Mummify This!

I spent 16 hours in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) after I returned from town at 5:45pm yesterday afternoon. The evening? Prison food (i.e., beans and bread). Cleaning with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, hours spent looking through what little I have left in the way of material possessions to find more to divest.

Indeed, I did find more useless mortgage-related paperwork. I also gathered a few items that possibly need to be divested including the Jacob's Little Piper® chimes that Malia had given me, the commemorative USSR flask that Pseudo-professor Mike had given me, and the small Tick action figure. I also noticed that my only remaining luggage, a large Jeep® gym/duffel bag, is now way too large for my purposes. I may divest it as well and purchase a smaller gym bag. I will stop at nothing to reduce my possessions to the smallest volume possible. Living in an extremely small prison cell has enabled me to realize that dream.

Speaking of Pseudo-professor Mike, he was much more visible last week. I chatted with him briefly. It was confirmed that she did suffer a mild stroke. She is doing well. Apparently, after the incident, Bea decided that she would give Pseudo-professor Mike power-of-attorney for her personal affairs. She most likely will add his name to the deed of her condo. Pseudo-professor Mike seemed a lot less stressed out. Could that be the reason?

This morning, I departed for town on the prison transport (read: bus) at 10am, after eating a modest prison brunch consisting of Coral® tuna and Safeway® bread. I procured the Sunday paper from the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). Part of the route of the Honolulu Marathon weaves through Waikiki, so I wanted to be as far away as possible. Once in town, I made my way to the Beretania Street Apartments. I sat outside in the shaded lanai area and rummaged through the paper. As usual, there really was nothing to read. I spent some time perusing the myriad advertising supplements and the real estate section.

At noon, I ended up in the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill. Gym time was at 2pm. I did my usual cardio workout, took a shower, and returned to the student computer lab. As famished as I was, I did not give into the temptation to purchase fast food. I departed for Waikiki on the prison transport at 5pm. Lockdown tonight? Who knows?

I have become quite listless lately, while concurrently experiencing restlessness. I attributed the symptoms to a combination of anxiety due to the Countdown to the Meltdown, old age, the "existential vacuum," and my total inability to make sense of modern life. I don't particularly understand the satanic gargoyles. As I have mentioned before, I am not a social recluse because of a predetermined disposition. I would rather engage in social interaction. Yet, I have nothing in common with anyone else. Since they have succumbed to the epidemic of the "seven sins," their values are diametrically opposed to mine. What can I do? I fear that any close association with the satanic gargoyles will only serve to draw me over to the "Dark Side." I've been there before. I do not want to go back.

In Chapter One of the Book of Ecclesiastes, King Solomon wrote, "He who increases knowledge increases pain." Solomon, as you may recall, petitioned the Almighty for wisdom, most of which is recorded in Ecclesiastes. The quote is an axiom for modern life. As I have increased my knowledge, albeit worldly, I have increased my pain and sorrow. I have learned that treachery abounds. And, I have come to witness human after human sell their souls to El Diablo for a few shiny coins. In my five decades of existence, I have watched as the tenets of society have crumbled into dust. There is something terribly wrong with this new form of society. It is so entrenched in narcissism and self-gratification. Wealth and material possessions are all that matter. Real knowledge has been replaced with useless trivia. The human form has been reduced to a soft fattened lump. Endless methods of wireless connectivity have been established, but the human social network has been deprecated to infinite self-aggrandised chatter. No one has derived any meaning for existing, and no one seems to care. Happiness is determined by a combination of medication, carefree attitudes, and careless behavior. We've been mummified.

The incursion in Iraq and Afghanistan has spiraled out of control. It's almost unfathomable to try to comprehend how many fatalities there has been simply because of the oil and natural gas reserves there as well as the strategic geographical potential. The consumption in this nation has surpassed 25 percent of the world's available resources. At the same time, a disparity in wealth has created an incredible amount of poverty. The statistics for the number of starvation fatalities worldwide is disturbing. We are complicit in all of this. Yet, no one cares. If I bring anything up, I am privy to disparaging remarks such as, "Well, if you care so much, why don't you give all your money away to the poor?" Attempting to prove that I am a hypocrite does little to solve the problem. It only attempts to shift the blame to me. Or, I am privy to a number of canned platitudes, usually originating from a sycophant pundit of the pedigreed elite. This is what I mean when I say that no one really cares. That is why I have nothing in common with anyone else. Am I doing my part to help? Am I, say, volunteering to help the homeless? The satanic gargoyles will use many clever methods to deflect their own complicity. I am doing my part by living a mendicant life-style. I am reducing my consumption and divesting my unused possessions to charity. If we all did the same thing, then a real change will occur. Many of the major problems confronting us today (e.g., Peak Oil, global warming, trade deficit, pollution, etc.) will be diminished simply by collective individual action that makes a difference. Not just lip service.

The satanic gargoyles believe that it is their "right" to live as conspicuously and opulently as possible, even if that is well beyond their means. They only have one life to live, they say, and they are going to live it to the fullest. I am afraid that the world was never designed to be that way. There is only so much to go around. If one takes more than a fair share, then another must go without. It does not take an advanced degree in Physics to figure out equilibrium in a finite system. The epidemic of the "seven sins" is what serves to blind us. As opposed to knowledge, which brings about pain, ignorance is bliss.

