Mysteries, Peeves, and Lost Opportunities

I come from a tradition, the rules of which include:  hydrate or die, sleep is not the enemy, eat or else, you can always add to but never take away from, they can't really hurt you, and pull it together when others are falling out.  Over the last few decades, I've done pretty well at observing said rules, and they've saved my life and my sanity.  Still, my origins mean I've had occasional run-ins I've thought are too bad with those (particularly medical professionals and cops) whose rules include catch, hold and release; partition (fences make good neighbors); and never let on that you hear voices.  An unfortunate friction, and a gap I've always wished I could bridge...  Ah, tristesse!

P.S.  I admit I've always felt a bit of resentment that neither the DEA, SFPD's vice division, nor other authorities inclined towards shitty, immature behavior ever created false profiles for yours truly on methy hook-up sites for the sake of defamation.  I really could have used a little edge to my goody two-shoes reputation.  Where's the love, guys?

P.P.S.  I never did figure out the point of all those pocket lasers and wide-angle, telescopic shots.  Why are you waiting for me to be ready for my close-up?

P.P.P.S.  I never did follow up on precisely what emerged when Frankie and company worked me over in order to open the gates of hell a few years back.  Let's hope it was nothing more than an exhausted Virgil towing Dante and Beatrix to an ice cream shop downtown.

P.P.P.S.  Hey Naomi, sorry about the ROSEMARY'S BABY joke.  One shouldn't make that reference to pregnant tweakers.

P.P.P.P.S.  Overall, I've got to say my verdict at this point is, "Awful program, Frankie:  nobody likes to look at splatter."

I Asked Someone For Spare Change and Was Told To Get a Job

Thank God at least one of us was using his brain.  No wonder he's where he's at and I'm where I'm at...

"It’s called Housing First, because 'You have to have a home first. It’s pretty hard to solve your personal problems when you’re living under a park bench.'"

(I can't believe this approach is revolutionary, and yet of course it is.  All these degrading and mortifying programs that society persists in implementing from San Francisco to New York, programs modeled on first "fixing" what's wrong with people, and that people in need must be forced to change their maladaptive, undesirable behavior before they've earned the privilege of housing -- a mindset many unthinkingly share and assume we should all just go along with -- these programs have always put the cart before the horse, and in addition are highly ineffective and counterproductive.  An imperfect socioeconomic system, economic inequality, and institutionalized prejudice and injustice are the main root causes of poverty.  It is pointless and monstrous to blame poor choices made by the poor.  Paternalizing, uninformed and arrogant meddling, and human inertia among those in a position to render aid cannot continue.  And by the way, homelessness is the problem of those who are homeless but would rather not be -- it is not the problem of people whose ill-considered aesthetics, inexcusably fragile sensibilities, and inability to cope with reality are offended insofar as they perceive and are aware of the homeless; the latter group has real problems that are best addressed by swift kicks in the ass.)

A Blow To Tweaker Pride

What shame!  What ignominy!  I'm not sure I can ever show my face in public or private or among hallucinated voices ever again...  There I was, so haughty and full of myself, exultant in my victory, thinking the whole time during production that I alone had been cast as the lead in the exciting, groundbreaking DARBY O'GILL AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE II:  METHPOCALYPSE!, when in fact, as I found out during the well-attended screening, that all along I was a bit player billed far down the credits as "Anonymous Terrified Hot Bitch From The 70s #5."  I was more mortified than if I had been Courtney Love turned down for the role of Nancy Spungeon, after she had seen her own lackluster acting thrown into sharp relief onscreen as a second banana she had originally esteemed herself as better than.   At least she still has her hubris, delusion, and self-righteous indignation, whereas I now find myself bereft of every comfort.

Oh, painful reality!  Oh humiliation!

Snap, I Just Now Figured It Out

After years of wondering why anyone would be angry at me for getting high on meth, I just realized how remiss I had been:  I was supposed to go out and meet my aspiring tormentors while wearing sackcloth and a beatific look on my face.  I completely failed them and myself, and I'm so ashamed.  Not only were they angry, they were probably also terribly sad and crestfallen.  I wonder if I can ever make it up to them...

