My Farm

I've become one of those characters who becomes outrageously depressed on the holidays. And who can blame me. I don't really have a family anymore. My friends are my family. Lacking love at home I always had to look for love out in the big, bad world. Such attempts usually ended in disaster, but I've finally had some success. Blood is thicker than water? Blood means nothing.

Seeking a mother's love out in the world. I was always jealous of people who fit in, people who were privileged enough to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.

But look at it this way: those people will live and die anonymously. I'll be great, famous. Possibly the savior of the human race. Because once I get the power to hit back I'm going to hit back hard and knock the Li'l Waynes of the world back to the hood.

I was born a genius, but the development of that genius is how I've compensated. That's how people like me compensate. We're late bloomers. Oh, I'll get the pleasures of the flesh! I'll see to that!

But would I really want to be famous in this time, to be chewed up and spit out? Well, then at least let me get paid for my work. Then money will be my compensation! Geez! I'm as much of a philistine as 50 Cent! Well, the only reason I want money is so that I can buy conformists and turn them into a harem and a toy collection. I want to own a whole farm of Herd Animals. Most human beings have no dignity anyway. They might as well be my property.

What's great about being a writer is I can have fame and anonymity at the same time.

How much curiosity do most writers attract nowadays.

S.O.B. Part 1 of Infinity

Those hormones were racing. Adolescent hormones. I hated my parents. Hated their guts.

South of the Border. South Carolina. 1993. My world and everything in it revolved around Samantha Epstein - the hottest, prettiest, most popular girl in school.

She actually spoke a word to me before that February vacation. That meant that she was secretly in love with me. I had a chance - despite being the least popular girl in school. Yes, this was an 80s teen movie cliche but with one difference: in real life everyone has to die.

If only I could die with Samantha! We could die holding hands! We could die together and our souls merge into one. We could meet on the other side of the shore.

From New Jersey to South Carolina I listened to GN'R's "Coma" ( a song about Axl's near-death experience) and dreamed of dying with Samantha.

Flight of the Navigator

"Flight of the Navigator" was much better than "The Fourth Kind". It was even much scarier.

A 1970s-era Floriday boy is abducted by a UFO and wakes up - the same age - in the mid-1980s. He returns home and reunites with his parents who are, of course, in an emotional state somewhere between shock, fear and total elation.

NASA takes him for study, to find out why he hasn't aged in the past several years. Once he is at NASA headquarters, the UFO that captured him - now in the Top Secret custody of the U.S. government - communicates with him telepathically. The boy finds the UFO in a secret bunker and boards it.

Once aboard the UFO turns out to be a friendly intelligence with a voice provided by Paul Reubens aka Pee-Wee Herman.

The boy and his UFO go on all sorts of wild adventures before - in a heartwrenching scene - the UFO returns him to where he belongs - his parents house in the 1970s. They didn't even know he was gone!

This was the movie that inspired me to build my spaceship.

My parents had just finished building their house on Belmar Boulevard. Tools, building supplies and other scraps littered the backyard.

I connected four or five 2x4 boards with joyces for the - I now admit - rather shoddy foundation. For the floor I nailed plywood boards on top and then glued and taped bathroom tiles over the plywood in irregular patterns.

Adults thought all of this was very cute, but I thought I really was going to have a spaceship that would take me to distant planets - it was just a matter of time and effort.

In a sense, I am still this little boy and I am still attempting to visit outer space.

I think of all the years I've wasted in-between, but now I'm back.

But perhaps there is no such thing as waste.

Strength Through Joy, part 1 of Infinity

So, after the altercation with racial overtones on 42nd Street...

That was just a much-needed shot in the arm - nothing more. Such episodes remind me that I'm a Knight.

Realizing that for quite a while now I've been less than noble, a disgrace to the Nietzschean philosophy I espouse.

But I have no shame. My sickness forced me to become healthy and now - for the first time in many years - I am beginning to know the maxim "Strength through joy!" Aleister Crowley was right: "Strike hard!" and "Be thyself!"

Or in the words of another great mind, Tupac Shakur (lol),: "Be truly you, believe that there's no one bigger. 'Cause they can all suck dick. It's strictly 4 my niggaz."

