Square Zero (Yet Again and Again)

Although I was late in departing, I was able to spend over an hour at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. The bookstore is my refuge from Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), even though I am rarely in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). Some of the books that I have been perusing:

• "The Terror Conspiracy" - Jim Marrs
• "Garbage Land" - Elizabeth Royte
• "Fast Food Nation" - Eric Schlosser

I also perused Mike Ruppert's book, "Crossing the Rubicon." I finally purchased a book, although it was not the latter. I found a copy of, "The Seven Deadly Sins," by Solomon Schimmel. The book cost me $19 and some change. I was fortunate to have spotted it.

Many of the books that I have been perusing have made me mentally fatigued. The real truth is out there, if we want to find it. Sadly, we must sift through the same kind of garbage that is found in the mainstream media. Ruppert's book is by far the most interesting read. The section that I perused last night touched briefly on the collapse of the Soviet Union. The carefully orchestrated financial trap that eventually led to the demise of the Soviet Union began at the time the nation had invaded Afghanistan. Typical Soviet aggression, one would assume. Not so. In the end, the rank-and-file population of the Soviet bloc suffered tragically. Are we complicit? Of course!

I believe that Ruppert is "on the money" with how he has "connected the dots" leading up to the "September 11th" (read: "Project Northwoods") event. As we await the announcement today that the military "surge" in Iraq will go as planned, the finishing touches of the transfer of Iraqi oil interest to the multinational petroleum companies are nearly complete. The Democrats (read: "good cops") are staging a token protest, which will not amount to much aside from minimal entertainment fodder. Next stop? Iran, of course!

The epidemic of the "seven sins" is the real reason for the madness in the world. The effects of the disease itself are very similar to that exhibited by a rabid mutt. Insanity is the most obvious outcome, and this is exactly what we are seeing today. Most of us have come to expect the symptomatology of insanity to manifest itself in strange behavior (e.g., talking to oneself, etc.). While psychosis and schizophrenia are epidemiological characteristics associated with insanity, such overt behavioral traits are not always present to indicate mental instability. In our postmodern culture, insanity has become the "norm." Thus, it is often overlooked. Schimmel's book begins with the premise that the "seven sins" has spiraled out of control. He also asserted that our inability to find meaning and purpose in life (i.e., Frankl's "existential vacuum") are intimately related to the "seven sins" epidemic. The problem is that we have shelved the moral and ethical insights of religion and philosophy. In seeking freedom of the self, we have embraced hedonism and narcissism. For me, it is important to continue to find a basis for meaning in life. As I have already stated, my purpose is to find that meaning.

I experienced intrusive thoughts about the hottie gym trainer all evening. I surmise that I may have, in reality, experienced a physiological surge in testosterone levels. Hence, the Vienna Sausage was on "Red Alert." Then again, it may not be a matter of testosterone. In seeking a meaning to my life, I have divested everything including the cold mechanical and technological distractions (all made in China). Monk life-style or not, I will always be plagued by the temptation of babes, even though the latter may simply be imaginary. Obviously, such a temptation could easily metastasize into lust, one of the "seven sins," if it hasn't already. Of course, baby could be my "savior," although the latter is the least plausible of my theses. If baby would come around, then I could hook up with her. That would save me from becoming a homeless "camper."

I spent most of the day in front of the computer in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, as is usually the case. Various faculty members come in and out of the joint while I am there. Most of them irritate me. They don't even need to say a word. Most of them exhibit annoying tics or quirky behavior. When they do talk (read: babble), I am bewildered by the actual stupidity of these so-called "intellectuals." Little wonder why society has "gone to hell in a handbasket," as it were. What exactly is redeeming about any segment of this so-called "society"?

With each passing day, the specter of actually being a homeless "camper" doesn't seem bad at all. Then, when I share the idea with other acquaintances (most likely satanic gargoyle converts), I am offered horrific scenarios whereupon I am ransacked and pillaged by drunken homeless derelicts. The minions of the "system" have a duty to keep other members of the rank-and-file in check. I am constantly told that continued wage slavery is the only answer to my assorted "problems." Purpose in life? Wage slavery. Meaning in life? Wage slavery. Nothing to do? Wage slavery, or shopping. Can it get more stupid than that? The minions of the sinister kahuna are attempting to save me from myself, or so they think. Their real purpose is to perpetuate the "system."

I am already fearful of homeless "camping." However, I really don't know how much longer I can tolerate living in Quagmire Prison or any kind of mausoleum (read: tomb). I could essentially be homeless "camping" within a week or two, if I really wanted to do so. I could expedite the contract to put the "condotel" unit into the hotel rental pool and move out immediately afterward. So, why am I dragging my feet? Do I really want to be a homeless "camper" or not? Obviously, I am not sure of the answer. Instead, I maintain the status quo of a severely marginalized existence. And, for what purpose? To keep up the façade of respectability?

During my weight workout at the gym, I felt like screaming. I did everything to maintain my composure. My thoughts were dominated by the dread of returning to my prison cell. Then, I began to see the big picture. I traced my circuitous path which always leads me back to the same point. I rationalized (although it was sound) that I needed a place that provided a tax shelter rather than being a money sink. Everything was ideal at first. Furnished room. All utilities paid including cable access, broadband Net access, and wireless Net access. The was close by. Bus service was frequent. Then, everything started to unravel. I discovered that the hotel staff and management are a bunch of rude asswipes. The satanic gargoyle tourists were even worse. In fact, I have noticed increasingly bad behavior over the period of the last four months. That should not be surprising given the fact that the average age of the satanic gargoyle visitors is constant. Therefore, with the passing of time, there will be an increase in the number of "Generation Me" asswipes. Soon, all there will be are "Generation Me" asswipes. The earthquake that hit O'ahu was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. I realized my mortality, and I was certain that I did not want to see my demise in a mausoleum full of satanic gargoyles.

