I seem to have just discovered Hot Pockets. I've heard of them before, of course, and I might have eaten one or two before, but now I've eaten at least ten of them, and went back to the store and bought another box of twelve. It's just too easy to pop them in the the microwave for two minutes and have them ready to eat and be done with it. I've tried some of the other quick meals that can be heated up in the microwave, but they're not that good, and the list of ingredients really looks pathetic.
I seem a little overwhelmed by realizing just how many people there are in the world today. I think it started back when I did a People Search on Yahoo, and discovered there was over 400 people in the State of Florida that have my exact same legal name, and at least 800 people in Texas. Word for word my same name. That kind of freaked me out. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I thought that at least my family name was special. Not even a little bit.
I guess I do feel a little special when it comes to how many people there are in Asia. A billion and one third in China. Over a billion in India. Around 300 million in the US. I don't even know what that means. Well, yes I do, I suppose, it means there are too many people for the Earth to continue to support. There's not even enough fish in all the oceans for us to eat anymore. Why life?
How much more can man invent, and to what end? I keep hearing the statement, "Man, if you think this is something, just hang around." Hang around for what? All people have ever done is eat, drink, and fuck. We've made it easier to do that, but to what end? So our offspring can eat, drink, and fuck? Big whoop... eh?
I watched a little bit of a TV show about this rich woman who was showing off her $35 million dollar yacht. She looked like shit from all the things she'd had done to her body to keep looking desirable enough to fuck. I was really confused. Why on Earth did this woman wanna look desirable enough to fuck. She'd been fucking for sixty years and never got no satisfaction out of it.
I did one of them thar faux pas' recently. I doubt if it even matters. Nobody knows. I used to be friendly with this woman who is in fact a real go-getter. The only problem she had was that she was an alcoholic. I personally only thought she was a drunk like me, but nooooo, she had to push the envelope and BE an alcoholic. BEING an alcohol is what she turned her life into. I liked her just fine as a drunk.
I even asked this woman to marry me once in a fit of insanity. She was the woman I truly deserved. Some deluded bitch who used to read me stories written by people a sophisticated person might have recognized right away, but I could tell from the way she read his brilliant writing to me, that she found him subjectively interesting. Besides, this bitch really is as smart as me, or was, but now that she's decided she's an alcoholic she's got too much baggage. The problem for me was that I am not man enough for her. Oh, I don't feel bad about that. I'm not a good enough man for anybody. Who does she think she is? Who am I?
...
I am a light
from very far
that gleams
with all the beauty
of a star,
and is in day
the very night,
the shadow of
a very bright
daydream.
July, 1973
Whatever it is that I am, it's not good enow for the significant others in my life. The problem with that is that I set the parameters by which they judged me, and ruled me unworthy. It's very difficult to get past that facticity.
I seem to be one of those people who figure you're either fer me or agin me. You put an organization you fished for between me and you, I'm gonna give you that organization for company. If you're not cool with being the first person in your life, then you sure as hell ain't gwine allow sech from or for me. I don't buy $20 a pound coffee to use it twice. Brazilian lowland coffee is better the first time than the high mountain arabica the second time around.
My daughter seems to have decided she's an alcoholic instead of drunk too. I really hate that for her. Granted, I failed her as a father, but she failed her own self as a drunk. There are institutions one may commit themselves to, and then there are institutions one can commit oneself to. Alcoholics Anonymous might be a nice place to visit, but the idea of becoming a permanent guest is worse than absurd, it's pathetic.
I'm kind of bingeing on Hot Pockets because of the horrible news. Oh, it's not news to me. I figured this crap out a couple of years ago, but you see, when i figure something out, after all is said and done, it's not written in stone. I learned how not to do that because it's just freaking foolish to paint myself in a corner. The horrible news is that fat cells never go away. They may not be filled with suet, but they're still there just waiting for me to fill them up again.
I saw this article in a reputable scientific online magazine (It's on the internet, asshole, it's gotta be true!) where it stated that even if you get liposuction, once you recover from the operation, the fat cells return on their own, they come back even if you starved yourself. We're doomed! No... I"m doomed. Your milage may vary.
You tell me! My old father was fat as a pig from the time he married that Cancer woman who became my mother. She treated him like God. Why would she not? He saved her from a fate worse than death. My point is that he was a good eighty pounds over-weight from middle age on, and lived to be eighty-eight years old. I'm not a momma's boy because of the way she treated me. I'm a momma's boy because of the way she treated my father until the day he died. In fact, when he had developed pneumonia and was a goner, she put him out of his unperceived misery. I'm absolutely sure she was just following orders. No woman on Earth could owe me that much loyalty. There is not enough I could do for them to bring that sort of debt into play.
People have to give themselves to me. It's not because of some decision I made. I don't know why they have to give themselves to me. It's almost as if I'm not even a part of the decision-making process that ends up with some sort eternal commitment. I'm a double-Taurus. The keyword for Taureans is: I possess.
I own some people. Only the people who of their own volition gave themselves to me. Not only did I not ask this of them, I couldn't prevent it. Worse, I don't even know who some of them are. They never bothered to inform me of their intentions. Leeches. I call them Remoras. People like Mona Worley from when I was a child in the first grade. She adored me for reasons I had no say so about.
Do you have any idea how tasty these stupid Hot Pockets are with cheap burgundy?
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
