I wish my memories dead

by yours truly

Memories are escape artists. They run free. 

They are rampant until you look for one. 

They play hide and seek. They are there until you walk through the door. 

Then they vanish until you go back to where you started. 

Hunting them is near impossible. 

They get too far before we can form a search party. 

You can wait in a tree all day, but you’ll rarely spot one. 

You can train your rifle at one, take aim, fire, 

And the bullet zings by hitting nothing. 

You catch one and stuff it. Hire a taxadermist. 

Hang it on the wall. 

Friends come. You tell them about your prize shot. 

The one that 

didn’t get away. 

“That’s a great catch,” they’ll say. 

“Thanks for sharing,” they’ll whisper. 

“I’m jealous,” they’ll think. 

“Let me show you mine,” they’ll say. 

And out from their pocket comes their memory machine.  

With the ones they’ve shot and killed. 

I wish, I wish, I wish, I would have stuffed more memories and built a mansion to house them. But then you would think me a murderer, or a hoarder or a selfish maniac. 

Memories aren’t as bloody on the wall. The screams and the writhing pain aren’t as jostling in the frame or in the display case. 

Memories are con artists. 

They make you wish  outcomes different. 

Memories want to convince you that 

… you should’ve married earlier, adopted dogs sooner, learned that art, that instrument, that habit without complaint or distraction. 

You wish you would have picked your ass off the pew pain free, Scott free. 

Olly olly oxen free. 

You wish you would have read more books and poetry. 

You wish you would have shot, killed and displayed more memories. 

So many gone, buried, forgotten, lost. 

“You better do a better job,” your mind whispers in your ear.

The air rushing past your ear, it tickles. It hurts a little. 

You cry laugh. You pull you shoulder to your ear with your eyes shut. 

“You should get a more powerful rifle to kill more memories. Carry it with you everywhere.” 

It’s your right. 

No, it’s your duty. 

No, it’s your obligation. 

Kill them dead and show off the bodies. 

Friends are desperately want to see the carcasses. 

Strangers are fascinated with blood, and how the living stopped breathing, and how powerful your rifle must be. 

(reminder: poetry is meant to read aloud).

Randy Rainbow hits another way out of the park

I see these videos from Randy Rainbow, and tend to watch enough of them to get a gist of his message and then I move on. But it wasn’t until I saw this CNN interview (below) that I developed a real appreciation for his work.

To see him in his element and how barebones his efforts are, how personal and how it would appear he’s doing all the work himself. That’s fucking impressive. It’s motivating me to get my head out of my ass.

The second Pfizer jab grabbed me by the business, violently shook me like a rabid dog killing a rabbit, and left me on the floor in a sweaty mess

Thursday I got my second Pfizer jab. I felt fine after. Barely felt the needle go in.

Thursday evening, we had two friends over who are in our bubble for dinner. They are both vaxxed. The next morning, I felt fine. My left arm was sore again, like the first jab, but nothing crazy.

Then as the day wore on, I turned into a mess. I developed a fever, my body ached, I had shortness of breath and I wanted to vomit.

I anticipated a little something, so I tried to take it easy. I took a bath, which might not have been a good idea. My resting heart rate was hovering around 100.

Around 4:00, I finally started feeling okay again. By 5, I was probably 90%.

Continue reading “The second Pfizer jab grabbed me by the business, violently shook me like a rabid dog killing a rabbit, and left me on the floor in a sweaty mess”

I worship at the altar of Bill Gates, he is my master and my genes have been altered to advance the globalist New World Order Satanic agenda

Yesterday Tina and I got our second dose of Pfizer vaccine, you know, so that we can have our genetic code altered or some shit.

I had a Thursday appointment at a Walgreens seven miles away. It was the only one available yesterday when I made my appointment on Wednesday. Tina made an appointment on Friday, but called the Walgreens I was headed to and asked if she could get one at the same time. The person on the other line said, “Yes, that should be fine.”

Tina’s deathly afraid of needles, so when the person said yes, she jammed straight into panic mode. We ended up taking a little CBD edible to calm our nerves and headed to Walgreens.