Rather than implement my full strategy to exit society, I turned around and sought an increase in wage slavery just as a true coward would. I could have utilized the Countdown to the Meltdown as the means to emancipate myself from wage slavery. Now, I say to myself, I cannot be fooling around as a homeless "camper" because I must go to work. That is where the cycle started up again. I was right back at Square Zero. That's when I felt like screaming. It was only after I had commenced my cardio workout that I felt much better. The anxiety seemed to fade away. I also caught a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. As always, baby was looking hot. However, that's neither here or there.

What will I do now? Choke da chicken, I suppose. I have succumbed to the "system." I have capitulated to the same fear-inspiring rules that the satanic gargoyles live by. Thus, we must always seek refuge in wage slavery. To tolerate the oppression, we envision wage slavery as a social enclave that nurtures us. What a crock of shit! Not only does it lock us into an unbalanced earn-pay debt cycle, it instills fear. We all live in fear, and that is part of the plan of the moneychangers and the powers-that-be. Raw primal fear was introduced through "terrorism," which reinforced subliminal fears (e.g., unemployment, homelessness, etc.). Hence, we seek safety in the cycle of the "system" even though it enslaves us.

Yes, I put myself into a survival situation by simply painting myself into a corner. I made my exodus from society even more unattainable. I had fooled myself into believing that I was buying more time. I needed the time to psychologically prepare to put myself at the bottom of the so-called "food chain." And now, the stress is getting to me. I have a constant pain in my gut. I react to any noise almost violently. I now have a "hair-trigger" temper. The cause? I let myself down. I chickened out at the last minute by returning to the status quo. I let the fear get the best of me.

Man From Planet X

Last night, I made the trek to Ala Moana Center on the prison transport (read: bus) even though it was raining. I spent the evening at Barnes & Noble® as usual. No, I haven't forgotten that I need not detail the daily chronology. There are several "regulars" at Barnes & Noble®. They hang out there every night just as I do. I am surprised that the management of the bookstore tolerates the large number of loiterers since many of the books and magazines end up tattered. I am one of the loiterers, but I respect the property that is not mine. I do not destroy any of the books or magazines. Nor do I sit there and read the entire contents of any published work.

I would not mind purchasing a book or two, but I do not want to acquire any more possessions. In addition, most of the books are not worth the cover price. The books that I have been perusing are pretty much out-of-date. Political and societal issues are fleeting, similar to current fads. One book which I may purchase is, "Crossing the Rubicon," by Mike Ruppert. Although it is now about a year behind the times, the book still provides some of the best evidence to "connect the dots" about what is transpiring today in world affairs.

I have also been spending about 30 minutes in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) once I return from Ala Moana Center. I spend the time perusing the Good Book. There is ample evidence to prove where organized religion has gone wrong, especially the churches of Christendom. The Good Book and, hence, the Creator, has never mandated more than one organization known as Christianity. If we define the organization as a "religion" or "church," there can one be only one. No more, and obviously no less. Every other sect proclaiming to be "Christian" is an apostate organization headed by a false prophet. In perusing the Hebrew Scriptures (the so-called "Old Testament"), I observed clear evidence of an exacting deity with specific laws for worship. Deviating from those laws had detrimental results. Should that not be a clear warning for the false prophets of today? Sure, unless those false prophets of the apostate sects are in reality worshipping El Diablo.

Debbie, my realtor, has agreed to meet with me next week. I am definitely putting the "condotel" unit up for sale. I am not concerned about the much-touted housing "bubble" bursting allegedly sometime this year when the myriad ARMs are slated to "reset."

The collapse of the housing "bubble" is based upon a supposedly large number of shoddy mortgages. What I find interesting is that the major premise of the imminent collapse is the "resetting" of the initial interest rate of the mortgages. Since mortgage interest rates are still relatively low, why are those fools waiting until the last minute to refinance? In addition, the Fed will most likely reduce short-term interest rates this Spring, much to my chagrin. Oh, wait a minute. We are dealing with satanic gargoyles, not humans. Anything is possible.

I am only a little apprehensive about the collapse of the domestic real estate market. I cannot say whether Hawai'i real estate will follow suit during the collapse. An article in the Advertiser detailed immediate plans for 11,700 new homes on O'ahu. About a third of the units will be "affordable" (read: under $500,000). My "condotel" unit is chump change. I may lose some money, but it won't be so much to cause me major grief. My intention to sell Chez Loser II is an actualization of my need to be "free." The issue of "freedom" has increasingly become an obsession. Since I have essentially emancipated myself from consumerism and my most of my worldly possessions, I must concentrate on emancipating myself from wage slavery and any kind of financial obligation.

The hottie gym trainer was standing at the far end of the front desk when I arrived at the gym. Baby was out of uniform, wearing a tight little black top. She was busy sorting through some papers. I could not help but notice that baby has a hot body. She's definitely qualified to be a fitness trainer. My mind was ready to snap, which once again indicated that the Vienna Sausage is still far from atrophying. While I was doing my cardio workout, I saw the hottie gym trainer again. She was busy with a gym member directly in front of me for a few minutes. On the way out, I caught another glimpse of baby. What a hottie!

Sometimes I wonder why life just couldn't be simpler. Instead, it gets more and more complicated. Soon, the only possible option is to jettison everything and downgrade to the lowest rank of the social classes. At the bookstore, I noticed a variety of recent books about consumerism and clutter. That's right, books about how to clear out excess junk (read: divest useless possessions) from the household. We are going to escalate the incursion into Iraq with the "surge" strategy. In reality, it is a precursor to a broader war to include Iran. The satanic gargoyles do not seemed concerned about much. They just continue to worship and sacrifice at the altar of the sinister kahuna. I wouldn't have much to say if I did not have to see the scum and slime festering all around us. There's absolutely nothing redeeming a culture full of self-centered egomaniacs. Yet, what we stand for and what we are doing to other cultures is a crime. Five percent of the population consuming over 25 percent of the world's resources. That's not our right. It's a grand theft/larceny.

