Okay.
Somehow, that's not enough into which I might sink my teeth.
I wanted fire, heat, lust ... but all you want of me is confrontation. You want to see how long before I blow. Well, Theron lies the beauty of me. I'm already blown. That gasket burned out the better part of twelve years ago, and I've made every attempt to keep that ember hot while the world around me went completely batshit from a washed up football hero who allegedly murdered his wife, a pop star -- who is now, mercifully, dead -- who paid off parents to spend innocent nights in bed with their sick children drinking wine and watching Peter Pan, the president's impeachment and the accusation of starting a war to divert attention from his busty, blowjob queen, a shamelessly rigged election, the wasted $600b surplus that was dissipated into "rebate" checks that seemed to you like s good idea even though termites were eating at our infrastructure, the fucking religiously motivated attacks of Nine-Eleven that seemed to turn thus nation even more pious, bloodthirsty and ignorant, the subsequent morphing of our velgeance against Al Quaeda into a Global Conflict Against Islamo-Fascist Camel-Fucking Jerks led by a man who didn't know that Muslim wasn't a race, then the mercenaries and the missing duffle bags of hundred dollar bills, the stated goals of American meddling in the Middle East, how anybody can be against Fay marriage -- a tradition that used to, and sometimes still, be based on subverting the rights of liberty of one human being for the trade of land, livestock, or gooooold ... of course, money is sacred.
I don't know what world my countrymen are living in, but I'm supposed to celbrate the gift to the world of a forty-one year old man who works a minimum wage and appears to the wod to be a creature that makes a lot of excuses. I guess that's the long and the short of it, and the part that sickens me. I'll grant you, it takes me a while to get up from a fall because I need time to wind down. If I indulged my emotional responses like most if you shrieking cunts do, I'd never get anything done. I don't know why I've stuck around this long. It stopped being interesting to me. There are places I would still like to go, I might disappear off to one of them some day, but for now, all I've got is Hollywood.
And I mean exactly that, the broken down runaway who went with a glimmer in their eye, faith in their heart, and wound up walking back and forth on Sunset Boulevard servicing guys like me.
I've got to write the angry book because this is pissing into the wind, and when I have to talk to you, I have to justify myself on dome points that seem evident to me.
But who am I?
Same lost, beweldered piece of shit as you, ambling through this construct of societal "norms" that we've constructed because we have this "gift" of reason which has most of us convinced that there is some sentient entity who looks like we do and created everythying around you in six days. The average American has a sixth-grade reading capacity. Only a third of you watch the news. More of you vote for the American Idol than for your local or regional politicians.
The only sacred thing is the human intellect, but most of you have less regard for the pursuit of the mind than for the sheep at a gay republicans' conference in Texas. We have all this amazing potential, but we hold ourselves down with our ludicrous, leftover, primal fears of lightning and the menstrual cycle. If we had any moral fiber as a nation, we would not be in bed with nations that treat women as second class citizens. America revels in its arrogance and its pulchritude, and we must -- all nations -- recognize the innate humility that must come from with the responsibility of reason and the hands to render vision.
But most of us remain arrogant.
And around and around it goes.
You.
With your fear.
With your certainty.
Your arrogance.
Your hatred.
Then you have the gaul to wonder when something like me comes around.
No, I don't feel like celebrating.
Good news is my computer's up and running again, so I can now produce more crap for you to ignore.
Sweet.
