Truth to Power

Last night, I ended up at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center as was expected. I spent the time perusing books about Peak Oil and the expatriate life-style. Later, I once again used the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" system in a vain attempt to block out ambient and intermittent noise of Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). The "Rain" sound have become extremely irritating and most likely is further preventing me from attaining deep sleep. The "White Noise" sound may be more effective. Overall, the "sound therapy" unit is not cost-effective. It's just another "New Age" fad piece-of-shit. That's essentially $99 down the drain, what with the assorted intermittent noises (read: slammin' soirée) still getting on my nerves and all.

I engaged in the normal Sunday routine, commencing with a prison brunch (read: tuna and bread) in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I read the Sunday paper in the covered lanai of the Beretania Street Apartments after riding to town on the prison transport (read: bus). I noticed that the adjacent park was devoid of the homeless for some strange reason. Where were they? I purchased a cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's® and sipped on it while I waited for the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill to open at noon. Obviously, I spent most of the afternoon in front of a computer.

Gym time was at 1:30pm. After my workout, I stopped off at Taco Bell® for my special treat. Yep, two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos. I noticed that almost everyone in the place was either overweight or obese. I almost lost my appetite. Then, I was back in the student computer lab. Oh, what will I do once I am back in that cesspool known as Waikiki? Same ol' shit. Maybe the pathetic Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" placebo will work for me later tonight. I can only wish for a miracle.

As was made quite evident from the "blog," I live a life-style very similar to the homeless even though I have reverted to a prison analogy. I am paying and always have paid a lot of dough just for a place just to sleep. My perceived claustrophobia along with my disdain for the mausoleum-like edifices (read: tomb) disguised as housing for the rank-and-file preclude any prolonged duration of stay for me. As I've stated prior, I move in similar micro-migration patterns of the homeless. The idea is to keep moving until it's time to sleep. The nomad migration itinerary must include any and all activities for the day, whether they be chores, entertainment, and the like. I don't carry all of my worldly possessions with me, but my gym bag has everything to keep me going for the whole day. None of this should be surprising since I have previously declared that I am, by definition, homeless as it is.

Let's face the facts. I was duped by the "ownership" myth as were myriad satanic gargoyles. That's why I want out now. I am fortunate that my debt-equity ration (currently 1:5) will prevent the possibility of foreclosure of the "condotel" unit while I wait. However, I will never really "own" that dump or any other form of housing. I will owe property tax and maintenance fees forever. There is no expiry date. Any lapse in the payment of either will result in foreclosure of the property. Only the extremely affluent or the pedigreed elite can truly "own" property. Thus, I must forfeit my imaginary right to "own" property. Even my truck is subject to infinite registration fees and insurance premiums. The difference, of course, is that I could retain title to the truck because it is paid off. Driving it around with an expired registration and no insurance would be foolish. My conclusion? The only property that the rank-and-file peons can truly own are the small useful (e.g., clothes, shoes, etc.) and useless crap (e.g., Palm® TX, Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" system, etc.). Yes, that's it. Without true financial security, all other "big ticket" property is subject to loss, repossession, foreclosure, or confiscation.

Money is a big joke anyway. The monetary system, from what I can determine, was designed to maintain order in society and establish a voucher system for indentured servitude (i.e., modern version of slavery). Of course, the tertiary purpose of money is to provide an efficient means for trade of goods and services. The primary and secondary purpose of money are essentially the same. The masses are being used and depleted until they can no longer serve any functional purpose. They are allowed a pittance of a stipend to live on, which then binds them to financial slavery in the form of debt. The peons never envisioned themselves as slaves because they have enough useless material wealth to maintain denial. When the remaining real wealth is finally extracted from the rank-and-file peons, then the monetary system will have served its purpose and its masters. It was all fiat currency to begin with. The wage slaves will outlive their usefulness in that respect, but they will now be eligible to become manual labor slaves. The incarcerated population already live that reality.