Mundane of the Mundane

I left for town on the prison transport (read: bus) this morning at 8:30am. I found myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I made a pot of coffee. Pseudo-professor Francis joined me for morning coffee time. I walked to Safeway® at 10am to purchase a couple of energy bars, a jar of Safeway® natural peanut butter, and three Sunkist® navel oranges. I ate the energy bars for lunch. I will add that the simple walk to Safeway® is not a relaxing one. There are usually a myriad of obese satanic gargoyles staggering about. They are so huge that they take up the whole sidewalk as well as the full width of most pedestrian accesses. I am constantly at-risk of being "steamrolled." The sheer number of overweight satanic gargoyles recklessly careening their 4000-pound motorized chairs (read: automobiles) around on the street and in the parking lot makes the whole ordeal even more life-threatening.

At 12:45pm, Pseudo-professor Francis invited me to join him for lunch. We walked to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum at the Golden Palace Restaurant. The food was excellent. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room, except for a break to go to the gym at 2:15pm. I will be riding the prison transport back to Waikiki at 5pm.

The evenings have had an icy chill in the air. Thus, I have deferred my prison furloughs to Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One. I've been spending my evenings in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). Aside from the cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush, I have been sorting as many things as possible for divestiture. If there is nothing else to do, I end up watching the tube. I have given up with the marginal wireless access points. Thus, I no longer compose any portion of the "blog" in the evening. I carry my beloved Palm® TX to town with me. I can easy connect to the Wi-Fi® access point at the Diploma Mill to peruse the free hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net. As the Countdown to the Meltdown ticks down to the final moment, I find myself being squeezed and "marginalized" even further. All of the perks of the mendicant life-style are rapidly disappearing.

Yes, hard as it may be to believe, divesting my useless possessions is my only intellectually stimulating activity lately. I spend hours going through what little I have left, much in the same way the satanic gargoyles spend hours looking at crap to purchase. I've made significant progress, by the way. The future is very uncertain for me. In one week, I will be unemployed, not simply on "unpaid vacation." What more can I say?

Groundhog Day (Yet Again)

Last night, I noticed that the "gook" in the next prison cell had placed the "Do Not Disturb" placard on his door. Do not disturb? The dickhead is obviously the master of his universe. At the least, I was able to enjoy a quiet evening in my own prison cell (read: little shoebox). At 9:30pm, I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. I retrieved the package of canned goods that moms had given to me. Later, I watched the old classic, "Groundhog Day," on the tube. I have often referenced the movie in the journal for its comedic value. It's more than a comedy.

I left for town this morning at the usual time. I found myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, a recurring phenomenon reminiscent of "Groundhog Day." I managed to spend some time updating the net worth balance sheet. I will make timely adjustments, but the only accurate figures will be at the end of the year in question (December 31st). Some figures will remain unconfirmed until the tax documentation arrives in January.

At noon, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and a box of Kellogg's® Nutri-Grain® snacks. I also gave in to temptation and purchased a Nestle® Crunch® bar. Gym time was at 2:30pm. Then, I was back in the faculty computer room for more fun. I took a short quasi-dinner break at Taco Bell®. Two Cheesy Bean & Rice Burritos with total of seven packets of "Fire" sauce. Yum! I will depart for Waikiki at 7pm on the prison transport. No telling what I will do tonight, aside from cleaning my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. Sheesh!

Loose Ends Redux

Last night, I waited for an hour before a prison transport (read: bus) to Waikiki came by. Actually, one other prison transport to Waikiki came by earlier but it was packed. Usually, there is a prison transport every five minutes to Waikiki. I was back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 8:45pm. After digesting the usual prison food for dinner, I piddled around in my prison cell after performing the cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. I managed to gather more useless documentation for shredding. I eagerly anticipated another "gook" soirée at 10pm. Nada. I was spared the grief, thank goodness.

I left for town this morning on the prison transport at 8:30am. The weather was damp, so I decided not to visit moms. Obviously, a lame excuse. Once in town, I stationed myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I shredded the useless documents. I also mailed one of my remaining hurdy-gurdy DVDs to Used DVD Empire. There are still three hurdy-gurdy DVDs left in my former hurdy-gurdy DVD library. I must wait until they appear on the buyback list.

I have been carrying my beloved Palm® TX with me lately. Trying to connect to any of the marginal Wi-Fi® access points in Waikiki has been frustrating at best. Fortunately, I am able to connect to the Diploma Mill wireless network and peruse the free hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net with ease. I have noticed that many satanic gargoyles carry from $300 to $3,000 worth of technology "toys" with them daily. Cell phones, notebook computers, Apple® iPod® music players, etc. All made in China, of course. We have become slaves to these gadgets. I have vowed that I will not purchase anything beyond my Palm® TX, as difficult as that may sound.

The only power that I have left as an individual in this society is the power to control my spending and curbing the amount of useless possessions that I own. Sad to say, that's about the only way to attain "freedom." I keep reading articles in the progressive media calling for an end to shopping at "big box" retailers. One such article titled, "Big Box Swindle: The Fight to Reclaim America from Retail Giants," by Stacey Mitchell appeared on the Alternet site. The readers' comments were interesting. What becomes obvious is how we are locked in a cycle that can no longer be broken. To find low prices and product availability, we have to shop at the "big box" retailer. Yet, the "big box" retailer pays its employees low wages and provides no healthcare benefits. In addition, the "big box" products are produced abroad, thereby contributing further to the trade deficit problem. The only solution is to reduce consumption to a minimum, something that all satanic gargoyles of all political persuasions refuse to do. Everyone wants solutions, as long as those solutions do not affect them in any way.

