This Is Where I Leave You.

All I really wanted to do was finish my lunch in peace, but then the up-talking wannabe valley girl chick walks in and starts talking about how can I possibly stand being a vegan and how she needs 150 grams of protein a day to survive, and when I say that's three times the amount of protein any human being needs she says she's a body builder, but she's obviously nothing close to a body builder, but more obviously a cross-fitter and naturally casually psychotic. Who else would find it appropriate to have this conversation with a complete stranger than someone who goes to those stupid fucking cubes with all those stupid fucking people in those stupid fucking clothes doing those stupid fucking motions over and over again?

Cross-fitters is whom.

It's like all the ADD survivors of the 90s found a place where they belong and they call it a gym. Do this over and over again, obsess about this all the time, now do this over and over again, now do it over and over again, now yell, now talk to people about how healthy your are, gloss over your own striking insecurities while trying to isolate those of others in what you only fancifully imagine is 'polite conversation', and now do this motion over and over again, and this motion, kind of like the first, and yes, do it over and over again, yell, and wait, and wait, and now do it over and over again. Don't laugh, people actually take you seriously, now do it over and over again. And rest. And rest, but don't reflect. Do anything but reflect.

Shit, Does this make me a hater? Can one actually comment on anything external without that cutsie little rejoinder? I doubt most people who use the word 'hater' know what rejoinder means, but this is where the joke is undeniably not only on them, but about them.

I Am Here To Be Adored.

Everything about the earlier post is pretty much wrong.  I've decided to stay.  Which is to say I went back, decided I didn't want to be in LA at all, started packing and quickly made my way back to Seattle. Some things just have to be spontaneous. They have to reflect a joie de vivre which may not always be universally present, but which we universally strive towards.

I also took large quantities of DMT over the weekend which to put it mildly somewhat altered my perception. I was thrown off a plane for reasons I still don't quite understand, but since I was rebooked on the very next flight I'm not sure the airline understand either. We had words. There will probably be more words, but they will be the words of my lawyer not me. I've said my peace, or is it piece? I always wondered that.

So it has already sort of started auspiciously. Throwing off all manner of distractions and impediments that have been put in my way and doing it with a grace and poise few are capable of, and although I'm not one of those people that says 'Everything happens for a reason' or 'It was meant to be', after taking DMT, large quantities of DMT, I think I can safely say, dude.....

Everything happens for a reason.

Equilateral and Undiminished.

 

 

The day starts like so many other days. Reading comments on an internet article. People actually commenting using their Facebook accounts, hardly anonymous, declaring ‘so and so should be chucked off a bridge’, that they are ‘useless trash’, that ‘there is a special level of hell reserved for people like them’. The irony doesn’t escape me, but I read on. It makes the reader’s ‘stomach turn and their heart hurt at the same time’. People should ‘have to have a license to breed, much like in many areas people are required to license their pets’.

This quickly devolves into a blog somewhere where someone starts espousing the charms of a vacation in West Yellowstone and the virtues of hat making in the 21^st century outside of London. It works until someone describes a cartoonish graphic of a walking rabbit with a hat as ‘stunning’. Then I feel like I’m just being made fun of. A moment passes when I think they may actually be taking themselves seriously and I move on. Instagram. Hello.

My feed has been relentlessly underwhelming of late, and I have to confess it is somewhat jarring to navigate between the adorable cuteness of Cats of Instagram to the diaper wearing adults gone shopping in People of Walmart. They don’t have a condition. I checked. All they are wearing is a diaper and they decided to leave the house. I’m not a snob but even I was raised to know that that is not appropriate.

The inbox is nothing less than surreal so I do my best to avoid that as well. This is hard since there are people in the office who insist on talking about what is in their inbox which invariably is what is in mine as well. I do my best to approximate the patronizing stick graph one of my coworkers condescended to execute for me the day before and this draws the predicted laughs. I’m just happy I don’t have to read the remaining contents of my inbox in order to keep up with the conversation. They are entirely serious, and there isn’t much you can say to convince yourself otherwise.

I read a few articles written by people with a few college credits describing how something called Thug Kitchen is racist. Yes this is something that actually exists outside of survey course and has seeped its way into a Salon article. I take a pass and keep looking. Still nothing. All of the good stuff is filtered out by some software I’m not able to circumvent. Bitches.               

I type the comment ‘This is all shit’ on no less than four message boards and resist the urge to submit all of them. Do people I’ve never met really need to know that I think their interests and opinions are shit? Probably not, but so few people have come to that same inescapable realization and I get frustrated. Vintage American clothes are still enormous in Japan. Huge is probably a better word.

 There are some bro-ey dudes trying to write about Ann Demeulemeester, but they never really mentioned her back when she still designed clothes so I keep moving and notice how people are still going moderately ape-shit over brogues. Typical. Who is fucking whom? I’m well past my Instagram feed at this point and am almost salivating at the hateful Twitter comments to some random Richard Dawkins tweet. I excuse myself and actually go masturbate to a few of the more hate filled ones. No joking, but sometimes I fantasize about breaking up the monotony of the day with a quick wank. I’ve been at work for 49 minutes and it already seems like too long. I move on to the Glenn Greenwald Twitter feed and focus on those comments. Nourishing.

I notice that my coffee is dwindling so I go to refill that business. Walking down the hall I make a point of saying good morning to one of the fat girls I’m sure cries herself to sleep most evenings. She big-leagues me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People. Not living up to their people’s expectations. What the fuck.