Beyonce

I, of course, don't care for pop culture stars in general, but Beyonce never did it for me. No offense to black people, but there is something too "Southern-Fried" about her. I find her greasy. I am certain her pussy tastes like pigs feet. She probably would never allow a man to eat her pussy: "Un-unh! I ain't in to that freaky shit!" Why are too many chocolate-colored people so damn VANILLA when it comes to sex? They have the equipment and they're good using it, but that's it.

During good missionary, Beyonce probably calls the pathetically untalented Jay-Z all sorts of Southern pet names: "Come on, watermelon! Come on, collard green! Take that pussy, ham hock! Come on, cornbread!"

So this sexually conservative "Southern-Friedness" is why I am one of the few white males to have never had Jungle Fever for Beyonce. Not only that but her music is irritating.

She has perfected the "broken record" style. Each one of her songs sounds like a broken record, but none are as irritating and repetitive as the "If you like it then you should have put a ring on it". That song is not only irritating and repetitive but it is unimaginative: "If he liked it then he should have put a ring on it"? What if he just wanted to fuck you and forget about you, cunt? The lyrics SHOULD be: "If he liked it then we should now engage in bisexual orgies with friends, neighbors, and co-workers." That's a better lyric.

Beyonce should reinvent herself. The first thing she should do is get a tattoo on her forehead that says "Eat-Sleep-Fuck-Kill". Then she should imitate the stage antics of notorious punk rocker G.G. Allin. Imagine a naked Beyonce mutilating herself on stage with a rusty razorblade before shitting in her hands and throwing it at her audience. G.G. Allin used to do stuff like that all the time. He was also more talented than Beyonce, so perhaps she should cover some of his songs, such as: "I Wanna Rape You", "I Wanna Piss on You", "I Wanna Shit on You", "I Wanna Kill You", "I Hate People", "Eat Fuck and Die" and his most famous song: "Scumfuck".

Beyonce would be doing herself a favor by covering any of those songs. Each one is better and less repetitive than "If he liked it than he should have put a ring on it."

Just imagine a nude, mutilated Beyonce cursing, spitting, bleeding, fighting, fucking, and shitting on stage - just like G.G. Allin.

Now I would pay money to see that.

Magick and Money

The other night I was walking on the boardwalk and I overheard two rather youngish - late 20s, about my age - black women talking. The one woman said to the other: "Money - MONEY - is what makes the world go round. Period, point blank. That's all there is to it." The other one nodded her head in agreement.

The two philosophers.

Isn't it a shame to see people of my generation - still young, still viable - just so badly deluded?

Oh, yes, we need money to survive, of course, and that is why money is important. Yes, money is important!!! No one can deny that. It is important for FOOD, SHELTER, and an OCCASIONAL LUXURY. And that is IT!!!!! Period, point blank. In the words of Robert Anton Wilson, money is a bio-survival ticket. In our fearful society whoever stacks the most bio-survival tickets is considered the winner. Like a rat if we do what we are told we are provided with bio-survival tickets. If we go through the maze the way the architects of the scheme want us to go through the maze!

AND THIS IS OKAY!!! There is no dishonor in doing what must be done to SURVIVE - and even to SUCCEED!!! There is no harm or dishonor in this.

However, there is something wrong with losing perspective and seeing such a small part of the picture.

This is where magick comes in. People hear "magick" and they think of wizards in robes looking into crystal balls and shooting lightning bolts from a wand. This is NOT what magick is. Magick is many things - it is life itself. Beyond the dogma of various magickal traditions magick is a journey through the astral plane.

The astral plane is infinite and infinitely varied, but at first it does not seem as exotic as it is. It is where we often go when we dream. And, yes, it is both glorious and dangerous, a place where your wildest dreams and worst nightmares may come true. This is why it is very important to prepare - and prepare thoroughly - before becoming too deeply involved in magick.

But the best thing about the astral plane is that it seems to me as if money means NOTHING there! Entering the astral plane takes real WORK.

