Day of Samhain 2011

"You are a person of imaginative, yet honest intentions." -- Panda Express® fortune cookie

Usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Nada to report, with the exception that I had commenced my own tedious investigation to root out the stalking serial vandal. What got me started was a passing remark by the Koko Marina security guard on Friday. He mentioned that employees of the adjacent petrol station usually parked their vehicles in the area where the crime was committed. So, my composite profile of the suspect is:

• A guy, probably between 20 and 40 years of age
• An employee of one of the merchants of Koko Marina
• Possibly owns a newer or nicer vehicle than most
• Adamant about his "right" to park in a specific unreserved stall.

I logged the vehicle types and license plate numbers of all of the vehicles in the immediate vicinity by parking stall location at three different times. I will continue to do so each time when I visit Hawai'i Kai for an undetermined period. I will then compile a list of suspect vehicles and further whittle the list down. I am also assuming that most people will always park in the same "favorite" space, if possible. What happens next? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa! Can you guess?

Is That You, Samhain?

I have maintained the designation of the day even though Samhain activities have no basis in reality. The only advantage was the more peaceful setting at the bookstore in the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala. Net access was lagging, but usable. No beverages this evening.

Well, I am still essentially a zombie after yet another sleepless night. My thoughts are totally discombobulated, especially after wasting so much precious time in search of the elusive stalking serial vandal. So, I will let you fill in the blanks about Samhain and the latter's irrelevance. Truly an intellectual feat.

Core of Insomnia

Last night, while I rode the bus back to the detestable Slob Manor (read: rental housing) from the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala, I did not experience an epiphany. Just thought I'd mention that in passing.

Same ol' Sunday shit. Only a brief glimpse of the hottie gym trainer this morning. With the drastic decline in libido and the marked atrophy of the Vienna Sausage, any observation was rendered moot anyway. I experienced a minor testosterone surge which slightly bolstered my workout. Oh, the joy of old age!

I had planned on remaining in my squalid room at Slob Manor all evening, mostly because I was certain that I would not have Net access at the bookstore in the den of consumerism in Kahala. Well, the stomping around and the dropping of heavy objects on the floor upstairs by His Assholiness (aka Joker) was enough to make the decision for me. Unfortunately, I experienced the same problems with the Net again. One of the sales personnel verified that there have been intermittent problems reported. Alas, I spent precious fiat money on a cup of decaffeinated coffee for no particular reason.

Sleep has been an elusive concept for over two weeks now. For some reason, I find myself wide awake at 3am. I can feign sleep for a couple more hours, but that's it. Needless to say, I can create no fodder for the "blog" this evening. I don't know how I composed so much crap in the past few days. Let's call it a night now, shall we?

Core of Libido

Another long and tortuous day, after yet another sleepless night, has left me in a zombie-like state. All I know is that another 24 hours of precious time has been squandered without any reasonable explanation offered. Old age, decrepitude, senility, all just right around the corner, too. What are we to make of that?

Have any of you have observed senior citizens for extended periods of time? In Hawa'i, there is proliferation of senior citizens. So, my observations are forced upon me. Heck, just one short trip on the bus, and I will have learned volumes about what I have to look forward to in just a handful of years.

With that said, I should mention that I have noticed a marked decrease in libido (details not necessary) in just the past few months. Yes, the Vienna Sausage is atrophying rapidly as we speak. I don't even know why I continue to download hurdy-gurdy video clips. I just end up storing the crap on my portable hard drive. What a waste of time!

Sometimes my senile mind ponders the thought of real babes. However, I quickly come to my senses when I realize that I cannot maintain a "relationship" with a babe. It's unnatural. Relationships, marriage, even friendships, are human-concocted ideologies used as tools of control either by the participants or by "civilization" at large. Formalized human interactions go totally against the "inner animal." That's why the latter interactions are prone to constant failure. Well, I have already discussed the topic previously in the "blog," so there's no need to repeat myself like a demented old fool.

What's important is that my time has come and gone. Babes aren't going to be coming around. With the Vienna Sausage atrophying so quickly, there's just no need to discuss the matter much further. Thus, it's time for yet another discussion to be readied for closing. Too many discussions, too little time. What else to do but mummify them all?

Core of Apocalypse

Usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Nada to report. Well, I should mention that my truck was vandalized yet again, this time in the Koko Marina parking structure. A huge gash, eight inches long), along the rear left fender was the latest, from what I gather, is a stalking serial vandal. The incident occurred during the 40 minutes that moms and I were eating lunch at Yummy's Korean BBQ. I ended up filing a report with the Koko Marina security office and the police. Obviously, my visitation with moms was cut short.

The Koko Marina security guard was rather impressed that I wasn't "totally pissed off." Well, after four or five incidents of vandalism, I am fairly disengaged. However, if I caught the asswipe in action, I would most likely maim him before "accidentally" terminating him with extreme prejudice. In Hawai'i, a perpetrator cannot be allowed to live. Otherwise, he will seek revenge with no time limit. Moms suggested that I wait upon God of the Yahweh Triad (i.e., Judaism, Pauline-Christianity, and Islam) to avenge the crime. Religious fanaticism, when executed properly, can reduce its followers to hapless victims.

Well, the short journey to the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala was appalling as usual. I had to tolerate the numerous inconsiderate passengers, mostly adolescents, who just can't seem to grasp the concept that the bus is small and crowded. They have their backpacks on empty seats or in the narrow aisle. Sometimes they are lying down across several seats with their legs dangling in the aisle, all the while playing with their cell phones. Then, as is routine, there are always two drivers of 4,000-pound motorized chairs (read: automobiles) who just cannot grasp the law of pedestrian right-of way in crosswalks. Sometimes they careen at 30mph just inches in front of me simply because they are too impatient to wait before turning the corner. Then, I literally ran into five inconsiderate and clueless people before I finally ended up sitting in of the wooden armchairs in the bookstore. Total elapsed time: 15 minutes.

Yeah, that's life within the failed "civilization" paradigm. And, get this, I'm residing in the "Aloha State." Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa! What a crock of shit! That, of course, brings me to the topic of the "end times." Or, should I say, the closure of the discussion. We certainly don't live in the so-called "end times" of the Unholy Scriptures because the document is the product of the imaginations of ancient religious fanatics. Mortals, no less.

We are probably observing the twilight of "Western civilization." Well, the whole "civilization" paradigm is failing. There's no doubt that the ramifications of overpopulation, pollution, resource depletion, wars, disasters, and so forth will eventually bring humans back to the early Iron Age. Not much will change even then, if the species even survives that long. There will be a lot of new problems as resource depletion and lifeform extinctions will severely limit survival options. With proper planning, though, humans should survive long enough to experience the real Armageddon. Yes, that's when the sun goes red star.

Religious fanatics believe that their deity will save them either by replenishing the sun or by later resurrection to a "spirit" world. Yet, a rational person would have to wonder why a supreme deity would go through so much trouble. Why not create a universe where stars never burn out? The universe itself is said to be expanding at an alarming rate. What exactly happens in the long run? Will all of the available energy disperse into such a broad field that the entire universe reverts to absolute zero temperature?

