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Tuesday, September 8th, 2015
11:18 am

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Friday, June 26th, 2015
5:42 pm - God in Pain

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3:31 pm - guh
today sucks

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Saturday, January 28th, 2012
12:47 am


Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

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12:46 am



Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

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Sunday, August 7th, 2011
10:43 am - The end
As of today, this Journal is officially closed. It was a weird, sometimes funny, mostly confusing run of rants over 9 years. Anyone who stumbles upon it, feel free to judge, enjoy, mock, laugh at whatever you want. Do with this shit as you please.


El Mar de las canciones y las rimas no me conoce.
Y yo no la conozco.
Solo el Mar bello y violento me ayuda a quemar una piel
de carne debil a un caparazon de bronze.

Solo el mar verdadero. Verdaderamente solo el mar.

Y me voy de la costa.

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Monday, July 4th, 2011
6:31 pm
"A soul that knows it is loved but does not itself love betrays as sediment: what is at the bottom comes up."


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Sunday, July 3rd, 2011
11:31 am
I don't want to live in this world, anymore

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Saturday, June 25th, 2011
4:42 pm
"Anything that is complex is not useful and anything that is useful is simple. This has been my whole life's motto."

Mikhail Kalashnikov

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Tuesday, June 7th, 2011
5:54 pm - Podcast
Brief update:

Went to Austin, then to Houston to hang out with my good friends Ashley, Robert P., and my brother Robert.

Had a great time

Robert P. and I recorded a music podcast and display our silliness. Its sexy. Check it out.


Drinking game:

Take a drink every time you hear me say the word "essentially"

Also, I grossly misuse the word "referendum."

God, im never drinking and doing a podcast, again.

I was also buzzed and nervous...yea thats my excuse...so cut me a break.

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Wednesday, December 29th, 2010
4:54 am - swimmer's ear
4 am and my dreams have me thinking.

And I try to listen to the warnings, the pleadings in my body,
and as their demands grow louder in voice-stomach pangs, pains, aches,
a filled bladder I try to quiet them all in order of loudest to softest.

But a louder protest drowns them out, slowly, insidiously.

A swimmer's corpse again has come to surface in the dark hours of 0330ish.


A stench more demanding, less patient like a hotel patron banging
on the receptionist's desk after a long flight.

My body now sits in the lobby, listless, listening to this corpse's demands.

The pang of hunger, the bladder full of piss have given way to a need impossible to fill.

I try to have control.

0330ish in the morning.

I try to have control.

She isn't here. And her abscence is a cacophonous silence-driving up the volume
of my hotel patron's demands.

A disgusting, stinking corpse, reeking and impregnating my floors and my walls
with its decomposing miasma.

No self-inflicted orgasm will drive him away.

It will just push him out, for a few moments, before he charges back in and leaps over the counter - strangling me with his fetid face dripping on mine.


in mourning.

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Saturday, December 18th, 2010
3:25 pm
The sun is glaring.

I feel cheated.

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Wednesday, December 8th, 2010
11:44 pm - ...
amidst a period of turbulence i realize all i need in this tranquil, brief moment is a beer koozie.

This moment won't last but for the night. But at least I have it now.

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Tuesday, September 14th, 2010
2:33 pm - penned from the vertigo of confusion
So I was there, finding myself repeatedly, violently brought back to the same scenario:

A neighborhood with high, high picket fences, at least 15 feet tall. The grass green, almost lime green.

And people laughed. And she laughed. And I couldn't leap those fences. And I couldn't get to the door of the houses. I don't think the houses had doors. And people were in their yards. Celebrating with jubilation. Giddy with joy. I heard bells. I heard Indistinct music, with celebratory trumpets.

I tried to jump the fence. Again. Again. Until my leg started to bleed on the ground. And then i was sitting on a crate of boxes. Inside a warehouse. With ninjas eating cereal on the cold, wet, oil stained concrete floor. I jumped and ran, hearing gun shots, and feeling them hitting me.

Then I saw a rusted fence and I crashed into it. It bent. I crashed it again, and ended up flying through, hitting a pile of empty boxes.

And I was inside the lime green yard. Bathed by golden sun. And she was laughing. I turned to see her, and she wasn't there. I ran and found people, indistinct. I asked them.

No answers, just half smiles. Happy eyes.

So I just lay on the grass. Just to hear her laugh again.

I woke up feeling heavy, melancholy, disturbed, and relieved to be on my bed.

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Sunday, June 20th, 2010
4:54 pm - Didi and Gogo, by popular demand

Didi on the left, Gogo on the right.



Gogo Grooming my hand


He loves Yogurt


Didi grooming Gogo


Didi on my shoulder


Didi making a tunnel out of my hand


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Saturday, June 5th, 2010
10:17 pm - When your gravity fails and your negativity don't pull you through...