Oh, I wouldn't mind enjoying the good life. Having a nice place to live with a babe like the hottie gym trainer. You know the drill. However, a good life for me means that someone else is going to pay dearly for it in another part of the planet. I am not struck by guilt, by the way. I am just looking at it from the point of personal responsibility. By the same token, it makes no sense for me to complain about China if I were purchasing myriad products made in China. Would it not be better if I get by without them or limit my consumption? I have nothing against China. I just don't want to contribute more to the trade deficit. If the various incursions in Central Asia and the Middle East are resource wars, then I should take all measures to conserve the precious resource that we now must attempt to secure by force. Populations in other lands are forced to make sacrifices. Why can't we make sacrifices voluntarily? Doesn't all of this sound like common sense?

I don't have the answers. I do know that the natural order has been disrupted severely. We have a population crisis which is what is causing all of the major problems we see today. The secular Apocalypse must be invoked, or so the designers believe in order to save the planet. In a broader context, we are fulfilling the "last days" prophesy in the Good Book with accelerating speed. I would say that Armageddon is right around the corner. Too bad that I can't spend the "last days" with the hottie gym trainer, eh?

Mental Apartheid

Last night, I ended up at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center yet again. I returned at 11:30pm. This morning at 8:40am, I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure to retrieve my truck. I then drove to Kahala Mall. I purchased some laundry detergent from Longs®. Then, I bought a large cup of coffee at the Barnes & Noble® café. Moms and I ate lunch at Panda Express®. I gave moms a ride back to Hawai'i Kai. I was able to chat with moms until 12:40pm. Moms also gave me a few goodies to take with me.

I drove back to Waikiki and parked the truck. I boarded a prison transport heading to town. The bus took about 45 minutes to town. Traffic increases with bad weather. Gym time was 2:15pm. I caught only a brief glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. As always, baby was looking hot. The rest of the afternoon was spent in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I will most likely end up at Ala Moana Center again tonight.

I have noticed that history repeated itself. I am once again writing in detail my daily schedule, which really is the same ol' shit. I must mummify that nonsense immediately. It only serves as boring filler material. I believe that everyone already has gotten the point that my rote existence is a recurring nightmare. I am a prisoner and slave of the "system." What more can I say?

I have many issues to ponder, but I have absolutely no time to ruminate or delineate upon them. Being a poor wage slave gives me little luxury of free time when I need it. Mind you, I do have plenty of free blocks of time. However, I can do nothing except vegetate in my prison cell. That's the reason why I have been making nightly excursions to Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. There are no libraries close by that have extended hours. Thus, I must resort to patronizing a bookstore, of all places. Of course, such a benign activity simply sidesteps my growing propensity to flee. The compulsion has grown quite strong. Sometimes I can abate the compulsion through minor distractions. Or, I can reason with myself and calm down. There, there, everything will be alright.

Like a bad sitcom, the compulsion to flee keeps coming back. Something in my mind keeps telling me to throw everything out the door, so to speak, and become a homeless "camper." The thought has become so invasive that I am now a nervous wreck. I am about ready to put the "condotel" unit in the hotel rental pool, even though I may not break even. I just want to save my sanity. And, I want to stop the bloodletting of funds. What worse is the combination of constant noise, crowds of arrogant satanic gargoyles, cigarette smoke everywhere, and never-ending traffic. It's getting to me because it is 24/7 non-stop. Can I find cheaper living arrangements that I can tolerate? Can I get some peace and quiet as a homeless "camper"? I don't know.

Time & Life

Yesterday, I rode the prison transport (read: bus) back to Waikiki at 5pm. All was quiet when I arrived back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). The evening? Prison food (read: beans and bread). Clean my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I felt restless, so I rode the prison transport to Ala Moana Center at 8:30pm yet again. My first stop was the Sharper image® store. The ridiculous Sound Soother noise-masking device was priced at $99 which is $20 over the already insane mainland price. As I perused some of the other products, I had the distinct feeling that most of the crap was made in China. I left immediately for Barnes & Noble® where I spent the rest of the evening. Incidentally, I have been spending more time at Ala Moana Center mainly because of the rainy weather. And, frankly, Waikiki Beach is now overrun by the homeless and the derelicts. I returned to Waikiki on the prison transport at 11pm. All was quiet.

This morning, I departed at 10:10am for town on the prison transport. Before I left, prison brunch consisted of three slices of bread with blackberry jam. I obtained a copy of the Sunday paper from the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) before I left. Once in town, I made my way to the Beretania Street Apartments, whereupon I sat in the covered lanai. I purchased a cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's® and waited for the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill to open at noon. While I waited, I was able to peruse a few free hurdy-gurdy site on the Net on my beloved Palm® TX courtesy the Diploma Mill wireless network.

Gym time was at 1:15pm. I did my usual cardio workout. On the way out, I caught a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. Baby was looking mighty fine. I decided to treat myself to a snack at Taco Bell®. Two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos. Yum! I savored every bite. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab. At 5pm, I made the trek back to Waikiki. What will I do tonight? Oh brother.

By the way, I received e-mail from Debbie, my realtor. She advised that the "condotel" units have not been selling. She also mentioned that I may be better off putting the dump back in the hotel pool, although she seemed skeptical that I could find a cheap rental. I did not mention anything about the homeless "camping" option.

In further ruminations about my direction in life, I tried to conceptualize exactly what happiness would mean relative to myself. Indeed, happiness and contentment would seem to be synonymous terms. Language appears to define a range for happiness and contentment. Otherwise, there would be no verbiage as "unhappy" or "discontent." I am not overly concerned about transient events that lead to spiked "happy" responses. I am more concerned about long-term issues which invoke satisfaction with the direction of one's life. Ultimately, that could be the determinant of happiness and contentment in the long-run.

