My first night at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) was uneventful. I spent most of the evening chatting with Jay. Sushant, the Indian guy, called it a night fairly early. I woke up at 8am this morning. After piddling around for a while, I departed for Hawai'i Kai. Moms had invited me to stop by. After my arrival, moms and I left to go shopping at Longs® and Safeway® in Kuapa Kai. For lunch, moms made hot dogs. After lunch, I chatted with moms briefly. Then, I drove back to Slob Manor.
After parking my truck and putting my stuff away, my gym bag and I were off to town. The bus stop is not sheltered from the sun, so any wait longer than a minute is very uncomfortable. Fortunately, a bus came by within a couple of minutes. It was the Route 22 bus heading to Waikiki filled with tourists. I alighted at Kahala Mall and transferred to a Route 1 bus heading downtown. Once in town, I walked to the gym and did my usual workout. At 4pm, I was able to board a Route 1 bus heading back toward Hawai'i Kai. The bus was fairly empty. What a change from my former commute to Waikiki!
Nonetheless, I was again feeling deep regret about my decision to move out of Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). I am no closer to the exodus than I was a year ago. In fact, I may be closer to insanity. When I arrived at Slob Manor, I could barely stand the heat. Unlike the steady downpour all night long, the weather was extremely hot and dry today. The ambient temperature on the second floor where my room is located was even hotter. I began to feel even more regret. To keep myself from lapsing into despondency, I did some cleaning. I also did another load of laundry.
Later, I decided to get some fresh (and cooler) air by stepping out to Kahala Mall. I rode the bus in order to become accustomed to the commute. It is quite a change to be standing outside at the bus stop alone while hundreds of cars are whizzing by Kalani'ana'ole Highway every few seconds. Fortunately, the bus arrived on time. In a matter of a few minutes, I alighted at Kahala Mall. I wandered around the mall aimlessly. Surprisingly, I was comforted by the surroundings. Eventually, I ended up at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. I spent about an hour there. I also noticed that there were a couple of hottie "booksellers" on duty. Just like old times, eh?
At 8:30pm, I rode an extremely crowded bus back to Niu Valley. I then drove my truck to the Foodland in the Aina Haina Shopping Center. I purchased a carton of non-fat milk (now $3.50 on sale) and two non-descript frozen burritos. Why didn't I just ride the bus there? I returned to Slob Manor. I devoured the frozen burritos even though they were very marginal in quality. Why didn't I just open a can of beans? Well, the rest of the evening was as marginal as the frozen burritos. Sheesh!
Friday, November 02, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
The Big Move
I retrieved my truck from the Waikiki Banyan parking structure without a hitch this morning. My parking permit had expired last night. I was able to move out of the "condotel" unit expeditiously (about an hour). However, I was dumbfounded by the amount of crap that I still possess. I stopped off at Barnes & Noble® for a cup of coffee in the café. I meandered around until 10:50am. The drive to Slob Manor (read: rental housing) was quick. Patricia was already there. She was cleaning the other vacant room. We went through the tenant/landlord nonsense. Finally, she handed me the keys. After I unloaded all my crap, I was off to Hawai'i Kai.
My bro's truck was parked outside the house when I arrived. I figured that he had gone to Mau'i. Moms arrived a few minutes later. It turns out that my bro was home all that time. Moms and I ate lunch at Zippy's® in Koko Marina. Because my bro was home, we ate in the dining area of Zippy's®. Moms then did some grocery shopping at Foodland. My bro was fast asleep when I dropped moms off. I drove back down to Koko Marina to go to the gym. After my workout, I drove back to Slob Manor. No one was there. I dropped off my gym bag and drove to Kahala Mall.
My first stop was at Jamba Juice® to purchase a smoothie that would suffice as my dinner. Next stop was Longs®. I purchased a key chain for my rental housing keys and a windshield sunshade for my truck. Last stop was the T-Mobile® store. I purchased a cheap $40 cell phone because I no longer have the luxury of the prison land line. Money is apparently flowing like water. Incidentally, I transferred another $1,800 from my investment accounts to my local bank earlier this morning. Within a few days, my total liquid assets will be diminished from the figures quoted below.
I returned to Slob Manor at 6pm. I parked my truck on a side street where it might receive a few hours of shade. Gone are the days when my truck had a privileged parking spot in the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. One of my housemates, Jay, was home. I chatted with him as I did my dreaded laundry chores. Another housemate, an Indian guy whom I did not get his name, arrived back from work close to 8pm. The three of us sat chatted for a while. I still had to put my laundry and other crap away. Naturally, I also had to compose the "blog."
I am not longer incarcerated in Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), which is a big change for me. There will be no more adventures in Waikiki. No more nightly excursions to Ala Moana Cener. Now, I reside in Slob Manor with a bunch of guys who are squeaking by just to make rent. Will these misadventures ever end? Will the exodus ever come?
My bro's truck was parked outside the house when I arrived. I figured that he had gone to Mau'i. Moms arrived a few minutes later. It turns out that my bro was home all that time. Moms and I ate lunch at Zippy's® in Koko Marina. Because my bro was home, we ate in the dining area of Zippy's®. Moms then did some grocery shopping at Foodland. My bro was fast asleep when I dropped moms off. I drove back down to Koko Marina to go to the gym. After my workout, I drove back to Slob Manor. No one was there. I dropped off my gym bag and drove to Kahala Mall.
My first stop was at Jamba Juice® to purchase a smoothie that would suffice as my dinner. Next stop was Longs®. I purchased a key chain for my rental housing keys and a windshield sunshade for my truck. Last stop was the T-Mobile® store. I purchased a cheap $40 cell phone because I no longer have the luxury of the prison land line. Money is apparently flowing like water. Incidentally, I transferred another $1,800 from my investment accounts to my local bank earlier this morning. Within a few days, my total liquid assets will be diminished from the figures quoted below.
I returned to Slob Manor at 6pm. I parked my truck on a side street where it might receive a few hours of shade. Gone are the days when my truck had a privileged parking spot in the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. One of my housemates, Jay, was home. I chatted with him as I did my dreaded laundry chores. Another housemate, an Indian guy whom I did not get his name, arrived back from work close to 8pm. The three of us sat chatted for a while. I still had to put my laundry and other crap away. Naturally, I also had to compose the "blog."
I am not longer incarcerated in Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), which is a big change for me. There will be no more adventures in Waikiki. No more nightly excursions to Ala Moana Cener. Now, I reside in Slob Manor with a bunch of guys who are squeaking by just to make rent. Will these misadventures ever end? Will the exodus ever come?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Day of Samhain 2007
I completed reading the book, "The Shock Doctrine," authored by Naomi Klein a couple of days ago. I have returned to my second reading of Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization."
Incidentally, I have found that, in reading much of the news these days, I ask myself, "Haven't I seen this before?" Sure enough, it's the "shock doctrine" repackaged and used over and over again. I have refrained from deviating to lengthy diatribes about current affairs as of late, although I continue to read a variety of news sources.
What concerns me now is the composite of short-term interest rates, the state of the "bubble economy," and the timing of the attack on Iran. I believe that we are seeing a repeat of the same conditions that existed prior to the incursion into Iraq. The so-called "technology bubble" was collapsing, a recession was looming, Greenspan lowered short-term interest rates, and the incursion into Iraq was hastily launched. And, the year 2003 was very close to the Presidential elections. Coincidence? I don't think so. It's the "shock doctrine" in action. Perhaps if we determine what short-term interest rates were on the day the incursion into Iraq commenced, we can probably predict when the attack on Iran will occur. My rough estimate is sometime around April of next year.
As was expected, the Fed lowered short-term interest rates. The estimated effect for me will be another $150 drop in monthly dividend income from my investment accounts. The last rate decrease caused a $300 drop in income. Thus, I will be drawing $450 per month from my savings until the next interest rate decrease in six weeks.
Of course, the dollar is not worth much these days. The Fed-induced inflation has made the dollar almost completely disposable. That gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "disposable income." Banks are certainly not attempting to lure savers. Saving money is so passé.
I was in a despondent mood his morning. The sudden downpour when I arrived in town did little to alleviate my disposition. I was literally trapped in Kukui Plaza with my cup of coffee from Safeway®. At noon, the rain finally stopped. Thus, I could commence my homeless guy itinerary.
I was relieved when I sat myself down in the inner courtyard of the library. I sat and pondered my ridiculous situation. The "condotel" unit is now the major money sink that could leave me both homeless and penniless. I am doing all that I can to preserve capital and protect my assets. However, all that really matters is the divestiture of the "condotel" unit. Once the global recession arrives, I will be in deep shit if I still "own" the albatross.