And me? I am still an IGNORANT KID. I, right now, am in the process of deconditioning myself. Like Socrates I at least know that I know nothing. By deconditioning myself I am on the road to becoming RADIANTLY SANE. Though, of course, I will appear INSANE to this INSANE society.

Conspiracies don't take place in dank basements. They are right in front of your face, every time you stand in the checkout aisle and read about "Jon and Kate."

Magick in the end, for me, is learning how to live, love, and feel again while being myself.

I want to start exploring again, but this time I am aware of the highs and lows, the comforts and the dangers, the joy and the anguishes of knowing how things REALLY work.

I want to read Julius Evola, but he is hard to find. I'll have to check out some occult bookstores in New York. I'll keep ya' posted!

As I finished my walk on the boardwalk the two philosophers walked toward me, still stuck. As stuck as ever.

X: The Blog

I've been reading "The Autobiography of Malcolm X" because sometimes I like to pretend I am in college. I'm almost halfway through it. It's not Kant, Hegel, Nietzsche, or Heidegger. Malcolm X has a very shallow intellect at best.

I'm actually reading it because I was a huge fan of "X: The Movie". I've always contended that Spike Lee is a genius (and, yes, he is - I'm a huge Spike fan). This is confirmed by "X". Spike Lee managed to make it look like Malcolm had actually had a rough life!!!

In reality Malcolm X had known only a very, very charmed life. From the moment he was born he was spoiled with love, affection, attention, kindness, and caring from family and friends. He was spoiled with love and kindness from friends and strangers both black and white. In the 7th Grade he was on the honor roll and he was elected class president in an all-white school. And he was more sexually precocious at 13 than I was at 19!

At the age of 16 he moved in with his wealthy older sister in Boston. Though his sister was happy to financially support him indefinitely he found a job at a dance hall and soon found himself in a cool, reefer-smoking jazz crowd of cool hepcats. He hung out with hepcats all day and all night and dated the most beautiful white woman in Boston. Rough life for a 16 year old, huh?

Now let's look at what I was doing at 16: At 16 I was completely impotent from Prozac. I was sleeping 16 hours a day. I had trouble feeling the slightest emotion of any kind.

At the age of 17 Malcolm X was living in Harlem, hanging out with the greatest jazz musicians to have ever lived and sleeping with literally hundreds of the most beautiful white and black women in New York City.

Let's look at what I was doing at 17: At 17 years of age I was still a stone virgin. I was in the midst of a very severe Prozac-induced depression. I had very few friends and I spent my days and nights weeping for a girl who had left me for a black guy, though I probably would have been sexually superior to this black guy. My skin worked against me.

Malcolm X's wild life, of course, did lead to a prison term (I'm not up to that point in the book yet) but if you want to stay out of prison stick to one simple rule of thumb: DON'T BREAK THE LAW! He could have worked as a humble porter and still have bedded half the women in Harlem.

After prison Malcolm X became a spokesman for the supposedly disadvantaged. Malcolm X's only disadvantage was that everything had come to him way too easily. So easily that he didn't appreciate it. Everything that matters - women, family, friends, nightlife - had come to him without effort on his part. I, on the other hand, had to work hard and fight for everything I have ever had.

White people were better to X than they have ever been to me.

The only reason Malcolm X hated white people was because he was a bully by nature (some people are just born that way) and like most bullies he enjoyed picking on the weak and disadvantaged, which is why he picked on white people.

My envy of him would be enormous if he had not been a total ingrate and sold out true religion (sex, drugs, and Rock N' Roll) for a false religion like Islam.

In a way he was like St. Augustine or St. Augustine Jr. (St Augustine Jr. is this guy I once met, this penis-headed douchefuck ex-football player and porn star who had found Crust - I mean Christ.) To me people like him and Malcolm X are nothing more than simple ingrates to Satan.

But at the same time Malcolm X's religion and activism was probably a con, a con he ran even on himself to keep himself from fucking up again. Yes, he was a con and if there is one thing I have learned from the streets it is this: Once a con, always a con.

