Fat City

Last night, I spent a couple of hours at Barnes & Noble® even though I was groggy from lack of sleep. The hottie "bookseller" was working the night shift. I reluctantly departed for Waikiki at 10:15pm. I stopped by the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of cheap brewski. I made the mistake of grabbing a can of Bud Light®. Yuck! My nerves were shot. Upon my arrival at my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I noticed that the lights were off in the prison cell next to mine. After going into lockdown, I dropped back the whole big-ass can of brewski. I heard a few thuds coming from the next prison cell. Shit!

At 1am, the thuds became louder and more frequent. At one point, I heard a knock on the cell door. I espied two individuals standing at the entrance to the next prison cell, neither of them Japanese. What happened to the fat Japanese chicks? A fat African-American bitch, obviously the inmate in the next prison cell, stepped out and joined the Caucasian couple. All appeared to be in their twenties. They went off to another prison cell on the same floor.

A few minutes later, the fat African-American bitch returned. That's when the non-stop fun began. All throughout the night and the wee hours of he morning, I could hear loud thuds. Every now and then, a heavy object was thrown at the adjoining wall, producing a loud thud. I have not been able to ascertain the origin of the thuds. The other wall and the floor are solid concrete. I surmise that some heavy object is being slammed into the side and on top of the prison-issue furniture. The thuds were continuous from 1am to 7am in the morning. I suspect that the fat bitch may have been tweaking on "Ice." Even more strange, I could hear the fat African-American bitch surreptitiously opening and closing the prison cell door a number of times for no apparent reason.

Needless to say, I did not sleep at all. I was on the verge of total delirium. I could hear the tube blaring at 8am when I left. The thuds had mysteriously stopped. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure to retrieve my truck. I drove to Ala Moana Center. I purchased a large cup of coffee at Starbucks®. Then, I waited near Longs® for moms.

A few minutes later, moms arrived. Moms shopped in Longs® while I finished drinking my coffee. Then, moms and I stopped by Sears®. Moms purchased three new blouses. For lunch, we ended up at Shirokiya. The bento lunch was delicious. I gave moms a ride back to Hawai'i Kai. We stopped at Ross® to see if moms could find some Queen-sized flat sheets. Nada. After that, I dropped moms off, and made the trek back to Waikiki.

After parking the truck, I rode the prison transport to town. I went directly to the gym. I enjoyed a nice workout, although the hottie gym trainer was nowhere in sight. The ride on the prison transport back to Waikiki was unnerving. First, a fat slob White Supremacist satanic gargoyle practically crushed me when he attempted to squeeze into the seat next to mine. Did the big dildo apologize? Of course not. Doughboy and his excess blubber are far superior to any lowly "brown skin." I moved to another seat. Another fat slob White Supremacist satanic gargoyle boarded the prison transport. As he walked past me, his blubberous physique could not navigate the aisle properly. He rammed into, not one, but both of my legs. I was in pain. As with his fat comrade, not one word of apology was offered until I called him a "jackass."

When I arrived at Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) at 3:30pm, I could hear some activity in the next cell. I surmised that the fat African-American bitch had spent all day in the next prison cell, possibly sleeping. Then, all was quiet at 5pm. Why did the cheap fuck come to Hawai'i? It would have been much more cost effective to sit in the closet at home and stuff her bloated face with KFC® Buffalo Wings. Sheesh!

The fat African-American bitch mysteriously opened and closed the prison cell door a few times, never once stepping outside. Poor wench. Her so-called "friends" were enjoying a romantic getaway, and the fat bitch was left to own devices in a dungy prison cell. O, the cruelty of life!

After a prison dinner of beans and bread, I departed for Ala Moana Center. Upon arriving at 7:30pm, I walked to Sam Goody® and purchased a pair of Philip's® earbud headphones (made in China) to use with my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo". The cost was ten dollars, the equivalent of five big-ass cans of cheap brewskis. Sadly, the tiny speaker in the Brookstone® device is no match against the fat slob satanic gargoyles. I then sat outside and composed the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. I spent an hour or so at Barnes & Noble®, my sanctuary from madness. Both hottie "booksellers" were on duty. As fatigued as I was, I decided to return to Waikiki at 10pm.

I stopped by the ABC Store and purchased a couple of bananas and one Granny's gourmet Muffin. I dreaded my return to my prison cell. All was quiet when I went into lockdown. I could hear the tube blaring in the next prison cell. I could also hear the prison cell door open and close numerous times. At 12:20am, I plugged my Philips® earbuds into the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo." I selected the "White Noise" option and called it a night.

It seems as though my hand is being forced to put the "condotel" back into the hotel rental pool and move into the vacant room in the house that Professor Lisa lives in. The ordeal that I have gone through in the last two months with the psychotic satanic gargoyle tourists has taken a toll on me. The fat African-American bitch may be the last straw. I have already contacted Debbie, my realtor, about joining her group "condotel" plan which will enable me to yield $100 more per month than the standard payment plan, and I will be able to waive $500 initial fee. According to Professor Lisa, the room should be ready on March 5th. The latter will be a costly alternative, but the preservation of my sanity is imperative.

I enjoyed my time with moms today. I usually think about moms at least once each day. Sometimes, I launch into a retrospective. I look back when I was much younger. I think about my family, my roots. I remember pops as well. I also remember my bro, when he was first born and up to age seven. It is important for me to reflect upon those times because that is the extent of my life history.

In a few years, I will cease to exist, and there will be no one to remember me. I doubt that much will change between my bro and I. Yet, I often wonder whether he remembers when I spent time playing with him. I am sure he doesn't remember that I used to change his diapers. Only moms can remember when I was an infant and a young child. Pops was away for the first four years of my life. He was working a job on Kwajalein Island. So, moms pretty much raised me alone. Therefore, I have acquired my basic values from moms. Perhaps this is also why moms often appears partial to me, although moms always stresses being impartial. I am, of course, the eldest son in an Asian family, which is of some importance in the general scheme of things. I do not remember a lot from time of my youth. What I do remember, I cherish.