The global recession will probably kick in about six months to a year from now, once the impact of high energy prices affects all consumer goods and services. Given the fragile nature of a debt-based economy, I can see no other recourse. Perhaps it is wise just to spend all my savings, as it is losing its value by the day. When the Fed has finally lowered interest rates to near-zero percent again, my savings will only have a fraction of its current purchasing power. That's the mirage of our economic "system." Lower interest rates translate to asset inflation, giving the illusion of increased wealth. Lower rates also mean cheap loans based on the inflated assets, giving the illusion of even more wealth. However, energy costs are also inflated and give rise to higher and higher prices (due to the multiplier effect for each stage of the production and distribution chain) for goods and services. In the end, the mirage of increased wealth yields to the reality of exponentially increased debt. Thus, net worth (i.e., assets less liabilities) decreases and makes us poorer.
The dulled mind is tricked into seeing an increase in personal wealth because of the "ownership society." The accumulation of property (e.g., real estate, automobiles, consumer goods, and so forth) creates an illusion of immense wealth. Yet, only the so-called "standard of living" has increased. Wealth has decreased because depreciation of assets, obsolescence, and debt accrual. A high standard of living is a consumption pattern, not wealth. However, we equate it to wealth because of its flaunt value, that is, the appearance of "living high on the hog." Of course, flaunt value opens the doors to social acceptance, even aiding in the mating ritual. And, it is flaunt value that is driving the exorbitant consumer spending that makes up over 70 of the GDP.
By mid-afternoon, the sky was clear with some intermittent showers. The rain, however, had triggered the methane production of the manure compost. I sat in the courtyard and attempted to ignore the odor until my allotted gym time. Were it not for the peace and quiet, I could not have held out for long.
I did my usual workout at the gym. All of the stress and tension returned with a vengeance nonetheless. I am so fatigued by my circuitous path to "freedom." When will I ever complete the exodus? The rain apparently started up again while I was in the gym. I walked to the nearest prison transport stop (read: bus stop) near Longs® at 4:10pm. Three Waikiki-bound prison transport passed through, but all were too crowded for my liking. The rain let up, so I walked to my usual prison transport stop. After along wait, I boarded the next prison transport bound for Waikiki. Traffic was ridiculously heavy because of the rain and everyone commuting to Waikiki for Sinister Kahuna Day parties. I arrived at my destination at 6:30pm.
I completed my psychotic rituals for the last time. Then, I hurriedly devoured my prison meal (read: beans and bread). At 8pm, the losers in the adjacent prison cell came back Within minutes, there was a lot of loud talking. I thought a party was in progress. Then, I realized that the clowns were yelling. There were a number of thuds as crap was flung at the walls. I immediately called the watch commander's desk (read: hotel front desk). A prison guard (read: security guard) was dispatched. I decided that I did not want to stick around. I chatted with the prison staff (read: hotel staff) about the incident.
I thought about one last visit to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. As I waited at the prison transport stop, I noticed that traffic was extremely heavy. Most of the prison transports were late. I watched the crowd of costumed satanic gargoyles parade down Kuhio Avenue. Actually, it was quite entertaining. I finally boarded a prison transport, but I alighted in central Waikiki. I waited forever for another prison transport going back to where I came from. In the meantime, I watched the parade of Sinister Kahuna Day disciples. I also saw the babe who looks like the former friend. In fact, I am 90 percent certain that the babe in question is the former friend. I boarded another prison transport and rode it all the way to Waikiki Beach. When I alighted, I found myself in the middle of a huge group of costumed satanic gargoyles. I walked across Kalakau'a Avenue to the beach side and walked toward central Waikiki. Across the street were an endless mass of satanic gargoyles moving in both directions. There were almost as many on my side of the street, but navigating through the crowd was easier. I walked all the way back and past central Waikiki. Then, I traversed over to Kuhio Avenue and headed back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel.
I felt somewhat numbed by the experience. That's actually only the second time that I have walked that path since I moved to Waikiki. I felt alienated and insignificant. Here, everyone was out having a good time with all of their friends, and I was walking through the crowd alone. I did not know a single soul. I recollected the days when I was out on the party circuit doing the same kind of stuff. Now, I am a non-entity. Of course, that's the beauty of Waikiki. There's a lot of activity, and just walking around in the crowd can thwart feelings of aloneness. In that sense, I will miss Waikiki. I won't miss living in a prison cell.
I stopped off at the Food pantry to purchase a pint of ice cream. I ate the ice cream in my prison cell in a silent celebration of the end of my prison term. I am still shackled to the mortgage, though. I may venture out again into the heart of Waikiki. The evening is still young. And, it is my last night here.
As was expected, the Fed lowered short-term interest rates. The estimated effect for me will be another $150 drop in monthly dividend income from my investment accounts. The last rate decrease caused a $300 drop in income. Thus, I will be drawing $450 per month from my savings until the next interest rate decrease in six weeks.
Of course, the dollar is not worth much these days. The Fed-induced inflation has made the dollar almost completely disposable. That gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "disposable income." Banks are certainly not attempting to lure savers. Saving money is so passé.
I was in a despondent mood his morning. The sudden downpour when I arrived in town did little to alleviate my disposition. I was literally trapped in Kukui Plaza with my cup of coffee from Safeway®. At noon, the rain finally stopped. Thus, I could commence my homeless guy itinerary.
I was relieved when I sat myself down in the inner courtyard of the library. I sat and pondered my ridiculous situation. The "condotel" unit is now the major money sink that could leave me both homeless and penniless. I am doing all that I can to preserve capital and protect my assets. However, all that really matters is the divestiture of the "condotel" unit. Once the global recession arrives, I will be in deep shit if I still "own" the albatross.
The global recession will probably kick in about six months to a year from now, once the impact of high energy prices affects all consumer goods and services. Given the fragile nature of a debt-based economy, I can see no other recourse. Perhaps it is wise just to spend all my savings, as it is losing its value by the day. When the Fed has finally lowered interest rates to near-zero percent again, my savings will only have a fraction of its current purchasing power. That's the mirage of our economic "system." Lower interest rates translate to asset inflation, giving the illusion of increased wealth. Lower rates also mean cheap loans based on the inflated assets, giving the illusion of even more wealth. However, energy costs are also inflated and give rise to higher and higher prices (due to the multiplier effect for each stage of the production and distribution chain) for goods and services. In the end, the mirage of increased wealth yields to the reality of exponentially increased debt. Thus, net worth (i.e., assets less liabilities) decreases and makes us poorer.
The dulled mind is tricked into seeing an increase in personal wealth because of the "ownership society." The accumulation of property (e.g., real estate, automobiles, consumer goods, and so forth) creates an illusion of immense wealth. Yet, only the so-called "standard of living" has increased. Wealth has decreased because depreciation of assets, obsolescence, and debt accrual. A high standard of living is a consumption pattern, not wealth. However, we equate it to wealth because of its flaunt value, that is, the appearance of "living high on the hog." Of course, flaunt value opens the doors to social acceptance, even aiding in the mating ritual. And, it is flaunt value that is driving the exorbitant consumer spending that makes up over 70 of the GDP.
By mid-afternoon, the sky was clear with some intermittent showers. The rain, however, had triggered the methane production of the manure compost. I sat in the courtyard and attempted to ignore the odor until my allotted gym time. Were it not for the peace and quiet, I could not have held out for long.
I did my usual workout at the gym. All of the stress and tension returned with a vengeance nonetheless. I am so fatigued by my circuitous path to "freedom." When will I ever complete the exodus? The rain apparently started up again while I was in the gym. I walked to the nearest prison transport stop (read: bus stop) near Longs® at 4:10pm. Three Waikiki-bound prison transport passed through, but all were too crowded for my liking. The rain let up, so I walked to my usual prison transport stop. After along wait, I boarded the next prison transport bound for Waikiki. Traffic was ridiculously heavy because of the rain and everyone commuting to Waikiki for Sinister Kahuna Day parties. I arrived at my destination at 6:30pm.
I completed my psychotic rituals for the last time. Then, I hurriedly devoured my prison meal (read: beans and bread). At 8pm, the losers in the adjacent prison cell came back Within minutes, there was a lot of loud talking. I thought a party was in progress. Then, I realized that the clowns were yelling. There were a number of thuds as crap was flung at the walls. I immediately called the watch commander's desk (read: hotel front desk). A prison guard (read: security guard) was dispatched. I decided that I did not want to stick around. I chatted with the prison staff (read: hotel staff) about the incident.
