A Long Way Down

The young hottie Asian homeless babe was back in her spot last night. I waited about 20 minutes for a bus heading to Waikiki. During that time, baby was sorting through her two packs. Everything that she has is wrapped in plastic shopping bags. A couple of babes stopped to chat with her, one offering her money.

Back at the hotel, I ate canned tuna and bread for dinner to supplement the rip-off Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers that I had purchased at Jack in the Box® earlier in the afternoon. I left for Waikiki Beach at 8:30pm. The amputee with the wheelchair was at the bus stop. He boarded the same bus as I did. He got off at the same stop, and then he disappeared. The semi-lucid homeless guy was already sitting at one of the tables under the pavilion structure when I arrived. His baby stroller was right next to him. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was sitting on her favorite bench. The African-American homeless guy was at the far end of the grassy knoll. I sat on the same bench as the night before.

Three benches down from me was a guy who dressed like a derelict. He spent his time lapsing in and out of a coma while listening to music through his headphones. The African-American homeless guy made three trips to move all of his stuff under the pavilion structure. At about 9:30pm, the alleged pastor rolled his cart into the pavilion structure. He served a nice meal to the homeless. A few minutes later, a tourist babe gave the guy dressed like a derelict a huge container of leftovers from a restaurant dinner. He devoured the whole meal in minutes. She had first attempted to give it the African-American homeless guy, but he declined the offer. The semi-lucid homeless guy moved his stroller to one of the benches facing the beach. He then went to sleep. At 10pm, a group of young twenty-something people walked through the area with boxes of food. They handed a hearty meal to each of the homeless. The guy dressed like a derelict was able to feast on three excellent meals in one sitting. The homeless are eating quite well. In fact, they are eating far better than I am and for free. The free meals are well-prepared and consists of all food groups, which is why the homeless do not appear either malnourished or starved.

I will add that no one offered me any food during that time. I was overlooked and ignored by the tourists who show pity for the poor or the "faith-based" altruists. Had I been truly homeless, I would have been up shit creek, as it were. Only a person whose appearance is stereotypical of the homeless (i.e., dereliction) will receive the benefits of charity. That is the reason why the homeless have little incentive to appear less pathetic than they do.

Disillusioned by the fact that I would hypothetically end up as an ignored homeless guy, I departed the beach at 10:15pm. Naturally, I stopped off at the ABC Store and purchased a bottle of Vendage® Chardonnay (read: fake "Hammer"). What else could I do? I drank over half of the bottle while I did my laundry. I stayed up until 2am.

I finally departed for town this morning at 8:15am after a late start, not that I had anything important to do. I spent all day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, with the exception of my workout time at the gym. I walked to Safeway® to purchase a few energy bars and three lard-filled Tina's® burritos. At 50 cents each, they are a much better deal than the nauseating Jack in the Box® cheeseburgers. I ate all three for lunch. I was illin' after that, possibly due to an overdose of lard.

I enjoyed a nice cardio workout at the gym as well as a nice hot shower. While at the gym, I contemplated my lack of any kind of health insurance. I'm not sure what I will do. I would barely be able afford the $270 monthly premium. I have also been putting off the scheduling of an appointment with the dentist. If I was homeless, I would easily afford health coverage. So, I have to decide what needs to go. Do I need a place to live? Do I need the truck? Or, do I need health insurance (visual and dental plans included)? I can't have it all unless I either start dipping into my savings or I commit myself further to wage slavery.

I have not spent time at any of the shopping malls lately. I found that hanging out at shopping malls only increases the propensity to purchase something just out of sheer boredom. What else is there to do in a shopping mall? The sheer number of satanic gargoyles running amuck is also a deterrent. Hanging out with the homeless at Waikiki Beach does not cost anything. It also prevents me from wasting time in front of the tube. The worst part is the worthless nature of the programming on the tube. I have no idea how the tube affected me, whether it adversely altered my values or tainted my thinking with propaganda. I spent way too much time in front of the tube while I lived in Kane'ohe. I had nothing else to do, and nowhere to go. I was living the exact same life-style as The Master.

Pseudo-professor Bill had invited me to join him and a few of his buddies at one of the sports bars in Waikiki this afternoon. Obviously, I had no intention of attending. At this point in my life, I have no need for male "bonding." Watching a football game and drinking cheap brewskis is nothing that I care to do. After I realized the exorbitant salaries that athletes earn, I decided that I could no longer be a part of the charade. Here I am, making chump change for a living. Why should I idolize those clowns? That is also the reason why I do not idolize the so-called "movie stars." Hurdy-gurdy starlets, maybe. Celebrities glamorize bad behavior and promote a superficial life-style that is well beyond the means of the average satanic gargoyle. They are ambassadors of El Diablo and promoters of the "seven sins."

On the other hand, sitting at Waikiki Beach with the homeless has taught me many things. I have been able to observe that rampant materialism and wealth accumulation permeates all levels of the food chain. I have been able to see how truly debased and valueless society has become. I have also been able to see the timeless beauty of the ocean, the beach, and the night sky, which is a tribute to the Creator. No matter what the moneychangers and powers-that-be attempt to do in order to destroy life on this planet, they are just too puny to make any difference in the universe.

Well, I do expect my routine to change this evening. I will depart for Waikiki when the faculty computer room closes at 5pm. I will eat canned beans and bread for dinner. Then, I will piddle around my little shoebox until it is time to make the trek to Waikiki Beach. Perhaps I should call myself the "semi-homeless lucid guy." Sheesh!

Fear & Loathing in Honolulu

I ended up in Waikiki Beach last night. As I walked up to the pavilion structure, I saw the African-American homeless guy walking around and ranting out loud. At the table that he had previously homesteaded were a group of locals in their twenties. They were carrying on, cussing, and making spectacles of themselves. Judging from the heavy use of Pidgin, I would say that they are from the more rural parts of the island. Apparently, they had harassed the African-American homeless guy. The semi-lucid homeless guy was already there. He was sitting at another table with his baby stroller parked close at hand. I sat on one of the benches facing the beach and hotels. That lasted about two minutes before a billow of cigarette smoke from the satanic gargoyles sitting on the next bench caused me to choke for air. I moved to a bench on the opposite side of the pavilion structure.

The African-American homeless guy was pacing around near the pavilion structure, all the while muttering to himself. His belongings were still next to the table where the local satanic gargoyles were sitting. At one point, the African-American homeless guy walked to the end of the grassy knoll. He had a cell phone in his hand. He is also very clean. His clothes appear to be laundered regularly. He wears only white colors, so any kind of filth would be obvious. The African-American homeless guy is an enigma amongst the homeless.

My homeless buddy passed by around 9pm. I sat on the bench until 9:55pm, although I was just as perturbed as the African-American homeless guy. The satanic gargoyles had disrupted the continuum. A few minutes prior to my departure, the group of uncouth locals dispersed. Only one of the group members apologized to the African-American homeless guy. One out of a group of seven or more.

Most of the homeless that I have seen are in my age group and above. People in the the semi-lucid homeless guy's age group seem to be a rarity amongst the homeless population. The African-American homeless guy is 69 years old, according to what I overheard last night. There could be a lot more younger homeless people. They may not be as visible because they remain constantly on the move. Young or old, I wonder how these people will survive in the long run. From what I can tell, none of them will be able enter back into the "mainstream." The cost to buy back in are too high. They will need a lot of money, and it's obvious that they don't have it.

I stopped off at the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza, which I dropped back immediately upon locking my little shoebox's door behind me. I did my usual nightly cleaning with my humble dustpan and brush. I also ate a couple of pieces of bread with peanut butter.

This morning, I left for town fairly early. I was make sure to drink a few cups of free coffee for the hotel guests before I leave. The bus ride was pleasant for once. There were only a few satanic gargoyles on board, and they were well behaved. I had time to contemplate my own situation from a slightly different perspective. I have been keenly aware of the dichotomy of thought that increased the rift of "incongruence" in my mind. I have been steadily performing a series of tasks (e.g., divestiture of useless possessions) as if I was on "automatic pilot." The goal of the tasks is to reduce my "footprint" or damage that I cause, as well as to prepare for my ultimate exodus from society. Being on "automatic pilot" has nothing to do with what I feel. It is a mechanical plan based upon the assumption that the end result will justify the means. If I had relied upon emotional sentiment, then I would have given in to the "system" and may very well have ended up as one of the sycophant satanic gargoyles. In other words, I would be living in a dream world of my own making. I would be the center of my own universe. Thus, I would be blinded by my sense of self-importance and justify it all by noting my alleged "contributions" to society.

By stepping back, I was able to see through the fog of ignorance and complacence. The alleged "representatives" of the citizenry have endorsed the use of torture on a now broadly defined class of "enemy combatants." All of this is happening while the satanic gargoyles continue an endless orgy of the "seven sins" in a totally oblivious state. So, who do these "representatives" represent? From what I can tell, they represent the "system." The "system" is now in its final stages of tweaking before the execution of the secular Apocalypse. The new laws that were ushered in under the guise of the so-called "War on Terror" has done very little to protect us from "them." Rather, the laws have changed our status and rights as citizens. In fact, these laws are incrementally moving us toward a permanent state of martial law. Yes, these laws are meant to work against the very citizens that they allegedly purport to protect. The "automatic pilot" knows this and usurps any attempt to change its objectives without any regard for "incongruence."

Aside from wage slavery, I spent most of the day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. After the gym, I stopped by Jack in the Box® and purchased two Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers for the $3.30 rip-off amount. Apparently, the price went up 60 cents. I was too perturbed to enjoy the cheeseburgers. I could have easily fished some shit out of a trash can to eat with the same result. I ended up back in the faculty computer room. Pseudo-professor Mike was there. He wanted to know why I did not honor his invitation for dinner last night. Frankly, I just did not want to be there. I have no desire to socialize with anyone. I would rather spend my time at Waikiki Beach with the homeless. Sadly, I believe that I have a lot more in common with the semi-lucid homeless guy and his ilk. They are loners. Outcasts. That is what I am, too.

I've become much more detached from society ever since I started my nightly vigil with the homeless. My tolerance for the satanic gargoyles, all of whom have homes, is barely measurable. I don't want to be around them. I certainly don't want to talk to them. Even at the Diploma Mill, I have become extremely cold to most of my colleagues. The ones whom I could barely tolerate are now ignored completely. I really didn't want it to be this way. However, while I still have some civil liberties, I can exercise the right to not waste my time with satanic gargoyles who are full of themselves.