It's really true what they say -- drugs will ruin your life.  They certainly put a kink or two in my planned martyrdom.  Sorry Opus Dei!  I'll do what I can to make amends...

Disillusionment and the Singles Scene

I would create a Tinder profile, but it seems my job title, "Apparent Victim With A Twist" isn't "hot," and won't get me laid.

(Of course, it's still better than the poorly paid -- except in awkward sex, regrettable drugs, showily patriotic lip service, and hollow thanks -- position of "Ex-Marine," right guys?)

Thank you, SFGate, for another display of journalistic ineptitude, the contents of which give me every reason to be appalled at humanity and the myriad ways it can fail itself...

"Why Are We Like This When You're On Drugs?"

The verdict:  Guilty by reason of faking insanity.

The sentence:  Spiritual death by humiliation and degradation.

(Ironically, it wasn't exactly a speedy trial.)

(Also, was I supposed to keep quiet because everyone else involved was ashamed of their behavior?  That is asking a bit much...)

So anyway, I'm wondering if it wouldn't have been better had my sheepish, inarticulate, and only tentatively righteously indignant accusers  just put a dunce cap on my head, placed me naked and backwards on the back of a donkey, herded me past distracted and baffled onlookers down Eddy Street, until I reached where today's American iteration of Savonarola and the weepers whined at me for a few hours about my culpability regarding their disgusting sins.  It definitely would have driven the point, if there was any, home.

And then I could go back to being a scheming, gold-digging hussy on the make for her next unintelligent psychopathic victim.

Yay San Francisco!

Six Flags Over Tragic Mountain

Admittance to my paracosm is free to the general public, but you must be at least *this* high to ride.

A Little More Realism Might Garner Support From Viewers Like Me

You know, if Sesame Street was really preparing kids for life in the real world, somebody would blow their lid at Big Bird for insisting that Snuffleupagus existed, becoming bent out of shape at his irritating delusions and hallucinations; Bert and Ernie would both have Grindr accounts and host all-night, drug-fueled orgies that would go hilariously sour; and Elmo would ruin his life in his addiction and end up at rock bottom getting kicked out of Oscar's garbage can, where he had been staying temporarily since his eviction by a greedy landlord.  Oh, and Maria's mysterious death outside of the Fix-It Shop would age into being a never-solved cold case -- I mean, who the hell has ever seen a cop form the Sesame Street Station even once just walk a beat, let alone make an arrest in a serious crime?

Come to think of it, I'd be afraid to even call 911 in the real Sesame Street.

Hi, Pot -- It's Me, Kettle

So some of us take it upon ourselves to think we know what's best for humanity, and act accordingly.  Some of us (yours truly, for one) naturally and from the get-go instinctively do know what's best for humanity, and find out in retrospect our actions were useful, and on the balance productive and helpful.

Yes, I've borne witness to events in San Francisco over the last few years that resulted from social engineering and mental control programs, the fulcrum of which rested on the intersection of the indigent, the mentally ill, addicts, and local law enforcement.  A fascinating if mostly sinister spectacle that so far seems to backfired in the engineers' faces -- gruesome and bitterly hilarious hijinks ensued and continue to unfold as of the writing of this post.

The would-be powers that be -- Illuminati, Annunaki, Bohemian Grove types, libertarian utopianists, nihilists with bones to pick, overreaching CIA world-shapers and king-makers, et alia -- might do well to consider my proposal.  Based on what we've all perpetrated and had to endure on the West Coast (echoes of which reverberate throughout the United States, the Philippines, and to a lesser extent, isolated manifestations in Canada, Mexico, and the rest of Latin America -- oh, for aid from the land of the Rising Sun!), might I suggest a refined reiteration of that large scale program (or constellation of programs) focusing on the communities of hedge fund managers and handbag designers in the greater Manhattan area?  It would be counterintuitively far less profligate, and at worst would cause little to no harm and provide reams of entertaining if still embarrassing data.

What say you, oh lords of reality?

(P.S.  Effusive apologies for terrifying Mr. Haros.  Of course, based on my initial assessment, I had no idea he was intelligent enough to be fearful of anything he should be fearful of.  How was I to know?  I guess I was just that unmistakable.  I can only promise to try to be more deceitful in the inexorable, unavoidable future we are all of us threatened by...Kisses!)

