Last night, like mostly every night, I arrived back in Waikiki at 7:35pm. I am beginning to dread my return to the hotel. Knowing that it is staffed with rude morons and that it houses even more rude morons, I can no longer say that I enjoy staying there. However, I cannot simply check out. Where would I go? Staying at the hotel still has many advantages, far too numerous to force an early departure. The lone chawan was there waiting for me like a faithful friend. I spent the rest of the evening in my little shoebox, even though I was suffering from pangs of claustrophobia. I watched a movie on the tube, something that I have not done in a long time. I can't say that I missed the tube. I also perused the lone chawan and contemplated the meaning of its symbolism.
Later, I gathered a few more small items and put it into my donation bag. Every small item counts. It is the sum total of all the small items that takes up an incredible amount of space. Even knowing that I will be living in the "condotel" unit for at least two years, I am compelled to reduce my possessions to nearly nothing. In my mind, I visualized both the pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) with their excessive baggage that they must constantly tote with them. Exactly what does the pirate keep in those shopping bags?
This morning, I felt very groggy. I have not slept well in weeks, although I have not ascertained the root of the problem. However, I have been experiencing a strong urge to flee. I left for town after drinking a couple of cups of free coffee for the guests while I sat in the hotel lobby. The bus ride took almost an hour. Whenever there is a little bit of rain, the traffic increases exponentially. Obviously, there are a number of pampered fat slobs who just can't fathom the thought of getting slightly wet. Comfort is a foremost concern.
During my break from wage slavery, I walked to Safeway® to see what I could find. All of the energy bars were already sold out. So, I purchased a rip-off $6 taco salad. When I returned to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I ate the salad for lunch. It was delicious and nutritious. I am not sure why I was upset by the price. I could have purchased a large quantity of junk food for the same amount. What good would that have done me? Eating junk food would only lead to health problems and bring me closer to becoming a brain donor. My life must remain clean and pure, just like the lone chawan.
The rest of the day found me in a restless state. Wage slavery was the least of my concerns. As a matter of fact, I had many intrusive thoughts about fleeing. The hottie gym trainer took another gym member through the circuit while I was doing my workout. Obviously, the Vienna Sausage has still not done much atrophying. My only reprieve from this madness will be when I fix my eyes upon the lone chawan. Last night, I made the mistake of not making the trek to the pavilion structure in Waikiki Beach. Being in proximity of the homeless keeps me in check. I also observe or learn something new from them.
I am essentially an outcast of society. I do not belong here. I do not fit in. Over the years, I've tried to fit in. I put myself into various "normal life" scenarios. None of them worked out. I am a loner, not because I seek total isolation. I simply have nothing in common with anyone around me. Nothing. Nada. My values, my beliefs, my ideas about common sense and social order, and my reality are so skewed from that of the common person. Granted, I do enjoy solitude as well as peace and quiet. That's a lot different than being one person in herd of arrogant and belligerent clowns. The lone chawan.
A few days ago, I discovered the last of my photograph collection. Most of the pictures are of old friends, many of whom I have not been in contact with for years. I sent off e-mail to a few of them recently. I did not receive any kind of response. Thus, I will most likely discard the pictures. Why keep them? As it stands, my homey Rod and Caroll have been the only two friends from the mainland who have kept in touch, albeit sporadically. Even here in Hawai'i, I have lost touch with people whom I knew fairly well. The fact that I have long ago stopped initiating any phone calls may have something to do with it. Then again, I have never really proven to be a true friend to people. There were some good times, but that's the way past lives are always perceived.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Lone Chawan
Last night, I made the trek to the pavilion structure in Waikiki Beach even though I was terribly fatigued. Prior to leaving, I had engaged in gluttony, one of the "seven sins," while eating dinner. Instead of just consuming my one allotted can of beans with bread, I also ate a can of tuna. Why did I do the unthinkable? Anyway, there were quite a few tourists milling about. Most of the homeless were already there when I arrived. The semi-lucid homeless guy made a brief appearance, too.
I continued to ruminate about my planned exodus from society while I sat on the bench overlooking the beach. From my vantage point, I also watched the myriad tourists, most of them fat slobs, walking around with large bowls of ice cream, topped with whipped cream, syrup, and other high-caloric crap. Apparently, there must be a new ice cream joint close by. I was sickened by the sight of the "seven sins" epidemic. I prayed for forgiveness for my own earlier transgression of gluttony. I departed at 10pm. On the way back to the hotel, I gave in to temptation and stopped by the detestable ABC Store. I purchased a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. Back my little shoebox, I dropped back the whole can in a matter of minutes. Once again, I violated one of the "seven sins." I had to do my laundry, which is an activity that I am beginning to despise. I had no choice since my I had gone through my limited wardrobe.
I spent the rest of the evening thinking about which useless possessions I will divest next. I cleared the top of the cabinet that the tiny refrigerator sits in. Only the small microwave oven and miniature coffee maker remain. I found my chawan and chopsticks. I unwrapped and placed the chawan on the cabinet in the area that I had cleared off. I geometrically placed the chopsticks on the bowl. The chawan and chopsticks combination now serve as a spartan symbol of my life. The lowly chawan is used to eat what my parents used to refer to "cha-cha rice." It is simply a bowl of rice with tea poured over it. The result is the soup of peasants. The lone empty bowl now sits in anticipation of being filled with hot rice, which symbolizes my transition from worldly stooge to that of a monk. The tea is a symbol of when my fate is sealed.
This morning, I encountered the only friendly and truly courteous person in all of my time in Waikiki. I have been living there for almost two months. He held the door open for me as I entered the elevator. He asked what floor I desired. Then, he allowed me to exit the elevator first, even though I had gestured that he go before me. "Have a good day," he told me as he left. He was a Caucasian tourist from the mainland. My outlook was quite different from other mornings as I sat in the hotel lobby and drank a couple of cups of free coffee for the guests. I felt like a human being for once, not a debased "brown skin." Even though I encountered rude morons who just simply cannot yield to other people on the sidewalk while I was walking to the bus stop, the small act of kindness by the guy in the elevator made me overlook the transgression of stupidity. Why can we not treat each other with respect and courtesy? Imagine a world where people actually did so, instead of proudly attempting to be the most arrogant asswipes possible.
Once in town, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and something that would suffice as lunch. I observed a number of homeless people in the small park near the downtown fire department. Incidentally, I have observed quite a few homeless people at the Chinatown Gateway Park, too. The number of homeless people is rising, yet no one in the mainstream seems to acknowledge that fact. It's as if the homeless do not exist. Yet, they are despised, ridiculed, and persecuted when there is a need for scapegoats for society's ills.
Vicktor Frankl described life in a Nazi prison camp in, "Man's Search for Meaning." He often referred to the capo, who were select group of prisoners who policed other prisoners. They, as it turned out, were more brutal than the actual prison guards. In the prison of life, we find that fellow inmates are often more brutal to their peers, especially if they perceive themselves to higher up the food chain. Often, they are more brutal than the oppressors themselves. What happens is simply the result of "transference," a psychological phenomena. The hatred, frustration, and inner turmoil of the perpetrator is "transferred" to another person in the form of cruel persecution. Those particular traits continue to fester in the sick and weak mind, even if the brain is saturated with anti-depressants, anxiolytics, and anti-psychotic drugs.
We live in a culture of "enablers." People with sick and weak minds are the majority. However, because they are the majority, their sickness has been reclassified as "normal." It is now the clinically sane who are in the minority. "Sickness" or "illness" may both be misnomers, however. Either the former or the latter would imply a physiological or genetic anomaly which, in turn, would excuse the perpetrator from any kind of responsibility. The sad part is that the perpetrators are cunning enough to provide for a large support network of "enablers" who facilitate and co-opt their deviant behavior.
Professor Lisa stopped by the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill briefly this afternoon. I went for a short walk with her to Chinatown. She wanted to buy some fresh produce. I was surprised to see that Chinatown's produce prices are a lot lower than the supermarkets. The rest of the day was leisurely. My encounter this morning with the sole courteous person on the whole island had a lasting effect all day. I do not, however, hold out any false hope for society. Clearly, the time of the end is near.
My only excitement for the remainder of the day was the anticipation of seeing the purity of the lone chawan and chopsticks amidst the tacky ambiance of my little shoebox. Perhaps you will want to set up a lone chawan for yourself. Simply go to an Asian import store and purchase a nice ceramic chawan and a pair of wooden chopsticks with an enamel finish. The chopsticks should also have some kind of Asian artwork painted upon each of the pair. Do not purchase any of those cheap blasphemous plastic chawans and chopsticks. Set both up on a nice surface, preferably isolated from any useless crap. Try to keep any commercialized shit away from the chawan. Arrange the chopsticks geometrically upon the chawan, but keep the chopsticks together. Well, that leaves only one question. What is the lone chawan? The lone chawan symbolizes you.
I continued to ruminate about my planned exodus from society while I sat on the bench overlooking the beach. From my vantage point, I also watched the myriad tourists, most of them fat slobs, walking around with large bowls of ice cream, topped with whipped cream, syrup, and other high-caloric crap. Apparently, there must be a new ice cream joint close by. I was sickened by the sight of the "seven sins" epidemic. I prayed for forgiveness for my own earlier transgression of gluttony. I departed at 10pm. On the way back to the hotel, I gave in to temptation and stopped by the detestable ABC Store. I purchased a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. Back my little shoebox, I dropped back the whole can in a matter of minutes. Once again, I violated one of the "seven sins." I had to do my laundry, which is an activity that I am beginning to despise. I had no choice since my I had gone through my limited wardrobe.
I spent the rest of the evening thinking about which useless possessions I will divest next. I cleared the top of the cabinet that the tiny refrigerator sits in. Only the small microwave oven and miniature coffee maker remain. I found my chawan and chopsticks. I unwrapped and placed the chawan on the cabinet in the area that I had cleared off. I geometrically placed the chopsticks on the bowl. The chawan and chopsticks combination now serve as a spartan symbol of my life. The lowly chawan is used to eat what my parents used to refer to "cha-cha rice." It is simply a bowl of rice with tea poured over it. The result is the soup of peasants. The lone empty bowl now sits in anticipation of being filled with hot rice, which symbolizes my transition from worldly stooge to that of a monk. The tea is a symbol of when my fate is sealed.
This morning, I encountered the only friendly and truly courteous person in all of my time in Waikiki. I have been living there for almost two months. He held the door open for me as I entered the elevator. He asked what floor I desired. Then, he allowed me to exit the elevator first, even though I had gestured that he go before me. "Have a good day," he told me as he left. He was a Caucasian tourist from the mainland. My outlook was quite different from other mornings as I sat in the hotel lobby and drank a couple of cups of free coffee for the guests. I felt like a human being for once, not a debased "brown skin." Even though I encountered rude morons who just simply cannot yield to other people on the sidewalk while I was walking to the bus stop, the small act of kindness by the guy in the elevator made me overlook the transgression of stupidity. Why can we not treat each other with respect and courtesy? Imagine a world where people actually did so, instead of proudly attempting to be the most arrogant asswipes possible.
Once in town, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and something that would suffice as lunch. I observed a number of homeless people in the small park near the downtown fire department. Incidentally, I have observed quite a few homeless people at the Chinatown Gateway Park, too. The number of homeless people is rising, yet no one in the mainstream seems to acknowledge that fact. It's as if the homeless do not exist. Yet, they are despised, ridiculed, and persecuted when there is a need for scapegoats for society's ills.
Vicktor Frankl described life in a Nazi prison camp in, "Man's Search for Meaning." He often referred to the capo, who were select group of prisoners who policed other prisoners. They, as it turned out, were more brutal than the actual prison guards. In the prison of life, we find that fellow inmates are often more brutal to their peers, especially if they perceive themselves to higher up the food chain. Often, they are more brutal than the oppressors themselves. What happens is simply the result of "transference," a psychological phenomena. The hatred, frustration, and inner turmoil of the perpetrator is "transferred" to another person in the form of cruel persecution. Those particular traits continue to fester in the sick and weak mind, even if the brain is saturated with anti-depressants, anxiolytics, and anti-psychotic drugs.
