Monday, December 30, 2013

Too Twisted To Ignore

To date, what should be the most infamous death in San Francisco (certainly, the circumstances surrounding it are the most godawful) is that of the late, lamented Lynne Spalding.  How does a good, blooming, hearty Englishwoman die so shabbily at the hands of those to whom we all of us as a matter of course entrust our lives?  Two weeks in a godforsaken stairwell, unfrequented even by quotidian rounds of security guards I had expected our tax dollars hired.  I hope her family musters all the umbrage blood loyalty and national chauvinism will allow, and that they sue the pants off of the attending physician, nurses, and the county hospital's (in this case) arm's-length benefactors.  She was slandered in the Chronicle article, for crying out loud!  That article  gratuitously mentioned that she sought treatment for a urinary tract infection (shit-talking if I've ever heard it.)  My mother recently pointed out also that issue had been made of the good woman's tippling (a forgivable and culturally specific indulgence -- and by the way, do we not inhabit a three-sheets-to-the-wind city?)

Something dreadful and, not to her but to us, shameful is at work in this case.  Offensive enough is San Francisco's miserable track record at solving homicides.  This case, though, is an especial affront -- tragedy plus insult.  My heart weeps for Ms. Spalding and her I hope soon-to-be-avenged family.  Here's a prayer that her bereaved survivors come here from jolly old England with lawyers in tow and packing enough inconvenient questions to make my sordid little hometown pop like a full tick.  Godspeed, Spaldings, godspeed.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

HYA (Because It's My Bully Pulpit)

Subject:  Stop the closing of Homeless Youth Alliance (HYA)


I signed a petition to London Breed, Supervisor Haight area is District 5, David Campos, Supervisor, and 6 others which says:

"Homeless Youth Alliance (HYA) will close our Drop-In Centers doors at the end of Christmas Day. Stop the closing of HYA, and the reduction of essential services to keep homeless youth in San Francisco safe. "

Will you sign this petition? Click here:


Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Alpha, Omega

These rooms are our enemy:  killing walls on all four sides, these boxes are rife with death and pain, history and plans.  So much in them belongs to those who preceded us, who left it all behind.  What an inheritance!  We are preached at to be compassionate and forgiving to those who deserve ten times the harm and suffering they visit upon the likes of us.  Carmelite nuns admonish us that we especially are called upon to be Christ-like.  Bitches.  It's no wonder minds seem lost here, characters warped, the future -- when we can risk hoping for one -- the future is bleak.  We should really lock ourselves out more often.  Also, we forget to forgive ourselves for our imperfections.  We have many shoulds on our respective plates; those by the way are our individual responsibilities.

Oh, love?  Love is every song you've ever heard and then some.  It's the best stuff in life.  Of course, love is a murderous sonofabitch and a tyrant.  Don't get caught on the wrong side of love -- you're liable to be diced to bits.

And life, you ask, what is it about?  A very personal pursuit, purpose and meaning in life.  In my case, I liked the food, the sex, music, getting fucked up, and my loved ones.  Oh, later on, I did learn something profound:  one should try to live life so well it inspires others to jealous homicide.  That's like an A+ or a gold star.  Right, I also loved mountains and dogs.  Oh, and water:  swimming or bathing, ocean or tub, snow or monsoon -- water's been heavenly.  Have I told you how unbelievably good it tastes coming out of the tap?

Surviving Up And Down The Scales

Consider, if you will, a nation's military:  do its soldiers see past their own armor?  Do they comprehend that a world exists beyond the tips of their own spears?  If so, the reputation of the character of the nation is vouchsafed.  Anything can be accomplished, and no war is unwinnable.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

That Tickles

I never could understand how we justified the expenditure and moral cost of torturing detainees.  Torture is as old as written history, and we've always known its only purpose ever is simply to gratify the torturers on very base levels.  People torture just to torture, there's nothing deeper than that, and we haven't learned anything new that's temporally actionable or profound about human nature by indulging this facet of our society.  In this modern era of satellite and drone surveillance, data-mining and wiretapping, and all that rigamarole, it seems to me that if you have the intel you need to capture your intended torture subject, you have access to all the intel torturing him or her could net you -- if not reams more.  It makes no sense that we do shit like stress-positions, water boarding, electrocution, rape, et cetera.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Buddy Cole Rides Again...

