Just taking a break from fixing the Targa (cause I'm missing a part for the front brakes) of oldness, well, 70's, and lamenting....mostly my self is flat broke kinda lament...but since I haven't had coffee yet (haven't gone out to get any, which I shall amend, soon) the lament will robably be kinda lame.

In fact, this whole thing is gonna be kinda short, since there isn't much I've been doing, the last few days. I am however, enjoying typing this out, even if the words are dull and boring.

Zing. Zowie.

Well, at least my room is halfway clean...though my paintings look a little dark, and I am tempted to redo what few are left...thought it was Sunday, all day long, until about an hour ago. Kinda feels like a sunday, even with a couple cups of coffee. From my window, I can hear the cars swoosh by, and see a little chunk of the nightime beige peach orangey overcast sky, reflecting all the streetlights. And on wednesdays, at the legion, usually full of drunk ass old men (there's one that shows up in a dark burgundy leather top mafia car, irish accent, sits drinking away his retirement funds from noon til closing) the hipsters show up and make a racket and occasionally a cop car shows up, because I think the legion doesn't really check ID.

Which for the last few days seems to have become the extent of my world. All the bikes are 'up on blocks' getting various rebuilds, so I don't usually wander very far. Should probably at least take a nice walk once in a while.

And the 'p' on this keyboard is sticky.

Uh, gonna do this one later...need more coffee...and, uh, coffee. Lot's of coffee. Think I'm gonna change the byline, and maybe the look, cause it's like, 2020, y'know. Hey, Clark-is there gonna be a Lady Crayon thang?

Yesterday, after Labour Ready, and during some errands, something came up...Fred, is a bike, an oldish GT Windstream, that Donald the Chopper King had found in an alley somewhere, circa 2000-2001 or thereabouts, and gave to me. Which I immediately, in those heady days of yore, commenced to turning into a chopper. At some point, I had welded a nickel on the headtube as a headbadge, as the nickel, which had fallen of a parking meter, in front of The Grind, which the bike was locked to, into a little shallow traylike thing, where the kickstand was supposed to go. The nickel followed my merry bouncing bike ride all the way to Donald's, revealing itself when I had turned the bike upside down. I was so excited by this, that I demanded that the nickel be welded onto the headtube.

I rode the bike for many years-it was a good, solid ride, fast. I also paintede it a new colour apparently every other day.

Around five or more years ago, I was moving from Nanaimo sky train station area, to a compton style apartment west of hastings somewhere. Literal crackhead landlord, bullet hole in the window. Fun. Had to downsize. So, Fred had to go, a hard choice of what to keep was made. Fred had been stenciled on the bike in an idle moment.

Naturally, I'd all but forgotten the bike named Fred, having come into possession of some fairly decent bikes. So, there I was, yesterday, strolling up the alley, and, in the corner of my eye, I espy a nice black bike. "That is a nice black bike," I had thought to myself, "Perhaps I shall check out this nice black bike"

So I did. Upon closer inspection, consisting of grabbing with intent to carry, as it had no wheels, I suddenly realized, hey! My old ride! It still had the same crank, a piece of blue plastic wrapped around the upper chainstay, that was present when I threw it out, and yes, the same welded nickel. Even the black tape wrapped around the trannie converter (a tranny is the old cross bar, made out of sheet metal, that in the sixties, weas used to convert a girl's bike to a boy's bike. I'd used this one under the top tube.).

And of course, the same blue stencil-'Fred'. So named, because guys usually try to come up with cool street cred names for customized bikes, and I would have none of that, so I figured Fred was as good a name as any. Nice, solid, manly name.

I wasn't immediately freaked, but that it was only two blocks from where I currently live, well, I realized that the bike had followed me, faithfully, from nanaimo skytrain area (specifically, that empty lot up the gravel path beside the skytrain that can't be zoned for anything but empty lot.) over several years, to within a very short distance from my current hideout. It was then that I was pleasantly freaked out, and decided that if the darn thing was so determined to be with me, then henceforth, a neat chopper ride it shall be. The blue plastic will be removed, of course, but the rest of the bike shall remain mostly intact. With lot's of neat additions, an artbike chopper, if you will.

Fred's here to stay, and Fred shall be it's name, a tough old chopper by anyone's game, it's claim to fame, small though that is, the remarkable wee coincidences surrounding it's frame.

I wonder what cool adventures it's had? Where it was, all those years? Why it was left intact? How it got from thar, to hyar? One thing's for certain, Fred will be back on the streets, as soon as it's rebuilt!

Pretty much writing without any inspiration here...just trying to get some old demon monkeys off my back...and it's not working. Massive problems with insomnia, and the ol' depression is back-one can tell, when one sleeps a lot. Mostly, I try to pretend that life is not that bad, or my life, anyways, but that's not true. How the hell I've managed to get this far, is beyond me. I'm one of those whose always a step away from being homeless, and the best they can hope for, at least at this point, is scraps at Labour Ready (which is where I'm going tomorrow). Labour Ready is not a career. It's a stopgap in-between kinda thing. But for some-it's all they've got.

I'm fucking worn out. As a youth, about 15 years of beatings, from Dad, and any school we happened to be at-never had a solid home, we moved every two or three years, it seemed. Also psychological, there's always that component. A brief period of at least interest, as a young, very poor punk, in Saskatoon. Never got laid there, either. No girlfriend. Then, in desperation, or something I can't even name, out to here, where, amongst the beauty and the trees, I endured 22 years of grinding poverty, roomates from hell, near total career failure (mostly due to my own, at the time, unsolved problems) and except for a couple of brief relationships, 20 years of celibacy-and not by my own choosing.

Oh yeah, let's add into that actual real blocked memory. Not false memory, but really actually blocked. And it wasn't anywhere near a picnic when it got sort of unblocked, or mostly unblocked. There's still a couple of chunks that are pretty deeply buried. A few years later, and the fun and games are still going on. Because now, in whatever half-assed attempt at healing I'm trying to do, I've got to work through the Vancouver years.

It's almost impossible to describe the endless, brutality of childhood, of high school, and the years after. It's equally as difficult, when one realizes one has a pretty bright mind, so what happens? No girlfriend? No Job? No life? Blame one's self, cause hey, if I was stupid, I'd have an excuse, right? It's actively painful to be in polite company-'what do you do?' and try to make something up. Maybe I should just say "Oh, me? Just a total loser constantly dancing at the edge of your basic doom and gloom." Because shit, that would be easier than trying to sound like I'm actually doing something with my life.

It's equally difficult trying to describe what it's like. How do I describe, without sounding like an old emo-fuck, that the best I've seen of life, so far (outside of moments here and there, of course) is the bottom of a hob nail boot? How do I put that in words? Maybe as many as possible. Maybe I should write about this shit, until I run out of words. Do I beat myself up? Yeah, like I said, I'm bright enough to know I've played a part in it too.