We live in a culture of "enablers." People with sick and weak minds are the majority. However, because they are the majority, their sickness has been reclassified as "normal." It is now the clinically sane who are in the minority. "Sickness" or "illness" may both be misnomers, however. Either the former or the latter would imply a physiological or genetic anomaly which, in turn, would excuse the perpetrator from any kind of responsibility. The sad part is that the perpetrators are cunning enough to provide for a large support network of "enablers" who facilitate and co-opt their deviant behavior.
Professor Lisa stopped by the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill briefly this afternoon. I went for a short walk with her to Chinatown. She wanted to buy some fresh produce. I was surprised to see that Chinatown's produce prices are a lot lower than the supermarkets. The rest of the day was leisurely. My encounter this morning with the sole courteous person on the whole island had a lasting effect all day. I do not, however, hold out any false hope for society. Clearly, the time of the end is near.
My only excitement for the remainder of the day was the anticipation of seeing the purity of the lone chawan and chopsticks amidst the tacky ambiance of my little shoebox. Perhaps you will want to set up a lone chawan for yourself. Simply go to an Asian import store and purchase a nice ceramic chawan and a pair of wooden chopsticks with an enamel finish. The chopsticks should also have some kind of Asian artwork painted upon each of the pair. Do not purchase any of those cheap blasphemous plastic chawans and chopsticks. Set both up on a nice surface, preferably isolated from any useless crap. Try to keep any commercialized shit away from the chawan. Arrange the chopsticks geometrically upon the chawan, but keep the chopsticks together. Well, that leaves only one question. What is the lone chawan? The lone chawan symbolizes you.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Escape from Babylon
Last night, I ended up in Waikiki Beach on one of the usual benches near the pavilion structure. The pirate was there, as well as the homeless babe (term used loosely). A large number of White Supremacist tourists had infiltrated the pavilion structure. Several of them were playing cards on one of the tables. I knew that they were White Supremacists because they glared at me when I arrived. The contorted sneers on their faces betrayed the ugliness festering deep within their souls. They were mostly fat and weak, both signs of a pampered life gone awry. The majority were smokers as well. In the end, when they are retching over because of emphysema and the amount of blubber they have been hauling around, they will learn humility. They also glared at the homeless. I could see them making snide comments amongst themselves, cackling and contorting their already ugly visage.
A local guy walked down to the beach. He sat by one of the coconut trees. I could see him drinking out of a bottle covered with a paper bag. I knew immediately that it was a 40-dog of some kind of malt liquor. Brought back old memories of when my homey Rod and I used to kick it with bottles of King Cobra®. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya! Alas, King Cobra® is no more. He also chain-smoked. With all of the party utensils in hand, it was clearly obvious that he was having a One-Man Beach Party. Heck, I was having a One-Man Hotel Party the other night.
I was very fatigued, so I departed the beach at 9:45pm. The semi-lucid homeless guy never showed up. I spent the rest of the evening piddling around in my little shoebox. I felt restless. In fact, I've been restless now for several days. I contemplated ordering some new Amy Reid hurdy-gurdy DVDs for my defunct hurdy-gurdy DVD library. That's how stupid I am. The Vienna Sausage must be allowed to atrophy, but I apparently want to prolong the agony. What good will it do me to peruse a hottie like Amy Reid doin' da wild thing? The fact of the matter is that, if I do not immediately mummify the hurdy-gurdy DVD library for good, then I am continually looking back at the path that I can no longer travel. Thus, my net progress is zero. That is also the case with my inability to completely stop consuming cheap booze. I am simply wasting my time going around in circles.
This morning, I was even more fatigued. As I sat in the hotel lobby drinking the free coffee for the guests, I realized how much I despised the hotel staff and the tourists who are staying in the hotel. Then, I experienced a brief moment of elation. Those clowns are actually helping to facilitate my exodus from society. Each and every one of them is yet another reason to sever ties with the mainstream. I am finding that I highly anticipate the coming of either the secular Apocalypse or Armageddon. Just to see all of those turds swirling around the vortex in the bowl just makes me giggle my ass off. Even though I will be going down with them, I just can't think of a better reprieve for the planet.
Let it be known that I do not wish evil upon anyone. However, evil begets evil. Fools who wantonly violate the "seven sins" will bring about serious repercussions. That is exactly what we are seeing today. In essence, the "seven sins" are really sins against nature. Thus, they are unnatural acts. There is a tendency for nature to correct itself, an obvious result of intelligent regulation.
During my workout at the gym, I continued my ruminations. The on-going diatribe that I have included in the "blog" serves no other purpose except to monitor my own progress insofar as my exodus from society is concerned. Clearly, the majority of people in First World societies are quite content with the way things are. And, the majority rules. That's what we lovingly refer to as the status quo. I am part of a small minority. Now, before anyone gives me the "Love it, or leave it" spiel, I should nip this issue in the bud. I am not attempting to convert anyone to my way of thinking. Nor am I trying to be an agent of change. I must simply defer to the majority and bide my time until I can say, "Adios amigos."
Freedom is still my first priority. I reside in a society that seemingly affords a lot of freedom, but not the kind of freedom that I seek. What we have is "commercialized" and "pre-packaged" freedom. We have the freedom to purchase whatever we want, provided that we have the ability to pay. Freedom allows us many options, but there is a cost of admission. Ultimately, we have an infinite array of choices to cater to our hedonism. Yet, what value do these types of freedom have? Have other aspects of freedom been lost? Aside from the implicit lifetime bondage of wage slavery, there is also one other freedom that has been lost in the shuffle. That would the freedom of the mind. In his treatise, "Man's Search for Meaning," Viktor Frankl discovered that the only freedom that could not be taken away from him was the freedom of the mind. The prisoners who survived the Nazi concentration camps were the ones who could keep the freedom of the mind intact.
I had expected to learn from the homeless. They are devoid of material comfort and luxuries. Thus, they must rely solely upon the freedom of the mind to transcend the prison of poverty. However, most of the homeless are mentally insane. What could I expect? They are constantly ostracized, ridiculed, harassed, and even persecuted by fellow humans who believe they are of a better class. I have still learned much from them. Right now, I am not too concerned about pushing myself down Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs just to make myself conform to the minimalist life-style. I am learning that strategy, not operant conditioning, will be more successful in attaining freedom.
I have been concerned about my diet, but my concern seems to be unfounded. I am hungry most of the day, but I am only slightly malnourished. The homeless eat more sporadically under less sanitary conditions than I do. However, they are not starving or completely malnourished. In my case, I am probably under the normal daily caloric intake, but I am receiving the minimal amount of nutrition. The untrained mind and body is prone to gluttony, one of the "seven sins." The body craves to have its physical needs satisfied, even beyond what is reasonable. My bouts of hunger have not been associated with physical pain. Pain would be a true sign of starvation. Discipline over hunger is yet another test of willpower, the kind of strength needed for real survival.
Constantly catering to the needs of the "self" is a debilitating weakness. The need to sedate the mind with drugs or cheap booze is another example of gluttony. I have moderated my intake of cheap booze, but my sporadic bouts of imbibing suggests a failing of willpower. The need to satisfy the urges of the Vienna Sausage is also another disappointing failure of willpower. Each failure weakens my psychological resolve, which weakens my willpower, which weakens my ability to survive. Overall, the mind becomes weak and feeble. The weakened mind then opens itself up to various carcinogenic dispositions like racism and prejudice. Isn't that what we see today? With the prevalence of material wealth and technological marvels, one would have expected a very fit and intelligent society. Instead, we observe a proliferation of fat slobs and mental midgets. We see the "seven sins" epidemic rapidly escalating out of control.
Thus, freedom, or specifically freedom of the mind, will require willpower and psychological fortitude to resist the temptation to forsake both in order to satisfy the cravings of the flesh. The mind is the spirit of the soul. Freedom of the mind is, therefore, freedom of the soul. Herewith is the beginning of the exodus, the escape from Babylon.
A local guy walked down to the beach. He sat by one of the coconut trees. I could see him drinking out of a bottle covered with a paper bag. I knew immediately that it was a 40-dog of some kind of malt liquor. Brought back old memories of when my homey Rod and I used to kick it with bottles of King Cobra®. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya! Alas, King Cobra® is no more. He also chain-smoked. With all of the party utensils in hand, it was clearly obvious that he was having a One-Man Beach Party. Heck, I was having a One-Man Hotel Party the other night.
I was very fatigued, so I departed the beach at 9:45pm. The semi-lucid homeless guy never showed up. I spent the rest of the evening piddling around in my little shoebox. I felt restless. In fact, I've been restless now for several days. I contemplated ordering some new Amy Reid hurdy-gurdy DVDs for my defunct hurdy-gurdy DVD library. That's how stupid I am. The Vienna Sausage must be allowed to atrophy, but I apparently want to prolong the agony. What good will it do me to peruse a hottie like Amy Reid doin' da wild thing? The fact of the matter is that, if I do not immediately mummify the hurdy-gurdy DVD library for good, then I am continually looking back at the path that I can no longer travel. Thus, my net progress is zero. That is also the case with my inability to completely stop consuming cheap booze. I am simply wasting my time going around in circles.
This morning, I was even more fatigued. As I sat in the hotel lobby drinking the free coffee for the guests, I realized how much I despised the hotel staff and the tourists who are staying in the hotel. Then, I experienced a brief moment of elation. Those clowns are actually helping to facilitate my exodus from society. Each and every one of them is yet another reason to sever ties with the mainstream. I am finding that I highly anticipate the coming of either the secular Apocalypse or Armageddon. Just to see all of those turds swirling around the vortex in the bowl just makes me giggle my ass off. Even though I will be going down with them, I just can't think of a better reprieve for the planet.
Let it be known that I do not wish evil upon anyone. However, evil begets evil. Fools who wantonly violate the "seven sins" will bring about serious repercussions. That is exactly what we are seeing today. In essence, the "seven sins" are really sins against nature. Thus, they are unnatural acts. There is a tendency for nature to correct itself, an obvious result of intelligent regulation.
During my workout at the gym, I continued my ruminations. The on-going diatribe that I have included in the "blog" serves no other purpose except to monitor my own progress insofar as my exodus from society is concerned. Clearly, the majority of people in First World societies are quite content with the way things are. And, the majority rules. That's what we lovingly refer to as the status quo. I am part of a small minority. Now, before anyone gives me the "Love it, or leave it" spiel, I should nip this issue in the bud. I am not attempting to convert anyone to my way of thinking. Nor am I trying to be an agent of change. I must simply defer to the majority and bide my time until I can say, "Adios amigos."
Freedom is still my first priority. I reside in a society that seemingly affords a lot of freedom, but not the kind of freedom that I seek. What we have is "commercialized" and "pre-packaged" freedom. We have the freedom to purchase whatever we want, provided that we have the ability to pay. Freedom allows us many options, but there is a cost of admission. Ultimately, we have an infinite array of choices to cater to our hedonism. Yet, what value do these types of freedom have? Have other aspects of freedom been lost? Aside from the implicit lifetime bondage of wage slavery, there is also one other freedom that has been lost in the shuffle. That would the freedom of the mind. In his treatise, "Man's Search for Meaning," Viktor Frankl discovered that the only freedom that could not be taken away from him was the freedom of the mind. The prisoners who survived the Nazi concentration camps were the ones who could keep the freedom of the mind intact.
I had expected to learn from the homeless. They are devoid of material comfort and luxuries. Thus, they must rely solely upon the freedom of the mind to transcend the prison of poverty. However, most of the homeless are mentally insane. What could I expect? They are constantly ostracized, ridiculed, harassed, and even persecuted by fellow humans who believe they are of a better class. I have still learned much from them. Right now, I am not too concerned about pushing myself down Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs just to make myself conform to the minimalist life-style. I am learning that strategy, not operant conditioning, will be more successful in attaining freedom.
I have been concerned about my diet, but my concern seems to be unfounded. I am hungry most of the day, but I am only slightly malnourished. The homeless eat more sporadically under less sanitary conditions than I do. However, they are not starving or completely malnourished. In my case, I am probably under the normal daily caloric intake, but I am receiving the minimal amount of nutrition. The untrained mind and body is prone to gluttony, one of the "seven sins." The body craves to have its physical needs satisfied, even beyond what is reasonable. My bouts of hunger have not been associated with physical pain. Pain would be a true sign of starvation. Discipline over hunger is yet another test of willpower, the kind of strength needed for real survival.