I dodged all of the fat slobs wheeling around in their 4,000-pound motorized chairs as I walked to Safeway® during my wage slave break. Traffic is totally out of hand. I purchased three energy bars, three Sunkist® navel oranges, and two Nestle® Crunch® candy bars.

Gym time was at 2pm. After and invigorating workout, I returned to the Diploma Mill. I stopped by the Diploma Mill bookstore and purchased a sackpack (i.e., a very small type of backpack) with the Diploma Mill logo on it. The sackpack was manufactured by Jansport®, although the country of manufacture was nowhere to be found. China, you think? The $12 price was a little expensive, but that's okay. I will be divesting my T&C® Surf backpack. Yes, it seems strange to divest a perfectly good backpack. However, in my quest for "freedom," I am compelled to follow my instincts.

This has been a hectic week for most of the other Diploma Mill faculty. For me, it was a little more hectic than usual. However, I have long ago figured out how to optimize my time in wage slavery. The quality of students has gone downhill significantly. Most of the other faculty are using a parental approach, which only serves to enable the undesired behavior. I have place adult responsibility upon my students. Maturity can only be fostered through delegated responsibility.

I was back in the faculty computer room after chatting with Pseudo-professor Mike in his office. I piddled around on the computer for the rest of the afternoon. Pseudo-professor Francis and I chatted and sipped hot chocolate beverages as well. Everything seems quite laid back considering the Countdown to the Meltdown, eh? My demise is around the corner, and I am feebly attempting to tie up loose ends. I departed for Waikiki on the prison transport at 7pm. The evening? Who knows? Will the "gooks" act up again? I hope not.

Time & Memories

Last night was more of the same. The "gooks" in the next prison cell started drinking cheap booze and carrying on at 10pm. I did the dreaded laundry and piddled around in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I saw one of the "slopes" by the elevator talking on his cell phone when I went to check on my laundry. He was in his twenties, no doubt one of the so-called "NEET" youths (young individuals who are not engaged in education, employment or training). The cigarette smoke from the next prison cell was once again permeating the wall. I was practically choking for air. I finally had to summon the prison guard (read: security guard) at 12:45am. As to be expected, the "slopes" just ignored the warning. Incidentally, I had to make a jaunt to the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza for "medicinal" purposes.

A better understanding of modern Japan (and other modern Asian cultures) can be found in the book titled, "Shutting Out the Sun," by journalist Michael Zielenziger. In Waikiki, the Japanese tourists are the most lucrative demographic. There is an unabashed pandering and catering to the Japanese tourists. We want all their money. They have surpassed domestic satanic gargoyles as top consumers. I am surprised at the presence of the sheer number of young (read: twenty-something) Japanese tourists. They seem to have endless wads of cash, spending freely on all of the elite-branded merchandise. I surmise that the "deep pockets" of money are originating with their parents. I have heard from a number of educators in two of the Japanese-based colleges (i.e., Tokai University, Transpacific College, etc.) that many of the students are dispatched to Hawai'i to go to school primarily to keep the kids occupied (coincident with the upsurge in so-called "NEET"). They spend most of their time having fun and buying anything and everything.

There are also a tremendous number of Japanese babes somehow living in Hawai'i on some kind of extended visa. Many of them work here at marginal jobs with subsidies from home. Their goal is to find and marry an "American," which most do. Hence, the large number of single-parent Japanese babes. It's a means to obtain citizenship. The Japanese love Hawai'i, which often bewildered me. However, Hawai'i is more like a paradise compared to the overcrowded cities of Japan. No matter how crowded Hawai'i may seem, it is more like a small town to most Japanese. The people of Japan, like other modern Asian countries, have changed. They have fully embraced the worst of the Western ways and, in some respects, have surpassed the original Western cultures. I, for one, have disavowed any connection with the Japanese culture. Many of us here in Hawai'i of the same ethnicity cling onto the "old ways" much more than our distant relatives. As far as I am concerned, they are "gooks." They cannot be trusted as far as they can be thrown. We, in this nation, are not far behind, however. It's all about the epidemic of the "seven sins."

I left for town at 8:15am on the prison transport (read: bus). All was quiet in the next prison cell. The "slopes" were fast asleep. They need their rest because they are going to need enough energy to spend all of their parents' money. I stationed myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Another day of wage slavery did little to derive any satisfaction. The last week of the term brings out countless excuses and whining from the students. They are trying to salvage their grades at the very last minute, although they have down absolutely nothing for the last three months. What does this tell us about the future of society? I took a short wage slave break to walk to Safeway®. I purchase two lard-filled Tina's® burritos for lunch and three energy bars for a snack.

Yesterday, I made the indelible observation that moms' hands were shaking more. I become sad at watching moms grow older, just as I helplessly watched pops grow old and feeble. Although the Countdown to the Meltdown signals the possible end of my days as a wage slave, it should also be the portal to some modicum of "freedom." One aspect of that "freedom" will be the ability to visit moms more often. After moms is gone, I do want to wallow in regret for not having done so because I just did not have the time. After all, what is time?