I'll tell you why I'm not an athiest: because with what I experience on a daily basis, to learn, or know, or find out, there's no free will, no mind, nothing much human, it's all random, so shit, you can't even blame the rich, and then after all that, there's nothing? Because that would make me just fold up, and give up. There aint many athiests in the world I know. Think about that. The one's that are, almost all have a nice lover, a nice job, and are north american comfortable. The world I know? Might as well just stick an aids infested needle in those people's arms, and call it. Our kind, we have to have hope-even if that hope is that, if nothing else, if it's going to be shitty all the wey through, it won't be on the other side. Or, failing that, that free will means having the strength to go through the shit.

It's that important, it's that vital. It's called faith. Doesn't have to be faith in God. Just faith in human spirit, and courage. And love. Because without it, you're done. You need that free will, you need that hope, that feeling of strength, because that's what keeps you going. While I'm not a Christian, either-when's the last time I've set foot in a church, aside from a free meal? Yeah, I've done that. I've also done food lines, way too many times-I still hold onto the need for my own humanity, for a human soul.

It's why I got angry when, a few years ago, some politician, can't recall his name, lived for three days, in east side hotels, on 75 a day-what a joke! And then said that now he knows what it's like. No, he doesn't. Cause he goes back to his cushy job. Try losing everything, even family, and not being able to go back to that. Try not having even a tent, and living on anywhere's between nothing and fuck all, everyday, and maybe, just maybe he might know what it's like.

And I've got no shoulder to cry on. I don't have a lover to pet me and say it's alright when the chips are down. I have no back up finance. I can't hop off on a nice vacation, because that might be neat. I don't even have applicable skills, and my resume? What's a resume? And I've got a real problem with all those years of unending shit-the memory, by now, has seeped into my very being. The experience not to be forgot. Poverty does not build character. It builds scar tissue. Even should I somehow make it, that memory won't go away. And I have to make it-I can't, and won't, face the alternative. I'm at the bottom anyways, far below the poverty line, and only a half step above the very bottom, so you know, no where to go but up.

It's why I face each New Years with very mixed feelings, and why I threw this one out there. A state of my mind kinda thing. what's holding me together is the very thing I was talking about-hope. Hope for healing to continue, hope that maybe, just maybe, this time, I'll find enough strength to crawl out of this crap.

Still amazed at so many people's inability to think...my brother complaining that he can't understand some of my stupid facebook updates-learn to read, duh. Or the GW's insisting that the science is in-well, yes-science that has been altered to suit IPC's purpose. Or the cute pics in the telegraph about starving polar bears resorting to cannibalism. Ignoring some basic facts about polar bears: Males will eat cubs. So will wolves. Polar bears are also scavengers, so, there's to possibilities as to where the pic came from. Oh, and eight sightings of cannibalism, amongst a vast population? Aint exactly starving.

And so on and so forth. Or, on a site where I proposed an in house solution, one that renders climatchange conferences moot, and can even work, whether or not the carbon tax is proposed-alternative power sources-to which the reaction is, "How dare you propose a workable solution! And one that solves the whole thing! I want the carbon tax-yeah, because those that want, are likely cyclists and greenies, so they won't have to pay, in their mind.

On top of the manipulated data, there are now economists-stockbrokers, players in the field, weighing in on the cap and tax, saying "I can manipulate the cap and tax to my own ends-believe me when I say that's what's going to happen. And it's a non-trickle down, money goes to the top kinda game."

And it won't stop the climate from changing-if it's real, and let's assume it is, reduce those carbon emissions, means diddly. The change, if it is real, by now will be metastatic.

This crap is the tip of a very corrupt iceberg. The corruption is all over the place-not that that means much-humans have done business a certain way-usually called protecting one's own ass, for millions of years. And in spite of that, we seem to get along just fine.

That, and I suspect quite a few just don't know how I think. Don't care to elucidate, either. Most seem to try and pigeonhole me into one form of thought or another. That shit never works. I can see the gears grinding away, and just to piss people off, I'll switch gears. North americans are easily confused.

Something occurred to me, recently-once again, in an overview on the climategate-both sides on the issue are guilty of a heavy dose of myopia. Because, whether or not there's global warming, there's already, in place, a simple solution, that does not in any way require the interference of the UN, or IPCC, or Gore, any of that. Because the 'solution' that is being proposed, includes ineefective, draqconian measures that limit a countries development.

That solution? Current, existing technologies that include tidal power generation, solar power, wind power, and a host of other-for instance, the Sterling engine, invented in 1869 by a scotsman, is an external combustion engine that easily produces as much power as an internal combustion engine, can be tooled to accept many varieties of fuel, and the driver requires only thermal energy-it's a turbine, powered by heat, or even kinetic energy. Not to mention, converting to deisel? Well hey, anyone can tell you, deisel burns cleaner, produces less carbon dioxide. This is not a complete list, either.

In other words, simply put-we just don't need a governing body, or a fucking carbon tax-and anyways, I can see countries sliding under the radar by saying "okay, we'll go alternative" Which breaks the oil monopoly, as well.

Huh-we'll really see the environmentalists true colours, when, if we were to offer the common sense solution-and they wail against that.

I find the modern North American to be in a very sorry state. In particular, modern, mostly hetero males. Like a neutered bull, they've almost totally lost their balls, often seen cow towing to Ayn Rand uber bitches. Yeck.

More specifically, the social scene-pretty much anything out in public. Consider, for instance, the non-dialogue that courred, and still occurs, around 9-11-something few have considered, because both sides are so busy haranguing over who did it, is what happened that day. America lost. It works like this-19 dudes with box cutters? wow, like the rest of the planet aint gonna be looking at USA, and grinding knives. The biggest arsenal on the planet, the most security-"America is soft," they will say, "fattened and ready."
or an inside job? I can just see the rest of the world thinking "Okay...you set up a Reichstag, mostly fuck it up, kill your own people in a rpretty botched job, and then go and get bogged down in Iraq? Hey, America-you're done."

what I'm alluding to is a simple point: Westerners have no clue how to think. How to look at the bigger picture, and make an inference as to what is happening, based on the current situation. More specifically, a lot of Westerners-not all of them, I'm generalizing. In the sense of 9-11, doesn't matter who did it, it matters how to clean up the fucking mess. Or, as I once put it to someone "it works like this-we have three possibilities-inside job, boxcutters, or, oddly enough-it doesn't happen. What is the end result of all 3 scenarios? Obvious. America goes to Iraq." In other words, run the basic scenarios, discover what is likely to happen, based on intuitive reasoning, and understand the current situation. I often get this sense from people, that I don't know what i'm talking about, because I will get some geography wrong, or a couple of factoids.

