Tout ou Rien

An odd early evening encounter with the sociopathic buddy was beyond coincidence. In a half-joking manner, he feigned the commission of bodily injury upon the ol' lavahead's person. Sociopaths follows a pattern of cowardice in which they never directly confront their adversaries, or they will hide behind subterfuge and ambiguity. However, never underestimate the back-biting and backstabbing capabilities of the sociopath.

Then, in a continuation of his previous pattern of manipulation and obfuscation, the subject attempted to lure the ol' lavahead into an obligational trap with offers of unwarranted hospitality. He has also, by admission, revealed a novel strategy, a quasi-stalking modus operandi, to further exact his revenge. He will attempt an invasive maneuver whereby he will find himself in what he has perhaps deemed to be a sacred environment to the ol' lavahead. The benign and implicit threat will be accomplished through covert actions in which he, the perpetrator, will attempt to deconstruct anything that he has ascertained to be of value to the ol' lavahead. Obviously, the latter plan was easily conspired by the subject because the ol' lavahead's daily itinerary is clearly chronicled in the "blog."

The fact that the sociopathic buddy has yet to disclose his discovery of the "blog" is puzzing at best. Both he and I know the aforementioned fact. In his self-perceived cunning, he is banking on "reasonable doubt" to perpetuate the charade. The only advantage to the scheme rests on his motive for doing so. Retaliation is simply the only answer. Retaliation for what? Exposing the sociopath's machinations, of course! The degree of the mental illness of the sociopath is proportional to the degree of the obsession that is exhibited by him, more so if the obsession manifests itself in criminal or deviant behavior.

The brief encounter made it quite clear that the sociopathic buddy has been religiously dissecting the "blog" for clues to assist in bringing on the ol' lavahead's demise. Listening carefully and hanging on to every word uttered, I was able to determine what he knew. The fact that the game continues under a thinly-veiled charade only further substantiates my thesis.

The sociopathic buddy has one major weakness, one that he believes is a strength. For the most part, he is correct in the primary consideration of his frequent manipulation of mental midgets in his proximity, his preferred type of victims. In the greater chess game, his strength will be his weakness. It will be the chink in the armor that will bring him crashing down in cascading destruction. Mentally, is he prepared for battle? He will use lures to weaken his opponent, all the while offering confusing diatribe to obfuscate and disarm any defenses that the victim erects. He will attempt to draw out any information that he can twist around to cause further confusion. This data will be used with various untruths that he will concoct and intersperse with real information. Then, he will disseminate the information as necessary in a covertly manipulative and persuasive manner to others whom the victim is acquainted with. The victim will suffer from character destruction at the least. Depending upon the magnitude of damage that the subject desires to inflict, he will further disperse even more ridiculous untruths. It is by this same method that he will collect unwitting allies.

Even though all parties are privy to the knowledge that the charade exists, the sociopath will not back down. The whole charade has been exposed in the "blog." Yet, the games are just beginning. I am confused by the relentless pursuit of revenge by the sociopathic buddy over a perceived infraction when there is none. It is the discovery of a sick mind in the midst of an equally sick society that raises great fears. Hence, the disease is malignant. The diseased one does not desire to be cured. This, my friends, is demon possession, plain and simple. If the demon cannot be exorcised, then the host body must be destroyed. It is in the power of a monk to do so in Godspeed.

After consuming my pittance of a dinner, prison food (read: beans and bread), I cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. Once done, I made the trek to Ala Moana Center where I found myself at Barnes & Noble®. I spent some time composing the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. I was compelled to chronicle my curious encounter with the sociopathic buddy. I then walked to the Apple® Store to connect to its wireless network to send off the "blog." I spent the rest of the evening at Barnes & Noble®. On the way back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I stopped off at the ABC Store to purchase two bananas, one Granny's Gourmet Muffin, and a big-ass can of Coors® Light brewski. I dropped back the whole can of brewski immediately upon lockdown in my prison cell.

I was very groggy when I woke up this morning. Seems that I have a slight cold. Little wonder since I have gallivanting about the whole Creation. I paid my parking fee at the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. Then, I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to town. Once safely in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I discovered that I forgot to bring one of my wage slave shirts. Thus, I would have to perform my wage slave function out of "dress code." I could have run to Ross® and purchased another shirt. That's what a good wage slave would do. I am not a good wage slave.

I walked to Safeway®, taking my life in my hands as I dodged the myriad careening 4000-pound motorized chairs, just to purchase three energy bars. I did my one-hour wage slave stint in violation of the "dress code." Gym time was at 2:15pm. The hottie gym trainer was busy with a gym member while I was doing my weight workout. Man, I'd like to see the hottie gym trainer wearing a thong swimsuit. If baby donned a thong swimsuit, she would look exactly like the babe in the photo. Baby is a hottie. Ho boy! On second thought, that might not be a good idea. My mind would definitely snap. I would be reduced to a gurgling moron. In fact, I felt a strong surge of testosterone when I first saw her. At that point, I was almost capable of doing something stupid like mackin' on her. What a maroon!

I returned to the safety of the faculty computer room. I will leave for Waikiki at the usual time. The evening will consist of the same routine. Frankly, I am enjoying the new routine much better than the old ritual of attending the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater.

The increasing possibility of an incursion into Iran continues to canvass the alternative news sources. "Military and intelligence sources continue to tell me that preparations are advancing for a war with Iran starting possibly as early as mid-to-late February," Stated Robert Parry on the Consortium News site. Parry asserted the ramifications of increased military aggression" "But the consequences both internationally and domestically – from possible disruption of oil supplies to potential retaliation from Islamic terrorists – could be devastating." The Shrub administration has been assessed as being "crazy" amongst other unflattering terms, a dismissal overview which misses the point. Why would they risk the possibility of a global conflagration by expanding the theater of war in the Middle East? Believe me, it's not about John Hagee and the "rapture."

At this point, I still believe that Mike Ruppert has accurately laid out what is about to transpire in his book, "Crossing the Rubicon." Nothing will stop the event from occurring. Articles of protest can be written, questions can be posed, demonstrations and "civil disobedience" can be staged, but nothing will stop the so-called "Neocon" agenda. It's all or nothing.

The Fed did not lower short-term interest rates much to my relief. At this point in time, I am still not drawing off much in the way of dividend income from my investments. If the Fed were to lower interest rates later this year in order to provide the so-called "soft landing" for the alleged real estate "bubble," then it will only fuel even more greed. Home prices will rise again, and the satanic gargoyles will still use "creative" financing to purchase beyond their means. The remaining few who did not cash out on equity will probably do so during the next round. I should be able to sell Chez Loser II easily in such a feverish market. On the other hand, if interest rates rise, I will make more off of my investments, although my tax liability will increase. These are troubling times, and we must all be vigilant about our personal finances.

Of course, if the so-called "Neocon" agenda¹ fails completely, we could be up Shit Creek without a paddle. Personal finances will be the least of our problems. In other words, if the incursion into Iran goes wrong and oil supplies are cut off, we will see a shockwave hit our economy which will make the bursting of the housing "bubble" look like a slumber party. Instant hyperinflation, along with tremendous shortages in petrol, food, and other necessities will result. Hard to imagine? Well, everything depends on cheap oil. The whole economy will eventually slide into deep recession. Sanitation and medical care will devolve into third-world conditions, which will spawn biological pandemics. It is under these conditions that martial law will be invoked. The secular Apocalypse could be right around the corner.

¹The current agenda did not originate with the "Neocons." The moneychangers and the powers-that-be are the ones who are pulling the strings from above.

Third World

Last night, I continued to observe my ritual at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. I have observed the increased frequency with which the employees have been scrutinizing my moves. Unlike the other "regulars," I have been targeted for surveillance. I find the latter particularly disturbing since I am an honest monk. I departed for Waikiki on the prison transport at 10:30pm. Oddly, I was the only person on board, which made for a pleasant journey. Once in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I spent an hour reading Thoreau's book, "Walden." I have still been using my Brookstone® tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo along with asswipe tissue (read: toilet paper) stuffed in my ears as an adjunctive sound deadening aid.

This morning, I joined the masses of wage slaves commuting to town on the prison transport, just as I do every day. For the past few days, the trek to town has been unpleasant because of the crowds of inconsiderate zombies. Free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill was a welcome sight. For the past few weeks, Hawai'i has been experiencing wet and cold weather. The nights have been particularly cold for over a month straight. I walked to Safeway® in the rain to purchase a loaf of bread, and some kind of bread snack that had to suffice as lunch. I did my one hour of time in wage slavery before going to the gym at 2:15pm. The hottie gym trainer was busy with a gym member during my weight workout. Baby is definitely a hottie. As always, my mind started playing tricks on me. When I exited the gym, I was able to return to reality. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer lab. I will leave for Waikiki at 7pm.

Earlier, Pseudo-professor Jeff mentioned that he and wife lived in Guatemala for four years. I had brought up the issue of retirement. I was captivated by his description of life in a so-called "third-world" country. The structure of society, particularly that of family, is strong in such countries. Pseudo-professor Jeff said that the Guatemalan people were genuinely interested in knowing him. On the negative side, he mentioned government corruption at all levels and some of the inconveniences of "third-world" living conditions. Medical care, however, was good and relatively inexpensive. I am still willing to entertain the expatriate option in the future.

Incidentally, I was warned not to camp at Waimanalo Beach Park. A lot of pissed off Hawai'ian Sovereignty refugees allegedly populate the area. They are possibly the refugees of the Hawai'ian Homelands homesteads. So, they are pissed off. Really pissed off. And, I can't say that I blame them. The Native Hawai'ians, the once proud inhabitants of these islands, are now the most impoverished of the general populace. "Your stuff is going to get stolen," I was told. "You're going to get mugged." The Native Hawai'ian should have trademarked the the name "Hawai'i" and all of the other famous Hawai'ian names. Perhaps they could have a killing off of the royalties. The issues facing the people of Hawai'i, excluding the affluent, are going to approach an insurmountable level rapidly. Instead of venting their outrage at the minority who are pulling the strings, the poor and destitute take out their frustrations on their own kind and in their own neighborhoods. A case in point is the LA riots about a decade ago. The moneychangers and the powers-that-be are sitting back and laughing. They know that, when the going gets tough for peons, they are only going to self-destruct.