Mike Whitney was once again sounding the alarm about the bursting of the housing "bubble. In a recent article titled, "Housing Bubble Bloodbath," appearing on the Smirking Chimp site, he stated that mid-2007 will be the beginning of the demise. It's a worthy read. What is even more troublesome is the potential for an incursion into Iran, which is quite credible now after the recent military raid on the Iranian Embassy in Iraq. I've read numerous articles wherein the authors have diagnosed Shrub and his administration as being mentally insane, all of them. I vehemently disagree. They are quite sane and following the game plan all the way through. The "good cop" versus "bad cop" charade is great fodder for the "op-ed" pages, but the truth of the matter is that the game plan won't be stopped. On the international front, the moneychangers and the powers-that-be are jockeying into position. The resource wars have already begun. On the domestic front, there will be massive economic upheaval as the the rift between the rank-and file proletariat class and the pedigreed elite bourgeoisie class widens. With Peak Oil and global warming at the forefront of the overpopulation problem, the time is rapidly coming when the secular Apocalypse must be invoked. How can anyone not see this?

Shifting larger and larger numbers of the rank-and-file into lower and lower social classes can and will eventually create a new "slave class," not to be confused with wage slavery. If Peak Oil does indeed come on as quickly as predicted, there will be a need to replace all automated and mechanized means of production with manual labor. Well, that's how those useless pyramids including the Sphinx were constructed in ancient Egypt. Simple physics can calculate the energy equivalent of a set quantity of oil (6.1178632 GJoules or about 1.70 MWh per barrel). A tremendous amount of manual labor by enslaved satanic gargoyles will be required to replace oil as there are no other cheap alternatives. We could, of course, return to using "beasts of burden," if there were sufficient populations of such animals. We seem to have many more satanic gargoyles.

As for alternative energy sources and power replacements, the reliance will ultimately fall upon electricity and electric power generation. An interesting article by Jason Godesky titled, "The World’s Biggest Machine is Breaking Down," discussed the latter on the Anthropik site. He discussed the physics of electric power transmission lines (i.e., the "grid") and its current limitations. An interesting citation in the article:

Historically, patterns of energy usage can effectively predict, and are a useful tool in understanding societal structure and hierarchy. Ancient China and Egypt, home to the earliest and most centralized/despotic civilizations, can be explained in terms of an energy-dependence dynamic. The energy that drove both these systems was control of the periodic flooding of the nile and yellow rivers, used to irrigate the agricultural systems of the respective societies. The individual land control of farmers in both societies has mystified many historians as to why such despotic political systems were allowed to develop. This can, however, be easily explained by the fact that it required huge, often 100,000+ man work details to keep these "hydraulic" agriculture systems functioning—something that could only be accomplished by a powerful, centralized authority. -- Trancik, J., et al. "Efficient and Resilient Electric Power Networks: A Chinese Case Study."

Where along the food chain will you be when that happens?

Tidbits. About one in 400 people is homeless in the nation (see National Alliance To End Homelessness report). About one in six people in the nation has no health insurance, just like the ol' lavahead. Hawai'i ranked 4th "healthiest" state, mainly because only one in five people smoke cigarettes. Is that supposed to be good news?

Tranquil Moments® Mania

Last night, I was overwhelmed by the barrenness of my prison cell (read: little shoebox) when I returned from town. I ate the usual prison food (read: beans and bread) hurriedly for dinner. I was excited because of my planned night out. I quickly cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. A quick glance at my pink rubber piggy bank replica was necessary before I left because I was about to go on an involuntary spending spree.

I alighted the prison transport (read: bus) at the Ward Center. I walked through the small mall until I found the Brookstone® store. I looked around for a a few minutes before I flagged a salesperson. I asked for one of the Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" systems. She attempted to sell me the unboxed display unit, which was at half price, no doubt because I did not look like anybody who could afford much more. I should have purchased the display unit, but that's water under the bridge. I purchased a brand new unit for $99 and some change. I was given an oversized shopping bag as there were no smaller ones. Throughout the rest of the evening, the gale force winds kept blowing the large shopping bag around. That's only part of the nightmarish adventure.

I rode the prison transport to downtown. I had to wait about 20 minutes before a bus heading in the direction of Kahala Mall arrived. By the time, I arrived at the mall, the stores were closing. Thus, I was not able to find a place to eat. Oh well. I was able to spend about 30 minutes at Barnes & Noble® before there was an announcement that the store was closing at 10pm. Apparently, there are shorter hours now for the store.

