That Sudden Peace And Drive Safe Was Me Be Being Lazy As Fuck. 

I lay in a semi-dark room and listen to Hulk Hogan's old walk-in theme "Real American."

This song is America.

"I am a real American. Fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American. Fight for what's right. Fight for your life."

If only.

I also scroll through the normie politics subreddit and people are wondering if we are one violent incident away from this country exploding like a Roman candle.

I see it.

Everything is so sinister and mean.

Sloop John B plays in my ear.

"This is worst trip I've ever been on."

We're on that trip, America.

I sit down here and I try this. Type my thoughts. Try to dress ‘em up like Fonzie or a monk who just got it. Thing is, usually I’m going nowhere. I’m not Fonzie. I’m not a monk. I’m not the hero. The world is full of people who think they need to be the big-dicked hero. 

We. We>me. 

I say that as I tickle these here keys all alone. Are we all these people having heroic fantasies all alone? We’re all Luke Skywalker staring at the horizon. Maybe it’s time to cut that shit out. Maybe we need to cut it out because it’s dangerous. 

I remember. Nah, I half-remember. Shit, maybe this never happened. I remember a Saturday Night Live Christmas parody. It was a parody of those holiday specials with the clay people. I dunno. Do you know what I’m talking about? Aight. There was a line that stuck with me. I don’t remember the context. I just remember the line, “It’s not about you, you douchebag.” 

IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU, YOU DOUCHEBAG. 

Maybe I’m way off here but that’s the heart of pure, undefiled religion right there. Of course, what happens with religion is people get transfixed by the messianic figures. That’s all they see. They try to see themselves in the messiahs. 

Went somewhere. Somewhere. Got lost there though. Might not be able to go any farther. 

Due to a mix-up that is too stupid to explain, my appointment never happened. 

Additional Notes on How I Learned to Love the Lord

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what I wrote earlier today. Mostly I’m not too satisfied with it. I feel like things could have been more lucid and more interesting. There was so much that I could have said that I did not end up saying. 

Faith or lack thereof is a challenging thing to express. There was a lot that just got lost or at least that’s my feeling. 

The story that I told myself as a Christian was that I was a reformed criminal that found redemption. Reformed criminal? I was a kid that did something dumb but in my mind, I might as well have been knocking over liquor stores or have been some kind of budding serial killer. I had a desire to convey to people what a wretched sinner I was if I ever got the chance. I look back on this and I’m both amused and disturbed. 

People give reasons for doing things. I don’t know that I buy too many of the standard answers given about why someone takes the dive for J.C. especially if it is couched in theologically “correct” language. People can say that they became conscious of their sinful nature and of their need for a savior but I often suspect there is a more interesting, more honest, more genuine reason. If someone tells me they believe simply because they like Jesus or it just kinda seems correct or just wants it to be true then I respect that a lot more than some bullshit they half remembered from a text book or a tract or something. Wow, this paragraph sucks. Moving on. 

My faith was nonsensical. It was utter bullshit. It basically revolved around feeling guilty for having sexual desires. I got really tired of hating myself for natural desires so I kinda just said fuck it and quit. Hating myself for liking the idea of sex made no sense. I wasted a bunch of time hating myself for a stupid reason when I should have been hating myself for being a Republican. 

The marriage between evangelical Christianity and conservative politics is an awful thing. It’s destructive. It baptizes ideas like peace through strength, low capital gains taxes, gutting the social safety net and other abominations that make the world a terrible fucking place to live. I can’t be part of that no matter how bitchin’ those praise songs are. 

It’s ultimately just not a very adult way of looking at the world. Adult is the wrong word. I just don’t think it’s a very honest way of looking at the world. 

We’ve all been traumatized by the society we find ourselves in. Some of us get traumatized more than others but most all of us have had pain heaped upon us by a society that is profoundly fucked up.

If ya get a chance to talk to people. Like, really talk. This shit is gonna come up. 

Some people have the ability to manufacture reality for others.

I am not one of those fucking people.

You probably aren't either so we have that in common.

Lot of people just live here.

That's okay.

Keep liking the horny posts of that girl who doesn't follow me back. Eventually she'll fall in love with me. Yeah.

I’m reasonably certain there is an alternate timeline where America descends into fascism to the strains of “Holding out For a Hero” by Bonnie Tyler. 

Even as I sing along about pining for a street-wise Hercules, the spirit of eternal fascism tickles me. 

This song pines for Charles Bronson in Death Wish. 

It’s calling out for a version of Walt from Gran Torino who doesn’t have a redemption arc. 

It’s calling for a cop who becomes like The Punisher in real life. 

Umberto Eco wrote of the cult of heroism. 

This song could be the hymn for the cult of the avenging hero. 

