Wishful Thinking

This will never happen, but a person can dream, can’t they?:

When I become the richest man in the world, I will hire thugs to kidnap Zuckerberg, Gates, the CEOs of the biggest Internet monopolies in the U.S., a bunch of web programmers, internet advertising developers, and anyone else my hired flunkies think are part of the problem. We will lock each one, alone, in a separate room for a weekend with all the food, drink, running water, and toiletries they need, a cushy bed to sleep in. They would have no computer, TV, phones of any kind, not even books, nothing to write with either, no windows. Their loved ones would be informed that they are safe. Their only stimulus would be newspapers. The newspapers would be held by robots. The rooms would be monitored by keepers who would control the robots to keep the robots or the newspapers from being touched by the “inmates.” The robot newspaper-holder would fold the paper so that about 4 vertical inches would show at a time. The robot would “read” the eyes of the reader, so that it could tell when the reader was done with a certain section, and have a lag of 30 seconds to 2 minutes before it would show more newspaper. If the reader wanted to read more, they could tell the robot, which would be programmed to then open up more of the newspaper for the reader, but the paper would jump up and down several inches, for about 2 minutes, while the reader tried to concentrate on it. The reader would periodically have to read several slowly unfolding video ads on a monitor which would periodically power up on the robot, and the reader would have to answer questions about the ads before reading any more of the newspaper.

After about a half-day of this, the “inmates” would be allowed access to a keyboard, hooked only to a stand-alone computer programmed to only do word-processing. Any attempt to use the keyboard to change the computer’s function would result in complete shutdown of the computer and taking away of the newspapers. They would be allowed to type any text they want, but every goddamn character they typed would have a maddening delay of 1 to 3 seconds before it would appear on the monitor in front of them. They would be informed that they could speed up this typing process, if they turn off the computer every half hour and restart it. Or they could speed it up by watching several more ads and answering quiz questions about the ads.

After about 12 hours of this treatment, the inmates would be allowed to leave one day early, as long as they issued a video statement to be made public upon their release, acknowledging their part in making the world of the internet, at least as known in the U.S., a big, giant, confusing, annoying, stuttering, ridiculously expensive, stupid pain-in-the-ass, when it could instead be a constantly enjoyable, informative, entertaining, illuminating experience. You know, like it should be.

Thank you for letting me vent.

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Opposites Attract, and Talk Smack

Well, I’ve been remiss about doing anything “creative” for a long time. After I’d already gotten lazy about blogging, I was on some anti-depressants for about 2 months. I think they work wonders for lots of people, and may yet for me in the future, but all they did for me was make me tired and make the back of my neck sweaty.  Well, that was mostly all they did, anyway. They acted like a “doubler” for partying, it seemed like, and they helped me slow down my drinking. I noticed some uplift in mood, but not enough to make me want to put up with sleeping all the time. I also truly think I’m just unhappy about a lot of stuff, not unreasonably despondent about life’s downs. And no generic Lexapro will fix the root cause of being unsatisfied with life’s progress.

I’ve also been too busy, doing stuff such as working on making a man-cave out of my storage-shed. I ran power to it earlier this summer, then shingled it, which it needed anyway, then insulated it, made a work bench, hung a bunch of stuff up, etc. I tell people I’m building the man-cave first, then going out to look for a woman to move in with me so that I have someone to escape from, to the man cave I already made for me. Or something like that. It’s small, but wide open in the middle, so if this mythical “she” likes The Who, we’ve got a built-in plywood dance floor. Which feels good on old feet.

