Bringing all of my Thoughts to Bear

Yooo Hooo!

Anybody there? Shit, I don't see why. Hell, I'm not even here. I'm there. There where? A total personal Hell that has no light except what streams through a pin hole crack in a brick wall. The floor is covered with a thin layer of dust and ratshit. I feel bad. Bad for myself, and the whole world of people who find themselves fucked. Yeah, that's it. Fucked. Many people are bitching about the current economic situation. We are in a fucking Depression. Well, guess what? My fucking depression started full blast September 11th 2001.

I'm pissed that I am doing nothing with my life right now. Absolutely nothing. I am a mote of dust traveling slowly through the air. You'll inhale me and exhale me and never even know that I was there. Yeah, that's right. Motes of dust are nothing. Why do you think I'm not writing this blog anymore? Well, that's not true. I'm going to keep on writing, but only if I have something to say.

Such as, just the other day, I was walking down the street near Lincoln Center and a rather tall, slim fellah came striding at me from the other direction, wearing shades and dressed rather shabbily. Well, how about that. I thought I recognized him as a homeless man that I had no doubt seen in a shelter/clothing line/soup kitchen. I knew I knew him, but I could not exactly place the face. I frowned at him, and he was no doubt frowning back at me, but I couldn't tell, because, like I told you...he was wearing shades. And then about a foot away from me, I recognized him! Chris -fucking- Rock.

Yeah, that's right. Chris Rock. Walking by like nothing is the matter. Cool as a cucumber. I was about to call out his name but then I thought about it. I'm a New Yorker. What the fuck am I acting like a tourist for?! This poor man has probably walked four blocks already and has had his name called out by visiting screwballs countless times. I just kept walking.

Laying in my room, watching shows on Netflix through my computer one night, everything goes out. The lights, the computer, the air conditioner, the router and modem lights...the microwave and refrigerator for God's sake. What the fuck? And then everything comes back on. As my computer boots up and looks for the modem and router that aren't up yet themselves, I hear Paula, Bat Faced Bitch and the other crows outside my door. I snatch it open and the bunch of them brain dead cows are grouped around the electrical boxes in the dark of the hallway. I frown. The lights of the hallway are off?

Paula looks at me. "The lights are out." I can see that, Paula. Bat Faced Bitch has her hands in the box against the wall on the left, a security guard has his hands in the box on the right. The both of them are hitting fuse switches arbitrarily trying to find the one that controls the overhead lights of the hall. I look at Bat Faced Bitch. Did you just throw the switch in my room? Her eyes pop. No doubt because this is the first time that I have ever addressed her as a human being. Normally I walk past her as if she is unseen. "Uhhh...." She gives me the stupid, vacant look. "I'm trying to turn on the lights." Do you know which switch does that? "No." Then why are you in the box? You killed the power in my room and threw my systems into a fit. That's not good for me. She stands for a moment attempting to digest my distaste and anger, then pointed to the security guard on my right. "He's trying to turn on the lights."

I turned to this peanut headed security guard. You're trying to turn on the lights? He looks at me nervously, "Yeah." Are you an electrician? "No," he shakes his head. What are you doing in the fuse box then? Do you know which switch turns on the light? He carefully closes the door to the box, locks it and walks past me to the end of the hall, towards the elevator. Just before the elevator is a door that terminates the hall. Next to the door is a simple light switch that he stops and notices. He turns to us down the hall then turns back to the switch, flipping it up. The lights come on.

Duh, he points at the switch. "Oh, here it is." I shake my head. Dude, you are one step over moron, or maybe one step below. I look at Bat Faced Bitch. Do you know which switch you hit trying to find the fuse for the hallway? She nods, points into the open box, "yeah, this one." I nod. Remember then, never ever hit that switch again. I shut the door. Shit I was angry. Here you have a handful of mental deficits with the combined intelligence of a lump of dough trying to figure out something as complex as a mult-switched fuse box. What is so funny is that they are so stupid that they could not even realize that the skill needed to be successful at such a task was well beyond their reach.

Mostly, I walk during the days, stew at night. Watching movies and wondering when I'm going to get the impetus to get my fucking ass up and write something. When? What is the matter with me? Before, my fingers refused to take a fucking break, but now...now, I'm ready to do nothing but rot in my cell. Rot and fight with the bureaucracy through letters and emails. One good thing I can say is that I have finally been accepted by the 911 Commission for Mental Health. Now I can find a capable head shrink to deal with my mental issues, rather than pop pills all day. That shit ain't fun.

My baby keeps crashing. Maybe that's why I don't feel like writing. Every time I get a good steam of words going she goes black, erasing everything. Damn! I'm getting parts for her on Ebay. Really cheap...hobo cheap. When I have enough I'm going to replace the fan assembly, which I can hear and feel have stopped. Also the heat sink and processor. Well, since I'm inside of her, why not upgrade the processor? Hey, I used to do this shit for a living. This is easy as pie. If I do well, next...the screen. Yep. I'm going to deal with that next.

Until then, I'm going to be thinking on how to rule the world before I end it all. What would I do when I do rule the world? What? Probably end the recession. OR depression, or whatever the fuck they want to call it. How would I do it? Make money free! See, I have an answer to everything. If you make money free, then everyone can afford everything. Poof! There goes the recession, homelessness, vagrancy, drugs, prostitution, organized crime, fraud...hey, the world would thank me.

Yep...the whole world...

Hobobob