"Oh, Jeffery Dahmer.  What a stud!  What a Lothario!  What a Casanova!  You know, he really was the talk of the scene.  Until that little scandal, anyway.  It was just in such poor taste on his part, getting caught.  'Honestly, Jeffery,' we'd say, 'another one?  I guess the old adage is true:  30 minutes later and you're hungry again.'  Turns out, he literally was.  Put them away like a bear at a cronut factory.  I swear.  Oh, well.  There but for the grace of God..."

"Hey, Michael Alig.  Do you have any idea who's holding...  Your dealer's body parts?  Ha ha, made you flinch.  No, really, it's fine.  You just did what most of us were thinking anyway..."

Friday, December 6, 2013

"Transporter Room Four"

[Transporter technician emery-boards his nails at the console.  Sitting down, legs crossed.]

[Second man in circuitry cabinet on wall, to Technician's right.]

Technician:  Jenkins, I told you to stop fiddling with that.  Nothing in here works right.  You're just going to make it worse.

Jenkins:  Do you know how many times I've had to share the turbolift with Lieutenant Del Toro?  I can't even look him in the eye.  THE MAN LOST HIS ARMS.  I just stand there, looking at everything but him.  And he won't stop clearing his throat the whole time.

Technician:  Well, even if you fixed every glitch in this room, including the coordinate resolver terminal, it wouldn't bring his arms back.  Besides, he can get prosthetics, make himself the arm-wrestling champ of every shore leave.  He would win every bar fight.

[Phone rings.  Technician lifts receiver to ear.]

Technician:  Transporter room four here.  [Pause as someone else is talking.]  No, I really don't think that's a good idea [Pause.]  Oh, a red shirt?  Really?  What department?  [Pause.]  Engineering?  Well has everyone else got their digs in?  Yeah, cos this is pretty final.  Yeah.  [Pause.]  Let me guess, he thinks Scotty's his best friend...  [Pause]  Ha, what a sucker.  Yeah, send him down.  I don't know, that's your job.  It's not going to be an intra-ship transport, that's for sure.  Could you imagine if he materialized in the galley?  No one would eat for a week.  [Pause]  Well come up with something, and I'll hack a fudge for the transport log.  [Pause]  15 minutes?  Sounds good.  Just one more thing...  He isn't cute, is he?  {Pause]  Well, that's a shame.  God, I hope he's wearing clean underwear...

Sunday, December 1, 2013

"Do You Ever Notice" (In My Best Andy Rooney...)

...Whenever the government wishes to extra-legally detain, torture, or unethically and in contravention to accepted morality experiment upon people, the subjects are almost invariably people we could do with more of in civilian life?  The subjects are never people we almost all of us profess to want gone, and they're never openly unpopular types.  Subjects are always politically inconvenient, or interesting, or really awesome as people...

On a tangent, it occurs to me to ask, how many Gitmo detainees have dossiers that in fact identify them as reformist, non-radical, secular, Western-sympathizing, and/or liberal?  More than I can count on my as yet complete set of ten fingers, I'll warrant...

Monday, November 25, 2013

Will It Be

...As joyful for me?  Maybe.  I hope.  Everyone else seems to be in for a wonderful surprise (I think we even called some of the bad kids in from their times-out to come share cake at the end.)

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Not Hollow For Long...

...Not that it takes more than one of "those" to do the job.  But I guess the attempt at feigning an organic ego exactly my antithesis necessitates apparent inscrutability even when there's a risk of just apparent ineptitude.  I'm torn:  Sit in the box until death?  Are you kidding?  Heather would never get herself killed on that carpet -- it's dirty.  Alternatively, it's cold and no safer outside.  And I'd have to put up with the stage stuff perimortem...  Yawn.

I can at least say that last night was the most wonderful in that everyone else seemed to be genuinely having fun doing what they wanted -- none of that exsanguinated, creaky, creepy vibe.  I may have been unable to enjoy myself fully because of what I had to process.  But I'm glad of everyone else seeming to be in a good mood.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

If You Want To Erase...