I really doubt that the history of humans would have changed much no matter what. Even if all of the significant and minor events had gone in different directions, humans would essentially be in the same predicament now (provided self-destruction was avoided). There would be nations with corrupt leaders. There would be empires with imperialist goals. There would be wars. There would be religion and deities. And, there would be myriad asswipes, dolts, mental midgets, and dickheads. There would be the same struggles with the "inner animal." And, there would be the same prevalent haughty ignorance.

So, the secular Apocalypse is coming ... big deal. There will be many more. We'll keep playing these games until the sun goes red star. Then, the beautiful planet earth and the moon will be gone for good. Life as we know it will return to cosmic dust. Why can't we understand that right now? Why can't we put an end to the "bullshit" right now so that we humans can really enjoy our short lives? Why can't we unchain posterity from perpetual stupidity before the big red ball appears in the sky? Oh well. Perhaps the cosmic dust will settle on a new earth-like planet somewhere else and lifeforms will have another chance.

Core of Reality

At the library, I completed reading Richard Francis' book, "Epigenetics: The Ultimate Mystery of Inheritance." An intriguing book, that is, until I realized that Francis is a staunch evolutionist. Francis asserted that he prefers to avoid any "spooky" explanations. Thus, when explaining how a small handful of generic cells can develop into a human fetus, he remains committed to pure evolutionary and hereditary processes as if rote in nature. My problem is simple. I can understand the mechanisms of cell differentiation. What I don't understand is how generic cells can construct, say, a liver or other complex organs (no less the entire body). How do the cells know what the final organ should look like? And, how does the liver end up performing its own high-level functions while its cellular components have no clue about those functions?

To be perfectly honest, the only possible answers are "spooky." Explanations such as, "It evolved through natural selection," are unacceptable. That's when science becomes the religion of pseudoscience, requiring as much faith as belief in the fictitious God of the Yahweh Triad (i.e., Judaism, Pauline-Christianity, and Islam). I don't need more religion. I need the truth.

Well, that brings me around to closing yet another discussion, that of reality. Truth and reality are elusive. I don't believe that we humans were destined to experience either except in small localized doses. The ultimate truth and the ultimate reality are unattainable. The concepts are too complex for us, as well as beyond our powers of observation and cognition. An example would be the origin of the universe. We will never know the answer because none of our frames of reference existed until after Planck's period. Similarly, we will never know the essence of life because we can't create life no matter how long we "cook" a "soup" of amino acids and jolt it with electricity. In the end, we will just suffer from some kind of philosophical crisis. I am nearing that point now, as knowledge no longer serves to inform me. Torture is more like it.

If I were to offer advice to anyone, a task that I avoid to the extreme, I would suggest that one should select a comfortable "reality" and take it to the grave, be it religion, pseudoscience, or what have you. Learn it, live it, and love it. Don't proselytize or attempt to convert others. Become an expert about your "reality" and share only your derived satisfaction (not knowledge) with others. There are just too many "realities" to contend with. Humanity has become a clash of "realities" with violent outcomes. Life is way too short for that crap.

Core of Origins

Well, I suppose that, since I am closing discussions, I may as well mummify the diatribe concerning evolution versus creation versus spontaneous generation. When I speak of creation, I am alluding to the concept of benign creation. Unfortunately, the gist of the problem is that we humans will never know the truth about the origins of the universe or the beginning of life. We can come up with theory after theory, but we will never be absolutely certain. Even a 90 percent confidence level leaves 10 percent in doubt.

When I speak of benign creation, I am not referring to any deity. I'm not even certain that an entity can be addressed. And, we already know that the most popular deity, God of the Yahweh Triad (i.e., Judaism, Pauline-Christianity, and Islam), is a product of the vivid imaginations of mortal men. I won't rehash my year-plus study concerning religious chicanery. It's all in the "blog."

I will concede that the basic tenants of evolution are the only reasonable explanation for the diversity of life. There is just no evidence that an entity made various random appearances to introduce new species. Evolution, of course, only makes sense if it is directed. One possible example is that DNA could possibly contain much more information than previously thought such as the algorithms for the synthesis of different species and lifeforms.

As you may have guessed, I am not inclined to believe that spontaneous generation is a feasible explanation for the origin of life. I am certain that scientists have been "cooking" proteins and amino acids in a variety of slimy "soups" under varying environmental conditions with multiple jolts of electricity for good measure. Yet, no life form resulted. Even a simple cell is a complex biological machine. Within it are tiny and primitive "organs" that covert its food intake into energy to perform the work that simple cells do. No amount of "cooking" or jolts of electricity will produce even simple lifeforms. Even a simple single cell is alive. Internally, it is performing somewhat complex biological and chemical operations on its own. And, we can't explain how it does that, nor can we replicate the phenomenon. Thus, to believe that life just magically appeared is ludicrous. So, that's where we stand for now.

The day? Same ol' shit (SOS). The evening? SOS. Sometimes I wonder whether I should mummify the "blog" and just continue to search for and download massive amounts of hurdy-gurdy video clips, or vice versa, or mummify both benign activities, or just maintain the status quo. Oh, I don't know.

Core of Consciousness

The time has probably arrived when we can close the on-going discussion about consciousness. After deliberating all day and composing most of the text for the "blog" in my head, I completely forgot every word. Does it matter? My journey began in earnest when I observed the "pecking order" of pigeons while waiting at the bus stop one day. From that point forward, I began to question the concept of the "soul," consciousness, and self-awareness. My ruminations eventually centered on the thesis that heredity may actually be the key determining factor for our tastes, preferences, personality, temperament, disposition, and so forth. Then, I questioned whether humans are able to exercise anything other than limited "free will."

I have no doubts, however, that we humans are sentient. Each of us possesses self-awareness such that we can differentiate our "self" in the general scheme of reality. In other words, we know that we exist. We know that our experiences are unique. We know that we are alive. Beyond that, I have no certainties.

Clearly, we must divest ourselves of antecedent myths, legends, and religious chicanery of which many ingrained beliefs rely upon. When we do so, we may realize that much of who we believe we are has no basis within our own history (i.e., lifetime). We have accumulated the bulk of our identity through the inheritance of obvious genetic traits and not-so-obvious genetic predispositions. To add to the confusion, we have also been affected by social and environmental conditions. We also have a few innate animal instincts (i.e., "inner animal").

So, who are we? How much of each one of us is really independent of genetic factors? And, are we really in control of our "self"? We can obviously apply a limited form of "free will," but the attempt is normally a lesson in frustration. Much energy must be expended to overcome innate tendencies and dispositions. Thus, how much of our consciousness is really our own? Hence, I have commenced research on the theory of epigenetics. So far, the latter has pretty much confirmed my own thesis.

Last night, I ran into Charlie, who used to ride the bus in the afternoon with me, at the grocery store in Aina Haina. He retired about a year ago. He said that he's been relaxing and droppin' back a lot of brewskis. He had a six-pack of brewskis in hand while we chatted. Afterward, I realized that I have made a lot of acquaintances as of late. Yet, I have let my friendships disintegrate. Why?

On a pathetic note, Research in Motion® (RIM) has finally announced a tentative release date of February 2012 for the new operating system (OS) to update the BlackBerry® PlayBook® tablet computer, much to the chagrin of the user base. Actually, all hell is breaking loose on the CrackBerry forums as we speak. Even though I don't particularly care for the new OS, I am puzzled by the extremely long delay. I would not be surprised if there were even more disappointing news come four months from now. Sheesh!