For me, I have envisioned several scenarios which could provide me with the elusive contentment. However, most of the latter scenarios are simply unattainable. One example finds me living near a beach with good surf conditions in a structure slightly more modern than a thatched hut. The local population is sparse, with my survival being dependent on a small town close by. Clearly, the inference is that solitude (i.e., lack of cattle-like crowds) is an important criteria. Having free access to the beauty of nature is another. Living a healthy existence with the ability to engage in fun activities and exercise is another. Sanitation is another. Finally, being able to survive without going through the hardship of growing or hunting my own food is also a consideration.

Being carefree or worry-free is probably the best criteria for happiness. Almost all aspects of our lives deal with uncertainly, usually in relation to money. I don't particularly care to be wealthy. However, only the wealthy class can afford to live the way that I want to. Yes, it takes a lot of dough to be able to live as a pauper. Living as a pauper is not the same as being a pauper. I don't want anyone to "take care" of me. I certainly don't want to create a dependence on anyone, nor do I want to incur a social obligation. I just want a simple life.

The old concept of freedom comes back into play. Emancipation from wage slavery and financial obligations is primary to obtaining freedom. Freedom in the latter case is really time. For us, time is very finite. Time is all that matters. Only in old age do we realize that we would prefer to do absolutely nothing than to be required to engage in a particular activity. That's because life is measured by time.

Well, the preceding diatribe may serve as a building block for the development of meaning of my existence. Seeking my own personal satisfaction is important, but that cannot be enough. There has to be more.

Desperately Seeking Purpose

Last night, I rode the prison transport (read: bus) back to Waikiki at 6pm. Pseudo-professor Francis boarded the prison transport subsequently, so I was able to chat with him. All was quiet when I arrived back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). The evening? You know the drill. Prison food (read: beans and bread). Clean my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I felt restless, so I rode the prison transport to Ala Moana Center at 8:30pm. Upon arriving there, I walked straight to Barnes & Noble®. Here are a few more books that I have been perusing:

• "Crossing the Rubicon" - Mike Ruppert
• "Affluenza" - John De Graaf, David Wann, Thomas H. Naylor
• "The Best Democracy That Money Can Buy" - Greg Palast

I have little desire to read for pleasure these days. The current times are much too critical to waste on trivial pursuits. However, there is a negative side in researching the truth about our superificial existence. There is so much pain in learning about the level of bamboozlement that permeates the masses.

I departed for Waikiki on the prison transport at 11pm, dreading what I would have to tolerate once I was back in my prison cell. I stopped off at the ABC Store to purchase a Granny's Gourmet Muffin, two bananas, and a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. All was quiet when I was back in lockdown in my prison cell. I dropped back the whole can of cerveza as if it was a cup of water.

At midnight, the party in the next cell commenced, just as the night before. The same ten satanic gargoyles were carrying on and drinking cheap booze. They were also running amuck in the hall. Once again, I called the watch commander (read: front desk person). A prison guard (read: security guard) was dispatched. About 20 minutes later, the group left to hit the club circuit again. All was quiet until 2:45am, when I heard two satanic gargoyles talking at the top of their lungs in the next prison cell. Half-an-hour later, all was quiet.

I was groggy when I woke up at 8:30am. All was quiet. No doubt, the satanic gargoyles will sleep all day and begin their party activities at midnight again. I departed for town at 9:15am on the prison transport. Gino, a former Asylum faculty member, was on board. I chatted with him until he got off at the Don Quijote® stop. He apparently lives in Lili'uokalani Gardens. You may recall that I attempted to purchase a unit in the complex. Gino mentioned that the fee for the units is now available for purchase. All of the units are currently leasehold. The fee is extremely high. For a studio unit, he estimated it to be $50,000 or so. Gino's wife is not doing well at all. Gino spends most of his time at her side. However, Gino's tax accounting business is booming.

I arrived in town at 10am. I purchased a cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's®. Then, I realized that I could have obtained free coffee at the faculty support center at the Diploma Mill. What a maroon! I drank my coffee in the small lobby of one of the Diploma Mill buildings. I perused a few free hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net with my beloved Palm® TX, courtesy the Diploma Mill wireless network. I could help but ruminate on the sad existence that I put myself through. My Palm® TX has myriad hurdy-gurdy video clips (read: mpeg files) of my favorite hurdy-gurdy babes. In this superficial society, my only connection with babes is a "virtual" one on my PDA. How pathetic!

At 10:10am, I found myself in the student computer lab. I took a few breaks to obtain free coffee in the faculty support center. Aside from composing the "blog," I researched a few campgrounds. Bellows Beach Park and Waimanalo Beach Park were the most preferable to me. Gym time was at 1:30pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. At 3pm, I was back in the student computer lab, where I will remain until 5pm. Then, back to Waikiki on the prison transport. The evening? Anywhere but my prison cell!

Purpose Defined. It should be obvious to even the most casual observer that I am not enjoying my life. My "quality of life" is non-existent, although my "standard of living" is higher than most. Ironic, eh? Naturally, apologists for this degenerate society will conclude that I am responsible for my misery. Then, there will be endless spewing of the "self-esteem" bullshit by the apologists to allegedly substantiate my "attitude problem." The key is, of course, the distinction between "quality of life" and "standard of living." Post-modern culture has brainwashed us to believe that both are equivalent, if not exactly the same. Little wonder why materialism and consumerism are now determinants of "happiness."