...My existence and any history of it altogether, don't henpeck me about it for years before issuing the coup de grace.  Also, any effort to do so kind of leaves as much if not three times the mark on the world that I have.  Also, a death wish against me just needs to end my life, not erase any traces that I ever lived...

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

I Feel A Lawsuit Coming On...

Anyone in San Francisco and a lawyer who specializes in cases where landlords harass rent-control or low-income tenants?  Want to win an easy case?

Monday, October 28, 2013

Give Me Budgetary Discretion...

...or rather, a free hand, with one trillion dollars, and I could vouchsafe the survival of homo sapiens sapiens for the next ten thousand years.  At least.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

It Takes Pluck... pull off that walking, bullet-ridden corpse routine from FATAL BEAUTY.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Feeling Compassion

For poor Paula Deen.  Buttering her lawn jockey.  Could it be...?

Thursday, October 3, 2013

An Enemy Who Causes Me To Better Myself

Overheard downtown as I was coming back from the Ferry Building around 7 a.m.: A man venting to someone on the phone about someone else with whom he had some sort of competitive relationship, something about, "...and he can do my job really well," or something to that effect.  I just wanted to point out that there is a kind of power in being honest and vulnerable enough to admit you are freaked out by the excellence of those with whom you vie. He should take some heart.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013


All that fancy, high-falutin' cogitating is just a way to cope with feeling what you feel if you can't change it.  Words as accompaniment, entrée, or augmentation to pain.

Monday, August 26, 2013

Just In Case

A. Thank you for the very kind compliment that I'm the best person you've ever encountered in these endeavors. I just hope you take my word for it and know that I know so many people who are better than I am. I, among my social circle, am one of the worst I know.  I know in the line of work those of you who chat with me pursue that you usually associate only with pieces of shit, but please take my word for it:  you should try expanding your social circle wherever possible.

B. Isn't that crazy? In public discourse I've always considered my opposition to be the cavalier, the antebellum, the lost causers. I had no idea how antagonistic Yankees would prove. Also, why are Midwesterners never factored in?

C.  Thanks for all your good intentions and kind wishes and prayers.  I feel on the balance love has won out even if in the end I am in fact busted up for higher purposes.  I'm so glad I've been the cause of so little suffering, considering, and though I probably end in agony, I hope humanity continues to be worthy of survival as it persists.

Friday, August 9, 2013

I Wonder What It Was?

That turned heads.  Probably my bizarre path to a situation that seemed to give the world exactly what it needed from me, when it usually needs things only from the wealthy and famous as individuals...  Still, this Shackleton expedition to a reality by way of a rather unexpected route will land me in a singularly informative if unenviable position, with those in nearby having available to them only cruelty directed at me as their last resort for self-preservation.  What do I do this for?  So anyone witness will realize no one ever needed to think about predestination versus free will, and so I can lose the last laugh, finding in truly painful absurdity that hysterical laughter, the utterly expected and conventional reaction, will be missing, eclipsed by completely useless fear.

Friday, June 28, 2013

I Was Once Told I Don't Know My Own Strength...

...Which is funny, because once she told me to drop and give her 20 -- I was able to accomplish 3.  Anyway, I think I'm glad that we've found someone to wield it properly and appropriately when needed for the maximum benefit of all.  Meanwhile, people who cut their teeth on kerfuffles tangential to me seem to have dropped back by on occasion for some word of input on what they're currently facing and I find I'm disappointed in myself because all I can offer are well-wishes and the use of my Helen Kelleresque warm carcass should they find a use for it.  I know you still hate me, but you do so with a smile, and I wish you the best.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

UPDATE: The Manzanita

Hey peeps.  Still riding this bitch all the way to hell.  Inshallah, the finished product, my first book of poetry, The Manzanita, should be completed no later than two weeks from now.  Yeah, I know everyone's been so patient...

Monday, June 17, 2013

Resident Evil Pipes Up

Granted, I'm lower than low.  And poor!  Don't even get me started on that...  Still, lately I've had a problem with being paraded about with multiple gunshot wounds and busted out entrails beyond my awareness.  I'm really quite shocked that onlookers continue to tolerate it.  I'm not in charge, but it seems no one wants to account for an ambulatory chitlins parade...