Heh. And it demonstrates a serious problem with Western thinking, and why I say science is stupid. A better description would be, science is myopic. When you're myopic, you have to look close at something to suss out the details. the north american male, and female, get booged down with minor, unimportant details, and then seperate the details in nice little piles (remember, the root word of science is 'sci' or 'scy' which is used equeally to describe the act of seperating out, or excretion-both being one and the same.

This is the form of thinking taught in school. Memorize details, sperate into nice little piles, regurgitate. I used to get into arguments with my teachers, due to a tendency I had, which was, I would demonstrate my ability to absorb and regurgitate facts-but I had the annoying problem of insisting on ordering those factoids however I wanted, in whatever order I wanted, to make whatever pattern I damn well wanted. Like, arguing about the true reasoning behind Hiroshima-especially when I found out many warlords had already surrendered, and anyways, the war was mostly won-overkill, was the word-amongst other things. And that's a mild example. And, of course, inevitably, they would think I am trying to get a specific point across...I am one of 'those' people, who wear the kooky tinfoil hats.

And yeah, I've discovered over the years, that regardless of the subject, any dissenting opinion, regardless of what the original subject is, is going to be turnede into one of those tinfoil hats guys. But I've begun, in frustration, to find a way around that. And being the person I am, it won't be long before I get really good at it. I want people to think. I also have a massive ego, and while I don't want ditto heads, I do want them to listen to what I have to say. Be nice to hear a 'you have a point' once in awhile. Newflash-one can say that, and still retain one's sense of space. Easy peasy.

I'm figuring out the way to do it. And that's where intuition, an overview, and quick wit come in. I have a very quick wit-many is the time, some lovely little set of words will pop into my head, but, because of my upbringing, there's a disconnect between that and what I actually say. Something I am correcting. What I do, in a situation I'm all too familiar with, is rapid check an overview of the dialogue in hand-sadly, I often have to take a chance that I'm more or less right-and, in one or two sentences-it has to be done fast, because the other guy isn't a professional debater, and that's all the time you've got-and discombobulate the other's train of thought, by presenting a challenge they've never really considered. I've done it, and I've also failed to do it. It takes practice.

A bit of warning: if you take a stance, particularly that of thinking for yourself, in any damn way you please, and state that in the open, no matter how you do it, you'll be the bad guy-even if you derail a line of thought, in the interest of getting the other guy to think-even if you state, loudly, that you could give a shit what conclusion the other guy comes to. Because, in the end, most wsterners are nearly entirely domesticated, and ANY dissent, anything even slightly different than 'consensus opinion', will be considered an attack-primarily because modern westerners-again, mostly guys, not only don't know how to think, they don't know how to do so in real time. They're stupid, relatively defenseless, and terrified of upsetting the status quo. All too often, i've been in a group situation, where the other guys won't say anything-but you know what they're thinking. This is what happened with Robin Bougie and ilk, and why I was devastated, and what led to my current state of thinking. I thought they liked me, where, like a group of Grade 6ers, they laughing at me behind my back, and not to my face. The dude on wednesday? Hey, I did you a fovour-I was an asshole to your face-it would have been nice if you hadn't left at the moment, all ascared, cause I would have pointed out the obvious. The north american male, in my estimation,as misogynist as this sounds, and to fuckery with political correctness, I'm going with Sim on this one-acts like a sad little bitch princess. Cause first, mom emasculated their pop, and then she started to work on the youngster.

Why am i writing so much about this shit? Because I've had to endure it for years. Delivered in every possible fucking form-and all in overkill, and often in groups-yeah, i've had to deal with that, too. That cute little table full of bitch princess males, the only one of which was Colin, who actually said anything? not one of you have ever had to be in a real fight-and if you had, I can virtually guarantee, it was when you were five. Males read that shit, because they have to-well, the ones who have experience, anyways. And as I pointed out earlier, yeah, mind and body have to cooridinate in real time, and actually think, during a fight-whether verbal, or physical. And basically, well, i'm sick of it. And I'm sick of the disgusting Wastern male attitude that it comes from. Where I come from, anything outside of the weather was a throw down, and dammit, you were expected to stand you're own. Shit, at the supper table, that's what it was like. I hated when I was growing up. now, i miss those near brawls. Cause we were a family that thought-you're five years old, and you have an opinion? Better damn well make sure you can at least articulate it clearly.

And something else I realized, literally, just now: Dad beat sheer hell out of most of us, and not in a good way, out of most of us, for everything else-and not once, not once, for anything, no matter how nasty, that was said at the table. At least as far as my memory tells me. In other words, aside from all the other oppression, we knew, that we could stand our ground, state our piece, give as good as we got, and sometimes better, and no pain-well, except for numerous bitter battles at the table-but that was at the table.

That shit's missing these days. I say this, having come from abuse, and knowing what abuse is. While carrying perhaps too much of an awareness of the possibilty of repeating that. Well, sure, if one considers flinging facts at someone 'abuse'. Fine then, I'm an asshole. That's why I said I'm just gonna get worse-I haven't been myself for a long time, so, i'm gonna be a bit clumsy-soon, however, I'm likely to desconstruct your attitude, and, gasp! Horrors! Leave you hangin' there, without no way of knowing where to go from there. Oh, well, helluva thing to have to think. And, of course, ever so egoistic of me, to decide, isn't it? Think I'm capable of making that decision.

And for years now, I've been so concerned with fitting in, that I've cowtowed. Shitfire, I was born this way. Don't care if anyone believes me, or not. That nice guy, though a little bit of an airhead picture? That's just a wee part of me, and a lie at that. In reality, I'm a way too talkative opinionated loudmouth asshole with a weird way of thinking (it's called 'seeing shit for what it is'), and the vocabularly and mental speed to back it up. And there's this: from mom, I learned strength and love, and all kindsa good things. And from Dad, I learned all kinds of nastiness-which if I deny, works against me. If I embrace too fully, works against me. Obvious how I should deal with it.

