Hey, Pig

"Nothing can stop me now/'Cause I just don't care." -- Nine Inch Nails

My last post brought plenty of kind words and concern from friends and strangers. I appreciated it all. I will find a way to deal with this pain. Like I told one friend, the difference between being numb and feeling is the difference between Jeffrey Dahmer and Gaspar Noe. I've never been a fan of Dahmer.

Ideally, GG Allin seems to be a good model for which to base an existence on.

Above this ancient computer is a picture (it's actually to the left). Two blonde-haired women in Nazi uniforms. It's from Rob Zombie's "Werewolf Women of the SS" and is autographed by Sybil Danning (met her a little while back). It says, "Darling Doug, Behave - or else!"

Or else, Sybil. Or else.

"Burn the fuse." -- GG Allin

Fuse is lit. Let's see what explodes.


This Machine Eats Souls

We've all had those times. The times when you want to slit your wrists and drown in the blood. The times when you want to slip that noose around your neck and dangle in a final dance. The times where a bullet that tears through your brain is a far easier thing to deal with than the emotions that loiter there. Those are dark times and places, and I've been living there for over a year.

Yeah, it's gotten worse. I spend most of my alone time in the dark these days. In fact, as I type this, I'm in the dark. The only light is the cold glow of my aged computer monitor. (The only thing on this computer that still works well.) I go through the motions. I fake all the right emotions. But most of all, I understand.

I understand that my daughter, the thing I love most in the world, would miss me if I were to perish. I understand that I would create a ripple that I wouldn't have to deal with ... and I've never been one to shrug off responsibility.

But I'll be damned if it isn't getting harder to face myself every day.

Most recently I was talked out of taking that final step by someone who is pretty near and dear to me, and if she read this, she would flip. And rightly so. When you start to get honest about those dark holes, people start to get a little frightened.

I see people all around me smiling and going about their business as if they had not a care in the world. They don't think about the abusive parents who kill their own children. They don't think of cancers that are starting to spread in a manner very similiar to a virus. They don't think of the crass consumerism that is cannibalizing our society. They don't think of religious wars or corporate terrorism. They don't think, period. They smile. They buy. They eat. They fuck. They move on. If they have emotions, they suppress them with medicine, drugs, alcohol, television. Anything to keep from facing reality.

I've never shyed away from the "real" of it all. I've always embraced it. I've always faced it head on with bared teeth. If you can't beat them ... destroy them. I was almost always above it all. Lately, though, I've been under it all, and I'm worried.

I go to a job I don't like (thankful that my co-workers are some of the best people I've had the pleasure of working beside -- most of them at least). I start arguments for the hell of it. I face financial ruin. I sense my world quickly going to shit, and I want to bail. I don't think anyone can blame me, either.

I've never been a drinker. I've watched it ruin too many lives. Vodka, however, is starting to have an almost sexy appeal to me.

I always thought that if I was going to take myself out, I would take a bunch of people with me. Not so sure I have that in me too much these days, but I do feel a bit of the GG Allin side of me seeping in around the corners more often than not.

So what to do? Trudge on? Keep the mask on? Smile so no one asks questions they don't want to hear the answers to? Pretend it is okay so it will be? What is that saying? Fake it to make it? Is that what I should do?

There are things I want out of life. First and foremost, I want to see what kind of adult my girl turns into. Second, I want to leave my mark. I just wonder if these things are in my future. I don't know. I just don't know.

I've never hid the fact that I feel alien in this world. I never lied about my contempt for my fellow humans. I never trusted them. Never liked them. Never wanted to turn to them, either. Now I think I need to.

I don't want lies. I want truth. I want to know that things will really be okay. I want to know that these fools walking around with an ignorant grin on their faces really are ignorant. They don't have some magic formula. They simply don't know any better. I want to know I'm better than that, and I don't have to accept what has been forced into my face.

The problem is, nobody can tell me these things. I have to figure them out for myself. I have to burn. I have to dissect. I have to suffer. That is the only way I can progress. It's the only way anyone can progress.

How much suffering can one take, though, before the thought of ending it all becomes more than just an easy, weak solution and instead turns into an overwhelming desire? I don't know what point I'm at. I don't know if anyone ever does. All I know is that I have spent years turning this type of pain onto others, using their stupidity and complacency to amuse myself, and I don't know if I have it in me anymore.

I used to think I'd be dead by 27. I now wish I would have been right.

Tomorrow's another day, however. I'll be damned if I know what it brings.



Today I was told I was disrespectful to the president. Not only was I disrespectful, but so was the journalist who tossed his shoes at him. The person who told me this wasn't too suprised I was being "a pill," but she was upset that "some foreign guy" would do such a thing.

Granted, the president declared war on the "foreign" guy's country, but that shouldn't matter. Even victims of invaders should show some respect. All the president did was send in troops who shoot first, ask questions later. He didn't throw his damn shoes at anyone. The nerve!

I always thought presidents were fair targets, no pun intended. They need to be questioned, mocked and every once in a while get a shoe in the face. When a president, such as Bush, is in charge of a country that has gone so deep into the shitter and has totally lost the respect of the world, you would think he would be thankful it was just a shoe or two. Let's not mince words, either. The economy and the country's credibility is actually small potatoes compared to Bush's other transgressions. He's a war criminal. At the very least, prison should be in his future ... along with several of his cabinet members. But that will never happen. If shoes are disrespectful, prison is off the fucking radar.

The United States government has a long history of playing the hypocrite, bully, and might is right card. If the US or one of its client states does it, it's legal and morally sound. If a country the US doesn't happen to agree with does the same action, it's a crime. This, of course, never even makes it into polite discussion. This, of course, is never even mentioned by those who think I'm disrespectful.

Bush is not the only bad president we've ever had. Carter, Reagan, Bush I, Clinton, and many of the presidents (if not all) before them have done some truly horrible things. I can't think of a single president who doesn't have some blood on his hands. And the past few of them have also qualified as war criminals.

So, yes, Virginia, I am disrespectful. So are a bunch of other people ... and they should be. Sometimes, when you're morally outraged, you have to do act. You have to make a stand. If throwing shoes at a president who lied to the world in order to wage an illegal war on a country that had already been crippled by sanctions is your solution to the problem, then I say toss away. If throwing shoes is your response to a president who has only been reactive to nearly every single major problem that has hit his own country (even when he had plenty of warning on the issues such as the economy and Hurrican Katrina), then start practicing your aim.

Be disrespectful America, and don't let Obama off any easier.
To all who would throw shoes at the president: I salute you. Too bad shoes don't explode.