Continue reading “I worship at the altar of Bill Gates, he is my master and my genes have been altered to advance the globalist New World Order Satanic agenda”

Bamboo? They should be looking for ink made from soy sauce.

Efforts to overturn the election include wasting a shit-ton of money on a frivolous audit exacted by idiots using bamboo detecting high resolution cameras. The person who convinced another person that he or she had a bamboo-detecting camera should win an award for con-artistry.

Arizona is dumping money in toilets and flushing incessantly. Because you know, Obama-era toilets aren’t capable of flushing on the first plunge.

More here.

Orgone, take me away!

These $5.99 hockey pucks will ward off the evil. Buy yours today!

Tina, our two dogs Talulah and Josephine, and I drove back from NC to Chicago yesterday. We’ll be here for work projects and return to NC in July. While away, our house will be occupied quite often with guests.

Our car was packed to the gills. I bought some used cross bars to attach our Thule to. They are third party and I don’t have any reason to trust them. They were a little challenging to install. My fear was that we would reach 80 or 90 mph at times and the whole thing would rip from the roof and the thing would cause a massive accident and carnage all over the highway.

Between that and the weight in the car, the back suspension was sitting low. It’s a new car and it’s an SUV, so it feels a little top heavy when driving.

All these factors caused me to white knuckle drive especially when it started raining in Ohio and Indiana. Tina asked if I wanted her to take the wheel for a while. I told her that would make me more nervous.

Continue reading “Orgone, take me away!”

raising hell from an ignorant stance

Last Fall, Tina and I traded our CX-5 for a CX-30. We were thrilled by its feature set, but a little taken aback that its size was soooo much smaller than the CX-30. We figured with an additional roof cargo box, we would be fine, but the damn car was just too small.

I started looking around for a new car, and landed on a Kia Telluride. Hoooboy, that’s a cool vehicle. And it got a 97 percent approval from Consumer Reports. We test drove a couple and man they are awesome. Problem was that the value of my car was only $25K and a used 2020 we were eyeballing was $42k. I just couldn’t justify forking out that amount of money.

So we stayed looking at Kias, which I swear to Lord God Yeshua Christ that I thought I would NEVER EVER consider. We ended up test driving a Sorento, which is labeled a mini Telluride, and it is… it’s got three rows of seats, but it’s just a tad smaller than the Telluride. Then we drove a Sportage, which had cooled seats, a steering wheel warmer, and a panoramic roof window with sun roof.

Since we already started the process and found that the car ticked off all our boxes even size, we thought, “Let’s trade our CX-30 in for this guy.

Tina, badass that she is, negotiated our trade value up a couple more thousand. But then that painful process of “Wait here while I talk to my manager” started and it was after lunch time. I looked at Tina and I said, “Let’s just go. Let them work out the details. I’m not sitting through this bullshit again.”

So we left. My phone blew up with calls and texts from our salesperson, managers and the cleaning staff. One text read, “Why did you leave?”

I wrote back, “We were hungry. And we’re not sitting there waiting for everything to get ready. I told you we were buying the car. Get your ducks in a row and when you’re ready for us to come pick it up, we will. I’d like curbside pickup, please.”

“I don’t know what that it is,” she wrote.

“It’s where I do everything from afar and you hand me the keys when I get there. It’s the pandemic, I don’t feel comfortable in your facility. I don’t want anything but the car. No upgrades. No paint protection or leather protection. Nothing.”

So they basically got everything together and they sent me a piece of paper with the total cost without the taxes and fees. At the top of the paper, they wrote: “DSRP” which was $900 more than sticker. But I assumed at the time that DSRP meant $900 in extra add ons.

When we paid, they did not tell me they didn’t charge me that extra fee. And after I slept on the purchase, I got infuriated that we paid more. So when we went to pick up an extra key and drop off our title for the trade in, I sat down with a sales manager and asked him what the $900 extra on the sheet was all about. He explained it was for add ons. It wasn’t just air. Nitrogen in the tires that helps them stay inflated better.

“I can give you a list of the things it included,” He said.

“Great. I’d like that.”

He said he’d have our sales person send it over. I never got it.