Colin-if you're reading this, this is for you-i decided, after some thought, that I'm not gonna apologize to that guy-you're observant-I get excited, spirited, i go-you are observant, you may have noted that I did not once call him names. So, while the ponce was walking away, all emo, and called me an ignorant asshole-them's his words-while losing his side of the discussion (I particularly love that 'I can't draw crap. Wuss.), means that i have to apologize to him? I didn't call him down, just disagreed. For that matter, less and less do I show up-noticed that anyone who isn't a few of the core members don't bother to show, except irregularly-because, well, it's kinda not worth the bother. And I've pretty much had it up to here with these lame duck peer pressure types. I was raised up fighting, literally. At home, and abroad. Nothing like a big family and a slew of farm boy bullies, to strengthen up the ol' fortitude. I'm old school-hates this new school modern emo male crap, where everyone just rolls over for anyone. gonna stay that way, and i'll probably get worse.

some of you seem to have this idea that I'm a conspiracy theorist, of the typical paranoid kind. some of you aren't very observant. Certain subjects are broached, a lot of you simply shut down-no one taught you how to think. Why I mentioned the fighting. Bully on you, he doesn't give you signals, he doesn't ask politely whether you want to fight-i know, cause i've been in lot's, many many fights. He does his very level best, no signal, to take you unwares, and take you dirty. And you? you gotta actively think, strategize, figure his shit out, there's no instinct in fighting-and you gotta do it in real time, at the speed of a single punch. Even down to figuring out how to survive this, if you're going down.

It teaches you how to think. and something called mechanical reasoning is involved. So, for those of you, who bother to read this, I'm writing this for me, not you, so this is my statement on some shit. I have witnessed, observed, and through evidence, now believe that Mr. and Mrs. Six Pack are one helluva lot wiser and smart than just about any expert. Science and technical thought are just ways of thinking, and, as mere organizational filing systems, deeply flawed and limited. I also believe that for centuries, there are inbred fucking psychopaths who are in power, and don't give a shit about you or me, and denial of that now very real reality is worse than stupid. However, I also firmly believe that a major shift, an evolutionary shift, is now occurring-and it aint new age, it's very very basic: humankind's growing up. Evolving. And, the ancient pyramidal power structures, from the time of the agricultural god-kings is now skating the very thinnest of ice. Indeed, they've lost the reins, purely, or, are losing them right now. And the shift means people are realizing, en masse, that psychopaths, control freaks, with no empathy whatever, will do anything, anything, and usually increasingly insane and stupid, to maintain that illusion of control. Peeling back the layers on power politics, on 9-11, on the invasions occurring now, on climategate, the whole shitworks, this is merely seeing the pattern, the actual information for what it is. And then in knowing that, the way to deal with it, while very difficult, becomes more obvious.

Remember the fighting? Fellas entire purpose is to hurt you. to dominate. If he's losing, and he thinks he can gain an edge-he'll go for it. if he thinks he can get some of his pals, and jump you later? better believe your ass he'll do it. He doesn't want dialogue, he doesn't want to communicate, he wants you down on the ground, licking his boot. And it aint a small step to worse than that. Not for a guy like that. That's the way 'they' are. And the very last thing they want you to know, to figure out, is that there's not the human being that can be controlled, defeated in spirit, when they realize they got one. In spite of what you anti-human science freaks will say to the contrary. Bullshit. the single most powerful thing on this planet, above all, is just how unreasonable, how amazing, how incredibly tough people are. not just tough, no, we're talking stand thee aside Goliath, ya'll don't mean squat. we're talking no holds-barred, take no fucking prisoners, ya'll aint GOT what it takes to take me down, even if you toss the whole derned world on top of me. We are talking the baddest of the bad assed fuckers running in fear, from a doen women in a south american town ruled by thugs who kill cause they don't like you, standing with signs, demanding to know where their husbands, whom the thugs had taken, and mostly killed, were-and nothing, but by damn and by god hisself, nothin' stopped them. and the badd asses who fart bullets and shit knives? Defeated.

That's what I'm talking about. that's why I can look at some conspiracy, see it for what it is-a scam to rule some people, and it doesn't bother me. cause Mr. and Mrs. six pack, being basically kind and decent sorts, well, they'll take on one helluva lot of abuse. but there comes this point, and if you're a psychopathic control freak, you don't have the brains to know where that point is-where the Mr. and the mrs., well, they'll grumble a touch, get on up, dust themselves off, roll up the sleeves-and when they do that, the only choice you got is to totally massacre 'em-if you can. and don't that cause you gots yourself some shiny ass planet killers, some tanks and missiles and whatnot, that that's gonna do the job. it won't be pretty, and you just don't want to tempt that mighty strength. cause that lion is agonna roar, and it's already stretchin', gettin' ready, and it's gonna say, in a clear voice heard throughout the world "Yeah, alright. You've had your turn. Now fuck off."

And even if that isn't true? I'm still gonna believe it. Even if there are those that say "you can't win"-the true paranoid-fuck 'em. Aint about winnin'-well, maybe this time it is, cause, well, we have to-it's about standin' up. Finding out all the bad stuff, like how they control you? That's just common sense-that's what you try to do in a fight-because a fight is about dominance-literally controlling another's body and mind, through threat of pain and damage-and you damn well better want to know what his or her preferred methods are. Everything you see in the larger control oriented conspiracies, exist within the fight.

Aint gonna apologize to someone who slinks away-nor someone who calls me names, when I didn't. Aint gonna apologize for what my views are, nor being brash and what others see as obnoxious about them. North American men have totally lost their balls-they don't know what pain is, they don't know what a fight is, they're scared to find out, and they run wussying up to anyone who they percieve as authority. whatever happened to the rebel? I fought against entire schools and teachers, my family, to think the way I think, be the way I am. Shit, I'd get into arguments with teachers, and, right or wrong, I'd demonstrate to them-hell yeah, I can learn the facts-any monkey can do that-and I can spit 'em out, just like any monkey-but I shall damn well put em in whatever order I choose to, in my mind, and decide what to do with them, and then have the gall to tell you, who thinks yer all smart and shit, that I think you're wrong-or, at least, I prefer my interpretation. Once argued with some goof about Iraq-during the start of the second invassion-and in spite of him being a racist, a bigot, and seriously retarded-had him rethinking, at least I like to pretend that's what happened-his whole structure. As in, he'd run out of even the name calling and just yelling me down.

And I'm gonna stay that way. Oh, and Colin-keep your eye on the scriptwriter-he'sw about tentimes smarter than anyone there, including me, plays his cards close to his chest, and I guarantee, if he was so inclined, could run that ponyshow. Their business model is seriously flawed. they'll eventually tank, if they don't loosen it up, a lot. Or possibly get frustrated and bored-like a lot who aren't core.

If the many reader has gotten this far-why they would bother, lord only knows-and they's all pissed off and shit, heck, solution is simple-don't bother with it! It's just a half arsed manifesto, with a lot of braggadacio, and ridiculous opinionated total bullshit strewn around in a big ol' pile of crap. Or comment and tell me what an arsehole I am. Best to not, cause that just validates my giant ego.

So either this is fixed, or my other browser let's me do stuff on here. Good, cause I will be putting excerpts on here.

  halloween, quite a few of my family also got the blues...which tends to kinda happen with us. Me, I gotta get out of the passive thing, but that's not what I wanted to add a note to the previous journal entry about.