Pondering Resentment and Revenge

1.

Heidegger was right: It takes at least a good ten years to fully understand Nietzsche.

Today I will focus on Nietzsche's concept of Resentment and Revenge. For me, my own Resentment and Revenge has turned my life into an Obsessive-Compulsive living Hell. In this case Resentment and Revenge (R&R) is not what you may first think.

2.

Of course, I do suffer from the popular concept of R&R as well.

For example today I was reading Metro New York. Some yuppie douchebag wrote a 500-word column on the cartoon labels on wine bottles. Being itself has been neglected for so long and the human race is in such a bad way that I can barely refer to them as even human anymore and some pussywhipped yuppie prickface wants to take up the space that is RIGHTFULLY MINE with stories of wine and cheese (and not even good ones at that.)

When I read such worthless, meaningless drivel I feel what most people would consider to be a feeling of R&R, the bitterness over a past grievance and the wishing of revenge upon those who have served me a gross injustice.

But my feelings toward the latte-sipping yuppie wimps who have trashed MY newspaper (spiritually I own it) is just the first and the most densely obvious shade of R&R, the first stop on the express train to purely metaphysical and outright ontological R&R.

3.

Yesterday I was blissfully happy (being with a certain person helped.) I was so happy that I was miserable over not being able to stop or at least slow time. I watched Clint Eastwood's "Grand Torino" and I was sublimely happy and despairingly miserable at the same time. I wished I could have watched a 24-hour version of "Grand Torino" (though that time too would have eventually passed away.) Or maybe I would have liked to have split myself into many selves and one of my selves could watch "Grand Torino" for eternity.

I've come to hate the forward march of time, but what can I do to stop it? Yes, Nietzsche was right. Metaphysical R&R is pure disgust too, but it seems impossible not to have such disgust because reality is just structured a certain way.

4.

Is it possible that once you're as wise as Nietzsche it's impossible to do anything but Will into the future?

5.

The worst Revenge is keeping a scorecard. I think storing up treasures in the "Jouissance Warehouse" may be a product of consumer conditioning. I, personally, am prepared to put a label and a price-tag on everyone and everything. This is why I react so violently by being such an anti-consumer. And - Godammit - I want to get PAID for being an anti-consumer.

6.

See, I have been frozen in concrete. I need to "loosen up". Because I'm so tight it has been difficult for me to feel anything. Pleasure now is too often the feeling of being drained of raw sewage. Or of having my ear drained of a pus-oozing infection. Painful and "oh-so-delicious" at the same time. I have to be attached without focusing on being attached.

I mowed the lawn today and I accidentally spilled gasoline on my sweatpants. Panic! What if the gas hurts me penis? I went upstairs and showered for an hour. I'm not cut out for suburban life. Thank goodness I do not live in a McMansion neighborhood. I know it is a stereotype, but yes, the white bourgeois are downright homicidal when it comes to lawn care. They are all worried about their PROPERTY VALUES!!! (Don't worry I'll stop bashing the white bourgeois soon enough. Why? Because bashing that particular group is so old hat!)

What I don't understand is this: why should a neighbor's messy lawn affect SOMEONE ELSE'S property values? As long as THEIR lawn is not messy why should any buyer or broker care about the neighbor's lawn? People don't know how to mind their own business. Imagine if I lived in a McMansion neighborhood! Imagine if I went a week without mowing my lawn as I sometimes do now! I would be hanged. But why? Property values? Why would they attack me and not the system that determines a property's value? Why attack me and not the irrational system?

This is just a small part of my general inversion of everything, of all values that are held sacred or taken for granted. Why doesn't anyone else ever think about this stuff?

Summer Happiness

Summer is finally here and, well, lately I have been so much happier. I've thrown everything and the kitchen sink at my depression and it seems to be working. Now I must remained disciplined. No smokes, drugs, alcohol. I must eat good, healthy, natural food and exercise every single day. I must masturbate at least four times a day (since my depression has lifted I can once again easily do 6 or 7 times a day, every day of the week.) I'm still not 100%, but at least now there is hope that I will someday soon be 100%.