Constantly catering to the needs of the "self" is a debilitating weakness. The need to sedate the mind with drugs or cheap booze is another example of gluttony. I have moderated my intake of cheap booze, but my sporadic bouts of imbibing suggests a failing of willpower. The need to satisfy the urges of the Vienna Sausage is also another disappointing failure of willpower. Each failure weakens my psychological resolve, which weakens my willpower, which weakens my ability to survive. Overall, the mind becomes weak and feeble. The weakened mind then opens itself up to various carcinogenic dispositions like racism and prejudice. Isn't that what we see today? With the prevalence of material wealth and technological marvels, one would have expected a very fit and intelligent society. Instead, we observe a proliferation of fat slobs and mental midgets. We see the "seven sins" epidemic rapidly escalating out of control.
Thus, freedom, or specifically freedom of the mind, will require willpower and psychological fortitude to resist the temptation to forsake both in order to satisfy the cravings of the flesh. The mind is the spirit of the soul. Freedom of the mind is, therefore, freedom of the soul. Herewith is the beginning of the exodus, the escape from Babylon.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Seven Sins
Another night at Homeless Central in Waikiki yielded nothing except a sore ass from sitting on an uncomfortable bench for two hours. The usual cast of characters were sitting on benches under or near the pavilion structure. Only the pirate was conspicuously absent. I have not seen him in two days. The semi-lucid homeless guy appeared from the direction of Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). He was not looking too lucid. Usually quite gregarious, he said not a word last night. He sat under the pavilion structure for only a total of five minutes before departing. Perhaps the homeless life is beginning to adversely affect his psyche.
I have no idea why I stayed at the beach for so long. I ruminated about the same crap that I have been ruminating about in the past few days. When I finally decided to leave, I became confused. I headed in the direction of Fudgepacker Park. I found myself walking in circles before finally ending up at the usual bus stop. Before I returned to the hotel, I stopped off at the detestable ABC Store to purchase a rip-off $3 salad and two big-ass cans of Tecate® cerveza. I could not get back to my little shoebox quick enough. I dropped back the two big-ass cans of cerveza as rapidly as possible.
I realized that I may have had a psychotic episode while I walking around in a state of confusion near Fudgepacker Park. Everything seems to be closing in on the ol' lavahead. Suddenly, mortality is truly a finite reality. I have not been so inclined to plan out my last days, which is odd. Perhaps when I get over the initial shock of being a senior citizen, I may come to my senses. My greatest concern is about where I am going to end up in the next few years. The "condotel" unit is not a permanent living situation. I consider it to be "transitional" housing. The fact that I have a large amount of dough tied up in the dump is also unacceptable. My nightly foray into the homeless society of Waikiki has given me the opportunity to assess my minimum requirements for future living arrangements. Because I am beginning to look much like a homeless guy with my limited wardrobe of outdated clothing and accessories, I could subsist in an impoverished boarding house. My only reservation is that my standards for sanitation and hygiene are still somewhat high. Conversely, my tolerance for drunken or drug-induced stupidity is very low.
I have also made an interesting self-observation. In the last few years, I have become very aversive to touch. I prefer that people do not touch me, just as I prefer not to touch anyone. As I became more and more isolated, this preference became more pronounced. Even the annoying casual hugs are to avoided like the plague. I have also taken to ignoring people who just simply start talking to me without addressing me first. Even if they pose questions, I will not acknowledge their existence at all. I find this task particularly useful with some of the arrogant faculty members at the Diploma Mill. It's easy to see why I have so few friends and acquaintances. At this point in time, I am almost completely cut off or alienated from my localized environment. Why?
Sometimes I reflect on the nature of stupidity, which really is human nature. If humans were not always so arrogant, so crafty, always up to some kind of devious shit, then I would not be so eager to distance myself from people and society. If I was not privy to the endless parade of morons who proudly excel in the "seven sins" (i.e., pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, and sloth), then things would be different. I can't trust any of these fat fucks as far as I can throw them. Think about it. The seven forms of debauchery are relished and often prized as admirable traits in our society. And, all seven are insatiable. Worst yet, all seven appeal to the worship of the "self" by catering to the whims of the "self." The "self" also determines what is right or wrong morally for the "self." Look at our own behavior and observe just how entrenched these deviant values have become. It's all-pervasive in the media, the books and magazines we read, the shitty programming on the tube, movies, content on the Net, and so forth. We are constantly inundated with the "seven sins." That's why it is so easy to adapt them to our own personalities. Each and every day, I am subjected to myriad mental fudgepackers who display pathological levels of those "seven sins." For them and everyone else, it's just a normal occurrence.
Society as a whole has degenerated to a level of gross depravity. Yet, no one would want it any other way. Heck, as long as the "self" is indulged with all of the hedonistic pleasures and riches available, then there is no incentive to relinquish it all. To me, it's too high a price to pay. We live in a very selfish, belligerent culture. There is no trust, no faith, and no true love for one another. Every aspect and every institution in our culture has been infected by the "seven sins" epidemic. Government, organized religion, education, and the corporate sector are completely infested with slimy dickheads and cheap fucks. Both Sodom and Gomorrah are looking like kids' theme parks in comparison.
I did not feel too good this morning. I drank many cups of free coffee for the guests while I sat in the hotel lobby. I departed for town at 11:15am. I noticed that the hottie front desk babe had just commenced her shift. Baby was looking hot. I realized that the Vienna Sausage has yet to begin atrophying. If the Vienna Sausage had been out of commission, then I probably would have barely noticed the hottie front desk babe.
My "productive" time in town was spent composing the "blog." I was able to capture my ruminations and put them into words. Determining where I will end up when I am old and decrepit is going to be a real task. Aside from the location issue, I am worried about the quality of people in the chosen locale. I believe that I will be hard-pressed to find a community that has not been adulterated by the "seven sins" epidemic. Most likely, I will find the same fudgepackers, perverts, asswipes, dickheads, morons, White Supremacists, con artists, jerk-offs, meatheads, derelicts, and losers everywhere that I go. So, where will I end up? It looks as though I will find any cheap dump to isolate myself in. The "seven sins" epidemic should be in full swing by then. I will probably develop agoraphobia and never leave my little shoebox. Then, one day, I will fall and not be able to get up. No one will know that I keeled over until a month later when the rent is due. A fitting end for a nobody, eh?
After the gym, I stopped by Taco Bell®. I was famished because I only ate two energy bars for breakfast. I ordered the usual two bean burritos with the green sauce. No red sauce. The rest of the day? More ruminations, of course.
I don't really look forward to going home. I rarely use the word "home" because my little shoebox is not a home to me. It's a "condotel" unit, a transient residence. It's the place that I sleep and eat my pathetic canned beans and bread dinners. Heck, most homes are mausoleums (read: tombs) anyway. I feel more relaxed and at home on the benches near the pavilion structure at Waikiki Beach. Only a small handful of tourists will sit on the benches when all of the homeless are there. In that respect, the pavilion structure is much more cozy than the hotel. The homeless have a hard life. Yet, I do not see them carrying on or acting up like the fat slob tourists around them. Money buys everything, I suppose. It seems to buy respectability for the myriad uncouth asswipes impersonating humans. And, on and on it goes. One day, it's all going to come back and kick us all in the ass.
Incidentally, the AARP® Bulletin included a brief article about the confiscation of prescription drugs from Canada. Apparently, the DHS has been seizing medication being shipped to fellow senior citizens under the guise of "national security." I may have to discontinue my AARP® membership because the weasels could not come out and express the real truth. The whole charade is simply to protect the exorbitant profits of the pharmaceutical companies. Did you say, "Seven sins"?
I have no idea why I stayed at the beach for so long. I ruminated about the same crap that I have been ruminating about in the past few days. When I finally decided to leave, I became confused. I headed in the direction of Fudgepacker Park. I found myself walking in circles before finally ending up at the usual bus stop. Before I returned to the hotel, I stopped off at the detestable ABC Store to purchase a rip-off $3 salad and two big-ass cans of Tecate® cerveza. I could not get back to my little shoebox quick enough. I dropped back the two big-ass cans of cerveza as rapidly as possible.
I realized that I may have had a psychotic episode while I walking around in a state of confusion near Fudgepacker Park. Everything seems to be closing in on the ol' lavahead. Suddenly, mortality is truly a finite reality. I have not been so inclined to plan out my last days, which is odd. Perhaps when I get over the initial shock of being a senior citizen, I may come to my senses. My greatest concern is about where I am going to end up in the next few years. The "condotel" unit is not a permanent living situation. I consider it to be "transitional" housing. The fact that I have a large amount of dough tied up in the dump is also unacceptable. My nightly foray into the homeless society of Waikiki has given me the opportunity to assess my minimum requirements for future living arrangements. Because I am beginning to look much like a homeless guy with my limited wardrobe of outdated clothing and accessories, I could subsist in an impoverished boarding house. My only reservation is that my standards for sanitation and hygiene are still somewhat high. Conversely, my tolerance for drunken or drug-induced stupidity is very low.
I have also made an interesting self-observation. In the last few years, I have become very aversive to touch. I prefer that people do not touch me, just as I prefer not to touch anyone. As I became more and more isolated, this preference became more pronounced. Even the annoying casual hugs are to avoided like the plague. I have also taken to ignoring people who just simply start talking to me without addressing me first. Even if they pose questions, I will not acknowledge their existence at all. I find this task particularly useful with some of the arrogant faculty members at the Diploma Mill. It's easy to see why I have so few friends and acquaintances. At this point in time, I am almost completely cut off or alienated from my localized environment. Why?
Sometimes I reflect on the nature of stupidity, which really is human nature. If humans were not always so arrogant, so crafty, always up to some kind of devious shit, then I would not be so eager to distance myself from people and society. If I was not privy to the endless parade of morons who proudly excel in the "seven sins" (i.e., pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, and sloth), then things would be different. I can't trust any of these fat fucks as far as I can throw them. Think about it. The seven forms of debauchery are relished and often prized as admirable traits in our society. And, all seven are insatiable. Worst yet, all seven appeal to the worship of the "self" by catering to the whims of the "self." The "self" also determines what is right or wrong morally for the "self." Look at our own behavior and observe just how entrenched these deviant values have become. It's all-pervasive in the media, the books and magazines we read, the shitty programming on the tube, movies, content on the Net, and so forth. We are constantly inundated with the "seven sins." That's why it is so easy to adapt them to our own personalities. Each and every day, I am subjected to myriad mental fudgepackers who display pathological levels of those "seven sins." For them and everyone else, it's just a normal occurrence.
Society as a whole has degenerated to a level of gross depravity. Yet, no one would want it any other way. Heck, as long as the "self" is indulged with all of the hedonistic pleasures and riches available, then there is no incentive to relinquish it all. To me, it's too high a price to pay. We live in a very selfish, belligerent culture. There is no trust, no faith, and no true love for one another. Every aspect and every institution in our culture has been infected by the "seven sins" epidemic. Government, organized religion, education, and the corporate sector are completely infested with slimy dickheads and cheap fucks. Both Sodom and Gomorrah are looking like kids' theme parks in comparison.
I did not feel too good this morning. I drank many cups of free coffee for the guests while I sat in the hotel lobby. I departed for town at 11:15am. I noticed that the hottie front desk babe had just commenced her shift. Baby was looking hot. I realized that the Vienna Sausage has yet to begin atrophying. If the Vienna Sausage had been out of commission, then I probably would have barely noticed the hottie front desk babe.
My "productive" time in town was spent composing the "blog." I was able to capture my ruminations and put them into words. Determining where I will end up when I am old and decrepit is going to be a real task. Aside from the location issue, I am worried about the quality of people in the chosen locale. I believe that I will be hard-pressed to find a community that has not been adulterated by the "seven sins" epidemic. Most likely, I will find the same fudgepackers, perverts, asswipes, dickheads, morons, White Supremacists, con artists, jerk-offs, meatheads, derelicts, and losers everywhere that I go. So, where will I end up? It looks as though I will find any cheap dump to isolate myself in. The "seven sins" epidemic should be in full swing by then. I will probably develop agoraphobia and never leave my little shoebox. Then, one day, I will fall and not be able to get up. No one will know that I keeled over until a month later when the rent is due. A fitting end for a nobody, eh?
After the gym, I stopped by Taco Bell®. I was famished because I only ate two energy bars for breakfast. I ordered the usual two bean burritos with the green sauce. No red sauce. The rest of the day? More ruminations, of course.