I don't really 'believe' in astrology, but there is one astrologist I really really like-for his poetry, and sometimes a certain amount of accuracy. Here's what his Piscean entry said; well, parts of it, anyways-"I hope you won't merely wander around the frontier. I hope you'll undertake a meticulous yet expansive exploration of the that virgin territory. Here are some tips on how to proceed: 1. formulate specific questions about what you are looking for. 2. Develop a hypothesis for the experiments you want to carry out. 3. Ignore what doesn't interest you, and pounce only on what stirs your fascination."

Neat.

 but it will have to do, seeing as how it's the day I decided-gonna try and turn this one over slooow, though. Greg's out, and the place is quieter-which means I gotta keep myself busy, painting, editing a movie (finally), looking for some sort of job-anyone know of some sort of menial thing? A painter would be neat. Or, I could decide I'm going slowly somewhat more nuts, and go get psych tests done. Uh, maybe not that. Could be that I haven't had any coffee for a few days.

Anyways.

Thought I'dd add some more. Why not? Perhaps it will please the many reader to see more words here. And so-tripped, and yanked my big toe under, which is a fine way to bruise the poop out of it. That was before coffee. Now the nail, and part of the last joint are pretty much black and blue. And under ice. Well, until the veggies thaw...

Thing is, I've been doing the couch thing for several, or more [!] years now, and had gotten quite used to it. Don't have much stuff, and might consider reducing that amount even more, something I've been gradually doing for awhile now. Take it down to art and art related stuff, clothes, instruments, bikes, computer. So I've realized I make a shitty introvert. Probably because I've had to do the introvert thing since I was about 10ish or so. And I kinda don't like it much. To be more specific: effing can't stand it. done enough navel fucking gazing for way too many years. Sure, I have some small understanding, but I could easily have a lot more, by getting active.

Weird-roomie moves out, and there's all this energy, but it's roiled in anger issues, and just plain depresso. Entirely possible that toe banging wasn't exactly an accident-even though it was [?]-that's a thing that many have debated on, for hundreds of years. My take is that what the concious mind reads as random, because it functions on what it thinks is logic (although it isn't. The alpha state is best described as random connections hitting hither and thither, in a fuzzy logic that's trying, and not really succeeding very well, in decoding the rest of the shit in the mind.) at deeper levels, may well be considered as less than reandom. I though it was just clumsiness, but with all this negativity suddenly roiling around inside me, who's to say the subconcious simply obliged, with a little stumble?

"Sad is to live in solitude"-Triste, sung by ol' blue eyes-seriously, that's what's on the internet radio right now. Heh. Kind of a message right there, aint it? Funky coincidence. Aint whether coincidence are 'real', or not 'real', so much as one decides what to take from any particular moment-it's deeper resonances and meanings. The objective materialists have a massive problem with this-so intent and almost OCD focussed on proving, on defining and analyzing what 'is, or 'isn't', that they lose sight of this simple thing: random or meaningful, the universe is too complex to wait around for you to define, prove, or decide what is real. Perhaps one has a 'supernatural' experience. Sceptic or otherwise, perhaps one might want to ponder not whether the experience was actually real, in any sense of the word, but what any larger meaning might be made of the experience.

Something I'm attempting-with currently limited, but hopefully improving success. To shift from why I'm feeling this way, and what were the causes, into 'what direction might this suggest'? So far, I've made it about 10%ish [very ish] of the way to that. might even turn out to be one of those hidden silver lining kinda things-even if I have to make the dang silver lining myself!

 All my roomate has left to do, is pick up his bike, and one small picture. All I have left to do, is try and get my life together. I wrote down some goals, and I'm thinking I'm gonna do a repeating said goals, each morning. It's been 20 + years of poverty. Grinding, brutal poverty. And there's only one way out. I'm the one that has to do it. I know what i'm up against-myself. After so long, feeling like a complete piece of shit failure is nearly ingrained in me, and to amazing depths. Cause I started out from the ol' broken home, and just kept on going. Sure, learned how to hang on, but not to thrive, and any will and get to itness was pounded out of me, with a one-two combo of dad, and the city.

Want to escape, want to lay down and ignore it, surrender, travel, run wild and utterly stupid and shriek it out of my system. Want to surge ahead, but mostly, want to work my way out of this. Scared. But more scared of more endless poverty, of more not doing shit. I know why I get excited about anything that smacks of doing something, whether there's money or succeess involved or not. Fucking depserate to get out of the shithole.  And having to say to myself " Hey, gotta drop the desperation. Gotta drop the panic, and the fear, all that. Time is now, always now. Twenty plus years of fuck all to say for myself, to prove I did something? Screw it. Yeah, I'm a failure, yeah, feel like I sat on my butt. Speak the truth of what I did. didn't do, or how I feel, and then get a fucking move on. Grind away at that fucker. Hold your head up, put your shoulder to it, like you never have." Punchdrunk? Betcher ass. Fuck, I feel like I've been in the ring with Ali, Foreman and Liston, for way past 15 rounds. Yeah? So? Reach inside, go deep, find that extra bit. Gotta. No one else to do that for ya.

Some people know my story, but not too many. Way I carry myself, way I look, few know. Same as so many people around the world. You wonder about their story, what they've been through. And so many have been through far more than most can imagine.

I feel like I've gotta just get behind the plow, and give'r. Shit, and that'll be just to break the ground. Then there's gonna be removing all them rocks. Then, maybe, I can actually see some results.

 Probably because I haven't been on here for awhile...Greg's moving out, so I get his room, and will finally have four walls I can stare at in absolute boredom...Probably building a desk...here's a note-found a huge old whiteboard-gonna be drawing table, the kind set at an angle. Big enough that I can put the illo board on one side, and use the remainder to do my thumbnails and sketches.

Pretty sweet, that.

Autumn now, all them lervely orange and brown leaves and shit and all that moody crap because Canuckians love being moody and glowery. Pretty famous for that, in certain areas. well, Vancouver for one. I've noticed though, that cultures where people's are fairly comfortable and well off, tend to be a little conservative in the attitude and social mores. In spite of, or following along quite nicely with that whole 'noble peasant' shit.. Either that, or I've been hanging around nerds too much. All opinion anyways.

Announcement thing: came up with a simple, really neat little idea, on october 23rd, fer a webcomic.. Sketching and shit right now. Wanna get a fewpages ahead before I find a site. Don't worry none-once it's all offcial like, everyone will friggin know. will it make me money? Probably not. Being a webcomic and all. Will it get me fame? Huh? what's fame? Okay, will it get me laid? Dunno, it aint up yet. Will I feel a sense of accomplishment that I'm actually doing something? well, I can guarantee the 'doing something' part. 