Savage Empire

The Chinese New Year¹ parade was in full swing when I left the Diploma Mill yesterday afternoon. The parade route went along Hotel Street, which made it almost impossible for me to navigate around it. From what I saw of the parade, it was just another half-baked, made-for-dumb-tourists production. I could glean no entertainment value whatsoever from the cheesy line-up of fake Chinese chicanery.

I was finally able to locate one of the temporary prison transport stops (read: bus stop) on King Street. Myriad satanic gargoyle tourists were congregating at the very same prison transport stop to wait for a prison transport (read: bus) to Waikiki. Most of the White Supremacist satanic gargoyle tourists were in their forties and upward. I kind you not when I tell you that there was nothing but fat slobs amongst them. The tourist from the mainland are all fat slobs, obese fat slobs. My definition of obese is a layer of 10 to 15 pounds of excess blubber over normal weight. Frankly, a visual assessment is all that's necessary. It's quite obvious what obese looks like. I had to wait for three prison transports to load up and depart because I did not want to end up being crushed by the aforementioned amorphous blobs. The nation will face a huge health crisis in the not-so-distant future.

Another night at Barnes & Noble®. I perused Chalmers Johnson's book, "Nemesis: The Last Days of the American Republic²," and Hannah Arendt's treatise on political philosophy, "The Origins of Totalitarianism." I became much more disillusioned by the end of the evening, even though the hottie "bookseller' was there. The US empire and totalitarianism go hand-in-hand. We are watching history repeat itself. Empires come and go. In the case of the US, the core of the empire is rotten. The nation itself is comprised of moronic, arrogant, and self-righteous fat slobs rabidly infected with the epidemic of the "seven sins." Consumerism, waste, and greed have saturated the landscape and reduced the populace to debased Neanderthal predators. We have devised a combination of economic warfare through "globalization" and exportation of deviant life-style products and services to conquer the "savages." The tube alone has done the most to bring the world population into subservience, all in the guise of "modernization." As capitalism matured and perverted itself, consumer spending became the crutch that the "system" relied upon for survival. Hence, the empire would need to expand and acquire the resources that it itself had depleted in the homeland just to continue to feed the voracious appetite of consumerism. Like a malignant tumor, it spreads and consumes everything in its path. It subsumes and marginalizes entire cultures and people, and then converts them to homogeneous satanic gargoyles. How long can this crap go on?

The idea that the Shrub administration, as proxy for the moneychangers and the powers-that-be, really cares about the minions, the wage slaves, the "cogs" of the "system," is foolish at best. The vast majority of the US population only serve to maintain the internal flow of capital using the lubricant of consumerism. The proletariat class only serves a means of production and consumption. Nothing more, nothing less. It is through the wage slaves that capital is generated, the very same capital that will eventually flow to the bourgeoisie (read: elite) class. In addition, the proletariat class will provide the necessary "cannon fodder" as the military-industrial complex expands to serves the needs of the imperialistic empire. We are essentially bred like cattle on a cattle farm. We will eventually become the "food" for elite. We are the slaves who will build and capitalize the empire. The elite will harvest the riches and discard us when we are no longer productive.

Incidentally, when we speak of imperialism, we are discussing "neo-imperialism." The US will most likely never annex any new nations. What essentially happens is that target nation, as victim, is brought to near economic collapse usually though economic sanctions under the umbrella of the UN to make it all seem legitimate. Then, in its weakest moment, the target country must succumb to so-called loans made available through the World Bank and the IMF. In order to secure the loans, the target nation must begin to sell off its infrastructure and any solvent interests to "private" corporations of US origin. The resources of the target nation are then tied to "free trade" agreements to allow "globalization" of its economy. Simultaneously, a "friendly" regime will be installed as a puppet government to insure that US interests are maintained. The target nation's resources are pillaged and the labor force is exploited. Most of the wealth flows out of the country. Eventually, the majority of the target nation's population must face the ravages of poverty, starvation, and disease. US military bases may also be located in the target nation, which is really the glue that holds the imperialistic empire together.

Aside from threatening to trade in Euros, the nation of Iran poses no other immediate threat. However, like Saddam in Iraq, the Iranian government does not want to "privatize" its oil industry. It's level of production is low, not because its reserves has peaked, but because Iran has not modernized its oil production. That is also why Iraqi oil production has been artificially low. Iran and Iraq are sitting upon a largely untapped pool of oil. Neither nation wanted to transfer resource rights to any private interests through so-called "production sharing agreements" (read: PSAs). Essentially, the only party to benefit is the corporation since the latter receives the bulk of the revenues. Now, we can come to an understanding about the real definition of "neo-imperialism."

Once back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I was privy to listen to the same assorted thuds through the night and on into the wee hours of the morning. There are apparently two fat Japanese chicks in the next prison cell. Usually, the "slopes" are not obese, but I am sure that the Japanese obesity trend will increase. Japan had loyally followed the US in every other respect. From what I can tell, the assorted thuds are caused when they are lifting their extremely heavy luggage onto the bed, then dropping it back on the floor and against the wall. The luggage is heavy because the "slopes" go on unbelievable spending sprees while visiting the islands. What amazes me is that they will pack all of that crap to transport back to Japan, only to stuff all that junk in an apartment in Tokyo not much larger than the prison cell itself. The "slopes" are extremely vain, choosing to spend all of their savings on high end crap from "Rodeo Drive" stores (i.e., Gucci®, Tiffany and Co.®, Abercrombie & Fitch®, DKNY®, Prada®, and so forth). The Japanese chicks spend the most dough on clothes and make-up in a futile effort to emulate Caucasian hotties. Sad to say, most of them fail miserably while depleting their life savings to do so. The really pathetic part is that they will go back to japan and stuff that crap into tiny little closets next to the little Kokeshi Doll display, probably never to wear that crap again.