The concept of time is what separates us from the spirit creatures. Our life force (read: spirit) is intimately tied to our mortal bodies. Our brain is the point of storage of our life experiences. Memories. That is what we have, and that is what we treasure. The values that we have embraced are a culmination of those embedded memories and how we process and analyze them. Regret or remorse would not be possible without what has been stored in memory. Humans have the amazing capability to remember sensations and feelings associated with events, which further accentuates our cognitive powers. That is what time means to me.

Moms brought me up to be a much better person than I am. I am not sure when or why I went wrong. I have tried to regain my innocence, but to no avail. Why was I so foolish?

Good Cop, Bad Cop

A benign evening in prison (read: hotel) is second only to insanity for extreme fun. I watched the tainted news on CNN®, which almost made a brain donor out of me. To round out the evening, I trimmed my nose hairs and the unruly growth around the Vienna Sausage. I also cleaned my 20-plus-year-old Norelco® shaver. How can I have this much fun? I am a fun kind-of-a-guy, that's how. I wasn't done yet. I cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. Where do I get so much energy for a senior citizen? Prison food. Safeway® pork and beans and Safeway® bread.

You are probably wondering why I had to trim my nose hairs and the unsightly bush around the Vienna Sausage. What? "TMI," you say. Nothing is "TMI" (too much information) around here. The ol' lavahead is too old to be a "metrosexual." However, he doesn't want to look like all those other fossils who let themselves go. Have you seen those old codgers with nostrils full of hair. They look like dual retro-rockets, don't they? And, how about those high-water pants hiked up all the way above their bloated abdomens? The ol' lavahead is a senior citizen, but he's not an old codger.

I spent most of the evening doing nothing. I sat on the floor of my prison cell in the dark, listening to the satanic gargoyles in the next cell engage in a slammin' soirée with the shitty hotel-issue dresser. The fat morons bring so much shit with them. I've seen some of these clowns with five times more stuff than all of my worldly possessions combined. And, they are on vacation. Can you imagine how much crap they have at home? Heck, I have nothing stored in the shitty hotel-issue furniture.

My thoughts about voluntarily becoming homeless are increasing in number and much more intrusive. Seeing all of the cheap fucks in Waikiki is not helping. The gluttony is enough to make any human sick. The fact that the satanic gargoyles are on vacation further increases their selfish gargoyle-like behavior. What's not acceptable at home is perfectly okay anywhere else.

There's not too much about modern life that I care for. Once we are able to cut the umbilical cord to materialism, there is not much need for modern conveniences. I still keep imagining different scenarios in which I am homeless. The most common scenario is camping. Can I survive by living in a campground? I would most likely retain my truck and utilize a bed tent. Camping in Hawai'i is limited to five days per week. Where would the truck and I go for the other two days? And, more important, could I survive in a crowded campground full of the more desperate of the homeless?

I spent a little time composing the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. At 10:15pm, the dickheads in the next prison cell were yelling and carrying on, no doubt drunk. What I don't understand is that the cheap fucks are in Hawai'i, and they are partying in a little prison cell. I was able to ascertain that the morons were yelling in Japanese, obviously intoxicated on sake. Stupid "gooks"! These damned "slopes" are no better than their Western counterparts. What happened to the old Asian culture that focused on honor and respect? What about the lone chawan? All long gone, thanks to "globalization." These are my distant relatives?

At 11:05pm, I relocated to the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). At midnight, I returned to my prison cell. The "slopes" in the next prison cell were still carrying on, so I had to call the watch commander (read: front desk) at one o' clock. A prison guard (read: security guard) was dispatched. The cocky bastards just ignored the warning. I had to grin and bear it. The "gooks" were chain-smoking so much that the smoke was seeping through the wall, if you can believe it.

Incidentally, I finally decided to put the old stalker paperwork in the shredder. You may recall the stalking incident with Toad a few years ago. It's all in the journal. I had kept the restraining order and injunction documents as well as the evidence used in the hearing. The police report leading to Toad's arrest was also shredded. Water under the bridge.

I woke up fairly early. Obviously, I was completely fatigued. I rode the prison transport to town at 8:15am. I enjoyed several free cups of coffee and a leftover energy bar in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. At 9:45am, I departed for Kahala Mall to meet moms for lunch. Moms and I ate at Panda Express®. I was able to chat with moms for quite a while because the bus to Hawai'i Kai ran a little late. I arrived back in town at 1pm. Incidentally, I donated my last nice shirt to Goodwill. The divestiture continues.

My Panda Express® fortune cookie's fortune? "Unveil your ideas and be ready to act on them." This morning, my gut feeling was overwhelming and urging me to sell the "condotel" unit now. I almost called Debbie, my realtor, to list it right away. The 19 units in the hotel are not selling for obvious reasons. I should, however, consider listing. If it takes a year to sell, I would be ahead of the game by listing it now. The Panda Express® fortune cookie may be correct.