Some notes about the comic: Yes, it has a name-at the moment, there's only three main characters, more to be added as time goes  on. The structure kind of fascinates me, as there's a distinct story, while at the same time being wide open for just about anything. I haven't plotted the arc for the characters, I've mostly plotted their character type, and the problems facing them. I've actually roughed out a storyline, while at the same time, fully willing to ignore it. Basically, it's simultaneously plotted, and stream of concious, which follows the way it came to me. The idea came to me in a kind of morning reverie, those dreams you have where you're almost kinda half awake. The characters, while nameless, where distinct, and the dream/daydream/idle mental wandering came to me as a question. scene and such set up, now go.

My old band used to work this way-mostly because back then, I was a bit of a fuck up. We'd hash out a basic set of parameters for each song, something resembling a chorus, a few phrases I could always resort to, if I ran out of stream of unconciousness, and needed a break while my brain thought up more crap, and we'd depend on Steve to sort of lead the way. And then we'd just go off, improv it, and the resulting mess usually (though not always. It's a risk) worked out pretty cool. That's the approach I'm taking with this. Oh, there is likely going to be a defintie story arc-I'll want to end this at some point.

Towards this end, I'm currently looking into webcomic sites that offer freehosting, cause I'se poor, y'know. Once the durned thing is up, and going (possibly a page or two a week-gotta nail down a specific schedule), I'll make with the title of the thing. And anything written in here will likely be about the webcomic. Probably direct people who are interested to here. Not that I'll be revealing storyline or anything.

I haven't done comics in a long time, so it might be a tad rough to get myself back in it, and up to speed, but I'm gonna hack away at it, and get some results.

 Hokay, here goes-

Neil DeGrasse Tyson-"That's a stupid design. That's not how I'd design the universe." Stupid design compared to, oh say, what other universe? Oh, never mind, a tiny speck of flotsam, on a tiny planet, who can only see but a minute portion of said universe, possessed of monumental ignorance and stupidity, such as, thinking he knows some shit. Hey, Neil, here's a challenge-make an atom, but a single atom, all by yerself-out of nothing, I might add. Until then? shut the fuck up.

Sam Harris-the less said, the better-even other athiests are starting to turn against him.

Hitchens-back row joker turned rich arsed alkie. Oh, while we're at it, while wit wins the popular vote-the very plebes you probably hate, it don't win a true debate. And a question-if you hate religion so much, for perpetrating evil, why did you align yourself, and support, religious types who where perpetrating evil? Kind of fucking undermines you're 'message', ya fucking moron!

Dennett-talk about arrogant. Oh, professing a non-belief in whatever someone else doesn't believe, hey, fine, as you were-everybody has a right to believe whatever the hell they want to believe-but calling Islam names, hey, that's a right you don't have. Well, actually, according to free speech, yeah, you do have a right-fine, so you're just an opinionated blowhard. And hey, I could have just said "Shit, you actually look like a philosopher-and that would have been insult enough.

Dawkins-the amazing thing about this shitty little pile of stupid-is how piles of otherwise intelligent people somehow have convinced themselves he's all smart and witty. It doesn't take long to figure out he can't handle the tough questions, he's a crappy writer, and he's, well, stupid-that's an observation, by the way. Dawkin's, yer fifteen minutes are up, too bad.

five reasons why I'm not an athiest. Oh, that, and an athiest put forth a moral code, which was simply the ten commandments slightly rewritten. Original! Athiesm? That's just an excuse to be a fratboy-drink, kill, get stoned, and get laid.

Shit...been down in the trenches way too long...sometimes even coffee doesn't seem to be much of a help...when it hits, it hits hard, and stays for awhile. so far, this lovely downswing has hung around for a couple of weeks, with no signs of abating. Not even any 'low hihgs', just gnawing feeling, and down, down. Not so much melancholy, as anxiety and knitted brow-kind of low burning anger, more than anything.

Not that my life is like the worstest ever-shit, compared to about anyone, anywhere, my life is a fucking paradise of ooey gooey goodness. It's that the same old stresses are still flailing away at me-massive artistic failure and stagnation, poverty, extreme poverty, that has ground away at me for the better part of twenty years. To the point where I'm surprised I'm even able to maintain a reasonably decent social appearance. These days, I want to bite everyone's head off, and shove their id down their throats. Good way to make friends that. And no outlet, no way to release all this. Such activities aren't sanctioned in cold North America. We're paranoid about snapping back to our savage white-ass roots, with all that killing and smallpox infected blanket thieving off of everyone else that we were so good at, couple hundred years ago. I have this ridiculous theory that Scandahoovians, in particular, are given to morose tendencies unless they have a claymore or club in hand. Not a great cultural legacy. I think Scandahoovians have contributed ugly sweaters to the world. I can't think of much else.

The current situation is pretty similar to my childhood-being crushed, trapped in a corner, and not allowed to fight. Don't want to fight to win, just want to fight to work out some issues, shit, just wanna randomly smash and scream for awhile. No no, can't do that, that's we were good at, long time ago.

In case the many reader doesn't know: severe physical and mental abuse, starting at 5, and continuing until 15 or so, give or take a few years. Let's throw some other stuff into the pot, and see what kind of a picture we come up with: well, we'll have to throw in the whole outsider at elementary and high school-if I wasn't get beat on, and thrown downstairs at home, I was always an outsider, and fighting quite regularly during school-from about Grade 6 on up. Forgot the mental stuff, Dad was good at that, too. Kind of forgotten in the family. Oh, and moving every two or three years, always great fun.

Still a bit of the picture to go: after a few years of poverty and bullshit in Saskatoon, I stuck my thumb out, and got here. Where, of course, I ran into 20 years of the roomies from hell (and a few landlords), extreme poverty, quasi-homelessness, and lack of a decent relationship, for now onto 20 years-had a couple girlfriends long ago. Some of it caused by blocked memories, that was fun, discovering why I was/am a fuckup. The rest caused by everything else.

On top of that, let's throw in intelligence and some promise, neither of which seem to get me anywhere. Now, at least something of a picture forms. And not a pretty one. Now I'm in my late forties, with fuck all to show for it, whatever looks I never had probably gone, and a whole lot of bitterness. If nothing else, I know what the fuck it's like. Down here, where the view is a brick wall outside yer window. Funny, cause I roll with some fairly well established folks-oh, the know of what's 'down there', they 'get' poverty, but do they really know? No. Until they lose everything, or are ground down, for at least ten years, they aint gonna have a clue. And living in some shitty house for a few months, fresh from mommy and daddies place, don't cut it.

