Do you hear the sound of amelioration?   I do.  It is like a Niad singing while doing the back float behind Cleo-fucking-patra's fucking barge.  I realized there is no such thing as a good politician.   The be-bop coolness of what used to be representative democracy has given way to dance club synthesizer pulse, flashing dance floor oligarchy.   Like a calypso singer, who cares?   Shoo-wop-diddly.

There is no liberal.  No conservative.  No Dems.  No GOPs.   No pathetic stupid third political party, that everyone should already know splits tickets and loses elections.   Third parties can accidentally or nefariously cause one of the two other parties to win. 

This is about acting on the basis of ethics.   Vote quietly, don't campaign too much.  Little is best.   Absent of honest happy representative government the best thing voters can do is to write to legislators and newspapers and magazines and television stations, asking they support the agendas you hope to realize.   That aside, I suggest, quietly, docile-like, radical politics of recent yesteryear appear to be sobbing in the powder room.  Quit the rough stuff, do power of the pen.

 

Sorry.  People are un-inventive twits and this is burdening progress.   With food prices astronomical no one is suggesting the government release cows, horses and pigs in urban areas like here.   And it is imperative that live stock be allowed to sink or swim in the local forests as people spear the animals for their dinners.

 Everyone should be practicing with a sport javelin, in their back yards or at the city parks, so to prepare for the real event.  Hunting and gathering.  Surely someone from CMU knows how to grow fruits and vegetables in a miserable excuse for a town, such as here?  To fill out our miserable diets, now that a  one pound bag of rice costs eighty dollars?

We should all be eating free ham.  Feral pigs!  Why not?  Free range ham, if you will.  And beef.  Horse meat, too.   Why do people assume commercial beef is better?    And the hunting and gathering will help obese hunters and gatherers shed those bulging love handles.    This is gonna' be great.   Release farm animals in city parks.  Also, we need more apes and giraffes.  I know we can swing this.  It'll bring tourists downtown to see the beasts.    

 

 

Normally no one invites friends to have an unpleasant visit.    I am talking interiors.   And personal failings.  

I am not a hoarder.  I am not unsanitary.   I’m a filthy bad house keeper, and I can’t afford to redo the interior of my house.   I’ve lived in shabby places galore since adulthood.

I accept and understand   social norms and common human needs.  

No judgment is made against people who hate the interior of my house.  They are as much as maybe half mitigated in so feeling.

I am respectful and tolerant toward  shit-eating human frailty.

Don’t visit.   You’ll hate it here.   I’m a disgusting housekeeper.  The furniture here is disgusting.  So’s the lighting.   There’s no rugs at all.  

I am a happy soul in my hovel.  I’m made for this dump.   I would like everyone to forgive me for being an awful housekeeper. Why does Jesus Christ look like Ted Nugent in the late 1970s?

I don’t invite guests here out of respect for others.  But that could be taken many ways.  Suffice no one visits here

Holy huge rat pellets, Batman! I reminded myself, like a cruel typing teacher might do, in class, and it's...it's...it's traumatic, really. Prounonce that 'really' 'rilly' It's painful...rilly. I just remembered what the antidote was for ugly interior design. Alcohol. I would walk to a bar, commence drinking, chase some skirts, maybe meet a female who wants to do the wild thing. I like doing the wild thing. Nothing queer. No rough stuff.

Alcohol was essential, and bars made it possible for bad housekeepers to socialize.

I socialized in bars, drinking holes, years ago, and yielded many interesting sex lives in many filthy apartments I rented. I'm a god-awful house keeper, I like pussy, and with enough beer and whiskey pre-existing in sex partners such as mine...their doing... not mine...bliss finds a way, with no arrests or abortions. I dated many low net worth female alcoholics. Best was having sex in a new partner's clean apartment. Naturally, dirty joints were okay, too. Proud. I'm proud of my history.

And I socialized zillions of low net worth men asexually and para-fraternally. Some of whom were gracious guests in my shabby dirty apartment full of dirty dishes and ashtrays and I don't own a vacuum. There were bars in walking distance everywhere I lived until I moved here.

The Northside is a cesspit of addiction and abuse, but there aren't any bars in walking distance, and I don't drive drunk no matter how boring it gets anywhere. So these days, I just don't receive guests. How shitty. Thanks for reading,

 

Years ago, when I was still working, I recall people collecting money, everywhere, to save whales from extinction.  Dripping reasons why the  Marxist concept of history is working magic, allow me to relate  theory to Herman Melville’s novel, Moby Dick.      

Marxists apply the concept of history to explain how capitalists are always wrong and communists are always correct.   Mother Russia was  like Gorgeous George in drag.    Stalin was a peach of a guy.   Chairman Mao, too.   They all cared deeply about the Rainbow.  

 Marxists prefer not to go there, in a discussion.   Their concept of history places them, folks walking about among us all,  on  the correct side of all moments, happenings and events since Genesis.   They were on the appropriate side of all wars, world over, and were correct about the Central American Sandinista/Contra conflict of the ‘80s irrespective of what actually happened.  .  They despise whale hunters historically, and feel even worse thoughts about modern Republicans.   Allow me to slide in Melville’s book about the great white whale.   

 To some voters and politicians, anyone who voted for Trump is a dreadful person.    Not fair or logical, but it’s possible to presume all people who voted for Trump have forebears,  distant great-great uncle fascists, who speared whales for a living.  LIke  Captain Ahab.  Gregory Peck, in the film.  In this way, the Marxist way, everyone who voted for Trump harpooned Moby Dick.   Captain Ahab got what he deserved, and that would have been an awful way to go, roped to an injured great white whale.  

In Marxist thought, history proves that communism is  inevitable, humane and scientific.  Capitalists, and Republicans, side with fascists to get and stay rich.   For the trillionth time, Republicans are responsible for all  loss of life and hardship.    Stalin was no big deal.  Let me tell you about the whales.

   People who vote GOP are worse than Captain Ahab.  And people to the left of center, all happy zilliion of them,  are as lovely and temperate as a summer’s day.     Best yet, it is impossible for Marxists to be wrong about Moby Dick.  

Republicans, all of them,  harpoon whales.     Democrats rescue whales just like  Moby Dick from  slow gruesome nautical demise.        Marx was nice to Moby.

A little narcissism won't hurt

 

Being a prick is a full time job.   A cynic, let's say.   People love generous productive people who make them feel good about themselves. In a sickening social appeal this could mean common crummy people gain from ambient well being shared with them.  Bad people can be fun.

By contrast, too many sick assholes of the universe impose their unpleasantness on others, and detract from collective happiness.    People I know too well spread gloom.  The purpose in 'splaining this is a cynic can be harmless, possibly didactic.  Unless the individual is a complete asshole.  

It has been, for me, hard to grasp that people are good for one another, in the main.   If the only author a person read, while isolated from polite society,  was William S Burroughs, and the jerk studied exhaustively, the poor asshole might have a raft of problems socializing among people who live and breathe Winnie the Poo and Alice in Wonderland. 

Rolling the gurney back to start position, a person might isolate deliberately, aware of being toxic to other people.  Persons I've associated with were  more likely to express to other people their negative opinions and irrational, hateful demands than to provide therapeutic emotional support.   They always need the cooperation of people to whom they feel superior, if only everyone was smart enough to appreciate whatever nonsense the finest of imaginary people believe and practice, by way of their obligation to the ugly american.   

Surely people exist silently aware of  great and perfect humans who didn't amount to much and deserve fame and fortune.  If so, they need to get the lead out of their ass.  Help.  I'm going nuts here.