The Irony of the Egotistical American

They are marvelously American traits: to lavishly power-trip, to mindlessly lust for domination!
Be it the frat boy slovenly drunk and barfighting to establish territory over his girl... or be it the pigs driveling as they grope you to meet their quota.

And then to ridicule pain, to view it as weakness. Go to any high school around the country where they smell fear like hounds and crucify those who exude it. Or check in with your nearest psychiatrist who will assuredly tell you your pain is a disorder.

To whitewash everything until the notions of pain or darkness become threatening because "it'll lead to another columbine" ["they were always outsiders"]. It's no longer just unaccepted, it's punishable.

And then to numbly embrace the resultant botoxed smiles plastered on every billboard and ad online or on tv because you don't want to be the outsider, to be weak, because you want to consume-consume-consume material-material-material too until the American Dream [read: induced hallucination] becomes yours!

And there will be no pain in you to ridicule, you think, because material indulgence equates to happiness, right? And you can trod on the heads of others, now, because you're on top! Because you're in control now! Because you've dominated, you've succeeded!

It's disgusting. It's catastrophic. And it's spreading.

And the irony of it all is that the blind egoism, blind ethnocentrism, the blind patriotism, and the incessant urge to dominate are precisely what the American elite breed in our population to ensure blind compliance, submission... "I'd do anything for my country..."

Music sweet music

Blues pourin over you like a heat wave--a heat wave in the deep south, one of those shimmering and sweltering waves that intoxicates your mind with a groan.

Body
That slide dragging lazily back and forth and back across the fretboard as fluid and natural as the blood coursing through your veins.
Heartbeat: a stomp, stomp, stomp on the slouchin old wood porch.
Music infested bones.

Mind
Lyrics chilling and haunting and full of bravado and triumph, truth and lore...
A flourish of the finger executed perfectly after years of time-wearied concentration.

Soul
That wailing, unholy beauty. The painful drive. Singin always singin [whether there are feathers and angels in your voice, or a dirty barrel full of gravel spilling and grinding into the ground].

Yes, that is the blues.

The Story of a Million Faces

I've surrendered.

I've surrendered the to fact that I won't surrender; that no matter how futile, how inane & abysmal it gets, that no matter of fucking foolish & delusional & absurd... I can't surrender. I'll fucking love you.

It is fucking absurd. It's the most ruthlessly laughable tragicomedy you'll ever hear of. Heartbreak.
I applaud you, Almighty, that was a truly magnificent one. Really beautifully executed. Touching, really. Did you see how skillfully the dramatic irony was employed? She really believed him! She really did! She thought love would last forever!

Obdurate, blind, tragic.

I haven't been able to eat a full meal in days.

I'm alone.

& yet, I know I'm not alone. I know I'm no different; as insignificant as every other motherfucker out there who fell prey to those goddamned inescapable human tendencies, to the inevitable & doomed human drama, to [yes, yes, you guessed it] L-O-V-E. Blessed with the natural capacity for it.
This is insanity, my god.
My pain is the human story that has unfolded over&over&over for millennia, told & untold, remembered & lost, the story of a million faces. Beaten weary by the hand of time.
& it still reaches fresh, unfathomable depths, it still is the biggest. thing. in. the. world.

& it is incommunicable.


Is it denial if you know you're wrong? Wrong & defected & hopeless?
Is it denial if you can say "I'm in denial"?


& it will hang over me, the irrational hope. The years will go by, & I will live in triumphant dreams, find respite in the false oblivion, breathe the slaphappy delusions, until I will breathe no more.

Depravity, the Great Equalizer

I was calling it an ineffable sadness, but I heard that it was called "poetic despair."
...Depressive slump works, too.
They descend erratically, the spells, like a staggering drunk, completely unstable and untrustworthy. And completely sickening. If his fix is alcohol, mine apparently is dauntless, zealous, unmitigated self-sabotage. Makes your head swoon and reel. [But it's more fun to participate in the pain than to let it slap you around!]

And then it lifts, remarkably, miraculously, and unreasonably. And I am painfully aware that I am at the mercy of the same cosmic force that governs every single other member of humanity, alike. No different.

"Pain is worn so beautifully on other people."
Oh, if only we were all other people. Then wouldn't we be such glamourouslittlebabydolls.

Poetic despair. It must have been said about other people. I think mine has something to do with my misanthropy. My disgust at Valentine's day, at weapons of mass destruction, at Christians oozing with self-righteousness, and above all else, at this sexual, alcoholic, drug-binging, hedonistic nihilism that neither class, nor location, nor time does escape.

Depravity, The Great Equalizer.

"Before you accuse me, take a look at yourself"