Thanks everyone for your forbearance and patience.  I'm glad when it usually works out in the end, but we'll see how it goes in my case...

Friday, June 7, 2013

Do I Stay Or Do I Go?

こえなし の こえ が ただしい です か? I am at a crossroads and unable to tell which way to go. Is loyalty best served by running away, or running towards? A thing might or might not happen today depending on whether I do or do not do something. Logic and dispassionate analysis of available data do not serve. I must follow a hunch. The choice boils down to cowardice versus stupid bravery...

Thursday, June 6, 2013

The Manzanita -- Book.

Hi all,

Thanks for reading.  I'm currently taking a little hiatus as I compile a chapbook.  In the process of editing, and will have it out on Amazon through by as early as the 17th!

Again, thanks and glad to have your company at The Manzanita...

William Robert Way

Thursday, May 30, 2013

His Holiness

Watch it, freaks:

There will be live webcasts of His Holiness the Dalai Lama's four day teaching on Shantideva's "A Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life" to be given at the request of a group from India at the Main Tibetan Temple in Dharamsala, India on June 1-4, 2013. His Holiness will be speaking in Tibetan with English, Hindi, Chinese and Russian language translations available. The live webcasts can be viewed at

All times Indian Standard Time (IST = GMT+5.30)

June 1: 9:30am - 11:30am & 1:00pm - 3:00pm IST
... June 2: 9:30am - 11:30am & 1:00pm - 3:00pm IST
June 3: 9:30am - 11:30am & 1:00pm - 3:00pm IST
June 4: 9:30am - 11:30am IST

For times in your region 9:30am IST on June 1st in Dharamsala, India, is the same as 5:00am BST on June 1st in London, England; and 9:00pm PDT on May 31st in Los Angles, California, USA.

Photo of members of the audience watching His Holiness the Dalai Lama during teachings in Sarnath, UP, India on January 8, 2013.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Follow Your Cravings

One of my many fortunate attributes is that my cravings seldom lead me wrong -- never, in fact.  When I crave dairy, particularly cheese, it's because that's just what my body needed, and I give it to my body.  I'll often crave seafood, or dark green leafy things like kale or spinach, or pine nuts or walnuts, depending.  I'm very aware of precisely what is perfect nutrition for my body at exactly the moment I need.  (It is always to be hoped that I half enough brass in pocket to pull it off.)  I can point to the fact that at 36, despite an aversion to skulking around gyms and -- my God! -- exerting myself, my cholesterol, blood pressure, blood sugar, heart and brain, etc., are all in far better shape than those of most of my peers.  I still look good enough to fuck with the lights on, and am more productive and disciplined and well-adjusted than I've ever been.

So when I say I need a chocolate, chocolate chip cookie from Hot Cookie, the most accurate diction is "need," not "want."  Don't fucking argue with me about carbs or sugar.  I fucking well know what I'm doing, and I don't need any backtalk about a body that isn't yours.

But thank you sweetly as ever for your most unselfish concern.  Much obliged.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Hive Mind