The prison transport heading to town was crowded. A sweaty fat slob sat next to me. I somehow had to squeeze my large Brookstone® shopping bag into a small crevice next to the seat. I transferred to a prison transport bound for Waikiki. It, too, was full. Once again, a sweaty fat slob sat next to me. He could barely fit in the seat. Once back in the safety of my prison cell, I opened the Tranquil Moments® box to reveal the "sound therapy" system. A brief moment of elation overcame me, obviously the real impetus of consumerism. It's similar to a drug "high." I noted that the unit was made in China. No surprise, eh? I set up the unit on the dresser. When I turned it on, I noticed that I could barely hear it, even with the volume control set full blast.

I had to unplug the hotel-issue clock-radio to plug in the Brookstone® "sound therapy" system. I could actually hear the unit when it was on the night stand, just inches from my head. The sound from the unit was tinny, just as I had read in the various on-line customer reviews. The sad part is that the Brookstone® unit was judged to be superior in sound quality in comparison to the Sharper Image® Sound Soother. There are, however, headphone jacks on all of the electronic noise-masking devices such that external powered-speakers could be plugged in. I left the unit on with the "Rain" sound option selected.

I walked to the Food Pantry, only to find nothing worthy of purchasing. I ended up at the ABC Store and purchased a shitty $2.19 sandwich (on white bread, no less!) and a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. I spent an hour in the prison compound dropping back the big-ass can of cerveza and reasing the "Lust" chapter of Schimmel's book, The Seven Deadly Sins." I had thought of buying a greasy burger at Jack in the Box®, but thought better of the idea. I would have been sickened at the sight of all of the fat slobs satanic gargoyles stuffing their "super-sized" French Fries and milkshakes into their Kabuki-masked faces.

Eventually, the time came to test the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" system." The unit was still spewing forth its tinny version of emulated rainfall when I went into lockdown in my prison cell. I had to reposition the unit several times. In the end, I used the hotel-issue clock-radio as a deflector plate and acoustic baffle in order to optimize both the sound quality and sound pressure level. The speaker is stupidly placed at the rear of the unit rendering it semi-useless.

I slept on my left side facing the "sound therapy" system all night. If I had turned the other way, I would have barely heard it. At full volume levels, the distorted sound did not really emulate rainfall. However, it did seem to mask any transient sounds (read: slammin' soirée) as far as I could tell. I had a vivid, albeit shitty, dream. An unrecognized relative of mine requested to be hanged (i.e., Saddam-style) for some unknown reason. I was designated as one of the coordinators, although under protest. A huge number of faceless relatives attended the débâcle. I could not stand to watch the final moments, but I heard the screams and gurgling noises. I was awakened at that point.

I departed for town this morning at 9am on the prison transport. The faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill was open. So, I spent most of the day there, doing absolutely nothing important. For a break, I walked to Longs®, only to discover that all of the sale items were sold out. I purchased a loaf of bread, three energy bars, and one Tina's® burrito at Safeway® instead.

Gym time was at 2pm. Once again, no hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. After a brisk cardio workout and a warm shower, I was back in the faculty computer room. At 4pm, I had to relocate to the student computer lab for an hour. I will depart for Waikiki on the prison transport at 5pm. Where will I go this evening? Can you guess?

Up the Down Staircase (Reprise)

Last night, I made the trek to Ala Moana Center and spent the evening at Barnes & Noble® again. I perused a few books about the expatriate life. From what I can tell, there would be significant challenges in moving to another country. And, of course, which country is the best choice?

Later, I spent about an hour in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading Schimmel's book, "The Seven Deadly Sins." So, far, I have read three chapters pertaining to the "sins" of greed, envy, and anger. The satanic gargoyles in the next prison cell were making noise at one o' clock and then at 5am this morning. When do these dickhead ever sleep? Then, the concrete spalling repair crew were making a major racket right outside my window at 7:30am.

As much as I have been trying to implement the ideas presented in Schimmels's book. My tolerance for stupidity and noise is at all-time low. Restraint and self-control were suggested methodologies. However, such remedies are only workable when dealing with sporadic or highly intermittent events. I am dealing with a constant and steady barrage of noise and stupidity. Unless I can muster up some superhuman powers soon, I will not be able to hold up to the steady torture being dished out. Sleep deprivation is torture.