I don't really look forward to going home. I rarely use the word "home" because my little shoebox is not a home to me. It's a "condotel" unit, a transient residence. It's the place that I sleep and eat my pathetic canned beans and bread dinners. Heck, most homes are mausoleums (read: tombs) anyway. I feel more relaxed and at home on the benches near the pavilion structure at Waikiki Beach. Only a small handful of tourists will sit on the benches when all of the homeless are there. In that respect, the pavilion structure is much more cozy than the hotel. The homeless have a hard life. Yet, I do not see them carrying on or acting up like the fat slob tourists around them. Money buys everything, I suppose. It seems to buy respectability for the myriad uncouth asswipes impersonating humans. And, on and on it goes. One day, it's all going to come back and kick us all in the ass.
Incidentally, the AARP® Bulletin included a brief article about the confiscation of prescription drugs from Canada. Apparently, the DHS has been seizing medication being shipped to fellow senior citizens under the guise of "national security." I may have to discontinue my AARP® membership because the weasels could not come out and express the real truth. The whole charade is simply to protect the exorbitant profits of the pharmaceutical companies. Did you say, "Seven sins"?
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Below the Radar
Last night, I spent a couple of hours at Waikiki Beach. As usual, I sat on one of the benches near the pavilion structure. Incidentally, if you happen to be in the area, that would be the pavilion structure closest to Kapahulu Avenue. Come by and say hello to the ol' lavahead!
I made no noteworthy observations of the homeless. Since Operation Psycho is now defunct, there is nothing to observe. I sat and ruminated about my current situation. I am ambivalent about living in the hotel. It is shitty and expensive, but it is workable. I have decided that I can only remain there for a maximum of five years. Depending upon the prevailing interest rates at the time, I may list the "condotel" unit for sale as early as two years from now. Judging by how long those dumps stay on the market, it may take a while before some dolt purchases it.
I returned to my little shoebox at 11pm. I stayed up until 2am playing Solitaire on my beloved Palm® TX. I have no idea why I wasted all that time. I was very fatigued, but I stayed up anyway. I can only suspect that my mind is troubled over my disheveled state of affairs.
I left for town fairly early this morning. I had a lot on the agenda at the Diploma Mill, mostly related to wage slavery. I took a short break and walked to the Pali Safeway®. Even a short walk can be enough to raise the blood pressure through the roof. The sheer number of fat slobs driving recklessly through the parking lot was amazing. I must apply "defensive" walking no matter where I am, especially in Waikiki. Most of these moron motorists are in a hurry. Yet, they don't realize how much time they are wasting just to find a parking spot as close as possible to their destination. And, they are either smoking a cigarette, stuffing their faces with lard, or blabbing on their cell phones while they drive.
Comfort and convenience has become such a priority these days. No one would even think twice about sacrificing either the former or the latter. There's no limit to comfort or convenience just as there is no limit to stupidity. The only problem is that, as people need to increase their level of comfort and convenience, it tends to infringe upon everyone else. We are dealing with selfish, self-centered morons, so they could care less.
I purchased three energy bars and two Tina's® burritos to celebrate the stupidity that I was exposed to. Back at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I decided to "engineer" a solution to reworking my tasks. The solution saved me a few hours. With the extra time, I viewed the Rate My Professors site again. I had a really good laugh when I perused the ratings of all of the faculty who are allegedly higher up the food chain. I am talking about the stuffy, "full of themselves" faculty members who believe that they are at the vanguard of education. If only I could get those fools to read what their students wrote about them. Some of them would probably break down and cry.
I ruminated about the eight years that I have left before I turn 60 years of age. Eight years. That's about the same amount of time since my return to Hawai'i. Eight years passed by very quickly. Most of it is chronicled in the journal. What I am really getting at is simple. I am at the end of my useful life. All I have to look forward to is some kind of retirement. That's it. Thus, many of my foolish activities (e.g., the divestiture of my useless possessions) will also be coming to an end. I can no longer keep going in circles. When I complete a certain phase of life from this point forward, it has got to be a done deal.
After the gym, I reviewed the various on-line accounts that I have. My goal is to eliminate as many as possible. So, I started off by terminating my PayPal® account. I did not realize that I signed up for so many services, some of which have no way to be terminated. I'm moving further and further below the radar.
I made no noteworthy observations of the homeless. Since Operation Psycho is now defunct, there is nothing to observe. I sat and ruminated about my current situation. I am ambivalent about living in the hotel. It is shitty and expensive, but it is workable. I have decided that I can only remain there for a maximum of five years. Depending upon the prevailing interest rates at the time, I may list the "condotel" unit for sale as early as two years from now. Judging by how long those dumps stay on the market, it may take a while before some dolt purchases it.
I returned to my little shoebox at 11pm. I stayed up until 2am playing Solitaire on my beloved Palm® TX. I have no idea why I wasted all that time. I was very fatigued, but I stayed up anyway. I can only suspect that my mind is troubled over my disheveled state of affairs.
I left for town fairly early this morning. I had a lot on the agenda at the Diploma Mill, mostly related to wage slavery. I took a short break and walked to the Pali Safeway®. Even a short walk can be enough to raise the blood pressure through the roof. The sheer number of fat slobs driving recklessly through the parking lot was amazing. I must apply "defensive" walking no matter where I am, especially in Waikiki. Most of these moron motorists are in a hurry. Yet, they don't realize how much time they are wasting just to find a parking spot as close as possible to their destination. And, they are either smoking a cigarette, stuffing their faces with lard, or blabbing on their cell phones while they drive.
Comfort and convenience has become such a priority these days. No one would even think twice about sacrificing either the former or the latter. There's no limit to comfort or convenience just as there is no limit to stupidity. The only problem is that, as people need to increase their level of comfort and convenience, it tends to infringe upon everyone else. We are dealing with selfish, self-centered morons, so they could care less.
I purchased three energy bars and two Tina's® burritos to celebrate the stupidity that I was exposed to. Back at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I decided to "engineer" a solution to reworking my tasks. The solution saved me a few hours. With the extra time, I viewed the Rate My Professors site again. I had a really good laugh when I perused the ratings of all of the faculty who are allegedly higher up the food chain. I am talking about the stuffy, "full of themselves" faculty members who believe that they are at the vanguard of education. If only I could get those fools to read what their students wrote about them. Some of them would probably break down and cry.
I ruminated about the eight years that I have left before I turn 60 years of age. Eight years. That's about the same amount of time since my return to Hawai'i. Eight years passed by very quickly. Most of it is chronicled in the journal. What I am really getting at is simple. I am at the end of my useful life. All I have to look forward to is some kind of retirement. That's it. Thus, many of my foolish activities (e.g., the divestiture of my useless possessions) will also be coming to an end. I can no longer keep going in circles. When I complete a certain phase of life from this point forward, it has got to be a done deal.
After the gym, I reviewed the various on-line accounts that I have. My goal is to eliminate as many as possible. So, I started off by terminating my PayPal® account. I did not realize that I signed up for so many services, some of which have no way to be terminated. I'm moving further and further below the radar.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Ho'olaule'a of the Mind
Yesterday, I restored my monk haircut at the Institute of Hair Design after meeting moms for lunch at Kahala Mall. Later in the afternoon, Pseudo-professor Mike invited me to dinner. He and Bea made vegetarian lasagna. It was delicious. I also acquainted him with the ridiculous Rate My Professors site. Pseudo-professor Mike was not too happy about his reviews. To me, the whole site is a joke. The whole concept makes a mockery of the educational system. Neither he or I had the little chili pepper icon next to our names, so the student chicks obviously do not notice us. I finally returned to Waikiki at 9pm. The hottie front desk babe was working her shift. Baby was looking hot as usual.
Even though it was late, I ended up at Waikiki Beach. Although Operation Psycho is now defunct, I casually observed the homeless. The pirate had already left. The homeless babe (term used loosely) sat quietly on one of the benches. The African-American homeless guy moved his pool lounge chair right next to the pavilion structure. The semi-lucid homeless guy arrived a few minutes after I did. He was carrying a couple of shopping bags of cans and bottles. He asked me if I had a lighter so he could light his cigarette. A group of Japanese tourists were playing a card game on one of the tables. The homeless did not look too happy about the trespassers. After about 30 minutes, the semi-lucid homeless guy moved his stuff to one of the benches. He then made a makeshift bed on the bench. I assumed that he was sleeping there for the night.
The semi-lucid homeless guy is probably in his late twenties, which made me wonder how he expects to survive the remainder of his years doing what he's doing. He appears to have minimized all of his personal belongings to fit in two backpacks. Aside from the fact that he does not take any showers, he is lucid and functioning. Whereas the other homeless appear weak and debilitated, the semi-lucid homeless guy seems to be in control of his faculties. He is friendly and gregarious with the other homeless, and he is upbeat considering his situation. The fact that he is quite younger than the others may be the reason. Only time will tell.
I will continue to search for the key to my own survival. My priority is to determine an effective psychological survival strategy. I firmly believe that my psychological resolve will be tested first in the near future. My only "safety net" in life now is moms. Since I have forsaken all other human interaction, there will be no one to turn to once moms is gone. There is a strong social context within our psyche, which is why I am worried. I have taken to reading Viktor Frankl's book, "Man's Search for Meaning," again. So far, I have discovered that it is providing me with the insight that I seek. At this point in time, I find that my life in modern society loosely resembles that of a prisoner in a concentration camp. Although I am not starving or being tortured, I am constrained from many of the same liberties as that of a prisoner. In addition, I am subject to similar kinds of duress and stress as the latter. By minimizing my worldly possessions, I have removed the materialistic cloud of deception which masks the stark reality from view. I am able to see the prison walls.
I have made the vow to send off the last three of my hurdy-gurdy DVD library once the titles are on the buyback list again. I will also divest my DVD player. I am planning to divest my cell phone, but I may keep the cell phone service to maintain voicemail. I will use the last of my airtime minutes to make a token final call to long-time friends on the mainland. Subsequently, contact will have to be initiated exclusively through e-mail.
My life in the hotel is not all that bad, by the way. I don't spend much time there, which is good. When I lived in Kane'ohe, I had nothing to do in the evenings. All I did was sit in front of the tube. In Waikiki, I can always go to the beach in the evenings, which is what I have been doing. It feels so much more natural to be outdoors. Later, I will purchase a beach chair so that I can sit on the beach itself instead of the benches. I have no desire to do anything else. With no close friends or family, my options are further narrowed. All forms of paid entertainment are expensive, boring, and disappointing. And, as I said before, outside of paid entertainment, there is nothing to do.
Coming to grips with the fact that I am at the end of my useful life now is difficult. Essentially, I have no family, no friends, no wife, no kids, and no pets. I have no hobbies. They are too costly and too boring. I do not want wage slavery to become the basis of my status and identity, nor do I want it to be the means to occupy my idle time. I do not care to shop, and I don't want to watch the tube. That pretty much rules out everything, doesn't it? I could be accused of painting myself into a corner. When I was much more gullible toward the "Dr. Phil" kind of "self-esteem" bullshit, I might have accepted the blame. Now, I realize that all of the options have been narrowed down because of rampant commercialism. Most people want everything "pre-packaged." Convenience was so important that everyone just bought into the concept. Ask, and you shall receive. The moneychangers will give us whatever we want, as long as we can pay for it. So, for me, the only remaining choice is to sit at the beach with the homeless.
Twenty or thirty years ago, people never thought about hanging out at a shopping mall for fun. People did not have pay an admission fee to see a miniature waterfall. Parents weren't required to take their kids to Chuck E. Cheese's®. No one spent six to eight hours per day in front of the tube. That's what I'm talking about. Incidentally, the downtown Ho'olaule'a is happening tonight. I don't plan to stick around to see it. It's just more of the same "pre-packaged" commercialized bullshit. There's only one Ho'olaule'a. Yeah, the Ho'olaule'a of the mind.
Even though it was late, I ended up at Waikiki Beach. Although Operation Psycho is now defunct, I casually observed the homeless. The pirate had already left. The homeless babe (term used loosely) sat quietly on one of the benches. The African-American homeless guy moved his pool lounge chair right next to the pavilion structure. The semi-lucid homeless guy arrived a few minutes after I did. He was carrying a couple of shopping bags of cans and bottles. He asked me if I had a lighter so he could light his cigarette. A group of Japanese tourists were playing a card game on one of the tables. The homeless did not look too happy about the trespassers. After about 30 minutes, the semi-lucid homeless guy moved his stuff to one of the benches. He then made a makeshift bed on the bench. I assumed that he was sleeping there for the night.