I thought about one last visit to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble® in Ala Moana Center. As I waited at the prison transport stop, I noticed that traffic was extremely heavy. Most of the prison transports were late. I watched the crowd of costumed satanic gargoyles parade down Kuhio Avenue. Actually, it was quite entertaining. I finally boarded a prison transport, but I alighted in central Waikiki. I waited forever for another prison transport going back to where I came from. In the meantime, I watched the parade of Sinister Kahuna Day disciples. I also saw the babe who looks like the former friend. In fact, I am 90 percent certain that the babe in question is the former friend. I boarded another prison transport and rode it all the way to Waikiki Beach. When I alighted, I found myself in the middle of a huge group of costumed satanic gargoyles. I walked across Kalakau'a Avenue to the beach side and walked toward central Waikiki. Across the street were an endless mass of satanic gargoyles moving in both directions. There were almost as many on my side of the street, but navigating through the crowd was easier. I walked all the way back and past central Waikiki. Then, I traversed over to Kuhio Avenue and headed back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel.
I felt somewhat numbed by the experience. That's actually only the second time that I have walked that path since I moved to Waikiki. I felt alienated and insignificant. Here, everyone was out having a good time with all of their friends, and I was walking through the crowd alone. I did not know a single soul. I recollected the days when I was out on the party circuit doing the same kind of stuff. Now, I am a non-entity. Of course, that's the beauty of Waikiki. There's a lot of activity, and just walking around in the crowd can thwart feelings of aloneness. In that sense, I will miss Waikiki. I won't miss living in a prison cell.
I stopped off at the Food pantry to purchase a pint of ice cream. I ate the ice cream in my prison cell in a silent celebration of the end of my prison term. I am still shackled to the mortgage, though. I may venture out again into the heart of Waikiki. The evening is still young. And, it is my last night here.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
One-Man Farewell Party
I did not sleep well again last night. My mind remained active and churned through the same depressing financial statistics of the pseudo-exodus over and over again. When I finally woke up, I felt dismal. Nonetheless, I submitted the the hotel pool contract to Keali'i, the general manager. The "condotel" unit is slated to be put into service as early as Thursday night. Keali'i gave me a few assuring words but I am only concerned about the bottom line: maximum revenue.
My decision to invoke the pseudo-exodus, by the way, has more to do with tax accounting rather than the various annoyances that I often discuss. Of course, the issue stems from the hypothetical sale of the "condotel" unit with the next seven months. The secondary issue is cost-cutting.
After adding yet more complexity to my life, I was on my way to town to emulate a homeless guy. The old local homeless guy was sitting in Kamali'i Park as usual. I ran into Pseudo-professor Mike at Safeway®. We chatted briefly. He had rented a truck and hired a group of people to move his vast acquired retail inventory to storage facility. He was on his way to supervise the group.
After consuming my brunch, I walked through the Capitol district, barely even noticing the lush greenery. Only until I was seated in the inner courtyard of the library did I realize that I had completely forsaken the most important part of my daily ritual. The smell of the manure compost had subsided to a tolerable level. As I sat and revelled in the visual feast, I felt some semblance of composure. The sky was overcast, and the air wad damp. Rain was a certainty. I composed the "blog" on my rapidly failing Palm® TX. The digitizer is ready to give out. Using the virtual keyboard is frustrating because the virtual keys either function intermittently or trigger the wrong key values.
Although I have explicitly stated as such, the pseudo-exodus has facilitated an easier transition to homelessness should the need arise. I will be able to terminate my rental agreement within 30 days. The latter contingency will remain "on the table" as long as necessary to protect my assets (i.e., not default on the mortgage for the "condotel" unit). Yes, I am willing to sacrifice my personal safety and comfort for my assets. That's enslavement. However, as time goes on, I may simply abandon my assets to cut my losses.
By 1pm, the clouds had dissipated. Sunlight basked the courtyard with light. Sadly, the heat increased the methane production by the manure compost. Alas, we can't have everything, can we? Regardless of the odor, I managed to lapse in and out of a coma for an hour or so. I have not felt so relaxed in days.
The time finally came for me to walk to the gym. I did my usual gym workout. I wondered if I should change my gym time until later when the hottie gym trainer is working her shift. Such foolishness amuses me. After my workout and shower, I made the trek back to Waikiki in time for Happy Hour at Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), that is, my last Happy Hour there. One-Man Farewell Party. Keali'i, the general manager, always serves as the bartender. He said that, as an owner, I am always welcome to stop by for Happy Hour. I will keep the offer in mind. I dropped back five free drinks to celebrate the Pseudo-exodus.
Big headache. Let's face it, I felt like crap. However, I made the journey to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. As usual, I meandered around the aisles. Three local guys were chatting in the "Get Rich Quick" section. One of the guys was giving the same exact spiel that I have heard over and over again from these "multi-level marketing" (i.e., "network marketing") snake oil salesmen. I won't go into detail about how I had to sprint across Ala Moana Center to catch up to the prison transport (read: bus) that I thought was diverted. The rest of the evening? Same ol' shit.
My decision to invoke the pseudo-exodus, by the way, has more to do with tax accounting rather than the various annoyances that I often discuss. Of course, the issue stems from the hypothetical sale of the "condotel" unit with the next seven months. The secondary issue is cost-cutting.
After adding yet more complexity to my life, I was on my way to town to emulate a homeless guy. The old local homeless guy was sitting in Kamali'i Park as usual. I ran into Pseudo-professor Mike at Safeway®. We chatted briefly. He had rented a truck and hired a group of people to move his vast acquired retail inventory to storage facility. He was on his way to supervise the group.
After consuming my brunch, I walked through the Capitol district, barely even noticing the lush greenery. Only until I was seated in the inner courtyard of the library did I realize that I had completely forsaken the most important part of my daily ritual. The smell of the manure compost had subsided to a tolerable level. As I sat and revelled in the visual feast, I felt some semblance of composure. The sky was overcast, and the air wad damp. Rain was a certainty. I composed the "blog" on my rapidly failing Palm® TX. The digitizer is ready to give out. Using the virtual keyboard is frustrating because the virtual keys either function intermittently or trigger the wrong key values.
Although I have explicitly stated as such, the pseudo-exodus has facilitated an easier transition to homelessness should the need arise. I will be able to terminate my rental agreement within 30 days. The latter contingency will remain "on the table" as long as necessary to protect my assets (i.e., not default on the mortgage for the "condotel" unit). Yes, I am willing to sacrifice my personal safety and comfort for my assets. That's enslavement. However, as time goes on, I may simply abandon my assets to cut my losses.
By 1pm, the clouds had dissipated. Sunlight basked the courtyard with light. Sadly, the heat increased the methane production by the manure compost. Alas, we can't have everything, can we? Regardless of the odor, I managed to lapse in and out of a coma for an hour or so. I have not felt so relaxed in days.
The time finally came for me to walk to the gym. I did my usual gym workout. I wondered if I should change my gym time until later when the hottie gym trainer is working her shift. Such foolishness amuses me. After my workout and shower, I made the trek back to Waikiki in time for Happy Hour at Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), that is, my last Happy Hour there. One-Man Farewell Party. Keali'i, the general manager, always serves as the bartender. He said that, as an owner, I am always welcome to stop by for Happy Hour. I will keep the offer in mind. I dropped back five free drinks to celebrate the Pseudo-exodus.
Big headache. Let's face it, I felt like crap. However, I made the journey to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. As usual, I meandered around the aisles. Three local guys were chatting in the "Get Rich Quick" section. One of the guys was giving the same exact spiel that I have heard over and over again from these "multi-level marketing" (i.e., "network marketing") snake oil salesmen. I won't go into detail about how I had to sprint across Ala Moana Center to catch up to the prison transport (read: bus) that I thought was diverted. The rest of the evening? Same ol' shit.
Monday, October 29, 2007
View from the Bottom
I cannot say that I was in a good mood this morning. The continuity of an already bad situation is being disrupted by even more stupidity. Stress is quickly becoming my best friend. And, it is likely to remain my best friend for quite a while.
There are numerous individuals in the same or similar predicament. For some reason, I seem to meet all of them. Take for example, Pseudo-professor Mike and Robert. We have different temperaments and differing levels of trustworthiness. We do share one common attribute: an uncanny ability to choose foolish paths. Ultimately, our choices lead us to failure, alienation, and precarious quagmires. I have always somehow been a magnet to such individuals. Like attracts like, I suppose.
We seem to need a savior, although we may differ in whether we actively desire being saved or unwittingly fall into traps that require outside assistance. I don't believe that any of us are stupid. We just lack the necessary skills to survive in a cutthroat culture. Unlike my campadrés, I did not attempt to assimilate. I wanted to escape the "system," whereas they embraced it.