I will never be able to escape this madness, even in the interim before my final exodus from society, without significant penalty. That's what Joe Bageant referred to as "buying out of the middle-class lockdown" (read: "system") as he puts it. I am going through the "buying out" part right now. Moving out of the "condotel" unit (and selling it) will not solve all of my problems. I will be subject to the same kind of environmental conditions given the economic class that I am in. Noise, idiocy, and the like will continue to plague my existence. The apologists will suggest that I "compromise," which really means that I defer to the satanic gargoyles. Believe me, the satanic gargoyles are not inclined to compromise their own selfish ways. No, that burden rests upon the shoulders of those of us who believe in individual responsibility. Thus, for me to live in any cheap housing situation, I will need to purchase either the Sharper Image® Sound Soother ($80) to mask the noise or the Bose® Acoustic Noise-Cancelling® headphones ($300). Either that, or I find a means to obtain Ambien® to drug myself into a sleeping stupor. "Compromise" in a selfish society is one-sided. Someone will pay the cost in terms of money and inconvenience, usually the "weaker" of the parties. A game of brinkmanship.

Yes, this is post-modern life as we know it. The satanic gargoyles love it. On a grand scale, we see elements of the one-sided compromise all the time. Take for example the coming "surge" of military forces in Iraq, clearly after voters who thought they could make a difference went to the polls to elect a large number of Democrats (read" "good cops"). There is some token resistance, but the "surge" will happen no matter what. As I've said before, just look at the map. The answer is right there.

So, within my small world amongst the filth and scum of society, I can decide to list my "condotel" unit for sale. Waikiki property will increase in value no matter what. Even if I list the unit, it may not sell for over a year or longer. If I put the unit in the hotel rental pool and rent an apartment elsewhere, I will be subject to the same kind of idiotic and callous behavior common to the lowest social class. Incidentally, there are only two social classes: the peons and the pedigreed elite. I can move from one part of the proverbial frying pan to another. Or, I can jump right into the fire. It almost seems to make no difference, as long as I retain any kind of tie with society. "Buying out" will require losses, both financially and psychologically. The only real choice is to become a homeless "camper." In the meantime, do I spend $80 for a sound-masking device, or $300 for noise-cancelling headphones? Sheesh! Is this what my life has been reduced to?

Just before leaving for the gym, I made the decision to send an e-mail to Debbie, my realtor, to inquire about listing the "condotel" unit for sale. I am rotting away in my prison cell. It is essentially a tomb (read: mausoleum). Do not confuse my actions with psychosis. As I've stated before, everything is changing rapidly, mostly within myself. There is something compelling me to change direction.

At the gym, I ruminated about my purpose in life. Then, it dawned upon me. My purpose is to find a meaning for my existence. There is nothing about my present life-style that can define such a meaning. It is empty, devoid of any substance except petty material possessions. I am surrounded by petty self-absorbed zombies of whom I have nothing in common. Why am I prolonging my agony? The "condotel" unit served its purpose. It gave me shelter for a few months. Its amenities provided me with a shallow level of vain comfort, of which I found no utility. It also served to reduce my possessions to fit in two small gym bags. I am essentially ready to go.

I am neither an artist, poet, or writer, although I do seem to share the same pained existence that they do. I create nothing. Moms is all that's left of family, which does serve to provide meaning. I have no one else. No babe. No true friends. I am suffering, but for no particular reason. I am simply a victim of a society that I do not belong in. My suffering is meaningless, simply because I will not conform to the prevailing consumerist thinking and be done with it. Thus, I have exhausted Viktor Frankl's criteria in the search for meaning.

Alas, surfing could have been a redeeming activity. I could have derived some meaning from it. One with the ocean, right? These days, surfing is a matter of paddling through crowds of people, dealing with "localism," and tolerating even more bad behavior. Once again, do I "compromise"? Do I have to go out of my way to yield to the satanic gargoyles?

As for the "condotel" unit or any housing (read: tomb), I feel terribly claustrophobic once inside. The claustrophobia has increased with each passing day. Actually, I feel as though I was buried alive. Embalmed with my useless possessions, as in an Egyptian sarcophagus, just waiting for some ungodly resurrection in the distant future. We were not meant to live like that. Well, I should speak for myself. I was not meant to live like that, if that could even be called living. Worst of all, the sarcophagus is sapping the life out of me, just as it is sapping large sums of my money.

Hence, I cannot continue my quest to find meaning for my existence when I am being "marginalized." In the end, though, I will discover that the true meaning of life was always there in the Good Book, specifically the Book of Ecclesiastes, in which King Solomon stated: "Fear the [true] God and keep his commandments. For this is the whole [obligation] of man."

Fork in the Road

After the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill closed at 6pm, I walked over to the Honolulu Tower to join Pseudo-professor Mike for dinner. I neglected to mention that Pseudo-professor Mike was chatting with Ralph, a Dean with HCC yesterday afternoon. He passed the phone to me at one point, so I was able to briefly chat with Ralph. Dinner was pretty good. We had an interesting chat. I am beginning to understand where Pseudo-professor Mike is coming from, so to speak. I sense desperation deep within, the same kind of desperation that I regularly experience. Old age. Lack of sufficient income. Desperation tends to wield its ugly head in the form of predatory behavior. When pushed into a corner, we will do anything to survive.

After dinner, Pseudo-professor Mike gave me a ride back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) in Waikiki. I dropped my stuff off in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) and grabbed the keys to my truck. We then drove to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. I retrieved the large Jeep® gym/duffel bag, of which I gave to Pseudo-professor Mike. We parted company at that point.

I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to Ala Moana Center. Upon arriving there, I walked straight to Barnes & Noble®. I spent about an hour there before departing for Waikiki on the prison transport. About ten non-"gook" satanic gargoyles were drinking cheap booze and carrying on in the prison cell next to mine when I arrived at 11pm. That particular prison cell appears to have been designated the "Party Central" room because it is the only prison cell that consistently hosts loud parties. I suspect that the prison compound staff deliberately assigns the most obnoxious clowns to that one particular prison cell. It is beyond coincidence. I waited until midnight (when the fools began pounding on the wall), to call the watch commander (read: front desk person). A prison guard (read: security guard) was dispatched. It took the prison guard about ten minutes to disperse the semi-rioting prisoners. All of the sleazy bars and clubs are open until 4am in Waikiki. Why do these cheap fucks sit in a prison cell and drink cheap booze? They are cheap fucks, that's why!

