Attempt #2

 ... at describing my morning! Not at taking my life! Ha ha ha ha ha! Did I scare you there! Well, don't be such a chicken shit next time!

Lucky (or unlucky?) for me, I am definitely a chicken shit once again so... Nothing news-worthy is going to happen around here.

Let me try to recall that morning: I washed some of the last few dishes from Turkey Fest. Most were done the night before. Took my meds. Went for my walk. Had a coffee which is VERY important!

Now that love is out of my life (had to put it on injury reserve) and I cannot afford a proper addiction to take it's place, I have had to promote coffee from the practice squad to first string. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I gave a generous portion of fishy niblets to Ginger (Kevin) Ferraro and a large milkbone to Moose. He had the Mama translator in tow that morning; not the Papa, and he gave her no choice. Just pulled her to me and drooled all over my coat while I fished out a biscuit. Then he wanted to eat the garlic bread with cheese that I was eating for breakfast but I did not relent. Mama finally dragged him away.

I thought about my family who are boycotting me, trying to force me to do what they think I should. Their ideas are incorrect. My fear is not that they won't relent. My fear is that I won't forgive them. I have dear friends and uncles and aunts who are too medically unstable and either that's why they don't see me anymore or that's the excuse. Maybe I'm just intolerable and don't know it! And then there's Aqualad who is just too busy for me and the Eloquent Potter who lives far off in the Big Smoke and has no car.

All the people I love are not available to me except online and I would rather die than go on pretend-living online. Fuck online. Fuck it.

[he says on his blog.] 

I am empty empty empty empty inside. I now understand why people have addictions I think. Everyone needs to need something. The delusion of identity I suppose. And when it's not people, it has to be things. I can't afford drugs or alcohol or gambling which all sound great. Sex is certainly out of the question.

Empty empty empty empty empty.

Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do.

A failed attempt at describing my morning

Last night Eugenius cooked a turkey dinner for the four of us plus his mysterious quiet houseguest who is here on day 3 of the visit. It's against the rules but I don't care. Even though it means twice the filthy disgusting cigarette smoke that escapes his bedroom window and drifts in through mine; some of it... I still don't care.

Oh I fucking hate the smoke though. I'd say it's a matter of the purest insanity that cigarettes are legal but of course sanity has absolutely nothing to do with politics whatsoever. The bottom-feeding demon spawn which occupy 99% of the elected government make every decision based on the long-term will of their masters (including when they appear not to), including those deranged filthy near-human excrement masters who manufacture tobacco weapons at deliriously evil profit. How nice for them that most of us slaves are so pathetically distracted and deluded and ignorant as to cast votes for their wretched red and blue minions.

To think I was once enlightened enough to love the peoples of this society and to pity us all rather than to slip periodically into the most vile of contempt for we and our overwhelming lunacy.

Well, this isn't going as anticipated! I meant to brag about how delicious and juicy and tender the turkey was, except for the neck. He served me the fucking neck which I found unsettling and unenjoyable but the rest was exquisite and the carrots were perfect and the mashed potatoes were quite possibly the BEST I ever have had! They were deeply saturated in the turkey stock; boiled in the same pan, and generously dosed with garlic and like-boiled onions!

Friggin delicious.

The facts of life

Fact #1: Everybody poops.

Fact #2: Everybody dies.

Fact #3: Everybody poops when they die.

Fact #4: Fact #3 might not be a fact. It's actually just something I've heard.

I mean - I understand the physiology. But what if someone pooped, like normally, and wiped and everything, and then seventeen seconds later they died. Would they still poop again? Would they poop just a tiny tiny tiny bit? I suppose we could arrange an experiment around this but really, I'm not that eager to solve this riddle. Fuck it. Let's not give it another thought.

Fact #5: I have a hole in my heart the size of Tokyo and I cannot imagine still being alive when Christmas rolls around. I would very very very very very very very very much like to please cancel Christmas this year.

Okay. That's not likely to happen. Fine. Well... just know that if it kills me, the turd that I leave behind was not intended a holiday gift to you all and in no way reflects my feelings toward your character or your performance as a supposedly human being - or bona fide human being if you're one of the special few! And hey, if you're reading this blog, you probably are!

 

Warning: not for sensitive viewers

The following video contains disturbing macabre violence. You may wish to look away.

Man being slowly consumed by alien monster poorly disguised as a mustache:

These are the creatures in your neighborhood...

Neighborhood update!

Skittles MacBeth has finally come around again after a lengthy absence and was just as skittish as ever.

When I dropped a second helping of fishy kibblets between us, it spooked her and she ducked under the nearest parked car where she remained until I packed it in for the day, before popping back out for a gobble.

My new young friend Moose has come by on two consecutive mornings now but with two different human translators in tow.

The other youngster, kitten, Ginger Ferrero; it turns out he goes by "Kevin" at home. Ginger Kevin Ferraro is his full name it would seem.