In some respects, I am already there with the homeless. I am alone and ostracized from the rest of society. I have alienated myself from everyone including family, friends, and acquaintances. My only remaining connection with humanity is moms, whom I only visit with for one hour every week. The rest of my time has no meaning. I derive nothing from wage slavery except a paltry paycheck. I refuse to reconnect to society. Nothing is more abominable than the thought of becoming a satanic gargoyle. So, here it is, Friday night. I'll be down at Waikiki Beach with the homeless, yet again, at the pavilion structure, the home of the homeless homeys.

Bang the Drum Slowly

The young hottie Asian homeless babe was not in her usual spot last night. I wondered what happened to her. Sad to say, with the large number of riff-raff loitering around on Hotel Street, anything could happen. The satanic gargoyle who was cussing me out the other day was not at the bus stop. I was tragically disappointed. The hottie front desk babe was working her shift when I walked into the hotel lobby. Baby was looking hot. El Diablo hot.

I ate my humble dinner consisting of canned beans and bread before leaving for Waikiki Beach at 8:30pm on the bus. The semi-lucid homeless guy was sitting at one of the tables under the pavilion structure when I arrived. The African-American homeless guy was still in the same spot. I sat on one of the benches facing the beach and hotels. The semi-lucid homeless guy had just finished what appeared to be a lavish plate lunch. He spent about 20 minutes packing his baby stroller. He had acquired a few new possessions including another tatami mat, a large lunch cooler, and several non-descript items. The baby stroller was filled beyond capacity when he completed the task. The semi-lucid homeless guy wheeled the baby stroller in the direction of the Ala Wai. My homeless buddy passed by on his way to Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park).

I continued to sit on the bench. Several satanic gargoyles posing as tourists came and left, most of them smoking like chimneys. What smelled like cigarette smoke could easily have been fire and brimstone. Two fat slob fudgepackers sat on the bench 25 feet away from me. They had brought huge goblets and had mixed an alcoholic concoction out of cheap booze. They, too, were smoking like chimneys. The more obese of the two fudgepackers had his arm resting on the other fudgepacker's shoulder. The slob then spilt his drink. The whole place reeked of cheap booze. He quickly made himself another drink. The wind was wafting second-hand smoke in my direction. I became sickened by the morbid odors and the sight of the two gluttonous gargoyles. At that moment, the homeless babe (term used loosely) pushed her shopping cart full of stuff and her large roll-around luggage into position by the bench adjacent to me. A few minutes later, the semi-lucid homeless guy returned with his baby stroller.

I walked to another bench at the other end of the pavilion structure. The semi-lucid homeless guy parked the baby stroller next to one of the tables. He then laid down on the bench. Two cops on ATVs pulled up to the pavilion structure about 10 minutes later. They hassled the semi-lucid homeless guy about sleeping on the bench. The semi-lucid homeless guy sat up. The cops left. Then, he laid back down again. Prior to the incident, I did not realize that public policy also condones the harassment of the homeless. I decided to leave at 10pm.

As I was about to enter the hotel elevator behind a couple of other people, I felt someone trying to push ahead of me from behind. He was an overweight White Supremacist. He was talking on his cell phone. I could smell the lard emanating from a paper bag full of fast food that he clutched in his hand. I blocked his attempt to enter the elevator car before me. "Stupid mofo," I uttered. I could see the clown from the corner of my eye. The grotesquerie could only be described unmistakably as a satanic gargoyle. Back in my little shoebox, I completed my nightly cleaning with my humble dustpan and brush. I did absolutely nothing for the rest of the evening.

This morning, I departed early after drinking two cups of coffee for the guests in the hotel lobby. I rode the bus to the Waikiki Banyan Hotel to pay the rip-off $100 for a monthly parking permit. I caught the bus to town right outside the hotel. It was completely full. There were several people of Indian descent (not Native American) whom I see while riding on various routes. One Indian guy whom I've never seen before sat next to me today. He was apparently a stud because he had to make sure that he took up as much room as possible on his seat. In fact, he had his body pressed against mine. At first, I suspected that he was a fudgepacker. Then, I realized that he was a Class Supremacist. As a whole, Indians are very polite and cordial to the Caucasians, most likely from years of servitude to the British. They have also learned how to appease the "dominant" culture, the ones who supposedly hold all the wealth and power. The Indians themselves are affluent and usually well educated. They are also meticulously creative about the "caste" system they installed in their own society, one that is the model for Class Supremacists worldwide. I saw the pathetic "brown skin" next to me for what he was. Indeed, upon closer scrutiny, I discovered that he is a satanic gargoyle. I deliberately stretched and put my arm inches from his gargoyle head. Then, I slammed my gym bag on my legs and his as well. He said nothing and moved over slightly. Perhaps he was Hindu, and he saw me as a reincarnation of an insect. If only I could have held a mirror to his face so that he could see the grotesquerie of his reincarnation as a satanic gargoyle.

A few people may wonder whether I have become a bigot in my advanced years. Clearly, the answer is no. The adverse encounters that I have experienced are not with humans. Rather, I have been dealing with satanic gargoyles impersonating humans. Bigotry cannot be displayed toward satanic gargoyles. A long time ago, these clowns sold their souls to El Diablo. They have given in wholeheartedly to the "seven sins." They have debased themselves to the point of becoming predators. They feed on others, particularly the helpless. They are no longer human.

I spent most of the day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I usually spend a lot of time composing the "blog," but even that little bit of fun has been thwarted. Blogger® has been plagued with alleged server problems for several days now. Attempts to "publish" the "blog" now takes several hours. I was able to complete a few wage slave tasks instead.

I closed my statement savings account at my local bank and deposited the $900 balance into my checking account. In a few days, the automatic debit for the maintenance fee as well as the mortgage for my "condotel" unit will commence. I was sickened at the thought of all that money flowing out of my account. I did my usual workout at the gym. I was privy to see the hottie gym trainer at work in front of me for a few minutes while I was on the elliptical machine. Baby was looking hot. After the gym, I walked to Safeway® for no particular reason. I ended purchasing three lard-filled Tina's® burritos. I ate all three for a snack.

On the way to Safeway®, I noticed that there were several homeless guys already stationed at the little park by the Fire Department. There were a few shopping carts filled with stuff lined up by the wall. Last night, I also observed that there was a large number of the more affluent homeless homesteading at North Fudgepacker Park near the bus stop that I wait at. By "affluent," I mean that they own cars and minivans. The vehicles are stuffed with crap, which is the big clue that they are homeless. Most of them sit on folding chairs in the park by the restroom (the only other restroom open 24 hours in Waikiki). This group of homeless appears more tight-knit.

It was not my intention to turn the "blog" into a saga about the homeless. However, after my seven-week stint this Summer as one of the homeless, I became keenly aware of the precarious nature of my own existence. I am continuing to observe and learn from the homeless. I have discovered that many of them are mentally insane, but they are much more human than the satanic gargoyles around them. Humanity is now awash in anarchy. The remaining flimsy social infrastructure is on the verge of collapse. There is little left of society, which begs the question, why would I need to exit society if it no longer exists? There is something resembling society. It is a collective of satanic gargoyles and cannibalistic zombies. These flesh-eating vampires are barely conscious. Their minds have been routed by the diseases of the "seven sins." They look alike. They think alike. They talk alike. They eat alike. They act alike. They dress alike. They are clones. Before we are assimilated into the collective, we must make a quick exit.

Thus, what I also write about in the "blog" are my observations of the collective of satanic gargoyles. Many of us have become indifferent, perhaps even accepting and embracing the new gargoyle life-style. We have become numb and insensitive to what a true society should be. Or, we may have conceded to the never-ending justification, "It really isn't that bad." However, deep in our hearts, we know it is that bad and worse. Will it get better? No, it won't. This is not pessimism. This is reality.

The lone chawan is the sole reminder of my mission. It will be one of the few possessions to travel with me in the long journey to come.

Fun & Games, Satanic Gargoyle Style

Last night, I observed the sheer number of people who now claim a spot as their home in the Chinatown Gateway Park. The situation is getting out of hand, but no one seems to care. Only when scapegoats are needed, the homeless are fully recognized. The young hottie Asian homeless babe was sitting in her usual spot. She had not unpacked anything. Rather, she sat there smoking a cigarette.

A Caucasian guy was standing at the bus with me when a local sitting on the bench about 25 feet away began yelling. He was cussing and flipping us off. I asked the Caucasian guy, "Is he talking to you?" He said, "I don't know who he's fucking talking to." He boarded the next bus. The derelict continued yelling to me. He was still cussing. Then, he called me "Chinese." I recognized the fool. He is a local guy, probably in his thirties. I had seen him regularly on the bus to and from Kane'ohe when I lived there. He was often preaching, since he is allegedly a Christian. "You talking to me?" I yelled back. Still cussing, he got up and walked in the other direction. Then, he walked down Nu'uanu Street, all the while staring me down. He was listening to music that played through headphones and a cheap imitation music player. I surmised that he was listening to a discrete selection of El Diablo cult music. I attempted to call 9-1-1 with my cell phone, but the bus to Waikiki had arrived. I had carried my cell phone just to make a call earlier to my homey Rod in LA. I made the call when I was still in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I left a message. I am planning to pull the SIM card and divest the phone.

I was quite perturbed by the loser at the bus stop. I did not realize until later that the loser was a satanic gargoyle. The poisonous babble spewing from his contorted orifice originated with El Diablo. The satanic gargoyle and I have unfinished business. We will meet again. Under similar conditions, I will take violent action to punish and possibly maim him. This is the greatest and most honorable gift that I can offer an agent of El Diablo.

Just as the bus entered Waikiki, I noticed that rain was coming down heavily. Fortunately, I have been packing my umbrella in my gym bag. Tourists were running amuck in the rain while I casually walked back to the hotel. The hottie front desk babe was working her shift. Baby was looking hot as usual. Since I already ate dinner, I did not have much to do in my little shoebox. I kept looking out the window to see if the rain had stopped. I left for Waikiki Beach at 8:15pm on the bus.

All of the benches were still wet when I arrived at the pavilion structure. Quite a few of the homeless were gathered under the structure. Most of them were huddled around one table. I have never seen them before. The African-American homeless guy has been situated at the same table for three days. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was sitting on one of the benches facing the park. The amputee in the wheelchair was also there. So was the semi-lucid homeless guy. He was sitting on top of one of the tables. From my vantage point, it seemed as though the homeless were having a party. I wiped the water off of one of the benches facing the beach and hotels. Then, I sat down.

