Well, I'm in the holiday spirit. It's 5:44pm and I am almost done with my list for the day. I look great, feel great. Everything is great. Last night I thought of how I should spend the rest of my youth. How? Learning and fucking.

Another thing I'm going to write about in my sports story is how all these men talk about their first baseball game as if it were the greatest, most magical moments of their lives. They'll never talk about their first piece of ass that way, but they will vividly describe the green-ness of the grass, the blue of the sky, the bulge of Mickey Mantle's jock cup, the tightness of Ted Williams' ass, etc...

I'm working on a piece for my writers' group. It is about how I have never understood how anyone could be interested in sports. I mean, could anyone pick a more boring subject? Who cares what the Giants/Eagles/Pats/Packers do or don't do? Why don't people root for themselves? Why aren't people interested in themselves? Why are they always cheering the accomplishments of others? Not only that, but most sports games are CONFUSING? What the hell is a First Down? What does off-sides mean. And who the hell knows WHAT goes on with baseball!

I suppose the only sport I ever liked was boxing because it is rather uncomplicated.

On Friday I was in Barnes and Noble and I came across a book called "Understanding the Borderline Mother." Reading it, I realized that my mother had a form of Borderline Personality Disorder.

See, nothing was ever "reasonable." It was never: "What you did was wrong. I will now punish you until you learn that what you did was wrong." It was: "YOU FRIGGIN' ASSHOLE! YOU FRIGGIN' SHITHEAD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU SPOILED GODDAMN BRAT! YOU SPOILED ROTTEN GODDAMN BRAT! I HATE YOU! YOU FRIGGIN SHITHEAD! YOU FRIGGIN ASSHOLE!"

With her everything was, um, well "personal." It was never about us, but always about her. And with kids nothing is "personal" because kids are, um, kids. And when you are a parent your first priority is to do what is right for the child. She only knows how to satisfy her own base needs at the expense of everyone else.

More on this later... I'm still healing. I haven't felt better in ten years, but I am still healing.

Today I saw an old enemy on the train. She looked old and sour.

I, on the other hand, feel great. I look great. I feel great. I jog 3-4 times a week. I work out my upper body on my jogging off days. I stay up all night and sleep until noon every day. I never do this thing called "work." On top of everything else I am talented, creative, and intelligent - and I am finally getting the recognition I deserve. I have not been this happy in ten years.

She saw me. I pretended I did not see her. I talked on the phone, animatedly. I was pleasant to the conductor. I smiled. Why? Because smiles scare away bad energy. She saw that I was happy. And I was not even faking!

After sex and personal accomplishment, watching enemies suffer must be the third best high. Better than any drug. I was in a great mood all day.

I no longer have to worry about metaphysical punishment. Nor do I have to worry about metaphysical nihilism. Am I becoming religious. Yes, but not in a flesh-denying way. I agree with Rabelais that it is more important to be a good fellow and a good drinking buddy than it is to be pious and devout. That's religion. Religion of the spirit and flesh. Both easily reconciled. In other words, one can be extremely religious without giving in to any dogma at all. And one can be religious while still loving to fight and fuck. My own antinomianism.

It's 432am and I am just still too caffeinated despite the fact that the last sip of coffee I had was almost exactly 12 hours ago. Feeling sad too. Not depressed. Just sad. I think of that Toad the Wet Sprocket song "Walk on the Ocean" and how sad it is.

I am trying to slowly phase out negativity. I will begin by phasing out verbal negativity. The best way to start myself on the path to an even better life is to no longer make negative status updates on Facebook. The main reason for this is I do not want it to seem as if I am yelling at my friends. I'll destroy my enemies for sure, but I don't want to risk offending the good people in my life. But wait. Writing that I will destroy my enemies is verbal negativity, right?

Well, I have nothing to be negative about. I just wrote a doozy of a short story that I cannot wait to submit.

