade. The combination of circle-jerking punditry, the constant flow of casual, dispassionate denial after denial and so-called "other news items" made it seem as though it didn't, and wouldn't, matter. Regardless of the preponderance of sleaze and the undeniable gut-feeling of Royal Shitbaggery going on, there seemed like no re

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I consider myself to be a prolific regretter. It often consumes me. Not a day really passes or has ever passed in my life, regardless of the circumstances, where I was able to get through three squares and a nap without regretting SOMETHING; even if that something were was the fact that all I did was make it through 3 squares and a nap. How's that for circular? For my next trick... I could probably find a way to rue the day I rued the day, or drown myself in regret over regretting the regrettable. Sure, a large part of this constant, somewhat needless introspection is simply an controllable self-absorption; a compulsion to live within the world I've established in my head. You know, the one that revolves around ME. I regret admitting that. No, really. Another may be the need to feed the beast. Whenever I feel stuck or trapped or angry or whatever, I can simply comb through the broken memory files in my head to find the one that may be the reason for my current situa

Let's face it. The Internet is full of temptation. And when a juicy article, think-piece or facebook post happens to roll into your digital periphery, grab your ever-discerning eye and get those wheels a-spin spin spinnin', how in the world could you possibly ignore the urge to make your thoughts public? You saw something online, and you have an "opinion" on it. Now that you've hit the "Add Comment" button, you're ready to scratch that itch and give the Internet a piece of your mind. But how?!? Where do you start? How do you offer a reaction that is truly stunning, that captures the reader's attention and makes an impression lasting for the next 10, 20 or even 30 seconds, maybe more?? If you're struggling to really strike a chord within the online comment community, and to trigger the vitriolic animus you truly deserve, follow these 5 easy steps: 1.         Let the Headline Be Your Guide. When you first spotted that provocative

A dash of rhetoric, 5 layers of paranoia, sour grapes...all packed into pressed thin and flaky reasoning served with brute force alongside red herring and Parmesan... A lot's been made recently of the "Deep State," the ominous, shadowy Orwellian old men-with-super-yachts club that sounds a lot like Illuminati but looks eerily close to the Federal Spy Collective...you know, the standard players of CIA, FBI. NSA and whomever else can be traced back to some sort of nation-toppling schemery or major crimes against Americans cover-up in the names of freedom, Satan and self-preservation. On the surface, the Deep State seems to be just another concoction of rabbit hole conspiracists, cooked up by those with too much time on their hands and delivered by a half-wit demagogue with hair plugs, small hands and a Big Apple-sized inferiority complex. On the surface, that is. Because when you think about it, how hard is it to really believe in the puppet-mastering Deep State; a gr

A sleepless night on Cul-de-Sac Independence; wandering aimlessly through the house for a spot to sink into...crash landing instead on the guest room futon. A truck rumbles into action. A big one. Coming to life and growling for prey at 12:30 in the morning. Idles like a nightmare, like a relentlessly spinning steel trap gnashing its teeth and nipping at your ankles for dream-time eternity. Shit. The metal monster, a red-and-black Dodge pickup with giant chrome pipes and over-sized American flags donning each corner of its bed, sits and rumbles and idles idles idles. The cheap single-pane window in the bedroom rattles with every chug-a-chug. The floor trembles beneath. I just wanted to sleep. This is not uncommon or unexpected in any way. This scene takes place every night, around the same time, and with no real rhyme or reason, other than to remind everyone that it won't be stopped anytime soon. The cul-de-sac can often be mistaken for a a makeshift Diesel exhibition,

A small pile of nonfiction short stories lie neglected in my office, each bound in photocopies of old magazine covers a bit frayed around the edges. Each time I feel the urge to pour through one, an act which should take no longer than 5-7.5 minutes, I get distracted or lose interest. So it goes, I guess. Seemingly composed under the influence of various unnamed substances, these pieces supposedly provide first-person accounts of the author's sexual exploits in somewhat morbid detail, along with the general malaise, ennui or depressive state that often follows the consumption of various unnamed substances. Maybe I should take a look. Probably not today. Being as it's 2017, these stories are now more than a decade old. That makes me feel old. Not only that, but they were written by someone I believe has ceased to be. That someone, an old acquaintance I can barely picture at this point, was fighting a constant battle with addiction to various unnamed substances. I proba

I started this blog to take a cheeky and somewhat sublime look at the surreal, and with the limited number of posts I've added so far, it seems that I've more-or-less been sticking to its original intent. After all, such confounding real-life occurrences, such as the sudden proliferation of red baseball caps and the discovery of gravitational "ripples" in the fabric of space-time, do indeed warrant a bit of levity, particularly if we plan on coming out of this age alive... But I thought I might veer away from the formula for a second (time's up!) and do my best to examine a "serious" topic in a little more depth...that of the monkey who never quite leaves your back (unless you therapy the shit out of it)...drumroll please...A. N. G. E. R. Anger. ANGER. ANGER! F*%#ing ANGER you F*%#ing F*%#!!! JESUS F*%#ing Chriminee!!!!!!?! Okay, enough of that. This post is about anger, using my own to illustrate. I know, I know. NO one in the history of

Rounding out this Memorial Day Weekend's Blogfest Spectacular are a few thoughts, an entire post even, on the infamous Trump Handshake. Oh god. Indeed, the obsession with something so benign and superficial is vomit-worthy. But try as I might, it was unavoidable. I felt it necessary to select a topic and stick with it. So Trump Handshake it is. But why? Aren't there more important things a-brewing in the Geo-Politic? I mean, Jesus. Must we forever be inundated with such trivial, knee-jerk nonsense from every corner of the Flat-Earth? Yes. Yes we must. Because, you see my children, every good narrative from the dawn of time begins with and revolves around body language. From Joseph of Arimathea to Alexander Great to Richard Nixon to George Pompeii to Hitler to Charlie Sheen, no good yarn can possibly be spun around a center with no actor; someone who understands the art of gesticulation enough to control the illusion in his, or her, favor. What? You must understand t

So there I was, staring blankly into the bottom of a beer bottle. not really pondering anything. Life wasn't great. It could have been better. But I didn't have anything demanding my immediate attention. No action was needed on anything. Freedom, however miserable, still seemed like freedom. I didn't have to ponder anything, so, I didn't. Everything was pretty open-ended. But as things often do, the situation changed. I was no longer engulfed in the serene emptiness of a Zen-like state. I began to THINK. It filled up the emptiness, til the emptiness was no more. So, like a dipshit, I got up, attempting to occupy myself with something in the tangible, visceral universe. Perhaps that would stir the thought out of my head. And the thoughts were very random, too, very chaotic and disjointed. There was no beginning or end, just whole lots of middle. Trying to organize them in chronological order, or in any reasonable way at all, was futile. So, like a dipshit, I d

As it turns out, you really need a focused topic before you start writing a blog. Otherwise, your blog goes to shit fast, as in digestive priority numero uno. You ramble, you write in broken sentences and draw connections that really go nowhere. You just keep drawing. The whole stream-of-consciousness thing doesn't really work in this format. There are thousands, probably millions, probably quadjatrillyabillions of blogs out there. And there is certainly no end to the number of platforms that give those people voices. Yes, you are right. Not everyone is a writer. I'm certainly NOT a writer, though I sometimes pretend that I'm dreaming about playing an aspiring word jockey on the picture shows. So, there you have it. This is my epiphany for the day. Pick a topic BEFORE you start writing your Goddam (or is it Goddamn?) blog. If I had known or grasped that simple concept a few short 10-15 years ago, I may be putting off writing a blog somewhere else. AS I SPEAK. I coul