The semi-lucid homeless guy is probably in his late twenties, which made me wonder how he expects to survive the remainder of his years doing what he's doing. He appears to have minimized all of his personal belongings to fit in two backpacks. Aside from the fact that he does not take any showers, he is lucid and functioning. Whereas the other homeless appear weak and debilitated, the semi-lucid homeless guy seems to be in control of his faculties. He is friendly and gregarious with the other homeless, and he is upbeat considering his situation. The fact that he is quite younger than the others may be the reason. Only time will tell.
I will continue to search for the key to my own survival. My priority is to determine an effective psychological survival strategy. I firmly believe that my psychological resolve will be tested first in the near future. My only "safety net" in life now is moms. Since I have forsaken all other human interaction, there will be no one to turn to once moms is gone. There is a strong social context within our psyche, which is why I am worried. I have taken to reading Viktor Frankl's book, "Man's Search for Meaning," again. So far, I have discovered that it is providing me with the insight that I seek. At this point in time, I find that my life in modern society loosely resembles that of a prisoner in a concentration camp. Although I am not starving or being tortured, I am constrained from many of the same liberties as that of a prisoner. In addition, I am subject to similar kinds of duress and stress as the latter. By minimizing my worldly possessions, I have removed the materialistic cloud of deception which masks the stark reality from view. I am able to see the prison walls.
I have made the vow to send off the last three of my hurdy-gurdy DVD library once the titles are on the buyback list again. I will also divest my DVD player. I am planning to divest my cell phone, but I may keep the cell phone service to maintain voicemail. I will use the last of my airtime minutes to make a token final call to long-time friends on the mainland. Subsequently, contact will have to be initiated exclusively through e-mail.
My life in the hotel is not all that bad, by the way. I don't spend much time there, which is good. When I lived in Kane'ohe, I had nothing to do in the evenings. All I did was sit in front of the tube. In Waikiki, I can always go to the beach in the evenings, which is what I have been doing. It feels so much more natural to be outdoors. Later, I will purchase a beach chair so that I can sit on the beach itself instead of the benches. I have no desire to do anything else. With no close friends or family, my options are further narrowed. All forms of paid entertainment are expensive, boring, and disappointing. And, as I said before, outside of paid entertainment, there is nothing to do.
Coming to grips with the fact that I am at the end of my useful life now is difficult. Essentially, I have no family, no friends, no wife, no kids, and no pets. I have no hobbies. They are too costly and too boring. I do not want wage slavery to become the basis of my status and identity, nor do I want it to be the means to occupy my idle time. I do not care to shop, and I don't want to watch the tube. That pretty much rules out everything, doesn't it? I could be accused of painting myself into a corner. When I was much more gullible toward the "Dr. Phil" kind of "self-esteem" bullshit, I might have accepted the blame. Now, I realize that all of the options have been narrowed down because of rampant commercialism. Most people want everything "pre-packaged." Convenience was so important that everyone just bought into the concept. Ask, and you shall receive. The moneychangers will give us whatever we want, as long as we can pay for it. So, for me, the only remaining choice is to sit at the beach with the homeless.
Twenty or thirty years ago, people never thought about hanging out at a shopping mall for fun. People did not have pay an admission fee to see a miniature waterfall. Parents weren't required to take their kids to Chuck E. Cheese's®. No one spent six to eight hours per day in front of the tube. That's what I'm talking about. Incidentally, the downtown Ho'olaule'a is happening tonight. I don't plan to stick around to see it. It's just more of the same "pre-packaged" commercialized bullshit. There's only one Ho'olaule'a. Yeah, the Ho'olaule'a of the mind.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Operation Psycho
I neglected to mention that I looked over the semi-lucid homeless guy's shoulder the other night to see what he was scribbling in his "schoolboy" composition books. I saw the sentence, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," repeated over and over again on each page. Just kidding! Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!
Last night, when I arrived back at the Aloha Surf Hotel, I decided to drop in on the board meeting for the owner's association. The meeting had just adjourned, but I was treated like a peon by the various rich White Supremacists who are apparently other owners of "condotel" units in the dumpy hotel. What gets to me is the brazen self-importance of these mental midgets. Am I supposed to bow down and worship their white skin? These clowns were also dressed in business attire. I was wearing my board shorts and T-shirt. The manager of the hotel, David, is also a sniveling moron. He is a bleached "brown skin." In other words, he stays indoors to keep from acquiring a tan. He is as pale as the White Supremacists whom he works for, namely the stooges at Aqua. Cheap fucks. Needless to say, even at the Diploma Mill, I am constantly exposed to ignorant White Supremacists and wannabe "suck-ups" like the hotel manager.
Before I am labeled a racist myself, I should point out some simple mathematics. The model for population growth is exponentially-based. Thus, if we were to regress human population growth onto the model and work backwards, we will discover one fact. We all had to come from the same origin. Yes, all races of humans had to have a common origin, so wasting time with racist agendas is both fruitless and baseless. Thus, I only call attention to what I observe, mainly a resurgence of vapid thinking.
I decided to take refuge with the homeless at Waikiki Beach. Upon my arrival, I observed that the pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) were already sitting on the benches near the pavilion structure. I sat on one of the benches overlooking the beach. The homeless guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine) was sitting on a bench two down from me. He was shining his shoes. The African-American homeless guy had set up his pool lounge chair under the plumeria tree in the grassy knoll adjacent to the pavilion structure.
A few minutes later, there was a slight drizzle. Both the pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) moved all of their worldly possessions under the protection of the pavilion structure. Then, they sat there. The homeless babe (term used loosely) talked out loud in Japanese to no one in particular. The pirate was making a repetitive grunting noise, similar to the vocal patterns of someone who has had a lobotomy. The drizzle then quickly turned to rain. I had to seek shelter under the pavilion structure as well. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was still going on and on in Japanese. She referred to something that happened in 1975 several times.
It was then that I had to face the facts. The homeless are all mentally insane. There have been several occasions when a light drizzle appeared. Neither the pirate or the homeless babe (term used loosely) moved to shelter themselves. However, they instinctively knew almost 10 minutes in advance that rain was coming last night. I had looked up in the sky, and I did not see any sign of rain. I reasoned that the drizzle was temporary. How do I know that the homeless are mentally insane? The latter empirical anecdote suggests that the higher cognizant functions of the brain (i.e., reasoning) have shut down, and only the lower-level instinctual programming is in place. The homeless are essentially following the survival and migratory patterns common to lower life forms. After the rain ceased, the pirate gathered up his belongings and walked off toward central Waikiki.
I was at a real loss. I paced around in a confused state before walking in the direction of Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). I had erroneously assumed that the homeless had discovered the way to exit society as well as determined a method for psychological survival. I was wrong. As I entered Fudgepacker Park, I kept vigilant for deviant fudgepackers. The rain had forced most of the homeless to shelter themselves under the restroom buildings. The rain probably deterred the fudgepackers from trolling the park as well. The semi-lucid homeless guy was walking through the park in the direction of Waikiki Beach when we crossed paths. He was carrying two large plastic bags full of cans and bottles which he redeems for cash. The semi-lucid homeless guy is probably the only one of his brethren who is still partially sane. He does change his clothes every day, but that task is nonsensical given the fact that he never takes a shower. In due time, he will lose his mind completely.
Since all the benches were soaked, I decided to head back to the hotel. I was completely disillusioned. Naturally, I stopped off at the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I almost cannot describe how much I despise the ABC Stores. There's one every half-block in Waikiki. Yet, I am forced to shop there because there are no other alternatives. I dropped back the whole can of cerveza immediately upon walking into Chez Loser II.
For some strange reason, I felt that I should gather more of my useless possessions together to donate to charity. I happened to find my two new pairs of glasses in the process. I have not worn either of them, even though I spent over $600 on them. I discovered that one of them was broken. Specifically, the thin plastic strap that holds one of the lenses in place had snapped. I was furious. I walked back to the ABC Store to purchase another big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I polished it off immediately. I was somewhat hammered and sedated.
I must further extrapolate my empirical findings to include almost everyone in the general populace when prognosticating for mental illness. From my own observations, most non-homeless people are also showing extreme signs of duress and psychopathology. The mundane life of a wage slave is very close to the instinctual and migratory patterns of lower life forms, too. That is why we observe so many brain donors walking around in a zombie-like state. These brain donors are much more dangerous than the homeless because they still have some residual level of cognitive functioning, just enough to believe that they are special by some undetermined criteria.
I met moms at Kahala Mall. We ate lunch at Panda Express® as usual. I was happy to be able to meet and chat with moms. During the bus ride back to town, I reflected on the fact that my observations of the homeless has proven futile in determining a survival strategy for my own implementation. Operation Psycho has been mummified. The study is effectively over as I have concluded that the vast majority of the latter are either mentally ill or on the verge of a mental breakdown. Non-homeless or "normal" people are not much better. For example, sixty percent of the people in this country are overweight. A good percentage of the latter also have diabetes, high blood pressure, some kind of sexual dysfunction, and chronic depression. How did these people let themselves go for so long and not do anything about it? That, my friends, is a clear sign of severe mental illness. In addition, they are all on medication. If don't believe that the pathology suggests mental illness, then refer to the PDR® for an explanation of the mechanism of drug efficacy and its effect on the brain. It is certainly entertaining to realize just how pervasive mental illness really is.
My goal is prolong my possible foray into mental illness because I foresee the circumstances in the near future that will ultimately test my psychological resolve. Pain, in and of itself, is not bad. In fact, psychological and physical pain can be used to develop strength and moral fiber. Modern society gives most of us many options to reduce mental and physical pain as well provide numerous diversions and indulgences which, in turn, promotes an insatiable desire to increase the physical sensation of pleasure. The focus on the physical sensation of pleasure is the reason why there are so many weak-willed, self-important mental midgets running amuck. I do not overindulge. If anything, I deny myself of what would be called a "reasonable" allocation. Living with less keeps the hedonistic forces in check. Perhaps, that's all there is to real survival.
Last night, when I arrived back at the Aloha Surf Hotel, I decided to drop in on the board meeting for the owner's association. The meeting had just adjourned, but I was treated like a peon by the various rich White Supremacists who are apparently other owners of "condotel" units in the dumpy hotel. What gets to me is the brazen self-importance of these mental midgets. Am I supposed to bow down and worship their white skin? These clowns were also dressed in business attire. I was wearing my board shorts and T-shirt. The manager of the hotel, David, is also a sniveling moron. He is a bleached "brown skin." In other words, he stays indoors to keep from acquiring a tan. He is as pale as the White Supremacists whom he works for, namely the stooges at Aqua. Cheap fucks. Needless to say, even at the Diploma Mill, I am constantly exposed to ignorant White Supremacists and wannabe "suck-ups" like the hotel manager.
Before I am labeled a racist myself, I should point out some simple mathematics. The model for population growth is exponentially-based. Thus, if we were to regress human population growth onto the model and work backwards, we will discover one fact. We all had to come from the same origin. Yes, all races of humans had to have a common origin, so wasting time with racist agendas is both fruitless and baseless. Thus, I only call attention to what I observe, mainly a resurgence of vapid thinking.
I decided to take refuge with the homeless at Waikiki Beach. Upon my arrival, I observed that the pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) were already sitting on the benches near the pavilion structure. I sat on one of the benches overlooking the beach. The homeless guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine) was sitting on a bench two down from me. He was shining his shoes. The African-American homeless guy had set up his pool lounge chair under the plumeria tree in the grassy knoll adjacent to the pavilion structure.
A few minutes later, there was a slight drizzle. Both the pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) moved all of their worldly possessions under the protection of the pavilion structure. Then, they sat there. The homeless babe (term used loosely) talked out loud in Japanese to no one in particular. The pirate was making a repetitive grunting noise, similar to the vocal patterns of someone who has had a lobotomy. The drizzle then quickly turned to rain. I had to seek shelter under the pavilion structure as well. The homeless babe (term used loosely) was still going on and on in Japanese. She referred to something that happened in 1975 several times.