I have different aspirations as well. My compadrés desire becoming rich ... quick. They are driven to seek the life-styles of the rich and famous. I, on the other hand, seek obscurity, modest poverty, and freedom from the "system." Yet, for all the differences, we end up in the same station, a purgatory-like stasis that is neither comfortable or assuring.
I really have only one more step to achieve the exodus, that is, the divestiture of the "condotel" unit and as much of my other material possessions as possible. It is, therefore, the "ownership society" which enslaves us. The irony is that we own nothing. Instead we are owned by the "ownership society." When I say, "we," I refer to the rank-and-file peons only. The elite class (i.e., the moneychangers and the powers-that-be) is the "ownership society," the only true "owners." All of it was a clever ruse to quell the masses and prevent any uprisings. Failure in the "ownership society" is deemed to be the fault of the individual. Hence, there is never any collective action to remedy the situation. The only solution is to flee sans any possessions.
I was off to Barnes & Noble® in Kahala Mall early this morning. I enjoyed a cup of coffee in the café. Patricia, my future landlord, met with me to finalize the month-to-month lease agreement for a room in Slob Manor (read: rental housing). I will definitely be moving out of the "condotel" unit on Thursday. My goal is to remain in Slob Manor until the "condotel" unit sells.
I met moms for lunch at the usual time. We ate at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. Lunch was extremely filling and delicious. On the way back to Hawai'i Kai, we stopped off at Foodland in Koko Marina so that moms could do some grocery shopping. Moms served up coffee ice cream for dessert before I walked back to Koko Marina to work out at the gym. After my workout, I walked back. I was able to chat with moms a bit before heading on.
I ran a number of errands, including a brief jaunt to Safeway® in Kuapa Kai, before going back to Kahala Mall. I purchased a smoothie at Jamba Juice®, which sufficed as my dinner. I sat on one of the benches in the mall, enjoyed my smoothie, and composed the "blog" on my Palm® TX.
I also reflected upon my time with moms, certainly the only redeeming aspect of my life. I also pondered the mess that I made for myself. I am no longer certain if I will ever be able to undo the mess.
The time came for me to return to Waikiki. As it stands, I now have two full days left there. I have already bid farewell to Lance, the weekend night watch commander (read: front desk person). Lance was probably the only friendly person on the whole staff. After I completed my psychotic rituals, I was off to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble® for another exciting evening of meandering around the aisles.
There are numerous individuals in the same or similar predicament. For some reason, I seem to meet all of them. Take for example, Pseudo-professor Mike and Robert. We have different temperaments and differing levels of trustworthiness. We do share one common attribute: an uncanny ability to choose foolish paths. Ultimately, our choices lead us to failure, alienation, and precarious quagmires. I have always somehow been a magnet to such individuals. Like attracts like, I suppose.
We seem to need a savior, although we may differ in whether we actively desire being saved or unwittingly fall into traps that require outside assistance. I don't believe that any of us are stupid. We just lack the necessary skills to survive in a cutthroat culture. Unlike my campadrés, I did not attempt to assimilate. I wanted to escape the "system," whereas they embraced it.
I have different aspirations as well. My compadrés desire becoming rich ... quick. They are driven to seek the life-styles of the rich and famous. I, on the other hand, seek obscurity, modest poverty, and freedom from the "system." Yet, for all the differences, we end up in the same station, a purgatory-like stasis that is neither comfortable or assuring.
I really have only one more step to achieve the exodus, that is, the divestiture of the "condotel" unit and as much of my other material possessions as possible. It is, therefore, the "ownership society" which enslaves us. The irony is that we own nothing. Instead we are owned by the "ownership society." When I say, "we," I refer to the rank-and-file peons only. The elite class (i.e., the moneychangers and the powers-that-be) is the "ownership society," the only true "owners." All of it was a clever ruse to quell the masses and prevent any uprisings. Failure in the "ownership society" is deemed to be the fault of the individual. Hence, there is never any collective action to remedy the situation. The only solution is to flee sans any possessions.
I was off to Barnes & Noble® in Kahala Mall early this morning. I enjoyed a cup of coffee in the café. Patricia, my future landlord, met with me to finalize the month-to-month lease agreement for a room in Slob Manor (read: rental housing). I will definitely be moving out of the "condotel" unit on Thursday. My goal is to remain in Slob Manor until the "condotel" unit sells.
I met moms for lunch at the usual time. We ate at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. Lunch was extremely filling and delicious. On the way back to Hawai'i Kai, we stopped off at Foodland in Koko Marina so that moms could do some grocery shopping. Moms served up coffee ice cream for dessert before I walked back to Koko Marina to work out at the gym. After my workout, I walked back. I was able to chat with moms a bit before heading on.
I ran a number of errands, including a brief jaunt to Safeway® in Kuapa Kai, before going back to Kahala Mall. I purchased a smoothie at Jamba Juice®, which sufficed as my dinner. I sat on one of the benches in the mall, enjoyed my smoothie, and composed the "blog" on my Palm® TX.
I also reflected upon my time with moms, certainly the only redeeming aspect of my life. I also pondered the mess that I made for myself. I am no longer certain if I will ever be able to undo the mess.
The time came for me to return to Waikiki. As it stands, I now have two full days left there. I have already bid farewell to Lance, the weekend night watch commander (read: front desk person). Lance was probably the only friendly person on the whole staff. After I completed my psychotic rituals, I was off to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble® for another exciting evening of meandering around the aisles.
Later, I discovered that the prison transport drivers (read: bus drivers) have gone through their three month route rotation. Thus, Tom was not driving the Route 8 prison transport (read: bus). I did not get a chance to bid him farewell. Perhaps, I will see him on another route. I returned to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) and spent the rest of the evening in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). Will I miss this grand life in Waikiki? No.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Brokeback Molehill
The old local homeless guy was fast asleep next to the dividing wall when I passed through Kamali'i Park on the way to Safeway®. His bed consisted of a few ragged sheets and two extremely soiled pillows. A half-full shopping cart was parked next to him with, what I assumed, were his worldly possessions. About 50 feet away from him, there were four halfway house derelicts sitting on the grass. They appeared to be intoxicated. It's fairly easy to tell the difference between the homeless and the halfway house derelicts. The latter usually only carry a backpack, are better dressed, and more than likely intoxicated.
As I was completing the purchase of my brunch items, I observed a homeless guy standing at the end of the checkout counter. He was babbling something incoherent. I could smell the cheap booze on his breath. I knew that he was homeless because I saw him parking his shopping cart with his possessions outside. It is disheartening to see that kind of human tragedy every day. The "regular" folk look down upon the destitute as if they were despicable varmints. Yet, no one knows better than I that a simple foolish situation could turn the tables at any time. We could easily become "them."
I did not sleep well again. My decision to invoke the pseudo-exodus is haunting me. It is a gamble that could easily turn the tables on me and reduce me to a homeless derelict. However, I could not just sit and wait for something to happen. The culture of greed (i.e., the epidemic of the "seven sins") is malignant and spreading its destructive force at an exponential rate.
Had I remained in wage slavery, I would have simply maintained the status quo. There would be no impetus to sell the "condotel" unit. I would have tolerated the insane conditions of Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) because that is what an automaton of the "system" does. In some respects, my emancipation from wage slavery has opened my eyes and allowed me to see how trapped I really am.
The chorus of bells at St. Andrews Cathedral greeted me at noon as I entered the Capitol district. The grove of banyan trees, the cool trade winds, and the singing birds were my welcoming committee. Gentle showers interrupted the composition of the "blog," but I did not mind.
Whenever I gaze upon the luscious gardens, a sample of what Paradise could have been, I confirm the futility of the "ownership society." I also realized that, even if I divest the detestable "condotel" unit, I will be plagued with the same malady of despair. True freedom requires that I divest all but the essentials for survival. As much as I have reduced the number of possessions, I am still far from my ultimate goal.
The latter point became most obvious to me during my discussion with Pseudo-professor Mike last night. He is clinging to the large retail inventory even though it provides no personal gratification. He had purchased the inventory as part of a faulty business plan which he believed would make him rich. Rather than liquidate the inventory through a broker, he is increasing his expenditures to store the stuff. He is also working on new ideas to "repackage" the inventory for greater profit. In the meantime, holding the inventory is eating away at his potential revenues. How similar that is to my own plight! Retaining the "condotel" unit, my Nissan® Frontier truck, and the rest of my meager possessions is essentially doing nothing but draining my own resources. I am certainly not gaining any personal gratification for my part in the "ownership society." And, for what?