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez and it's Easter time too
When your gravity fails you and negativity don't pull you through
Don't you put on any airs when you're lost on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry creatures there, they'll surely make a mess out of you

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Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010
5:27 am - Delightfully homophobic

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Saturday, May 29th, 2010
11:06 pm - Only in a fascist state can an unprecedented environmental disaster go virtually unheeded by masses.
Harper's Magazine: We Now Live in a Fascist State

Date: Tue, 11 Oct 2005 13:34:38 -0700

The article below appears in the current issue of Harpers and was written
by Lewis H. Lapham


Knowing the source of this piece makes it all the more disturbing. It is not every day that the editor of a respected national magazine publishes an essay claiming that America is not on the road to becoming, but ALREADY IS, a fascist state.... or words to that affect.

To help prepare you for what follows, here are the final sentence from this piece.... [I think we can look forward with confidence to character-building bankruptcies, picturesque bread riots, thrilling cavalcades of splendidly costumed motorcycle police.]

On message By Lewis H. Lapham Harper's Magazine, October 2005, pps. 7-9 "But I venture the challenging statement that if American democracy ceases to move forward as a living force, seeking day and night by peaceful means to better the lot of our citizens, then Fascism and Communism, aided, unconsciously perhaps, by old-line Tory Republicanism, will grow in strength in our land." -Franklin D. Roosevelt, November 4, 1938

In 1938 the word "fascism" hadn't yet been transferred into an abridged metaphor for all the world's unspeakable evil and monstrous crime, and on coming across President Roosevelt's prescient remark in one of Umberto Eco's essays, I could read it as prose instead of poetry -- a reference not to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse or the pit of Hell but to the political theories that regard individual citizens as the property of the government, happy villagers glad to wave the flags and wage the wars, grateful for the good fortune that placed them in the care of a sublime leader. Or, more emphatically, as Benito Mussolini liked to say, "Everything in the state. Nothing outside the state. Nothing against the state."

The theories were popular in Europe in the 1930s (cheering crowds, rousing band music, splendid military uniforms), and in the United States they numbered among their admirers a good many important people who believed that a somewhat modified form of fascism (power vested in the banks and business corporations instead of with the army) would lead the country out of the wilderness of the Great Depression -- put an end to the Pennsylvania labor troubles, silence the voices of socialist heresy and democratic dissent. Roosevelt appreciated the extent of fascism's popularity at the political box office; so does Eco, who takes pains in the essay "Ur-Fascism," published in The New York Review of Books in 1995, to suggest that it's a mistake to translate fascism into a figure of literary speech. By retrieving from our historical memory only the vivid and familiar images of fascist tyranny (Gestapo firing squads, Soviet labor camps, the chimneys at Treblinka), we lose sight of the faith-based initiatives that sustained the tyrant's rise to glory. The several experiments with fascist government, in Russia and Spain as well as in Italy and Germany, didn't depend on a single portfolio of dogma, and so Eco, in search of their common ground, doesn't look for a unifying principle or a standard text. He attempts to describe a way of thinking and a habit of mind, and on sifting through the assortment of fantastic and often contradictory notions -- Nazi paganism, Franco's National Catholicism, Mussolini's corporatism, etc. -- he finds a set of axioms on which all the fascisms agree. Among the most notable:

The truth is revealed once and only once.

Parliamentary democracy is by definition rotten because it doesn't represent the voice of the people, which is that of the sublime leader.

Doctrine outpoints reason, and science is always suspect.

Critical thought is the province of degenerate intellectuals, who betray the culture and subvert traditional values.

The national identity is provided by the nation's enemies.

Argument is tantamount to treason.

Perpetually at war, the state must govern with the instruments of fear. Citizens do not act; they play the supporting role of "the people" in the grand opera that is the state.

Eco published his essay ten years ago, when it wasn't as easy as it has since become to see the hallmarks of fascist sentiment in the character of an American government. Roosevelt probably wouldn't have been surprised.

He'd encountered enough opposition to both the New Deal and to his belief in such a thing as a United Nations to judge the force of America's racist passions and the ferocity of its anti-intellectual prejudice. As he may have guessed, so it happened. The American democracy won the battles for Normandy and Iwo Jima, but the victories abroad didn't stem the retreat of democracy at home, after 1968 no longer moving "forward as a living force, seeking day and night to better the lot" of its own citizens, and now that sixty years have passed since the bomb fell on Hiroshima, it doesn't take much talent for reading a cashier's scale at Wal-Mart to know that it is fascism, not democracy, that won the heart and mind of America's "Greatest Generation," added to its weight and strength on America's shining seas and fruited plains.