Courage & Cowardice

Usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Mostly nada to report. My sister-in-law has resigned from the caregiver agency. She is now a freelance caregiver. I can't say that I blame her. The world of wage slavery has become far too treacherous.

Speaking of treachery, I am far from calmed upon learning of the "regime change" in Libya as performed by the proxy puppets of "Western civilization." The fabrications that preceded the original invasion were as hollow as the pretext for the destruction of Afghanistan and Iraq. Sadly, the entire planet has been privy to hear those ludicrous fabrications and witness the subsequent hypocrisy with their own eyes.

I am no fan of either Saddam Hussein or Moammar Qadaffi. However, they remained defiant of the Fascist powers of "Western civilization." They accepted their demise with courage, much more than I can say for the politicos of empire. A true leader, a true warrior, can and must put his own life on the line for his belief or his cause. The cowards who comprise the leadership of "Western civilization," in their clown suits, sit in air-conditioned comfort and are protected by an army of security personnel. Nearly all have avoided any participation in the empire's various wars.

I am almost certain that the fat politicos who hide behind the empire's endless arsenal of weapons would break down and cry, begging for mercy, if they found themselves in a situation where their lives were on the line. Imagine any of your favorite tough-talk politicos suddenly apprehended by some kind of contrived "transitional council," pistol-whipped and beaten, with the barrels of large automatic weapons shoved down their throats. How defiant would they be? How courageous would they act? Do you believe that they would launch into powerful rhetoric and subdue their abductors? Or, would they piss (read: urinate) in their pants and start sobbing uncontrollably?

The worst kinds of warriors are the armchair variety. They quickly swell up with pride and false bravado because they are so detached and so far removed from danger. That's why torture and assassination as tools of the trade are not a problem for them. They neither do the actual waterboarding or the shooting. Cowards.

There's really much to be learned from Greene's book, "The 33 Strategies of War." I read the book, not to learn the strategies, but to understand human nature. The "inner animal." Not much has changed since the beginning of history. Humans love violence, treachery, and mayhem. The framers of the failed "civilization" paradigm have, over the eons of refinements, attempted to tame the masses and reform them from violence. Yet now, the spearhead of "civilization" (i.e., "Western civilization") is engaged in the most violent pogrom of aggression and imperialism, the most treacherous game of theft and fraud, and the most sleaziest campaign of hypocrisy. That's why "civilization" has failed. The "inner animal" prevails.

Stone Tablet Computing

Same ol' shit. I attempted to compose the "blog" during my outing at the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) at Kahala this evening, but I was thwarted by an inability to maintain a conduit to the Net. Once again, I suspected that my tablet computer was the culprit. To say that I was extremely frustrated would be an understatement. However, upon returning to Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I was able connect to the Net with no problems. I am composing the "blog" in the dining area as we speak.

In consulting the "blog" archive, I noted that the problem originally occurred exactly one week ago. Thus, for some reason, the Barnes & Noble® Net access is crippled on Sunday. Oddly, I was able to ping just fine. All of the packets returned normally. So, the problem could be with the DNS. The wireless router was obviously functional because I monitored a strong signal. There were no disconnections.

Needless to say, I'm not exactly in the mood to discuss much. In fact, I was ready to completely mummify the "blog" out of sheer frustration. And, I really don't know why I keep doubting the quality of the BlackBerry® PlayBook® tablet computer.

BlackBerry® PlayBook®

Speaking of the tablet computer, there is so much confusion about its future. The delayed release of the new operating system (OS) is finally causing a few nerves to start fraying in the user base. What transpired, I believe is that Research in Motion® (RIM), the parent company, released the tablet computer as a finished product. The missing PIM "apps" were intentional because of the "bridge" capability built-in with BlackBerry® phones. Unfortunately, most of the media pundits and customers did not agree. Thus, RIM is now frantically trying to revamp the OS.

From what little I have seen of the beta version of the new OS, I cannot say that I am elated with the changes. And, the issues that matter the most (e.g., a decent spreadsheet "app") are apparently a low priority. Could I have done better with a stone tablet? Well, let's call it a night now, shall we?

Post No. 2,001

At the library, I completed reading Robert Greene's book, "The 33 Strategies of War." I had first perused the book at the bookstore many moons ago. I hastily dismissed it as a callous play on the unethical side of human nature. Greene was simply trying to capitalize on promoting bad behavior, I concluded. Of course, that was way before I realized that ethics and morality are human-concocted concepts that have been forced to fit into the grand scheme of the failed "civilization" paradigm. Upon finally reading the entire volume, I can safely say that Greene has captured the essence of the "inner animal." So, I am now looking forward to reading two other titles by Greene.

Aside from that, there's nothing to discuss. Slob Manor (read: rental housing) issues are still unresolved. Nothing is happening. No one is saying anything. I'm just keeping an extremely low profile. The topic of consciousness has been "put on the back burner" for at least a day. The tablet computer is still functioning with the antiquated operating system (OS). I have refrained from installing the beta version of the new OS. No one knows when the final version will be released. I suspect that there are a lot more problems than meets the eye. Surprisingly, there has not been a huge backlash from the user base. I was expecting all hell to break loose. Sheesh!

Memories

Usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Nada to report. Favorite chair. Wind chimes. We all know the routine by now. Even moms took to relaxing this morning.

All I can say is that Koko Marina is a really boring place. In fact, it has always been boring. When my family moved to Hawa'i Kai over 45 years ago, it was a small circular building known as the Hawa'i Kai Shopping Center. I don't even know why I found myself there except that, as a kid, I had no place else to go. One day, as I was standing around for no particular reason ... well, I wanted to sit down on one of the few concrete benches, but an old guy (whom I fondly remember as the "Filipino drunk") was occupying the spot. He was droppin' back a cheap brewski.

"Eh, boy," he called out in Pidgin English. "You get dollah?"

"No," I replied.

"Eh, boy," he called out again. "You get beeyah?"

"No," I said, since I was way too young to possess cheap booze.

"Eh, boy. Go home!"

Yeah, memories. That's all I have. The past is an important segment of consciousness, if not its entire foundation. Attempting to forget the past or to just plain ignore its antecedents would be foolish. The past is what made the present. Remembering the past is not "living in the past." There's no way to relive a moment that's long gone. Perhaps, if humans ruminated more about the past (i.e., history), they would be less prone to repeat the same foolish mistakes over and over again. Say, isn't that the definition of insanity?

Curse of the "Inner Animal"

Yesterday? Same ol' shit (SOS). Today? SOS. Tomorrow? SOS. The day after? SOS. Is the sky blue? SOS. Is Joker a faggot? SOS. Oh brother.

Well, let me just complete my thoughts about consciousness. There's really not much more to say other than the obvious: consciousness is overrated. Alzheimer's Syndrome, dementia, senility, brain damage, and insanity can alter consciousness, often irreparably. What happens to consciousness when one cannot even remember his name?

Overall, consciousness is meaningless in the human scheme. The "inner animal," although repressed, often manifests itself outwardly in many violent forms. I have no doubt that wars, killing and maiming, or other heinous activities will always be at the forefront of the human agenda. We are not as advanced as we would like to believe.

