Today I tried to prepare a grocery list for myself and as I perused the aisles of the local Ralphs I realized that a loaf of bread would make or break my budget. I thought about putting back a few bottles of wine, but that also seemed to not favor my best interests, thus I forewent a loaf and some cheese and decided to make up the lost nutrients with some almonds and a generic multivitamin that was conveniently on sale. And some people say there is no god. I would have been of the same opinion, until this little miracle found me. I strolled home with some reusable bags to ward off wayward hipsters who, when not begging their parents for money choose to complain about how I’m participating in a forest genocide by using paper bags. I think it’s highly inappropriate to apply genocide to things other than people. At least when it detracts from the genocide used to getting the most attention. The popular genocide of WWII which maintains a sharp focus on the Jewish population, or rather its sudden and steep decline, at the exclusion of anyone else who may have been included.
I like to think of myself as someone who can reflect and identify personally with the Holocaust. Not because I’m Jewish or of any other non-scientific guesswork, but because I typically pick up men in bars. This behavior was frowned upon in the Third Reich much like today and often resulted in mandatory gym (work camp) where the offending man is then surrounded by other men. Curiosities like this one always draw my attention. Like when people think creating a support group such as, “Sex Addicts Anonymous” and that putting a bunch of people in a room together who all want to have sex will not result in an orgy. At least there will be snacks.
As many of you know it’s been in vogue lately to accuse famous people (often posthumously) of being gay. You can always count on the faithful among us to graciously provide their opinion when Hilter makes the headlines in a sloppy attempt to further demonize homosexuality. Much the way management does with labor whenever there’s a desperately needed minimum wage increase followed suspiciously by similar percentage price increase. Fortunately they’ve racked their collective mind and come up with an excellent response should the customers get fussy: “Remember, if the customers complain, tell them it’s because minimum wage went up, and if you haven’t already castrated yourself in front of them, be sure to do so, but please bring a knife from home. Alright!~ Let’s have a great shift guys!”
I’m uncertain how poor I can become before destitution sets in. Unfortunately most of my investments have been fleeting pleasures, with a very low expectation of return. I just hope that if any real suffering occurs that dementia will quickly set in, and I’ll just sell off the furniture for a morphine drip and peacefully await a revolution.
This version…
Looks like it may carry a message about pedophilia.
I’ve been back in the United states for a year as of July 15th. But before that milestone arrives, I will have started some classes to certify as someone who can teach English to foreigners. Strangely, despite all other passions that have entered my life and left like forgettable romances, I’m certain this mania will be more fruitful or at least afford me more opportunities for extended travel, as speaking English is one of my best activities. Second only to smiling and eating (both hobbies which I succeed at admirably). Just making my parents proud, one day at a time, I’m sure.
Part of me likes to think that I provide them with some entertainment value. Being avid movie goers, they prefer to wait patiently despite when plots are absent or irrelevant to the story. Ultimately I believe it’s their frugality that prevents them from abandoning their seats or in my case an expensive college degree that has yet to reveal its purpose to them. I’m still getting quite a bit of mileage out of the emaciated American economy, but for how much longer? I’m sure at some point creativity will restore itself to me and I’ll stop being so anti-social and start networking or committing to some hard ass-licking. Strictly for business though, not pleasure. A gesture, that despite my orientation, I’m not inclined to return.
I’m imagining with some savvy dialogue and well ordered paperwork I’ll acquire another visa for France, and move back with the pipe-dream of establishing citizenship or lingering in one of their fine cities, like cancer in remission, until they feel I’ve had too much fun and strip me of my wine key and throw me into the sea, hoping I’ll catch a wave back to the United States.
I frequently imagine myself returning to the shores my native California throughout my life or more accurately, northern Sacramento valley (the armpit of the state); a descriptor my mother has managed to lasso into her ramblings of her home-town for the last thirty years. Although, being in California just the same, I imagine it’s like living in the groomed armpit of a model. I suppose as long as the wine is free flowing, she’ll fight off the urge to uproot herself and let her hair down.
Although a suicidal wanderlust has caught her fancy as of late. I guess there’s a dangerous highway somewhere in the Peruvian Andes that lacks guard-railing or grades less than 20%. She’s imagined herself driving its length from time to time with a far away look in her eyes and a glass resting comfortably at her lips. Being a nurse I suppose she just imagines she’ll reset her bones and run her own morphine drip as she climbs back up to the road and quietly awaits death or a wayward driver sentimental for human life.
I accredit my dad with my addiction to travel and living as a foreigner, though for the last fifty years he’s resigned himself to a fate of television induced couch-sores. Greatly reducing his chances of dying in a plane crash, unless a sloppy pilot crashes into our sofa. Although having reconsidered the neighborhood, a little urban renewal could be quite a boon for a town lacking any concern for density or city planning degrees.
Without abstaining from my right to complain about the United States, I would just prefer to be subjugated by a people whom I feel are less responsible to my well being. Not a country I didn’t really have the opportunity to choose.
I feel a great deal of loyalty to the United States, in spite of all previous statements, but to express this, I would need some kind of social/cultural revolution to catapult my feelings into the public eye. Maybe a functional national healthcare plan or equal rights for everyone not just Mormons. Coping with my disappointment has been fun. Cruising bars and hookah lounges with some exceptional friends and eating at a variety of restaurants to do my part to stimulate the economy without regard for rent or account balances.
Eventually I should update this with some photos from google that better express who I am, as my eyes are no longer the window to my soul, but rather my wall treatments and floor coverings. Hopefully some motivation/bordem will strike again and I’ll complete this.
Walking or Working?