I'm amazed I can even get up some days.

Like I said, others have it worse-but I aint talkin' about them. I can still chow on mouldy lettuce and ramen noodles. But hey, I know that game, who's had it worse. I can play that one too, and there will always be someone who can beat me. Shit, members of my own family can kick my ass on that score.

Doesn't make the internal nastiness any better, though.

On that sour note, fuck this. Maybe I'll write some crappy poetry about my shitty life.

 Stopped briefly by the usual wednesday night crowd-big meeting, something about the cover...Scott, I think that's his name, seems to like holding a lot of meetings. A lot  of meetings. And of course, the artists just draw right through, probably paying a third attention, at most. I find it really difficult to draw, and hang out with people-my focus and attention usually goes pretty heavy on either activity, and since I tend to be pretty social, and like to yak a lot, drawing gets ditched. Often in favour of dumping on some graphic novel, or movie, cause I know it'll get a rise out of the nerds. Okay, so I'm a meanie.


Hey, going to a real live hockey game, Saturday! Gettin' a Rick Rypien jersey for christmas. I like hockey, so there! Suck it up! Suck part: ten dollars for piss water Kokanee? Kokanee tastes like wet hay-shit, believe it or not, PBR, foulest shit on the planet, tastes slightly better. Only slightly. Oncet, I sawer this a hear hipster walkin' up Main, with a six pack of PBR in one hand, sucking on a piss brew on the other. Once asked an American, one of the Portland chopper gals, what it tasted like, before having a taste, she said "Like angels dancing on your tongue." I disagree-them aint no angels. Warm PBR,versus a cold Kokanee...shit, neither...okay, if forced, under duress-goin' with the warm PBR, and I aint no hipster.

Bored-so adding some stuff-media things I ust can't stand-with some life things that drive me nuts...

TedTalks. I fucking cannot stand that lukewarm putrid shit. First, all so polite, second, everybody gets the Warhol, so there isn't time for more than a sketch. I've seen nothing, but nothing that smacks of anything that isn't ten years old. Plus, the audience sucks-when Dan Dennett (can't stand the pompous ass) comes on, with his retarded 'Memes as infection' crap, an idea so stupid, so unutterably uinformed, misguided, as to offend the sensibilities and intellect of a meth head on Hastings, he includes, in his 'dangerous/bad ideas section, Islam-racist on top of...words fail me. And the audience? Politely clapping. "OH that Dennett! Isn't that nice senile bearded fellow quite the intelligent one?" Fuck, someone should have hollered "get off the stage, you racist bastard!"

Ted Talks is the height of "Aren't we ust sooo (hugging self and squealingt in delight) smart ? Yuck.

Tv Tropes-two reasons-gives you, in many cases very little indication of what the media they're yarkin' about is actually like. And hey, you can't quantify everything. These are the guys, who, at a sporting event, would be taking laborious notes, and critiquing the event like so: 'that goal was such and such a trope.' You know, instead of fucking enjoying the thing. Hey, I know what a trope is, and sometimes, I could really give a fuck. Go away, you idiots, yer no fun.

cyclists-of virtually every stripe. Listen up, assholes-a monkey can ride a bike-yer on something that's but a fraction of a step above pedestrian-you're not important. You don't exist. This includes beachside cruisers, spandex superheoes, those godawful 'fixters', critical massers (possibly the worst of the worst) and everyone else except for commuters-cause they're actually using the bike for what it was intended for: cheap transportation, and because they choose utility over style. Yeah, I know, I ride a bike-if it can be called that. And you know what? I wear a helmet, I have lights, I don't ride against a pedestrian mask on the sidewalk and expect them to get out of my way, or weave through traffic like those fucktards on fixies who constantly make a diagonal cut across the road through, and often against traffic. Cars may have a weight advantage, but cyclists have, at least some of the time, a manouverability advantage. Yeah, sure cars are dangerous-but one thing you don't get in the 'cyclists killed or injured by vehicles' data set is all the baboons of low intelligence who did it to themselves, by doing stupid shit, without a helmet.

Lest I forget-all those critical mass shits who keep fighting for more and more infrastructure-more bike paths, more bike programs, valet poop, means more attention, and more bureacracy. Thank you, CMers, thank you ever so much. Some fridays, I actually wish the cops would just taser the idiots, and I don't have a car!

Gotta include myself, except I'm too good for self-loathing, but hey, don't I look fine on my non-e4ssential non-commuter chopper freakbike? aint I an awesome peacock? Yes, I am, I can do no wrong. Punk points for those who can detect at least a note of something possibly resembling humour in there.

 Nirve, Felt (makers of future classics) Phat cycles, Schwinn, and the list goes on-but there is one lone ride in the long list of coveted bikes, that stands out, kind of sorta vaguely, to me.

The lowly Varsity. The varsity isn't really a brand name (I might be wrong on that-but like, did I even bother to research this piece? Not really.)-it's more of a bike type. Almost always the classic safety bike, D-back,meaning straight top bar, and either a tenspeed,or, as in the 60's, more along the lines of of a five speed. Very often the dreaded cotter pin crank, which actually is a pretty decent crank, if you know how to deal with the pin (it's simple-loosen off the nut a bit, tap down, with a rubber hammer, continue until pin and crap comes out.) and hey, you don't need a crank puller to deal with-a wrench and a hammer will do just fine. (I forgot the part with swearing and cursing a lot, when you fuck up the cotter pin.)

Schwinn made a bunch of varsities (unless I forgot, I think they may have been branded 'varsity'-but I could be fantasizing and hallucinating again) in jaunty bright colours-most often a deliriously drunken pea-picker green, but I've seen a resto that was an eye-orb melting yellow. Styling was pretty much low-key-after all, these are bikes for students and perfessers and stuff-and were meant for getting across campus. That, and the dependable, if not too styley toyota corolla of bikes was also reasonably decent for getting to and from frat parties.

Sometimes, the colleger would come with nifty shit like, a basket, and like, totally rad white brake cables! Ooh! Sexy! Okay, mine does, anyways. So there, nyah. Wheel preference seems to be in the 700C range-bigger than yer trad 26ers. And skinny widdle tireses. Feck on that-I'm gonna gets me something a little more 'hybrid', when those are done. They were made in the sixties and seventies, well before the MTBthing started. Not too many varsity styled uglies sported the drop bars, preferring instead, a more stately, dignified pull back. Damn it-you're a university student and or perfesser-not some uniform sportin' racer! Plus, when you're totally stoned and hammered, dropbars are kinda uncomfortable.