On a sad note, the assassination by proxy of former Libyan leader Moammar Qadaffi confirms the reality of the previously denied resource wars. That is exactly what Afghanistan and Iraq was all about all along. There is no "War on Terror." The proof? No attack by the forces of "Western civilization" on Syria. Iran would have been drawn into the fray much earlier were it not for the fact that the empire's war planners know all too well how fiercely loyal the Iranians can be when they are confronted. The eight-year Iran-Iraq War is a solid testimonial.

What does the latter all mean? Frankly, the evidence seems to be mounting that the juggernaut known as "Western civilization" is nearing some kind of collapse. Nothing else can explain the huge offensive being launched against resource-rich nations. Inevitably, in the long run, we are looking at confrontations with China or Russia, or both. Infinite money and infinite resources are what fuels "Western civilization." Both must be secured by any means possible in order to keep the "machine" chugging along. We are witnessing the "inner animal" manifest itself on a grand scale.

Curse of Consciousness

Looking around on any give day, I am perplexed to observe so many fools, dolts, and mental midgets (not including the clinically insane). They operate on a base or primal level, mostly guided by limited human instincts (i.e., "inner animal") with negligible levels of consciousness. Yet, they may be far better off than either you or I.

Consciousness is a curse, always in conflict with the "inner animal." Too much consciousness causes too much thinking. And, believe me, the answers to the most nagging questions aren't there. Philosophers and religious fanatics over the span of humanity have attempted to seek answers, but their wisdom failed them in the end. They honed their consciousness, but they were limited by the vast unknown. Even today, we are stifled by the unknown.

In the end, consciousness has failed to tame the "inner animal." All that can be done is to suppress the latent tendencies, but they always come back raging. I am grappling with my own consciousness. I have done everything in my power to expand it, but I am limited both by universal ignorance and mortality. The end result is extreme frustration, a kind of existential angst that just cannot be quelled.

Fools, dolts, and mental midgets can live a more satisfying and fulfilling life because they have no expectations beyond what the "inner animal" craves. Their lives are not hindered by the search for deep meaning. In fact, none of the seek any answers. Life is more or less like watching the tube continuously. I am now more inclined to believe that humans were most suited to live out their lives in the lowest tier of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs wherein universal ignorance and mortality are not issues of concern. Only the "inner animal" reigns supreme.

General Dullness XIII

The day? The evening? SOS. Time is still a major issue. However, I have made no effort to address the situation. I continue to waste time like there is no tomorrow.

BlackBerry® DevCon 2011 commenced today. People who own BlackBerry® PlayBook® tablet computers, like the ol' lavahead, are waiting anxiously for the new operating system (OS) upgrade. Lots of promises were made. Will any be delivered? Well, so far, no. The keynote address simply pointed somewhere into the future, although a developer's version of the new OS was released. However, no one knows when the final release will arrive.

Here's an uninteresting thought. The tablet computer is symbolic of the future, while the netbook represents the past. Whose future and whose past? The ol' lavahead, of course. The netbook is bogged down with legacy documents and spreadsheets (all three of them). It is used to download and play massive amounts of hurdy-gurdy video clips as well as transfer the latter files to an external hard drive archive. The tablet computer performs none of those functions. In eventually parting with the netbook, I will be forced to jettison the past. Oh, such foolishness!

Lamp-Baked Life VIII

Usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Nada to report. I really enjoyed sitting in my favorite chair while listening the wind chimes and the birds chirping outside. The rest of the day? The evening? You know the drill.

Well, I have made no move to join the various "Occupy Such-and-Such" protests. Naturally, I still maintain my own silent protest through radical contrarian actions (or inaction). After all, action (or inaction) speaks louder than words. A few pundits are expecting the crowds to become unruly and erupt in violence if nothing comes to fruition. The nascent police state will obviously rise to the occasion. From that point forward, I have no idea about what will be accomplished on both sides.

While I was sitting around and wondering why the hottie gym trainer won't come around, I realized why there is a ubiquity of gay guys. They're everywhere. Guys have been cursed with with an insatiable desire to do da wild thing. Unfortunately, for many guys, babes just don't want to come around. The desire must be rechanneled. An option is to become gay. That's probably as good an example of limited "free will" as any. I seriously doubt that homosexuality is a genetic abberation or the product of hormonal imbalance. Since disproving the authenticity of the Unholy Scriptures (of the Yahweh Triad), I cannot declare the latter a "sin" either. Unnatural, but not a "sin."

On a side note, I have reinstated the use of foam ear plugs while I attempt to sleep at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) after a two-week hiatus. The ambient noise is just too much. I am still using the bulky earmuffs as well. Slob Manor is simply the epitome of the lamp-baked life.

Sunday Scare

Same ol' Sunday shit. Nada to report. Just six hours of piddling around. The evening? Out and about again. Need I say more? How much longer can I keep up the charade? Heck, I don't even know.

Incidentally, I was not able to maintain a connection to the Net on my tablet computer while I was at the bookstore in the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) at Kahala. I was connected to the wireless router continuously, though. Well, I thought that the tablet computer was "fried" for certain. When I returned to Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I was not able to replicate the problem. So, the tablet computer appears to be fine.

Well, that little scare pretty much sequestered any fodder for the "blog." I was rather upset during the bus ride home. Just the thought of having to send the tablet computer away for servicing really "torqued my jaw." The thought of having to carry my netbook around was even more nauseating. I should have known better. Since the wireless radio in the tablet computer was functioning fine (i.e., no dropped connection), then the problem had to be at the other end.

Joker's Wild (Reprise)

I was sopping wet when I finally arrived back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) last night. I had stopped off at Aina Haina to incrementally shop for groceries. Well, I expected rain during the weekend. So, I purchased all of the food that I would need to survive, just in case I could not get out in the evening due to rain. Little did I know that the rain would commence while I was preparing for it. Sheesh!

I chatted briefly with Kyle. Joker apparently dropped a heavy object on the floor right above Kyle's squalid room at 4am this morning. I may have heard it myself because I was awakened at that time as well. Kyle confronted Joker. As to be expected, Joker claimed that a mask "accidentally" fell on the floor. A kabuki mask? Joker was born with a hideous kabuki mask. Why would he need another? Kyle notified the landlord about the incident, although he seems to have forgotten that the landlord is now Joker's proxy (refer to the "blog" of two days ago). I also advised Kyle to park closer to my truck in order to allow Joker all the room that he desires for his vehicle.

Although I didn't ask, I am very certain that Joker did not offer Alan any gifts of fruit or the use of his many household appliances. Kyle is 28 years old, but he looks more like he's in his early twenties. My guess is that Joker has pedophile tendencies, with a preference for adolescent boys. The younger, the better. Kyle is probably at the upper limit of Joker's tastes. Alan is definitely out of the target range.

Joker's Fleshlight®

As far as the heavy object that Joker dropped (above Kyle's squalid room) is concerned, there is a more credible explanation. I have determined that the object in question is most likely a Fleshlight® with the simulated oral or anal orifice. Joker drops many different types of objects on the floor. However, he consistently drops one type of heavy object in the room that he sleeps in (above Kyle's squalid room), at the computer desk that he sits at, and in the lounge chair in front of the tube. I had previously thought that he was droppin' back a 40-dog of cheap booze, passed out, and dropped the bottle on the floor. Now I am certain that he was chokin' da chicken with his Fleshlight®, dozed off after the "Big O," and dropped the device on the floor.