I was extremely groggy this morning after listening to the noise from the prison cell of the fat Japanese chicks at 2am, then at 4am, then sometime around 7am. The tube was blaring the whole time. I have no idea why they stayed up all night. Perhaps they were trying on all the clothes that they had previously purchased and stuffed in their luggage. Then, of course, they had to stuff it back into the luggage. I am not proud to admit that I share the same common ancestry and culture with the "slopes." I have really nothing in common with them, and I retain more of the old culture than they do. I was able to procure the Sunday paper in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) before departing for town on the prison transport. For my prison brunch, I enjoyed a bland fare of Coral® tuna and bread.

I read the Sunday paper in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. Then, I walked to Mickey Dee's® to purchase a cup of coffee. I don't particularly enjoy going to that dump. All of the employees are Filipinos, most of whom can barely speak English. Even then, they give preferential treatment to other Filipinos, which tends to be the majority of the customers. I ordered a large-sized coffee and ended up with the smallest size. No apology. No attempt to use "customer service" to remedy the situation. Neither did I have my receipt or cup of coffee handed to me, or offered a "thank you." The cup of coffee and the receipt were left on the counter. The fat Filipino wage slave walked away. These illegal immigrant wage slave peons have not been trained properly to execute the wishes of their masters. Often, the "brown skins" forget their place, thinking they have "made it" with a job at Mickey Dee's®. A harsh reality awaits the ignorant.

As I waited outside the Diploma Mill for the student computer lab and sipped on my small-sized coffee, I observed that I was the only person who was not smoking a cigarette. The homeless, the halfway house derelicts, the students, the church parish members, all of them were smoking like chimneys. At noon, I stationed myself in front of a computer. Gym time was at 1:45pm. I caught a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. Baby was looking hot. I stopped by Taco Bell® after my workout and shower. I purchased two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos, which is now a weekly ritual for me. As I ate the burritos, I savored every mouthful. Am I livin' large, or what? I remained in the student computer lab until it closed at 5pm. Subsequently, I will return to Waikiki and begin my nightly ritual.

Well, it looks as though I will have to purchase earbud headphones to use in conjunction with my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® sound therapy placebo. What irks me is that I must spend more dough in yet another futile attempt to compensate for the selfish actions of the arrogant and self-important satanic gargoyles. For the meek and considerate ones, life will consist of greater and greater compromises of personal rights and privacy. Greed is what drives the satanic gargoyles to demand and take more than their fair share. Just more proof that the US empire is rotting from within.

¹Chinese New Year, or Year of the Pig (Boar).
²Part of the American Empire Project series.

Year of the Pig

The prison transport (read: bus) was rerouted because of the Chinese New Year celebration (i.e., Year of the Pig) in Chinatown last night. The horrendous ordeal found me walking all over town in an attempt to locate the temporary prison transport stops (read: bus stops).

I spent the evening at Barnes & Noble®, my only refuge from insanity. I perused two of the three books in the "Blowback" trilogy by Chalmers Johnson, namely, "The Sorrows of Empire: Militarism, Secrecy, and the End of the Republic" and "Nemesis: The Last Days of the American Republic." Johnson's prophesy about the direction that the Shrub administration is taking the nation is most likely accurate. It is a desperate drive to complete the "NeoCon"-men agenda, even if the latter puts the nation into a state of insolvency. Ill-informed critics and so-called "progressives" have resorted to dismissals of alleged insanity as the driving force for the administration's behavior, often equating Shrub with a half-crazed dictator hell-bent on total destruction. That's exactly what was said of Adolph Hitler. However, Hitler also had a desperate "all or nothing" agenda. His timetable for imperial conquest was limited by petrol supplies and the rising opposition of the "allied" forces.

I was significantly disillusioned by the end of the evening. Naturally, I had to stop at the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I dropped back the whole can of cerveza to calm my nerves once I was back in my dismal prison cell (read: little shoebox). I did not sleep well because of the assorted loud thumps (read: slammin' soirée) that could be heard throughout the night and wee hours of the morning. No doubt, the fat slob satanic gargoyles wake up every hour or so to get something to eat out of the tiny fridge. Well, hey! This is the Year of the Pig!

I was back in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill by 9am this morning. After a few cups of free coffee, I walked to Safeway® and Longs®. As I expected, the sale items were completely depleted at Longs®. As I stood in line, I observed the hoarding mentality of the satanic gargoyles. Why does anyone need to purchase eight bottles of dishwashing detergent? The simple fact that Longs® continuously rotates the sales items over a period of a month or two should make hoarding unnecessary. Yet, the hoarding phenomenon can be observed non-stop daily at Longs®. After all, this is the Year of the Pig.

Gym time was at 1:45pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I did my mediocre cardio workout, took a shower, and I was outta there. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Chinatown will continue its idiotic made-for-dumb-tourists celebration tonight of The Year of the Pig. I must navigate around the spectacle to find the temporary prison transport stop again. Then, the evening ritual will begin.

I have decided that I cannot devote time to read any of the classic literature. Frankly, I have no reason to do so. I am a captive of the empire, permanently indentured to wage slavery. I cannot engage in any activity that will soften my mind or dull my senses. Mind you, I have done everything possible short of my final exodus from society. I sit and wait nervously because there may be a day that the window of opportunity to exit society could close. It is a calculated risk that I must take. My own personal vows are at stake. I am, once again, depending on an eleventh-hour miracle. Sheesh!