More curious incidents and machinations involving the sociopathic buddy have been reported to me by various victims and potential victims. I no longer concern myself with any sociopath, but I am able to at least afford a compassionate ear for the victims. I have reproduced copies of the Profile of a Sociopath (not available) and have distributed them freely as an adjunctive measure to prevent further victimization. I am finding that there are a number of sociopaths in refuge at the Diploma Mill. Educational institutions seems to attract sociopathic maggots, and it's easy to see why. Pseudo-professor positions are easy to come by. Sociopaths enjoy an environment devoid of direct supervision. In addition, the young gullible minds in the classroom cater to the ego of the sociopath. Other non-sociopathic faculty are so self-centered that they never realize that they are being outwitted and targeted for exploitation by the sociopath. As for myself, I have deleted the sociopathic buddy from my contact list. I have also blocked his e-mail addresses to insure that I remain ex communicado.

The alternative news sources have seen a proliferation of reports concerning the upcoming incursion into Iraq. I have observed that a very similar method of "disinformation" as the one used prior to the invasion of Iraq is now in place. Apparently, a new "Dossiér" of "evidence"s to be produced sometime soon. The general consensus is that the invasion will occur within the next two months. I was convinced months ago that the incursion was imminent. Is the secular Apocalypse finally upon us?

Salvation in Niland

After returning to Waikiki yesterday afternoon, I found myself with nothing to do in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I cannot even begin to describe how that dump just drains the life out from me, as did every other place that I have resided. My prison cell is full of amenities, yet I cannot distract myself from the inevitable fact that a prison cell is a prison cell. A tomb is a tomb. A mausoleum is a mausoleum. Only a strong hallucinogenic drug could alter such a bleak reality.

The theme that runs through modern life is quite simple: return to the womb. Our prison cells, our mausoleums, our 4000-pound motorized chairs (read: automobiles), our so-called "gated" communities, these are secured wombs. Large thick frames, walls, and structural behemoths protect the contents of the fortified womb and prevent intrusions by external elements. The womb is self-contained as much as possible to limit the amount of time spent outside its walls. I become extremely melancholy and claustrophobic in such an environment. I can imagine that the sensation is much like the experience of being buried alive.

I sat on the floor of my prison cell for an hour with my eyes closed. I also managed to read a few more pages of Thoreau's book, "Walden." I left for Ala Moana Center at 7:30pm. I walked through the vacant promenades to Barnes & Noble®. One of the hotties was working her shift. I stayed there until 10:15pm. The usual group of homeless were situated at their favorite spots for the night near the prison transport stop (read: bus stop). Back in my prison cell, I read "Walden" for another hour before calling it a night.

Thoreau's book, "Walden," is having a significant impact on my thinking and possible the future direction of my life. I finished the chapter titled, "Economy." What boggles my mind is that Thoreau discussed the same issues that confront most of us today. He had observed conspicuous consumption in his time when only a fraction of the creature comforts and distractions of today were available. Little wonder why materialism and consumerism is totally out of control today. I realize now that I am on a quest to find my own "Walden," a sanctuary and safehaven from the madness. Am I willing to sacrifice everything for "Walden"?

I began my day of wage slavery in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill after riding the prison transport (read: bus) to town. Professor Lisa dropped by briefly. She was looking hot, much to my surprise. She is renting a room in Kailua for way too much dough. I hope that we will have to time to get together to chat sometime. I drank a few cups of free coffee before leaving for Kahala Mall to meet moms. We ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. Lunch was both filling and delicious. Hard as it may be to believe, the ride back to town on the prison transport was somewhat relaxing. I closed my eyes and thought about Thoreau's commentaries in "Walden."

I always think about moms several times each day as well. That is one my obligations. I must honor my parents. I am the last branch of my family genealogical tree. There will be no further branches unless the hottie gym trainer comes around. Just kidding! Seriously, though, I take time to ponder my past and my upbringing. I look back at what I can remember of my family, both good and bad, and I reflect upon the kind of person that I have become. Then, I express gratitude for the kind of life that I have now. I am definitely not cruising in the fast lane with the rich and famous. However, I have a decent standard-of-living. I have options for "quality of life," some of which I have not exercised. And, most important, I have not sold my soul to El Diablo. I am not a satanic gargoyle or a sociopath.

Gym time was at 2:15pm, right after my one hour as a wage slave. I caught a brief glimpse of the hottie gym trainer during my workout. Then, I ended up back in the faculty computer room. I walked to Safeway® at 4:30pm. Never go to Safeway® at 4:30pm. My patience was taxed by numerous morons. I purchased two Tina's® burritos for dinner, two bagels, and a Nestle® Crunch® candy bar. By late afternoon, melancholia set in. I don't want to call my affliction anything else. I ate the burritos for dinner and finished composing the "blog." In reality, my mind was ready to snap. How can anyone tolerate such benign bullshit day in and day out? I departed for Waikiki at 7pm.

The housing situation is worsening in Hawai'i. An article in the Advertiser chronicled the condo conversion boom, which is forcing more renters literally onto the street. Even ghetto dumps are being purchased and individual units resold as condos. The greedy developers have stated that their intentions were to sell to existing renters. Most renters are from the low income pool with little or no savings. The article is worth reading because, once done, it is hard to decide whether to laugh or cry.

Well, it's tax time again. I have commenced my annual tax calculations, although much of my tax return information has not arrived yet. I am certain that I will owe money this year. Next year, that will be a given. Right now, I am attempting to figure out whether I must file estimated tax returns. If so, then I will deal with much more paperwork, and I will have to part with some dough much sooner than expected.

Salvation in the Unpromised Land. About four years back, Kate in Arizona, sent me a NY Times article about Slab City, just a few miles past Niland in Cali. Here is a recent profile:

NILAND – When the Navy base near Niland, east of the Salton Sea, was dismantled after World War II, squatters began pitching tents and parking trailers on the concrete slabs that were left. A community has been there ever since. Its amenities now include a Christian church, a library, a country club with gravel "greens" and an outdoor nightclub called the Range, named for the aerial gunnery range in the nearby Chocolate Mountains. 129 feet below sea level and four miles east of Niland, Slab City isn't actually a city, its a loose community of squatters, snowbirds and nomads who've pitched camps across 640 acres of open desert.

I believe that the community still exists. What I could do is purchase an old city transit bus and convert it to a spartan motorhome. Then, I will wheel down to Slab City and set up shop. Well, hey! It's a good plan! Slab City sure sounds a lot better than being homeless, desolate, and poor in Hawai'i. Sheesh!

New Walden

Entropy, a subset of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, describes the unidirectional flow from the ordered to the disordered. The process is naturally hindered by obstacles or constraints, which assure that a complete system comprised of many subsystems does not completely collapse at the same time. In modern society, many of the obstacles have been removed. The flow from ordered to disordered has been accelerated as so-called "efficiencies" increase. Quite a paradox, isn't it?

Last night, I felt entirely detached from society as I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to Ala Moana Center. I walked around in a semi-comatose state as I made my way to Barnes & Noble®. The store was extremely crowded. Many of the "regulars" were there. In my state of detachment, I decided to sit outside on one of the benches and compose the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX with what little battery power I had left. Later, I connected to the Apple® Store wireless network to send it off.

The strange case of the sociopathic buddy still puzzles me. Knowing that he has had access to the "blog" for a while, I would have assumed a breach in the status quo was in order. Nada. I now assume that I must await some kind of nefarious reprisal. I will be set up for a fall, which will most certainly be something that will bring me to my knees. I must be punished. I do not intend to play along in this sick game. However, we at least have more evidence of how the core of society is rotting away rapidly. There is no other explanation except that the malignant tumor of the "seven sins" has taken a foothold on a large chunk of population. We are seeing entropy at play as the flow from ordered to disordered increases in momentum. I cannot be concerned about minor bitplayers (i.e., sociopaths and other fools) when the whole sky is falling.

Martha Stout, in her book, "The Sociopath next Door," stated that the "garden variety" sociopath will meet some kind of demise in the future. The cause? Boredom. Ennui. So, whatever riches or gains that the sociopath has stolen from his victims, he will lose all or most of his spoils in the end. Sounds good to me.

Entropy is, of course, applicable to the ol' lavahead's life. The ol' lavahead has invoked a process of radical simplicity, which has reduced the presence of obstacles between the ordered and disordered in his life. The flow has been accelerated. Case in point. A number of White Supremacist satanic gargoyles were waiting at the Ala Moana prison transport stop. The cheap fucks had just returned from the Polynesian Cultural Center in Lai'e. Same ol' shit. They are always acting up like they are at some kind of KKK revival meeting. The prison transport was extremely late, which exacerbated the situation. I was the last person to board. Two of the fattest cheap fucks were attempting to be comedians ahead of me. The dolt who was the cause of the problem yelled out to the other fat KKK members, "Does anyone have change for a twenty?" The morons rode the prison transport to the other side of island. Did they not already know that the fare box only takes $1 bills? A fat bitch (part of the group) walked to the front of the prison transport as I was trying to make my way to the back. I rammed them aside just so I could pass. I had no other choice since the fat slobs were inconsiderate and oblivious to my presence. I sat in the back. The satanic gargoyles were cackling away like chickens in a slaughterhouse awaiting their necks to be slit. "Shut up, you stupid mofos," I yelled. None of the KKK dared come back to chastise me. Entropy has put me close to the edge. Sometimes, the Caucasian culture is unable to understand what is the essence of the "brown skin." They taunt us, thinking that the "brown skin" will back off in cowardice as they would.