A few sorehead liberal intellectuals continue to bemoan the fact, write books about the good old days when everybody was in charge of reading his or her own mail. I hear their message and feel their pain, share their feelings of regret, also wish that Cole Porter was still writing songs, that Jean Harlow and Robert Mitchum hadn't quit making movies. But what's gone is gone, and it serves nobody's purpose to deplore the fact that we're not still riding in a coach to Philadelphia with Thomas Jefferson. The attitude is cowardly and French, symptomatic of effete aesthetes who refuse to change with the times.

As set forth in Eco's list, the fascist terms of political endearment are refreshingly straightforward and mercifully simple, many of them already accepted and understood by a gratifyingly large number of our most forward-thinking fellow citizens, multitasking and safe with Jesus. It does no good to ask the weakling's pointless question, "Is America a fascist state?" We must ask instead, in a major rather than a minor key, "Can we make America the best damned fascist state the world has ever seen," an authoritarian paradise deserving the admiration of the international capital markets, worthy of "a decent respect to the opinions of mankind"? I wish to be the first to say we can. We're Americans; we have the money and the know-how to succeed where Hitler failed, and history has favored us with advantages not given to the early pioneers.

We don't have to burn any books.

The Nazis in the 1930s were forced to waste precious time and money on the inoculation of the German citizenry, too well-educated for its own good, against the infections of impermissible thought. We can count it as a blessing that we don't bear the burden of an educated citizenry. The systematic destruction of the public-school and library systems over the last thirty years, a program wisely carried out under administrations both Republican and Democratic, protects the market for the sale and distribution of the government's propaganda posters. The publishing companies can print as many books as will guarantee their profit (books on any and all subjects, some of them even truthful), but to people who don't know how to read or think, they do as little harm as snowflakes falling on a frozen pond.

We don't have to disturb, terrorize, or plunder the bourgeoisie.

In Communist Russia as well as in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, the codes of social hygiene occasionally put the regime to the trouble of smashing department-store windows, beating bank managers to death, inviting opinionated merchants on complimentary tours (all expenses paid, breathtaking scenery) of Siberia. The resorts to violence served as study guides for free, thinking businessmen reluctant to give up on the democratic notion that the individual citizen is entitled to an owner's interest in his or her own mind.

The difficulty doesn't arise among people accustomed to regarding themselves as functions of a corporation. Thanks to the diligence of out news media and the structure of our tax laws, our affluent and suburban classes have taken to heart the lesson taught to the aspiring serial killers rising through the ranks at West Point and the Harvard Business School -- think what you're told to think, and not only do you get to keep the house in Florida or command of the Pentagon press office but on some sunny prize day not far over the horizon, the compensation committee will hand you a check for $40 million, or President George W. Bush will bestow on you the favor of a nickname as witty as the ones that on good days elevate Karl Rove to the honorific "Boy Genius," on bad days to the disappointed but no less affectionate "Turd Blossom." Who doesn't now know that the corporation is immortal, that it is the corporation that grants the privilege of an identity, confers meaning on one's life, gives the pension, a decent credit rating, and the priority standing in the community? Of course the corporation reserves the right to open one's email, test one's blood, listen to the phone calls, examine one's urine, hold the patent on the copyright to any idea generated on its premises. Why ever should it not? As surely as the loyal fascist knew that it was his duty to serve the state, the true American knows that it is his duty to protect the brand.

Having met many fine people who come up to the corporate mark -- on golf courses and commuter trains, tending to their gardens in Fairfield County while cutting back the payrolls in Michigan and Mexico -- I'm proud to say (and I think I speak for all of us here this evening with Senator Clinton and her lovely husband) that we're blessed with a bourgeoisie that will welcome fascism as gladly as it welcomes the rain in April and the sun in June. No need to send for the Gestapo or the NKVD; it will not be necessary to set examples.

We don't have to gag the press or seize the radio stations.

People trained to the corporate style of thought and movement have no further use for free speech, which is corrupting, overly emotional, reckless, and ill-informed, not calibrated to the time available for television talk or to the performance standards of a Super Bowl halftime show. It is to our advantage that free speech doesn't meet the criteria of the free market. We don't require the inspirational genius of a Joseph Goebbels; we can rely instead on the dictates of the Nielsen ratings and the camera angles, secure in the knowledge that the major media syndicates run the business on strictly corporatist principles -- afraid of anything disruptive or inappropriate, committed to the promulgation of what is responsible, rational, and approved by experts. Their willingness to stay on message is a credit to their professionalism.