After a few minutes, most of the unrecognized homeless dispersed to parts unknown. The regular homeless remained. Silence replaced the festivities. No one spoke to each other. Just as in real life, people only come together in adversity. After that, it's back to "business as usual" in the form of "rugged individualism." The semi-lucid homeless guy moved his baby stroller to one of the benches facing the beach. He laid down on the bench. I assumed that he was calling it a night. About 30 minutes later, the semi-lucid homeless guy stood up and readied the baby stroller for departure. I watched as he wheeled the baby stroller in the direction of central Waikiki. More things were now dangling from different parts of the stroller's frame. How long before he will need to upgrade to a shopping cart?

I left at 10pm. On the way to the bus stop, I saw my homeless buddy standing next to the last bench by Kapahulu Avenue. He propped himself up on the bench as he adjusted one of his sandals. His other leg was wrapped in a bandage. His roll-along pack was on sitting on the bench. He's in pretty good shape. He looks like a typical gym rat. However, there's something odd about making the rounds through the park around 9:30pm and looking in all the trash cans. I continued walking to the bus stop.

I cannot help but feel a sense of sorrow when I see the homeless. Sure, if they were in the "mainstream," so to speak, they would most likely engage in the same derelict conduct typical of the satanic gargoyles. However, the latter is a flawed thesis. Most of the homeless people were not born homeless. Thus, they knew the other side of life and made a series of decisions that determined their present outcome. They will never return to the mainstream status quo, which is really a blessing in disguise.

When I got off at my usual bus stop, I dropped by the ABC Store to purchase milk and a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I stood behind a fat slob tourist and his babe. There were two cashiers at that particular counter. The other cashier waved me over. The fat slob and his babe did nothing to move out of the way. I waited. When "fatso" and his babe finally moved, he looked straight at me and made a grunting noise. "It's about time you moved out of the fucking way," I said to the White Supremacist. As I walked back to the hotel, I saw the fat slob White Supremacist and his babe. Whoa! As my eyes focused, I could see his beer keg physique. His head and face, though, had the distinct features of a gargoyle, a satanic gargoyle. Immediately, I realized that his grunting noises were gargoyle-speak.

This morning, I left fairly early after drinking my token two cups of coffee for the guests in the hotel lobby. I should mention that the staff of the hotel is mainly comprised of satanic gargoyles. As always, I started my day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. During my wage slave break, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a few energy bars and some organic peanut butter. I also bought a couple of pieces of Jalapeño bread for lunch. The bread was spicy hot. El Diablo hot.

Aside from wage slavery, I did nothing else but compose the "blog." There was a celebration for the President of the Diploma Mill in the student center at noon. I walked there with several colleagues. There was a lot of food, but none it was going to be served up until after the ceremony. I had a class to facilitate at 12:55pm, so I had to leave. I had a long break between my two afternoon classes. I walked down to the student center with Kiki, a young hottie Asian student in my class. We were able to partake of the food of which there was still a lot leftover. I sat and chatted with Kiki while we ate. Then, I had to return to wage slavery.

The rest of the afternoon was rote. At the gym, I was privy to see the hottie gym trainer busy training someone on the machine in front of me. Baby was looking hot. El Diablo hot. All I have to look forward to is an evening at Waikiki Beach with the homeless at the pavilion structure.

Incidentally, I have been watching Hawai'i petrol prices decline in the last few weeks. Prices for the lowest octane is now below $3 per gallon. I became rather suspicious because the price of petrol in Hawai'i never goes down (except during the time period of the ill-fated "gas cap"). The crafty machinations of the moneychangers and the powers-that be are at play.

El Diablo en un Vestido Blanco

Last night, I left town in a perturbed state. I was not able to "publish" my "blog" entry. As I walked to the bus stop near the Chinatown Gateway Park, I saw a variety of homeless people setting up for the night. A guy probably in his sixties had situated himself and his worldly possessions next the the Hawai'i Theater. He sat on a tatami mat with an arrangement around him that looked like a spartan living room. Right next to the mat was an unfolded folding mattress. He had a variety of stuffed animals lying in one corner of the mattress. Obviously, that was his bedroom.

While at the bus stop, I looked across the street. I saw the homeless young Asian hottie already set up in her usual spot. She was going through all of her stuff. At one point she got up and ducked behind the large shrubbery next to the Indigo. I assumed that the area behind the shrubbery is the restroom for the homeless. Downtown is locked up tight insofar as public restrooms are concerned. In other words, there are no public restrooms available. I have often had to stop off at the gym just to use the restroom. Fortunately, I have a gym membership. Otherwise, I would have to duck behind the shrubbery as well.

The hottie front desk babe was working her shift when I arrived at the hotel. Baby was looking hot. Once in my little shoebox, I ate my usual canned beans and bread for dinner. I sorted through my photograph gallery again. I chose more pictures to discard. At 8:10pm, I left for Waikiki Beach on the bus. The pavilion structure was almost completely devoid of people except the African-American homeless guy. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was sitting on her usual bench. I first sat on a bench facing the ocean. Then, I moved to another bench facing Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). The amputee with the wheelchair rolled in at about 9pm. He had a guitar case on his lap. I am not sure if there was a guitar in it. He parked next to one of the tables and eventually passed out. My homeless buddy was slightly early with his rounds. He walked off toward Fudgepacker Park, looking in every trash receptacle.

The semi-lucid homeless guy never showed up, or he may have stopped by before I arrived. I was in an even worse way by that time. Not being able to "publish" the "blog" was a real thorn in my side. One of the homeless guys from the park was wheeling his shopping cart back in that direction. He is a local guy. He always wears board shorts and slippahs (read: slippers) and no shirt. He lives at the first restroom in Fudgepacker Park, the only one that is open 24 hours. He usually has all of his stuff draped over the bushes and benches. He has a number of odd items stacked in the shopping cart. I saw him in the distance. He was in some kind of shouting tirade with a couple of fat slob tourists sitting on the last bench near Kapahulu Avenue. I surmised that the White Supremacist tourists made a condescending remark about his shopping cart.

As for me, I was clearly becoming more agitated. All I could see were satanic gargoyles walking about. I became disgusted because I realized that there is no escape from the clutches of the sinister kahuna and his minions. No matter what I do, I will be forced to succumb to the malignant life-style of the satanic gargoyles if I don't flee. My mind was ready to snap. I could feel the evil force permeating the air just like the thick cigarette smoke billowing forth from the contorted orifices of the satanic gargoyles.

At one point, an African-American guy sat on the bench two down from me. He kept looking over in my direction. I thought that he was a fudgepacker for sure. I was waiting for him to make his move. I was prepared to offer him salvation from his evil ways by "anointing" him with a good pummeling. I was relieved when he became distracted by a luscious young hottie crossing the street. Baby was wearing a short, skimpy white dress. Babes can really do a number on a guy. A hottie can surely bring a guy to his knees. Yet, their outer beauty only serves to mask the evil trollop within.

I left at 10pm, while I still had some semblance of reason. I was tempted to purchase some cheap booze in a feeble attempt to cleanse my soul. I thought better of the foolish idea. I did nothing for the rest of the evening. Sitting in my little shoebox, I was reminded of what little time left I have left on this planet. Why am I wasting precious time in that dump? To test my resolve, I downloaded some free hurdy-gurdy video clips (read: mpeg files) of gorgeous Memphis Monroe to my beloved Palm® TX. What a hottie! The built-in media player is pretty good, although the picture size is a bit small. My mind began to wander. I felt the temptation to entertain the ludicrous ideas of old. The flesh is so eager to seek out debauchery to satisfy its desire for physical pleasure. The pull was so strong that it took all the strength that I could muster up to subdue my own desires.

This morning, I was finally able to "publish" the "blog" after settling in at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I cannot believe that I was so perturbed about the "blog" that my whole evening was ruined. Who reads this crap anyway?

In an e-mail from Mr. Ray, he mentioned that, from his own experiences, he discovered that people can be equally cruel to other people of their own ethnicity. Yes, he's right. While I may have fixated on the carcinogenic archetype of the White Supremacist model, there is an even more nefarious one, the Class Supremacist model. The Class Supremacist is an "equal opportunity" bigot. Anyone of any ethnic or religious group is considered inferior if that person is of a lower economic class, lower social standing, and non-pedigreed. These fudgepackers are most detestable of the satanic gargoyles, and they are the composite of all the moneychangers and powers-that-be.

I left for Kahala Mall at 10:30am. I dropped a small package of stuff at the Goodwill donation drop box. Moms and I ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. Moms also brought a small container of fresh vegetables for me. Lunch was delicious. I was able to chat with moms, which really is the highlight of my week.

Later, I became keenly aware that I am surrounded by satanic gargoyles. I see their contorted faces, the sickening grimace which serves as a smile, the slime oozing from their pores, and the pungent odor emanating from their orifices. Garbled shrieking, sounding more like voodoo lyrics, were their only utterances. Even when I rode the bus to and from Kahala Mall, I was in the presence of the satanic gargoyles. They were writhing in their seats. Hard as it may be to believe, the pungent body odor and halitosis overpowered the air conditioning on the bus. One of the fat gargoyles sitting on the adjacent seat flatulated (read: farted). The mix of these offensive odors made me gag profusely. Perhaps that was the essence of the evil spirit and how it enters the body of a mortal, I wondered to myself. Am I to be overtaken, my soul displaced by evil? Oh, Lord, have mercy!

At the gym, I was distracted by the presence of the hottie gym trainer. She happened to be training someone on the machine in front of me. For a brief moment, I lost sense of my own mission. Then, I realized that I could never hook up with a babe like her. And, thank goodness! Can you imagine what would happen if a babe like the hottie gym trainer came on to the ol' lavahead? Sheesh! Being a loser in this world is a blessing in disguise. I am spared the real agonies of dealing with babes, amongst other things. After all, my goal is to seek freedom, not to shackle myself like a prisoner.

The prison analogy is very accurate, by the way. Even in prison life, the inmates often forget about freedom, either because it is impossible to attain or too hard to work for. So, they become involved in the "system." They seek ways to satisfy their immediate needs, or to they look to climb up the prison food chain. Whether they aspire to become the Bull of the cellblock or someone's "bitch," the motives are the same. The localized structure of the moneychangers and powers-that-be mirrors that of the outside world. No surprise. In a matter of time, the day-to-day machinations of the "system" of the prison become the mundane routine that supersedes freedom. Viktor Frankl provides the solution to the prison quagmire in, "Man's Search for Meaning."