Gym time was at 2pm. Although my workouts are becoming monotonous, I must soldier on. I cannot end up like the myriad satanic gargoyles, overweight and on medication for numerous ailments. On the way out, I noticed the hottie gym trainer busy with a gym member. Baby was looking hot! She has a fine "package," if you know what I mean. She's also quite well-endowed. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I was not looking forward to returning to my prison cell. I will have to put up with the stupid "gooks," and I will have to do the dreaded laundry.

According to an article in the Star-Bulletin, median home prices in Hawai'i are starting to decline. However, condo prices are still going up. The so-called "experts" are calling for a "soft landing" as the real estate market softens. That, of course, depends on whether the economy stays afloat next year. Everyone around me is oblivious to the future direction of the economy. "The economy is booming," the sycophants all tell me. I'm not part of the "boom." In less than 30 days, I will be unemployed in addition to not having a health plan. Any initiation of discussion about a possible economic meltdown is a conversation stopper. The dialog is always cut short with the usual "tin-foil hat" dismissals. The satanic gargoyles know more sports scores and celebrity trivia than they do about their own economy.

Enter the Fed. What will the Fed do next year? Lowering the short-term interest rates could affect capital inflow from other countries (i.e., buying up more dollars and debt instruments). It would also refuel the housing boom and squeeze out the remaining equity-line credit from the last holdouts. That alone could buy the economy some time and stave off the collapse of the real estate market. However, what is more important? Which has more money at stake? Mortgage-backed securities or capital inflow? I'd say that the real estate market is an easier write-off. The only losers will be the various homeowners from lower socio-economic classes. The nation is already in bad shape. What happened to all of the workers who lost manufacturing jobs? What about the increasing number of homeless? There's not a word in the mainstream media. I can only surmise that the economic reports are doctored or are compiled only to reflect the interests of the pedigreed elite (i.e., moneychangers and powers-that-be). The economic boom deals with corporations as entities onto themselves, as if each was a living being. Yet, the boom does not include the unemployed or the homeless in its calculations. The unemployed and the homeless ceased to exist and appear nowhere in the GNP, GDP, NNP, and NDP. They are simply "collateral damage." The bursting of the real estate "bubble" will result in the forced transfer of real assets. The peons will absorb the losses and "disappear" from the books. The real assets will be sold off at at double the profit since the peon forfeited everything by default. It will be a very lucrative catastrophe for a select few. Unlike stocks (useless paper), land and homes are real (read: tangible) assets.

Ironically, the Fed creates its own inflation by printing more fiat money. Then, it must raise short-term rates to reduce the inflation that it created. Capital inflows are much more important than the real estate "bubble." The "bubble" itself was created by the Fed to begin with when it reduced short-term rates to near-zero. This little game is reminiscent of the old "good cop, bad cop" charade. Funny how that keeps popping up.

As I waited for the prison transport at various times throughout the day, I observed the heavy traffic around me. Almost every vehicle had the driver as sole occupant. No one every thinks twice about the absurdity of tooling around in what is essentially a 4,000-pound motorized chair. Yes, a 4,000-pound motorized chair to haul a fat 200-pound slob around. The "chair" weighs over 20 times more than the slob sitting in it. No one would ever dream of giving up the 4,000-pound motorized chair. Yet, the absurdity still exists. The implications are quite clear. Very few of us can see the numerous absurdities in our society, such as rampant consumerism. An article titled, "Retail Therapy and the Prozac Shopping Derby," on the Joe Bageant site discussed the relationship between shopping and anti-depressant medication. "We are conditioned to believe that if we can manage to pay the minimum on the credit cards and not lose the house, then it's all OK. Living from payday to payday is an anxiety producing experience, which in turn, is pharmaceutically treatable, assuming you can hunt down and grasp the type of work that offers insurance," Bageant opined. How true.

And, in case you want to know where we are heading along the psychopathology trail, you may want to peruse the report titled, "Federal government launches marketing campaign for psychiatric industry," by Richard Warner on the Online Journal site. "The psychiatric industry wants Americans to see mental illness everywhere -- to associate any problem in life with a possible psychiatric disorder that can be treated with a psychiatric drug," stated Warner. "Psychiatry’s book of stigmas, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, has expanded from 112 stigmas in 1952 to its current 374 ..." Add in the guilt inducements of the "self-esteem" movement, then current prevalence of the "Don't worry, be happy" philosophy is easily understood.

Nothingness of Being

While the loyal Diploma Mill wage slaves were shuffling into the Pacific Club for the annual President's Party, I was on my back to Waikiki on the prison transport (read: bus). As they all ate a lavish meal including king-sized prawns, I was choking down prison food. Hormel® Chili and Safeway® bread. "The Librarian: Return to King Solomon's Mines" was on the tube. I needed a some fresh air, so I rode the prison transport on furlough to Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One. A depressing sight. The semi-lucid homeless guy and the homeless guy who usually smells like cheap brewskis and piss (read: urine) were there. A few other unknown drifters were also present. Crap was lying all over the place, so I knew that the new homeless guy was around somewhere. I waited for the evening performance, but there was none. The semi-lucid homeless guy gave up waiting and passed out on one of the benches.

I returned to my prison cell at 10pm. I did not feel like composing the "blog," so I vegetated in the dark on the floor of my prison cell for the rest of the evening. I came to just long enough to clean my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I began to question my need to compose the "blog" at all. All I am doing is repeating myself over and over again. Nothing changes for me. Nothing will change for me, unless it's for the worst. I suppose the latter is worth chronicling. At least the satanic gargoyles will derive some kind of entertainment from my downfall.