Tupac Shakur - inspiring trailer-trash wiggers since '93.

I plan to write a short story about this incident

Wow. Well, I'm quite tired. I just got home from seeing "The Fourth Kind" which was one of the worst movies I have seen in quite a while.

There were black queers in the theater: a black faggot and three bulldykes making noise the entire time. At the end of the film my friend and I confronted these black queers and hurled some choice racial slurs at them. Other black people were watching but not saying anything. Good. There's something refreshing about being un-PC nowadays. Ever since we could breathe we've been told that black people are superior to us and not to be challenged in any way. Well, it's nice to stand up to the oppressors sometimes.

I was itching for a fight. I haven't been in a street-fight in five years. I haven't knocked anyone out in five years. I'm overdue. I very badly want to do some violence.

What is wrong with some (not all, of course) black people? Black Americans - as a group - have it better than any other group on the face of planet earth. Yet they're always complaining. Then they harrass innocent people. And then any fair retaliation is called racism.

On top of that they were queer.

Geez, I must say! When around niggers and deviants I want to be around quiet, decent people. Be who you are or what you are, but don't bother other people! Is there any place on earth where decent, attractive, untainted white people still exist?

Not that there's any such thing as race anymore. Now all peoples are equally worthless. But at least I have warrior blood dating back to Europe.

When around people like that I wish to live in the middle ages. I would have been a knight, a warrior, a king, a tyrant, a wizard, something. Something noble.

I think of high cultures in Europe, China, Egypt and I wish I had been a noble in such times and places. Or I identify with certain times and places.

Everything is inverted. The SLAVES are now the MASTERS. They rule us. They oppress us. Deviants and niggers force their will upon us.

It's not fair.

It's not right.

I will fight against the slaves.

I was cliche today

"Be well-ordered in your life, and as ordinary as a bourgeois, in order to be violent and original in your work" - Gustave Flaubert

This morning I was woken up by a loud knocking on my door. Bang. Bang. Bang. First on the glass and then on the wood of the door.

"Who is that?" My heart raced. Who was it? It could be anyone stopping over for any reason and I was not yet even awake.

I looked out the window and saw two elderly black women, Jehovah's Witnesses, walking away from my residence. Those fucking Jehovah Witnesses woke me the fuck up! Fucking Jehovah Witnesses.

I grumbled and grumbled and grumbled about the two Jehovah Witnesses. I then realized that I was being cliche - because it is almost cliche to hate those annoying SOBs. And hateful they are. I hate Christianity in general, but the Jehovah Witnesses are an especially loathsome Christian cult. They sacrifice their own children.

And what's with the door to door preaching? I don't go to their houses and tell them to worship Satan and indulge in hedonism!

That being said...

The truth is that I would be happy to live my life as a normal mediocrity (who wouldn't want a cozy life?) as long as my work remains brilliant, original and violent.

I don't have the same need for drugs and Rock N' Roll that I had as a young man. I'm old now (29 - can you believe that?)

Sex is a different story - I would still like to have every kind of sex imaginable with thousands of partners. But I wouldn't be so averse to settling down with the right one.

Let's face it: to be a part of a GOOD community is an antidote to depression.

The Numinous (Sorry, Stanislav Grof and other mystics)

Robert Anton Wilson compared the effects of Pranayama to LSD. So I just had to try it!

My first time with Pranayama: I experienced something of a mystical state. Everything was, unironically, "groovy" from beef fat and Mad Cow disease to all the good in the universe.

Understanding Heidegger's obsession with Being. All is contained within Being: becoming, time, space, past, present, future, thoughts, memories, words, dreams, imaginations, dimensions. ALL is contained within Being and Being is infinite.

Finally feeling like I understand Aristotle and Kant.

Such a "high" state is almost like "dope". Nothing seems worth worrying about. But it doesn't make one a hippie since both good and bad, peace and war are all contained in this infinite explosion and expression beyond words.

Here's another reason: No one ever loses one's individuality. The whole is like a mosaic made up of unique and individual parts.