I suspect that I’m getting better at this. What is this? That would be writing. Pause. Scratch chin. Take sip of water. Get up and close the door. I sit with my feet up on the desk. My keyboard sits in my lap and I type away. 

It was one of those angry drives home. It was one of those drives home where I just got murder in my heart. I just got weaponized hate up in me. Anything I might possibly say is gonna be barely coherent. I’m gonna shout. I’m gonna keep shouting til I can’t anymore. I’ll be out of breath and none of it will be cathartic. I won’t feel better. I hate that kinda anger. I’m glad I didn’t do that today. It’s anger at the world and the people who run it. People talk about evil. They talk about people who do monstrous things. They talk about ‘em like they got glowing red eyes and how you can smell sulfur when they walk by. I believe it was Hannah Arendt who talked about the banality of evil. It’s these utterly unremarkable dudes like Scott Pruitt and Jeff Sessions who fuck up the world. They don’t look like monsters but what they do is monstrous. They get to manufacture a hellish reality for millions of people and then they probably go home and watch Blue Bloods or Chicago PD or something and then maybe their wife gives them a half-hearted hand job and then they are back at it the next day. That’s how they do. 

It’s good that I’m diligent at putting words to the page almost every single day but maybe I need to strive for more than that. I don’t know what exactly. I think the paragraph above had its moments. I fantasize about poetry and literary journalism. 

Making a living distracts me. Takes too much time, ya dig? Shit. That fucking game has us all by the nuts. 

I think to myself, “Where the fuck you going with this? Do you just want to stop? Chill the rest of the night?” 

I really do. 

I will actually. 

Tuesday

I woke up before my alarm today. Damn. Isn’t that a sentence that just grabs your attention? You want to keep reading, don’t you? You gotta start somewhere. I woke up way before my alarm. I could have gone back to sleep but I decided to just get the hell out of bed. I wanted some extra time to fill up my tank. Having to stop for gas when you’re in a hurry gives me mad anxiety like so many things do. As a result, I end up in the office early. I’m typing away at my thoughts but to the untrained eye, it might look like I’m hard at work at some arcane IT task. People might be thinking, that boy works hard. That boy shows up early. That boy is going places.

Monday was uncharacteristically gentle. The world be fuckin’ with me. The world be slow rollin’ me into a false sense of security and then BAM! I’m asking my doctor if Paxil is right for me. Sometimes things go okay. Sometimes they even go well. I don’t ever trust it. The world always be up to some shit, ya dig?

The world is mundane and strange at the same time. Everybody goes about their business chasing nickels and dimes while the next apocalypse or whatever the fuck happens in slow motion. Life really does just go on.

Sometimes I wonder if somebody is going to stumble across this and recognize me and then it occurs to me that people who kinda sorta know me might read this. The fact of the matter is that some of what I’ve written here is cringe-y. I’m just going to have to live with that.

I look at my LinkedIn profile and that’s my name. I really wrote that stuff on my profile. I don’t really recognize that guy. I hate LinkedIn. It feels strange to say that I hate the corporate world when I barely exist in it really. I’m barely in it. I’m low-level but I think I’m okay being here. I don’t really have too much of a desire to go any higher. It occurs to me that I’m fairly good at playing a role. I’m good at occupying a role satisfactorily. I guess my work persona is that of a semi-techy Mr. Rogers. Pretending. Double-lives. That’s sexy, isn’t it? Or is it? Day dreams about being a spy. Not James Bond shit. More like The Americans. Day dreams about infiltrating some drug operation in 1980s Miami. Modern but still retro reboot of Miami Vice. I’ve watched far too much TV. It’s only recently that I’m realizing just how much that has fucked me up.

Double lives? I wonder what kinda double lives people have here. Not even double lives. Just secrets. Drugs. Freaky sex stuff. Honestly, the only thing that interests me right now is drugs and freaky sex stuff. See. There is TV messing with my mind again. People are people. They are not characters in some shitty prestige TV drama on HBO. Real life is just real life.

I’m not always busy at this job. Sometimes things move slow. I’m always conscious of how busy I look. I always try to look occupied. No matter how slow it gets, you will not catch me playing games on my phone or on my computer. That shit looks bad. I will mutter things to myself that are technical so that it looks like I am chewing on some problem for someone upstairs. The last thing that I need is someone wondering what I’m being paid to do. I also get up and walk around so that people see me. I figure it looks weird if I just sit in my cubicle all day.

I’ve written just over 600 words today. I suppose that’s a good thing but there is very little in the way of insight in any of these words. Of course, I didn’t have a clear objective. I guess what this comes down to is making writing a habit. I want to make writing a habit because it satisfies me. It makes me feel better. I like the effect it has on my mind. There probably never will be a time that I’m not some neurotic mess but maybe I can do something with that.