The sociopathic buddy may make the same mistake. He may try to taunt the ol' lavahead. He may even try to undermine the ol' lavahead through covert methods. What any sociopath should understand is where the ol' lavahead is coming from. In almost every adverse situation that the ol' lavahead has detailed, he rarely included the tremendous difficulty that he encountered when trying to suppress his anger (i.e., one of the "seven sins"). In my mind, I have committed homicide many times over. Yes, I envisioned acts of mayhem exercised against the cheap fucks on the prison transport. All of my energy was expended to restrain myself. The same will happen if I am provoked by a sociopath. My warning is clear and concise. Failure to heed the warning may result in serious injury.

When I alighted the prison transport in Waikiki, I felt a wee bit of remorse for my actions. I concluded that I am not a sociopath. My nerves were shot. All I could think about was a big-ass can of cerveza, Tecate® cerveza to be exact. The ABC Store was able to meet my need. I also purchased two bananas and one Granny's Gourmet Muffin. I performed a small act of kindness to a Japanese tourist in the store to make amends for my earlier indiscretion. Once in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I dropped back the whole can of cerveza.

I departed for town this morning at 10am sans the Sunday paper. There were no copies available in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). I sat in the vacant Kukui Plaza Mall and listened to the Smooth Jazz playing over the sound system. At one point, I really felt like a homeless guy. At 11am, I walked to Mickey Dee's® and purchased a large cup of coffee. Then, I sat outside and waited for the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill to open at noon. I have nothing else to do but compose the "blog." Reading the alternative news sources has become tedious and tiresome.

Gym time was at 1:45pm. Once again, I did my usual cardio workout. As I was leaving, I saw the hottie gym trainer standing near the front desk. Baby is so fine. Fortunately, when a babe is as hot as the hottie gym trainer, she will definitely have a stud. I was not really hungry, but I thought to treat myself to a snack a Taco bell®. Two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos. How did you know? If I can't have a babe like the hottie gym trainer, then I can at least have a delicious snack. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab. At 5pm, I will return to Waikiki.

I will most likely find myself at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center again tonight. Oftentimes, I wish that I could stay at home, but I do not have a home. I live in a prison cell, a tomb, a mausoleum. It is a temporary, albeit cost-intensive, shelter to maintain legitimacy in the "system," much like wage slavery and all of its associated encumbrances. The end result can only be mental insanity, socipathy perhaps. The majority of the satanic gargoyles cannot visualize the ramifications as I have described. The tube is just one sublime and malignant mode of sedating the mind permanently. What else could explain the complacency? Oh yes, medication. Lots of medication. Once the drugs cross the blood-brain barrier, the synaptic functions are deadened to a zombie-like vegetative state. How could anyone find the energy or resolve to escape?

I have been reading Henry Thoreau's book, "Walden," off and on. The writing style seemed somewhat taxing until I realized how eloquent it was. In contrast, the current writing style and prose are vapid, stripped-down, narcissistic monologues. I am still reading the first chapter titled, "Economy." In his discussion of housing, I find that my thoughts run parallel to his: "However, if one designs to construct a dwelling-house, it behooves him to exercise a little Yankee shrewdness, lest after all he find himself in a workhouse, a labyrinth without a clue, a museum, an almshouse, a prison, or a splendid mausoleum instead." How could this be since Thoreau composed "Walden" in the year 1854? Has this crap been going on that long?

As much as I hate to admit it, I have hardly done any real reading, especially the so-called "classics." I am a slow reader, the advantage being that I digest more of the content. Sadly, though, I have piddled my life away without reading books that could have contributed more to my character. Even now, I catch myself saying that I will try to read more when I have finally attained "freedom."

Entropy

Another exciting evening at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. How can I have this much fun? I have identified at least five "regulars" in addition to myself. Incidentally, I have been perusing the following books:

• "Getting Out" - Mark Ehrman
• "The End of Oil" - Paul Roberts
• "The Long Emergency" - James Kunster
• "It's the Crude, Dude" - Linda McQuaig
• "Blood of the Earth" - Dilip Hiro
• "Hubbert's Peak" - Kenneth Deffeyes
• "The Sociopath Next Door" - Martha Stout

All of the books are in the "must read" category.

The usual group of homeless were at, or across the street from, the prison transport stop (read: bus stop). The homeless are everywhere, although the satanic gargoyles have gotten pretty good at ignoring them. I observed them while I waited. What do they do all day? Where do they go before they end up at the prison transport stop? I surmise that the homeless life-style is rough. There are few places for them to hang out for hours at a time. Most commercial establishments will not allow the homeless to "loiter" because it's bad for business. I complain about lack of sleep, but I am certain that the homeless rarely have a good night sleep. What is truly amazing is that the homeless here are probably living in better conditions than most of the poorest citizens in other parts of the planet. The homeless here are not starving. There are no conspicuous symptoms of edema (from starvation). Many of the homeless are overweight or obese.

I noticed that my sheets had not been washed in almost three months. As much as I dread doing the laundry, I equally dread washing of my sheets. These kinds of chores are getting on my nerves more and more. I have decided to wait until I have purchased a sleeping bag before I wash the sheets for a final time. I will be donating the sheets, pillowcases, and pillows to Goodwill. Just one more step toward my goal of homeless "camping."

I woke up at 8:30am this morning. I felt groggy, but I was on my way to town by 9:15am. I made a pot of coffee immediately upon setting foot in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I walked to Safeway® at 10am. I witnessed an idiotic gridlock in the parking lot as the myriad satanic gargoyles attempted to maneuver their 4000-pound motorized chairs (read: automobiles) and 6000-pound motorized chairs (read: SUVs) around each other. I purchased six cans of Hormel® chili, a loaf of bread, and three energy bars.

Gym time was at 1:45pm. I did my cardio workout. Then, I had to take a shower using the crappy hand soap provided by the gym. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I will depart for Waikiki at 5pm. I'll be at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center again tonight.

I have been ruminating about my self-accusation of avarice. I must now revise that assessment. I am not hoarding money just for the sake of hoarding or to amass wealth. Frankly, I am being careful because the cost of living in Hawai'i is constantly increasing. In addition, I have learned my lesson insofar as material possessions are concerned. Once the novelty of the purchase wears off, all material possessions end up being useless clutter. Thus, I now only purchase what I deem to be necessities. Overall, I believe that the so-called "wealthiest nation on the planet" is going to suffer severe repercussions for the long hedonistic binge of the "seven sins." Call it karma or entropy, if you wish. We will pay for our indiscretions.

I am sure that you may want to suggest that I (or anyone else) urge the sociopathic buddy to seek psychotherapy. Frankly, I always laugh at such a foolish suggestion. The huge mental health business is largely the result of our inability to deal with common problems. If we weren't so individualistic and narcissistic, we would be able to offer help to each other. For the most part, empathy and compassion are what we seek. No one in the mental health profession can truly offer either. The mental health profession is another "pay-as-you-go" scheme. After all, it is a business. In the case of the sociopathic buddy, no amount of counseling or therapy can help him. Sociopaths are devoid of remorse or empathy. They may become genuinely depressed or angry, but only in situations where one of their numerous machinations comes apart at the seams, or if they are on the verge of being exposed. Contrived theatrics comprise any other emotionality. The sociopath cannot be "cured" until the latter is able to resurrect a deadened conscience, a formidable task at best. As you can probably guess, the sociopathic buddy will avenge what he believes to be an affront to his integrity although, as a sociopath, he has none. What he will avenge is the fact that he has been discovered and laid bare before his victims. What he should do is simply move on and find new victims. However, that won't happen.

I find that I am still thinking about babes, albeit more sporadically. Obviously, the Vienna Sausage has yet to atrophy. In my case, I am attracted to babes that are way out of my league (e.g., the hottie gym trainer). Desiring unattainable babes is advantageous because I am assured that I will not be hookin' up anytime soon. While it is pathetic to spend the rest of my life alone, I can see no other venue. My current life-style cannot include anyone else. I am also not planning on desperation forcing my hand to become a fudgepacker. Living out the last years of our lives alone is an immense fear. In our alienated society, that fear is real. In the future, I hope to find myself in a small community where the residents truly care about each other. I may not find a companion for the Vienna Sausage, but I won't have to worry about keeling over and not being discovered for months.

I am becoming much more restless as the days go on. I find that I am constantly questioning the state of my existence. Life for us is finite, and we are made more aware of that fact by the ubiquitous AARP membership. Why am I wasting so much time? Why am I still in wage slavery? Why am I still doing time in my prison cell? I ask myself such endless questions. Yet, I have no answers.

The Crucible

I spent an enjoyable evening at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center. I perused several books about Peak Oil. I also reviewed Martha Stout's book, "The Sociopath Next Door." Incidentally, several people have come forward recently to disclose their own sad experiences with the sociopathic buddy. The machinations and the methods of manipulation employed by the sociopathic buddy indicate that he has no sense of remorse or empathy. In fact, one potential victim detailed some recent mischief performed by the sociopathic buddy. I could not understand the motive or drive behind the mischief. Of course, there could be a remote chance that he is experiencing schizophrenia. If that is so, we may have a real problem on our hands. Sociopathology may give way to psychopathology. Therefore, I have strongly advised the potential victims to shun the sociopath.

Sociopathy is known as "Anti-Social Personality Disorder" in the mental health field. These are the characteristics of the disorder:

1. Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest
2. Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure
3. Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead
4. Irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated fights or assaults (both physically or mentally)
5. Reckless disregard for safety of self or others
6. Consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain steady work or honor financial obligations
7. Lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another

Clearly, the sociopathic buddy exhibits strong symptomatology on multiple counts. I'm getting the willies just thinking about it. Sheesh!