The day? Same ol' shit. I suffered another bout of insomnia, so I was extremely fatigued all day. When I arrived at Slob Manor this afternoon, I chatted briefly with Alan. Shortly afterward, Kyle returned. He said that he had spoken with the landlord this morning. The landlord agreed to set a meeting between all parties involved, though no date has been established. In dealing with Joker, the landlord told Kyle, both he and I must be willing to give Joker something in exchange. I laughed. Both Kyle and I are already good tenants. What are we supposed to give to Joker? Money? A new sleeve for his Fleshlight®?

The evening? Same ol' shit, although there was no need to shop for groceries. Yeah, I have been at the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) every night. No beverages, though. Too expensive anyway. Sadly, I always must return to Slob Manor for more fun and games with Joker. I just hope that I won't have to restrain Kyle from beating the slippery faggot to a pulp.

Post No. 1,993

Last night, when I arrived back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I managed to chat with Kyle. He mentioned that Joker had just walked downstairs and given him the stink eye. Since the useless blob was on the premises, I signaled to Kyle that we should walk around the block to have a discussion. I went over most of the material that I discussed in the "blog" of yesterday. We are, of course, in a stalemate. The landlord is now under the control of Joker. So, I know of no remedy. Kyle was equally perplexed. The discussion will most likely continue later.

Usual visit to Hawai'i Kai. Any new news? No, not really. When I returned to Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I parked my truck in the thorny weed patch next to the overgrown bushes just as I was mandated by Joker through his proxy, the landlord. Actually, I rammed my truck into the poor bushes, causing some "accidental" pruning to occur.

I am finding that I really don't take much care of my useless possessions anymore. I used to maintain everything in immaculate condition. Pride of ownership, I said to myself. What a crock of shit! I was a slave to the useless junk. Now, everything that I own is in bad shape. The truck, the netbook, the tablet computer ... all completely scratched up, dented, and abused. I really haven't lost any sleep over the matter either.

The evening? Same ol' shit. I'd like to announce that I have an entirely new itinerary and agenda, but I would be fibbing. I continue in the same benign fashion. That's why the "blog" maintains a consistent zero readership. Anyone can return months later and find that nothing has changed. Same ol' shit. Sheesh!

Joker's Wild

I was suffering from insomnia last night in Slob Manor (read: rental housing), so I was awake when I heard Joker walking around and dropping heavy objects right above my squalid room at 1am. Then, of course, he was up and around at 6am, playing fetch with his rodent-like dogs in the area above both Kyle's squalid room and mine. When does the fool sleep? Well, I discovered that, in addition to dozing most of the day in front of the tube, Joker also takes an official five-hour nap in the afternoon.

This morning, I observed that Joker went out of his way to park his vehicle in such a way that it squeezed the landlord into a tight spot. He had been squeezing Kyle into a tight space next to my truck previously. Kyle had complained over and over again, but the faggot remained obstinate. In any case, I knew that the fudgepacker was up to no good. Moving his car to accommodate Kyle was not in Joker's real plans, as I will explain later.

Joker has been engaging in psychological warfare with Kyle and I. He creates brief but loud bursts of noise to wake us up at odd hours in the night. The noise is so brief that we may not be able to ascertain exactly what caused us to wake up. If we were to actually determine that he was the cause, Joker could easily claim that it was an "accident."

Joker has also effectively neutered the landlord. I finally realized that his late rent payments or his small rent installments are really a ploy to signal to the landlord that he can make life quite difficult. In other words, he is using the rent money as leverage for control. The landlord has no choice but to capitulate. Mortgage default is not an option. And, by the way, Joker has lots of money. How else can afford to take to his scrawny varmints to the veterinarian?

Well, sure enough, when I returned to Slob Manor this afternoon after another day of the same ol' shit, I ran into the landlord. I must now park my truck over in the thorny weed patch and bushes. Mind you, I have parked in the exact same spot for many moons. As you may recall, the landlord had even urged me to park further away from the bushes in order to force the obstinate Joker to move his vehicle further down and give Kyle some room. My, how things have changed!

Unfortunately, Kyle needs to understand that he cannot reason with Joker. He has written complaints to both Joker and the landlord. However, he has been wasting his time. Joker is manipulating Kyle. He's egging Kyle on until Kyle decides to violently confront the faggot. Then, Joker will call the police and file charges. If convicted, Kyle will also face a civil lawsuit wherein Joker sues him for punitive damages. Kyle will have a lien attached to his earnings for the rest of his life. So, Kyle has only two options: apologize to Joker and beg for forgiveness or move out of Slob Manor.

To be honest, there's more than meets the eye concerning the situation with Kyle. Joker was extremely friendly with him when he first moved in. He gave Kyle little gifts of fruit and offered to lend him a variety of household appliances. Sounds "fishy," eh? Yeah, I believe that Kyle was Joker's limerant object. Thus, after Kyle "scorned" Joker, the faggot's fury was unleashed. Worst yet, I established a friendly acquaintance with Kyle. Joker most likely came "unhinged." Thus, Joker has sought to avenge his sorrow.

The landlord also knows that Joker is now in full control. When Joker stormed out of the confrontation the other day, he was play-acting. In reality, he was showing the landlord just how defiant he really is. In other words, the landlord can't tell him what to do. Frankly, the landlord lost control shortly after allowing Joker to bring in the second rodent-like dog. Actually, Joker never even asked for permission.

As far as I am concerned, Joker is the declared winner. He has several distinct tactical and strategic advantages. He also has unlimited time and money to invest in warfare. Since he has gained operational control over the landlord, there is no point in launching an offensive. I won't be apologizing to Joker or begging for his mercy. His hatred for the ol' lavahead runs deep because he perceives that I interfered with his plans to close in on his limerant object. Thus, there's only one option left.

Yeah, I wasted more time and words on that useless slug, Joker. However, there is a lesson to be learned. I was fooled into believing that Joker was on the defensive. Rather, he has been on the offensive since I first filed my complaint about him to the landlord. At the time, I did not realize that Joker had already reduced the landlord to a helpless pawn. I underestimated Joker. No, he is not particularly intelligent. He is simply crafty, devoid of ethics, and driven by the passion of copulating with a younger guy. He is fat, grotesque, and slippery. That's what makes him dangerous to society and himself. He will exploit the law to protect himself, but he will have no qualms about assuming the role of a predator.

Because I was not vigilant, because I did not take his "worst chick stereotype" personality seriously, I became an unwitting target of Joker's wrath. Old fudgepackers are a psychological nightmare. Take my encounter with Kevin, the burly homeless guy, for example. Thank goodness, he doesn't chat with me any more. I have concluded that he is gay. Yesterday, he was wearing his usual skintight shorts. Why do old gay guys always wear skintight shorts that are really short? He also wore a shirt, completely unbuttoned to his belly button. Of course, Kevin is more "masculine" than Joker. Hence, no "hissy fits."

All in all, I have the option, actually the only one, to leave Slob Manor. The landlord will be stuck with Joker forever. Yes, Joker will be at the dump for the rest of his life. He'll be sitting upstairs, watching the tube, and committing unnatural acts with his rodent-like dogs. He will always be lusting for the new guys living downstairs. One day, he may become too brazen in expressing his lustful desires. That day could end up being his last. Rest in peace, Joker.