I became extremely anxious, almost unable to sit still, as I pondered my inability to attain freedom. I had to stand up and move about as an anxiolytic remedy. There is just no end to human folly, my friends, and I am one of the biggest perpetrators.
I walked to the gym at 1pm in high anticipation of catching a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. Sure enough, the goddess was there. Baby was working with a gym member. Baby is so hot! My mind was ready to snap.
Incidentally, as I walked to the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) last night, I noticed a hottie up ahead who looked very familiar. If I am correct, I believe that she was the former friend. Baby was with a group that appeared to be speaking Farsi. Baby also was wearing the same blue dress as in the pictures that Shirley had shown me few months ago. Baby was looking hot. Could that babe really have been the former friend?
I commuted to and from Waikiki on the prison transport just to drop off my gym bag. Once back in town, I meandered around before ending up in the Capitol district again. I tried not to ponder the ridiculousness of the pseudo-exodus. What will be will be. I could have thought about the hottie gym trainer, but nothing fruitful would have resulted. Fortunately, a couple birds kept me company until it was time for me to leave.
Once back in my prison cell, I began an extensive cleaning project to prepare for its return to the hotel rental pool. I want to insure that it is back in the pool as soon as possible. Then, of course, I completed my psychotic rituals. As always, I had to seek refuge at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. The rest of the evening? Same ol' shit.
As I was completing the purchase of my brunch items, I observed a homeless guy standing at the end of the checkout counter. He was babbling something incoherent. I could smell the cheap booze on his breath. I knew that he was homeless because I saw him parking his shopping cart with his possessions outside. It is disheartening to see that kind of human tragedy every day. The "regular" folk look down upon the destitute as if they were despicable varmints. Yet, no one knows better than I that a simple foolish situation could turn the tables at any time. We could easily become "them."
I did not sleep well again. My decision to invoke the pseudo-exodus is haunting me. It is a gamble that could easily turn the tables on me and reduce me to a homeless derelict. However, I could not just sit and wait for something to happen. The culture of greed (i.e., the epidemic of the "seven sins") is malignant and spreading its destructive force at an exponential rate.
Had I remained in wage slavery, I would have simply maintained the status quo. There would be no impetus to sell the "condotel" unit. I would have tolerated the insane conditions of Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) because that is what an automaton of the "system" does. In some respects, my emancipation from wage slavery has opened my eyes and allowed me to see how trapped I really am.
The chorus of bells at St. Andrews Cathedral greeted me at noon as I entered the Capitol district. The grove of banyan trees, the cool trade winds, and the singing birds were my welcoming committee. Gentle showers interrupted the composition of the "blog," but I did not mind.
Whenever I gaze upon the luscious gardens, a sample of what Paradise could have been, I confirm the futility of the "ownership society." I also realized that, even if I divest the detestable "condotel" unit, I will be plagued with the same malady of despair. True freedom requires that I divest all but the essentials for survival. As much as I have reduced the number of possessions, I am still far from my ultimate goal.
The latter point became most obvious to me during my discussion with Pseudo-professor Mike last night. He is clinging to the large retail inventory even though it provides no personal gratification. He had purchased the inventory as part of a faulty business plan which he believed would make him rich. Rather than liquidate the inventory through a broker, he is increasing his expenditures to store the stuff. He is also working on new ideas to "repackage" the inventory for greater profit. In the meantime, holding the inventory is eating away at his potential revenues. How similar that is to my own plight! Retaining the "condotel" unit, my Nissan® Frontier truck, and the rest of my meager possessions is essentially doing nothing but draining my own resources. I am certainly not gaining any personal gratification for my part in the "ownership society." And, for what?
I became extremely anxious, almost unable to sit still, as I pondered my inability to attain freedom. I had to stand up and move about as an anxiolytic remedy. There is just no end to human folly, my friends, and I am one of the biggest perpetrators.
I walked to the gym at 1pm in high anticipation of catching a glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. Sure enough, the goddess was there. Baby was working with a gym member. Baby is so hot! My mind was ready to snap.
Incidentally, as I walked to the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) last night, I noticed a hottie up ahead who looked very familiar. If I am correct, I believe that she was the former friend. Baby was with a group that appeared to be speaking Farsi. Baby also was wearing the same blue dress as in the pictures that Shirley had shown me few months ago. Baby was looking hot. Could that babe really have been the former friend?
I commuted to and from Waikiki on the prison transport just to drop off my gym bag. Once back in town, I meandered around before ending up in the Capitol district again. I tried not to ponder the ridiculousness of the pseudo-exodus. What will be will be. I could have thought about the hottie gym trainer, but nothing fruitful would have resulted. Fortunately, a couple birds kept me company until it was time for me to leave.
Once back in my prison cell, I began an extensive cleaning project to prepare for its return to the hotel rental pool. I want to insure that it is back in the pool as soon as possible. Then, of course, I completed my psychotic rituals. As always, I had to seek refuge at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. The rest of the evening? Same ol' shit.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Only a Mirage
The itinerary this morning was the same as yesterday, only I was in an even more despondent state. Last night, I had transferred $1,400 from my money market fund to my local bank in order to pay the first and last months rent for the room in Slob Manor (read: rental housing). Anytime that I part with large sums of money, my stomach becomes queasy and my mood irritable. And, that's just the beginning of the expenses. Automobile insurance and mortgage payments will plagued me this year. Early next year, I will have to contend with taxes, estimated taxes, automobile registration, and more. Slowly, my net worth is being whittled away. My only salvation will be the divestiture of the detestable "condotel" unit.
The old local homeless guy was stationed at the edge of Kamali'i Park when I passed through with my cup of coffee from Safeway®. My journey through the Capitol district, particularly the grove of banyan trees, was much more appreciative. The inner courtyard of the library became unbearable within minutes because of the smell of manure compost. I was able to peruse the work of the numerous volunteers who toiled away yesterday to upgrade the landscaping.
I walked to the State Capitol and sat in the inner courtyard as a consolation. I continued my religious reading and also composed the "blog" with my trusty Palm® TX. Later, I walked back to the library to breathe in more methane. Alas, the odor was still too pungent. Back to the Capitol building I trudged. A young hottie, on lunch break from work, sat on the bench near the "moat." Baby ate her lunch leisurely. Then, she laid down on the bench to bask in the sun's warmth. A group of Japanese tourists walked through the courtyard with their cigarettes and digital cameras. The guide provided a brief historical lecture about the area. Is that what these fools pay for?
Prior to my religious reading session, I had a moment of reckoning. From a purely secular viewpoint, I am a true loser. And, I appear to be careening downward toward the lowest debased form of human existence, the homeless derelict. I wondered why I was not privy to enjoy the so-called "good life." Why can't I be driving around in a gas-guzzling 6,000-pound motorized chair (read: SUV) with a hottie at my side? Why can't I have big bank, big house, big Vienna Sausage like all the arrogant punks around me? Then, I realized that I have neither the drive or the motivation to pursue such a life-style. Instead, my quest appears to linked an intangible entity. There is a tremendous void, but nothing material can fill it.
The day was too nice to spend in a frivolous commute to and from Waikiki. So, I opted to say in town for the afternoon. I did my time at the gym, although a little later than usual. I felt much better after my workout. Then, I spent more time in the courtyards at the library and the State Capitol. I spent my final minutes in town in the library courtyard. While I was breathing in the methane gas formed by the manure compost, I heard a voice call out my name. It was John from Heald College and ... his wife! Yes, John is married now, and has been for a year. I'll just say that he's done well for himself. The hottie who was sitting in the State Capitol was also in the library, Baby works there.
Sooner than later, the time arrived for me to return to Waikiki. I rode the Route 4 prison transport (read: bus) that winds through the Makiki district. And what was awaiting me when I arrived back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox)? My psychotic rituals, of course! On Novemeber 1st, I will be free of that crap.
I chatted briefly with Psuedo-professor Mike after he had left six voicemail messages earlier. We later met at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. We ended up chatting until closing time at 11pm. Afterward, he gave me a ride back to the detestable Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). I have, at least, come to understanding about his troubled chronology of the past few months. The rest of evening was ... the same ol' shit!
The old local homeless guy was stationed at the edge of Kamali'i Park when I passed through with my cup of coffee from Safeway®. My journey through the Capitol district, particularly the grove of banyan trees, was much more appreciative. The inner courtyard of the library became unbearable within minutes because of the smell of manure compost. I was able to peruse the work of the numerous volunteers who toiled away yesterday to upgrade the landscaping.
