Loneliness and Isolation

The two biggest curses in my life have always been loneliness and isolation. Sometimes my life feels perverse, like I was a beauty who was locked in an attic for years, her angelic looks withering away by the day! That's a nightmare. I think of Hobie.

Hobie was my cousins' dog. He was a small white dog, a Westminster terrier. However, my cousins were not good pet owners. Hobie spent most of his life in the laundry room. Westminsters have long lives. They live almost as long as cats.

Hobie was neglected his entire life. A heartbreaking story. When Hobie was five years old he had been neglected for five years. But he wasn't bitter. All he wanted to do was play. He seemed to say: "Forget about the last five years! It's not too late! It's not too late!"

I seem to be saying the same thing. "Forget about the last 28 years! It's not too late! It's not too late." But what bothers me is that each BAD day that passes is one more day that brings me closer to "too late". 'Cause I ain't gettin' no younger neither!

Nothing is worse than loneliness and isolation combined with inactivity. All the ghosts, all the shadows come out to play. There's nothing worse than the clammy sweat of cabin fever. There's nothing worse than insomnia and malaise. Now that I've quit drinking I have one less short-term aid.

But things could get worse. I do have friends - the best friends in the world - but I just happen to be terribly isolated from them. I don't have much of a family, but my friends make up for my family.

I crave ATTENTION! I crave HUMAN LOVE! I crave friends, family, belonging. The only reason I constantly express so much hatred toward the dullards is that they find it so easy to attain what I most want: friends, family, love, companionship, healthful activity with others.

I need to live - and live constantly - NOW! Before it really is too late. It's bad enough that I've wasted so many years. I just don't want to waste anymore. I'm like Hobie.

I have so many qualities. I'm talented, intelligent, good-looking. If I could just get past the isolation - the WORST poison and poverty of all - I could have EVERYTHING!

The Christian Comedian

I was going on my daily walk down Ocean Grove boardwalk (yes, my life is mostly made up of gentle old man routines - am I in some kind of rush to be a benevolent old man?) when I walked past the Christian queer-hating pavilion. Dyke couples always want to marry in the pavilion but the Methodist church owns the joint and God Hates Fags!

Ocean Grove is still a dry town. It was founded by prim and proper Methodists. In the summer they still have large Christian conferences, the town is swamped by Christians living in temperature-controlled tent cities.

On this day a Christian comedian, I believe his name was Tim Brennan, was performing in the pavilion. What was odd was that he was basically doing a Christian version of Rodney Dangerfield.

He started off, in a Rodney Dangerfield voice: "Oh, boy! I'm tellin' ya! I get no respect! I went to my podiatrist and he told me he hasn't seen so much corn since he was a kid growing up in Nebraska! I get no respect!"

I wanted to tell my friend Todd Montesi - a comedy veteran - about this. He would have had a good laugh.

But I like guys like Tim Brennan because they are paradoxically creepy and comfortable. Watching him made me want to go back to Ocean City, New Jersey when I was 13 years old. I was in the middle of puberty, wanted nothing more than to have sex with all the hot girls in my class and our aunt took us to see a Christian mime show on the Ocean City boardwalk. Why? I don't know. We were all Catholics and none of us were that Christian. After the show the adults drove home and my cousins and I made fun of the show the whole way. So at least this guy brought me back to the smell of salt, boards, and saltwater taffy. Not to mention a mental snapshot of Lucy the Elephant.

I live and let live. But could you imagine if Tim Brennan fucked with me comedically? Could you just imagine what someone like me - or Todd or whoever - would do to him in a roast or a comedy duel? How easy it would be, like sporting on an injured, crippled deer?

See, what gives one strength is NOT the Lord Jesus Christ. What gives one strength is a lack of limits. I am an eternal, boundless, limitless being. Paradoxically I am also contained (while being uncontained) and individual. I am flexible, adaptable. I follow the comedy Tao. Anything that comes to me is just absorbed, digested, transfigured, or rejected. It's impossible to hurt me. I am like water.

Once you accept just ONE very narrow, dogmatic, short-sighted philosophy (like Christianity) you have no room to stretch, to step out of the bounds, to experiment, to be funny. And then you end up on the Ocean Grove boardwalk doing a routine for half-deaf old ladies while other comics are snorting coke and having orgies (well, a small number of them anyways.)

But we need Tim Brennans. I have nothing against him. Honestly I thought he was pretty funny! But could you imagine if he said to one of the old ladies: "Corn! Nebraska! I want to shove corn up some pussy! Let me shove it up my fucking ass!"

Imagine that. I know I did.

WWJT

Racism is over, of course. Every day I see large, multicultural groups of punk kids united in ignorance, conformity, and consumerism. What would Julius Evola (the Radical Traditionalist) think? All I can hope is that those kids will be easy prey for future dictators, fodder for the future rulers so ruthless that Adolf Hitler - of all people - was terrified by their cruelty.

