The new manic depressive disorder is called dystopian/utopian attitude problem. It is mostly AI that is effectuating this semantic and performative change in the language of living with technology. Happy people see that artificial intelligence will provide them all goods and services free of charge as robots do all the work, 24/7, happy as electro-mechanical pigs in shit.
Gather 'round, hunters, gatherers, cowpokes, jamokes and hard cases. It's time for ya'll to listen to me moan. I moan audible. Not loud. You can hear me doing it. That's what matters. What moves mind and body from material to supernatural sensations. Faith holds congress with belief in sensuality.
I moan for the death of common pool halls. I sure as fuck don't have an eight foot slate billiard table here in my own private East Buttfuck. There ain't no pool halls left open for business in this sorry miserable place not deserving of it's pompous jackass-sounding name. I'm not naming where this violent pestilential behavior is spreading gloom and collective torpor. But there's no chance or operating a pool hall in this district, and most other districts, without assholes shooting someone over a squabble.
People aren't playing pool, I'm not playing pool, and this is only one of the most far away reasons Poorly Rotating Earth is going to shit.
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,