Satisfaction

I really don't know what to say, except, "Same ol' shit." Well, I restored my extreme monk haircut. Very extreme. Almost looks as if I shaved the oversized cranium. Oh well. At least the oversized cranium will be less likely to overheat during critical thinking sessions.

The full moon has had a strange effect on the oversized cranium. No, I haven't gone "bonkers." When I espy the moon and realize what it really is, I become very disillusioned. We humans have no real knowledge about much. We have a lot of theories, but we can't prove most of them. All we seem capable of proving is that we are animals, and we continue to repeat our same "inner animal" mistakes over and over again. Frankly, I'm sick of it.

Humanity has been a great disappointment, more so in light of the nagging issue of mortality. In the microcosm of my own life, my exposure to humanity has been restricted to nauseating odors, obesity, and rampant lamp-baked stupidity. I digress, though. No sense going any further. The whole "blog" has been an "evolving" social critique of humanity. I don't need to keep revisiting the same points.

I have found that I have only found profound enjoyment in what can be coined, "simple pleasures." I don't need to seek out high-adrenaline adventures. I've touched on the matter previously. These past few days, I have simply been enthralled when I walk on a grassy surface. Although manicured grass is not exactly natural, I find it to be a soothing alternative to concrete and asphalt. I also enjoy gazing at plants and trees. I could engage in such an activity for hours. Cloud-watching is also high on my list. I'm not advocating "becoming one with nature." Rather, there is some kind of deep satisfaction that I perceive. I seem to experience peace of mind, although I could be fooling myself.

Perhaps the "inner animal" holds the key to unlock the simple answers to eternal questions. I certainly don't experience any kind of peace of mind when I peruse concrete structures (i.e., mausoleums). Nor do I feel elation when I stare at the rubbish that appears on the screen of my netbook or tablet computer. I only feel shallow, hollow, just like an automaton. I feel like a lamp-baked moron.

Lamp-Baked Life VII

A beautiful full moon and a quiet ride alone on an articulated bus to Aina Haina. I picked up a delicious slice of banana cream pie for $1 at Foodland Farms before returning to to dreadful Slob Manor (read: rental housing) last night. All I can do at this point in time is to balance the good with the bad.

The day? At the library, Kevin, the burly homeless guy, asked me to watch his gym bag while he went off to retrieve a seaman's union card. He apparently has a year to find gainful employment in the industry. When he returned, he seemed beyond elated. We chatted briefly. Then, out of nowhere, he blurted, "You're a really handsome guy. Don't take me wrong, by the way. I just happened to notice." Say what? Why can't the hottie gym trainer say something like that to the ol' lavahead? Anyway, I wondered if Kevin is gay. Otherwise, same ol' shit.

The evening? Well, for dinner, I ate a salad with preservative-laced processed turkey meat. My stomach has been churning and gurgling since then. Naturally, I ended up at the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala, gurgling stomach and all. No beverages. Actually, no beverages for over a week now. Then, a quick stop in Aina Haina before returning to Slob Manor (read: rental housing). Same ol' shit.

Time's A-Wastin' (Reprise)

Usual visit to Hawai'i Kai. My bro had the day off because of the holiday. Not much of a conversation ensued. Moms and I followed the usual itinerary as to be expected. And, my Panda Express® fortune cookie's fortune: "An admirer is concealing affection for you." Say what? Is the hottie gym trainer finally coming around? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Joker

When I arrived back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) this afternoon, I ended up chatting with Kyle. He apparently wrote a letter to both Joker and the landlord about Joker's continued defiance. Yeah, don't ask me about what's going on. Evidently, I know nothing about any alliances as I had previously thought. About 15 minutes later, I heard all kinds of noise while I was in my squalid room. Joker and his rodent-like dogs descended the stairs. Then, I heard the landlord yelling something to Joker. Joker and his rodent-like dogs quickly slipped into his car. And, off they went. I stepped out to find Kyle standing in the kitchen. He said that the landlord had gone upstairs to speak with Joker about the issues stated in Kyle's letter. Some kind of argument ensued. Then, Joker allegedly stormed off.

I can, of course, verify that Joker has remained defiant. He continues to "test the waters." For what reason, I do not know. I have taken to ignoring him. I let him pull his little stunts with absolutely no response on my part. Obviously, reasoning with the guy does nothing, as Kyle discovered. I was also certain that the landlord had completely given up and accepted Joker. Joker has been paying his rent in staggered increments, which is probably why the landlord is snapping into action. From what I gathered about today's incident, Joker is being pushed to the edge of sanity. Will he erupt in senseless violence? Will he have to be put down?

As for the evening, same ol' shit. I was out and about even with the rain coming down. I am purposely staying away from Slob Manor in order to avoid as much of the nonsense as possible. My goal is to allow the other residents and the landlord to do the "dirty work" insofar as Joker is concerned. I will remain on the sidelines, watching and waiting. Then, when Joker's guard is down, I will pounce.

Well, I've wasted both my time and my words to describe another forgettable moment in the annals of stupid human tricks. These pathetic distractions are what makes mortality more abominable. My greatest priority has been to transcend such crap and move into the sphere of deeper understanding of life, whatever that means. Of course, more and more distractions are coming our way, what, with the secular Apocalypse and all. Yeah, time's a wastin'.

Big Bamboozle Redux

Another urban nomad kind-of-a-Sunday, complete with a brief perusal of the hottie gym trainer. I'd like to say that there was more to the day, but I would be fibbing. The evening? Same ol' shit.

I neglected to mention that there was a small protest group assembled at the Dr. Sun Yet Sen Park (aka Chinatown Gateway Park). I assumed by what was emblazoned on the cardboard placards that the local protest was mirroring the "Occupy Wall Street" movement. I cannot say that the effort can be viewed as being effective. I've already discussed what the most effective options would be. We're not likely to see any of them to fruition.

A few non-existent readers may be wondering about what the ol' lavahead is doing instead of actively protesting the "system" on the street with a cardboard placard. Is he just a bloviating armchair activist? Well, the ol' lavahead is doing as much as possible to bring the "system" down. He's no longer a wage slave. He spends money on subsistence products only. His debt-to-equity ratio of 0.1429 is unheard of in a rabid consumerist society. He has no income, so he pays no income taxes. And, he has been boycotting the empire's failed election process for decades. Yes, the ol' lavahead is a radical activist!

Well, I don't mean to "toot my own horn." There are well over one-quarter of the empire's civilian population who are doing the same, albeit involuntarily. They are the homeless, the destitute, the incarcerated, and the unemployed. My point, of course, is that there is so much money at the top of the heap that one-quarter of the population just does not matter. Take a look around you. Does anyone really seem concerned? As I said before, we will not see "change" until real unemployment surpasses 50 percent. As long as the masses have income, even at minimum wage, we will only be privy to the same ol' shit.

Back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I have had increasing suspicions about internal treachery. I have run through a series of clandestine tests to determine the validity of my hypothesis. While not conclusive, I am convinced that there has been a shift in alliances. Guess who is now the bad ol' puddy tat? The mental midgets of Slob Manor are least of my worries, though. With so little time left, I cannot waste even a fraction of a second on the lamp-baked fools. They are a sad cross-sample of the kinds of morons who populate the empire's citizenry. That's why the latter were bamboozled for so long while the aristocracy robbed them blind and reduced them to powerless serfs. So, I don't really need to plan their demise. They are doing just fine in that respect.