Anyway, here’s something I wrote today, back in my corner at work at breaktime. Catholics, please excuse me for the first 4 lines. I was raised a Norwegian-American Lutheran, and now I’m a heathen, so I don’t go to confession, but the first 4 lines just popped into my head at work today, so I had to “write it out.” I thought it started out semi-inspired, but then, meh. I suppose even successful writers feel the need to “write it out.” It’s a sweet little poem about people on the opposite side of the political fence: Continue reading

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In Which Messrs. Moon and Entwistle Didn’t Necessarily Save My Life, But They Sure Perked Me the Fuck Up (Or “The Summer of Who”)

I tend to keep score. My life isn’t as fancy as others’, my home is humbler, my vacations are simpler, my bed sure as hell is emptier, my “career” less fulfilling, my dreams less realized.

Since i have little or no “confident middle ground,” I tend to balance those low scores out (in the “standings” I mentally keep) with arrogance. “Deserved” or not, it’s there all the same. My musical, literary, political, lifestyle opinions and preferences are of course better and more important than anyone else’s. I don’t believe I write any better, or as well as, any “blogging buddies,” but I sure as heck write better than most published authors today. Did you know that the books in the “Shades of Gray” series are non-recyclable (something about the covers)? So this one used bookstore made a fort out of the books that were turned in to them. If people read them for the smut, why return them so soon? Does the average reader constantly need new input for those “quality alone times” in the bathtub? Wouldn’t the same old S & M paragraphs do for a lot of “happy endings?” Continue reading

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Yeah More of That

Grace always had a hard-on for Jorma. Eskimo Blue Day. He gave her great cues.


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Perhaps, then

I would perhaps write someday. Meantime I’d say that nothing matters other than family, friends, and good music.



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Why I Hate “Criminal Minds”

It’s not that Thomas Gibson is such a wooden actor with a monotone voice.
It’s not that Matthew Gobble Gubler is SUCH a wienie.
It’s not that I don’t buy the relationship between Shemar and the lady described as
“the poor man’s Pauley Perrette.”
It’s that they linger on the creepiness of what the freakazoids do.

Remember the 1980’s Diet Pepsi commercials?
Diet Pepsi, one small calorie; now you see it, now you don’t.
With sleek, sleek bodies
and ladies lips suggestively sucking
Diet Pepsi through a straw.
I’m not saying I had to grab “Little Waldo” right then and there.
But I’d definitely put the commercials into my “spank bank”
WAY before the term “spank bank” was invented
As far as I know.

So, the killer who pulls the woman out of the trunk in his basement
And smells her hair and kisses her and whatnot
(I won’t go on any more in that vein because I don’t want to dignify it)
I’m absolutely sure that someone, somewhere
(A number of people, a number of wheres)
Is/are sputting off to that part of the show.
And the lingering done by the writers, producers, directors, actors
Of that show
Lingering on the creepy scenes
To advance the main plot, which is the
“How do we catch this ‘FUCK’?”
Aspect of the show.

It would be more than enough
To just gloss over the abduction part
Just show a woman in the headlights of a car
Or walking outside somewhere
Then, you know, TALK about the fact that she’s missing,
Then TALK about the creep’s proclivities
Then SHOW how you catch him.
Wouldn’t that be enough?

And don’t get me started
About “Law and Order SVU”
I know the job would make a cop be “negative”
But, still, a little more likability
Coming from Jayne Mansfield’s kid
And from Chris Macaroni
Wouldn’t fucking hurt the fucking plot, would it?
Although I would seriously DO that one DA girl
If she had poor taste.

(This isn’t a Pulitzer Prize winner; I just had to get back on the bicycle before the wheels fell off)

(BTW, it’s 2016, people; I don’t care that Shemar Moore’s and Kirsten Vangsness’s characters’ friendship is interracial, or that he’s “much prettier” than her. It just somehow seems forced, is all.)

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Test 34 Billie Holiday Strange Fruit

I had no concept of this existing anywhere. I’ve never done junk myself and am grateful for that, though I understand the need to succumb completely to one or another drug, but, without knowing where she was in her addiction or treatment experience, I’d say it appears that she was completely in the throes of something, yet of course so beyond anything that we think of as gifted. Which is hopefully a classier way of saying that, here, Billie appears to be completely wasted but she nails it.




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