This morning, I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and read Thoreau's classic, "Walden." Debbie, my realtor, arrived at 10:15am to take a few pictures of my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I signed the paperwork to list the unit for sale. I also gave her a copy of my key card. Debbie offered to give me a ride to town. She mentioned that my "condotel" unit was the last one that sold in Quagmire Prison, so we are not expecting the unit to sell anytime soon. The unit two down from mine has been listed for 265 days. The owners also lowered the price by $20,000 or so. On the bright side, Debbie assured me that I could get $100 more than the guaranteed minimum, if I were to put the unit back into the hotel rental pool. She also said that I would not have to pay the $500 fee. Debbie dropped me off at the Diploma Mill.

After further thought, I believe that I have a workable situation. I have employment contracts until the end of Summer. Thus, I can look for cheaper living arrangements or opt for the homeless "camping" option anytime between now and then. Once I have committed to a new living arrangement, I can put the "condotel" unit back into the hotel rental pool and leave it there until it sells. They key is to not panic and end up doing something rash or foolish. Nonetheless, I felt much better now that I have listed Chez Loser II for sale.

Time will go by quickly. In a wink of an eye, I will find myself running out of time at the end of Summer. Even if I can continue on in wage slavery, the uncertainty will always be hovering over me. The best possible plan is to cut off any long term obligations such as the mortgage for Chez Loser II. If I cannot do so, I must insure that it pays for itself. As for me, the next step is to establish the deadline to begin my exit from society.

Blogger® did not allow me to access the "blog" this afternoon. Instead, I was stuck in an endless cycle that finally forced me to open a Google® account and convert the "blog" to the new version of Blogger®. I did not want a Google® account. Now, I have one, and I am somewhat upset. I have modified the URL of the RSS feed, but I am not sure if it works.

My day, or should I say, hour of wage slavery was uneventful. Gym time was at 2:15pm. The hottie gym trainer was not there. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon at faculty computer room. I will depart for Waikiki at 7pm. After my dinner consisting of prison food (read: beans and bread), I will clean my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. After that, I will be off to Ala Moana Center again for another exciting evening. Wheeee!

Tidbits. I gave Pseudo-professor Francis the chimes Jacob's Little Piper® wind chimes that Malia had given me a few years ago. I also renewed my AARP membership for another year. Bad move!

Psycho!

I was really taken aback by the brief conversation that I had with a possible sociopath. He was completely animated in his personality cycle which more or less resembles that of "bipolar disorder." The elation, no doubt, was his alleged victory over perceived foes. So there he was, grinning like the Cheshire cat. I felt as though I was ready to "deliver street pizza," not because of envy, but of the horror of his sociopathic carnage of people who may have actually cared for him.

In my own mind, I have always intuitively not trusted him. The constant schmoozing and patronizing, the perpetual purchasing of favors, all never seemed genuine. In my nightly perusal of books at Barnes & Noble®, I came across a book by Martha Stout titled, "The Sociopath Next Door." The book is intriguing, to say the least. Stout asserted that one in 25 satanic gargoyles can be identified as sociopaths. I am not surprised. Our materialistic culture along with the current epidemic of the "seven sins" creates a breeding ground for sociopathological behavior. The root cause is the ruthless drive for success at any cost. Predators come out of the woodwork and thrive in an environment of greed. They prey on the weak. Enter the sociopathic buddy. He is capable of causing immense damage because he has focused his energies and his intelligence toward the goal of enriching himself without paying any dues. In his mind, he is certain that he deserves more than his fair share. The fact that he is not capable of remorse or compassion has become painfully apparent. I am both sickened and disappointed. Stout advised that a sociopath, once identified, must be shunned completely. Failure to do so will most likely yield another potential victim for the sociopath to exploit.

I composed the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX while at Barnes & Noble® because I was distraught. There is a reason why I am sick of the satanic gargoyles. I can find nothing redeeming about their character. The epidemic of the "seven sins" has rotted out their core. They slither around like hollowed zombies with voracious appetites for evil. Indeed, they are sub-human to me. One day in the future, I will see a time when the surviving humans will have to hunt them down and cleanse the earth of those hideous walking cadavers. I cannot worry about what the sociopath is doing to his victims because that is out of my locus of control. I just have to make sure that I am not the next victim.

To add to the fun, the sociopathic buddy has been attempting to locate the "blog." He has, however, given suitable hints that he had already discovered it. I confirmed the fact a while back when I reviewed the Blog Patrol® logs which track IP numbers, domain, browser in use, operating system in use, and location. That, of course, leads me to believe that I am being bamboozled into some kind of trap. I, myself, made sure that the sociopathic buddy was able to feast on contrived fodder as well.

I stopped off at the Food Pantry before going into lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I purchased three bananas, two navel oranges, and some Foster Farms® cold cuts laced with sodium nitrate. I completed my reading of Schimmel's book, "The Seven Deadly Sins." It is now part of my permanent library. I will probably read the book again at various intervals, just as I do with Viktor Frankl's book, "Man's Search for Meaning." As imperfect humans, we must be reminded of our shortcomings in order to surmount them. Both books provide the answers to life's most intriguing questions. However, I doubt that the satanic gargoyles would care to entertain them.

I found myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill this morning as usual. I finished most of my preparations for the term even without pedagogical materials. The only admirable trait that I seem to have is the ability to produce quality work in very short periods of time. What I have noticed is that I usually spend more time procrastinating or dreading the task than it takes to just complete the latter. I've detailed my methodology of "streamlining" wage slavery tasks in the journal.

I walked to Safeway® to purchase three energy bars and four cans of Hormel® chili. I also wasted $5 on a bottle of Suave® Body Wash to bring to the gym. I cannot be washing myself with shampoo any longer. Gym time was at 2:15pm. The soap dispensers in the shower were filled with some kind of crappy hand soap. I used it to wash myself rather than deplete my new bottle of Suave® body wash. I only caught a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer on the way out.

All afternoon I pondered the motives of the sociopathic buddy. All sociopaths choose victims to exploit, but the victims must have something that the sociopath desires. As a potential victim, I have nothing to offer the sociopathic buddy. I have already identified several classes of exploits perpetrated by the sociopathic buddy. The modus operandi was straight out Stout's book, "The Sociopath Next Door." The sociopath identifies the intended victim. The target victim has something that the sociopath wants. Using charm and feigned friendship, the sociopath will bring the victim "under his wing." The sociopath exploits the gullibility of the victim to develop unilateral trust. When the victim is "on the hook," the sociopath simply needs to "reel him in," so to speak. If the sociopath is exposed, he often launches into histrionics in the form of feigned remorse or possibly anger. The histrionics and theatrics make the victim back off and, ironically, causes the victim to trust the sociopath even more. The sociopathic buddy appears to have plenty of time on his hands to manipulate several victims with his extensive game-playing. I do not understand why, but I am not sociopath.

The rest of the day was uneventful. I spent the time in the faculty computer room. I took a break to purchase a lard-filled muffins from one of the vendors near the Diploma Mill. I also evaluated my stance as a monk. I realized how important that I keep my distance from "mainstream" society and the satanic gargoyles who populate it. I must also avoid and shun any identifiable sociopaths. The are simply asswipes, just like the rest of the clowns who are infected with the epidemic of the "seven sins." I will depart for Waikiki at 7pm on the prison transport (read: bus). Tonight will be more of the same.

I am wasting my time in trying to make sense of the "system" and the satanic gargoyles who worship at the altar. The "system" is dying. The disease, the epidemic of the "seven sins," has spread quickly and now the patient (i.e., society) is terminally ill. The tumors that have sprouted are malignant. We are seeing the effects now. "Get out of Babylon!" I keep hearing the warning over and over again.

Karma

Another evening at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana. I observed that a few of the homeless were there as well. The homeless babe (term used loosely) who sleeps on the bench at the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) was sitting on one of the chairs near the café. I suspected that a few other homeless were there because of the size of the backpacks that they were carrying.

I was very fatigued, so I departed at 10pm. My daily schedule is beginning to get to me. The prison transport (read: bus) was not crowded. The ride back to Waikiki was relaxing, much more so than the rest of my day. Incidentally, there are a couple of hotties working at Barnes & Noble®, not that I really noticed.

I set my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo to the "Ocean Surf" option. I usually wake up a couple of time during the wee hours of the morning. That's when I select the "White Noise" option. The other day, I realized that the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo is one of those "New Age" toys. No, I have not bought into the "New Age" movement.

This morning, the prison transport was packed. An old hag was swinging her feet around and kicking me in the shins. I gave her the stink eye, but to no avail. When I stood up to exit the prison transport, I "accidentally" swung my heavy gym bag into her legs. I do not feel good about my oftentimes irrational conduct because I will have, in essence, given in the anger, on the "seven sins." In reading Schimmel's book, "The Seven Deadly Sins," I should have no excuse for such pathetic behavior. Yet, I persist. That's why the writing is on the wall, so to speak. I must exit society before I cause even greater harm.

I found myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill to begin my day of wage slavery. I submitted the grades for my "directed study" students. Pseudo-professor Mike stopped by, much to my surprise. He briefly chatted with Mike, the director of the office that oversees the faculty computer room. He made an apology, as per my suggestion yesterday. I had told him that he had to swallow his pride and apologize for anything, just to start some dialog between them. I was happy to see that he took my suggestion seriously.

Pseudo-professor Mike invited me to breakfast at one of the vendors in the Blaisdell Hotel. We ate Kim Chee Fried Rice, which was delicious. We had an interesting chat. The rest of the day was uneventful. Gym time was at 2:15pm. While I was checking in at the front counter, I saw the hottie gym trainer standing at the other end. Baby was wearing a black workout top instead of her gym uniform. She was probably off-duty. There is no question that baby is a hottie. My mind started playing tricks on me. Foolishly, I wondered why I cannot find a babe like the hottie gym trainer. After I completed my workout, I took a shower sans soap again. Most of the soap dispensers were vandalized, no doubt a primitive reaction from the angered gym members. I had to use my shampoo again.