After my gym workout, I walked back to the faculty computer room. There were no satanic gargoyles present. In fact, no one was there. I was able to calm my nerves enough to walk to Longs®. The place was packed with people, possible satanic gargoyles. I looked none of them in the eye. I purchased a loaf of bread and the one remaining Granny's Gourmet Muffin. Then, I stopped by Jack in the Box®. I purchased two 99-cent Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers, which will suffice as my dinner. I ate well today, much better than I usually do. Perhaps that is why I felt relaxed. I finished composing the "blog" and left for Waikiki at 6:45pm. My nightly adventure begins.

Triage for Survival

I arrived back in Waikiki at 5:45pm yesterday afternoon. The hottie front desk babe was working her shift. Baby was looking hot as usual. I locked myself in my little shoebox. The fare for dinner was canned beans and bread. I emptied my old Perry Ellis® travel gym bag of its contents. I put it together with my DVD player for divestiture. The contents of the travel bag were consolidated with the stuff in my backpack and my one and only remaining piece of luggage, another large gym bag. After piddling around, I left with the bag of donations at 8:10pm. I rode the bus to the Waikiki Banyan Hotel. I stuffed the donations in my truck. The whole back of the cab is stuffed with crap. My truck is the equivalent of the semi-lucid homeless guy's baby stroller. I started up the truck and moved it to a better parking space. I used that as an excuse to drive it. I have not driven it at all since I attended the family get-together during the first week of September.

I rode the bus to Waikiki Beach and walked to the pavilion structure. The African-American homeless guy had set up camp under the pavilion structure. His pool lounge chair was situated next to one of the tables. He sat at the table with a small stack of books. He was chatting up a young hottie. His boombox was playing a compilation of Curtis Mayfield "moldy oldies." The homeless babe (term used loosely) sat on one of the benches. I sat on the bench two down from her.

There were a lot of tourists milling in and out of the pavilion structure. Around 9pm, I heard someone ask me if I had a lighter. It was the semi-lucid homeless guy. I told him that I did not have one. He has asked me that question a couple of times. I suspect that he is trying to determine if I am another homeless buddy. The semi-lucid homeless guy sat at the table almost directly behind me. I glanced over and noticed that he had acquired more possessions. There were a couple of items hanging from the baby stroller's handlebar. He also had a tatami beach mat rolled up and placed on the lower tier of the baby stroller.

The amputee with the wheelchair arrived shortly afterward. He made some comment about how he lost all of his friends because he is now a Christian. The semi-lucid homeless guy only provided a couple of mono-syllabic responses. The amputee with the wheelchair is Caucasian. He is missing his left leg. He appears to be in his sixties. His hair is long and unkempt. He speaks with a Southern drawl. He does not seem to have much in the way of possessions, but he does carry a hooded sweatshirt and blanket with him. He wraps himself up in both within a few minutes of finding a table.

The semi-lucid homeless guy sat at the table silently. He is Caucasian as well. He is slightly overweight. Usually, he wears shorts and a tank top or T-shirt. He always has a baseball cap which he wears backwards. He sports what appears to be moderately tinted sunglasses. When he approached me about the lighter, I noticed that one of the lenses was conspicuously missing. Later, he spent about 15 minutes brushing his hair. Apparently, he has hair that drapes down to his neck, which he always keeps tucked under the cap. At about 10 o' clock, I sensed some movement behind me. I observed the semi-lucid homeless guy readying himself to leave.

After tidying up his baby stroller, he walked in the direction of the Ala Wai. As he waited to cross the street, I noticed that a variety of tourists were looking in the baby stroller. Then, they looked at the semi-lucid homeless guy. Just like all of the other homeless, the semi-lucid homeless guy walked on silently, moving out of the way of the arrogant fat slob tourists.

Within a couple of minutes, I walked to the bus stop. After I got off the bus, I paid a visit to the ABC Store to purchase a couple of Granny's Gourmet Muffins and a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. As to be expected, I dropped back the whole can of cerveza immediately upon locking the door to Chez Loser II. How pathetic I am, I thought to myself. Even the homeless are not droppin' back cheap booze every night. I perused the lone chawan, realizing that I once again betrayed its symbolism.

I cleaned my little shoebox with my humble dustpan and brush as I must do every evening. I am not sure why there is so much crap on the floor since I am never there. I surveyed my little empire. It has dwindled down to almost nothing. Essentially, I have even less than most homeless people. Well, that is, if I exclude my Nalu Board and my Local Motion® surfboard. The question of homelessness for me is now just a matter of when. I believe that homelessness is a certain future for me. I have been trying to imagine myself in a "camping" situation. The visual was not a pretty one. I believe that I will be subject to theft on a regular basis. The riff-raff will most likely ruffle through my tent while I am gone, if they don't just steal the tent itself. The likelihood of finding my truck vandalized or burglarized, if I still own it, would also be high. That is, if the truck, too, is not stolen. Could I live and survive under those kinds of conditions?

This morning, I departed fairly early after drinking my token two cups of free coffee for the guests in hotel lobby. Pseudo-professor Glenn was at the bus stop. I chatted with him briefly. I was wearing my board shorts, T-shirt, and slippahs (read: slippers) as usual. I mentioned that I am permanent vacation. "Well, as long as you're making some money," he said. "You should take up more cultural stuff like with the rice bowl." I laughed. I had forgotten that I told him about the lone chawan.

I walked to the Pali Safeway® during my break at the Diploma Mill. I purchased three energy bars and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos for lunch. As usual, I always peruse the variety of alternative news sites. The results are always the same. I am either sickened to the point of "delivering street pizza," or I become even more convinced that the fuse to the secular Apocalypse has been lit. The sad part is that none of us can do anything about this mess. Democratic processes will not work. The only possible solution will require collective action which may approach a violent magnitude. Intellectual banter only serves to raise the blood pressure. Otherwise, absolutely nothing happens to stop the madness.

While I was at the gym, I had time to do more ruminating. Working out at the same time seems to aid in the thinking process. I reviewed my somewhat frantic and unorganized homeless plan. I pondered the options and decided to map the alternatives. I could become homeless at any time by simply placing the "condotel" back in the hotel pool. I could then move to a campsite with my truck. Even with income from the hotel pool, I estimated that I would still have to kick in about $150 per month to pay off the balance of the monthly mortgage and maintenance fee. Thus, my revised plan is to wait out my precarious employment situation. While I remain employed, I will maintain the status quo with the option to sell the truck. Interest rates on my investments could go down or my income may drop which will necessitate a triage reaction to stop the financial bleeding. If I become fully unemployed, then I can exercise the option of putting the "condotel" unit back in the hotel pool while listing it for sale. Only in that extreme case that I will voluntarily become homeless.

There is one caveat to the revised plan. I am really not certain about how long I can tolerate my already minimal existence in the mainstream. Almost every aspect of this culture, including the asswipes impersonating humans, is poisonous to the soul. More and more, I feel as though I am standing right in the middle of a courtyard in Babylon. So putrid are these cheap fucks around me that I can see nothing else that could cleanse the landscape except complete mayhem and destruction. It takes but a minute to step back and take a good look at what's happening. Humans have debased themselves beyond the unfathomable. We are rolling around in the sickening, stinking sewage of a stagnant cesspool. The most debased of primates are rubbing the shit all over themselves and stuffing their own turds down their throat. All the while, they are laughing and carrying on. Pure evil has permeated every nook and cranny. the side of good does not exist anymore.

Of course, there will be people who will claim that I am suffering from "sour grapes." I am a loser. Therefore, I am simply envious of those who have more than I do. If I get off my ass and change my "attitude," then I could have it all. Sorry, no "sour grapes" here. In the past few years I have observed the real meaning of the old adage about beauty being "skin deep." From superficial people to the trappings of our society, the latter hold true. Everything seems so beautiful on the outside, but the core is completely rotted out. And, with each passing day, the situation worsens. More and more people are buying into the "system." They are selling their souls to the sinister kahuna because they gave in to the "seven sins."

I can hear people telling me, "Oh, lighten up, it's not that bad," just like true sycophants of the sinister kahuna. As I stated, seeing reality will require stepping back and taking a good look around. It means dismissing all of the so-called "values" that have been subliminally inculcated deep within our psyche, the tube being one of the most effective sensory assaults on our minds. Every hour spent in front of the tube has resulted in the most unprecedented and most successful cumulative brainwashing effort to ever hit humankind. Just by means of the tube alone, we can export this filthy, evil life-style anywhere around the planet. Will it be better in Costa Rica? Can you say, "You can run, but you can't hide"? Perhaps the time for triage is now.

Feast of the Peasants

I was back in Waikiki by 5:45pm yesterday. I ate my luxurious dinner consisting of a can of tuna and bread. For dessert, I sliced up a fresh pear that moms had given me. I sat like a zombie in front of the tube for an hour or so. Feeling incredibly stupid, I departed for Waikiki beach at 8:10pm on the bus.

The pavilion structure was full of tourists when I arrived. There was also a group of locals sitting at one of the few tables. They were making a lot of noise. They appeared to be part of a larger group of locals who were sitting on the grass where the African-American homeless guy camps out. They, too, were making a lot of noise. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was sitting on one of the benches. So was the homeless guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine). He ended up moving to the bench next to mine because of the noisy locals. The amputee in the wheelchair sat motionless at one of the tables. The semi-lucid homeless guy appeared at about 9pm. He was forced to sit on one of the benches facing the ocean because all of the tables were occupied. So far, he has not added to his possessions. The baby stroller was still filled to capacity, but there was nothing hanging along the perimeter of the frame.

The homeless guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine) did not have any offensive smells last night. At one point, he decided to indulge in the "chronic." Just as he did so, two guys wheeled a cart into the pavilion structure. I assumed that one of the guys was a pastor from a church. He and his assistant served out small portions of food to the homeless. The homeless guy who usually smells like stale brewskis and piss had to quickly mummify his activity with the "chronic." Neither the alleged pastor or his assistant gave me any food, although they gave food to a couple of people who were clearly not homeless. The alleged pastor was dressed up, wearing one of those nauseating non-cotton Aloha shirts. He also donned an orchid lei, which made him look more like a sleazy politician. A few of the White Supremacist crowd came by to thank him for the service that he was performing for the community. In fact, the way that he was behaving betrayed his self-aggrandizement over any possibility of altruism.