The early twentieth-century fascists had to contend with individuals who regarded their freedom of expression as a necessity -- the bone and marrow of their existence, how they recognized themselves as human beings. Which was why, if sometimes they refused appointments to the state-run radio stations, they sometimes were found dead on the Italian autostrada or drowned in the Kiel Canal. The authorities looked upon their deaths as forms of self-indulgence. The same attitude governs the agreement reached between labor and management at our leading news organizations. No question that the freedom of speech is extended to every American -- it says so in the Constitution -- but the privilege is one that musn't be abused. Understood in a proper and financially rewarding light, freedom of speech is more trouble than it's worth -- a luxury comparable to owning a racehorse and likely to bring with it little else except the risk of being made to look ridiculous. People who learn to conduct themselves in a manner respectful of the telephone tap and the surveillance camera have no reason to fear the fist of censorship. By removing the chore of having to think for oneself, one frees up more leisure time to enjoy the convenience of the Internet services that know exactly what one likes to hear and see and wear and eat. We don't have to murder the intelligentsia.

Here again, we find ourselves in luck. The society is so glutted with easy entertainment that no writer or company of writers is troublesome enough to warrant the compliment of an arrest, or even the courtesy of a sharp blow to the head. What passes for the American school of dissent talks exclusively to itself in the pages of obscure journals, across the coffee cups in Berkeley and Park Slope, in half-deserted lecture halls in small Midwestern
colleges. The author on the platform or the beach towel can be relied upon to direct his angriest invective at the other members of the academy who failed to drape around the title of his latest book the garland of a rave review.

The blessings bestowed by Providence place America in the front rank of nations addressing the problems of a twenty-first century, certain to require bold geopolitical initiatives and strong ideological solutions. How can it be otherwise? More pressing demands for always scarcer resources; ever larger numbers of people who cannot be controlled except with an increasingly heavy hand of authoritarian guidance. Who better than the Americans to lead the fascist renaissance, set the paradigm, order the preemptive strikes? The existence of mankind hangs in the balance; failure is not an option. Where else but in America can the world find the visionary intelligence to lead it bravely into the future -- Donald Rumsfeld our Dante, Turd Blossom our Michelangelo?

I don't say that over the last thirty years we haven't made brave strides forward. By matching Eco's list of fascist commandments against our record of achievement, we can see how well we've begun the new project for the next millennium -- the notion of absolute and eternal truth embraced by the evangelical Christians and embodied in the strict constructions of the Constitution; our national identity provided by anonymous Arabs; Darwin's theory of evolution rescinded by the fiat of "intelligent design"; a state of perpetual war and a government administering, in generous and daily doses, the drug of fear; two presidential elections stolen with little or no objection on the part of a complacent populace; the nation's congressional districts gerrymandered to defend the White House for the next fifty years against the intrusion of a liberal-minded president; the news media devoted to the arts of iconography, busily minting images of corporate executives like those of the emperor heroes on the coins of ancient Rome.

An impressive beginning, in line with what the world has come to expect from the innovative Americans, but we can do better. The early twentieth-century fascisms didn't enter their golden age until the proletariat in the countries that gave them birth had been reduced to abject poverty. The music and the marching songs rose with the cry of eagles from the wreckage of the domestic economy. On the evidence of the wonderful work currently being done by the Bush Administration with respect to the trade deficit and the national debt -- to say nothing of expanding the markets for global terrorism -- I think we can look forward with confidence to character-building bankruptcies, picturesque bread riots, thrilling cavalcades of splendidly costumed motorcycle police.

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Tuesday, April 27th, 2010
3:59 am - "The Quest for Enlightenment will never resonate with the Masses"

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Thursday, April 8th, 2010
6:53 am - Le Mondial. Fils de pute.
Maintenant je suis au travail, donc je suis très fatigue. Je dormirai après de travailler ce matin. Ainsi, peut être que ma résume sera pas le meilleur.

Alors, j'ai lis que certaines personnes, c'est a dire les pauvres, leur ont expulses de ses maisons. Le gouvernement d'Afrique du Sud ne veut pas que les touristes voient les pauvres. Donc, les pauvres ont été déplacés pour le gouvernement a des camps de concentration.

Vraiment j'utilise la phrase "camps du concentration" parce que je veux me référer a les mêmes moyens qui les Nazis avait utilise. Bien qu'ils ne sera pas extermines, ils ont été séparés du reste du monde (i.e. les touristes avec argent). Aussi, je dis "camps du concentration" parce que cela est vraiment le racisme, le classisme. L'apartheid existe tout a fait dans 2010, et la communite internationale ne rien dit.

Ceci me dérange:

"Il n'y a ni école ni clinique dans le camp...Les sanitaires sont partages: environ un pour quatre familles..les autorités on refuse d'attribuer un code postal...et le code postal est nécessaire pour travailler."

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