Lamp-Baked Life VI

Same ol' shit. I ran into my "homeless" buddy at the library. He's planning an excursion to Malaysia and Singapore. He's probably leaving in a couple of weeks and will be gone for two months total. My "homeless" buddy is about the only person whom I see on a regular basis these days. Mind you, I have been meeting an assortment of new people lately, mostly at places where I frequent. Let's just classify them as weak acquaintances.

I have not seen or heard from people who could be considered friends or strong acquaintances. Obviously, I have not gone out of my way to contact anyone either. I have to assume that I really have nothing to offer anyone. I am a very low-ranking peon, in the same class as the homeless and destitute. So, why would anyone waste their valuable time with the ol' lavahead?

The evening? Same ol' shit. My tablet computer accompanies me on my nightly excursions, and it is responsible for most or all of the content in the "blog." As far as I know, the tablet computer is not being mummified by the manufacturer. I am awaiting the big operating system update that is supposed to happen at the end of the month. Unfortunately, I could care less about the PIM "apps." I am still waiting for a functional spreadsheet "app." Nothing more, nothing less.

Since I am spending a good portion of every evening away from Slob Manor (read: rental housing), the downloading of massive numbers of hurdy-gurdy video clips has fallen in priority. Is that benign activity ready to be mummified? Obviously, my netbook computer would no longer be necessary if hurdy-gurdy mummification were to occur. Actually, nothing is really necessary in my life anymore.

Precedents

Usual visit to Hawai'i Kai. Nada to report. The evening? You know the drill already. What more can be said? Well, tidbits, of course!

If Shrub's "lucky trifecta" known as the "September 11th" event had not occurred, we would not be dealing with the various PATRIOT and Military Commissions Acts which were rushed through the empire's so-called "legislative" process. The situation has only gotten worse since then. From Reuters:

American militants like Anwar al-Awlaki are placed on a kill or capture list by a secretive panel of senior government officials, which then informs the president of its decisions, according to officials.

There is no public record of the operations or decisions of the panel, which is a subset of the White House's National Security Council, several current and former officials said. Neither is there any law establishing its existence or setting out the rules by which it is supposed to operate.

Previously, I had vowed to "tune out" most of the noise called "news." However, there has now been a dangerous precedent established, one with possible grave consequences for citizens of empire.

Although the whole process has been cleverly cloaked under the umbrella of the "war on terror," there seems to be no bounds for the targets of the secret panel. Most citizens of empire are too uninformed or just too apathetic to "connect the dots." After all, who cares about a "towelhead"-wannabe in Yemen? Everyone should care. The precedent is that any citizen of empire can be targeted in secrecy for termination with extreme prejudice at any time. There will be no arrest, no trial, no conviction, no incarceration, just execution by most likely violent means. Make no mistake. We have truly crossed the line into totalitarian territory. Welcome to the United Fascist States of Empire (USFE)!

As the secular Apocalypse closes in on the entire "Western civilization," not just the empire, we can expect the heat to be turned up. Pretty much anything can trigger the secular Apocalypse now. Even the collapse of the Euro or a single failed state like Greece could light the fuse, as it were. Or, perhaps, if the "Occupy Wall Street" protest metastasized into a bloody coup. We don't need to wait for Peak Oil, global climate change, or natural disasters to take effect. The failed "civilization" paradigm, the failed money "system," all of that will do just as much damage or more.

As for the "Occupy Wall Street" campaign, I fail to see what can be accomplished by a "sit in" out on the street. Although I commend the participants for trying, I cannot see the end result. Will the crooks surrender to the authorities? Why would they since they "own" the authorities? There really are only a select number of options that could yield some progress:

• a general wage slave strike
• a consumer strike
• a run on all banks, or
• senseless violence.

The first three options, if prolonged, will cause much suffering amongst the masses. However, in the end, the "system" could collapse. Unfortunately, the perpetrators at the top of the heap will survive unscathed. Then, a quasi-feudal economy will be installed and enforced by a police state.

The option involving senseless violence is not really senseless. It is the last resort of people who have lost everything and have nothing more to lose. Unfortunately, all participants will be deemed either "terrorists" or "enemy combatants." They will be subject to termination with extreme prejudice as set by the precedent described earlier. Unless they are able to master the art of asymmetrical warfare with a decentralized command structure, the campaign would be futile.

Obviously, any of the options would fail immediately without a large number of active participants. Hence, as I've stated on numerous occasions, I do not expect any significant change in the empire's venue until real unemployment tops 50 percent. The actions of tens of millions of people, acting in collective unison for a common cause, will bring about real change (i.e., "change you can believe in"). Unless, of course, they are too demoralized or too sedated by the tube (or antidepressants) to snap into action. Again, welcome to the UFSE!

Lamp-Baked Life V

I usually compose the dreadful "blog" in my head at various times throughout the day. Often, I will have framed a cogent narrative. Unfortunately, I do not carry either my netbook or tablet computer with me during daylight hours out of fear of theft. By the time I am finally able to sit down with the former or latter, my thoughts have vanished into thin air. I am then forced to hastily reconstruct my thoughts, which often lead to the disastrous gibberish you see before your eyes. Today was no exception.

To be perfectly honest, most of my thoughts these days have been caught up in abstractions about life, the universe, consciousness, mortality, and so forth. I'd like to think that such topics would be interesting reading, but I seriously doubt that anyone else cares. I have attempted to focus on the microsecond timeslice of my paltry existence ... well, nothing going on there. So, I have no choice but to delve into "metaphysical" concepts. I use quotation marks around the word because I cannot be certain of its validity.

I have also come to see the strange coordination of lifeforms on the planet as being beyond coincidence, which just begs to differ with the theories of spontaneous generation and evolution. In my mind, I envision earth as the staging ground for a large-scale survival game. Oddly, we need the diversity of lifeforms in order to insure our own survival. However, all lifeforms have the capability to become dominant. Yet, when proliferation of the species and domination become prevalent, self-destruction becomes imminent. It is a game that all other lifeforms except humans understand instinctively.

As for the mundane, I have been reading two of Richard Posner's books about Great Depression Redux. Posner, in fact, is probably the only other person who refers to the global economic calamity as a "depression." Sadly, I have decided to mummify any further reading of the books. Although I believe that Posner has provided the most concise account to date, I no longer am interested. I am a rank-and-file peon. I am not one of the moneychangers or powers-that-be. I will always be a helpless victim of the "system." Thus, it serves no purpose for me to learn the inner workings of what is totally out of my control. The empire's aristocracy is hell bent on robbing us blind. I, or any other peon, can't stop it. That's all we need to know.

On a final note, I have grown weary of my massive hurdy-gurdy video library (HGVL). What purpose does it serve aside from chicken-chokin' tedium? Perhaps it's time to find a real babe. Or, maybe not. The hottie gym trainer just doesn't seem to want to come around. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

SOS Redux

Same ol' shit (SOS). However, I ran into Mark on King Street as I was walking to the gym. We chatted for a few minutes, although there was not much new to share. The evening? Same ol' shit. I can no longer sit in my squalid room in Slob Manor (read: rental housing) all evening. Naturally, the quantity of hurdy-gurdy video downloads has suffered tremendously. Nonetheless, thank goodness for my extremely portable tablet computer. I am still able to compose the "blog" from afar.