After the alleged pastor departed, the homeless guy who usually smells like stale brewskis and piss hobbled over to sit with the amputee in the wheelchair. The homeless guy who usually smells like stale brewskis and piss is possibly in his sixties. He is overweight and walks with marked limp. He seems to have all of his worldly possession contained in his backpack. His eyes do not move together synchronously, so he may have some kind of congenital optical defect. Both of them engaged in a lively discussion about the meal they were just served. "I wonder where he got the money for this," the amputee in the wheelchair mused to his buddy. "Last week, all he had was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was okay, but it wasn't very good." The semi-lucid homeless guy said nothing during his tenure on the bench. At 9:45pm, he left in the direction of Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park) with his baby stroller. I left at 9:55pm.

I walked to the park so I could use the restroom. I ran into one of my Diploma Mill students along the way. We chatted briefly before I continued on. The alleged pastor and his assistant were passing out food to the homeless who live in the back of the restroom structure. I did not see any sign of the semi-lucid homeless guy. While I was walking to the bus stop, I felt the rain coming down. By the time I reached the bus stop shelter, it was pouring. After I got off the bus, I had to stand under another bus stop shelter while I waited for the rain to subside. Naturally, I had to stop in the ABC Store to purchase a rip-off $2.79 salad and a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. Once back in my little shoebox, I dropped back the whole can of cerveza in the wink of an eye.

After polishing off the cerveza, I boxed up my DVD player in order to prepare it for divestiture. At the beach, I had contemplated the sheer stupidity of maintaining my now-defunct hurdy-gurdy DVD library. What exactly is a hurdy-gurdy DVD, aside from the obvious? Hurdy-gurdy DVDs are produced by greedy moneychangers who capitalize primarily on big-time losers like the ol' lavahead. What we are talking about here are substandard guys (read: losers) who cannot get babes. Thus, these so-called "losers" must literally choke da chicken (read: move hand up and down along Vienna Sausage). The real stupid part is that the hotties starring in hurdy-gurdy DVD productions are in it for the money. That's it. They act out scenes which cater to the fantasies of losers. Every loser wants a hottie, but that is not possible in a world where the ability to pay the cost of admission is foremost above all else. It makes no sense to derive any pleasure by watching contrived productions. The latter statement also applies to regular movies and programming on the tube. Entertainment is not reality. Subsidizing almost all forms of entertainment is, therefore, a worthless activity. It only ends up separating the consumer from his or her hard-earned cash.

Yes, it would be quite titillating to peruse Amy Reid doin' da wild thing. However, I could never have a babe like Amy Reid. All I would end up with is a silvered disk containing a video of Amy Reid involved in acts that I would desire to be a participant, but the latter acts are fulfilled by a sleazy proxy instead. In the end, only my mind will be able to participate. My only actual physical consummation with the images in my mind would have to be translated into a chicken chokin' frenzy. Can the silvered disk suffice as a surrogate for the real thing? No way. Given this perspective, I can only conclude that engaging in such a malignant activity for an extended period of time suggests the onslaught of mental illness.

What could make a real mockery out of the hurdy-gurdy situation is the fact that my beloved Palm® TX has wireless Net capability. The Blazer® browser is quite capable, and the Palm® PDA also has a decent media player. The proliferation of hurdy-gurdy material on the Net boggles the mind. At any time, I could still access low-quality hurdy-gurdy content for free and be consumed by the same malignant desires. Then, I'd be back at Square Zero. I could easily purchase another DVD player and rebuild my now-defunct hurdy-gurdy DVD library. It's just that simple to slip right back into the hands of the sinister kahuna and the eternal grip of debauchery.

This morning, I spent considerable time in the hotel lobby drinking the free coffee for the guests and reading the Sunday paper. I left for town on the bus at 10:45am. Since I was early, I walked to my secret hide-away. The apartment building which leases space to the Uptown branch of the Post Office has a large lanai area in the back. The lanai overlooks a small park that was once a parking lot along Beretania Street. I sat on one of the benches and did a little religious reading. The lanai was nice and quiet, which was quite conducive to relaxation. I would sit on one of the benches in the park instead, but those benches are usually occupied by the homeless.

I spent all afternoon in the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill, except for my workout time at the gym. I was tempted to purchase some fast food for a snack, but somehow I resisted the temptation. Food per se is not a line item for economizing. In fact, food is probably much more important than shelter insofar as survival is concerned. In Hawai'i, shelter can easily become secondary since the weather is so mild. The recurrent homeless theme vis-à-vis myself is actually a function of my disdain for people in general. I had operated under the false assumption that a forced exposure (read: "flooding" in psychological terms) would allow me to develop more compassion for people. Wrong-O! As I quickly discovered, the majority of people are ignorant and damned proud of it, as well arrogant, cruel, and solipsistic.

Homelessness may also be the only true vehicle to completely sever ties with the society and the world. Even in my mendicant and quasi-transient state while residing in a hotel, of all places, I am still too connected with the spirit of the world. My surroundings are still as pretentious and as artificial as that of the status quo. I could easily revitalize the decadent values that I am trying to eliminate. In other words, I am fighting a losing battle because I am right in the middle of the war zone. Am I the warrior that I thought I was? Will I continue to debase the symbolism of the lone chawan?

As I've stated in the "blog" recently, I have no time to keep going around in circles. Therefore, any changes that I make now in my life-style, values, and beliefs must stick permanently. The divestiture of my useless possessions was clearly a step in the right direction, until I reacquired them. No more. Right now, amidst my frustration, I believe that the exodus is going well. The day is coming when I will fill the lone chawan with rice. I will pour hot tea over the rice and let it simmer. Then, I will feast on the soup of the peasants.

By the way, I received e-mail from Clyde, a guy who was one of my three suitemates back in 1974. I was quite surprised. A year or so ago, I had the same inclination to look up old friends. I was only able to locate Big Larry in Cali. I chatted with him on the phone once, and we corresponded by e-mail a couple of times. That was it. I learned that there is no need to dig people up from the past especially from over 30 years ago. We have gone our separate ways, and there is nothing except a few good memories left. What's funny is that I also searched for Clyde on the Net, but there were too many people in Cali with the same name.

Run Silent, Run Deep

Last night, when I walked to the bus stop in town, I observed that the homeless Asian hottie was already settled in the same spot as the night before. She had already laid out the sheets of paper that would suffice as her bed. Baby was looking through her pack. All of her stuff is wrapped in plastic bags, a seemingly common phenomenon here in Hawai'i. I, myself, wrap almost everything in plastic bags before placing them in my gym bag. Baby seemed a little frustrated. I don't blame her.

When I arrived back at the Aloha Surf Hotel, the hottie front desk babe was working alone on her shift. Baby is a hottie. I ate my dinner of canned beans and bread. Then, I departed for Waikiki Beach on the bus. There were a lot of tourists sitting under and near the pavilion structure. I sat on one of the benches facing the ocean. I moved to different benches three times during the evening because of the many chain smoking fat slob tourists.

The amputee in the wheelchair was there last night. He may or may not be homeless. He appears sporadically, but he seems to know most of the regulars. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was there as well. The semi-lucid homeless guy came by about 20 minutes later. He parked his baby stroller next to the bench that he sat on. The amputee in the wheelchair wheeled over to chat with the semi-lucid homeless guy. At one point, he was urging the semi-lucid homeless guy to go out to someplace in Kane'ohe to apply for a job. The semi-lucid homeless guy seemed irritated. The amputee in the wheelchair quizzed him about the baby stroller. The semi-lucid homeless guy told him that he had melted his crib and molded the stroller out of it. That benign conversation went on for about 15 minutes. The amputee in the wheelchair became upset and accused the semi-homeless guy of being a liar. "You're going to lose a friend over this," he yelled. He then wheeled off to one of the other tables while admonishing the semi-lucid homeless guy to leave him alone.

At one point, I glanced in the direction of the semi-lucid homeless guy. I noticed that his baby stroller was stuffed with his possessions. It was at full capacity. To his credit, he had everything neatly arranged. I wondered what he would do with future material acquisitions. Would he stuff them in plastic bags and hang the bags along the perimeter of the baby stroller frame?

There are several other interesting characters who appear regularly one way or another along Waikiki Beach. I will try to introduce them in controlled intervals. I've observed a guy, whom I call "my homeless buddy," since the days when I used to hang out at Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). He wears a sleeveless shirt and shorts, along with socks and sandals. He pulls a small pack, the kind with the built-in casters, behind him. Every night, my homeless buddy would always pass through the park like clockwork at 9:30pm or so. That's how I knew what time it was, since I never carry my cell phone with me anymore. That's why he's my homeless buddy. Well, I'm not sure if he's homeless. He does check every trash can along his route, but he seldom fishes anything out of the trash. I later discovered that he makes the rounds all throughout the park. My guess is that he is homeless.

My homeless buddy walked along the promenade as usual on his way to the park. So, I knew that it was about 9:30pm. The semi-lucid homeless guy sat quietly for a long period of time. I ruminated about my pathetic situation. At about 10:15pm, the semi-lucid homeless guy stood up. He wiped off the bench and table that he was sitting at. Then, he walked off with his baby stroller in the direction of the park. He did not say good-bye to the amputee in the wheelchair. A few minutes later, I decided to leave. I could see the semi-lucid homeless guy in the distance ahead of me. He was casually wheeling the baby stroller. He entered the park. I walked to the bus stop.

My ruminations for the evening were disconcerting. I longed for the conventional life, the kind of malignant life-style shared by all of the tourists whom I observe as I sit alone on a bench. My mind has become weak again. I am being seduced by the glitter and external, albeit fake, beauty of the material world. I see all the young hotties like the hottie front desk babe, and I imagine that one could be mine. I see all of the people out having a good time, overlooking the fact that they are superficial asswipes and that they are being reamed in the ass by the moneychangers. That's the power of a culture that caters directly to the "seven sins."

I stopped off at the ABC Store and purchased a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza and one Granny's Gourmet Muffin. Fortunately, the time was close to 11pm, so I knew that I would not see the hottie front desk babe. Once back in my little shoebox, I dropped back the whole can of cerveza in the blink of an eye. I ate the muffin for a snack.

In order to combat the disease that continues to weaken my mind, I sorted out most of my photograph archive. I put over half of the pictures in an envelope to be thrown in the trash. There is no need for me to maintain any kind of connection to the past, especially if I will never be in contact with those people ever again. What about the remaining pictures? I failed to discard everything because my mind has been weakened to that of the average fat slob. When am I going to fully realize that I am an outcast? When am I going to take the symbolism of the lone chawan seriously?