Fortunately, I was able to enjoy peace and quiet for the rest of the night. I woke up this morning in advance of the arrival of the crew doing the concrete spalling repairs. I departed for town on the prison transport at 8:12pm. As usual, I ended up in the faculty computer room for another day of computer fun. At 10am, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and two energy bars. In checking my e-mail, I discovered that the new moronic prison warden (read: hotel manager) neglected to send the documentation that I requested. More proof that Aqua is "going to hell in a handbasket."

At noon, Pseudo-professor Mike came by the faculty computer room. He invited me to join him for lunch at Dreamer's Café. I went along with him. We had a nice chat. He told me more about Bea, a lot of which I did not know. At 1pm, I was back in the faculty computer room. I transferred $500 from one of my money market funds to my local bank. I have been able to get by on my wage slave income up until now, which really was surprising. From this point forward, I will have to make routine money transfers in order to meet my expenses.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. After returning to faculty computer room, I spent the rest of the afternoon piddling on the computer and wringing my hands over my plight. I will need to make a decision about Chez Loser II, the so-called "condotel" unit (prison cell), this weekend. I will also check out the Sharper Image® Sound Soother, which may become necessary to tolerate the noisy conditions in my prison cell. I departed for Waikiki at 6pm. What's up for the evening? Who knows?

Just when I thought that homeless "camping" may become an option, I happened to peruse an article in the Advertiser stating that the homeless are migrating back to the beaches. Apparently, the City has been doing some "clean-up" work on the parks, which temporarily displaced the homeless "campers." Much of the burden is now falling upon the State to provide shelters for the homeless. As far as I can see, it's all a lost cause. I anticipate that the homeless population is going to increase significantly this year. Soon, the island will consist of numerous vacant multi-million-dollar residences used only by their vacationing owners, overstuffed multi-generation residences, overstuffed rental units, and a huge homeless population. Did you say, "Third-World"?

Catch-22

I spent the whole evening in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). The new prisoners in the prison cell next to mine were very quiet. Prison food (read: beans and bread) for dinner. Cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. There was no sense in going anywhere because of the gale force winds and intermittent rain. I watched the tainted "mainstream" news on CNN®. I also perused the Good Book.

I slept better last night any night in the last two weeks when the assorted "gooks" were in the next prison cell. However, I still only average about six hours per night. The concrete spalling repair crew woke me up at 7:42am again. I departed for town on the prison transport (read: bus) at 8:10am. Once in town, I ended up in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill for another day of computer fun.

At 10:15am, I walked to Safeway®. I had to dodge all of the 4000-pound motorized chairs careening about on the street and in the parking lot. Traffic was heavier than usual due to the intermittent rain. All of the energy bars were sold out, so I purchased a couple of bread snacks and one Tina's® burrito for lunch. I thought of purchasing a sandwich, but the $5.49 price was way over my budget.

I called the prison warden (read: hotel general manager) to discuss the disposition of my prison cell. Seems that I will get screwed if I put the unit back into the hotel pool. The guaranteed monthly minimum will only be $813 gross, down $200 from six months ago. I will also have to deduct the GET (4.5 percent) and some other useless fees that Aqua has added in. On the plus side, an additional revenue is paid out at the end of the year. The other option is the "50/50 Plan" which splits the monthly proceeds (ranging from $900 to $2,000) down the middle. Currently, my combined mortgage and maintenance fee is $1,100 or so. I would be out any shortage each month while I struggle to pay rent elsewhere.

Homeless "camping" is not free as one would expect. The estimated cost is about $420 per month. The camping permit is $5 per day for a maximum of five days per week. The cost of a budget hotel room is $40 per day at the Showertree Hotel, the only budget hotel on the island. There is no free ride in Hawai'i unless one is willing to live on the beach in true dereliction. Is that my destiny?

Then, there is the option of the status quo. I continue on, business as usual, for next year or so. I continue to reap the benefits of the tax deductions while paying about the same as the average rent. And, I continue to build equity until I sell the unit. As I have mentioned before, I can sustain a paper "loss" of $12,000 per year, which is the equivalent of what I would have paid in rent. Thus, after five years, I could theoretically sell the "condotel" unit for $80,000 without really losing any dough. Incidentally, the latter was my general plan for the "condotel" unit to begin with.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. After I checked in at the front desk, I got a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. Baby was looking hot. When I entered the locker room, there were several HFD personnel assisting a guy lying on the floor. A few minutes later, the paramedics arrived. While I was working out, I could hear the guy crying out in pain in the locker room. He was finally transported out of the gym. I was able to catch another glimpse of the hottie gym trainer when baby walked through the cardio area. My mind started playing tricks on me. As I was leaving the gym, I asked the young hottie front desk babe if she knew more about the guy in the locker room. She said that he had "heart complications."

Obviously, my most pressing problem should be my lack of health insurance. Although, I appear to not have any health issues, I am almost certain that it is not prudent to continue without a health plan. Any kind of medical care will deplete my assets rapidly. Obviously, that was cleverly designed into the "system" to insure complete enslavement of the masses. Sadly, I cannot afford to keep the "condotel" unit, the truck, and maintain a health plan concurrently. Not unless I further commit myself to wage slavery.

I returned to the faculty computer room. Both Professor Darwin and Pseudo-professor Mike were there. We had an interesting chat. They left before 5pm. Pseudo-professor Mike invited me to dinner. Pseudo-professor Francis and I drank hot chocolate and chatted at 5:15pm. The putz prison warden did not send the documents via e-mail as he promised. He recently replaced David, the old manager. I suspect that Aqua is having problems, what with all the cost-cutting going on. The evening? I will most likely take up Pseudo-professor Mike's invitation to dinner. Then, I will be in lockdown later in my prison cell. I will perform my usual rituals, of course.