Mesopotamia Mania

Another night at Barnes & Noble® and not much accomplished. Clint Black's song, "Killing Time is Killing Me," would be most apropos as a lyrical autobiography. Before lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I should have purchased more cheap booze, but I foolishly recanted. During the course of the evening and throughout the wee hours of the morning, I was privy to listen to a slammin' soirée, courtesy the moronic satanic gargoyle in the adjoining prison cell. I gave the clown the benefit of the doubt because he has been quiet during the duration of his stay. From what I could gather, he suffered a major psychotic event in which he envisioned that he inadvertently left his beloved sock collection behind. Thus, his fear compelled him to repetitively check the dresser drawers. No surprise since most of the fat slob tourists are carrying between three to five pieces of large luggage on average per person for a five-day trip. What baffles me even more is that most of them have to do a huge load of laundry at least once during those five days.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well at all. My Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo" was defenseless against the repetitive loud thuds. I was extremely groggy when I departed for town on the prison transport (read: bus). After a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I felt a little more cognizant of my surroundings. I walked to Safeway® to purchase four energy bars and one Tina's® burrito. I did not have the patience to deal with the usual foolishness at Longs®. I did my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. Same ol' shit. Faculty computer room. Waikiki. Nightly ritual.

Professor Lisa provided me with information about the upcoming vacancy in the house that she resides in somewhere in Kailua. The small room rents for $750 per month plus some kind of security deposit. Utilities are included. Parking is in the carport area. I would prefer to sell the "condotel" unit before committing to a rental. Even though I could put the "condotel" unit back into the hotel rental pool, I estimated that I would still need to kick in over $300 per month to cover costs. In addition, there will be all kinds of paperwork, taxes, and other crap that I would have to manage. In my fragile mental state, I am not certain if I could handle those tasks.

Note: Mesopotamia nonsense deleted.

Path to Obscurity

While at Barnes & Noble® last night, I realized that I am now engaged in an "existential crisis." I have no other way to describe my paltry existence as well as my growing disdain toward experiencing the latter. Further, the realization that there is no escape has brought on total disillusionment. Living in an unsustainable society is unnerving, mostly because the future is nebulous. Walking amongst the masses of unsuspecting and apparently care-free zombies does little to satisfy my concerns. My feeling is one of impending doom, a feeling that seems to grow stronger as time passes on. There is no question that most of us are locked in wage slavery¹ with no way out. Healthcare benefits are used to browbeat us into submission. We must also live in constant fear of losing our jobs. Ironically, losing our jobs would emancipate us. We would be free. However, freedom in an uncaring society means surviving alone on the harsh streets of an indifferent slum-city and being constantly ostracized or victimized by both the wage slave and elite classes.

Our unsustainable life-style is worrisome. We live a life-style of pure vanity at the expense of a large number of the world population. Food and manufactured goods are produced by other nations as per "globalization," of which a good portion is shipped to the US. We must now maintain a very long-term global resource war in order to prop up our own economy, that is, to keep the mindless consumption going. In the meantime, more innocent lives will be sacrificed to keep the vanity machine running.

The conundrum of overpopulation is best described by economics. We already know that most of the global crises are caused by overpopulation. Population control is not just a taboo subject because of the implication of genocide or euthanasia. It goes against the goals of modern capitalism. Economic growth (read: profits) can only be realized if there is a continuously growing market for goods and services. In the US, at least 75 percent of the GDP (i.e., Gross Domestic Product) is now derived from consumer spending. With wages remaining low, there is only one other way to increase the GDP. That's right, we need more minimum wage slaves. That, by the way, is the trade-off when jobs were outsourced to other countries.

I departed for Waikiki at 10:10pm. Incidentally, both of the hottie "booksellers" were on duty at Barnes & Noble®. As I waited at the prison transport stop (read: bus stop), I observed the same two homeless guys at the Nail Boutique store across the street. They were chatting with each other and apparently having a good time. I could not help but wonder how they and the rest of the homeless can soldier on in such a debased situation. What would I do if I was confronted with the same trial?

Once back in Waikiki, I stopped by the ABC Store to specifically purchase a big-ass can of Coors® Light brewski. I threw in a rip-off $2.99 green salad to balance off the vice of cheap booze. Once in my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I dropped back the whole can of brewski immediately. Nothing was resolved as a result. However, my wallet was relieved of a few more dollars.

I've been using my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy system" nightly. Frankly, the $100 device does little to mask the ambient noise, even at high volume settings. The sound library can be characterized as "raspy," at best. However, to be fair, its real efficacy is that it allows the user to adjust to constant ambient noise. Thus, I am able to sleep better because I am losing my sensitivity to noise. Obviously, that is not an ideal solution. Noise pollution creates stress. When the sensitivity to unnatural ambient noise is suppressed, the actual result is the sublimation of stress. In the end, the cumulative effect of sublimated stress will manifest itself in other ways, either through physiological or psychological aberrations.

After another mind-numbing ride on the prison transport (read: bus) this morning, I found myself sipping several cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Pseudo-professor Glenn stopped by briefly. I revealed my tentative plans to become a Dodge® Sprinter vagabond sometime in the future. I walked to Safeway® to purchase three energy bars and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. The hottie pseudo-professor came by to do some work. At one point, baby made a phone call to "stud" to thank him for the card and flowers that he gave her on V-day. She allegedly misplaced her cell phone, so she had to make the call in the faculty computer room. Several other faculty guys were in the room. Babes always like to make sure that the losers are privy to know what they are missing. As a monk, I am immune to such foolishness.

I did my one excruciatingly painful hour of wage slavery. I was able to work off the tension of dealing with Generation Me² zombies during my workout at the gym. I walked to Longs® on Hotel Street at 4:15pm to purchase more cans of Van Camp's® Pork and beans and two packages of Mariani® Island Fruits. I stood in the slowest line because the cashier was moving in slow motion. The line was extremely long. To be honest, I almost lost it. I was glad to return to the relative quiet of the faculty computer room. Sadly, I will have to depart for Waikiki at 7pm. Then, I will embark on my nightly ritual.

I have no idea how long I can maintain any semblance of sanity. I have resisted the temptation to increase my worldly possessions. I will definitely not hook up with any babe, which is further guaranteed by the implementation of the eunuch-like behavior³ and the Data-like personality.³ The "condotel" unit is up for sale. I am on my way to exiting society, but I am fearful of ending up on the streets. Yet, it seems as though I am taunting destiny, and I will end up exactly where I don't want to be. Why?