This morning, I was privy to sheer stupidity the minute that I attempted to exit the elevator. A young hottie and her entourage attempted to enter the elevator car before I and the two other passengers had exited. I say "attempted" because I just pushed my through as if they did not exist. Does it not make sense to let people exit the tiny elevator car first before piling in? I could only tolerate one free cup of coffee for the guests before departing for town. Watching all of those cheap fucks sashaying around the hotel lobby was trying my patience. I made a mental note that one major priority for me is to procure a "nine," an unregistered one, if possible. When society eventually goes to "hell in a handbasket," I must be prepared. If all of the morons around me are already using "guerrilla" tactics just to board an elevator, then what will happen when there are severe resource shortages? Many of the more idiotic "progressives" believe that establishing self-sustaining communities is the answer. The communities, they believe, will be synergistic and harmonious. Can we imagine that any of the myriad fat slobs will want to work hard in a self-sustaining community even if their blubberous bodies could handle it? As I've mentioned before, the only easily acquired skills are to steal and to murder. And, as we well know, our society is geared for convenience, that is, do as little as possible to get a bigger piece of the pie. Why waste time and energy growing food when it can simply be stolen by force?

As always, there are people who will laugh off my concerns as ridiculous. They are the ones living in a dream world. Not me. When I walked to Safeway®, I was once again accosted by sheer stupidity and self-centeredness. As I walked into the marked entrance, a brain donor attempted to exit the store at the same time. I say "attempted" because I pushed my way through as if he wasn't even there. If any of us are just too stupid to recognize the symptoms of a crumbling society, then we deserve to share in the same bitter end. Yes, that's the end already planned for us by the moneychangers and the powers-that-be. I'm talking about the secular Apocalypse. I would rather pray to the Almighty to invoke Armageddon, to tell you the truth.

I really cannot say that I blame the moneychangers and powers-that-be. If I were in their shoes, I would be planning out a huge holocaust for the myriad cattle. With diminishing resources, pollution, and global warming, I would be quite worried. When I look around at all of the uncouth, non-pedigreed stock, I would be disgusted enough to put such a heinous plan in action. My goal, if I was one of the pedigreed elite, would be to employ the peons until they are completely spent, then discard them. Of course, if I could make the fools exterminate each other for me, then all the better. Right?

While at Safeway®, I purchased a loaf of bread, a few energy bars, and three Tina's® burritos. Back in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I ate all three lard-filled burritos for lunch. Delicioso! I spent the rest of the day in front of the computer, with the exception of my workout time at the gym. For the most part, I composed the "blog." Frankly, composing the "blog" is about all that I really enjoy doing these days.

This afternoon, I thought about my strange compulsion to sit at Waikiki Beach with the homeless every night. I do not interact with them at all. Yet, I feel safe when I am amongst them. They do not try to panhandle money or engage in any other illicit activity. There is a sense of social order amongst the homeless. Pseudo-professor Jeff and Professor Darwin both broke the silence that I was enjoying alone in the faculty computer room. Pseudo-professor Jeff made a comment about the homeless on Fort Street Mall being annoying because the latter constantly accost people or use aggressive panhandling techniques. I had to set him straight on the matter. The people he was referring to are not homeless. They are residing in outpatient "halfway" houses either for the mentally ill or recovering drug and alcohol addicts. Pseudo-professor Jeff is an annoying guy to me at times. He is arrogant because he is doctoral candidate. Yet, the extent of his knowledge is often no deeper than what he heard on the Rush Limburger show. For example, he frequently goes on and on about the global warming "hoax." With people like him in higher education, it's easy to see why we are running brain donor factories. I wondered to myself, who is more dangerous, a trailer park moron or a dolt with a doctorate? Well, at least Professor Darwin was more informed.

Just before the intrusive interruption, I was once again pondering whether I should voluntarily become homeless. I could move out and put the "condotel" unit back in the hotel pool. Of course, I may suddenly find myself unemployed at the end of the year. In that case, I would also have to put the "condotel" unit up for sale immediately. I would definitely have to end up "camping." I have, however, figured out a few ways to circumvent the sanitation and hygiene problems. Most likely, I would have to retain my Nissan® Frontier truck and purchase a tent. Although I've discussed this matter before, the new twist is my rationale that it would be better for me to spend time homeless now than when I am much older. I will be more resilient to the elements and will able to perform physically vigorous activities with little detriment now. I should also be able to save money to insure a much better living situation when I become more frail. These considerations, as stupid as they may sound, are viable in view of the fact that I will never be able to keep up with the rising projected cost of retirement in the future. For the time being, I am simply brainstorming my options.

I received mail from Aqua, the management company for the Aloha Surf Hotel, stating that the owner's association has given approval to initiate the repair of the large amount of concrete spalling in the building. The repairs are slated to take five months. If the affluent fudgepackers on the board had any sense, they would have looked into selling the dump to a luxury condo developer. The hotel sits in a residential zoned area. All of us could have reaped a nice profit from the sale. Even with the repairs, the life of the building is possibly 25 years. Why not divest the place now? Well, let's hope that these clowns will spend less time at White Supremacy meetings, and work more on their greed.

Communion (Reprise)

Last night, as I waited for the bus to Waikiki, I observed an Asian hottie walking from the direction of the Diploma Mill. She was pulling a small pack, the kind with built-in casters, behind her. She was dressed like a student. She wore jeans and nice top. I was standing at the bus stop across Chinatown Gateway Park. She crossed the street and walked past me. Then, she crossed the street again. She walked by a homeless guy sleeping in one of the entrances to the building where the Louis Pohl Gallery is located. She stopped at the next entrance and sat on the steps. She unpacked a couple of things wrapped neatly in plastic bags. One of the bags contained what appeared to be new sheets of large wrapping paper. She unfolded the paper and laid it across the entrance. The young Asian hottie was homeless.

My bus arrived at that moment. I saw the Asian hottie lay down on the wrapping paper to sleep. What a sad state of affairs. She was definitely in her early twenties. Where will she end up after this? Will she even be able to survive? When I arrived back at the hotel, I noticed that the hottie front desk was working her shift. Baby was looking hot. Well, that goes without saying. I ate my dinner of canned beans and rice before departing to Waikiki Beach.

The semi-lucid homeless guy and the homeless babe (term used loosely) were the only homeless people at the pavilion structure. There were a few tourists milling in and out. The semi-lucid homeless guy had his baby stroller parked next to him. He was busy looking over his various possessions for about 20 minutes. I sat on one of the benches facing the beach and hotels. There was a lot of police activity. I also noticed that there were two Coast Guard helicopters performing a search along the span of Waikiki Beach. I could also see three boats triangulating sections of the water. I suspected that a surfer may have gone missing. The semi-lucid homeless guy disappeared while I was distracted.

Two young hotties walked through the pavilion structure. They specifically were looking for homeless people. They ended up chatting with the homeless babe (term used loosely), who happened to be sitting on the bench next to me. I am not sure whether the two babes were part of some kind of "faith-based" program or students in a psychology practicum class. What I do know is that the intervention was amateurish at best. Chatting superficially with the homeless or giving them food every now and then will not solve anything.

I left the beach at 10pm. After I got off the bus, I contemplated purchasing some cheap booze, but thought better of it. I walked down the street back to the hotel. I could see a hottie walking in the opposite direction coming from the hotel. When I got closer, I realized that it was the hottie front desk babe. She was smoking a cigarette. She wore a pink top and white jeans. Baby is a hottie. I observed her suddenly looking and fiddling around in her purse for no apparent reason just as she was about ten feet away from me. I almost laughed out loud. In psychology, that kind of fiddling around is known as "displacement gestures." Baby probably thought that I, a detestable loser, was going to try to chat her up. She was feebly attempting to avoid contact. Oh, come on. Don't flatter yourself too much, baby. I spent the rest of the evening in my little shoebox with the lone chawan.

I am becoming more restless by the day. In fact, I am now experiencing regret about purchasing the "condotel" unit. It's not that the decision was financially unsound. On the contrary. Financially, it was the most logical option. However, Anonder was correct when he urged me to not purchase another place. I make the latter confession based upon Anonder's assessment that he and I share similar traits. My need to flee is becoming more like a geyser ready to blow. And, I am sure that Anonder could predict my anxiety based upon his own experiences. Frankly, though, I need to get a grip on reality. I will be living in Hawai'i, specifically Waikiki, for a few years.

Each day, I must face my demons. The sinister kahuna seems to have no mercy for the ol' lavahead. His mind has grown weak and lazy as well. Together, that's the formula for complete failure. I often want to give in and purchase shitty fast food, and it's obvious that I do on occasion. I see hotties like the hottie front desk babe, and then my resolve for the monastic life weakens. More often than not, I want to consume large quantities of cheap booze. And, there is my need to flee. Overall, my situation is reaching critical mass. Yet, I only have myself to depend upon. So, I must muster up the strength to soldier on until the day of reckoning arrives.

I cannot even express or quantify how devalued my life has become, at least in my own eyes. I can derive no meaning in a society where even the homeless are caught up in rampant materialism. Society as we know it is spiritually and culturally extinct. Sometimes I want to start foamin' at the mouth like the Rude Pundit. Yet, what would that accomplish? Well, fleeing is not going to do me any good right now either. I would only end up homeless. I would be better off following my systematic plan to exit society.

Well, Friday evening will be more of the same. I will be hanging out near the pavilion structure in Waikiki Beach. I will also maintain a vigil with the lone chawan. Yesterday, I declined a dinner invitation from Pseudo-professor Mike and Bea. Pseudo-professor Bill invited me to join him and his friends at some sports bar in Waikiki tomorrow to watch a football game. I won't be going. Bored as I am, I still have no desire to participate in any social outings. I prefer to sit by myself with all of the homeless sitting by themselves. That is now the sole commonality between us. It is the communion.

Truth Laid Bare

Last night, I made the trek to Waikiki Beach after a delicious dinner of canned tuna and bread. I sat on one of the benches facing the ocean next to the pavilion structure. The cleaning crew appeared to have just been there. Everything including the benches was completely wet. I wondered whether the true purpose of the cleaning was to "sweep" the homeless from the area. The semi-lucid homeless guy was already there.

The only other homeless person there was the homeless babe (term used loosely). I observed that the semi-lucid homeless guy had acquired a baby stroller. He had it parked next to him. He sat at one of the tables under the pavilion structure. He spent his time writing something in his "schoolboy" composition books. A few tourists finally ventured into the pavilion structure. They wiped the water off of the benches near the semi-lucid homeless guy and sat down. A few minutes later, the semi-lucid homeless guy burst out in laughter. I glanced over to see him perusing his empty cans and bottles, which he collects to redeem for cash. Every few seconds, he burst out in the same maniacal laughter. I suspected that the laughter was contrived and was being used to scare off the tourists. Within a few minutes, the tourists left. The semi-lucid homeless guy then packed up his stuff and loaded it in the baby stroller. He walked off in the direction of the Ala Wai.

