Not so Subtle

again?

I thought I was having an “episode.”

I have no inspiration this week.

I have stress in oodles.

My dad sent me an article today about smoking marijuana being linked to psychosis later in life. Thanks dad.

I don’t know where I’m going to be living in two days. This is more unsettling even than I had imagined.

I am sweating like a sew.

Lately, everything that I’ve been thinking in my head has been alliteration.

For example: how horribly horribly hot it is here.

Why must people perpetually piss off my person?

Et Cetera.

i WAS on quite a roll, with my writing. It seems that once I figure out how I want the story to end I have a hard time sitting down to actually write it. Something about the lost sense of discovery, I suppose. Surreptitiously, I surmise. Sand in a sandbucket fell from Sam’s hands.

Welcome to my head.

Today I read a bunch of articles about the attraction of “bad boys” to women. Some of them gave advice for nice guys on how to be more of a “bad boy” such as: not being emotional, being unavailable, stay assertive, be sexually aggressive, always be dominant. Apparently the phenomenon can be traced to childhood experiences for women; those with negative emotional memories will seek to reinforce their perceptions of low self esteem. Makes sense. I no longer want to be a “bad boy” just for the sake of attraction. I am what I am, whatever that may be. Most days I’m not so sure. You probably know me better than I do.

I’m really tired of the role playing that people do in relationships. It’s all a big game. Nobody’s winning. It’s just a load of crap and it gets in the way of any real intimacy that might occur.

The thought of returning to live with my dad, even temporarily is abhorrent. I would consider it regression. I’m sick of taking steps backwards.

Disconnected. Like a phone lying off the hook, beeping away but nobody is around to hear it. I’ve changed the way I interact with people. I used to have a close circle of 3-4 friends who I trusted and shared everything with. Now I have alot more friends, none of whom I’m really that close to. Not anymore, anyway. I always suspected people who interact like this were empty down deep. I may have been right.

What is the point of saying that I feel lonely anymore?

Is this maturity? Realizing that everyone, given a chance or long enough timeframe, will let you down? Is this growing up or just clinical depression?

I was in a groove last week. The pen was on fire. True emotion flowing out like a geyser or an orgasm.  After a frenzied, hour-long free writing session, I re-read it and was very impressed at the raw power of the words. On the next open page, I wrote in large black letters, diagonally across the page:

“IF this is GENIUS, is that all there is?”

Am I that narcissistic?

Occasionally.

There’s no such thing as a “literary” bad boy now, is there?

Nay. I should say not.

The grapes have gone bad. My roommate is pining to use my computer once I fall asleep for gay chat rooms. I must stay awake as long as possible to thwart him. He seems to be mature. He has a very negative view of human nature.

According to MSN.com’s money section, Successful, wealthy people exhibit two traits that set them apart from the rest:

1. They are friendly

2. They are open to new experiences

These traits put them into contact with many opportunities that allow them to grow personally and financially.

I think I’m fucked.

10:15 AM

After a weekend of beer and junk food, I am fasting/detoxing today. I have never attempted this kind of thing before. Usually I can go about 6 hours without food before I lose my mind. The fact that I have practically no food at home helps.

2 hours in.

Going well.

Glasses of water: 4

Spiritual revelations thus far: 3

Estimated chance that I’ll make it the whole day: 12%

Will update again.

12:51 PM

Feel light headed. But clear headed.

No new spritual revelations to report.

The hiccups have begun.

3:43  PM

The grape juice meal gave me sustenance enough to make it home. No energy. I just woke up from a nap. Unless I spend the rest of the day sleeping, I’m not going to make it.

The pizza will be here soon.

Fading to black.

Everything getting blurry.

The pizza will be here soon, I am certain.

Tired. So tired.

I wonder, will I dream?

I am more cynical than the average person. Some people believe in countries, I do not. Some people think there are no bad people, only bad situations. I do not. You might cast me as gloomy and you’d probably be right. But when the shit hits the fan I do not feel justified or righteous like you may think. I only feel more able to adjust to the shock of such corruption/horror.

I am as big an NBA fan as anybody out there, so you might think this referee scandal has devastated me, completely robbed my trust in the game. This is what outsiders don’t understand. People who have been watching the NBA closely for the last twenty years have KNOWN that the officials have been bought off. It’s obvious to anyone with two eyes, a brain cell and some basketball knowledge.

Examples: The Chicago Bulls in 1994. The Sacramento Kings in 2002. Dallas Mavericks in 2006. I could go on for a LONG time listing teams that have been screwed by the systemic negligence, incompetence and corruption of the NBA’s referees. Urban legend dictates that the NBA prefers larger market teams to win and for playoff series to draw on longer to gain more ratings. I’ve never been completely convinced of this theory but the doubt in my mind has never been dispelled entirely.

So, this Tim Donaghy thing came as no big surprise to me. Referees are human beings like anybody else and as such they make mistakes. I’m actually not very angry at Donaghy personally. I’ve been on that side of things, gambling can be a very difficult demon to conquer if it gets out of control. This man was threatened and extorted by the mob. He is certainly not innocent in all of this, but he’s also a victim. I used to like the mafia. I thought that they represented a counter culture, something honorable in spite of their crimes. But over time I’ve come to see them (thank you David Chase) as the scum that they are. This is only one example and it’s not the first time it happened.