In the past two days, I have been subjected to minor stampedes by the myriad satanic gargoyles attempting to board the prison transport (read: bus). As of recent, I have noticed an increase in "pushy" and obnoxious behavior. Satanic gargoyles, like cattle, are really too stupid to even notice. Their life-style is already so debased and compromised that they don't even notice how much more animalistic they have become.

Some of my time today in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill involved some minor research about electronic noise-masking devices. I will no have choice but to purchase one of the overpriced pieces of shit in order to maintain my sanity. Even in the future, if I decide against homeless "camping," then I will be forced to do more time in another prison cell (read: little shoebox). The same shitty conditions will apply. For the amount of dough that I am willing and able to pay, I will have no choice but to live amongst the vermin of society. Thus, an electronic noise-masking device may be necessity.

I restored my monk haircut at the Institute of Hair Design. That was by far the most pleasant experience I've had in weeks. The wait was short, and the guy who cut my hair did a really nice job. He was also very courteous and jovial, which made my day.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. Again, no hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I was both famished and fatigued, but I made it through my workout. I felt much better after my cardio set. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I called the Brookstone® store in the Ward Center to check on the availability of the Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" system (read: electronic noise-masking device). Yes, it is in stock. Yes, there are plenty of them. Yes, they cost $100 each. Yeah, no doubt. With the myriad loud dickheads on this island, the device must be selling like hotcakes. From my research, the Brookstone® unit is much better than the Sharper Image® units.

I departed the Diploma Mill at 6pm. This evening, I plan to ride the prison transport to the Ward Center and purchase the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy" system. Then, I will make the trek to Kahala Mall. I may treat myself to dinner or a snack. Why not? I will already be on a materialistic spending spree. After that, I plan to spend the rest of the evening at Barnes & Noble®.

My expenses for last month were still too high for me to tolerate. And, it's not going to get any better the longer that I remain in the "system." I've got to hand it to myself. I have really locked myself in this time. I've got the mortgage on the "condotel" unit. So, I must remain in wage slavery to pay it. The mortgage gives me a tax deduction. I must also make an annual contribution to my IRA, which is part of being a wage slave. I can't emancipate myself from wage slavery too soon, or I will forfeit my Social Security benefits. Can you see the endless cycle? Can you identify the trap? Expenses are constantly going up. I must make major sacrifices in order to compensate. The phenomenon is happening all across the country, yet there's not a peep from the drugged-out satanic gargoyle zombies. What the heck is going on?

Some of the satanic gargoyles keep telling me that wage slavery is the answer. That is, more and more servitude to wage slavery. Work hard, play hard, they tell me. Supposedly, they will be able to continue that vicious cycle past 70 years of age. Yeah, right. Most of them are fat slobs who can barely make it up a flight of stairs as it is. My tolerance for that kind of flawed logic is at an all-time low as well.

As it stands, I plan to list Chez Loser II for sale next week for $159,000 (i.e., assessed value). I doubt that it will sell anytime soon. My most prudent move would be to remain in the "condotel" unit as long as I can secure employment contracts. At present, I have contracts that go until August 20th. The first week of August will mark one year in the dump. I can then subtract $12,000 (i.e., equivalent rent expense) from the listed price. I can do the same for each year that I hold the unit, if I so choose. Once I am unemployed, I may not have any choice but to put the "condotel" unit in the hotel rental pool. I will be short $400 each month. Therefore, I will have to take up homeless "camping" at that time.

Night & Day

Last night, I had to do the much dreaded laundry chores. The watch commander's office (read: hotel front desk) has been out of quarters for two days. So, I had to walk to another prison (read: hotel) down the street and use the laundry facilities there. The venture cost me $1 more than usual due to the higher rates of the washers and dryers. The only consolation was that I spent the wait time reading my new book, "The Seven Deadly Sins," by Solomon Schimmel.

I ended up at Barnes & Noble® at Ala Moana Center as to be expected. I stayed there until the store closed at 11pm. I perused the usual genre of books. And, I managed to find an interesting little book in the "Humor" section titled, "Idler Book of Crap Vacations: 50 Tales of Hell on Earth." The "Number Three" spot was Waikiki. Although the book was meant to be humorous, it accurately depicted Waikiki as true dump that it is.