Pseudo-professor Mike called. He was extremely elated. "I got the deed changed over to my name," he said, referring to Bea's posh Honolulu Tower condo. "I can pay them (Bea's family) anything from zero to whatever Bea paid for the place. Right now, I going to pay them zero. They can sue me if they want." What a humble attitude from someone who is allegedly in bereavement, eh? "Well, you do whatever you feel is right in your heart," I said. I suppose that I only continue to underestimate the real evil that lurks below the surface of his persona. I do not want to be around when karma eventually strikes.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room tending to my wage slave tasks. I have had little time to engage in frivolity. Once again, I will remain focused on my tasks until 7pm. Then, I will depart for Waikiki on the prison transport to begin yet another benign evening.

Shelter from the Storm

I was very fatigued last night when I returned to my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 7:40pm. I consumed my prison dinner (read: tuna and bread) with stoic ambivalence as any good prisoner would. Then, I made the trek to Ala Moana Center. I casually made my way to Barnes & Noble®. Yes, I spent the evening there perusing more and more books. The "booksellers" (i.e., sales personnel) are most likely recognizing me as one the "regulars." They do not overtly acknowledge me. I have a strange feeling that I am being profiled as a potential shoplifter.

It is amazing how the satanic gargoyles make numerous judgments about a person's character and position on the food chain entirely on appearances. Perhaps the fact that I wear almost the same clothes (i.e., boardshorts and T-shirt) every day quickly lead to such an assumption. I am certainly not part of the affluent class. I am a new member of the nouveau poverty class.

Toward the end of the evening, I made a purchase. That's right. I purchased "Walden" by Henry Thoreau. For $6 and some change, I could not go wrong. When the store closed, I walked to the usual prison transport stop (read: bus stop). The one homeless babe (term used loosely) was sleeping on a bench. The two homeless guys were at the Nail Boutique. A few minutes later, the Route 55 prison transport pulled up. A large number of bloated satanic gargoyles tourists squeezed out through the narrow exit doors. I decided that I would have ruined my evening by riding the prison transport with the idiots. So, I walked to the prison transport stop near Ala Moana Beach Park. The little shelter was occupied by numerous homeless. A number of rats were runnning amuck in the shelter as well. Thus, I had to stand on the sidewalk adjacent to the shelter.

After a few minutes, I figured that I had missed the Route 42 prison transport. So, I walked back to the original stop. Aside from the homeless, only one other person was there. I sat on one of the benches and perused my new book. The other guy started up a conversation. He asked me what I was reading. I told him. That initiated a lively discourse which continued until I alighted the prison transport in Waikiki. He's a retired literature teacher, so that made the discussion even more refreshing. He currently lives in Waikiki, but he will be moving soon. The apartment building that he lives in is being sold. He does not know where he will end up. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the conversation with the stranger.

I finished the chapter about "Sloth" in Schimmel's book, "The Seven Deadly Sins." In fact, I have almost completed the book. I have spent a lot of time in deep introspection about my own shortcomings. I've also come to realize that I will never fit in with modern society. Values and ethics are important to me, and I find that I align with values from a different time period. Perhaps that is why I chose to read Thoreau's book, "Walden." There is something terribly wrong with society, specifically modern culture. There is no sense that we are heading anywhere, unless mass destruction is a viable destination.

My day was hectic as I did everything possible to insure that my classes at the Diploma Mill would run in an orderly fashion. So far, I have been able to insure a smooth transition even with the odds working against me. I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and two Tina's® burritos. Gym time was at 2:15pm. I only caught a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer as I was exiting the gym. The showers in the locker room have been out of soap for two days. I have had to resort to using my shampoo as a body wash.

Pseudo-professor Mike had a falling out with Mike, the director of the office that oversees the faculty computer room. He stormed out a private meeting that they had yesterday. Later, Pseudo-professor Mike sent me a barrage of e-mail, two of which were between he and his wife. He also called and left a strange message. He stated that a "great opportune moment" had come about in which he was able to sever ties with someone he did not care much about anyway (read: Mike, the director). It was a "celebratory" event, he said. I am not certain why he called to tell me this. His tantrum may have cost him his job. At 4:40pm, Pseudo-professor Mike made an appearance in the faculty computer room, long after Mike, the director, and his assistant, Sandra, had left. He carried a make-shift sign that read, "Impeach Alberto Gonzales." He said that he was going to march around the State capitol building.

Debbie, my realtor, and I have agreed to meet on Friday. She will take a few pictures of the "condotel" unit. I will sign the paperwork to list it for sale. For the time being, I will remain in the unit. Homeless "camping" is still an option, but I must defer the idea while I tend to the busy work of wage slavery.

Caroll called an left a message a few days ago. Since, I no longer have a cell phone, I cannot return her call. I attempted to send her e-mail, but her accounts were terminated. I have no idea how I will get in touch with her.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Pseudo-professor Mike returned from his one-man protest march. He detailed a few of his grandiose plans, a few of which seemed to have no financial basis. I simply absorbed the information. I took a break and walked to Taco Bell® to purchase two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos for dinner. I will depart for Waikiki at 7pm. My evening ritual will be the same. Perhaps I will find time for more introspection.

La Dolce Vita

I decided to try to do laundry last night. Needless to say, so did everyone else in Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). When I discovered that the washers were still being used at 8pm, I gave up and departed for Ala Moana Center on the prison transport (read: bus). The entire place was almost completely desolate. I strolled along the main promenade at a leisurely pace before ending up at my usual destination, Barnes & Noble®. I purchased a Coffee Frappaccino® in the café. I browsed the store until 10pm, when I returned to Waikiki.

There was one washer available when I checked. So, I started the laundry. With nothing else to do, I walked to the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I dropped back the whole can while I waited for my laundry. Alas, that was my exciting evening. The "existential vacuum" at it's best.

This morning, the prison transport to town was crowded, mostly with Diploma Mill students. I found myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill for about 30 minutes. Then, I was on my way on the prison transport to Kahala Mall to meet moms for lunch. Moms and I ate at Panda Express®. Lunch as delicious. I was not able to sit with moms at the bus stop for very long. I was due back at 12:30pm in order to prepare for wage slavery. During the ride back to town, I reflected on the importance of spending time with moms. Clearly, I won't have such an issue when moms is gone. What will my daily existence mean to me after that? I have no family of my own. I will not be hooking up with a babe anytime soon. I am essentially a loner. A monk. When moms is gone, I will be completely alone. Not lonely, just alone. I will have no relevant social or familial ties. I can already envision the total emptiness that I will experience. Boredom is one thing, but emptiness is a void that's hard to fill.

I am making preparations now. I have no idea what my reaction will be once I am truly alone. I certainly do not want to be bogged down with any long-term obligations of any kind. And, I certainly do not want to be anchored by useless possessions. And, I certainly do not want to be rotting away in a little shoebox while waiting for my own time to come. All I know is that I made a serious judgmental error by increasing my time in wage slavery. If I cannot schedule my time in wage slavery to meet my needs, then I must mummify the situation. A reduction in income is not going to make much difference. I already earn so little as it is now. My priority was to spend more time with moms, which really meant just another hour or so per week. That was very important to me, but I capitulated to the status quo. I let myself down.

The first day of the new term was disappointing to me. I realize now that I must take a break from my faculty duties at the Diploma Mill, perhaps permanently. My attitude had been tainted by the constant exposure to the satanic gargoyles. Needless to say, the quality of university students these days is pathetically low. I am not certain where these clowns are going to find jobs. That is not a concern of mine.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. Baby has not been working very many hours lately. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I was able to procure a few instructional materials today, so I must frantically try to make up for lost time. I walked to Longs® at 5pm. All of the sale items were gone due to the hoarding practices of the satanic gargoyles. I will be leaving for Waikiki at 7pm. No doubt, my routine for the evening will be the same ol' shit.

Camp Granada

I spent most of the evening at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center again. Prior to that, I looked around the Sam Goody® store for about an hour. The prison transport (read: bus) heading back to Waikiki was about 15 minutes late. I observed the two homeless guys across the street as they sat on the window ledges of the Nail Boutique store. They chatted with each while they smoked cigarettes. One of the guys walked to a nearby dumpster and fished out a cardboard box. He flattened it to use as a mattress. One of the older homeless babes was asleep on the bench three down from me. She used her large suitcase and an open umbrella to shield herself from the wind. I stopped off at the ABC Store again. I purchased a small package of Oscar Meyer® sliced ham. For a late night snack, I ate three slices of ham with bread. At least I was assured that that I got my dose of carcinogenic preservatives for the day. The bread, by the way, was sans poison.

After my prison brunch (read: tuna and bread), I departed for town on the prison transport. You know the drill. Read the Sunday paper in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. Purchase a cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's®. Sit outside the Diploma Mill and drink the coffee. Wait for student computer lab to open at noon.

Gym time was at 2pm. I did my usual cardio workout. The hottie gym trainer was busy with a gym member. Baby is such a hottie. After the gym, I had to return to the sad reality of the student computer lab. The hottie gym trainer remained on my mind for a while for no particular reason. I will depart for Waikiki at 5pm. No telling what I will do this evening.

I read an interesting tidbit in the "Business" section of the morning paper. The syndicated article was about retirement financial strategies. The author cited that most people in the 55 to 65 age group have less than $90,000 in savings. Obviously, there is absolutely no way to survive for very long on that amount of dough. There is going to be a national crisis of sorts, and it is going to be a long one. We are looking at a huge and increasing population in the poverty class. Hardly anyone will be able to retire comfortably. How can they? How will they save over $1 million before they retire? For the rank-and-file, which is a huge population base, the future looks grim. I'll be right there along with them.

In continuing my discussion of homeless "camping," I should reiterate that my own employment future is grim. I have secured contracts until the end of Summer, but uncertainty will be the rule beyond that time. I am not altogether certain that I care to maintain my employment at the Diploma Mill anyway. The wage slave environment has been increasing my stress level. The new term commences tomorrow, but I am still without any course materials. The same thing happened prior to the Fall term. I also discovered that only the lowest members of the faculty food chain are victims of the latter stupidity. There are a few other curious events which have aroused my suspicions about whether a few of us are being shown the door, so to speak.