It was then that I had to face the facts. The homeless are all mentally insane. There have been several occasions when a light drizzle appeared. Neither the pirate or the homeless babe (term used loosely) moved to shelter themselves. However, they instinctively knew almost 10 minutes in advance that rain was coming last night. I had looked up in the sky, and I did not see any sign of rain. I reasoned that the drizzle was temporary. How do I know that the homeless are mentally insane? The latter empirical anecdote suggests that the higher cognizant functions of the brain (i.e., reasoning) have shut down, and only the lower-level instinctual programming is in place. The homeless are essentially following the survival and migratory patterns common to lower life forms. After the rain ceased, the pirate gathered up his belongings and walked off toward central Waikiki.
I was at a real loss. I paced around in a confused state before walking in the direction of Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). I had erroneously assumed that the homeless had discovered the way to exit society as well as determined a method for psychological survival. I was wrong. As I entered Fudgepacker Park, I kept vigilant for deviant fudgepackers. The rain had forced most of the homeless to shelter themselves under the restroom buildings. The rain probably deterred the fudgepackers from trolling the park as well. The semi-lucid homeless guy was walking through the park in the direction of Waikiki Beach when we crossed paths. He was carrying two large plastic bags full of cans and bottles which he redeems for cash. The semi-lucid homeless guy is probably the only one of his brethren who is still partially sane. He does change his clothes every day, but that task is nonsensical given the fact that he never takes a shower. In due time, he will lose his mind completely.
Since all the benches were soaked, I decided to head back to the hotel. I was completely disillusioned. Naturally, I stopped off at the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I almost cannot describe how much I despise the ABC Stores. There's one every half-block in Waikiki. Yet, I am forced to shop there because there are no other alternatives. I dropped back the whole can of cerveza immediately upon walking into Chez Loser II.
For some strange reason, I felt that I should gather more of my useless possessions together to donate to charity. I happened to find my two new pairs of glasses in the process. I have not worn either of them, even though I spent over $600 on them. I discovered that one of them was broken. Specifically, the thin plastic strap that holds one of the lenses in place had snapped. I was furious. I walked back to the ABC Store to purchase another big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I polished it off immediately. I was somewhat hammered and sedated.
I must further extrapolate my empirical findings to include almost everyone in the general populace when prognosticating for mental illness. From my own observations, most non-homeless people are also showing extreme signs of duress and psychopathology. The mundane life of a wage slave is very close to the instinctual and migratory patterns of lower life forms, too. That is why we observe so many brain donors walking around in a zombie-like state. These brain donors are much more dangerous than the homeless because they still have some residual level of cognitive functioning, just enough to believe that they are special by some undetermined criteria.
I met moms at Kahala Mall. We ate lunch at Panda Express® as usual. I was happy to be able to meet and chat with moms. During the bus ride back to town, I reflected on the fact that my observations of the homeless has proven futile in determining a survival strategy for my own implementation. Operation Psycho has been mummified. The study is effectively over as I have concluded that the vast majority of the latter are either mentally ill or on the verge of a mental breakdown. Non-homeless or "normal" people are not much better. For example, sixty percent of the people in this country are overweight. A good percentage of the latter also have diabetes, high blood pressure, some kind of sexual dysfunction, and chronic depression. How did these people let themselves go for so long and not do anything about it? That, my friends, is a clear sign of severe mental illness. In addition, they are all on medication. If don't believe that the pathology suggests mental illness, then refer to the PDR® for an explanation of the mechanism of drug efficacy and its effect on the brain. It is certainly entertaining to realize just how pervasive mental illness really is.
My goal is prolong my possible foray into mental illness because I foresee the circumstances in the near future that will ultimately test my psychological resolve. Pain, in and of itself, is not bad. In fact, psychological and physical pain can be used to develop strength and moral fiber. Modern society gives most of us many options to reduce mental and physical pain as well provide numerous diversions and indulgences which, in turn, promotes an insatiable desire to increase the physical sensation of pleasure. The focus on the physical sensation of pleasure is the reason why there are so many weak-willed, self-important mental midgets running amuck. I do not overindulge. If anything, I deny myself of what would be called a "reasonable" allocation. Living with less keeps the hedonistic forces in check. Perhaps, that's all there is to real survival.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Separation
Last night, after my dinner of canned beans and bread, I departed for Waikiki Beach on the bus. The hottie front desk babe was on duty, the way. Baby was looking hot. The pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) were already sitting on their respective benches near the pavilion structure when I arrived. The semi-lucid homeless guy came by at 9pm. He spent his time scribbling in his "schoolboy" composition books. He's also quite gregarious and always chats with some of the other homeless regulars including the guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine). Homeboy, himself, was smelling a little ripe again. He packed everything up and left before 10pm, heading in the direction of the Ala Wai. Apparently, homeboy does not sleep there at night. The homeless babe (term used loosely) hauled all of her stuff off with her toward Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). She came back in about 20 minutes. I assumed that she had to use the restroom. The homeless never leave their possessions unguarded. The pirate left at his usual time.
There has been an African-American homeless guy situating himself on the grass about 70 feet from the pavilion structure. He always wears a white shirt and white pants. He uses what appears to be a large cushion from a sofa as his bed. He also owns a small boombox, which he has turned up full blast as he sleeps on the sofa cushion. Yesterday, he had procured a pool lounge chair. He placed the lounge chair on the sidewalk and put the sofa cushion on it. He attempted to sleep there with the boombox turned up full blast. Practically everyone looked at him curiously as they walked by. Several White Supremacists also walked by homeboy. Judging from the disdain in their faces along with their upturned noses, I could easily guess what kind of racial slurs were being uttered.
When I returned to the Aloha Surf Hotel at 10pm, I saw the hottie front desk babe still at work. She was just finishing her shift. Since the ol' lavahead will never find himself with a babe like that, he decided to defrost the small refrigerator in his little shoebox. After that mundane task was completed, he piddled around for the rest of the evening. Watching the tube is no longer an option, by the way.
I ruminated upon the idea of "separation," something that the homeless have seemingly perfected. For example, the African-American homeless guy was sleeping on his new pool lounge chair on the sidewalk with his boombox blaring. The band at Tiki's Bar & Grill was overpowering the boombox. Countless people walked by. Yet, he was distinctly separated from it all. The same could be said of the pirate, the homeless babe (term used loosely), and the semi-lucid homeless guy. They are all spiritually separated from the so-called "real world." Understanding this spiritual separation will be the key to psychological survival. Whereas it is fairly true that a good portion of the homeless population are mentally ill, there is a small number of them who have kept their wits about themselves, more than I would have expected given the conditions that they must endure. I find that the phenomenon is quite similar to what Viktor Frankl described about the Nazi prison camp conditions in, "Man's Search for Meaning." The prisoners could see the outside world past the prison walls, but they were locked in a gruesome reality with no possibility of escape. Frankl, one of the inmates who survived intact, later determined exactly what insured their psychological and physical survival. I am seeing the same phenomenon amongst the homeless.
My day was fraught with pathetic attempts by full-time wage slaves to coerce me to do things which would allegedly bolster my so-called "career." I was given opportunities to do certain favors which may offer me a chance to advance to a more stable position. However, my reluctance kept me from doing anything that I didn't want to do. Although I risk the possibility of becoming unemployed by next year, I just don't want to succumb to wage slavery. I have eight more years before I turn 60 years old. Those eight years are going to pass by very quickly, and I don't want to waste that time in full wage slavery. What purpose will it serve? Will I be able to save enough dough to retire? Of course not. I will only end up with a pittance more than I have now.
Many physical and mental changes will occur in my sixties, mostly not for the better. This is a fact of life, and it is not reversible. Younger people, even people just a few years behind me, do not understand the concept. I have observed increased physical degeneration in just the last four years. Even if I am doing nothing during my spare time, it will be a better alternative than full wage slavery. At present, I do not mind the part-time wage slavery that I am engaged in. I am certain that I can tolerate such a moderate level of exposure to the caustic work environment. Anything beyond that is unacceptable. For me, this is the same method of spiritual separation that the homeless use to survive.
I was able to go to the gym on time because I did not cave in to the "carrot on a stick" inducements offered me by the wage slaves higher up the food chain. The hottie gym trainer was taking yet another gym member through the circuit. Baby was looking hot as usual. After the gym, I was prompted to go to Longs® to purchase more canned goods and bread in order to humble myself. Keeping myself in check by maintaining my pathetic existence will prevent me from embarking on any kind of foolish mental journey where I may dream about the unattainable. Like the homeless, I am not part of this world. I am separate. And, nothing can change that.
There has been an African-American homeless guy situating himself on the grass about 70 feet from the pavilion structure. He always wears a white shirt and white pants. He uses what appears to be a large cushion from a sofa as his bed. He also owns a small boombox, which he has turned up full blast as he sleeps on the sofa cushion. Yesterday, he had procured a pool lounge chair. He placed the lounge chair on the sidewalk and put the sofa cushion on it. He attempted to sleep there with the boombox turned up full blast. Practically everyone looked at him curiously as they walked by. Several White Supremacists also walked by homeboy. Judging from the disdain in their faces along with their upturned noses, I could easily guess what kind of racial slurs were being uttered.
When I returned to the Aloha Surf Hotel at 10pm, I saw the hottie front desk babe still at work. She was just finishing her shift. Since the ol' lavahead will never find himself with a babe like that, he decided to defrost the small refrigerator in his little shoebox. After that mundane task was completed, he piddled around for the rest of the evening. Watching the tube is no longer an option, by the way.
I ruminated upon the idea of "separation," something that the homeless have seemingly perfected. For example, the African-American homeless guy was sleeping on his new pool lounge chair on the sidewalk with his boombox blaring. The band at Tiki's Bar & Grill was overpowering the boombox. Countless people walked by. Yet, he was distinctly separated from it all. The same could be said of the pirate, the homeless babe (term used loosely), and the semi-lucid homeless guy. They are all spiritually separated from the so-called "real world." Understanding this spiritual separation will be the key to psychological survival. Whereas it is fairly true that a good portion of the homeless population are mentally ill, there is a small number of them who have kept their wits about themselves, more than I would have expected given the conditions that they must endure. I find that the phenomenon is quite similar to what Viktor Frankl described about the Nazi prison camp conditions in, "Man's Search for Meaning." The prisoners could see the outside world past the prison walls, but they were locked in a gruesome reality with no possibility of escape. Frankl, one of the inmates who survived intact, later determined exactly what insured their psychological and physical survival. I am seeing the same phenomenon amongst the homeless.
My day was fraught with pathetic attempts by full-time wage slaves to coerce me to do things which would allegedly bolster my so-called "career." I was given opportunities to do certain favors which may offer me a chance to advance to a more stable position. However, my reluctance kept me from doing anything that I didn't want to do. Although I risk the possibility of becoming unemployed by next year, I just don't want to succumb to wage slavery. I have eight more years before I turn 60 years old. Those eight years are going to pass by very quickly, and I don't want to waste that time in full wage slavery. What purpose will it serve? Will I be able to save enough dough to retire? Of course not. I will only end up with a pittance more than I have now.
Many physical and mental changes will occur in my sixties, mostly not for the better. This is a fact of life, and it is not reversible. Younger people, even people just a few years behind me, do not understand the concept. I have observed increased physical degeneration in just the last four years. Even if I am doing nothing during my spare time, it will be a better alternative than full wage slavery. At present, I do not mind the part-time wage slavery that I am engaged in. I am certain that I can tolerate such a moderate level of exposure to the caustic work environment. Anything beyond that is unacceptable. For me, this is the same method of spiritual separation that the homeless use to survive.
I was able to go to the gym on time because I did not cave in to the "carrot on a stick" inducements offered me by the wage slaves higher up the food chain. The hottie gym trainer was taking yet another gym member through the circuit. Baby was looking hot as usual. After the gym, I was prompted to go to Longs® to purchase more canned goods and bread in order to humble myself. Keeping myself in check by maintaining my pathetic existence will prevent me from embarking on any kind of foolish mental journey where I may dream about the unattainable. Like the homeless, I am not part of this world. I am separate. And, nothing can change that.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Going "Janitorial"
I did not arrive in Waikiki until almost 8pm last night. The bus stop in town was crowded with Diploma Mill students. Since I have an adversity for crowds, I stood and watched three buses to Waikiki proceed without me. Quite a few students from the Diploma Mill and the UH live in Waikiki. I suppose that is a dream come true for all of them. Waikiki is "Party Central." For me, Waikiki is "Homeless Central." The hottie front desk babe was still working her shift. Baby was looking hot.