I did not sleep well last night. I departed for town on the prison transport at 8:15am. I have been privy to the usual rude behavior from the satanic gargoyle tourists. Lately, I have not been too concerned about them. They are becoming less of a nuisance because they are essentially invisible. My ramblings about the satanic gargoyles, in general, is nothing directly personal. I am only worried that wanton consumerism and wasteful ways will pull me into the vortex when the plunger is eventually pulled. Mind you, I am not coming from a position of superiority. I am part of a nation that only comprises 5 percent of the world population, yet it consumes over 25 percent of the planet's available resources. Something's gotta give.

I ended up at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. During my wage slave break, I walked to Safeway® to purchase some bread, three energy bars, and one Tina's® burrito. Can you believe that those items cost me over $5? Gym time was at 3pm today, delayed slightly because of my wage slave duties. Since the end of the term is a week away, there is much to be done. My last paycheck will be received on January 15th of next year, although the Countdown to the Meltdown is ending on December 31st. I will be on unpaid vacation at the end of next week. I say, "unpaid," because I will have completed my contract. My paychecks are staggered.

After the gym, I was back in the faculty computer room. I had more wage slave duties to perform. However, I was still able to compose the "blog" before I departed on the prison transport back to Waikiki at 7pm. No telling what I will do tonight. Most likely, I will vegetate in my prison cell.

State of Seige

Oh, living in "paradise" is so much fun. Really? No, not really. I choked down another prison meal last night in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) consisting of Safeway® pork and beans and Orowheat® bread. I could have been eating cardboard and derived the same enjoyment. I watched the movie, "Van Helsing," on the tube. Kate Beckinsale is such a hottie. After the movie, I felt like a true loser. I decided to ride the prison transport (read: bus) to Ala Moana Center at 8:45pm.

Well, the prison transport did not arrive until half-an-hour later. I finally arrived at Ala Moana Center at 9:45pm. I was able to spend 15 minutes at the Apple® Store. I then walked to Barnes & Noble®. I had to use the restroom, but the men's restroom was "out of order." I strolled to the various mall restrooms, only to discover that they were all locked. I had to use the restroom at Bubba Gump®. I was able to spend 20 "quality" minutes at Barnes & Noble® after that. At 11pm, I waited for the prison transport back to Waikiki. To add to the fun, a heavy downpour ensued. The prison transport arrived 20 minutes later. I was able to make the 11:45pm cheap booze deadline (State law) at the ABC Store. I purchased a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza and a carton of milk.

Back in my prison cell, I dropped back the whole can of cerveza. I watched the last half of, "The Librarian: Quest for the Spear," on the tube. Sonya Walger is such a hottie. Heck, I should have just stayed in my prison cell all night. To make sure that I ended the evening on a losing note, I cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I ate a couple of slices of Safeway® bread with Safeway® organic peanut butter. My evening was complete.

I did not sleep well last night. No surprise. I haven't slept well in a long time. No doubt, I am the victim of the same nocturnal demons as everyone else. However, unlike the satanic gargoyle insomniacs, I refuse to take any sleep medication. I woke up at 9am. I gathered my things together and stuffed them in my gym bag. Brunch consisted of Coral® tuna and bread. On my way out, I procured a copy of the Sunday paper in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). The prison transport dropped me off in town at 10:35am. I ended up in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. I read the paper and observed the numerous homeless in the adjacent park.

The Sunday paper is essentially just a thick wad of advertising inserts. There are only a couple of pages of relevant news. I suppose that the advertising inserts are the most entertaining part of the paper. I spent a good portion of the time perusing them, although I have no intention of purchasing anything. With the Saturnalia shopping season in full swing, the sheer bulk of the advertising has increased. The paper must have weighed close to five pounds. From the various tidbits in the news, it seems that the consumers have not let any of the retailers down. Where the hell are those clowns getting the money? The shopping gluttons are fortunate that everything is made in China. Since the yuan is intimately tied to the dollar, there will be no adverse effect on prices. Still, one has to wonder where the dough is coming from. Interest rates are too high to squeeze out any more home equity. The savings rate is negative, so few people have excess cash stashed away. Are they just charging everything to credit cards? The shopping zombies all seem to be donning their kabuki masks, the ones plastered with the insipid smirks of drugged-out contentment. Why are they so happy spending so much dough on useless shit?

The most ridiculous aspect of the whole Saturnalia concept is in its pagan origins. The so-called" immaculate conception never occurred in December. As you may recall in the Good Book, the shepherds were out tending their flock. Biblical scholars believe that the actual season was Spring. The church had decided to incorporate Saturnalia (a pagan celebration coinciding with the Winter solstice) into its teaching as a method to recruit and indoctrinate the masses of non-Christian Gentiles into its fold. Later, more pagan traditions were incorporated such as the use of a silly decorated tree, the fictitious "Santa Claus" character, and the giving of gifts. The moneychangers saw an opportunity, and the rest is history. Even knowing the truth that the celebration is of pagan origin has not ceased the debauchery from continuing. The Good Book has no record of any command to celebrate the birth of the Almighty's Son. In addition, if it did, the Almighty would not be pleased to see the celebration on the wrong day, six months off. Truth and logic seem to allude the masses. Looking from afar, it would seem that the masses are inflicted with some kind of epidemic that blinds them. They are likened to bulls charging to the slaughter. Yes, it's the epidemic of the "seven sins."