Here's a special message from Ben Stiller:

The engoodening of the lords

So I posted something recently that might possibly have hinted that my landlord company might be... less than stellar. I believe I may have referred to them as "real life slum lords" or something subtle like that.

Well... they got back from vacation and by the next day they'd fixed the main entrance door and the bathroom light fixture. So... let's give them a little more probation before throwing them to the wolves. Let's see if they can keep up the good work.

The Art of Being Human

Once upon a time I went to school

and did what I was told

and I learned a lot

I learned about teachers

I learned about students

I learned about schools

And I heard about a whole lot of other things

Some even seemed interesting

Some might even have been true

Outside we played sports

Inside we played boring games with numbers

Year after year I remained a prisoner

played sports

played boring games with numbers

learned about teachers and

students and schools

and did what I was told

and accepted the friendship

of all those who decided to be my friend

Going along with everything as it came to me

With all my childhood curiosity driven out

of me by my wardens

I waited waited waited

for adulthood to come along and take me away

But then Disaster Number One

or rather the Great Disaster as it was then known

We didn't know there'd be a number two

I fell

in love

And the whole world became cruel

and none of it made sense any more

I said enough is enough

I'm getting the hell

outa here

I seized adulthood

and was dragged away with it

As an adult drag-along

I did what I was told

I took the friends and lovers and jobs and promotions

which were offered me

I played the sports

But no more boring god damned games with numbers

I made a commitment

I bought a house

I found I was respected, sometimes even admired

For my ability

to go though the motions

And then Disaster Number Two

Or so I thought

I was doubly rejected.

Paid handsomely to go away

So I did the very best thing

any 31 year old could ever do

I started life all over again

Thanks to being forced into it

A bread and butter friend said to me, But Rich, 

You need to have faith in something!

So I wrote my first poem called

But I have faith

A poem about my family, friends, myself

and the expectation that the sun

will rise again tomorrow; the promise

of a new day

Thus I had discovered the blank page

and so I wrote some more

and better still, I stared at the blank page

and curiosity was born in me again

I wrote and I stared and I asked questions

and courage was born in me for the first time

I asked the biggest questions

I asked the most dangerous questions

And the horror, the horror

I discovered the possibilities

were dire, and that I

knew nothing

Except:

That thanks to some thousand or more hours

of boring games with numbers

I did know how to leave a tip

without asking my phone

So there's that

Life became an experiment

I researched, I explored, I adventured, I said YES!

I reflected, I contemplated, I searched the blank page

And truth began, ever so slowly to accrete

Distilled in my laboratory of the mind

My lab tools were the page

and the guitar and keyboard

creative models worked just like

scientific models; they isolated reality

My discoveries were solid:

The omnipotence of causality

the matrix of illusions

human duality

Illusions were dispersing

and with them superstitions

and with them fears

In came perspective, freedom

pathways to enlightenment

and the natural inevitable joy

of being human, no longer shielded from me

by the unnatural machinations of society

I seemed strange to my bread and butter friends

They warned me of liabilities, blind as they were

to opportunity

But I was choosing new friends. I spied the finest people

and I made myself the friend

I was confident and grabbing life, not waiting for it to happen

And I discovered the purpose in life: it is to design your own purpose

My own was easy and obvious: To champion harmony, over chaos

My friend Dr Lock summed up his own spiritual life in two sentences:

I was created

I create

A woman of mixed ethnicity who wore it on her face was asked

What are you?

She said I am a New Day Rising

I knew at once: Me too! That's exactly what we ALL are; we humans

We're the Cosmos' greatest potential! Most of us seem not to know it

But she knows it, and I know it, and I say: 

New Day Rising; that is my name now!

Now,

as I physically decline, perhaps only temporarily

I cannot do so much so fast

But I am well prepared to bear the siege

Some days I remember my lessons

Some days I remember my purpose

Some days I remember that I am a new day rising

I am learning how to accept help from others:

other champions of harmony

But to quote the eloquent composers Cummerford,

de la Rocha, Morello and Wilk:

Fuck you I won't do what you tell me.

Response from Tubi

Hi New,
 
We're always looking for ways to improve our product and offer the best possible user experience. While we can't guarantee that we'll be able to implement this particular feature, we'll certainly take your request into consideration as we continue to evaluate and update Tubi.
 
In the meantime, if you have any further questions or comments, please don't hesitate to reach out to us.
 
Best regards,

Alex

Tubi Support 

I have a feeling Alex looks something like this:

Request ticket submitted to Tubi

Submitted this ticket today. I'll be sure to post their reply, if they bother. 

Please create the functionality to disable the auto-play feature so that we have the option to not be treated like complete and utter morons.