It is hard not to give in to despair when I see that our entire culture revolves around the Kardashians and the Jersey Shore cast. I used to be afraid of being abducted by aliens, but now I do not think that I would want to live in a world without them. The human race no longer has any dignity. By thinking that I am an alien I am an alien. I am no longer human. By making my thought processes so different from those of mere humans I have become a higher and different form of intelligent life. So I am the alien. What do I have to fear now?

200th post. Yay!

All of this anti-bullying legislation worries me. True bullies are manipulative hypocrites who know how to work the system and they will use the anti-bullying laws and propaganda to bully and/or frame the weak. Anti-bullying propaganda will also be sincerely believed in and practiced by brainwashed dolt bullies who will sincerely and righteously bully in the name of anti-bullying. Just as MLK has created a terrible legacy of "equality" being used to punish the different.

I'm working on a short film featuring my character KanyeWestWannabeDrone3000. KanyeWestWannabeDrone3000 is a teenaged black kid who has a purple mohawk, a Justin Bieber shirt and an everpresent skateboard tucked under his arm. The worst example of post-racial conformity (though we're not so post-racial anymore - it's become very fashionable to hate again.)

KWWD3000 is just a perfect example of what total pussies kids are nowadays.

When I was in High School and Edgar Allan Poe impersonator stopped by our school for a performance. Now THAT is scary: being a middle-aged man impersonating Edgar Allan Poe for a bunch of postmodern brats. He was, of course, heckled, but he didn't let it get to him. He was probably used to it. And I thought I was a masochistic performer!

At the end of his routine he warned all the kids in the auditorium to stay far away from drugs. Edgar Allan Poe was a drug addict and he ruined (and possibly ended) his life by taking it too far with drugs and alcohol.

But at the same time isn't there a reason why Edgar Allan Poe was a haunted romantic genius and this guy was just an impersonator? Doesn't it have to do with the fact that Edgar Allan Poe was more the kind of personality that would seek drugs?

Not that I'm advocating drugs. I'm extremely cautious in regard to drugs myself (drugs are like guns and technology, they can be for good or evil depending on how they are used) but doesn't it say something about Edgar Allan Poe's spirit as opposed to his?

I'm donating my Criterion Collection copy of "Salo" to the Wall Township Public Library. The film is spiritual poison and I do not even want it in my house.

The director Pier Pasolini made so many wrong choices with that film that I can only begin to list them. He took one of my favorite novels (the Marquis de Sade's "120 Days of Sodom") and turned it into a campy yet depressing queer cabaret of morbid post-Marxist philosophy. Instead of using the work of the Divine Marquis to affirm life he created a film that negated life. He did everything possible to dampen down the effervescence of the Marquis' work. The result is a film that brings me back to the worst days of my depression.

Yes, in my opinion, the Marquis de Sade needs to be rehabilitated. I have no room in my life for unnecessary cruelty. Why not make the perversions of the Marquis de Sade consensual? Why not make the teenagers willing accomplices to the four middle-aged libertines? Why not transform Sadism into love, glory and freedom? THAT may be missing the point of the Divine Marquis too, but it is a far sight better than what Pier Pasolini accomplished with his travesty.

Pasolini was a gay Marxist, which is another way of saying that he had absolutely no sense of humor.

His film, as disappointing as it is, is still a bit too much for the average sheltered yahoo. Hopefully it will inspire a Wall resident to become a serial killer. Then maybe he can kill my mother and my sister. On Christmas. I would love that.

Maybe that's why I want to donate it!

Excuse this blog. This is still in rough form. I'm thinking about fleshing it out for my writers' group.

Excited, thrilled, that I have accomplished my goal of being published three times this year. In some ways this is just as rewarding as my metro columns because the stuff I am doing now leans more toward fiction. In other words, I am growing as a writer. The piece that was published, ECFS3000, is also my firt Science Fiction piece to be published.

I'm thinking of one day doing a film in which a bunch of religious pilgrims who are part of the religion Worthlesspieceofshitism go on a pilgrimage to see their god, Snooki. Sounds good, right?