I walked to the State Capitol and sat in the inner courtyard as a consolation. I continued my religious reading and also composed the "blog" with my trusty Palm® TX. Later, I walked back to the library to breathe in more methane. Alas, the odor was still too pungent. Back to the Capitol building I trudged. A young hottie, on lunch break from work, sat on the bench near the "moat." Baby ate her lunch leisurely. Then, she laid down on the bench to bask in the sun's warmth. A group of Japanese tourists walked through the courtyard with their cigarettes and digital cameras. The guide provided a brief historical lecture about the area. Is that what these fools pay for?
Prior to my religious reading session, I had a moment of reckoning. From a purely secular viewpoint, I am a true loser. And, I appear to be careening downward toward the lowest debased form of human existence, the homeless derelict. I wondered why I was not privy to enjoy the so-called "good life." Why can't I be driving around in a gas-guzzling 6,000-pound motorized chair (read: SUV) with a hottie at my side? Why can't I have big bank, big house, big Vienna Sausage like all the arrogant punks around me? Then, I realized that I have neither the drive or the motivation to pursue such a life-style. Instead, my quest appears to linked an intangible entity. There is a tremendous void, but nothing material can fill it.
The day was too nice to spend in a frivolous commute to and from Waikiki. So, I opted to say in town for the afternoon. I did my time at the gym, although a little later than usual. I felt much better after my workout. Then, I spent more time in the courtyards at the library and the State Capitol. I spent my final minutes in town in the library courtyard. While I was breathing in the methane gas formed by the manure compost, I heard a voice call out my name. It was John from Heald College and ... his wife! Yes, John is married now, and has been for a year. I'll just say that he's done well for himself. The hottie who was sitting in the State Capitol was also in the library, Baby works there.
Sooner than later, the time arrived for me to return to Waikiki. I rode the Route 4 prison transport (read: bus) that winds through the Makiki district. And what was awaiting me when I arrived back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox)? My psychotic rituals, of course! On Novemeber 1st, I will be free of that crap.
I chatted briefly with Psuedo-professor Mike after he had left six voicemail messages earlier. We later met at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. We ended up chatting until closing time at 11pm. Afterward, he gave me a ride back to the detestable Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). I have, at least, come to understanding about his troubled chronology of the past few months. The rest of evening was ... the same ol' shit!
Friday, October 26, 2007
Peonage Redux
I have failed. There is no other way for me to say it. The long battle is essentially over, and I have come out further behind than expected. The exodus has essentially been thwarted. The checkmate move pretty much occurred when I foolishly purchased the "condotel." I had severely overestimated too many variables ... my abrupt emancipation from wage slavery, my intolerance of crowds and stupidity, and my inability to settle down in one spot forever. Then, there's my inability to grasp the concepts of greed and evil. My original plan called for three to five years of time with me "calling the shots." Oops!
I should have known better. I can never "call the shots." I am a peon. Peons have no control over much, not even the peonage. We are here to serve at the whim of the elite class. We are the blood, sweat, and tears who create the wealth of nations, only to be robbed blind by the robber barons.
The pseudo-exodus finds me in a precarious position. I will be reconstructing the deconstructed. I will be adding layers of complexity, which bring added financial costs. In other words, for ever step forward, I will take two steps back. Idiotic, isn't it? I will have to introduce even more complex strategies and more cost-cutting measures. Even then, the damned status quo cannot be guaranteed. What I have just described is the definition of failure.
I have essentially painted myself into a corner. I will have to return to wage slavery just to maintain the mortgage payment on a "condotel" that I no longer reside in. Can there be any greater description of sheer stupidity? I think not.
I slept decently last night, although my mind was subconsciously preoccupied with my tentative decision to put the "condotel" unit in the hotel rental pool. In addition, I was having second thoughts about moving into a communal situation in a place that is essentially a pig sty. Of course, I am getting a little tired of cleaning my prison cell (read: little shoebox) daily with my humble dustpan and brush. I would rather not have the responsibility of cleaning anything.
I felt composed when I finally departed for town. However, the undercurrent of stress did not make itself manifest until I experienced stomach cramps while shopping for my brunch items at Safeway®. Fortunately, Safeway® still maintains public restrooms.
The old local homeless guy was sitting on a wall across the street from Kamali'i Park while the maintenance guys watered the pathetic patches of grass and weeds. Few of the other homeless stopped to chat with him. Still preoccupied with the pseudo-exodus, I walked onward through the Capitol district to my final destination. It wasn't until I sat in the inner courtyard of the library that I felt more at peace. I reflected upon my visit with moms yesterday. I am grateful that I have the luxury of time to be able to do so. The time spent with moms is priceless. I also completed my religious readings and composed the "blog" on my Palm® TX.
Later, I again pondered the pseudo-exodus. I really do not have much choice about the "condotel" unit. I don't particularly enjoy living there. My expenses (e.g., parking, laundry, food, etc.) are now too much to bear. And, Waikiki leaves a lot to be desired. On the other hand, I really do not want to live amongst a house full of slobs. Of course, I will be emancipated from exercising my compulsive cleaning habits. The big advantage is that the living situation is temporary. I am committed to live there only as long as I want to. I could simply remain there until the "condotel" unit is sold, hopefully within the next few months. I concluded that the plan is workable and worth a try.
A group of about 40 volunteers began work in the inner courtyard. Several carts of plants and flowers were wheeled in. While I was there, one of the guys dug up the spartan ground cover in the large central planter. Within minutes, the rest of the group began digging up the existing plants. Dust and dirt filled the air, but in a pleasant way. There were a couple of older hotties in the group. In a day or so, we will be able to see the fruits of their labor.
The time came for me to walk to the gym. All of the uncertainties of the pseudo-exodus came back to haunt me. When will I ever escape the madness of the "system"? I used my workout as a diversion from the issues weighing heavily on my mind. The ride back to Waikiki on the prison transport (read: bus) took well over an hour.
Once I was back in my prison cell, I called Pat, the owner of the house with an available room rental, and committed to renting the room. Will this be an even bigger mistake than purchasing the "condotel" unit? Only time will tell. After completing my psychotic rituals, I was off to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. If all goes as planned, my last regular visit to my safe haven in Ala Moana Center will be Wednesday night.
I tried to look at Waikiki from a different perspective as I rode the prison transport to Ala Moana Center. Even though Waikiki is a filthy dump, I will miss the place. I've gotten somewhat used to the concrete jungle, but that's not the way I want to live. There are also a lot of hotties running amuck, but that's neither here nor there for me. I meandered around Barnes & Noble® after purchasing a few food items at Foodland. There really is nothing else redeeming about Ala Moana Center. It's dungy, impersonal mall. I rode Tom's Route 8 prison transport back to Waikiki at 10pm. The rest of the evening was the same ol' shit.
The stock market soared again today. The official story was that upbeat news from Microsoft® and Countrywide® Financial raised the markets. However, upon closer scrutiny, the real news is that home foreclosures are rising, the dollar is still dropping, oil prices have surpassed $90 per barrel, real inflation is up, and the Fed injected more money into the "system." The stock market reacts very favorably to bad news, something that Naomi Klein points is characteristic of "disaster capitalism." Both Wall Street and I are are expecting the Fed to drop short-term interest rates by another half percent next week, much to my chagrin. This is greed at work.
I should have known better. I can never "call the shots." I am a peon. Peons have no control over much, not even the peonage. We are here to serve at the whim of the elite class. We are the blood, sweat, and tears who create the wealth of nations, only to be robbed blind by the robber barons.
The pseudo-exodus finds me in a precarious position. I will be reconstructing the deconstructed. I will be adding layers of complexity, which bring added financial costs. In other words, for ever step forward, I will take two steps back. Idiotic, isn't it? I will have to introduce even more complex strategies and more cost-cutting measures. Even then, the damned status quo cannot be guaranteed. What I have just described is the definition of failure.
I have essentially painted myself into a corner. I will have to return to wage slavery just to maintain the mortgage payment on a "condotel" that I no longer reside in. Can there be any greater description of sheer stupidity? I think not.
I slept decently last night, although my mind was subconsciously preoccupied with my tentative decision to put the "condotel" unit in the hotel rental pool. In addition, I was having second thoughts about moving into a communal situation in a place that is essentially a pig sty. Of course, I am getting a little tired of cleaning my prison cell (read: little shoebox) daily with my humble dustpan and brush. I would rather not have the responsibility of cleaning anything.
I felt composed when I finally departed for town. However, the undercurrent of stress did not make itself manifest until I experienced stomach cramps while shopping for my brunch items at Safeway®. Fortunately, Safeway® still maintains public restrooms.