Or better yet, get rid of the auto-play feature. It is no less idiotic than an airline which auto-departs you on the next available plane to an algorithmically-appointed destination if you fail to flee from the fucking terminal within three seconds of your arrival. It's a bloody disgrace. Have some respect for humanity, you snivelling ghouls. 

Other than that I love the site and the service. Top notch quality and reliability and stunning selection! Keep up the amazing work! Thank you!

Two new friends this morning!

Seems Saturday mornings might be the target now for the Friend Recruitment Program...

The first was Karma; an old gal, out for a stroll with master Bill. She took the biscuit upon first offer but with a very serious expression, then ingested it efficiently. I was rather bold in placing the back of my hand up to her nose and she didn't move but gave me just a hint of growl. Bill disapproved at once.

"Oh that's okay," I said, speaking to Karma. "You just want me to know you're on duty. I get it. You can't be bribed. I get it." Bill and I introduced ourselves and talked about the neighborhood and finally Karma inched over and sniffed the rocket pocket where I'd returned the Milk Bone box.

"No no. Nice try," said Bill, drawing her away. But not before I snuck a hand in and scratched her behind the ears which was fine with her. She'd obviously pulled a few strings and expedited the probation period.

Raven is a standard poodle puppy with dark fur, out with her two young lady friends. I think they're an all-girl family. Raven was not at all shy upon receiving my offer and being led across the street to me. She seemed to consider leaping onto my lap as I brandished the cookie. Friends immediately! She was too excited to eat it at once, or to deliver it home without dropping it accidentally onto the street. Mama scooped it up. "We'll give it back to you when we get home!"

Success! Suddenly my dog roster has caught and surpassed the cat roster.

Wait, did I say rocket pocket? I think I meant walker pocket.

Actually I think we'll stick with rocket, come to think about it. Rockets and walkers are virtually the same thing, right? Just vehicles for extending a person's... reach.

Not to be confused with the Pocket Rocket:

Henri Richard; little bro of Maurice "Rocket" Richard

Boring update. Do not read!

Well aren't you the curious one!

Okay. What's new:

1. I'm at the pub where I go on the first Friday of each month in order to write, work on the Dungeons & Dragons hosting business and snort a couple 18 ounce glasses of Friday-Special domestic draft beer for only four dollars a glass! Other than this I'm pretty much in bed every day.

2. I'm still getting my wound dressing changed by a visiting nurse every day. I've had this thing about seven months now and they keep telling me it's getting better and better. So yeah. This item is not actually new at all.

What's new/current (to be more precise):

3. Getting PSW assistance three times a week for hygiene purposes.

4. Getting outside every morning for a wee walk and some rehab exercises, kitty-cat feeding and work on the crossword puzzle creation. I kick out four or five new (newspaper quality) puzzles per week just from my brief daily sidewalk sojourns. I really should publish a collection soon.

5. Some of the crosswords are being diverted to another publishing project. A sort of daily almanac I'm throwing together largely because it's a no-brainer; the content is all stuff that I naturally assemble on a daily basis because of my own keen interests as a researcher and archivist. Here's the material: daily holiday/special observances notes; This day in history; tip, quote, word and song of the day; poem, film and vegetable (not exactly what you're imagining probably!) of the week; daily, weekly and monthly challenges; a daily puzzle (usually crosswords) and a weekly monologue. I may end up cutting a thing or two. We'll see. It's largely all tied together thematically. The thrust of it all is... here's a bunch of nudges as to how you can live life a little better perhaps! I will be releasing a 2024 first-quarter volume (Jan-March) this December! It's too much material to stuff a whole year into one book.

6. I've been writing short stories of late and between that and the "almanac" or maybe "lolmanac" I realized yesterday, on the second day of National Novel Writing Month that I might as well participate. It just won't be a novel.

Well... I think that's enough for now. I'm on my fourth four-dollar swill (more than I intended) and being so out of practice, drinking-wise, I'm feeling a little buzzy!

Later, 'gators.

Wow! Real life slum lords!

Here's the shit hole I currently call home. Now that all four rooms are rented (plus the other three or four in the front-of house unit and the money is pouring into the management company's pockets there's no need to impress anyone by... you know... maintaining the place.

The screens are detached from most of the windows. I have vines breaking through my own tiny window threatening some sort of Little Shop of Horrors scenario. Cupboard doors are falling off their hinges. Most doors are falling apart. The bathroom door can't be shut or you'll be trapped inside. There is also no working light fixture in the bathroom. The main entrance door is such a wreck it can no longer be opened.

We have mice and even RATS among our thrilling Pest Menagerie. The exterior is surrounded by garbage and debris. The Google shot above must have been taken quite a while ago. This management company consists of three family members. Here's a shot of their office:

Here's a shot of their personal home. I'm wagering they have lights in their bathrooms:

And here is why we cannot reach ANY of them:

They're all on extended vacation in luxurious Fiji.