But let's be optimistic. The meek, and we - the spiritual aristocrats - are the meek, shall inherit the earth. Hopefully the future will be a boot on their necks.

But I have to look at how much of what I have just written has been motivated by Resentment and Revenge and let it go. Let it all go. They're waste. And like waste all I have to do is excrete them.

Everything I Do is Brand New, three on contemporary American life

1.

Yesterday I was on the boardwalk and there was a gang of young, black kids, a bunch of skinny, wannabe knuckleheads and posturing wannabe thugs, the usual crowd. They were being loud and rowdy and warming up for an abusive-fest. Black kids love to indulge in "Abuse-Fests" where they go around abusing innocent people for no reason. These damned kids don't have enough to do! They should be in school 10 hours a day, 6 days a week, all year long. Skateboards should be made illegal.

Anyway, one of the skinny morons was rapping: "Everything I do is brand new..."

Wrong! Wrongo! NOTHING you do is brand new. NOTHING. You're as old hat as anything that happened in Rome. What you think is "brand new" existed thousands of years ago.

You don't believe me? Read Juvenal. Juvenal writes about living in the outskirts (the ghetto areas) of Rome. He writes of young knuckleheads with gold chains and gold teeth hanging outside corner bodegas. Sound familiar? Nothing changes. In this case, not even the clothes.

Or read Terrence. Terrence, in his time, was a black rapper. Yes, Terrence was a black man in Ancient Rome and he wrote plays about pimps, hos, hustlers, and street life. His characters spoke in a vulgar, slangish Latin that was much like the ebonics of today.

So no, nothing about you is new. You suck conformity out of a straw, you fraud! And you don't even know you're a fraud. Your ego is too big (for no good reason) and your brain is too small!

2.

Now on to the Herd Animals at these Town Hall meetings. What are these Herd Animals stampeding about? What are they so upset about? Talk of health care - when it doesn't confuse the living hell out of me - usually puts me to sleep. I don't know what the hell is going on! I'll admit my ignorance! But I must say that I am usually against whatever the Herd Animals are for and vice versa, of course. And I can tell just by looking at their pictures in the paper that they are Herd Animals.

3.

According to the Daily News, 57% of women would prefer an extra $50 a week over sex. Why are many (but not all) women so hateful? My heterosexuality is hanging by a thread. I could at least use an understanding shemale.

Money is that damned important? These women should be branded on the forehead with an "H" for "Hateful". Anyone who would choose $50 over sex is a hateful piece of work.

But that's our society. Everything is money. And what good is it? Money is good for one thing and one thing only: basic survival and one or two material luxuries. Past that it's good for nothing. Yes, the cliche is true: the best things in life are free - like sex and friendship.

A Quick Piece on Anti-Depressants

According to the Associated Press, 10% of Americans now use anti-depressants. As both a victim and a survivor of psychiatry and anti-depressant drugs I cannot understand why so many people are willing to gamble with their most important organ and commodity: their brains. Brains are obviously not valued in this society.

Thanks to Prozac I will never again be the same person I once was. I can still feel pleasure but it is a bit more detached. I can still feel joy, love, and happiness, but Prozac robbed me of the ability to feel those emotions naturally and spontaneously. I sometimes feel there is a big hole left in my brain and in my life. No matter how I struggle to once again feel like the same person I hit a blank space.

If people are depressed perhaps they should first examine their lives and the society they live in. They should examine our schools, our workplaces, our media, our schedules and, last but not least, our values. And then they should seriously ask themselves if their problem is what our society is telling them it is: chemical imbalances and misfiring neurons. Let's not take the "pinnacle of civilization" we are currently enjoying for granted! Let's examine the real problems rather than popping another pill to continue to function as a cog in a dying wheel.

Am I an artist or am I a loser. All I have to do is submit to art, the way some people submit to the will of a false Christ. Once I submit to art, everything will work itself out.

There is good ego and bad ego. Bad ego is "What will they think?" Good ego is "I know and love myself so I don't care what they think."

Still, sometimes it is hard tolerating disrespect. I'm better than the people who disrespect me. I'm a prophet, a messiah next to them. Yes, sometimes people treat me like a bum, a loser, a parasite, a nobody, a non-person.

But then I have to think of the people who see through society's blinders and who love and respect me because they know that I am blindingly brilliant. To these people I'm grateful.

I must resist the urge to punish the people who treat me with less respect than I deserve.

I deserve more because more is what I always wanted. I never had to resist more because more was never offered to me. I never wanted to waste myself on normalcy, so why was I deprived.

These blogs have become whining sessions on how deprived I've been. On how even some of the most oppressed have had it better than me. Sometimes I cringe when I think that some people I really admire have seen me writing with the voice of a bitter loser.

I just need to be published again. That's all that really matters.

All that matters is that I am published again.