Hawai'i as a whole is rapidly transforming into a total dump anyway. Since it can no longer be marketed as "Paradise," the clever promoters have diligently given Hawai'i a makeover as a "world-class shopping destination." Case in point: the huge expansion at Ala Moana Center to include the new Nordstrom® anchor store. In fact, the tourist industry here has mobilized to capitalize on the trend. Tourism is not about sightseeing or learning about different cultures anymore. No, it's all about shopping at your favorite stores in different locales. There's just something special about buying the same ol' shit (made in China) in the same ol' stores in different cities or different countries.

Upon my return to Waikiki, I stopped by the ABC Store to purchase a couple of bananas, one Granny's Gourmet Muffin, and a big-ass can of Coors® Light. I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) for an hour. I read the Schimmel book and relaxed while dropping back the big-ass can of brewski.

Reading Schimmel's book has been quite enlightening. It will become a permanent part of my small library. Essentially, Schimmel's work should follow on the heels of the timeless masterpiece, "Man's Search for Meaning," by Viktor Frankl. Together, these books form the basis for us to determine the real meaning of life. In our modern times, ethics and morality mean nothing. As part of the satanic gargoyle transformation process, ethics and morality are either sidestepped or completely overlooked, especially if either gets in the way of "self-esteem." The latter concept, as dangerous and vile as it is, has become quite universal while creating a massive spiritual void. Materialism and consumerism have replaced antiquated value systems. Hence, the epidemic of the "seven sins."

I spent most of the day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I called Ralph, a Dean at HCC, at 10:45am to arrange a visit. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the HCC campus. Ralph's office is on the second floor of the administration building. We chatted for a few minutes. He gave me a copy of an article that he recently had published. Ralph wanted to walk to Chinatown, so I joined him. We made a quick tour of the HCC campus first. The walk to Chinatown took no more than ten minutes. Ralph purchased a small portion of Char Siu Pork at one of the small shops and shared it with me. We parted company on Maunakea Street. Ralph had to to return to work. I walked back to the Diploma Mill.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. My gym workout will remain a priority with me. I once again observed a marked decrease in anxiety levels after my cardio workout. With a few hours, the anxiety and stress levels elevate again. My continued exposure and foolish participation in a malignant culture is the root cause. Why did I paint myself into a corner?

The three-ring circus in Washington is laughable at best. We are seeing more "good cops" versus "bad cops" reality programming in the contrived battle over Shrub's proposed military "surge" into Iraq. Don't worry, the "surge" must go on, at least until the puppet Iraq government approves the new hydrocarbon law. Paul Craig Roberts asserted that the "surge" is simply a distraction to buy time to implement plans to widen the scope of the war to include Iran.

The US government, essentially a "corporatocracy," is out of control. We have elected officials and an allegedly elected leadership, public servants all of them, who no longer answer to the voting constituency. Even Mike Ruppert, in his book, "Crossing the Rubicon," stated that the the strings of these puppets are being pulled from above. Frankly, as long as the average fat slob satanic gargoyles can freely drive their 4000-pound motorized chairs (read: SUVs) down the street to buy a pack of cigarettes, they don't care. The arrogance of the moronic satanic gargoyles is further substantiated when they cast blame on the Iraqis for the civil war in progress. What exactly do these fools believe caused the disruption in the first place?

I am still bound by confusion about my own future. I seriously want out of the world of satanic gargoyles. I want to exit society, but I do not necessarily want to become a homeless "camper." Yet, what other choice do I have? Every aspect of society has been designed to confine and force conformity upon the hapless wage slave. Every transaction involves money, which is the cause of the enslavement. However, in exiting mainstream society, we must enter the "fringe" of the netherworld. It is an existence marked by dereliction and defilement. It is a debased form of living not much better than that of roving wild animals. Sadly, the ever-increasing flow of capital from the lower beasts in the food chain to the upper crust of pedigreed elites is forcing more satanic gargoyles to join the ranks of the "fringe" society. Hell hath no fury like a satanic gargoyle scorned.

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"?