The varsity was, and ccontinues to be, a basic frame with few styling points-check out the rides at UBC-sure, there are MTBs, but those are usually outnumbered by the generic ten speeds. And oddly enough, retro ten speeds and varsities are almost a subculture fringe in the fixie community. I've yet tosee a pea picker green Schwinn in the hipster crowd. Or how about the mighty Crescent? Known also as La Pepita? You know the one-ugly bright orange, checkerboard pinstriping, weirdo parts, mild and heavy steel, that the swedish racing team of 71 used to bring on victory-they have no real resale retro value, and are kinda hard to find, but would be mildly cool as a fixie.

There's a guy who rides with the cruisers once in awhile, who has a real fixie-bike's from the 20's! and the fixie hub is original to that era. Cool. Anyways, back to the mighty college bike: my Targa (say it with me-Targa! Targa! Targa!) is, of course, oh so typical of a mid seventies college rider-only the nifty stripey crap, and faded metallic blue, and art deco notes are kinda actually cool-in a really rather ugly sorta way. Plus the dimensions are all stupid. Hey, bike only came in one shape, one colour, and one type of styling. The cotterpin crank is still working just dandy. I feel the varsity oh so styley neato keener college dorm get me to my fucking classes, often locked with cheap cable lock type ride, is an overlooked and undervalued piece of ugly mass manufactured crap. But hey, you can really mess with it, cut it up, redo it, however you want to, without losing too much sleep, which might be a minor point in it's favour.

So there. Maybe in a couple days I'll piss on folding bikes. Ooh-how about a fixie folder? What would that be? A folxer? Filxer?

Bleh.

 So yeah, I seem to be known as 'the conspiracy guy'-and man I aint as bad as some. Seriously there are some paranoid kooks out there.

But there is the opposite, a possibly peculiar to north america p.o.v., where the tinfoil hat of denial based optimism reigns supreme. It was when someone turned to me, and in utter seriousness, said "The CIA doesn't kill people."

What. The. Fucking FUCK? Interestingly, where conspiracy belief often uses emotional, non-factual arguments, so does the happy happy joy brigade. As in "That can't possibly happen here." Based on what, exactly? The faint hope that things are better than they apparently seem?

Because hey, it's ridiculuosly provable that the CIA has indeed, killed people. Many thousands, possibly many hundreds of thousands. Oh, but hey, if THEY do killing and torture, that's bad. But if we do...well, same as it ever was.

One of my favourite conspiracy denials: "How could they possibly hide that kind of whatever massive nastiness?" Oh, hey, how about 400 black men, infected with syphillus? To give you a persepective-this was done in a time when all the fucking science was in, man, the need to know what the syph does, wasn't there. Also, it was done in a time when there were cures and treatments. And syph aint like chlamydia-this shit in the tertiary stages fucking rots your face and body off. Plus you go nicely insane. (Neechy wrote a lot of his shit while infected with the syph and the mania stages hit when they hit-sometimes sooner sometimes later. This causes me to laugh my ass off at the athiests because he's one of their heroes. So was Darwin who turned away from God, cause God, according to him, took his daughter at an early age, and the weak little shit couldn't get with that). That's a way of saying the disease is, oh let's just say 'highly visual'. 

Oh, and a lot of girlfriends had to be re-directed, a few wives, and a bunch of doctors told to shut the crap up. And no one knew until Clintron gave them a posthumurous medal for service to their country-service to country or some shit. Oh, and this was done, just because they fucking could.

Shit, Hoover when he formed the FBI to hunt down Dillinger killed more innocent people than Dillinger did. 

There were a lot of Germans who were in denial as to what Adolf was up to.

There's little difference between now and medieval times-or even earlier-we've always been trying to screw each other over. It's just that now, our methods are a tad more developed.

But hey, the CIA never kills people.

Another denial not factually based is Sept 11th-"Our government couldn't possibly be THAT purely evil." Hey, even the deniers admitted that probably Bush looked the other way. Yeah? Okay, and that one is actually provable-and exactly how is looking the other way while so and so kills your people somehow 'less' evil than actually doing it? It isn't. If anything, complicity is potentially worse than balls out kill the fuck out of thatness.

Denying the potential for evil in anyone, pretty much as retarded, naive, and generally fuck-assed stupid as denying the possibility of good. And easily as purely dumbpoop batshit insane, and at best, very deeply misinformed, as the belief that not only are they all evil, they're in control of everything, down to the last detail.

In defense of that idiot, Icke: hey, you ever notice that Bush's resting pulse is 40 bpm? Means he's of a lower fucking temperature than a normal mammal. That, and H.S.T. used to refer to Nixon as a 'bloodless lizard'. No, they probably aren't shape shifting lizards-but considering their actions, they may as well be reptiles.

So yeah king and country, except when the king's like, killing all the peasants and shit. Oh, wait, I forgot-there are no conspiracies.

Sigh. Same as it ever was.

 hey, here's an open letter to Micheal Fucking Moore (Moore fat, please)-hey yup, listen up, you shitbag of macfries: right, you 'write' a love letter, oops, a hate spew "You never fucked me like I wanted you to" or "We'll ust pretend to hate each other" wink wink pseudo docu crap about of all things-capitalism? Yo, lissen up-I left your fat ass behind at Columbine, okay? The lies, and the lies, oh and the shit way you treated a legend-fuc k who cares what his politics are-all I can say is that there you are sittingt in you're McMansion chowing down on some greasy fucking fries, laughing your loaded ass off-"Holee sheeit-are these lefties stoopid!" And the best or rather, the least nasty shit that the crits can come up with? Oh not that he's a disgusting hypocritical piece of total offal and should be shredded at earliest opportunity-no, that his piece of utterly vile feces allegedly somewhat similar to a docu (in the way that barf is somewhat similar to a nice abstract painting) is a bit similar to his other 'offerings'. In that it lacks a certain imagination.

How about calling it what it is? Vile shite so repulsive even the media attention makes me sick. I really hate the fat fuck. I really would love to see him curb stomped-or forced to sleep in a mouldy blanket oln the streets for about fifteen years...shit I hate corporations as much as anyone, and I would love to see General Electric simply curb stomp his cauliflowered body into the mud.

let me put it this way: I think Bill Maher, Rush Limbaugh and Obama are a bunch of sarcastic back row pieces of pure and almost total crapola (to date Obama's big prezzie move? To agree with RJ Reynolds, and ban flavoured ciggies cause they aint made by RJ), but damn it would be so cool to see them all shit throw in on Stewart just cause, literal, and I mean fucking literal, boot, to that piece of hell, known as Moore.

Nuff said. Oh currently, my roomie, whom I agree not at all, on ninety percent of what he believes, and thinks of current events, is using Moore's face to line his bird cage.

I aim to find some more pics to help in that regard. Okay bird-get busy shitting. It's the least that reulsive piece of infected fast food deserves.