T̖̕o̼̝͈̜͈͇ͅ ͇̪̝i̗͙̘n̘͕͔vo̸͈͓̦̪ķ̤͚̥͎͔͇ȩ̹͇̟ ̻̞͇͕̗͚̹t͕̻̱̱h̖͎̮̼̟̳͈e̡̟̞͉͍̣̤ ͇̰h̞̠̫̬i̶̖̟̟̯̟͇v͎e̲-͔͈͍̠͠m̘͉̳̝̥į̬͙̝̥̘̟n͓̜̺̺̞d̫̩̩̲͘ ̰͎̼r̝͔̫̻ͅe͖͈͉͞ͅp̱̼r͖̰̤͎̖ẹ̬̻͙̻͖s̲̱̲̮̖͍e̦͕n͢t͙̘i̧̞̯̻̬̣̥n͎͉g͙͉̬̗͖̮̜ ̞̩̗͎͙̮͔͟c͉̬̰ha̴͍o̲̹̲̼̱s̳̦͔̖.҉̹̪̱̘̦̥̹
͍̺͉̘̯̱I̪͚͎̠͢n̮̻͍v̸̦̤͕̦̮̘ͅo͞k̺̘͔͍̭͔̹i̼̯͍̦͖ņ̭̳̰͍̪̯g͘ ͖ț͇͉h̯͙̯͕̘͎e̛̦͎͚̤ ͇̥̲͎̻̮͞f̨̠͚̬̟̭͙ͅe̴̪̳̫̪̹̣el̩͖̟̞͞i̷̻̫̰̪̭ṇ̙̼ͅg̨̟̤ ̧̖of̩̱ ̙̺ͅc̳̤̺̠̝ͅh͈ao̰̯̜̟͚͉s҉̪̳̱.͓̙̗͉̥̳̜͝
̤͇̼̟̭ͅW̡̤̝̖̗̪̱i͕͈̲͕̩̟̞t͔̞̼̠ḫ̢̯ ̪̫͎̞̹o̮̯̱͔u̹t̲ͅ o̙̼͇͍̙̱r̹̜̮̺͉͕̼d̻͓̖͍e͏̝̼̲̠̘r̡.̺
͈̩T͓̹̳̰̣̟̤́ḩ̗͚͇̯̺̬ͅe̛͎͕̜̱ ̺̭̬͇ͅN҉̥e̞̳̘̯͕͡z̺̜͍͢p͏er̻d̨̹̭̰̮i̼̺̩̰̯͠a̫͓n͓̦̖̞̻̦͍͞ ̲hi̸̜͙v̵̲̖̗̪̗ẹ̡̟͚͔-͚͔͚̞m̧̼͔̘̮͍i̦n̴̖̱̖̬d̨̰̠ ̮̼̹͖͓͖͝ò̱̭f̱͙͍̰ ͔͖̬̟̬͔̫c̳h͙̦̺a̻̙͉͚̤̘̥o͎͚̮͕͘ͅs҉̙̯͕̼͎ͅ.̻̺̙̖͟ ̡͚͎Z̖̺a͎ĺ͔̯͓̰g̮̳̯ó̩̟̱͓̠.̶̻͙̦ ̞
̝̟̞͍̲̗H̭̞͎͇͚̫͞e̸͓ͅ ̰͔̳w̲͖̙̫̻̰̘h̗͙͍̙o̗̥͎̩ ̪̼̫͕̜͘ͅW͓̲͔a̝̯͓̟͡i͍t̸̳̻s̤̪͞ ̩͔̳B̧͎̜̼e͙̺͎͘h͎͉͍̣̙̫͙i̠͈͉nd̦̼̪̪̪ ̩̫͈̘ͅT̥͎͓͚̤͝h̡͈̞͈̻e̘̟̪ ͈͉̜̺̥̻͝Wa̟̝̫̯̹̭l̵l̝̣͕͎̩̺̳.̤͙̙


Wednesday, May 15, 2013

"They call me the Amityville Whore..."

"...but it's bad mojo to let anyone know you got the drop on them.  Anyway, hesitation cuts usually means suicide.  Not always, but usually..."

Wednesday, May 1, 2013


If this is the case, then I guess I have to be shot for a secret government program that's pre-emptively assassinating someone who could be potentially politically inconvenient in the future.  Spooky!  Jealous of my grandmother, who survived the FBI.  Which still makes no sense.  Why not just kill me in childhood?  And why make such a mess of it?  So many questions...  I almost believe, by the way, that the perps actually believe that everybody's stupider than I am, something I can attest is clearly not true.

I wonder who could be behind it?  I mean, the demoralization, belittling, infantilization, mutilation, torture and slaughter of a single, relatively powerless citizen?  Why bend someone's mind for years before killing them?  Gee, I wonder what that's all about?

Bizarre shit.  Oh well, off to my, ahem, "disposal."

(Why couldn't I just be a tinfoil hatter?)