I am so eternally grateful that I was not alive during the 1919 Black Sox scandal. Refs fixing point spreads is one thing, but a team diving in the world freaking series would have damaged my faith in the sport forever. But it happened. It would be naive of us to believe that the same thing could never happen again. In fact, I am sure that it has, probably more than once, in more than one sport. Human beings will be corrupted by money. This is unavoidable. Even athletes.

We put these people up on pedestals and act shocked and shaken when they fall from grace. See: Ruth’s womanizing, Kobe’s rape trial, OJ, etc. Athletes are people just like us and carry the same ability for good and bad. David Robinson is a great, selfless man, but I’m sure he’s not perfect. Barry Bonds is a selfish, self-absorbed cheat, but I’m sure he’s not the devil incarnate.  Michael Vick may be disgusting, but he has a mother too.

So, am I surprised by this? No. I’m just disappointed.

David Stern now faces the question of how to handle this, how to restore the fans’ faith in the NBA. It’s a task that he cannot accomplish on his own. It may take years to repair the damage this scandal causes, it may never return at all. But in the meantime, the question we have to ask ourselves, is how we can change this.

Sports are a microcosm for the larger world. It can bring out the best, and the worst in us all. Tim Donaghy is a human being, with human frailty. Perhaps if we all did a little better, these kinds of things wouldn’t happen so often.

http://www.inthesetimes.com/article/2780/

I’ve always considered women to be my target audience. I prefer to write for women. I don’t know why, I just do.

There are alot of people who are upset with this trend, who see the feminization of literature to be the downfall of books. Silliness. I agree there is a woman-ish tilt in fiction but I don’t believe it’s the end of the world.

This creates great opportunities for male driven stories, I believe. Look at the success of Fight Club. If you write it, they will come. Just look at the fiction being put out by the New Yorker all the time. Where are the guns? Where is the sex? Where is the EXCITEMENT? You wonder why men have “stopped” reading fiction.

I will bring it back.

And if I don’t, all the better. I wouldn’t enjoy bedding my future male readers as much.

hooha!

In response to:

http://www.boston.com/news/globe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2007/07/25/why_are_we_rewarding_iran/

To: jacoby@globe.com

Re: Rewarding Iran

I agree 100 percent. Iran is a simple problem and it can be solved with a simple solution.How dare we not respond with fury to kidnappings? We should have raized Tehran to the ground the next day. Each day that goes by that we don’t bomb Iran, we are emboldening them. If we don’t fight the terrorists in Iran, we’ll have to fight them here on our very own soil one day. Plus maybe Afghanistan. And Pakistan. Lebanon. Syria. Iraq. Palestine. Sudan. Somalia. Ok it’s alot of places, but I guess we’ll be fighting them everywhere else as long as it’s not here.

The problem is that our bombing(s) seems to create more anti-American sentiment for some reason. The more terrorists we kill, the more sign up! I have another simple solution for this. We simply need to bomb them at a faster rate. Luckily, we have a president with foresight who will not back down from his plan. Ever. No matter what. Win or lose. We are truly lucky to have a leader of such intelligence that he can boil down a thousand years of complicated cultural clashes into a convenient soundbyte, and luckier still to have loyal people like yourself who will spread his message.

I’m glad that somebody sees what needs to be done with Iran. There are too many defeatists out there who simply don’t understand that war solves far more problems than it creates. You have done our country a great service by telling the truth. Thank you.

Cocksucker.

Update: The guy actually responded to me.

“Thank you for your note. Just curious, do you always sign your name like that?”

K that was pretty good. I’ll give him that. Yeah. He got me.

Finally someone is crazy enough to respond to my political hate mail. Hizzah.

Freewrite

7/24/07

Writing Righting Wrighting Riting Writin Ritin Pitin Fighting Lightning Whitening Crest in your chest heavy breasts are the best but not with a paper bag on top if you don’t you’ll go down round the crown lick the town all around till you don’t know where to go on the floor kick the door breaking in till you’re making making making it, screaming, aching, moaning, sweating,biting, ripping, streaking tear the whole house off its hinges pound it down into the ground pounds melt off like butterscotch better not stop never stop pop rock top drop its magical mysterious somethings delirious by yourself its not as great favorite future pastime maybe rape drop it in her drink while she’s gone two white pills fizzle and fill till they dissolve and when she’s back propose a toast and laugh under your tongue, it is done one of us is getting some tonight but don’t do it, play it right don’t do her wrong, each of us came from a woman, if you do you’ll fry maybe not in life but in your mind pray to God and try to find another way to get through the day your heart’s on fire and you can’t put it out but if you don’t know one will and you’ll face his wrath as he comes down the mountain when he comes comes comes. Love your neighbor as yourself like they do with someone else in another time in another place as long as not another race we can forgive him maybe if he dies, says mother mary as she carves the turkey behind a smile would you like some more? Yes pleeeeeeeease pile the gravy on juicy tart make your mark when youre young cuz the rest is just a test on the first six years, don’t get caught in the rain or the pain sometimes you’ve just got to let it slide, swallowed pride tastes better than your own cut lip, after all. If you just wait it out and listen to the nice lady in your head you don’t be dead at least not in that way, try to breathe, forget the past it’s the last judgment you’ll face. Take it from your jiminy cricket I’ve been watching for a long time and you’ll be alright, stop trying to make a rhyme or a reason out of the season of hate, sun boiling veins, hateful glares aren’t what you think, nobody really cares, for the last time it’s all in your head.