¹Wage slavery, refer to the excellent article by Zbignew Zingh titled, "The Docile American: The Nexus of God, Labor, Health Care and the Fear to Strike," on the Smirking Chimp site.
²Generation Me, from the book of the same title by Jean Twenge.
³Eunuch-like behavior and Data-like personality, see the Monk's Guide to Dating.

Escape from Freedom

I spent part of the evening at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. The hottie "bookseller was on duty. Baby was looking fine. I perused another "must read" book by Lester brown titled, "Plan B 2.0 Rescuing a Planet Under Stress and a Civilization in Trouble." Brown provided an overview of several concurrent crises that will confront humanity in the very near future including Peak Oil, water shortages, global climate change, global environmental destruction, and so forth. One tidbit caught my eye. Several nations are experiencing a decreasing population trend because of an increased mortality rate. Those third-world nations were primarily located in Africa. Thus, I assumed that starvation and AIDS are the main culprits. The horror of worldwide stupidity dawned upon me at that point. Could it be that I was wrong about the relative stage of maturity of the pyramidal structure of power? Are the moneychangers and the powers-that-be still jockeying their positions for control of the planet? Then, the most horrid thought came to mind. The moneychangers and powers-that-be could be so blinded by the epidemic of the "sevens sins" themselves that they are oblivious to the impending crises. Or, they may possess the same kind of stupid "pre-emptive" and over-optimistic thought that some way and somehow the geek squad (i.e., scientists, geologists, engineers, etc.) will find a technical solution down the line. In other words, they choose to believe the best-case scenario that we have several hundred years to clean up our mess. I knew that the "bottom feeders¹" would be foolish enough to think that way, but not the demons who truly control our destiny.

Only a few timid voices are calling out to get our attention. No one seems to understand that the warnings are about several major crises converging at approximately the same point in time. It is the collective synergy of the crises that will insure the demise of humanity. The demise will not be quick. The combined effects of Peak Oil, global climate change, water shortages, disease, and epidemics will feed upon each other to create suffering on a grand scale. In my own estimation, I believe that the current prognosis that we have plenty of time is a foolish notion at best. Time estimates most likely consider an individual crisis as a mutually exclusive event. In addition, there is a tendency to downplay the population component. The world population is projected to increase by another three billion within 40 years. I am almost certain that we have maybe ten years of survivability at the most, but the damage sustained will be irreversible.

Will we see the secular Apocalypse before then? I am not sure, since the stage of maturity of the pyramidal structure is uncertain. Obviously, the moneychangers and the powers-that-be already have the technology at their disposal to invoke the secular Apocalypse at any time. Tragically, there actually may be no escape from the madness. Even an exodus out of the country may prove futile. The cumulative and collective effects of all global crises will be more far-reaching than imaginable. Such a conclusion presents an almost untenable philosophical crisis for the individual. Should the latter then take on a totally hedonistic outlook and enjoy life while it is still possible?

On the way back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I stopped by the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Coors® Light brewski and a couple of bananas. I started my laundry and dropped back the brewski as quickly as possible. Once I completed the dreaded laundry chores, I went into lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) and called it a night.

I was back in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill by 9:30am this morning. After a couple of cups of free coffee, I walked to Safeway® and Longs® to purchase something to eat and more sale items, respectively. Once again, the blasé inventory is irrelevant. Mostly, I am stocking up on Van Camp's® Pork and Beans, my prison dinner staple. I did my one-hour of wage slavery before going to the gym at 2:15pm. After my workout, I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. At 7pm, I will begin my nightly ritual.

Valentine's Day, today, is a contrived event to feed into the belief that being in a relationship is the only socially valid construct. Underlying the theme is the inherent insecurity which is promoted to create a vast consumerist spectacle. There are times that I wish that I was involved with a babe. Whenever I see babes like the hottie gym trainer, my primal desires (read: da wild thing) are further peaked. However, my time has come and gone. I am a senior citizen, and I am not attracted to senior citizen babes (term used loosely), and vice versa. Since I am only driven now by primal desires insofar as babes are concerned, then I cannot function in any kind of relationship. I can barely maintain friendships or acquaintanceships, preferring instead to be a loner, a monk.

There is, of course, a much higher imperative to remain completely celibate, that is, the hard times to come in the near future. Becoming involved with a babe would be fastest possible route back into the "mainstream" materialistic life-style. Babes are, in essence, the personification of vanity. Setting up a "love nest" and supporting it is a capital-intensive activity. In better times, perhaps 20 years ago, such a life-style may have been plausible. Today, an equivalent life-style would require a highly leveraged position and a total commitment to wage slavery. Even then, we are looking at a precarious situation much as a house of cards. With that in mind, there is no turning back. Such a decision is not difficult to make once we realize that the majority of babes have bought into the "system." Babes are female satanic gargoyles who will use their wily ways to lure a guy into a steamy cauldron of lust and debauchery. There is a price to pay, a cost of admission, as it were. The epidemic of the "seven sins" will fester and overtake the soul. Shortly afterward, the soul will surrender itself completely to El Diablo.

I continue to wait for the inevitable announcement that an incursion into Iran has commenced. Each passing day reveals another page of the same script that was used prior to the incursion into Iraq and Afghanistan. Why bother reinventing the wheel, right? While there is some public outrage over the escalation of the conflagration in Iraq, the outrage is focused on the increase in "cannon fodder." The arrogant satanic gargoyles in this country are only upset because of their own loss of lives. The incursion into Iran is premised on a "carpet bombing" program. There currently is no mention of a deployment of ground troops. Thus, very little outrage is being generated.