The old local homeless guy was sitting on a wall across the street from Kamali'i Park while the maintenance guys watered the pathetic patches of grass and weeds. Few of the other homeless stopped to chat with him. Still preoccupied with the pseudo-exodus, I walked onward through the Capitol district to my final destination. It wasn't until I sat in the inner courtyard of the library that I felt more at peace. I reflected upon my visit with moms yesterday. I am grateful that I have the luxury of time to be able to do so. The time spent with moms is priceless. I also completed my religious readings and composed the "blog" on my Palm® TX.
Later, I again pondered the pseudo-exodus. I really do not have much choice about the "condotel" unit. I don't particularly enjoy living there. My expenses (e.g., parking, laundry, food, etc.) are now too much to bear. And, Waikiki leaves a lot to be desired. On the other hand, I really do not want to live amongst a house full of slobs. Of course, I will be emancipated from exercising my compulsive cleaning habits. The big advantage is that the living situation is temporary. I am committed to live there only as long as I want to. I could simply remain there until the "condotel" unit is sold, hopefully within the next few months. I concluded that the plan is workable and worth a try.
A group of about 40 volunteers began work in the inner courtyard. Several carts of plants and flowers were wheeled in. While I was there, one of the guys dug up the spartan ground cover in the large central planter. Within minutes, the rest of the group began digging up the existing plants. Dust and dirt filled the air, but in a pleasant way. There were a couple of older hotties in the group. In a day or so, we will be able to see the fruits of their labor.
The time came for me to walk to the gym. All of the uncertainties of the pseudo-exodus came back to haunt me. When will I ever escape the madness of the "system"? I used my workout as a diversion from the issues weighing heavily on my mind. The ride back to Waikiki on the prison transport (read: bus) took well over an hour.
Once I was back in my prison cell, I called Pat, the owner of the house with an available room rental, and committed to renting the room. Will this be an even bigger mistake than purchasing the "condotel" unit? Only time will tell. After completing my psychotic rituals, I was off to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. If all goes as planned, my last regular visit to my safe haven in Ala Moana Center will be Wednesday night.
I tried to look at Waikiki from a different perspective as I rode the prison transport to Ala Moana Center. Even though Waikiki is a filthy dump, I will miss the place. I've gotten somewhat used to the concrete jungle, but that's not the way I want to live. There are also a lot of hotties running amuck, but that's neither here nor there for me. I meandered around Barnes & Noble® after purchasing a few food items at Foodland. There really is nothing else redeeming about Ala Moana Center. It's dungy, impersonal mall. I rode Tom's Route 8 prison transport back to Waikiki at 10pm. The rest of the evening was the same ol' shit.
The stock market soared again today. The official story was that upbeat news from Microsoft® and Countrywide® Financial raised the markets. However, upon closer scrutiny, the real news is that home foreclosures are rising, the dollar is still dropping, oil prices have surpassed $90 per barrel, real inflation is up, and the Fed injected more money into the "system." The stock market reacts very favorably to bad news, something that Naomi Klein points is characteristic of "disaster capitalism." Both Wall Street and I are are expecting the Fed to drop short-term interest rates by another half percent next week, much to my chagrin. This is greed at work.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Pseudo-Exodus
Sleep eluded me again last night, this time not because of any satanic gargoyles. There's just too much on my mind as I attempt to make sense of the mess that I am sitting in right now. The only remedy of the moment was, naturally, a tanning hike up Koko Head. Jump-starting the morning required coffee from the Barnes & Noble® Café, of course. The coffee machine was allegedly inoperable, so I had to settle for costlier Americano beverage which tasted like the free freeze-dried crap that is served in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). Yuck!
The hike up Koko Head was much cooler today thanks to large swatches of cloud cover. I was preoccupied with the same ol' shit on the way up. As I made the trek back down, I could hardly ignore the magnificent view. I felt a little better.
Afterward, I visited with moms. We drove to Kuapa Kai so that moms could pick up her shoes at the shoe repair shop. We also picked up a couple of local-style plate lunches at L & L® Drive-in. After lunch, moms served up coffee ice cream for dessert. I helped moms put the large collection of recycling into the new curbside pickup containers. Frankly, I almost cannot put into words just how important my time with moms has become.
Moms told me of several instances when she fell, a couple of which she explained that her leg "gave out." I am a little worried. Uncle Tosh had a recent fall that ended up fracturing his hip. Moms showed me a couple of scrapes on her leg from a recent fall. A few minutes later, I walked to gym in Koko Marina. I was surprised that I did not get wet given the intermittent rain. After my brief weight workout, I walked back to say good-bye to moms.
I stopped off in Niu Valley to check out a room for rent in a house. Pat, the owner, was there to greet me. There are five people, all twenty-something, living in the house. The place was essentially a dump. Dishes were piled up in the sink in the kitchen downstairs. The upstairs, where the vacancy is located, is a little better. There's a refrigerator and microwave as well as a large common area. Only two people live upstairs. There's also a washer and dryer, wireless Internet service, and uncovered parking. The house is located almost directly across Kawaikui Beach, which is a nice isolated surfing spot. For $700 per month, I think that the place is workable. I have until tomorrow afternoon to commit.
I was back at Kahala Mall again before returning to Waikiki. As despondent as I have been, I purchased a delicious smoothie at Jamba Juice® to cheer me up. When I returned my dismal prison cell (read: little shoebox), I was treated to an endless slammin' soirée from the adjacent prison cell. Obviously, a new set of idiots are "doing time." Why travel all the way to Hawai'i just to play with the furniture? The asswipes were still at it when I departed for Ala Moana Center. I believe that my hand is being forced to accept the pseudo-exodus. I have decided to call Pat tomorrow and indicate my interest in renting the available room.
Another evening at Barnes & Noble® after a short shopping session at Foodland. This month, I have spent a lot of money on food that I really didn't need to eat. That's a sure sign that something is wrong. I meandered around the bookstore for an hour and rode Tom's Route 8 prison transport (read: bus) back to Waikiki When I returned to my prison cell, all was quiet. Thank goodness, because I was ready to go on a homicidal rampage. Sheesh! The rest of the evening was the same ol' shit.
Buying out of the "middle class lockdown" (as Joe Bageant calls it) is going to be a lot costlier and take even longer than I had envisioned. I have observed just how quick everything falls apart, and just how tortuously long it takes to remedy. We are not talking about a quirk of the "system," but a built-in feature. There is almost no way to escape. The so-called "American Dream" is a deadly snare.
I believe that the last three chapters of Naomi Klein's book, "The Shock Doctrine," painted the Orwellian future that is already being shaped for us. Massive "privatization" will eventually create a technological feudal system. The seemingly chaotic financial mess that we are witnessing is, in actuality, part of the process. Money creation is serving to transfer more wealth from the lower economic classes to the elite class. Some sort of monetary system will always remain intact in order to serve the latter purpose. Money will eventually become the constructor of a global feudal system. I have discussed these ideas before, but now I am certain of them.
How could I be so foolish to have purchased the detestable "condotel" unit? Even sages like Anonder had warned against such stupidity. However, I was too entrenched in the "American Dream" and too blinded to realize that I was another casualty of economic war just waiting to happen. The "Dream" only works for those who have financial security, but even that may not provide immunity. The "system" is now feeding upon itself. It will take no prisoners.
The hike up Koko Head was much cooler today thanks to large swatches of cloud cover. I was preoccupied with the same ol' shit on the way up. As I made the trek back down, I could hardly ignore the magnificent view. I felt a little better.
Afterward, I visited with moms. We drove to Kuapa Kai so that moms could pick up her shoes at the shoe repair shop. We also picked up a couple of local-style plate lunches at L & L® Drive-in. After lunch, moms served up coffee ice cream for dessert. I helped moms put the large collection of recycling into the new curbside pickup containers. Frankly, I almost cannot put into words just how important my time with moms has become.
Moms told me of several instances when she fell, a couple of which she explained that her leg "gave out." I am a little worried. Uncle Tosh had a recent fall that ended up fracturing his hip. Moms showed me a couple of scrapes on her leg from a recent fall. A few minutes later, I walked to gym in Koko Marina. I was surprised that I did not get wet given the intermittent rain. After my brief weight workout, I walked back to say good-bye to moms.
