I think Dogette and I...


might have been separated at birth, or perhaps our test-tubes got separated in the lab, or something... Please read this, before you read what follows, ok?

I have to caution you, dearest reader, whom ever you might be, that is going to be long and strange (what isn't strange around here?), and probably boring to the point of wringing tears from your poor, strained, "why the fuck does he have white type on a black background, I can't read this shit without getting a fucking headache" eyes...
ahem...

Firstly, here is the evening's repast...



Grilled chicken breasts, grilled yellow squash and grilled potatoes, with a red lettuce salad, appointed with white onions, a really brisk cheddar, bacon, walnuts and garden fresh tomatoes...
All washed down with this...


(Less than a buck a case a Sam's Club, Bing. I have a good supply laid in, the next time I'm in your neck of the woods, I'll drop one off.).

So, where was I? Ah, yes.
I think the whole fucking problem is that I think too much. And know too much. I am lost in my time, surrounded by "smoothers", as Dogette most accurately calls them, and it frustrates the living shit out of me. I have spent my entire cognitive life learning, observing and retaining every damned thing I've experienced. And, while knowledge, in and of itself, is a wonderful thing, the most frustrating and annoying thing is that I feel that living at this level of experience has separated me from most of the other people that I am, through my own laziness, forced to spend my days with. (Please don't think I'm playing at tooting my own horn here or thinking that I'm any better than any other person, I'm not. I'm just an ordinary, run of the mill, garden variety schmo, obviously given to over using idioms, ad nauseaum...). I am the wall flower at family and social gatherings, not because I'm shy, but because I have an absurdly hard time joining in the common, every day conversations that are taking place. I don't want to talk about what quarterback signed with what team, I want to talk about why cedar, although a wonderfully great wood for use in damp situations, is not the optimum choice for making a tub wheel to run a mill. (It's pitch pine, actually, look it up. No, don't bother, take my word for it.). Do you know how to build a loom? Or hand cut dovetail joints? Or the name of the particular type of cloud that's floating over your head right now? Or when to go out in the woods and look for the shed skin of a black snake? Do you know the differences of the types of book bindings and why one is better than the other for certain size books and weights of paper? Why is the gauge of railroad tracks in the United States four feet, eight and one half inches? Is it better to make a Roman short sword out of bronze or steel? I know all these things. And what good does it do me? I learned to read at four years old. When I was seven, my parents went into hock to buy a set of World Book encyclopedias for my birthday in October. By Christmas I had read through every volume. And I bet I still can remember ninety percent of what I learned. I have spent my entire life learning and, although some would argue the point, growing. And that's the crux of the matter, me thinks. I've grown (mentally and, unfortunately, through lack of proper diet and exercise, physically...) and so, so many around me have not. And I find it so utterly frustrating that so many people I know have become mired in the world of illusions that have been thrust upon them, taking so much at face value, believing the word of the moment, playing slave to trends and, worse, becoming mired in an endless, comfortable extension of "the good old days", that they've become virtual zombies, driven by emptiness, feeding on excess, in other words, fat, dumb and lazy. It pisses me off to no end that so many don't realize how short this particular part of the journey is and get fixated with some perceived, false comfort zone, and spend their lives stuck in the past, never learning, never moving on. If you've read this ridiculous attempt at a blog for any time, you know how much I love music. I listen to everything, save disco and rap, from every period of musical history, of every genre. Music is something that I find to be quite holy and spiritually fulfilling. My musical tastes have evolved over many years to encompass so many different things that I have a hard time searching out and finding new things to listen to and yet, I am constantly surprised and inspired by what I find. And yet, I find that so many people I know are content to live in that "comfort zone" when it comes to music. They, although they are the same age as I, are stuck in some period of musical time, listening to what they did in high school or college or when ever. I try to share my music with them and they get a look on their faces like I've asked them to perform oral sex on a wet, smelly dog. The only time I can listen to and enjoy "my" music is when I'm alone. Bast knows, I savor those times. And it's an analogy for so many other things in life. The Great Unwashed, as I'm wont to call them at times, just have no clue at all. None. Zero. Nada... They're content to be led around by the ring in their nose, doing what Entertainment Tonight, People Magazine and MTV tell them that they should be doing, listening to, fawning over. They waste their time chasing material goods that, for but a moment, give them status and, with that, false satisfaction. Golden calves abound, but now they are disguised as trendy electronic devices or overpriced "designer" clothes. As long as they feel like part of the crowd, then they are relieved of the effort of thinking for themselves. They admire people that have lost all respect for themselves, seeking to emulate the emptiness they don't see. How can so many be so very, very lame? Damn. Just damn... And I'm the one, for Bast knows what reason, that wants to knock my head against the wall.
I think there should be some sort of test to grade you on your awareness and the higher you score, the more license you have to slap the living shit of people to try to wake them up. Or not. I mean, fuck 'em. Really. Are they worth all this angst and anger? I should spend the time I waste being infuriated by them doing something worthwhile. Like reading more books, listening to more music and working on some new masturbation techniques.
I'm wandering, aren't I? I've been on about all that goes on outside of me and not even touched what's going on inside of me. But I think that's for another night and another bottle or two of the grape.
I've not been as exacting or satirical as Dogette was in her post, but I hope I got at least some point across. I'll probably read this in the morning and wonder just what the hell I was on about, but, no matter.
The Land of Nod calls. I bid thee fair eve.

(please pardon any typos... my mind/hand coordination is the suck these days, too many pain killer and too much booze).

Fuck it. I was stunned awake at 2:12 this morning by a revelation which has made it all better; I think my problem is that what functioning gray matter I still have is suffering from being sloshed around in my brain box by the world suddenly speeding up and spinning out of control on it's axis because Britney Spears looks good in a bikini again, then coming to a screeching halt to catch up on the latest in the Jon and Kate Plus 8 saga, then flying out of it's usual orbit altogether, to revolve in unbridled admiration around the new sun, Barack Obama... I think that once I just fall into step with the rest of the mindless milksops and chittering twits, and go tripping blindly and blissfully ignorant through life, I'll feel just fine. Right?





go ahead, make your day...