I consumed a can of tuna with bread for dinner. Then, I was off to Waikiki Beach. The pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) were already situated on their respective benches when I arrived. I sat on my usual bench. At one point, the homeless babe (term used loosely) stood up. She talked to herself out loud in Japanese. I wondered what brought her to these circumstances. Perhaps she visited Hawai'i with her husband and the latter unexpectedly passed on. She may have had nothing to return to in Japan, which could explain why she has luggage with the destination tags still affixed to them.
A young guy, possibly a tourist, tried to give some food to the pirate. The pirate refused. The young guy put the food on one of the tables under the pavilion structure. A few minutes later, an older babe (term used loosely) brought a big package of food and gave it to the homeless babe (term used loosely). The younger, semi-lucid homeless guy made his appearance around 9pm, his usual time. He asked a young Japanese couple sitting on one of the benches for a cigarette. At that point, I could smell his sickening pungent odor. At least homeboy did not try to mask it with shitty cologne. The homeless guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine) was also there. He's a regular. I noticed that the food left by the young tourist was gone. The pirate departed at his usual time. He disappeared off into central Waikiki.
There have been a lot of people going night surfing lately. They are all young people, of course. I am sure that the line-up is not as intense as during the day. Almost everything caters to young people. The old fudgepackers merely get to sit around and watch the world go by. I am beginning to face this fact. For those of us who have no other external purpose for existing, we are simply waiting for the end of our days. We live out those days in silence. We are burdened to find an internal purpose for being. We wander about aimlessly because we have neither an origin or a destination. We have a place to sleep, but we do not have a home. Our place of shelter, if we have one, is effectively a mausoleum (read: tomb). I never realized what a struggle it is to survive in the monastic life-style.
I sat at the beach for a little while longer before departing. I was not feeling too well. Aside from the shitty day in the ape cage that I had to endure, I also had a sore throat. The hottie front desk babe was still working her shift when I arrived back at the hotel. I spent the rest of the evening in Chez Loser II.
As I mentioned before, there are varying types of homeless people. The drunken losers that are the most conspicuous are surprisingly well off. They along with the drug addicts are given special privileges. They are given priority at the homeless facilities and the halfway houses. Others, like the pirate, are enigmas. I am beginning to suspect that they are a lot like the ol' lavahead. At some point in their lives, they discovered that they had no purpose in continuing on the path they were on. Once they realized this futility, they exited society. Of course, some of them may have been forced to exit society because of adverse circumstances, most likely financial problems. At this point in time, I do not have much in common with the pirate and his brethren. There will be a time in the future that I will face the same decision. Then, I will ask myself, should I give up, or carry on?
I left for Kahala Mall on the bus at 10:45am. Moms had an appointment for her hearing aid adjustment at 11am in town. I sat and waited for moms. I left Kahala Mall at 12:45pm. I couldn't wait any longer, even though I knew that moms would eventually show up. I was starving because I have no breakfast food at Chez Loser II. In addition, I did want to ride a later bus with all of the school kids on it. The bus ride back to town was irritating. The driver never exceeded five miles per hour. Other buses were passing us by. We stopped at bus stops where no one was there and no one wanted to get off. Then, we waited until the upcoming traffic light turned red and waited some more. This continued until I finally arrived in town. I bought a shitty lard-based muffin from one of the vendors near the Diploma Mill. Those vendors buy crappy Costco® bulk packages of muffins and individually wrap them for sale. That was my lunch. What is surprising to me is that my inability to tolerate crowds of morons (i.e., bus load of school kids) superseded my own priorities. Needless to say, I was in a really bad way because I missed lunch with moms.
After devouring the sugar and lard muffin, I realized that I had forgotten to pack my toothbrush and toothpaste. I have no dental plan, so it is imperative that I take care of my teeth. My forgetfulness made me even more irate. I realized that I was on the verge of snapping and launching into a homicidal rampage (read: going "janitorial", or the ol' lavahead's version of going "postal"). Here's what's really happening. Aside from old age and senility, most of my physiological and mental deterioration is derived from malnutrition. I absolutely refuse to buy any quantity of food that will exceed $3 per day. Only on special occasions will I spend the money on shitty junk food such as splurging on 99-cent Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers at Jack in the Box®.
I was still in a bad way when I went to the gym. The hottie gym trainer was taking another gym member through the circuit. Baby was looking hot. After the gym, I checked my voicemail. Moms had called. Apparently, moms arrived at Kahala Mall just after I left. I was able to chat with moms. I will try to meet moms for lunch at Kahala Mall on Thursday. I felt much better. I also stopped by Longs® to purchase more canned goods. I also bought some imitation crab sushi for a snack. Aside from the fact that there was lard-based mayonnaise mixed in, the sushi was delicious.
It is becoming clear to me that I heading down a path that is seemingly self-destructive. I am becoming the proverbial homeless guy even though I am not homeless. I have the homeless guy mindset, and it seems that I want to play it out until it really comes true. Something, other than curiosity, drives me to be in proximity of the functional homeless. I observe them closely because I am trying to assimilate some of their survival techniques, the most important being psychological survival. It is clear to me that my eating habits have also closely approximated that of the functional homeless. Mind you, the functional homeless do not fish through trash cans for scraps of food to eat. That's why they are functional.
I have become a little concerned that I have been too wrapped up in my own thoughts lately with no external feedback. It's scary, isn't it? We've been taught that constant internal dialog is the root of insanity. From what I can tell, the functional homeless are always engaged in internal thought. We assume that they are insane. Hence, by causation, constant internal dialog is implicated. I am discovering that the contrary is true. Most of us have become afraid of internal dialog. We mask out any deep thoughts with trivial nonsense and the myriad technical diversions available to us, the tube being the most prevalent. I was afraid of thinking too much, but now I have come to understand that I can only discover the truth by the latter means. The truth is important to know. Almost everywhere we turn, someone is professing to tell us the "truth." If I know the real truth, then I also know what is right. If I know what is right, then I will do what is right, not just what is "acceptable."
Professor Cathrin sent e-mail to tell me of a visiting professor position at the Diploma Mill. She urged me to apply for it. Why would I want to do that? Sure, it's a full-time position for a year and it comes with medical benefits as well, which is what all wage slaves want. However, that's not what I want. I would have to engage in endless political games wrought with backstabbing. I would have to spend time in meetings with morons. We would be discussing educational models which do not even work. I am barely able to tolerate my "under the radar" position in this field as it is. Education per se is a joke. All the educational system can promise is a lifetime of student loan debt. Colleges and universities are simply vocational training institutions. We prepare young people to become wage slave clones. We try to make them "employable," so that they will be hired by the very firms that will exploit them, rob them, ruin their health, lay them off, and pull the benefits rug right out from under them. The sad part is that these doorknobs will probably end up unemployed anyway. There just won't be that many jobs to go around, and everyone knows this fact. Well, that will be the middle class "kids" penalty. Have kids, support them for life, go bankrupt. In other words, that's another way the moneychangers and the powers-that-be will drain the middle class of its wealth.
I consumed a can of tuna with bread for dinner. Then, I was off to Waikiki Beach. The pirate and the homeless babe (term used loosely) were already situated on their respective benches when I arrived. I sat on my usual bench. At one point, the homeless babe (term used loosely) stood up. She talked to herself out loud in Japanese. I wondered what brought her to these circumstances. Perhaps she visited Hawai'i with her husband and the latter unexpectedly passed on. She may have had nothing to return to in Japan, which could explain why she has luggage with the destination tags still affixed to them.
A young guy, possibly a tourist, tried to give some food to the pirate. The pirate refused. The young guy put the food on one of the tables under the pavilion structure. A few minutes later, an older babe (term used loosely) brought a big package of food and gave it to the homeless babe (term used loosely). The younger, semi-lucid homeless guy made his appearance around 9pm, his usual time. He asked a young Japanese couple sitting on one of the benches for a cigarette. At that point, I could smell his sickening pungent odor. At least homeboy did not try to mask it with shitty cologne. The homeless guy who smells like stale brewskis and piss (read: urine) was also there. He's a regular. I noticed that the food left by the young tourist was gone. The pirate departed at his usual time. He disappeared off into central Waikiki.
There have been a lot of people going night surfing lately. They are all young people, of course. I am sure that the line-up is not as intense as during the day. Almost everything caters to young people. The old fudgepackers merely get to sit around and watch the world go by. I am beginning to face this fact. For those of us who have no other external purpose for existing, we are simply waiting for the end of our days. We live out those days in silence. We are burdened to find an internal purpose for being. We wander about aimlessly because we have neither an origin or a destination. We have a place to sleep, but we do not have a home. Our place of shelter, if we have one, is effectively a mausoleum (read: tomb). I never realized what a struggle it is to survive in the monastic life-style.
I sat at the beach for a little while longer before departing. I was not feeling too well. Aside from the shitty day in the ape cage that I had to endure, I also had a sore throat. The hottie front desk babe was still working her shift when I arrived back at the hotel. I spent the rest of the evening in Chez Loser II.
As I mentioned before, there are varying types of homeless people. The drunken losers that are the most conspicuous are surprisingly well off. They along with the drug addicts are given special privileges. They are given priority at the homeless facilities and the halfway houses. Others, like the pirate, are enigmas. I am beginning to suspect that they are a lot like the ol' lavahead. At some point in their lives, they discovered that they had no purpose in continuing on the path they were on. Once they realized this futility, they exited society. Of course, some of them may have been forced to exit society because of adverse circumstances, most likely financial problems. At this point in time, I do not have much in common with the pirate and his brethren. There will be a time in the future that I will face the same decision. Then, I will ask myself, should I give up, or carry on?
I left for Kahala Mall on the bus at 10:45am. Moms had an appointment for her hearing aid adjustment at 11am in town. I sat and waited for moms. I left Kahala Mall at 12:45pm. I couldn't wait any longer, even though I knew that moms would eventually show up. I was starving because I have no breakfast food at Chez Loser II. In addition, I did want to ride a later bus with all of the school kids on it. The bus ride back to town was irritating. The driver never exceeded five miles per hour. Other buses were passing us by. We stopped at bus stops where no one was there and no one wanted to get off. Then, we waited until the upcoming traffic light turned red and waited some more. This continued until I finally arrived in town. I bought a shitty lard-based muffin from one of the vendors near the Diploma Mill. Those vendors buy crappy Costco® bulk packages of muffins and individually wrap them for sale. That was my lunch. What is surprising to me is that my inability to tolerate crowds of morons (i.e., bus load of school kids) superseded my own priorities. Needless to say, I was in a really bad way because I missed lunch with moms.
After devouring the sugar and lard muffin, I realized that I had forgotten to pack my toothbrush and toothpaste. I have no dental plan, so it is imperative that I take care of my teeth. My forgetfulness made me even more irate. I realized that I was on the verge of snapping and launching into a homicidal rampage (read: going "janitorial", or the ol' lavahead's version of going "postal"). Here's what's really happening. Aside from old age and senility, most of my physiological and mental deterioration is derived from malnutrition. I absolutely refuse to buy any quantity of food that will exceed $3 per day. Only on special occasions will I spend the money on shitty junk food such as splurging on 99-cent Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers at Jack in the Box®.
I was still in a bad way when I went to the gym. The hottie gym trainer was taking another gym member through the circuit. Baby was looking hot. After the gym, I checked my voicemail. Moms had called. Apparently, moms arrived at Kahala Mall just after I left. I was able to chat with moms. I will try to meet moms for lunch at Kahala Mall on Thursday. I felt much better. I also stopped by Longs® to purchase more canned goods. I also bought some imitation crab sushi for a snack. Aside from the fact that there was lard-based mayonnaise mixed in, the sushi was delicious.
It is becoming clear to me that I heading down a path that is seemingly self-destructive. I am becoming the proverbial homeless guy even though I am not homeless. I have the homeless guy mindset, and it seems that I want to play it out until it really comes true. Something, other than curiosity, drives me to be in proximity of the functional homeless. I observe them closely because I am trying to assimilate some of their survival techniques, the most important being psychological survival. It is clear to me that my eating habits have also closely approximated that of the functional homeless. Mind you, the functional homeless do not fish through trash cans for scraps of food to eat. That's why they are functional.