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Navel-Gazing Whilst Gutshot

Why am I tormented for what my tormentors tell others I feel?  Because they deem me guilty of the crime of thought.  To be sure, the entire program was run for the sexual gratification of one man, hence its serruptitous application.  But it seems also to serve those who would really rather not have a razor lying around.  Someone might pick it up and use it to sever truth from fiction, reality from delusion.

The challenge is immense.  Surely simple death is total domination enough, and easily accomplished years prior to this and with a minimum of fuss, dallying, and dollars spent.  There is definitely a desire to exact maximal excrutiation and fear.

What is the total overall cost to fulfill the desire that another, even one as insignificant as I am, suffer as much as the tormentor can imagine is possible?  What does the line-item budget look like?  A years-long, multiphase program whose administrators disavow is of benefit to anyone, lest the subject enjoy even an iota of pride or enjoyment.

Actually, never mind.  So many questions answer themselves...

Monday, April 22, 2013

Code Names

Gray Ghost - Vanity Smurf - Sixpence None The Richer - Trash - KGB Radio - Social Butterfly - Angel - Enigma - Blonde Ambition - Shadow Boxer - Rebel Without A Clue - Troublemaker - Et Alia.

This is for the boys and girls with the too-bright eyes and slightly damp hair.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013


If I've ever insulted you, it was inadvertant.  If I ever made you feel shit upon, that was not my intention, but a miscommunication borne mainly of my shyness.  Wishing you the best.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

To My Fellas (And My Possibly More Than Several Double X Chromosomes...)

Hi, welcome, and thanks for reading.

I'm really shocked that I have as many hits as I do.  Rarely any comments, but lots of page views for what this is.  (And I don't promote it on anything other than Facebook.)  This started as a personal and general interest blog.  Unlike my former blog, Freedom Camp, a smart-mouth super-earnest NorCal liberal "Fuck you!" to the Bush Administration -- the blog received few hits but caused me oh-so-much-trouble in recent years -- unlike Freedom Camp, this is just a place to vent and be me.  I'm really not pushing much of an agenda (although in Robots vs. Reptile Men vs. Goddesses, I definitely fight for the Goddesses...), I'm just acting like the bright weirdo my friends and family all adore and usually aren't exasperated by.  It's my story.

This is important because my whole life has been spent listening to other people, acting as repository and sounding board.  It is a unique way to be with people, and can sometimes be very stressful.  But I'll tell you a perk:  discerning people always like to pick people like me out of a crowd and they always listen to me when it's about something important.  That's pretty cool.

So anyway, while I'm still concerned about cutting through bullshit, on this blog I try to stick to sorting out my own bullshit.  I don't know how it turned out interesting, but it did, and I just want to once again say thank you all for reading.  Keep checking in.  It gets "funner."

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

I Know I Have A Lot To Complain About...

But what's the point?  It's bad enough that people nevertheless found out about my situation -- how traumatic for them!

Okay, so a bit of belated venting (I've said so many thank-yous and your-welcomes, and will again soon):

I'm trying to avoid home all day today.  The unit is cheap for more than just the usual reasons.  Sometimes it feels like the psychosexual playpen of some worthless pieces of shit who somehow found jobs doing something no one should ever have done (certainly, no one with an iota of scruples asked them to.)  My neighbor continues to stalk me (and not even because he likes it -- his orders were to pretty much harass me to suicide, as though killing me weren't the easiest thing in the world.)  They've (and why the hell on Earth did I have to be the one with not only "Them," but multiple thems, some of whom are, as morality and good taste probably require, nominally on my side?) failed at everything, of course:  causing aphasia was one stated goal, suicide was another, "Elizabethan Drama" AKA Hamlet Murder Spree was another (idiots -- any ethical behavioral specialist would have told them immediately that someone as emotive as I am virtually never turns killer for any reason other than immediate self-defense.)  He or his wondering-why-they're-a-hair's-breadth-from-being-badgeless-if-they're-not-already cronies are reduced to planting bed bugs in my room (my responsibility, of course), and twice have stolen from me.  One of the more worthless little cunts tried to convince my neighbor I could turn homicidal under their tender ministrations -- a laugh as the neighbor she's trying to convince is from the Phillipines and a hell of a lot sharper than she acts.  She knows a killer from murder-bait.  The whole total domination thing continues to be a huge farce, a conspiracy to get revenge on me for being "difficult to work with," and hopefully to achieve sexual gratification for its architect, who is (oh please let that be "was," a past tense reality to be examined by a Senate Subcommittee Hearing I will be too embarrassed on behalf of the wrongdoers to want to know about) employed (or at least given license) by the same people who kept a dossier on my grandmother (COINTELPRO) for the precise reason that they did so (and kept one on me, as well, because of my political activities during the Bush Administration.)