We must understand the the much-heralded concept of "globalization" is failing and will finally collapse as the various global crises converge. Peak Oil would have the most devastating effect, particularly on agriculture and food distribution. Even moderate increases in petroleum prices will have an adverse effect. The bottom line is that our existence is based upon a very fragile infrastructure, much more fragile than anyone would care to admit. Once the fragility of our life-style is exposed, then the causality of imperialistic behavior can be identified.

On a grander scale, it becomes clear that Valentine's Day and the upcoming incursion into Iran (including prior public acceptance) fall under the category of "automaton² conformity," as described by Erich Fromm in his book, "Escape from Freedom":

... the individual ceases to be himself; he adopts entirely the kind of personality offered to him by cultural patterns; and he therefore becomes exactly as all others are and as they expect him to be. The discrepancy between "I" and the world disappears and with it the conscious fear of aloneness and powerlessness.

Further, Fromm described the debilitating aspects of wage slavery:

Yet, while the principle of work for the sake of the accumulation of capital objectively is of enormous value for the progress of mankind, subjectively it has made man work for extrapersonal ends, made him a servant to the very machine he built, and thereby has given him a feeling of personal insignificance and powerlessness.

The automaton became subordinated to capitalist production and worked for profit's sake, for the development of new investment capital. and for conspicuous spending. Sound familiar?

¹Bottom feeder is defined as a "leech, or in other words a total lack of responsibility to provide for oneself. Relies heavily upon friends, neighbors or anyone really for sustenance. A slacker through and through." (Source: Urban Dictionary)
²Automaton is a "cog," a wage slave, or satanic gargoyle.

Bottom Feeder

I spent the evening at Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center as to be expected. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. I perused the large selection of books in search of my next reading foray. I became quite confused and postponed a decision. On the way back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I stopped by the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza and one Granny's Gourmet Muffin®. Once in lockdown, I dropped back the whole can of cerveza. I pondered my future, which appears to be getting grimmer by the day.

The morning commenced, as usual, with a ride on a crowded and late prison transport (read: bus). I was significantly unnerved upon my arrival downtown. After a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I felt much better. I walked to both Safeway® and Longs® to purchase something to eat and various sale items, respectively. The inventory is of no concern. I did my one hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. On the way to the gym, I espied a Freightliner® Sprinter cargo van parked along King Street. It is essentially the same as the Dodge® Sprinter¹. My workout was uneventful. Sadly, I did not have luxury of admiring the hottie gym trainer from afar. I was back in the faculty computer room at 3:45pm. The rest of the afternoon will be uneventful. I will depart for Waikiki at 7pm. In addition to my nightly ritual, I will have to do the dreaded laundry. Lord, have mercy!

I had another curious encounter with the sociopathic buddy yesterday. The subject exhibited extreme manic affect. At first, I thought that he was hammered. I was not certain whether an overdose of antidepressants was responsible or that the subject's personality has developed into an acute form of bipolarity. I observed that the subject has maintained a high level of memory for details, one of the attributes desired most by sociopaths. I was also able to confirm that the subject is able to maintain his air of deception without exhibiting any telltale overt symptoms, typical of bottom feeders² of the sort. In other words, the subject has advanced in the stages of sociopathy and is now considered dangerous. I have already logged numerous lies and deceptive information passed by both the subject and his victims. I have now had to focus on very minute details, some ambiguous, in order to establish his modus operandi. The latter minutia, when viewed collectively, reveal a pattern of convolution and circumlocution. However, since the information itself is bipolar (in conjunction with his personality state), the truth can easily be determined by simple regression analysis. The subject has also exhibited irrational and erratic behavior, which seems to suggest internal conflict. The frequency of odd theatrics and histrionics has increased as well. There seems to be no reason for the subject's impulsive appearances and quick departures, aside from launching into irrational theatrics. Further observation will be necessary.

I received e-mail from Professor Lisa. She has confirmed that there will be a vacancy in the house that she resides in. I queried her for more information. A realtor called this morning to make an appointment to view the "condotel" unit. I had already left for town, so I could not make the pass card available. Debbie, my realtor, has a copy of the pass card to the "condotel" unit, but she is out of town. There is another possible viewing scheduled on Friday, if I can somehow make the pass card available to the realtor.

Time has become a precious commodity to me, although sometimes that may not seem obvious. My outlook changed quite rapidly upon pops' untimely passing. In looking back just over the period of the journal, I can see evidence of profound changes. What I once found valuable is now useless. What was once useless is now valuable. And, I am not simply discussing material possessions. My outlook on life has changed based upon my mortality. I have become much more serious, looking upon everyday frivolities with disdain. I am much more dispassionate about modern life and culture. Everything is vanity. All I can think about is my final exodus from society. How will I accomplish such a feat? Where will I go? What will I need to do to survive?

¹Dodge® Sprinter cargo van, the ol' lavahead's future home on wheels. ²Bottom feeder is defined as a "leech, or in other words a total lack of responsibility to provide for oneself. Relies heavily upon friends, neighbors or anyone really for sustenance. A slacker through and through." (Source: Urban Dictionary)

Petite Bourgoisie

I went into lockdown immediately after entering my prison cell (read: little shoebox) upon my return to Waikiki. I piddled around for the rest of the evening. I read more of Thoreau's book, "Walden." I also watched the tube in order to sedate my mind. I can always count on the tube to reduce my mind to a zombie-like state. Heck, it's almost better than cheap booze. The highlight of the evening? I activated the security protocol on my beloved Palm® TX. Sheesh!

Incidentally, Professor Lisa had disclosed that she was disappointed to learn that Thoreau was more or less a slacker. She felt that his allegedly non-existent work ethic devalued the philosophy of "Walden." However, Professor Lisa is basing her conclusion upon axioms derived from postmodern definitions. The life-style that Thoreau enjoyed and exploited was common for artists and writers at the time. Society was just beginning to taste the evils of capitalism. In fact, the industrial age had not even dawned yet. We cannot evaluate Thoreau's time using the same criteria that is valid for our times. The beauty of Thoreau's treatise is that he could already see the debilitating effects of capitalism in his time. He offered a critique which was valid then and even more valid today. It is true that Thoreau spent only two years in Walden before returning to mainstream society. Was he simply a hypocrite? Or, was he making a statement about the degree of difficulty to truly escape the madness?