Homeless "camping" may be my only option. With ever-rising costs in Hawai'i, I will have to rely more on my savings. That's unacceptable. Right now, I can draw off the dividend income from my investments. How long can that last? I've discussed the issue of tomb-like housing ad nauseum. And, I have expressed my remorse for purchasing the "condotel" unit. So, the backdrop for my future has already been vividly painted.

As a side note, Hawaii adopted one of the nation's severest penalties to discourage individuals from living on public property. Act 50 bans individuals for an entire year from the public areas where they are given a citation. The act stipulates that people found illegally occupying public property such as beaches and parks are subject to ejection, and if they return within a year they face arrest, a possible $1,000 fine and/or 30 days in jail. However, the homeless population has swelled out of control since the law was enacted. I have not observed any of the homeless being arrested.

I would imagine that most everyone fears becoming homeless. Aside from the rapid decline in standard-of-living, there are ample psychopathological implications as well. Yet, is the fear of becoming homeless more debilitating than homelessness itself? I have observed a large number of the homeless population in Waikiki and in the downtown area. I have also recently observed the homeless at Ala Moana Center. I am quite certain that the majority of the homeless have little to no financial resources. However, there seems to be a stoic calmness amongst them. They go about their day-to-day routines, often nothing more than sitting around, with little evidence of anxiety. They make no effort to hide the fact that they are homeless. I surmise that the fear of becoming homeless is likened to any other type of unfounded fear. The associated anxiety does little to resolve the problem. Only until the prospect of homelessness is faced head-on will a more realistic outcome be established. In other words, once a person becomes homeless, the issue of fear is a done deal. All further energy will be expended to survive.

In my case, I would approach homelessness voluntarily and with adequate financial reserves to prevent any possible physical decline into dereliction. Thus, I will be able to afford food, clothing, and other sundries without having to forage for them. I will also have my Nissan® Frontier truck with me for the transporting of all camping equipment and as an adjunctive storage unit.

Obviously, I will also need to invest in the following camping gear:

• Dome tent
• Sleeping bag
• Portable lighting

I surmise that the total cost of the items on the list is $300 or less. So, cost is not a problem. What is of concern is how I can maintain the façade of being a regular camper, such that I would not draw attention to the fact that I am indeed homeless. I must remain "below the radar." Carefully observing the camping rules, obtaining the proper camping permit, and finding alternative living arrangements for the two non-camping days is most likely the best preventative measure. The other issues of sanitation, food storage, theft prevention, etc. can be solved as they come up.

The psychological aspect of homeless "camping" is the last issue to resolved. The fact that a person is homeless relegates that person to the lowest end of the societal food chain. Whether the person is actually not an impoverished derelict is of no consequence. The station of homelessness will take a psychological toll merely because it is countercultural. A possible solution is to conceptualize the period of homelessness as a "vacation" of sorts. To increase the credibility of the ruse, a time limit can be established for the "vacation," say six months. Of course, the six-month time limit may be a viable alternative to a permanent state of homelessness. In other words, six months of homeless "camping" and six months in a rental unit as an example for one year.

Well, the prototype of the homeless "camping" plan is materializing. Operation: Camp Granada. The final aspect of consideration is when I expect to implement the plan. I have no idea how long it will take to sell the "condotel" unit. Should I remain in it until then, or put it back into the hotel rental pool soon? Can I handle the additional fiscal responsibility? Or, will I sit here and wait until the whole island decays into a large-scale version of Easter Island?

Restless in Honolulu

I spent another benign evening at Ala Moana Center. The stores were open until 10pm, so I looked around in a few of them. I spent about 45 minutes in the Shirokiya store. I was amazed by the realism of the new widescreen LCD and plasma tubes. In fact, I watched part of the last "X-Men" movie along with a couple of other guys on a huge home theater set-up. It is easy to get caught up in desiring all of that crap. In fact, If I so desired, I could convert my prison cell (read: little shoebox) into a home theater of sorts. I could mount a large wide-screen tube on the wall and play movies all night long. I would not have to worry about masking out sounds from the next prison cell.

I ended up at Barnes & Noble® as to be expected. I stayed there until closing time at 11pm. I have pretty much exhausted the perusal of interesting books. At this point, I am merely there to pass the idle time. While I waited for the prison transport (read: bus), I observed a number of the homeless in the vicinity. I've seen them almost every night now. Two older homeless babes (term used loosely) usually sleep on the benches. Each of them has a large suitcase with casters that hold all of their worldly possessions. There are also a handful of homeless with shopping carts. And, two homeless guys sleep under the window ledges of the Nail Boutique store across the street.

Well, Hawai'i now ranks fourth in the nation insofar as the percentage of population who are homeless. Isn't that great? The extremely conservative estimate is 6,000 who are homeless. I believe that the actual number is far higher. Here's the real clincher: the number of hidden homeless (i.e., those staying with family or friends because they simply cannot afford a place to live) is estimated to be nearing 230,000. The population at risk of becoming homeless is nearly 190,000.

After I alighted the prison transport in Waikiki, I stopped by the ABC Store to purchase a small quart carton of milk at the rip-off price of $1.75 and a big-ass can of Coors® brewski. All was quiet when I went into lockdown in my prison cell. I popped open the big-ass brewski can and dropped back its contents immediately. That, my friends, was another exciting evening for the ol' lavahead.

The rain was coming down pretty good this morning, so I knew that I was in for a wet day. Did that deter me from wearing my boardshorts, T-shirt, and slippahs (read: slippers). No way. The fact of the matter is that I don't have any other kinds of clothing anymore. The prison transport heading to town was full. The faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill was open. That's where I spent most of the day. For a break, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and two Tina's® burritos. Let's hope that the bread is not laced with poison again. Sheesh!

Gym time was at 1:30pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. It is a good thing that I will never hook up with a babe like her. Being with a babe is fine and all, but there will be major concessions to be made. For one things, I would have to assimilate to the life-style that I despise. Babes are not too keen about a monastic existence. Of course, I may be so distracted that I may not care, what with da wild thing and all. I departed for Waikiki at 5pm on the prison transport. We already know the agenda for the evening. Prison dinner (read: beans and bread). Clean prison cell with humble dustpan and brush. Ala Moana Center. Barnes & Noble®. I am already a wandering nomad. Why not go all the way with the concept?

Clearly, from this "blog," we can easily ascertain the ramifications of a materialistic society on a monk. The first is boredom. Extreme boredom (i.e., Frankl's "existential vacuum") is unavoidable. Two options exist to solve the problem. First, spend exorbitant amounts of dough on entertainment venues. Obviously, such a choice requires and extensive social circle since none of the options is optimized for a loner. Second, spend exorbitant amounts of dough on home entertainment. In other words, convert the ol' mausoleum (read: tomb) into an electronic media complex complete with computer, gaming, and home theater systems. The latter works better for loners, albeit being extremely costly.

The second ramification is the absence of peace of mind. Few cost effective living arrangements allow for peace and quiet. Although we live in an alienated society with a debauched concept of community, we are forced into close proximity. We spend most of our waking hours ignoring the fools around us. In densely packed populations, there is absolutely no way to increase isolation. Without any significant length of quiet and isolation, the mind gradually begins to erode. Various psychopathology manifests itself in peculiar ways.

In summary, there is no way for a monk to remain sane in a materialistic society. Isolation and peace of mind are only possible by exiting society, which is no easy task. Merely divesting useless possessions and living in squalor will do absolutely nothing except create a huge void filled simply with extreme boredom. Sadly, there is only one way out, and that is to become homeless. Any conventional housing will only exacerbate the "existential vacuum" by its conspicuous physical emptiness. The temptation to fill the physical emptiness with "substance" will require a foray back into materialism, which will negate the goal toward isolation. Conventional housing is also coincident with high population densities in a small area. In an already alienated society, individuals voluntarily ignore each other. In an environment of forced high population density, the energy expenditure to ignore masses of individuals will become intolerable. Therein lies the conundrum.

As a monk, I have come to realize the futility of the material existence. I have lived the other life-style, the same life-style valued by the myriad satanic gargoyles. When I discovered that the material life-style only ended in grief, I felt the need to get off the merry-go-round. There is no sense of permanence. Everything is fleeting. Change is rapid, and often for the worse. It's an "all or nothing" proposition, too. There is no "middle ground" in a material society. The "middle ground" is riddled with grief, uncertainty, and confusion. I am standing on the "middle ground" right now.

There is no way to look to anyone else for guidance. Few, if any, have not converted to satanic gargoyles. Few, if any, have not been caught up in the epidemic of the "seven sins." Most of us were born into this life-style. Thus, we do not see the other side of rampant materialism, namely poverty. By the same token, most of us do not grasp the meaning of life, nor do we care to find out. The endless material distractions satisfy the child-like impulses of the mind, keeping us at bay from reality and maturity. Then, we spend the rest of our lives in a constant "binge and purge" cycle, only to end up asking vital questions after we have spent our youth.

If it was all harmless, then I would say, no problem. However, our individual choices have had dire collective repercussions upon the whole planet. In addition, as a society per se, we have failed. We do not live up to the responsibilities of a true society. We are all selfish individuals living in a forced collective. Nothing more, possibly less. Let's not even try to fool ourselves into believing that we care about much except ourselves. Hence, we look to our homes (read: mausoleums) and our automobiles (read: 4000-pound motorized chairs) as our safe havens, our fortresses, to protect us from the evil lurking outside. The sad part is that the evil is not just outside, it is also inside our hearts. There is no way to escape evil. It must be purged, exorcised, by us.