These craptastic fucktards couldn't even successfully get me arrested.  Jesus.  Any twisted pig worth his or her salt could just make it up on the way to booking, for fuck's sake.

"Ooh, look at us, we're so evil...Ooh, and we're getting away with it.  We're going to kill you with lots of bullets and stuff."  That's pretty much what they act like with me.  Yeah, some of the emotional play is clever, but not terribly.  I have a theory that some of them do too much drugs, and maybe the wrong kind.  They make me wish I had more drugs -- MDMA and windowpane are looking lovely right now.  Threaten me for years and then BANG I'm dead.  I just don't know what they're out to accomplish -- mere emotional manipulation (not that hard with me), or successful cognitive capture and perceptual blockage or manipulation?  What does it matter whether or not I perceive my assailant?  What the fuck is the point of ghosting a non-com?  None  of these goals makes sense, as I'm as big and important as any other of the 7 billion assholes skulking about the globe, and really not worth the trouble.  And if I was wanted dead, why that was easily accomplished out of hand years ago.  What does it matter what's going on in my skull?  How does Dr. Caligari-ing me aid humanity in any meaningful sense?

And where did the fucking overwhelming firepower brought to bear on a psy-ops subject come into play?  A baby blue Marine could swish into my hovel and break my neck with two hands.

And what's with the being threatened by my occasionally making sense of some of what's going on?

And how is a conspiracy against little old me in any way impressive?

Of course answers will never be forthcoming.  But I'd really like to know why I'm the chosen one, when I'd much rather be another paranoid schizo loser.

Eat your heart out, MKUltra.

Of course, wouldn't it be funny if the punchline were that I was to me made a fool of?

Um, yeah.  There's a reason I just listened to that inane shit for years -- I was forced to.  If anyone else feels put out by the situation that's been going on, just count your motherfucking lucky stars that you're not me.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Un Milagro

For better or for worse due to my mental issues I sometimes suffer terrible tactile and auditory hallucinations.  But today I didn't feel beset by demons.  Rather, as I walked past the front of the Mission Dolores around 3 pm, having blown a kiss to the plaster Virgin Mary inset in a niche in the southeast wall of the cemetary, I felt a strong warmth pressing on my left hand, as though someone were holding it while walking with me, and I got the impression someone was expressing love and gratitude to me.

Who gets to have moments like those?  They make it all worth it.

Friday, January 25, 2013

I Could Not Stop Crying

At these thoughts:  my fellow man has given me these gifts:  The decision whether or not to suffer is mine alone.  Now, no one is king of the world and can perfectly arrange circumstances so that one face suffering and another not, therefore no one is exempt from what one doesn't deserve, pain, injustice, et cetera.  People, however, often just by exercising their free will and operating in their own self-interest, generally treat one another fairly as best they can, so things more or less work out.  And this is what people judged me worthy of:  comfort, happiness, and contentment.  They did so consciously, and with the utmost freedom to choose otherwise for me.  This is the greatest gift I have ever received, on par with the unconditional love my parents feel towards me, a gift I was born with and one I hope I pay forward to all beings.  My heart swells with gratitude.  Another gift -- this one gives me some sorrow -- is that others have sacrificed and died so that I might have any life I choose, and may do with it whatever I please.  I pray that all who have gone before me know paradise, and am comforted that any who disrespect that sacred gift will get what they deserve.  One I always enjoy, and have since childhood, is the ability to see the beauty in every iota of perception.  I'm privy to the coolest shit on Earth.  The last is less a gift than a burden, but a sterling honor nonetheless, and it is this:  my happiness has been hell for those who deserve such.  I am not a gloater, and can't lord anything over any one.  But it's an awfully important duty in the scheme of things.