Well Slap Me And Call Me Philip K. Dick

I just had an idea for a story in which someone invents a drug to combat cold and flu symptoms that's also a somewhat addictive euphoric.  One of the side effects of the drug is that it reveals to everyone else in the world who the person on it is and that person's psychological and intellectual make-up.  The situation inspires certain people to torture, persecute and kill by proxy those on the drug who are intelligent and good, while leaving alone those elements on the drug who engage in antisocial, undesirable and criminal behavior so that the drug develops a bad reputation among those factions in society who would see it prohibited -- the prohibitionists of course also having the motive of wanting to enrich themselves via the systems that arrest, prosecute and incarcerate those who either purvey the drug or use it.

Everything's Gonna Be Okay

A lot of these news stories have made me sad.  There are a lot of my schizoaffective friends who need help.

But people die, and here we are left.  I'm sad, but I'm not deluded.

We fucked up and they fucked up.  What is it going to take to make this right?  I've got my methamphetamine in (Hitler slammed five times a day, and JFK and Marilyn Monroe both partied), but I don't know if that's gonna help.

God save us all...

Trash Man

The X-Files last night wasn't all that great, but I'll always have a soft spot for the adventures of Special Agents Mulder and Scully.  And the opening scenes were choice:  a monster who hunts and kills those who persecute, exploit and oppress the homeless?  Love it.  San Francisco's own Scott Wiener should watch it, and might be able to, if the hilarious tweaker who stole his phone didn't also make off with his TV and DVR...

Secrets Can Be Hard To Keep

And sometimes, when you feel good, don't you just want the whole world to know, so everyone can be happy for you?

So what we have is a situation in which we've established that telepathy is real, and yet people still get arrested, prosecuted and incarcerated for getting high.  That's so fucking retarded, I feel like kicking everyone's asses.

The Department of Homeland Security

Holy shit.  That guy was gorgeous.  He was chubby (which I like), he had cute dimples, a kind personality, a nice ass, and a pretty package (all I could think about when looking at him was taking his fat, sweet balls in my mouth and sucking that cute, thick bone.  He was so wonderful.)  Whoever you are, guy, I really appreciated you a lot.  I know you and your also handsome partner were down on your way to help with security at Super Bowl City, but I hope you come back this way and meet me.  You're a beautiful man, and I'd love to spend time with you.  You looked so good in your uniform, and you seem like a wonderful guy.  I love you, and really am grateful to you for keeping my friends safe (even if they're irritated by the security checkpoints and overall production...)

Officer, Officer...

...I'm scared and horny.  Can I sit on your lap?  You have such a nice, fine, thick bone...

Among Other Absurdities...

...I can't believe Frankie wanted to use his nifty psychic connection to get me in trouble for being high.

That must suck, being a telepath with a room-temperature IQ.  God, how awful!

Internationally

Still ecstatic about Myanmar, cautiously optimistic about Tunisia.

My worries about Tunisia include CIA rat-fuck activities in the country. Right now, Tunisians are trying the tactic of combating radical Islamists with efforts that promote democracy, at the very moment the Pentagon's balloon has gone up in their request for funding to address threats like ISIS with yet more military force. I could see many in the intelligence community being less than thrilled with any success achieved by those who counter radicals with other than might -- who fight with an eye to what they want and need and what's best, rather than with an eye to what they fear.

Some folks in Tunisia have decided to go with the truism that violence begets more violence, and that hatred can be defeated only by what is right and good, not by more hatred.  Let's hope the agency doesn't fuck this up.

UPDATE:  All this said (especially about CIA rat-fucks), the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  It could really harm the elements I support to have visible American back-up.  Maybe the intelligence community should just leave well enough alone in Tunisia.  Don't try to help -- you might hurt, them and yourselves.

Looking Back...

...(and hoping it doesn't get me turned into a pillar of salt.)

Anyway, when I reflect on the last several years, leading up to the events of October 22, 2014 and the days after, I have to say I don't feel too bad about being ejected from Isengard by Sauron just because he harbored a petty hatred of me, and being forced to move to the Shire.  Besides, orcs are annoying.

Was that a couple of them I saw passing by the other day?  If it was, they probably got their asses handed to them by whoever they bothered in Bag End...