Exorcising evil is not a simple task. And, once evil is exorcised from our soul, there is no guarantee that it won't come back. Even the simple act of watching the tube for a few minutes will open the floodgates. Associating with satanic gargoyles and valuing their opinions will also invoke a relapse. So strong is the pull of the materialistic society and the epidemic of the "seven sins" that there is no escape without a physical separation from these bad elements. Once again, the conundrum.

I have learned that I am not comfortable in any of conventional residential units. I was semi-comfortable when I stayed in moms' former house a few years ago. Yet, even then, I was restless. I had to force myself to stay at home, although I had better reasons to do so since I was in the home that I grew up in. I was also with family. My restlessness has never abated. Now, it's even stronger than ever.

This morning, I heard a few thuds, which were both annoying and jolting to me. I was clearly perturbed. Yet, these sounds are not as bad as what I had to tolerate when I lived in Chez Loser in Kane'ohe. I have become even more sensitive to noise. I am running out of choices. Frankly, homeless "camping" is all that's left as an alternative.

When I exited the gym, I noticed that the weather had changed drastically. It was really nice out. I thought about the homeless "camping" issue while I walked back to the Diploma Mill. Would I be able to continue homeless "camping" for an extended period of time? Can I deal with the inconvenience and unsanitary conditions? Can I deal with crime? How about the stigmatization by the "mainstream"? Could I tolerate sitting in a dark campground all night with nothing to do?

Arsenic & Old Kabuki Masks

The prisoners in the prison cell next to mine discovered the tiny fridge sitting in the large cabinet with slammable hinged doors. Once the fools discover the shitty little fridge, then they must stock it. Once stocked, the slammin' soirée begins. Boredom is rampant in Waikiki. There's nothing to do except to shop, stuff engorged kabuki-mask faces with junk food, or get hammered on cheap booze. The only remaining option is to sit in the prison cell (read: "middle class mausoleum") and play with the fridge. No doubt, it is stocked with cheap booze to guzzle and pass the idle time while watching the tube. I am astounded that the myriad satanic gargoyles have spent their life savings to come to Hawai'i to do just that.

I had to mummify my prison dinner when I discovered that the Safeway® bread reeked of an odor similar to acetone. I've been eating this loaf of bread for a few days now. I had observed an odd taste, but I foolishly did not fear the worst. I did not notice any odor prior. There was no discoloration or mold either. Obviously, I disposed of the toxic waste.

I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to Ala Moana Center and ended up at Barnes & Noble®. I purchased a cup of coffee in the café and sat at one of the tables. I composed the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. I pondered the possibility that I may have been poisoned while I waited to see if I would keel over. The trace level of the suspected poison was small in quantity. If the suspected poison has a cumulative effect, then it's going to be a done deal for the ol' lavahead real soon. I also noticed that my liver was exhibiting much more discomfort than usual. Do you see the kind of bullshit I must endure on a daily basis?

I returned to Waikiki on the prison transport at 10:15pm. I stopped by the ABC Store to purchase three bananas, a loaf of Wonder® imitation bread, and one Granny's Gourmet Muffin. I did not want to spend more money, but that could have been my last meal. Sheesh!

I have been fortunate that the satanic gargoyles in the prison cell next to mine have retired early for the last two days. I am still using the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo. I have switched back to the "Rain" option. Naturally, I also used the asswipe paper (read: toilet paper) ear plugs as an adjunctive measure of sound deadening.

I was extremely groggy this morning because I did not sleep well at all last night. I should not have drank coffee so late in the evening. Well, at least I did not keel over because of the suspected poison. I rode the prison transport to town and situated myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. At 10am, I took a break to ride the prison transport into Kalihi. I wanted to check out the Island-West Apartments which advertises studios for $430 per month rent. The dump is right across one of the various projects in the area, a good sign that the neighborhood is plagued with high crime. All of the shops on the first floor of the building were empty. Crap was lying everywhere on the floor of each vacant shop. A slob was standing by the locked gate to the apartments. I asked to see the manager. The fat slob told me that there were no vacancies. I suspected that he told me that crap because I did not look like I would fit in with other tenants (read: derelicts).

I rode the prison transport back to town. Then, I walked to Safeway® to purchase three energy bars. I then spent an hour deleting image files from the "blog." After foolishly doing so, I set up a Photobucket® account. I will be seamlessly replacing the remaining "blog" image files from the old server to the same ones on Photobucket®. Sometime later, I will try to restore some of the other image files.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. On the way back to the Diploma Mill, I heard some call out my name. It turned out to be Glen from the Asylum. He is going to take classes at the Diploma Mill starting this term. We chatted for a bit. He gave me a brief summary of the Asylum. Nothing really worthy of mention. The dump is going downhill. What else is new? I am only concerned about when the dump goes out of business. Pseudo-professor Mike came by to tell the whole gang in the faculty computer room that his house was finally listed for $780,000 or so. That's quite high, but we will see what happens. Debbie, my realtor, finally got back in touch with me. Tentatively, we will be meeting next week to finalize the listing of Chez Loser II. I will depart for Waikiki at 6pm. Can you guess what's in store for the evening?

Breaking Point

I spent the evening at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center, just as I will most likely be there again tonight. I've been perusing a lot of books, but I am mainly there because there are no other alternatives. Do I want to sit in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) and watch the tube? Not really.

This morning, I drove to Kahala Mall after retrieving my truck from the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. I purchased a cup of coffee at the Barnes & Noble® Café and spent about two hours in the bookstore. I drove to Hawai'i Kai to meet moms at noon. We ate barbeque steak and shrimp plate lunches from Foodland in Koko Marina. I was able to chat with moms for a bit. I also was able to give my truck a quick wash.

I will not be able to visit moms in Hawai'i Kai until Spring break. My wage slave schedule will barely allow me time to meet with moms at Kahala Mall every Monday. I have given the latter situation much thought. Rather than being able to spend more time with moms, I will end up spending even less time. I will also continue on in wage slavery, even though I had vowed to seek freedom. Then, I am stuck in Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) because I made decisions based upon purely financial considerations. As I have stated before, I painted myself into a corner.

Frankly, homeless "camping" is my only answer. My mistake is that I keep asking the wrong people for opinions. No one is going to encourage me to become a homeless "camper." And, why would anyone in his right mind want to be homeless in the first place? Even I have reservations about the idea. What if I were to become a victim of campground crime? What will I do then? If I put the "condotel" unit back into the hotel rental pool, I will not be able to live in it again.

Simply put, if I do not take a chance to exit now, I will be stuck in my prison cell forever. I will have to continue wage slavery just as I am now, most likely with the same inconvenient schedule. And, I will not be able to even meet my obligation to visit with moms. To me, that is a losing scenario. My life is totally out of my control. Only financially will I maintain the status quo.

I dropped my truck off in Waikiki at 2pm. The ride on the prison transport (read: bus) to town took a long time. The wait at the bus stop was also ridiculous. I finally arrived in town at 3:10pm. I immediately walked to the gym. During my weight workout, the hottie gym trainer and the gym member she was working with were just a few feet away from me. I could not help but notice how hot baby looked. My mind was ready to snap. Later, when I was doing my cardio workout, I saw the hottie gym trainer walking around the main gym floor. Baby was racking the weights that the slob gym members left lying around. After the gym, I made my way to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I had about an hour of time. I decided to compose the "blog."

I received word that the server where the image files for the "blog" reside will be shutting down. Thus, I must waste more time to upload the images to Blogger®. When will this shit ever end?

Walk the Line

I neglected to mention that, in our conversation yesterday, Pseudo-professor Glenn referred to the Hilton Hawai'ian Village hotel complex as a "middle class mausoleum." I am not sure if he understood why I burst out laughing. As I may have mentioned, Pseudo-professor Glenn is in his seventies. He's a conservative German Catholic. However, I find that I have a lot in common with him, especially insofar as values are concerned.

I ended up at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center last night. The prison transport (read: bus) heading back to Waikiki at 11:15pm was full of satanic gargoyle tourists. The morons kept bumping into me and stepping on my feet without the slightest bit of courtesy. Aside from the possibility that they were White Supremacists, I assumed that they were typical of the demographic that Pseudo-professor Glenn described. In other words, the typical Waikiki tourist is a "hick" from a whitewash "Bumfuck" town. The moronic collective took vacation time off from squealin' da pigs to act like high rollers in Hawai'i. Because my patience was already at an all-time low, I reacted in the lowest troglodyte fashion.

My problem with the satanic gargoyles is not that I interpret every one of their misdeeds as an affront to my being. Rather, I see a collective of zombies who have little regard for anyone or anything other than their tiny worthless souls. They express no gratitude for the privilege of living a comfortable, albeit benign, life-style with no worries, something that the majority of souls in the world will never have a chance to experience in their lifetimes.

I spent the rest of my benign evening in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading Schimmel's book, "The Seven Deadly Sins." I am reading the chapter titled, "Greed." I came to understand that my avaricious and miserly ways qualifies me as suffering from the sin of greed. While I am not spending lavishly on myself, I am too overly concerned about money. I've denied myself any kind of pleasure and have relegated myself to live in squalor as a sacrifice for an uncertain future. I still recommend that everyone read the Schimmel book. The solution to societal ills will not be found in the "me first" world of psychology or the myriad medications offered through psychiatry. Nor will answers be found in the endless "self-esteem" genre of self-improvement books.

I did not sleep well at all. Even with the asswipe paper (read: toilet paper) ear plugs and my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo, I could hear the assorted thuds and banging noises from the prison cell next to mine intermittently through the wee hours of the morning. I am not sure if the morons are suffering from "restless leg syndrome" or some kind of sleep disorder, but they need to start overdosing on Ambien®. Sheesh!

I ended up in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill this morning after riding the prison transport to town in a zombie-like state. My only break, aside from the gym, was a walk to Safeway®. I purchased four energy bars, and one Tina's® burrito.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. I first stopped by the downtown Satellite City Hall to obtain camping permit information. When I walked into the gym, I saw the hottie gym trainer just as she walked up to the front desk. Baby was looking hot. During my cardio workout, baby was directly in front of me as she monitored a gym member on the treadmill. I was in a daze as I observed how gorgeous she is. The rest of the afternoon was spent in the faculty computer room.