About 20 minutes later, the semi-lucid homeless guy returned. He parked the baby stroller next to the bench that the tourists were sitting on. Then, he laid down on the bench to sleep. Apparently, the semi-lucid homeless guy had taken his new wheels for a spin, just like the proud owner of a new car. I came to a possible understanding of why the homeless tote so much crap around with them. They are not immune to the effects of rampant materialism. I would assume that the semi-lucid homeless guy rationalized that the acquisition of the baby stroller would be beneficial to him. He could certainly transport more cans and bottles, which would yield more income. He could also carry more personal possessions.

In modern society, possessions determine the status of the individual. Thus, even the homeless are pulled into the quagmire of acquiring material wealth. They go through the same process as all consumers. In other words, they go shopping, but not in the conventional manner. The homeless probably acquire most of their possessions by sifting through the discards of the non-homeless. Heck, even non-homeless people do the same thing. Like everyone else, the homeless also determine what is a "must have" item. Eventually, they amass a whole mess of useless "must have" crap. Materialism and consumerism is a disease that has infected all of society and is further exacerbated by the "seven sins" epidemic.

I could quite easily dismiss the plight of the homeless and attribute their problems to mental illness. I have already demonstrated that the majority of the homeless are exhibiting signs of severe psychopathology, at least here in Hawai'i. Yet, upon further thought, I can conclude that mental illness is all-pervasive over the full economic spectrum and social strata. A large number of people are spending a lot of dough to store useless crap in air-conditioned storage facilities. Yet, they cannot afford air-conditioning in their own homes. Is the sentimental old sofa sitting in the storage unit going to appreciate the controlled temperature? The majority of people are walking around in an arrogant daze, as if they are the stars of their own reality show. Is this self-aggrandizement a sign of mental stability? Over sixty percent of the population is now comprised of fat slobs. Most of them have become so huge that they can't even sit in a regular chair, no less walk up a flight of stairs. Many of them smoke like a chimney as well. Blubber accumulation is a gradual process. It could have been reversed at any time. Why would a mentally sane person continue on such an insane path?

Smoking cigarettes is an insane international pastime. Here in Hawai'i, there is almost no place anyone can go without having to tolerate second-hand smoke. I have no idea where the data was derived to determine that Hawai'i is a "healthy" place. A good percentage of the locals and tourists chain smoke cigarettes. Fortunately, some new laws are now in effect which restrict smoking in certain public areas. I am not exaggerating when I claim that there is almost no place to escape second-hand smoke. Oddly, most of the homeless do not smoke. The residents of "halfway" houses, who are often mistaken for the homeless, do smoke religiously. Chain smoking is a definite sign of mental illness. Even the most vapid brain donor should be able to ascertain that smoke is comprised of burned debris. Inhaling burnt debris will introduce foreign substances into the lung tissue which, in turn, will most likely cause chronic respiratory problems. Continuing to engage in such a benign activity with this knowledge is indicative of mental illness. The same is true for the continued consumption of cheap booze.

I departed the pavilion structure about 10pm. I stopped off at the detestable ABC Store with the full intention of buying some cheap booze. Instead, I purchased some fresh fruit and one Granny's Gourmet Muffin. I spent the rest of the evening in my little shoebox. I ate the muffin for my snack.

I met moms at Kahala Mall at 11:30am. Moms had called and left a message early this morning. We ate lunch at Panda Express® as usual. Lunch was delicious. There was not much to chat about, but I felt good that I could spend time with moms. I reminded myself of the only purpose for my existence, and why I must prepare for the eventuality of my flight to nowhere. Thoughts of fleeing continue to fill the oversized cranium daily. Incidentally, the fortune in my Panda Express® fortune cookie read, "Beware of extravagance."

While I waited for the bus to take me to Kahala Mall, I noticed that there were five or six homeless people in the Chinatown Gateway Park, the park right next to Indigo. Usually, there are no homeless in the park during the day. They had several boxes of stuff each, all of which was piled up on the wall bordering the sidewalk. Naturally, they were sitting with their stuff. They are now permanent fixtures of the park. The homeless babe who sits outside on Fort Street Mall with three carts full of stuff is still there. As a matter of fact, she now has the equivalent of three more carts of stuff. I've seen her moving the carts to Fort Street Mall early in the morning. I am not sure where she spends the night, but it must be close by. These causal observations provide further testimony to my argument that the homeless are also wrapped up in rampant materialism. I am not making a pathetic attempt to be condescending toward the homeless. Rather, I was shocked to learn how deeply materialism has been embedded in our culture. I am not even sure that I can recover from my disillusionment.

The truth of the matter is that there is no place to run. No place to flee. No place to hide. The epidemic of the "seven sins" is malignant. It is incurable because the disease has spread too far, and it is out of control. There may just be handful of people left who have not been infected. It becomes all the more imperative that I prepare diligently for my exodus from society. Time is running out.

With the preceding in mind, I gladly made another small contribution to the Goodwill drop-off at Kahala Mall. I donated my 12-plus-year-old jeans shorts, amongst other stuff. I will continue to divest more of my useless possessions. I hope to donate something every time I go to Kahala Mall. On the other hand, I have purchased no new useless possessions. I also plan to update my net worth summary sometime soon to further substantiate my mendicant life-style.

Robert, the former IT guy at the Asylum, sent e-mail the other day. The project is finally being funded. A new office is in the works. I was not able to glean much from the temporary Web site, although I now know who the graphic designers are.

I am not sure why I have neglected my Nalu Board. It is laying against the wall in my little shoebox. I have been too obsessed with divesting my useless possessions, I suppose. However, until I divest that crap, I won't have enough room to use my Nalu Board. Yes, that's how small Chez Loser II really is. I really hope that I will get around to surfing again. My board is lying on one side of the bed. At the rate that I'm going, I will need to put surfboard racks on the motorized chair. Sheesh!

Outcast

Last night, like mostly every night, I arrived back in Waikiki at 7:35pm. I am beginning to dread my return to the hotel. Knowing that it is staffed with rude morons and that it houses even more rude morons, I can no longer say that I enjoy staying there. However, I cannot simply check out. Where would I go? Staying at the hotel still has many advantages, far too numerous to force an early departure. The lone chawan was there waiting for me like a faithful friend. I spent the rest of the evening in my little shoebox, even though I was suffering from pangs of claustrophobia. I watched a movie on the tube, something that I have not done in a long time. I can't say that I missed the tube. I also perused the lone chawan and contemplated the meaning of its symbolism.

Later, I gathered a few more small items and put it into my donation bag. Every small item counts. It is the sum total of all the small items that takes up an incredible amount of space. Even knowing that I will be living in the "condotel" unit for at least two years, I am compelled to reduce my possessions to nearly nothing. In my mind, I visualized both the pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) with their excessive baggage that they must constantly tote with them. Exactly what does the pirate keep in those shopping bags?

This morning, I felt very groggy. I have not slept well in weeks, although I have not ascertained the root of the problem. However, I have been experiencing a strong urge to flee. I left for town after drinking a couple of cups of free coffee for the guests while I sat in the hotel lobby. The bus ride took almost an hour. Whenever there is a little bit of rain, the traffic increases exponentially. Obviously, there are a number of pampered fat slobs who just can't fathom the thought of getting slightly wet. Comfort is a foremost concern.

During my break from wage slavery, I walked to Safeway® to see what I could find. All of the energy bars were already sold out. So, I purchased a rip-off $6 taco salad. When I returned to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I ate the salad for lunch. It was delicious and nutritious. I am not sure why I was upset by the price. I could have purchased a large quantity of junk food for the same amount. What good would that have done me? Eating junk food would only lead to health problems and bring me closer to becoming a brain donor. My life must remain clean and pure, just like the lone chawan.

The rest of the day found me in a restless state. Wage slavery was the least of my concerns. As a matter of fact, I had many intrusive thoughts about fleeing. The hottie gym trainer took another gym member through the circuit while I was doing my workout. Obviously, the Vienna Sausage has still not done much atrophying. My only reprieve from this madness will be when I fix my eyes upon the lone chawan. Last night, I made the mistake of not making the trek to the pavilion structure in Waikiki Beach. Being in proximity of the homeless keeps me in check. I also observe or learn something new from them.

I am essentially an outcast of society. I do not belong here. I do not fit in. Over the years, I've tried to fit in. I put myself into various "normal life" scenarios. None of them worked out. I am a loner, not because I seek total isolation. I simply have nothing in common with anyone around me. Nothing. Nada. My values, my beliefs, my ideas about common sense and social order, and my reality are so skewed from that of the common person. Granted, I do enjoy solitude as well as peace and quiet. That's a lot different than being one person in herd of arrogant and belligerent clowns. The lone chawan.

A few days ago, I discovered the last of my photograph collection. Most of the pictures are of old friends, many of whom I have not been in contact with for years. I sent off e-mail to a few of them recently. I did not receive any kind of response. Thus, I will most likely discard the pictures. Why keep them? As it stands, my homey Rod and Caroll have been the only two friends from the mainland who have kept in touch, albeit sporadically. Even here in Hawai'i, I have lost touch with people whom I knew fairly well. The fact that I have long ago stopped initiating any phone calls may have something to do with it. Then again, I have never really proven to be a true friend to people. There were some good times, but that's the way past lives are always perceived.

Lone Chawan

Last night, I made the trek to the pavilion structure in Waikiki Beach even though I was terribly fatigued. Prior to leaving, I had engaged in gluttony, one of the "seven sins," while eating dinner. Instead of just consuming my one allotted can of beans with bread, I also ate a can of tuna. Why did I do the unthinkable? Anyway, there were quite a few tourists milling about. Most of the homeless were already there when I arrived. The semi-lucid homeless guy made a brief appearance, too.

I continued to ruminate about my planned exodus from society while I sat on the bench overlooking the beach. From my vantage point, I also watched the myriad tourists, most of them fat slobs, walking around with large bowls of ice cream, topped with whipped cream, syrup, and other high-caloric crap. Apparently, there must be a new ice cream joint close by. I was sickened by the sight of the "seven sins" epidemic. I prayed for forgiveness for my own earlier transgression of gluttony. I departed at 10pm. On the way back to the hotel, I gave in to temptation and stopped by the detestable ABC Store. I purchased a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. Back my little shoebox, I dropped back the whole can in a matter of minutes. Once again, I violated one of the "seven sins." I had to do my laundry, which is an activity that I am beginning to despise. I had no choice since my I had gone through my limited wardrobe.