I was quite shocked by the news that Apple® co-founder Steve Jobs passed on. He was, of course, the same age as the ol' lavahead. There's already myriad news reports as it is, so I will only add that the issue of mortality has reared it ugly head again. Aside from that, I am neither a fan of Jobs or Apple®.

On a final note, I have been "tuning out" more and more of both the "mainstream" and alternative news sources. I just don't care to read rubbish anymore. Even the growing protest against Wall Street brings out the real cynic in me. We are at that point in the empire's history where only the application of senseless violence will bring about real change (i.e., "change you can believe in"). The rank-and-file peons are no match for the affluent aristocracy. Peaceful demonstrations are only a placebo for the masses. Eventually, as the aristocracy is fully aware, the masses must return to wage slavery or their cardboard box shelters under freeway overpasses. Then, we'll be back to the same ol' shit.

Lavahead, Lamp-Baked Style

Last night, I chatted with one of the Foodland Farms employees while we both waited for the 8:30pm bus in Aina Haina. Word has it that the Foodland in Koko Marina was not closed down for the reasons publicized (i.e., lease not renewed in favor of the future tenant). Apparently, Foodland management simply decided not to accept the 15 percent increase in rent proposed by Koko Marina management.

So, I've been listening to Deep House Cat mixes on and off. Deep House is the only music on my "playlist" these days. I once listened to the psychotic "classical" pieces on public radio. When I say, "psychotic," I mean psychotic. I am certain that most of the "classical" composers were schizophrenic. I could hear the psychosis in the music. "Classical" music is also a product of "Western civilization," a failed paradigm at best. Thus, I had to mummify my interest in it.

Unlike most people, I don't take music very seriously. I prefer Deep House because there's not much to take seriously. It sounds good. I enjoy it. That's my criteria. Some may find Deep House to be mindless, a more advanced form of "disco." I beg to differ. Deep House is to music what hurdy-gurdy videos are to cinema. The real enjoyment, of course, comes in the form of mixes where several cuts are blended together into one long track seamlessly. That's when I exclaim, "Smooth!"

At the library, I chatted with a guy named Kevin. He's a burly guy with a shaved head. Turns out, he's a gym member. He's also homeless since he mentioned that he was staying at one of the few homeless shelters. Why am I privy to meet so many of the homeless and destitute? They must assume that I am one of them. In a sense, I am. The rest of the day and evening? You know the drill. I suffered from on-going intrusive thoughts of the hottie gym trainer all day, most likely because of my extended perusal of baby on Sunday. I began to question my choice to essentially remain a monk for the rest of my life. I was succumbing to weakness. However, weakness is not a fault. We all suffer from human frailty. Nothing can change that.

Default Netbook Desktop

Well, I have settled upon the default Kubuntu desktop for the netbook. No more fussing around with customizations. I have included a screenshot (click to enlarge to actual size). The bottom panel is set to hide automatically. That's the Kplayer media interface with new hurdy-gurdy hottie Jazmine Jarako featured in a video clip. All of that on a ten-inch (diagonal) screen. Looks much better than the original sluggish Microsoft® operating system, eh?

Post No. 1,982

"Avenues of good fortune are ahead for you." -- Panda Express® fortune cookie

About 30 minutes after I arrived back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) last night, the cheap Belkin® router went down. Disconnected again! Fortunately, the "blog" had already been posted.

Usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Nada to report. The evening? Den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala? Yeah, sure beats sitting in my squalid room at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) and listening to Joker stomping around and dropping heavy objects on the floor upstairs. Damned faggot!

Since I was discussing the hottie gym trainer yesterday, I performed another Net search out of curiosity. Quite amazing what five minutes of time will yield. The last search was a couple of years ago (refer to the "blog" of December 8, 2009). Baby is definitely a homeowner as the first search revealed. However, she is in a co-ownership with her sister. She has only one sister, who was apparently married at one time. She had a brother, but he passed on (no details given). There was also verification that baby herself has never been married. The most interesting tidbit was that she filed an adoption reunion request earlier this year. The child in question was evidently born out of wedlock to her mother at the age of seventeen. The child was taken by a social worker three days after birth. The mother was then married, then divorced or widowed, then remarried. Baby also changed her public Facebook® picture, now featuring herself in a long alluring dress together with her sister.

I am still puzzled about why baby never married or had any offspring of her own. I would assume that a hottie such as herself would have had no difficulty in finding suitors. And, chicks have been "socialized" into believing that they must be married by a certain age. Well, the reason may be embedded in the previously mentioned details, but that's all subject to interpretation. All I know is that baby is a hottie.

Lamp-Baked Life IV

The highlight of the day was, of course, an extended perusal of the hottie gym trainer at the gym. Baby completed her consultations earlier than usual, so she spent an hour or so working out in the aerobics room. To say that baby was looking mighty fine would be an understatement. As I was exiting the gym, I espied baby chatting with the front desk staff. A close-up of baby only confirmed how gorgeous she is.

The hottie gym trainer is an enigma. I find it very odd that baby appears to never been married. No sign of any offspring. And, she appears to be single now. Odd for a hottie in her early forties, eh? Perhaps baby prefers a lamp-baked life.

When I returned to Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I had nothing else better to do but power up the netbook computer and perform the dreaded laundry chores. The netbook, however, failed to boot up into the desktop. After a number of reboots, I thought that the computer was "bricked." I couldn't even boot up in the "failsafe" mode. My last chance for recovery was to access the terminal (which is possible in Linux, even though the desktop is non-functional). I deleted all of the hidden configuration folders using the command line. The netbook booted up properly, but everything was reset to the default. Thirty minutes of precious time wasted. I was fortunate that the tablet computer was fully operational. I was able to search on-line for possible solutions. And, thank goodness, I have somewhat of a grasp on command line operations.

I was back at the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) at Kahala this evening. No beverages, though. The cup of decaffeinated coffee that I consumed last night caused chronic insomnia. I also performed my incremental late night grocery shopping. Lamp-baked life? Yeah.

Lamp-Baked Life III

Same ol' shit. I ran into my "homeless" buddy at the library. I had not seen him for about two weeks. Apparently, he injured his foot. So, he was out of commission. He did happen to clear up a mystery for me. I often wondered why some of the homeless disappear for a long periods of time, then reappear out of nowhere. Turns out that many of them are cited multiple times by the police for jaywalking or drinking booze in public. If they don't pay the fines, they can end up incarcerated for up to three months. Turns out, some of the homeless actually want to spend time in prison in order to benefit from "free" room and board. Life on the street worse than prison? Is Joker a faggot?

Typical Lamp-Baked Hottie

Well, I spent 3.5 hours lapsing in and out of a coma in the inner courtyard in the library. Did I feel guilty? No. If I want to relax, then so be it. I have no agenda. I have nowhere to go, no one to meet, and absolutely nothing to do. The evening? Den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala? Beverages? Late night incremental grocery shopping? Triple affirmative. Lamp-baked life.