The day was another waste of time. I discovered that I may have painted myself into a corner with the "condotel" unit. For now, it looks as though I have no choice but to stay there. I would lose too much money by moving out. The big question: Will I be able to sell the dump at minimal loss? Perhaps it's time for me to contact Debbie, my realtor. Sheesh!

Wasted Days, Wasted Nights

Last night, I ended up riding the prison transport (read: bus) to Ala Moana Center at 8:30pm. I walked to Barnes & Noble®. I spent about 1.5 hours there. As I was about to board the prison transport, I heard a voice call out my name. Ben, one of my former Diploma Mill students, was loading his bicycle on the prison transport's bike rack. I chatted with him for the duration of the ride to Waikiki. I was in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 11:15pm. I performed the cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I was privy to a moderate slammin' soirée until 1:15am, courtesy of the "gooks" in the prison cell next to mine.

At 4:50am, I was awakened by the "gooks" as they engaged in yet another slammin' soirée. At 5:30am, I heard their prison cell door open. The "gooks" were apparently departing on an early flight back to "Gookland." Good riddance. Can't these cheap fucks afford a flight at a decent hour? I tried to go back to sleep, but I was only able to reach a semi-comatose state. I was extremely groggy when I heard the crew doing the concrete spalling repairs milling about right outside my window at 7:40am.

I walked to the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) at 8:10am. I ran into Pseudo-professor Glenn. We chatted for a few minutes until his prison transport arrived. I rode the prison transport to town, whereupon I made my way to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Pseudo-professor Mike arrived shortly afterward. Then, Pseudo-professor Glenn came by. Most of the morning was then taken up by socializing. I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread, two energy bars, one Tina's® burrito, and one Hershey's® candy bar.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. I was only able to catch a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer when I was on my way out. Baby was looking hot. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Then, I will depart for Waikiki on the prison transport at 6pm.

I am getting nothing done. Essentially, I seem to just waste my days by piddling around on the computer. I read articles appearing on various alternative Web sites on the Net. Incidentally, Joe Bageant is finally checking out of the "system." He will be moving to Belize soon, at least according to his article titled, "Dispatch from a Chinese Landfill," that appeared on the Smirking Chimp site. An excerpt:

I've seen good people rendered madmen and hermits by our system and I do know this: It will destroy me if I keep living inside its machinery, dally too long on the landfill. It's more than a hunch. Too many days my nerves are shot if I think about it very long. Call me weak, but I'm calling time out -- an end to trying to buy material security in a nation so addicted to it there can never be enough.

As you know, I am one of those "hermits" that Bageant is referencing. In my own sorry situation, I will need to face my demons and subdue them. My time is running out. I have already reduced my possessions down to nothing. Everything that I own (except my Local Motion® surfboard and my Nalu Board) now fits conveniently in two small 24-inch gym bags. That's it. The sum total of my possessions is less than what the typical satanic gargoyle tourist travels with. That's a real accomplishment. I have a few useless crap stored in my Nissan® truck. They are superfluous and will be easily divested. On my agenda, if I ever get off my ass, is an exploratory mission. I must discuss the logistics of putting the "condotel" unit in the hotel rental pool with the Aqua hotel management. There are several payment options which I must weigh. I must also make sure that the rental income brings me close to break-even. Then, I must search out any cheap and decent rentals. I must also survey the various campgrounds (for the homeless "camping" option).

If all of this seems hasty and haphazard, let me assure you that it is. As I have mentioned before, things are changing rapidly, not only around me, but within myself. What I could once tolerate is now intolerable. What was once intolerable now drives me insane. What really gets to me is the gullible stupor of the satanic gargoyles in my proximity. None of them can imagine anything changing for the worse. Then, there are the ones who are selling out to the "system." Once they knew better. Now, they are complacent. They are comfortable, so they feel embraced by the "system." In time, they will be full-on satanic gargoyles.

Yes, I still have some time left, so panic is not yet an option. However, I must have everything in place before the shit hits the proverbial fan. Never in history have so many things been going wrong simultaneously while a drugged-out population just continues down the path of hedonistic abandon. I have not seen anything like it ever. And, I hope to never see anything like it again.

Lost Tribe of Tralfaz

Last night, I had to run for cover from the rain. I sat in the open lanai of the Waikiki Beach Hotel. I continued to compose the "blog" on my Palm® TX. Then, I made the trek back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). Along the way, I observed an endless trail of cigarette butts in the sidewalk and in the gutters. Thousands and thousands of dollars all up in smoke. I could make no sense of it. I was in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) at 11:45pm. I sat in one of the chairs, something I haven't done in a long time. I continued with the "blog" on my Palm® TX. Once I was back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) for lockdown, I completed my cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. All the while, I wondered how I would fare as one of the homeless.

Perhaps it is my destiny to become a homeless wanderer. No prison cell is adequate for my needs. I have become a one-man lost tribe. The Lost Tribe of Tralfaz. As with other more notable lost tribes, the Lost Tribe of Tralfaz should find itself lost in the wilderness in order to safely qualify as a lost tribe. Metaphorically speaking, the wilderness could easily be the malignant society that we are part of. Sheesh!

This morning, I was up at the usual time. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. After retrieving my truck, I drove to Kahala Mall. I purchased a cup of coffee at the Barnes & Noble® Café. I perused a few more books before walking to the entrance of the mall to wait for moms. I waited and waited, but moms never showed up. At 11:20am, I drove back to Waikiki. I parked my truck and rode the prison transport to town.

Once in town, I ended up at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I finally was able to contact moms by phone. Moms had no idea what happened. Moms arrived at Kahala Mall at 11am. I was there until 11:20am. There is no logical explanation.

Gym time was at 2:20pm. The hottie gym trainer was there. She was busy with a gym member. On the way out, I saw the hottie gym trainer showing the gym member a few stretches. Baby is such a hottie! It's a good thing that babes like the hottie gym trainer do not come on to the ol' lavahead. Can you imagine the kind of trouble he would be in? A babe like the hottie gym trainer could easily have her way with the ol' lavahead.