So when I got a call that I needed to sign yet another piece of paperwork, I got mad at the inconvenience and I told the woman who called that I was pissed off at Bob King. She said she’d relay my message.

In five minutes, I got a call from another manager and he asked me about coming in to sign this paperwork. I said, “Is that why you called?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, I just talked to another woman and we straightened all that out. I also told her that I was pissed at you guys for fucking us with our car sale.”

He assured me that they had not and he could show me the paperwork.

So I flipped out and said, “I’ll see you in five minutes.”

I drove down and he met me at the door. He walked me to the overall manager and I sat down. We immediately got into a heated exchange. When I showed him the paper that had “DSRP” written at the top, he said, “That’s a piece of paper.”

We went back and forth for a while. He had written “smile!” on his facemask and I said, “Are you smiling under there?”

“YES I AM!” He barked.

“Bullshit,” I said.

“Then why did I have a conversation with David and he told me that we had paid extra?”

“I don’t know. But you did NOT pay more. You think because I’m a car dealer I screwed you? Screw you, sir. You’re an idiot. I’m going to sue you. Get out of my office!”

I was floored.

I reached for my phone and I found voice memos and I pressed record. I looked at him and I said, “We need to reset. Let’s reset. Start over. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for patronizing you and for coming into your office and raising hell.”

He calmed down too. And he showed me exactly what the invoice we paid said.

Fuck, man. I lost my shit on someone who was showing me proof. And because I was delusional and arguing from the stand point of complete ignorance, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

But said and done, I could not argue with the evidence.

And I sit here and I think about all the times that people argue without evidence for some cherished delusion they hold dear. Even when you think you have written evidence. Someone can point you at information that proves you wrong, but you keep arguing from a delusional perspective.

We left best friends. The guy totally was like, “Man, I’ll never think of this issue again. It’s water under the bridge.” We shared stories that we’re both adopted and he got this close to a political conversation, but I said, “Man, I think we’re all bigger than that.”

He agreed. He pointed out the window and he said, “Across the street there’s a school and on days when I’m particularly upset with the world, I walk out and look at those kids playing in the field. I see how diverse they are. Kids from all over and it makes all things better. The media makes us all enemies. But those kids are proof that we can all get along.”

Can’t we all get along?

silence is ear-piercing screaming shrieks

Yesterday as I worked on photo editing, I was listening to NPR stories about Adam Toledo and some Deliverance-level jackass who shot up a FedEx facility in Indianapolis. I started crying and held my head in my hands at one point.

“If I were in Chicago, I would join the protests,” I told myself. I’m tired of all this bullshit of black people getting shot and then mass shootings of innocent people in supposedly safe environments taking their lives and freedoms away by force and mental illness.

And I say fuck those people who think destroying public property in retaliation for woman’s babies getting murdered left and right by the people we trust to protect us.

In North Carolina, I leave stuff out in my garage and in my yard. Two days ago, I left bags of mulch, pea rocks, a new mailbox and new mail post by the street for a few hours. “What if someone steals this stuff?” Tina asked.

Continue reading “silence is ear-piercing screaming shrieks”

Use this time as an opportunity to change

Reposting from Kottke:

Olga Khazan, writing for the NY Times in an essay adapted from her book Weird, tells us that if we’re not satisfied with our personalities, we can change them.

After all, the person who emerges from quarantine doesn’t have to be the same old you. Scientists say that people can change their personalities well into adulthood. And what better time for transformation than now, when no one has seen you for a year, and might have forgotten what you were like in the first place?

It was long thought that people just are a certain way, and they’ll remain that way forever. The Greek physician Hippocrates believed that people’s personalities were governed by the amounts of phlegm, blood, black bile and yellow bile that flowed through their bodies.

Modern science, of course, has long since discarded notions of bile and humors. And now, it appears the idea that our personalities are immutable is also not quite true. Researchers have found that adults can change the five traits that make up personality — extroversion, openness to experience, emotional stability, agreeableness and conscientiousness — within just a few months. Much as in Dr. Steffel’s case, the traits are connected, so changing one might lead to changes in another.

Put more succinctly: “Remember that your personality is more like a sand dune than a stone.”