Home is not home anymore.

I have longed for something different, but have only recently realized it. I couldn’t put my finger on it. A vague dissatisfaction settled into my stomach. Something never felt right about living here.

See: fish out of water syndrome.

Fish flopping around on the desert floor.

I have changed the title of my book to “Babylon.”

I don’t feel like I’ve made a real connection with anyone for five years and the ones I have I’ve alienated. My frustration with this place boils, festers, gathers pressure somewhere deep inside of me, finally explodes. I snap. I lash out at people close to me. I drive them away. I’m tired of apologizing, tired of not being able to say what I feel. The pollution here is choking my voice, maybe. I’m tired of thinking about it, talking about it. Tired of being melodramatic. I can’t find any peace in this place. Hate has poisoned my blood; turned my body against me. People nod, but they don’t understand. No. Not a generalization.

This land is not my land.

I’ve decided to move. Not temporarily; not to Logan Square to Wicker park and back again half a dozen times in the next five years. Not to another city.

I can no longer hide my complete disdain of this culture. Fatt boys. Dumbasses. Ghettoness. Promiscuous girls. War is the favorite past-time. Every side of the political spectrum drives me mad. Cultural clash. Television. Ipods. Isolation. Loneliness, absolute loneliness.

I don’t think I can really love anyone here.

I’m going to leave.

Have you ever been at a party, where you’ve been drinking a while, you’re having a good time, when suddenly the beer runs out? Somebody has to go on a beer run. But you don’t want too. Nobody else does.

Usually in these situations, somebody chuckles and suggests that somebody ought to deliver beer. Like when they come with your eggroll, they should just pick up a six-pack for you along the way. This always sounds like a great idea at the time.

Today, that idea is a reality.

I found a place that does it.

Apparently it’s not so uncommon in other areas of the country, but this is the first place in Chicago that I’ve seen. Pete’s Pizza: I believe it’s on Diversey. 773-966-1230

I just ordered an italian combo and a six pack of beer.

My life is now complete.

Ah told the head doc the day after ah found ut. It was lahk a giant pieceadapuzzle just fell in me lap outta nowhere. All that time ah spend tryin ta figger out why ah was crazy, or manic on the occasion. Ya go in to the doc far some some random ear infection and ya comut wit da secrets to yer childhood. Funny ‘ow that works.

When ‘ee wasn’t lookin I tooka looka is chart there with mah medical history. Had all the usual things ah knew ’bout, the hernia when ah was 2 and don’t fuckin rememba, broken ahm from the police dug, colonoscopy soon thereafter and that whole messy business last yeear. Then I find mum’s chart right next to it, near the top in this big bright red marka, it says “this one’s a PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIC.” I stared at it fora while, kinda disbelievin and all.  Then it starts ta sinkin. Yeah. Yeah, i thought.

Must be right. Right.

So, the head doc says, yea, yar a poor thing fer that. Yer mum bein such a case it’s no wonder you yourself ain’t been committed just the same. I nodded right. Not like it was muchofa surprise.

Head doc she says, yea. We know more than we think we know, ya know? Then she goes, so whatcha gonna do now?

I dun know.

 Dear PRC,

Please stop bogarting the basketball!

For a change, I thought I’d rip a different imperial culture today.

http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/news/story?id=2940570

Poor Yao Ming. China is notorious for hording its athletes. This is only the latest example in a long odyssey of the country publicly villifying its olympians for not being dedicated enough to the PRC’s teams. At the risk of angering several billion people I’ve never met, this is bullshit.

These are grown men who are being paid to play basketball in another country. What gives you the right to decide what they do with the rest of their lives? Why should they come limping back home every summer to play for the glory of a nation that treats them like dogs? Google Wang Zhizhi. It’s a horror story, what this guy went through because he didn’t want to play for China. Was he trying to disrespect his country? Of course not.

The NBA is a very gruelling season and naturally the players will be worn out at the end of it. Alot of them end up not participating in international summer games because of nagging injuries or fatigue, it’s NOT that big of a deal. It’s time China stopped acting like a stubborn, overbearing parent with these athletes.

The Bucks drafted a Chinese player in the draft this year, but his agent and the PRC don’t want him to play in Milwaukee because it “doesn’t have a large enough Chinese population.” I’m sorry. Who do you think you are? The team DRAFTED him! He doesn’t have a choice where he wants to play. He should be honored at the mere prospect of playing in the NBA. They are way overstepping their bounds here. Just let the men play ball, for goodness sake and don’t take it personally if they don’t feel like jumping at your whistle every freaking summer.

Nationalism is for fucktards.