What Professor Lisa and everyone else seem to forget is that we are living in last days of the capitalist system. Most of us are enslaved with no hope for emancipation. She expressed the desire to fulfill many components of the "American Dream," such as finding a lucrative career, purchasing a home, and so forth. I was quite astonished that she has essentially bought into that nonsense. Well, I should not be surprised since wage slavery goes hand-in-hand with consumerism. Once caught up in the vortex of stupidity, escape is difficult. When the mind buys into consumerism, all reason goes out the door. Why can't anyone do the math? Just to retire right this moment, I believe that the safe estimate is to be holding about $800,000 in assets. Remember, we are only discussing retirement. Purchasing big house, big car, and all the other useless crap is over and above retirement funds. If a 25-year-old petite bourgeoisie could save $20,000 per year for 40 years, the result would be $955,000 at age 65 years given a five percent yield per annum. Who can save $20,000 per year? That's the catch, eh? It's easy to see why many satanic gargoyles are expecting to cash out their homes (if they were able to afford to purchase one) at retirement. Or, pray for that fat inheritance, my friends.

I met moms at Kahala Mall at 10:45am. Moms and I ate lunch at Panda Express®. I ordered two spicy entrées, both more spicy than usual. Sweat was pouring down the oversized cranium. I was able to chat with moms briefly before returning to town on the prison transport (read: bus). For the most part, I was simply happy to see that moms was doing fine. I did my one-hour of wage slavery at the Diploma Mill. Then, I was off to the gym. I will spend the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. After that, the evening ritual awaits.

Here's an interesting investing tidbit. Most of the "securitized" and risky loans are bound up in what is known in trade parlance as "collateralized mortgage obligations" or CMOs, also known by brokers as "toxic waste". Oddly, typical bond funds are comprised of large numbers of CMOs, which was also pointed out by Donald Christensen, author of "Surviving the Coming Mutual Fund Crisis." As Christensen noted, if an investor wants to maintain capital preservation, it is always preferable to eschew bond funds for actual U.S. issued government bonds. Bond funds were invented and hyped primarily by the lending banks to transfer risk of monetary losses in foreclosures, etc. onto investors. The reasoning is that it was preferable for tens of thousands of investors to endure individual small losses each year or quarter (from foreclosures associated with the CMO packages) than less than a dozen major banks to sustain huge losses. So, that's why the NAV¹ of my bond fund has been going down steadily.

¹NAV, or net asset value.

Nothing is Free

I left for town at 10am sans the Sunday paper. I suspect that the complimentary daily paper met its extinction in much the same way as the complimentary coffee. Anything to maintain the profit margin. The cost of living as well as the cost of doing business in Hawai'i keeps rising. Yet, certain prices, such as hotel room rates, must remain competitive.

I would not want to be around when Peak Oil finally comes to fruition. Even a moderate increase in petroleum prices will change the whole landscape of the tourist industry. If any airline can remain solvent, fares will have to increase. Japanese tourists are currently paying a $200 "fuel surcharge" over and above regular airfare. The Japanese tourists are a prized commodity here because they spend $267 per person per day on average, far higher than the average fat slob satanic gargoyle from the mainland. Since the cost of living in Hawai'i will increase as well, the prices of goods and services will increase proportionately. Hotels, restaurants, and retail stores will have to cut costs to remain competitive. However, the "law of diminishing returns" will eventually kick in. Thus, all of the little "free" perks will continue to disappear. Isn't that really the whole concept of capitalism anyway?

I had nothing to do when I arrived in town. I walked to Safeway® to purchase three energy bars to eat later. Then, I sat in the mall area of Kukui Plaza and listened to the piped in Smooth Jazz version of Muzak®. I reflected on a very strange dream that I had envisioned early this morning. Moms and I were riding bicycles up a long, steep hill. Obviously, the dream makes no sense since moms would hardly likely be riding a bicycle at 85 years of age. Moms fell off the bicycle. I dismounted quickly and ran to assist moms. As I was lifting moms up, I realized that I only had a tiny skeleton in my arms. The dream left me in a state of disarray. My take on the dream? I am running out of time to fulfill my destiny. I was to remain perturbed for the rest of the day.

At 11:15am, I walked to Mickey Dee's® to purchase a large cup of coffee. I sat outside the Diploma Mill while I waited for the student computer lab to open at noon. Gym time was at 1:45pm. The hottie gym trainer was there. Baby always looks so fine! After my cardio workout and shower, I stopped by Taco Bell® to purchase to two Cheesy Bean and Rice burritos. Unhealthy, but delicious. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab. I will depart for Waikiki at 5pm. My evening plans? For dinner, I will consume a couple of energy bars. Then, I will embark on my nightly ritual.

The first detailed account of Joe Bageant's exodus to Belize titled, "Escape from America," was posted on the Smirking Chimp site. From what I can glean, the expatriate option as a true exodus may no longer exist. The number of rich expatriates now residing in countries such as Belize and Costa Rica is far higher than it was a few years ago. When the fat slob satanic gargoyles move elsewhere, they cannot resist the temptation to convert the local culture to the "American Way" by hook or crook. In the end, the escape ends up being no escape at all. "There really is no place to escape from America, and more than likely it will have been already established at your destination before you even arrive. For the most part, temporary mediating respite is about all you can expect. But in the big picture, given peak oil, ecological collapse, and an empire hell bent on wreaking its own destruction, even temporary respite looks pretty damned good from the high front porch of this jack leg cobbled together Garifuna shack in the first light of tonight's moon," opined Bageant. The life-style that he describes in Hopkins Village reminded me of life in old-time Hawai'i, which really wasn't that long ago. More and more, it seems that my choices will whittle down to Slab City.