After the gym, I found myself back in the faculty computer room. I will piddle around on the computer until 6pm, when I must ride the prison transport back to Waikiki. The evening? Who knows?

New Year's Day 2007

New Year's Eve was uneventful. Return to my prison cell (read: little shoebox) from town. Prison food (read: beans and bread) for dinner. Cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. Slammin' soirée. I felt restless, so I hastily departed for Ala Moana Center on the prison transport at 8:30pm. When I arrived, I observed that the place was completely desolate. Apparently, the stores had closed at 7pm. I walked through the open air mall and savored the empty quiet. I rode the prison transport to town.

Once in town, I walked through the Iolani Palace grounds and also around the State Capitol building. A homeless guy was the rummaging through the trash. He saw me and yelled a series of unintelligible crap. I ignored the fool, but I made a mental note that I should carry my Nova® Spirit electronic restraining device. I walked to my usual prison transport stop (read: bus stop). I rode the prison transport all the way to Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). The park was packed with people. I walked toward Waikiki Beach. More crowds. I was beside myself. I rode the prison transport back to Waikiki. I stopped in the ABC Store to purchase a Granny's Gourmet Muffin and a big-ass can of Coors® Light brewski.

Once I was back in my prison cell, I ate the muffin. A slammin' soirée in the next prison prompted me to engage in a violent version of the same thing. I was stupid enough to tune the tube to one of those inane New Year's Countdown programs. At the stroke of midnight, I took the last swig of my brewski. That was my token celebration. I could hear the crowds in Waikiki cheering, along with the booming sounds of the Waikiki fireworks display. The "gooks" in the next cell scurried out to see the spectacle giving me a brief reprieve from the slammin' soirée. Alas, the New Year's celebration was over by 12:12am. The "gooks" returned to throw in a few more slams before beddy-bye.

New Year's Day is upon us. Another useless holiday. I woke up at the usual time this morning with essentially nothing to do for the rest of the day. I woke up late this morning. I piddled around my prison cell. I ate prison food for brunch. Then, I departed for town at 10:10am. Once in town, I walked directly to the Beretania Street Apartments. I sat in the covered lanai until 11:30am. I walked to the Diploma Mill. Using my Palm® TX, I perused a few free hurdy-gurdy sites courtesy the Diploma Mill wireless network.

Gym time was at 1:15pm. That's right. I passed by the gym last night and noticed a sign stating regular hours for today. After the gym, I walked to the Honolulu Tower to attend Pseudo-professor Mike's party. A few people from his church were there. At first, I felt some discomfort being in Bea's place. There was a lot of good food and wine. Later, Professor Dave came by. Sandra, who works for the office that oversees the faculty computer room, and Joe, her husband arrived at 5pm. We all had a good time. At the end, were were all engaged in an interesting discussion. Joe and Sandra gave me a ride back to Waikiki since it was raining. I was grateful.

Once back in my prison cell, I felt a major disconnect with reality. I could not sit in the dump much longer. I rode the prison transport to Waikiki Beach. Lou's Kabuki Theater was apparently rained out. I sat on one of the benches and composed the "blog" on my Palm® TX. I also ruminated about my latest bout of "disconnection" with reality. Frankly, I don't know what reality is anymore. Even Joe felt apprehension about the uncertain times ahead during our discussion this evening. How many others feel the same apprehension?

My nerves are shot. That's an understatement. Even the most minor noises are bothering me to the point of losing it. The slammin' soirée is not as bad as I make it out to be. It's my tolerance level that has changed. I need peace and quiet, but such a luxury is only available to the affluent. The rank-and-file must grovel in the sewage.

Everything about my day-to-day existence is changing far more rapidly than I had anticipated. What I could tolerate a day ago is now unacceptable. As I pushed further into the huge prison formerly known as "society," the more I want out. It has become clear to me that becoming one of the homeless may be my only option. It will be a hard life, and I certainly will not fit in with that demographic. However, I can no longer justify or rationalize my costly life-style even if I am simply surviving. It is costing me close to $2,000 per month to live in a societal cesspool. That just does not make sense.

I walked to Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park) at 11:15pm to use the restroom. A light drizzle hindered my movements. Eventually, I would have to return to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). I dread that moment more than ever.

The new year means nothing to me. It's the same ol' shit. I can further expect that our culture will move further into the meaningless void. The epidemic of the "seven sins" will spread and multiply exponentially. More and more humans will transform to satanic gargoyles. And, they will have started off on a good foot last night by making their burnt offerings up to their god, the sinister kahuna. Here in Hawai'i, thousands of dollars was spent by individual households to purchase fireworks. At midnight, the fireworks were ignited and, for ten noisy minutes across the island, nothing but the rapid-fire succession of explosions filled the air. Hours latter, the smell of sulphur and gun powder remained thick in the air. And, for what? To chase the "evil spirits" away. Spending so much money and literally burning it to smoke and ashes is the modern day equivalent of the traditional burnt offerings to various deities. The New Year's Day feast, along with the football games playing non-stop on the tube, are symbolic of the "seven sins." Oh, the gluttony and the vanity of it all!

The sheer amount of energy and resources that have been "sacrificed" both during Saturnalia and New Year's Eve events feed and increase the power of the sinister kahuna. In modern physics, this is known as the "Law of Conservation of Energy." The physical and spiritual energy that was expended during the "hallowed" events has been absorbed. The sinister kahuna and its minions will grow stronger and stronger. As more and more humans transform to satanic gargoyles, they will feed even more energy into the "system." Yes, the whole "system" is a machination of El Diablo. The celebrations that some of us may have witnessed last night resembled the large pagan celebrations and orgies of old. That should tell us something. The clock continues to tick down. The secular Apocalypse? Armageddon? We shall soon know.