I walked to the Diploma Mill at noon. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab, mostly composing the useless "blog" that no one reads. Gym time was at 2pm. The hottie gym trainer was there. Baby reminds me of Kate Beckinsale. Oh baby! I was famished after my cardio workout. Fortunately, I carried a banana with me for a snack. Therefore, I did not have to succumb to a fast food binge. I resumed my tenure at the student computer lab. I was off to Waikiki on the prison transport at 5pm. The outing of last night left a bad taste in my mouth. I will most likely spend the whole evening in my prison cell, eating prison food, sitting on the prison cell floor in the dark, and cleaning my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush.

In perusing the real estate section of the Sunday paper, I noticed that there were four listings for the Aloha Surf Hotel. Later, I checked the Honolulu Board of Realtors site and found 19 units in the hotel for sale. Prices ranged from $175,000 to $245,000 most being at the upper end of the spectrum. My unit is on a lower floor. It is smaller and does not have a lanai. The purchase price was $146,000 fee simple. Somehow, I am not seeing any more value in the listed units. Well, not for the amount being asked. Sheesh! The units are not selling, obviously. The guaranteed minimum income from the hotel rental pool is about $1,050 per month. Depending on the chosen payment plan, the additional revenue is paid out differently. At the price that I purchased my unit, the income from the hotel pool will cover the mortgage and maintenance fee.

The days are passing quickly, and I have nothing else to think about than the same old foolish crap. I am a prisoner who is trying to combat the "existential vacuum" created by modern prison life and wage slavery. What continues to set me back is my inability to stop referencing myself to the "standards" of society and culture clearly dominated by consumerism. It is hard not to, given that we are inundated with messages that continuously tell us to "buy, buy, buy." Everything around us (i.e., the newspaper, the tube, the supermarket, etc.) pushes us to make comparisons with our paltry lives. We always come up short, which creates "incongruence." It never seems to end. We're in a state of siege.

Prison Nation

I was going stir crazy by 9pm last night. I ate my prison dinner consisting of Safeway® pork and beans and slices of Orowheat® bread, just like a model prisoner. Yet, I became severely agitated. "I'm sick of this shit," I said to myself. I wanted to go somewhere, anywhere. I grabbed my wallet and my Palm® TX and stuffed them in my T&C Surf® backpack. I had no idea where I was going. Either Lou's Kabuki Theater or Ala Moana Center sounded good to me. Just as I was about to board the prison elevator, I looked outside. Holy penitentiary! It was raining. I was about ready to commit mayhem. I walked back to my prison cell (read: little shoebox) and prepared for lockdown.

I sat on the floor in the dark in my prison cell and composed portions of the "blog" on my Palm® TX to keep from going insane. I read a recent news article stating that three percent (1 in 32) of the populace is incarcerated or on parole. We are a nation of prisoners, of which I am one. The majority of prisoners are doing time for drug violations. The only legal drug is cheap booze, and the cheap booze producers are going to keep it that way.

I cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush in order to momentarily feel a sense of purpose. I also perused the pink rubber piggy bank replica, the mascot and symbol of my fruitless existence. Then, I felt like a true moron. Oh, if only you could see me sitting on the floor in the dark. What a pathetic sight!

Incidentally, several faculty and staff at the Diploma Mill have been trying to persuade me to attend the semi-formal President's Party this coming Sunday. I won't be attending. For one thing, I did not return the RSVP. I also do not have the appropriate attire, having donated my useless "dress" clothes to charity. Why would I want to attend a stuffy function like that anyway? I see most of those clowns daily as it is.

Later in the evening, I became disgusted with my Palm® TX. It is a far cry from a real computer. I knew that when I purchased it. Why am I regretting my purchase now? The undisciplined mind, like an unruly child, is not able ascertain the true utility of an appliance in the midst of countless other bigger and better products (aka the "BBD" syndrome). This is the nature of consumerism, and none of us are immune to its effects as long as we remain a part of society. The Palm® TX is beyond adequate for my needs. However, given the backdrop of poverty, it's minimalist design is only an unpleasant reminder of my castigated self. In the material world, possessions determine individual status just as the kabuki mask determines the outward persona.

I became wrapped up in the duality of poverty and want, essentially a metamorphosis of fantasy versus realty. The dream state of want ran the gamut of desires culminating with the hottie gym trainer. Yes, the Vienna Sausage has yet to atrophy. In the sobriety of poverty, I saw my perceived wants shrink to the confines of my prison cell. Such is the effect of the "seven sins" epidemic, the pathogens of which fill the very air that we breathe. Our vision narrows to the myopia of consumption, only limited by a rabid libido. The libido, satyriasis, the Vienna Sausage, all one and same, seeks gratification. The hand suggests poverty. The hottie gym trainer connotes infinite wealth. Therein lies the difference between my humble Palm® TX and a hideous computerized monstrosity. The Palm® is the "hand." Get it? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

Know, too, that I am a prisoner of poverty and imprisoned by my impoverished state. I am shackled to nothing, that which is poverty. So, why am I not free? That is the power of poverty and the reality of state-of-mind. There again, why are we constricted by paper money. It is simply paper with useless shit printed on it. The state-of-mind shackles us to paper money and attaches an intrinsic value that is ridiculous no matter what. It makes more sense to circumvent the useless paper by trading real goods and services based on need. Alas, who really wants freedom, eh?

