I never watch the news, but you know what I learned on the news? The fucking humanitarian aid, food and supplies, North Korea receives?  The North Korean people are told that these are tributes. To their Leader. Then, if they’re lucky, I guess they get to eat. Read the rest of this entry »

“I failed in a very important way in my personal life.” via CNN.com.

Eliot, baby.  Sweetcakes. This is not an apology. This is not making amends. After all, we have it willingly or no, imbedded in our brains, fuckhead, that you had sex with a hooker with your socks on. Stylish, silk business socks? Little clocks up the side? Were they the kind that stay up by themselves (no pun intended) or did you wear little garters, Eliot. Cookie-baby.

Not that I want to know. I think that’s the point.

“I think one of the largest, most difficult tasks that he has is to control the outrage that is brewing in the public, sympathize with it and garner it, but use it to get good policy, not policy based upon anger …”

Read the rest of this entry »

Bill Hicks on Letterman, Finally …the routine began with a segment about a new TV show he was going to do called, “Let’s Hunt and Kill Billy Ray Cyrus.”

The next episode, Hicks said, was—even better—going to be

“Lets Hunt and Kill Michael Bolton.”

I once tried to explain, on a YouTube comment list (talk about futility) why Michael Bolton was despicable. Read the rest of this entry »

I am sooo over yesterday. You ever had the experience where you wake up the next day, and it’s not that you are somebody else … it’s, what makes you think a person is one single point of view. Hell, no. The art is to get bigger than all of it, you little hydra you, and like the membrane of a balloon, contain it. Affectionately. I am an asshole—now and then—and besides, I was dealing with a lawyer all day. A middle-aged white male lawyer.

Someone sent me a cartoon: a couple in a car, the wife is driving, and she says, “Oh, dear, I think I ran over a lawyer!” Husband says: “Well if you’re not sure, dear, back up and do it again.”

Nothing personal, if you are a lawyer (and reading this blog? why?) but as far as I can see, these people are paid great sums of money to lie. And after a while, the lies kinda slip into the category of normal, and if that isn’t morally compromising. How the hell do you keep track of right and wrong?

So about 3 a.m. I started at the beginning of Mystic Bourgeoisie, and right off saw that the title means something! All these clever blog monikers. Honey, we are the mystic bourgeoisie and of course I am never going there again. Tomorrow morning, first thing: torch all those self-help books left over from Eighties. Marianne Williamson? Up in smoke. I bought that stuff whilst involved in a romance that should never have happened, which will make you grasp at any manner of crappy straws.

From October 2005:

“Forgive me if I’ve already told you this, but I have a plan to claim the local Target store for the Queen of Spain. I figure if I can get an outlaw biker gang to back me up with stolen heavy construction equipment, I might be able to hold onto it long enough to make CNN. I’ll spend the rest of my life in the slammer, sure, but imagine the cred … ‘What’s he in for?’ ‘Who, that guy? Him and a bunch of berserker biker dudes claimed a Target store for the Queen of Spain.’ ‘Whoa! Far fuckin out.’“

What a pity. Finding the man you want to marry at my age, when I want to marry like I want to cut off my foot with the butter knife. It’s a sentiment, but no less sincere. The way to a woman’s heart is through her eyes and ears. What? No, never met him. That matters? Through their writing ye shall know them, and it was good.

No, it was Far Fuckin’ Out.

My Dear Ms. Sessum,

Will you quit blogging such nice things about me …

How much easier to give than to forkin’ receive …

Most people never get out from under the rainshadow of their parents’ gaze …

It’s hard turf, hard to chart, hard to navigate. No maps. Lots of dark matter. A black hole or two, to marry.

Fate would bring a sweet soul into my life …

That awful noise you hear is some rusted hinge inside. Damned Fate, prying it open again.

Yours Truly,
Zo

(Fiction) … It wasn’t for many years that I got even a hint of a grip on Alec’s issue with work. First, we start with the assumption that I am a sponge, a freeloader, then we move on from there. That was the current that ran below everything, a resentment, a form of hatred that I certainly sensed, and from the start … yet what desperate young woman can afford the truth. I wanted to get married because that is what I knew to do, I needed help with my dear little children, I had no money … and I suppose the truth is that in Alec, in his hatred, I was given yet another crummy gift. Why me, oh Lord, which is exactly the sort of plea that goes unanswered.

Because the real question is, why Alec.

Why men.

Why the hatred and no end of punishment to women in need.

Now that we know of some of the nastier attitudes of the really entrenched, okay, there’s a tiny hue and cry. Perhaps it is not quite the thing, this stoning to death of the woman fucked out of wedlock. Bury her upright in a pit and batter her about the head. On the other hand, as Alec used to so cheerfully say, Better you than me.

Had I but known it, every hateful thing Alec said was a direct pipeline from ancient tribal feuds. The kind of hatred baked, after eons under the sun, into a shrivelled, bitter lump that once eaten, sits there in the gut, neither regurgitated nor shat. Churning. Churning like his old man, churning like Alec. Churning but stuck. Churning without hope of removal of the indigestible truth of their lives …

So they strike out. Which relieves exactly nothing. Perhaps only aggravates the churn.

And women are so used to it, I am so used to it, tell me, does it not seem normal? This … cycle of buildup and release? Don’t we pity the poor souls, having no better way? Yes, we do. Pity which has no bearing on the fact, we are maimed. Pity, genuine pity, will get you killed. Hold up a sign, go around, “I feel for you.” See how long—with someone like Alec—see how long you last.

“Prepare yourself to qualify for good work, treat work seriously, and don’t put yourself in a position of unequal resources when you marry.”

Don’t put yourself in a position of unequal resources when you marry?

Don’t put yourself in a position of unequal resources when you marry?

Betty? Betty? Are you really gone?

Doug’s Darkworld writes: “Israeli militants have decided the time has come to destroy their enemies in Syria and Iran. In a desire to create a fantasy world where no Israelis can ever come to harm. Why is this a fantasy world? Because it is also a world where Israel is free to kill and maim their Arab neighbors any time they please.”

Sounds like my marriage.

All this war crap. Nothing but male umbrage, out of control.

Nothing more important to it than that.

Poor sods/stupid fucks. Take your pick.

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