Often, at night, I feel so deliriously happy that I panic when I think about death. I mean, what more do I need? My weekend begins on Monday. I'll stay up late (but not too late - I don't want to stand up the aliens), drink Gingko Biloba tea (which should be classified as a psychotropic drug - it brings me back to the best emotional states I have ever known), and watch my double-VHS tapes of midwestern tornado footage. Sometimes I'll watch "Rambo", "Point Break", "Mannequin", or some other great film from the 80s/early 90s.

It feels great to be comfortable in my own skin and the only thorn in my happiness is that I will have to one day die. I try to push it out and tell myself "Well, not for a long time" but I just can't shake the thought.

On a hot, summer night, cool Air-Conditioning cooling my jog-induced sunburn I am so happy that I want to live forever.

Am I a Humanist?

I guess what I was really trying to say is this: People hate Bernie Madoff because when they look at him they see themselves.

If I had written just that I would have made my point 110% and saved the printers a lot of ink, but I want to waste ink. I'm entitled to waste some damn ink. I've earned it.

I even think Stanley Crouch was responding to my letter today in his syndicated column. I think he noticed that I was "inverting". Up is Down and Down is Up. Perspectivism. It's easy to throw out anyone's problem or grievance with inversion. But isn't it really just questioning things? Aren't criminals and lunatics better than the average person? Hell yes! The average person is the worst criminal and lunatic of all. Hitler was far from average but average people were the ones who loaded the ovens.

I invert because inversion now makes sense. Because everything has been inverted to create hate and mediocrity I have to "reinvert" in an attempt to strive for love and spectacularness.

Another thing I was thinking today: LAZINESS IS HARD WORK. Not only that, but nowadays laziness is a duty. Laziness is a revolutionary act. There's nothing "proud" about being a good citizen. There's only pride in being someone like me. Boy, does that sound biased!

Anywho, I have to look at all the GOOD in the world. After all, I did have an excellent jog today. Boy, did it feel good! All the pretty girls were on my way up - when I was too out of breath to focus! And then when I could stroll back - at my leisure - the girls had all disappeared and there were nothing but kids and old ladies! Just my luck!

I stood at the end of the pier and looked out over the beach. 'Twas low-tide. Children were playing in a little gully. Imagine how fetid the gully must have been - all those little kids pissing in there. No wonder we all like playing in such gullies. We crawled out of those gullies billions of years ago, right? Why is it always suppressed when a baby is occasionally born with gills, fins, webbed feet and tails?

Do all of those pretty girls on the boardwalk know how "fishy" they are - literally! If only they could see what they once were - slimy toad-like slugs writhing onto dry land. That image would shatter their shallow complacency!

THIS IS ONE OF THE REASONS WHY WE ARE SO ATTRACTED TO THE OCEAN. We like to be reminded of our own mortality. At least I do. It makes life more romantic.

I look out over the thousands and thousands of people on the beach and I am genuinely happy. I am listening to the ocean and really enjoying the moment, but I still think: "I'm not one of these people. I'm an alien. I don't understand them and they will never understand me. I'm so much more warm and sensitive than them and at the same time I am so much colder and prickly."

I'm ready for the next step in evolution: Complete and total self-interest and devotion to one's own life and work. The achievement of all necessary social goals and tasks with no coercion. The celebration of love, pleasure, and sexuality outside of all traditional limits.

I'm upset with them because they are slow and immature and I am made to feel like I am obligated to clean up for them!

But see, I'm struggling. I'm trying so hard to get over the hate. I don't want my writing to become a never-ending scourge on people's backs. I want to write about the LOVE.

Could you imagine if everyone was as intelligent as me?

But then where would be the challenge? And we all need a challenge in life. But Geez Louise! There's just so much (religion, politics, money, economics, morality, technology, the culture, the media, public education, small minds, low IQs - and a thousand other things!) holding us back from being all that we can be.

Am I a humanist?