I did not sleep well last night. My throat was itching, a hayfever-like symptom. I departed for town on the prison transport (read: bus) at 8:15am. The weather? Drizzling and wet. My destination? The faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, of course. I brought my Palm® TX with me. I have had difficulty connecting to any Wi-Fi® access point in Waikiki. Thus, I have not been able to peruse any of the free hurdy-gurdy sites. I was missing out on hotties like Puma Swede. Oh man, why can't the ol' lavahead find a babe like hottie Candy Manson? Ah, the undisciplined mind has gone berserk again.

I took a short break to walk to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread, three bananas, and one Tina's® burrito. I took another break at 1:45pm to do my cardio workout at the gym. No distraction, thank goodness. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Pseudo-professor Mike and Professor Darwin were there, too. Bea is apparently recovering well from the minor stroke she had suffered. I departed for Waikiki on the prison transport at 5pm. What's up for the evening? Depends on the weather.

I've noticed that petrol prices have remained at $2.79 per gallon for low octane as opposed to rising prices across the mainland. Diesel fuel is hovering at $3.43 per gallon, which is a good indicator that petrol prices are being kept at an artificial low. Ever since petrol prices dipped below $3 per gallon, traffic in Honolulu has increased dramatically. My guess is that petrol prices will remain artificially low during the Saturnalia shopping season. Low fuel prices should guarantee higher retail sales. After all, isn't that the purpose of Saturnalia?

Battle of the Bulge

Last night, I spent the whole evening in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I sat on the floor in the dark, but I took some time watch CNN® on the tube. If the mainstream media is reporting that Iraq is in chaos, then the nation must be on the verge of collapse. I am highly skeptical of the so-called "bipartisan" Iraq report, which is calling for a significant reduction in military forces next year. In fact, I am almost convinced that a plan to partition Iraq will be invoked. My guess is that the Iraqi oil fields will be partitioned in whole with most of the US military forces redeployed to protect it.

I finished the leftover turkey that moms had given me. It made for excellent dinners for two days. I will be returning to the usual prison fare commencing this evening. Did you say, "Beans and bread"? Sheesh!

Once again, there was a chill to the night air. The sky has looked ominous for the past two days, but surprisingly there has been no rain. The evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One will have to wait another day. I composed portions of the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. I was able to connect to a marginal Wi-Fi® access point simply by holding my Palm® TX near the window of my prison cell. Alas, another night in Quagmire Prison (read: hotel).

I have had recurring intrusive thoughts about the hottie gym trainer. Does the fact that baby is El Diablo hot figure into the equation? Well, yeah. Fortunately, I am not so distracted to derail my own plan to exit society. Certain priorities cannot be changed. The undisciplined mind becomes desperate when it has nothing meaningful to occupy itself. The mind then focuses on primal desires, anything that produces extreme pleasure or instant gratification. The designers of modern society know about primal desires all too well. Hence, shopping and consumerism were created to cash in on empty lives.

I was back in town at 9am this morning after a moderately comfortable experience on the prison transport (read: bus). I situated myself in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I ate the remaining Granny's Gourmet Muffin for a snack. During my wage slave break, I walked to Safeway®. I purchased a couple of energy bars, one banana, a Nestle® Crunch® candy bar, and one Tina's® burrito. I ate the burrito and the banana for lunch. Gym time was at 2:30pm. Fortunately, the hottie gym trainer was not around. I was able to complete my workout without distraction. I spent the rest of the day in the faculty computer room. I will leave for Waikiki on the prison transport at 7pm. I do not expect any deviation from the usual ritual. I will add that I am sick and tired of the same ol' shit. What can I do? I am in the poverty class. No matter how much I want to believe that I am in a higher class, the truth speaks for itself.

I realize that life is unfair. If the satanic gargoyles have anything to with it, unfairness is a guarantee. I equate myself with the impoverished class and the homeless. Our freedoms are extremely limited because we have zero purchasing power. In the capitalist "system," freedom must be purchased. However, freedom is elusive. One must become an indentured slave in order to purchase freedom. Thus, the modern definition of "freedom" is the ability to purchase useless crap. Well, you may say, a dream vacation in a far away land could also be purchased. Will the dream vacation experience be similar to what we see in Waikiki? A dream vacation in a far away land is normally spent in a Western-style hotel. Shopping, eating in restaurants, and participating in canned activities is about the extent of the so-called "adventure." No thanks, I'm not missing much.

I know my place in life. I am reminded time and time again. I am one of the urban poor. I live day-to-day. Soon, I won't even be able to live paycheck-to-paycheck. I'll be an emancipated wage slave, part of the urban blight known as the unemployed. A sad story. My only comfort is knowing that I am one of millions in the same situation. Yet, that is really no consolation. I will continue to soldier on as an urban warrior. Sadly, my crusade against consumerism will only amount to my personal non-involvement in material acquisition and the reduction of my ecological "footprint." In a world dominated by the Big Money Bulge, that is the only way we can effectively fight the battle.