Why don't I just give in and become a satanic gargoyle already? I could join the winning team, the movers and the shakers. I could pursue a real career and restore my benefits package. I could earn big bank, which opens up all avenues of consumption. Big house, big car, big dick. You name it, Big Bank Hank can have it. Hottie gym trainer? No problem! Luxurious mausoleum (read: tomb)? No problem! Toys and more toys? No problem! Sociopathic buddies? No problemo! Then, there's the small print. I have to sign my life over to the sinister kahuna, effective forever. I must willingly succumb to the epidemic of the "seven sins" in order to transform into a satanic gargoyle. Then, I must indenture myself to wage slavery over several lifetimes. No problem-o, right? Wrong-O! Homey (read: ol' lavahead) don't play dat!

Misanthropic Visions

Another benign evening at Barnes & Noble® has left me wondering what other option that I have left to retain my sanity. All I could think about was the eventual acquisition of a Dodge® Sprinter cargo van. I returned to Waikiki at 10:15pm. As disillusioned as I was, I had to stop by the ABC Store specifically to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I also purchased two bananas to "legitimize" the event. Once back in my nauseating prison cell (read: little shoebox), I dropped back the whole can of cerveza. End of story.

I was brewing a fresh pot of coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill at 9am this morning. The sole purpose of my prison cell is just a place for me to sleep. The mere thought of the amount of dough I am dishing out for a place to sleep makes me want to deliver multiple street pizzas. I took a break and walked to Safeway® to purchase two lard-filled Tina's® burritos and four energy bars. I also transferred $700 from my investments to my local bank account, a task that will soon become routine. Gym time was at 12:30pm. I did my usual cardio workout a little earlier than usual because I had to meet Professor Lisa at the Ward Center around 2pm.

A bird took a dump on my shirt and my gym bag as I waited at the prison transport stop (read: bus stop). The prison transport (read: bus) arrived shortly afterward. I arrived at the Ward Center at 2pm exactly. I walked to Borders® and found Professor Lisa waiting out front as we had agreed upon. I was able to store my gym bag in her car before our adventure began. We first looked around Borders®. Then, we embarked on a walking journey that took us through Ala Moana Beach Park and on to Waikiki. We tried to follow a route that kept us insulated from traffic and tourists, an impossible task. We were able to walk on the beach at one point, although there were myriad satanic gargoyles, most of them obese, laying out in the sun. Our turnaround point was at the corner of Kapahulu Avenue. As you may recall, Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One is right in the vicinity. I observed that the semi-lucid homeless guy was sitting at one of the tables under the pavilion structure, much to my surprise. Our walk back to the Ward Center was accomplished by means of the same path except that we did not walk on the beach again. We made a brief stop at Ala Moana Center. We finally arrived at the Ward Center at about 6pm. Professor Lisa gave me a ride back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), so I was able to give her a brief tour of the prison compound. I also showed her my prison cell.

Professor Lisa mentioned to me that one of the boarders in the house that she resides in may be moving out soon. Thus, an opportunity for me to go on permanent furlough from Quagmire Prison may become a reality. Obviously, I will not be totally free at that point because I will still have the mortgage on the dump. When it returns to being a rental unit, I will have more paperwork to generate, more crap to keep tabs on, and less sanity.

After my prison dinner (read: beans and bread), I was off on my nightly ritual to Barnes & Noble®. I perused the usual books, not really for any purpose. I become confused at one point. Why would I want to read any of the classic literature if I am not really interested in any of them? What will I say after completing "War and Peace," by Leo Tolstoy? What benefit could I possible derive from the opinions, imagination, or ramblings of another imperfect human creature? The futility of my life-style becomes so apparent after my spates of self-deception wear off. The ride back to Waikiki on an extremely crowded prison transport caused an internal flare-up of my misanthropic inclinations. I was quite fatigued, yet relieved, to lock myself in my prison cell.

It is quite obvious that I have become a misanthrope as of late, mostly a knee-jerk reaction to the effects of overpopulation. Quite honestly, the whole situation is further exacerbated by the fact that most humans are now demon-possessed satanic gargoyles. In a society that appears to have plenty of everything, all but the superficial problems of stupidity are abated. However, when the inevitable times of crises occur, chaos of an extraordinary magnitude will erupt. I had previously thought there was a cure, but I was wrong. The only cure is the exodus.

By reducing my worldly possessions to the bare minimum, by disassociating from friends and acquaintances, by removing myself from consumerism, and by distancing myself from all aspects of mainstream society, there was no other outcome possible except complete alienation and l'ennui. I have no safety net, no support network, and no resources to survive in postmodern society. In other words, I am an outcast. An outcast can only function sanely for so long in such an environment. The rift between society and the outcast will only continue to grow over time, which is what is happening to me now. Often, I grasp at straws to find some kind of lifeline to return to the mainstream out of sheer desperation. Humans, after all, are social beings. Then, when I have another bitter taste of degenerate society, I become completely repulsed again.

Embracing society whole-heartedly would be a painful process. I would have to embrace wage slavery and actually over-commit myself to be accepted. I would also have to embrace the concept of "ownership" in the broad sense of owning anything and everything possible. I must return to the world of fads and celebrity worship. Watching the tube will be a prerequisite just to engage in conversation. I would also have to distance myself from the true progressive agenda (e.g., overpopulation, Peak Oil, global climate change, etc.) and embrace consumerism, capitalism, and waste. I would have to accept the aforementioned completely. Any sense of doubt would only cause me grief. I would have to shield my viewpoints and effectively lie about it. Then, the resentment and disgust will set in. In the end, I would be back where I started.

By the way, you may want to check out the new book by Nixon-Watergate icon G Gordon Liddy titled, "Fight Back: Tackling Terrorism Liddy Style." Yep, the same guy who took the cigarette lighter to his arm. Watch for my new book, "Fight Back: Tackling Idiocy Ol' Lavahead Style."