I stopped off in Niu Valley to check out a room for rent in a house. Pat, the owner, was there to greet me. There are five people, all twenty-something, living in the house. The place was essentially a dump. Dishes were piled up in the sink in the kitchen downstairs. The upstairs, where the vacancy is located, is a little better. There's a refrigerator and microwave as well as a large common area. Only two people live upstairs. There's also a washer and dryer, wireless Internet service, and uncovered parking. The house is located almost directly across Kawaikui Beach, which is a nice isolated surfing spot. For $700 per month, I think that the place is workable. I have until tomorrow afternoon to commit.
I was back at Kahala Mall again before returning to Waikiki. As despondent as I have been, I purchased a delicious smoothie at Jamba Juice® to cheer me up. When I returned my dismal prison cell (read: little shoebox), I was treated to an endless slammin' soirée from the adjacent prison cell. Obviously, a new set of idiots are "doing time." Why travel all the way to Hawai'i just to play with the furniture? The asswipes were still at it when I departed for Ala Moana Center. I believe that my hand is being forced to accept the pseudo-exodus. I have decided to call Pat tomorrow and indicate my interest in renting the available room.
Another evening at Barnes & Noble® after a short shopping session at Foodland. This month, I have spent a lot of money on food that I really didn't need to eat. That's a sure sign that something is wrong. I meandered around the bookstore for an hour and rode Tom's Route 8 prison transport (read: bus) back to Waikiki When I returned to my prison cell, all was quiet. Thank goodness, because I was ready to go on a homicidal rampage. Sheesh! The rest of the evening was the same ol' shit.
Buying out of the "middle class lockdown" (as Joe Bageant calls it) is going to be a lot costlier and take even longer than I had envisioned. I have observed just how quick everything falls apart, and just how tortuously long it takes to remedy. We are not talking about a quirk of the "system," but a built-in feature. There is almost no way to escape. The so-called "American Dream" is a deadly snare.
I believe that the last three chapters of Naomi Klein's book, "The Shock Doctrine," painted the Orwellian future that is already being shaped for us. Massive "privatization" will eventually create a technological feudal system. The seemingly chaotic financial mess that we are witnessing is, in actuality, part of the process. Money creation is serving to transfer more wealth from the lower economic classes to the elite class. Some sort of monetary system will always remain intact in order to serve the latter purpose. Money will eventually become the constructor of a global feudal system. I have discussed these ideas before, but now I am certain of them.
How could I be so foolish to have purchased the detestable "condotel" unit? Even sages like Anonder had warned against such stupidity. However, I was too entrenched in the "American Dream" and too blinded to realize that I was another casualty of economic war just waiting to happen. The "Dream" only works for those who have financial security, but even that may not provide immunity. The "system" is now feeding upon itself. It will take no prisoners.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Thanks for the Memories
As the Route 4 prison transport (read: bus) inched its way to town via a circuitous route through Makiki, I grew more impatient and anxious. Why? I have nowhere that I need to be. Why did I choose the longer route in the first place? My sanity is beginning to unravel, I suppose. When I finally arrived in town, I purchased my brunch items at Safeway®. Once again, I gave in to the temptation of fresh coffee.
I sat within the monolithic confines of the bland Kukui Plaza mall. Each day, I wonder ... how long before I am escorted off the premises by the security guards? The mall section is essentially boring, made up of offices and small snack shops. One of my former Asylum students works in one of the doctors' offices. Every now and then, I get to chat with him.
Not able to quell my anxiety, I found difficulty in following any itinerary. Essentially, I was frozen in a state of indecision. Finally, I mustered up enough energy to walk to the Capitol district and on to the library. Because of my fragile mental state, I neither noticed or honored the natural beauty of the grounds as I ambled through it.
Not until I sat in the inner courtyard of the library did I realize the folly of my error. Every opportunity to enjoy the Creation should be exploited with a passion. Yet, I still felt miserable. The torture of not fulfilling the exodus is too much to bear.
Deep down inside, I still host the premonition that something terrible is soon to happen, possibly the convergence of several tragic events. Yet every attempt is being made to create a subterfuge of "business as usual." There is just so little overt evidence to suggest that the "system" is ready to implode. A few courageous investigators have uncovered much of the truth, but they are ridiculed or silenced. I have attempted to remain objective. What I believe is happening can be attributed to the herd mentality. The herd, clearly the majority, have bought into belief that the "system" is infallible. The herd then moves along and invests itself into the "system." The mass of the "system" increases, and the resultant inertia becomes an entity upon itself. However, the basic foundation of the "system," its paradigms, are without merit. Thus, only faith and optimism is what carries the "system" forward. Something is clearly wrong, though, and I can feel it.
I decided to restore my monk haircut at the Institute of Hair Design. The price of haircuts has gone up one dollar. Then, I completed my workout regimen at the gym. Right now, the gym may be my only salvation from total insanity. The rest of the afternoon was a blur since there is hardly anything memorable about returning to Waikiki. My psychotic rituals are even less memorable.
More Barnes & Noble® fun as in store for me to night, but you already knew that. I first stopped off at Foodland to purchase a piece of pudding bread. One of the checkout guys noticed that I stop by almost every night, so he now chats with me. The bookstore was unusually quiet. And, again, no hottie "bookseller." An older African-American guy chatted with me about computers and video editing. He spotted me perusing a Windows® Vista book. "Wait for Service Pack 1," he advised me. I rode Tom's Route 8 prison transport back to Waikiki. He apparently had a slight accident last night, which is why he did not show up at the usual time. The rest of the evening will be the same ol' shit.
Incidentally, the huge wildfire in Cali brings back memories of an even larger wildfire when I lived in Convalescent City. The account is recorded somewhere in the old journal. I remember that most of the town was evacuated including the infamous Roach Motel where the Brotherhood of the Immaculate Roach monastery was located. I had stayed at my old buddy Tom's place. We watched as the fire consumed most of Cuesta Ridge. The heat was unbelievable. The smoke was unbearable. I had never seen anything like that before.
I sat within the monolithic confines of the bland Kukui Plaza mall. Each day, I wonder ... how long before I am escorted off the premises by the security guards? The mall section is essentially boring, made up of offices and small snack shops. One of my former Asylum students works in one of the doctors' offices. Every now and then, I get to chat with him.
Not able to quell my anxiety, I found difficulty in following any itinerary. Essentially, I was frozen in a state of indecision. Finally, I mustered up enough energy to walk to the Capitol district and on to the library. Because of my fragile mental state, I neither noticed or honored the natural beauty of the grounds as I ambled through it.
Not until I sat in the inner courtyard of the library did I realize the folly of my error. Every opportunity to enjoy the Creation should be exploited with a passion. Yet, I still felt miserable. The torture of not fulfilling the exodus is too much to bear.
Deep down inside, I still host the premonition that something terrible is soon to happen, possibly the convergence of several tragic events. Yet every attempt is being made to create a subterfuge of "business as usual." There is just so little overt evidence to suggest that the "system" is ready to implode. A few courageous investigators have uncovered much of the truth, but they are ridiculed or silenced. I have attempted to remain objective. What I believe is happening can be attributed to the herd mentality. The herd, clearly the majority, have bought into belief that the "system" is infallible. The herd then moves along and invests itself into the "system." The mass of the "system" increases, and the resultant inertia becomes an entity upon itself. However, the basic foundation of the "system," its paradigms, are without merit. Thus, only faith and optimism is what carries the "system" forward. Something is clearly wrong, though, and I can feel it.
I decided to restore my monk haircut at the Institute of Hair Design. The price of haircuts has gone up one dollar. Then, I completed my workout regimen at the gym. Right now, the gym may be my only salvation from total insanity. The rest of the afternoon was a blur since there is hardly anything memorable about returning to Waikiki. My psychotic rituals are even less memorable.
More Barnes & Noble® fun as in store for me to night, but you already knew that. I first stopped off at Foodland to purchase a piece of pudding bread. One of the checkout guys noticed that I stop by almost every night, so he now chats with me. The bookstore was unusually quiet. And, again, no hottie "bookseller." An older African-American guy chatted with me about computers and video editing. He spotted me perusing a Windows® Vista book. "Wait for Service Pack 1," he advised me. I rode Tom's Route 8 prison transport back to Waikiki. He apparently had a slight accident last night, which is why he did not show up at the usual time. The rest of the evening will be the same ol' shit.
Incidentally, the huge wildfire in Cali brings back memories of an even larger wildfire when I lived in Convalescent City. The account is recorded somewhere in the old journal. I remember that most of the town was evacuated including the infamous Roach Motel where the Brotherhood of the Immaculate Roach monastery was located. I had stayed at my old buddy Tom's place. We watched as the fire consumed most of Cuesta Ridge. The heat was unbelievable. The smoke was unbearable. I had never seen anything like that before.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)