I deliberated the possibility of beginning my tenure as a homeless "camper." The idea excited me. That really shows how much the situation has degenerated at Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) and Waikiki in general. Reservations for campsites require two-week advanced notification. The allowable stay is five days per week at $5 per day. I called the Showertree Hotel near the airport and confirmed that rooms were available for $33 and $43 per day. Rooms are always available since reservations are not taken. Parking is free. I could stay there for the remaining two days that I am not "camping."

Ralph, a Dean at HCC, called while I was ruminating on homeless "camping" to let me know of another possible employment opportunity. Unfortunately, I did not meet the prerequisites. I asked Ralph to give me an opinion of the homeless "camping" idea. I can always expect an honest answer from Ralph, as opposed to other colleagues who would only conclude that I am insane. He gave me food for thought. Major considerations are personal safety and theft, he said. I would have pack everything up before I leave the campsite during the day, which does not preclude that some derelict will not try to break into my truck or steal it. Alas, I am not certain about what I should do. A clean and quiet living environment will require that I pay a fortune in rent. Anything under $1,000 per month is going to be in a shitty "Section 8" 'hood. Lots of noise, crime, stupidity, and so forth.

I departed for Waikiki on the prison transport at 6pm. I had a lot to think about. No doubt, I will end up at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center again tonight. The ambient temperature has been quite chilly for the last two weeks. Otherwise, I would consider attending the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater in Waikiki Beach.

I've discussed the concept of manual wage slavery in the last couple of days. I assume that many of the satanic gargoyles are giggling their asses off because they do not believe such a vision could come to fruition. Frankly, it's already here. The prototype is chugging right along in our prison systems. The national incarceration rate is extremely high as it is, which means that the general population is already accustomed to the practice of internment. Going one step further will not be too difficult.

Pyramid

I actually slept well last night. Sleeping well for me is defined as six hours of sleep with less than five external disruptions. The asswipe paper (read: toilet paper) ear plugs sufficed as an adjunctive measure to the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo.

Once in town, I dispatched myself to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Pseudo-professor Glenn stopped by. We had an interesting chat. I was particularly amused by his assessment of the "low IQ" tourists who visit Waikiki. Sadly, he spoke the truth. "They are not the rich or the affluent," he said. "The rich go to Mau'i or Kaua'i. The tourists in Waikiki are middle class - carpenters, bricklayers with some extra money." Yeah, that's why they throw their weight around like they are "Big Money Grip." What a joke! Speaking of weight, I have observed that a good portion of the tourists in Waikiki are significantly overweight, which substantiates what Pseudo-professor Glenn stated. From what I've read, weight problems and obesity afflict the lowest social classes at a much higher percentage than the highest social classes. Even the poverty-stricken and the homeless are often significantly overweight.

For a break, I walked to Longs® to purchase a mediocre $1.39 roast beef sandwich, one Granny's Gourmet Muffin, and a few Nature Valley® granola bars. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. Baby may have relocated to a different branch, or she may have found another job. Her hotness will be missed. After my workout, I was back in the faculty computer room for the rest of the afternoon. I am certain that I will end up at Ala Moana Center again this evening. What else do I have to do? If I had a gang of comparable screw-ups, I could go out to a restaurant, a bar, or a theater. However, I a loner. A monk. In addition, I do not want to spend a lot of dough on mediocre venues.

The post-modern life-style precludes any real sense of community. Our interpretation of "community" is that the latter is a paid-for commodity. Leisure time in the evenings is proliferated by payment options only. If no cost is involved, expect to hobnob with the myriad derelicts and the homeless. The only remaining option is to equip the mausoleum (read: tomb) with every available form of electronic entertainment. Yeah, modern life is great, isn't it?

I'll be perfectly honest. I am eagerly awaiting the secular Apocalypse, Armageddon, or any event that will wipe the slate clean, so to speak. The cesspool of society is way beyond clogged with decaying turds as it is. It's time to pull the plunger. The number of reports about the possibility of an incursion into Iran is increasing by the day. The reports are supported by the dispatch of two Navy fleets to the Persian Gulf and the build-up of Patriot missile batteries in various parts of the region. What really needs to happen is a major débâcle in the Middle East that causes a long-term disruption in oil supplies. A major oil catastrophe will be required to produce an oil shortage, one that will push all Western economies to near-collapse. If such an event can trigger hyperinflation, then the so-called real estate "bubble" will implode into an inferno. Hopefully, we will subsequently experience a huge cascading collapse of the hedge fund industry, which will then disturb the entire financial system. We need to see a moderate double-digit inflation rate and oil prices well over $100 per barrel. When the suffering (real, not perceived) is brought upon the masses, they will discover the true meaning of their lives.

Why am I focusing on oil as the vehicle for the invocation of the secular Apocalypse? Quite simple. The current population boom only came about after the discovery of oil as a cheap energy source. Without oil, we cannot support a world population of six billion. Every aspect of our lives is tied to petroleum, be it transportation, agriculture, energy, and so forth. Globalization, which depends entirely on cheap energy, has geographically segregated the components of our sustenance. Food and other products come from around the planet, mainly because cheap labor is the only concern in an era of cheap shipping costs. If we do not provoke a world-wide crisis that causes the secular Apocalypse, then we will have to wait until the "point of no return." That's when global climate changes, pollution, and other ecological disasters will make the decision for us, albeit without any ability for human control over the outcome. At the point, the survival of all life on the planet may be in irreversible jeopardy.

I refuse to believe that the moneychangers and the powers-that-be (i.e., the pedigreed elite of the global pyramidal control infrastructure) will wait until the "point of no return" before acting. It's all fine to shift the wealth from the lower classes to the pedigreed elite class, but what good is the money and wealth when the planet is in ecological ruin? Even a huge class of manual labor slaves will not be able to restore the planet.

We've discussed the control pyramidal structure before. I assume that most people would dismiss it as more "conspiracy" nonsense. Is there really a class of pedigreed elite at the top who are pulling the strings?

There is only one other possible scenario. It could very well be that rampant greed amongst the pedigreed elite caused them to derail their own plans. The world financial system may have so much inertia such that there is no way to stop the impending doom. Only its direction can be changed ever so slightly. Obviously, if that were true, we are careening to our own demise at a rapid pace, and there is no way to stop the destruction. If that is the case, we will have to pray for Armageddon. Lord, have mercy!

I Have a Dream

Was I at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center again last night? You bet! What else do I have to do? Some of the employees are looking at me strangely? Do they believe that I am homeless? I selected the "White Noise" option on my expensive Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo. Sad to say, I could still hear the assorted loud thuds from the next prison cell. I have no idea what the idiotic satanic gargoyle tourists are doing. For lack of any real activities in Hawai'i, I suppose that they have relegated themselves to playing with the cheap hotel-issue furniture, much like simple troglodytes attempting to discover fire.

I was groggy when I woke up this morning. I retrieved my truck from the Waikiki Banyan parking structure and drove directly to Kahala Mall. I purchased a large cup of coffee from the Barnes & Noble® Café and perused a few books. I met moms at the entrance to the mall at 10:30am. We ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. As always, lunch was delicious. I dropped moms off in Hawai'i Kai. Moms gave me a few goodies to take with me.

I parked my truck in Waikiki and rode the prison transport (read: bus) to town. I arrived at 1pm. Fortunately, one of the buildings leased by the Diploma Mill was open. I was able to access the second floor lobby and sit around until gym time at 2:15pm. After my workout, I sat around in the empty lobby at the Diploma Mill again. Finally, when five o' clock rolled around, I decided to return to Waikiki.

Back at Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I was able to chat briefly with Ke Al'i, the new warden (read: general manager). I was able to obtain more details about the hotel rental pool, an option that I am now seriously considering. Aside from the sales pitch and inflated performance projections (i.e., occupancy rates) for the prison, the plan seems to be suitable in the event that I vacate my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I ate my usual prison fare (read: beans and bread) for dinner. After cleaning the dump with my humble dustpan and brush, I was off to Ala Moana Center again. I stopped off at the Apple® Store. Then, I spent the rest of the evening at Barnes & Noble®.

Later, I spent an hour reading Schimmels' book, "The Seven Deadly Sins," in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). I was able to finish the "Gluttony" chapter. The idiotic satanic gargoyles in the prison cell next to mine were up until one o'clock. Naturally, there were assorted thuds and the usual slammin' soirée as they played with the cheap furniture for lack of anything else better to do. I utilized the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo again. This time, I used some asswipe paper as an adjunctive measure. I rolled up a small amount of asswipe paper (read: toilet paper) and used it for ear plugs. Conventional ear plugs are very uncomfortable. Because they seal the ear canal completely, the ear plugs cause the simple act of breathing to echo loudly inside the cavernous cranium. Sheesh!

I have a dream. I dream of a simple life. And, I mean simple. No bullshit, no headaches, no nonsense. I don't want to own more than I do now. Much less would be better. I need a small place to reside with no furniture, most likely a rental unit. I want to sleep in a sleeping bag again. I need just enough room to ride my Nalu Board. I would not mind having a small kitchen. Cooking may be the best option for the ol' lavahead. A Crock Pot® would be a good kitchen utensil. I don't want any electronic toys. I've had my fill of them. I am satisfied with my beloved Palm® TX and my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo. If I could get by without my Nissan® Frontier truck, that would be great. I'd like to go surfing with my Local Motion® surfboard. I would like to visit with moms at least twice during the week. And, I would like to be able to sit, drink coffee, and read a book at places like Barnes & Noble® without always having to worry about my budget. I would to hang out with friends, but I would need to find true friends. I would not mind some health insurance. I also want to continue working out at the gym. That's what I mean by the "simple life." Is it all too much to ask? Can I get a witness? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!