These treasures were awarded me despite my greatest sins:  failing to place enough faith in people, and inducing my own suffering despite the fact that those who wanted me to be content and well deserved to see me so.  I have also been remiss as I have not taken refuge in the sangha as I say I will every Sunday morning -- may I have time enough to do better.  I beg forgiveness, and pledge the following as a token of thankfulness:  I will pursue my destiny with diligence and self-compassion, I will make better choices for myself, and will present the most authentic me I can to everyone I meet.  My loved ones look me in the eye.  They tell me to my face what they think of me.  Moreover, I'm aware of what's said behind my back. May I ever keep these gifts in mind.

I crave everyone's indulgence, however:  I must continue living moment to moment, one foot in front of the other, because unfortunately none of the abovementioned blessings are guarantees of a tomorrow.  My karma is my karma, and I may yet face the ultimately unbearable -- who can know?  But even if I have days when I have to fake it, I promise to fake it really well.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Any Guesses What I Am?

Hints:  Mesomorph, plenty of junk in the trunk.  Big eyes, full lips.  Inclined not to pry, but everyone spills their guts to me anyway.  Well liked by most everyone except, well, they know who they are.  Children and animals attracted to me.  Rather passive, not prone to anger.  Lazy, gluttonous, lustful.  Am potentially more destructive and toxic than anyone else you know in personal relationships, but have a small social circle of intensely loyal, long-term friends.  Sociable, but not an attention whore.  Insufferable and obnoxious to myself, and to certain others who, well, again, they might know who they are -- considered extremely sweet and good by most others, and welcomed and wanted around by them.  Gratification schemes usually focus on sex, sensual comforts, food, and music.  Absolute poison to sadists, violent psychopaths.  Glancingly fascinating to or ignored by most sociopaths.  Tend to internalize abuse.  Physical pain is richly and acutely felt, but emotional pain is more traumatic and long-lasting.  Can cope with own physical injury, squeamish about those of others.  Pleasure-seeking.  Highly observant.  Diffucult to control, but inclined to get walked all over.  Emotionally sensitive and intelligent, with good realization skills, but congenitally incapable of manipulation, scheming, calculation or cunning.  Outsized conscience, small ego.  Capacity for self-destructiveness enormous, intensely averse to harming others.  Hint:  I'm actually a variety of psychopath.

Friday, January 11, 2013

7 Things OF WHICH All Americans Should Disapprove

Just putting this out there.  I was an ardent Obama supporter, and voted him in for his second term (I mean, our only alternative are Tea Party nutcases from the Land of Utter Delusion.)  I couldn't find much to disagree with in this list, and I think it's worth pondering and promulgating:

Thursday, January 10, 2013

So What The Fuck You Want, Bitch?

I've got to say, I'm grateful yet harried and stressed that I've been rescued from a vast right-wing conspiracy against my life.  It's so damning because I'm such a fucking nobody.  I mean, I author a smart-ass left-wing blog in my late 20s, during the heydey of the Bush Administration, and I might end up another Tutu or Kennedy if I'm unlucky, and what happens?  I get flagged.  As soon as enough years pass by with enough bullshit in the interim, I'm deemed disposable and can be shot by a fucking dickwad.  What the hell?  It's awful on my neighbors and friends and family, and it should be the last thing my erstwhile political opponents want, but it gets planned anyway.  From Jonny E. to Arizona plates on Jeep Cherokees, from stagecraft and Rove playbook to methamphetamine to psy-ops, I'm frankly flummoxed.  It's just too much.  You'd think I was King of the World, the way I've been mistreated.

Sorry, folks, I can't handle being the center of attention.  I'm fine being schizoaffective and bipolar with a chip in my head.  Who needs all the other drama?  Who the fuck works someone's mind as they're killing them?  Who on earth faces such a death?  I tell you, I could just drown myself in the toilet...

Alas, alack, and fuck our luck, really good people have done their damnedest to save my life.  I must do my best and abide, and hope it doesn't blow up in our faces.

And you thought you were paranoid.