Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Nice kid

I was a nice kid with the sun in my eyes; I was a nice kid with tousled hair.

I was a nice kid whatever you believe.

I was a good man when I knew the song you loved in three notes; I was a good man with a kind heart.

I was a good man whatever you believe.

I've had love, I know I'm capable
of love and being loved.

If you heard me singing in the car, then you'd say, there's a man who can still love the world. But only if you did not realise, I am only singing the sad ones. And it breaks the stone I call a heart that never is there anyone to sing them with me.

Here's a world that loves a hustler, where goodness is a doormat. Here's a world where you are weighed in money, and I have none.

Tomorrow I have to confess to the sosh that I have no value. For 200 bucks a week, the government gives itself a licence to tell me I'm worth nothing. I wish I could be free but I have nothing anyone wants to buy, and no talent to make anything of.

People say, oh just write a book. But it's hard when you know no one will want it. It's not a world for nice boys with good hearts. It's a world for hustlers, men who see you as rungs on a ladder, women who use you to get where they want to be, then wipe you off their shoe.


I have always had a problem that I don't want to play the game. I know what you're supposed to do but I don't want to. I should have been a lawyer or a doctor, but somehow I preferred being a free spirit. In any case my dad would not support me in college if I didn't give up smoking. I lost three stones in defying him. One evening I fainted in the campus chipshop because I finally had five pounds to buy a chilliburger with.

I know I should lie and cheat. I know I should care nothing about people, just use them for whatever I need. I know I should value them purely for what they can give me, and if they ever need something in return, I should drop them like a stone.

I wanted to be different, but the problem with being different is that everyone else is the same.

Friday, August 24, 2012


Incredible article about how abortion was before Roe v. Wade and why it's important never to let a thorough shit like Paul Ryan make decisions about women's bodies:  The Way It Was | Mother Jones

This is why we have to go forward. Yes, there are plenty of scary unpleasant things about the modern world, but we have to try to improve it, not try to drag it back to the horrors of the past.

People like Ryan will tell any lie they can think of to acquire the power to hurt us. We should be vigilant that whatever we can do to prevent that from happening, we do it.

Friday, August 17, 2012

In other news

This comment on this article, which I repeat in full, says it all about why Mitt RMoney should never be elected to any public office, let alone president.


17 August 2012 12:04AM

Since this whole unnecessary kerfuffle began, I have been reminded over and over again of the moment I (as a somewhat ambivalent US person, since I had--to my eternal regret--voted for him in his race for election originally) knew without a scintilla of doubt that Richard Nixon, as President of the US, was toast. I didn't "know" at that moment how it was going to play out, exactly, but I knew in my bones that he would not be finishing his second term.

It was the night that he took to the US TV air with and alongside stacks and stacks of nicely bound books, the sum total of contents of which--according to him--contained the relevant and (necessary)--but admittedly "edited" transcripts of the tapes of conversations occurring in the Oval office.

It wasn't that I hated or despised him, but, I knew in that moment that if our President really believed that the US voting public would accept an edited and self -affirming "version" of something like that (as an end-all and be-all)--something that otherwise would show real-world, accurate, "reality" if simply printed out verbatim, that we had a bigger "problem" on our hands than I had ever imagined up to that moment.

There comes a moment when the persistence of a belief (and continued action upon that belief) that others (err, the US voters) can't handle the truth, is a demonstration of a basic and profound unfitness to hold public elected office in the US.

CEO's of companies can choose to be be private and/or secretive and tell employees and others any edited versions of reality that they might want to tell at any given moment, and, by dint of the power of control over continued employment of the company's "employees", or by dint of "internal" voting power within "equity" ownership of the company (err, person), escape the otherwise human reactions and results. But, in a representative democracy, that just isn't likely to "fly".

President Nixon apparently couldn't stand or abide the idea of the US citizenry knowing and independently judging reality, and I fear we are now seeing the same thing with a presumptive candidate of the US Republican party for the office once held by US Republican President Nixon.

It's not the "tax" "laws" or ant particular "details" in your tax returns that are the problem, Willard, any more than it was the details and "bad language" of the "Nixon Tapes"--it's the overt avoidance of the obvious and the utter contempt shown for the intelligence and determinative capacity of the US citizenry.

If you don't have faith in the US voting citizenry sufficient to trust their reaction to actual reality, then you don't deserve the office of the President.

Give the public the returns and then spin the Hell out of them, if you wish. But, don't presume to tell the US citizenry that your summary of actual reality is sufficient for them.

Our ancestors fought and won a revolution to get away from that kind of regal set of privileges, and that kind of distribution of human (and citizens') rights.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Soon I'll fade

In the morning, my heart is racing. I don't know why. Was I dreaming something that left me breathless?

It happens often. I have premonitions that I will not live long. I keep thinking, this time next year, I will be gone. I cannot shake them. I feel like my wasted life will soon just be a footnote.

Should I write my children a letter? I don't have anything to say. I feel unmotivated. What will it matter? They can think what they think. Soon I'll fade.

I don't even think I've been a bad person, but no one gives a fuck about me. I got shafted hard by the person I should have been able to trust. But that's the world, isn't it? Six billion selfish arseholes who pretend they are doing anything but satisfying themselves.

None of us matter much. We are here for a brief moment, a glimmer, then we are done. Soon we'll fade, and just our names will be known, until, later, those too are forgotten.