I have become a little concerned that I have been too wrapped up in my own thoughts lately with no external feedback. It's scary, isn't it? We've been taught that constant internal dialog is the root of insanity. From what I can tell, the functional homeless are always engaged in internal thought. We assume that they are insane. Hence, by causation, constant internal dialog is implicated. I am discovering that the contrary is true. Most of us have become afraid of internal dialog. We mask out any deep thoughts with trivial nonsense and the myriad technical diversions available to us, the tube being the most prevalent. I was afraid of thinking too much, but now I have come to understand that I can only discover the truth by the latter means. The truth is important to know. Almost everywhere we turn, someone is professing to tell us the "truth." If I know the real truth, then I also know what is right. If I know what is right, then I will do what is right, not just what is "acceptable."
Professor Cathrin sent e-mail to tell me of a visiting professor position at the Diploma Mill. She urged me to apply for it. Why would I want to do that? Sure, it's a full-time position for a year and it comes with medical benefits as well, which is what all wage slaves want. However, that's not what I want. I would have to engage in endless political games wrought with backstabbing. I would have to spend time in meetings with morons. We would be discussing educational models which do not even work. I am barely able to tolerate my "under the radar" position in this field as it is. Education per se is a joke. All the educational system can promise is a lifetime of student loan debt. Colleges and universities are simply vocational training institutions. We prepare young people to become wage slave clones. We try to make them "employable," so that they will be hired by the very firms that will exploit them, rob them, ruin their health, lay them off, and pull the benefits rug right out from under them. The sad part is that these doorknobs will probably end up unemployed anyway. There just won't be that many jobs to go around, and everyone knows this fact. Well, that will be the middle class "kids" penalty. Have kids, support them for life, go bankrupt. In other words, that's another way the moneychangers and the powers-that-be will drain the middle class of its wealth.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Planet of the Apes
Last night, I found myself sitting on a bench near the pavilion structure in Waikiki Beach yet again. The pirate was sitting two benches down from me. The homeless babe (term used loosely) who usually sits at the next pavilion structure had moved to this one. She had a shopping cart filled with stuff. Stacked on the shopping cart were a duffel bag and a small suitcase. She also had a huge red suitcase, the kind with the built-in casters. She appeared to be in her late fifties. She and the pirate sat on their respective benches doing absolutely nothing.
All the while, I could see groups of hotties walking along the promenade. Quite a few hotties were hooked up with dorks, I might add. I then realized that I will never ever do da wild thing again in this lifetime. Sad, but true. I wondered what the homeless were thinking about. I seriously doubt that thoughts of hookin' up filled their idle time. The pirate stared at nothing. The homeless babe (term used loosely) stared at her hands. What were they thinking about? Surely, they still have the survival instinct. They will do what must be done to stay alive. Otherwise, they would not be sitting there. Yet, why do they want to prolong this misery? What hope is keeping them coming back for more? They know that their lives are not going to dramatically improve. The pirate departed at his usual time. Once again, he walked down toward central Waikiki with all of his worldly possessions.
The younger, semi-lucid homeless guy showed up around 9pm, although the offensive odor was clearly absent. He sat at one of the tables scribbling in his "schoolboy" composition books. A middle-aged guy appeared under the pavilion structure a short time later. He did not look like a homeless guy. I thought that he was a fudgepacker at first. Why else would he be standing around suspiciously under the pavilion structure? He finally sat on the bench next to mine. He had a backpack with him. The backpack was completely full. That's usually an indicator of homelessness. He seemed uncomfortable, possibly irritated. He stared off into the distance.
While I was walking to the bus stop, I realized that it was Sunday night. I had no idea what day it was prior. For a brief moment, I lost track of time. In fact, I don't really know what time it is. I don't have a watch, and I don't carry my cell phone with me anymore. The times that I quote in the "blog" are often based on my internal clock. Losing track of time is such an exhilarating feeling. I felt free for that brief moment.
Returning to wage slavery this morning brought back the framework of time and scheduling. Once again, I felt trapped. I shopped at Longs® during my break, purchasing more canned goods. The place was packed with people. Oddly, there was order amidst the chaos. People were cordial, as opposed to the self-important White Supremacist putz who pushed his way past me this morning on the bus. Naturally, I had to let him know that he was dickhead. He's fortunate that my arm didn't "accidentally" brush against the side of his head. The problem with these White Supremacists is that they equate the "brown skins" with monkeys. Even though they are apostate Christians at best, they conveniently favor evolution theory when dealing with monkeys. Trained monkeys, that is, like the "brown skins" working in the hotels they are staying at. It is these kinds of racists who prove the evolutionary theory themselves. They are the closest to the "missing link." Why would any higher-ordered species waste time differentiating other people by color of skin? This is the same level of intellect as a three-year-old separating a marble collection by color. Mental midgets are all the same. They're stupid, but they become very dangerous when they have money and power. Dangerous because they are "tools" of the "system."
I have spent a lot of time ruminating about the monastic path that I have taken by default. Without friends and family, and my own family (i.e., wife and kids), I have come to the end of the trail. I have no emotional ties except for moms. Thus, I really have nothing to do just like the homeless people whom I sit with every night. The homeless are localized nomads. The pirate, for example, must travel a small circuit each day. I find that I, too, follow the circuit of a localized nomad. I go from place to place, only returning to Chez Loser II to sleep. During the day, I travel with my gym bag packed full of stuff, just as the homeless carry their worldly possessions with them on their journey. I am like no one else I know. My peers have a large group of friends and family. They have mates and kids as well. Thus, they are able to stay at home and enjoy what they would call a "complete" life. Even sitting at home and watching the tube is not so bad when life is "complete." They also have family and friends that they can go out and socialize with, which further completes their lives. At one time, I yearned for such a life. I knew deep down inside, though, that such a life was not for me. Why did I choose to be poor and alone? After all, it is a choice. Why would someone desire a seemingly pathetic existence over something seemingly much more stable and emotionally fulfilling? I don't really have an answer.
On a dark note, what is really bringing me to my knees here in Hawai'i is the sheer number of people, the ignorant and belligerent crowds, and the constant noise. After my workout at the gym, I was famished, which probably was bringing me closer to the edge. There were crowds everywhere. I decided to go to Longs® to find a snack. The crowd in there was almost out of control as opposed to my visit this morning. I felt as though I was in the ape cage at the zoo. I purchased a shitty sandwich as a snack knowing that it would quell my hunger pains.
No matter how hard I try, there really is no way that I can survive in Hawai'i. Even if I could financially subsist, I can barely handle life in an ape cage. There must be something wrong with me. I observed that people love this kind of shit. They stagger around, bumping into each other while talking on their cell phones. They love to talk as loud as possible and make a lot of noise. They travel in herds and barrel over anyone in their way. What is even worse is the utter lack of respect and courtesy for others. This is about as close to anarchy as we can get. Sometimes I wonder if I will be able to fulfill my promise and remain here as long as moms is around. I'm not sure that my fragile mental state will hold out. The behavior of people in general has gotten worse with each successive year. No one can deny this. Can you imagine what it will be like in five years?
I have chosen to avoid the gratuitous and patronizing comments about the "September 11th" event. The latter has been so exploited and commercialized that I am sickened at the thought. In the meantime, a barrage of unanswered questions remain. In place of answers, a series of bumbling rhetoric was offered. I don't buy it. I will wait patiently for the real answers to come forth.
All the while, I could see groups of hotties walking along the promenade. Quite a few hotties were hooked up with dorks, I might add. I then realized that I will never ever do da wild thing again in this lifetime. Sad, but true. I wondered what the homeless were thinking about. I seriously doubt that thoughts of hookin' up filled their idle time. The pirate stared at nothing. The homeless babe (term used loosely) stared at her hands. What were they thinking about? Surely, they still have the survival instinct. They will do what must be done to stay alive. Otherwise, they would not be sitting there. Yet, why do they want to prolong this misery? What hope is keeping them coming back for more? They know that their lives are not going to dramatically improve. The pirate departed at his usual time. Once again, he walked down toward central Waikiki with all of his worldly possessions.
The younger, semi-lucid homeless guy showed up around 9pm, although the offensive odor was clearly absent. He sat at one of the tables scribbling in his "schoolboy" composition books. A middle-aged guy appeared under the pavilion structure a short time later. He did not look like a homeless guy. I thought that he was a fudgepacker at first. Why else would he be standing around suspiciously under the pavilion structure? He finally sat on the bench next to mine. He had a backpack with him. The backpack was completely full. That's usually an indicator of homelessness. He seemed uncomfortable, possibly irritated. He stared off into the distance.
While I was walking to the bus stop, I realized that it was Sunday night. I had no idea what day it was prior. For a brief moment, I lost track of time. In fact, I don't really know what time it is. I don't have a watch, and I don't carry my cell phone with me anymore. The times that I quote in the "blog" are often based on my internal clock. Losing track of time is such an exhilarating feeling. I felt free for that brief moment.
Returning to wage slavery this morning brought back the framework of time and scheduling. Once again, I felt trapped. I shopped at Longs® during my break, purchasing more canned goods. The place was packed with people. Oddly, there was order amidst the chaos. People were cordial, as opposed to the self-important White Supremacist putz who pushed his way past me this morning on the bus. Naturally, I had to let him know that he was dickhead. He's fortunate that my arm didn't "accidentally" brush against the side of his head. The problem with these White Supremacists is that they equate the "brown skins" with monkeys. Even though they are apostate Christians at best, they conveniently favor evolution theory when dealing with monkeys. Trained monkeys, that is, like the "brown skins" working in the hotels they are staying at. It is these kinds of racists who prove the evolutionary theory themselves. They are the closest to the "missing link." Why would any higher-ordered species waste time differentiating other people by color of skin? This is the same level of intellect as a three-year-old separating a marble collection by color. Mental midgets are all the same. They're stupid, but they become very dangerous when they have money and power. Dangerous because they are "tools" of the "system."
I have spent a lot of time ruminating about the monastic path that I have taken by default. Without friends and family, and my own family (i.e., wife and kids), I have come to the end of the trail. I have no emotional ties except for moms. Thus, I really have nothing to do just like the homeless people whom I sit with every night. The homeless are localized nomads. The pirate, for example, must travel a small circuit each day. I find that I, too, follow the circuit of a localized nomad. I go from place to place, only returning to Chez Loser II to sleep. During the day, I travel with my gym bag packed full of stuff, just as the homeless carry their worldly possessions with them on their journey. I am like no one else I know. My peers have a large group of friends and family. They have mates and kids as well. Thus, they are able to stay at home and enjoy what they would call a "complete" life. Even sitting at home and watching the tube is not so bad when life is "complete." They also have family and friends that they can go out and socialize with, which further completes their lives. At one time, I yearned for such a life. I knew deep down inside, though, that such a life was not for me. Why did I choose to be poor and alone? After all, it is a choice. Why would someone desire a seemingly pathetic existence over something seemingly much more stable and emotionally fulfilling? I don't really have an answer.
On a dark note, what is really bringing me to my knees here in Hawai'i is the sheer number of people, the ignorant and belligerent crowds, and the constant noise. After my workout at the gym, I was famished, which probably was bringing me closer to the edge. There were crowds everywhere. I decided to go to Longs® to find a snack. The crowd in there was almost out of control as opposed to my visit this morning. I felt as though I was in the ape cage at the zoo. I purchased a shitty sandwich as a snack knowing that it would quell my hunger pains.
No matter how hard I try, there really is no way that I can survive in Hawai'i. Even if I could financially subsist, I can barely handle life in an ape cage. There must be something wrong with me. I observed that people love this kind of shit. They stagger around, bumping into each other while talking on their cell phones. They love to talk as loud as possible and make a lot of noise. They travel in herds and barrel over anyone in their way. What is even worse is the utter lack of respect and courtesy for others. This is about as close to anarchy as we can get. Sometimes I wonder if I will be able to fulfill my promise and remain here as long as moms is around. I'm not sure that my fragile mental state will hold out. The behavior of people in general has gotten worse with each successive year. No one can deny this. Can you imagine what it will be like in five years?
I have chosen to avoid the gratuitous and patronizing comments about the "September 11th" event. The latter has been so exploited and commercialized that I am sickened at the thought. In the meantime, a barrage of unanswered questions remain. In place of answers, a series of bumbling rhetoric was offered. I don't buy it. I will wait patiently for the real answers to come forth.
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