I spent the rest of the evening thinking about which useless possessions I will divest next. I cleared the top of the cabinet that the tiny refrigerator sits in. Only the small microwave oven and miniature coffee maker remain. I found my chawan and chopsticks. I unwrapped and placed the chawan on the cabinet in the area that I had cleared off. I geometrically placed the chopsticks on the bowl. The chawan and chopsticks combination now serve as a spartan symbol of my life. The lowly chawan is used to eat what my parents used to refer to "cha-cha rice." It is simply a bowl of rice with tea poured over it. The result is the soup of peasants. The lone empty bowl now sits in anticipation of being filled with hot rice, which symbolizes my transition from worldly stooge to that of a monk. The tea is a symbol of when my fate is sealed.

This morning, I encountered the only friendly and truly courteous person in all of my time in Waikiki. I have been living there for almost two months. He held the door open for me as I entered the elevator. He asked what floor I desired. Then, he allowed me to exit the elevator first, even though I had gestured that he go before me. "Have a good day," he told me as he left. He was a Caucasian tourist from the mainland. My outlook was quite different from other mornings as I sat in the hotel lobby and drank a couple of cups of free coffee for the guests. I felt like a human being for once, not a debased "brown skin." Even though I encountered rude morons who just simply cannot yield to other people on the sidewalk while I was walking to the bus stop, the small act of kindness by the guy in the elevator made me overlook the transgression of stupidity. Why can we not treat each other with respect and courtesy? Imagine a world where people actually did so, instead of proudly attempting to be the most arrogant asswipes possible.

Once in town, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and something that would suffice as lunch. I observed a number of homeless people in the small park near the downtown fire department. Incidentally, I have observed quite a few homeless people at the Chinatown Gateway Park, too. The number of homeless people is rising, yet no one in the mainstream seems to acknowledge that fact. It's as if the homeless do not exist. Yet, they are despised, ridiculed, and persecuted when there is a need for scapegoats for society's ills.

Vicktor Frankl described life in a Nazi prison camp in, "Man's Search for Meaning." He often referred to the capo, who were select group of prisoners who policed other prisoners. They, as it turned out, were more brutal than the actual prison guards. In the prison of life, we find that fellow inmates are often more brutal to their peers, especially if they perceive themselves to higher up the food chain. Often, they are more brutal than the oppressors themselves. What happens is simply the result of "transference," a psychological phenomena. The hatred, frustration, and inner turmoil of the perpetrator is "transferred" to another person in the form of cruel persecution. Those particular traits continue to fester in the sick and weak mind, even if the brain is saturated with anti-depressants, anxiolytics, and anti-psychotic drugs.

We live in a culture of "enablers." People with sick and weak minds are the majority. However, because they are the majority, their sickness has been reclassified as "normal." It is now the clinically sane who are in the minority. "Sickness" or "illness" may both be misnomers, however. Either the former or the latter would imply a physiological or genetic anomaly which, in turn, would excuse the perpetrator from any kind of responsibility. The sad part is that the perpetrators are cunning enough to provide for a large support network of "enablers" who facilitate and co-opt their deviant behavior.

Professor Lisa stopped by the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill briefly this afternoon. I went for a short walk with her to Chinatown. She wanted to buy some fresh produce. I was surprised to see that Chinatown's produce prices are a lot lower than the supermarkets. The rest of the day was leisurely. My encounter this morning with the sole courteous person on the whole island had a lasting effect all day. I do not, however, hold out any false hope for society. Clearly, the time of the end is near.

My only excitement for the remainder of the day was the anticipation of seeing the purity of the lone chawan and chopsticks amidst the tacky ambiance of my little shoebox. Perhaps you will want to set up a lone chawan for yourself. Simply go to an Asian import store and purchase a nice ceramic chawan and a pair of wooden chopsticks with an enamel finish. The chopsticks should also have some kind of Asian artwork painted upon each of the pair. Do not purchase any of those cheap blasphemous plastic chawans and chopsticks. Set both up on a nice surface, preferably isolated from any useless crap. Try to keep any commercialized shit away from the chawan. Arrange the chopsticks geometrically upon the chawan, but keep the chopsticks together. Well, that leaves only one question. What is the lone chawan? The lone chawan symbolizes you.

Escape from Babylon

Last night, I ended up in Waikiki Beach on one of the usual benches near the pavilion structure. The pirate was there, as well as the homeless babe (term used loosely). A large number of White Supremacist tourists had infiltrated the pavilion structure. Several of them were playing cards on one of the tables. I knew that they were White Supremacists because they glared at me when I arrived. The contorted sneers on their faces betrayed the ugliness festering deep within their souls. They were mostly fat and weak, both signs of a pampered life gone awry. The majority were smokers as well. In the end, when they are retching over because of emphysema and the amount of blubber they have been hauling around, they will learn humility. They also glared at the homeless. I could see them making snide comments amongst themselves, cackling and contorting their already ugly visage.

A local guy walked down to the beach. He sat by one of the coconut trees. I could see him drinking out of a bottle covered with a paper bag. I knew immediately that it was a 40-dog of some kind of malt liquor. Brought back old memories of when my homey Rod and I used to kick it with bottles of King Cobra®. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya! Alas, King Cobra® is no more. He also chain-smoked. With all of the party utensils in hand, it was clearly obvious that he was having a One-Man Beach Party. Heck, I was having a One-Man Hotel Party the other night.

I was very fatigued, so I departed the beach at 9:45pm. The semi-lucid homeless guy never showed up. I spent the rest of the evening piddling around in my little shoebox. I felt restless. In fact, I've been restless now for several days. I contemplated ordering some new Amy Reid hurdy-gurdy DVDs for my defunct hurdy-gurdy DVD library. That's how stupid I am. The Vienna Sausage must be allowed to atrophy, but I apparently want to prolong the agony. What good will it do me to peruse a hottie like Amy Reid doin' da wild thing? The fact of the matter is that, if I do not immediately mummify the hurdy-gurdy DVD library for good, then I am continually looking back at the path that I can no longer travel. Thus, my net progress is zero. That is also the case with my inability to completely stop consuming cheap booze. I am simply wasting my time going around in circles.

This morning, I was even more fatigued. As I sat in the hotel lobby drinking the free coffee for the guests, I realized how much I despised the hotel staff and the tourists who are staying in the hotel. Then, I experienced a brief moment of elation. Those clowns are actually helping to facilitate my exodus from society. Each and every one of them is yet another reason to sever ties with the mainstream. I am finding that I highly anticipate the coming of either the secular Apocalypse or Armageddon. Just to see all of those turds swirling around the vortex in the bowl just makes me giggle my ass off. Even though I will be going down with them, I just can't think of a better reprieve for the planet.

Let it be known that I do not wish evil upon anyone. However, evil begets evil. Fools who wantonly violate the "seven sins" will bring about serious repercussions. That is exactly what we are seeing today. In essence, the "seven sins" are really sins against nature. Thus, they are unnatural acts. There is a tendency for nature to correct itself, an obvious result of intelligent regulation.

During my workout at the gym, I continued my ruminations. The on-going diatribe that I have included in the "blog" serves no other purpose except to monitor my own progress insofar as my exodus from society is concerned. Clearly, the majority of people in First World societies are quite content with the way things are. And, the majority rules. That's what we lovingly refer to as the status quo. I am part of a small minority. Now, before anyone gives me the "Love it, or leave it" spiel, I should nip this issue in the bud. I am not attempting to convert anyone to my way of thinking. Nor am I trying to be an agent of change. I must simply defer to the majority and bide my time until I can say, "Adios amigos."

Freedom is still my first priority. I reside in a society that seemingly affords a lot of freedom, but not the kind of freedom that I seek. What we have is "commercialized" and "pre-packaged" freedom. We have the freedom to purchase whatever we want, provided that we have the ability to pay. Freedom allows us many options, but there is a cost of admission. Ultimately, we have an infinite array of choices to cater to our hedonism. Yet, what value do these types of freedom have? Have other aspects of freedom been lost? Aside from the implicit lifetime bondage of wage slavery, there is also one other freedom that has been lost in the shuffle. That would the freedom of the mind. In his treatise, "Man's Search for Meaning," Viktor Frankl discovered that the only freedom that could not be taken away from him was the freedom of the mind. The prisoners who survived the Nazi concentration camps were the ones who could keep the freedom of the mind intact.

I had expected to learn from the homeless. They are devoid of material comfort and luxuries. Thus, they must rely solely upon the freedom of the mind to transcend the prison of poverty. However, most of the homeless are mentally insane. What could I expect? They are constantly ostracized, ridiculed, harassed, and even persecuted by fellow humans who believe they are of a better class. I have still learned much from them. Right now, I am not too concerned about pushing myself down Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs just to make myself conform to the minimalist life-style. I am learning that strategy, not operant conditioning, will be more successful in attaining freedom.

I have been concerned about my diet, but my concern seems to be unfounded. I am hungry most of the day, but I am only slightly malnourished. The homeless eat more sporadically under less sanitary conditions than I do. However, they are not starving or completely malnourished. In my case, I am probably under the normal daily caloric intake, but I am receiving the minimal amount of nutrition. The untrained mind and body is prone to gluttony, one of the "seven sins." The body craves to have its physical needs satisfied, even beyond what is reasonable. My bouts of hunger have not been associated with physical pain. Pain would be a true sign of starvation. Discipline over hunger is yet another test of willpower, the kind of strength needed for real survival.

Constantly catering to the needs of the "self" is a debilitating weakness. The need to sedate the mind with drugs or cheap booze is another example of gluttony. I have moderated my intake of cheap booze, but my sporadic bouts of imbibing suggests a failing of willpower. The need to satisfy the urges of the Vienna Sausage is also another disappointing failure of willpower. Each failure weakens my psychological resolve, which weakens my willpower, which weakens my ability to survive. Overall, the mind becomes weak and feeble. The weakened mind then opens itself up to various carcinogenic dispositions like racism and prejudice. Isn't that what we see today? With the prevalence of material wealth and technological marvels, one would have expected a very fit and intelligent society. Instead, we observe a proliferation of fat slobs and mental midgets. We see the "seven sins" epidemic rapidly escalating out of control.

Thus, freedom, or specifically freedom of the mind, will require willpower and psychological fortitude to resist the temptation to forsake both in order to satisfy the cravings of the flesh. The mind is the spirit of the soul. Freedom of the mind is, therefore, freedom of the soul. Herewith is the beginning of the exodus, the escape from Babylon.