Should You E-fast?

IRL fasting has many benefits. Check out P.D. Mangan’s amazing anti-aging site for more on this.

If that’s not enough.

Even Jesus loves fasting. There’s some juju out there that can’t be banished any other way.

Except maybe the internet.

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Pictured: The internet in its most malignant form: Teh kittez. An ancient evil of possibly Canaanite origin.

So should you go on internet fasts?

Folks like Bryan Lunduke would probably say yes. Folks like me would probably say…maybe.

Fact of the matter is that I’ve been trying and planning to go on a no electronics sequester, where I produce a bunch of somethign, with a lot of focus; for well…it’s embarassing…for nearly….if not exactly a decade.

Sweet Elijah! You might cry. Your discipline sucks.

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Lo! I have not gaze upon the spicy memes! Giveth me my wings, Lord!

At this rate the chariots of fire will never beam you up and reveal why Maynard is such an infuriating shtilib.

Absolutely. Yes. I’m a whimsical beast with very strong drives that are not easily tamed. Which is why I prefer letting them run free. Seems more humane. That is until they go over a cliff.

The nubmer one complaint with all things web related seems to be wasted time. The internet seems to be a distraction machine.

So, it is only natural that people throw up their hands and ask, “Hold on a minute! Hold on a minute! What if I wasn’t voluntarily pulled in a million directions at once! Wouldn’t that be…I don’t…sane?”

So all the goal setting and good intentions begin. Only to be shattered by the realziation that most of your work and social life depends on electronics. Even if you aren’t a blogger.

“Welcome to the machine.” – Roger Waters or some such hippy.

Yes. And now you’re booting up and logging on to answer e-mails or apply for jobs or write this or that and…boom now you’re on YouTube…and well….frankly…welcome to Hell and goodbye time.

Or so it would seem.

I’d suggest that there’s probably a happy medium, wherein you use your baser browsing urges to spice up the legitimate ones, and catalyze learning and productivity.

But at the same time perhaps some fasting would be good towards that end.

Not here to make proclamations just to ponder so…I dunno you tell me.

Or if you don’t want to chat with an overcaffeinated time slayer, then ponder your way to Vallhalla.


Speaking of Valhalla. Pillaging is no longer profitable and mead remains expensive. Please contribute to a thirsty bard.

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Not Just Zazz…but Pizzazz

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Zoom Doom

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Zoom Zoom!

It’s bad enough to deal with the melodramatically apocalyptic ambience of Gen Z (or Omega if you’re Greek), the painfully temporally constipated notion of millenial, but now the generation that has never heard the dulcet tones of dial up is gonna be dubbed Zoomers…a name that sounds like all the MDMA and uppers that were involved in their conception.

This is not the generation that will restore conservative values.

These are the same exact reactionary snots that you were and your parents were.

Children are not the future.

Death and taxes are the future.

Drink now. Drink often.


Buy me a Whiskey

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Quips Two – Men in Pantsuits

 

Image result for business people
Comrades!

Comrades!

  • CEO’s and commisars have more in common than you think.
  • Corporate culture kills the host.
  • Management builds nothing, manufactures nothing, and costs everything.
  • Optimization means making people work faster for less. See Outsourcing.
  • Sensitivity training exists because being polite is preferrable to paying your employees.
  • The NuMale ubermensch leveraging his way to success via endless seminars often craves an empathy pantsuit. But only because he’s not allowed to wear a dress.
  • As a commisar executive your core competency is building consensus on how best to disrupt the flow of funds from the productive class into your bank account.
  • The politburo Corporate exists for the sole customer-centric mission of reeducation marketing to leave the consumer with a lean and mean wallet.
  • At the gulag company you will build synergized ecosystems of equal parts cheap labor, propaganda marketing, and markups. This will be hailed as the pinnacle of capitalism despite getting most of your product from communist optimized countries.
  • You will be celebrated as the supreme soviet captain of industry that you are. Just remember to emote. You wouldn’t want to seem cheeky about the holodomor bonus you just got. As this will only make it harder to seize the means of production get bailed out in future.

I thought that by working blue collar I could escape all this…but alas new age incompetence has spread to something as unfuckable as putting a box on a truck.

Help me stay sauced and writing subversive poetry by donating.

Or if you prefer: leverage your money into my expense account to optimize output of literary junkfood.

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Quips

20181210_124946
Or Reasons why I drink.
  • The Current State of Psychology

Pathologize everything.

  • The Current State of Science

No longer is science a specific methodology for studying empirically verifiable data regarding a narrow set of physical and observable phenomenon.

No longer is science a constantly updated body of knowledge derived from the scientific method.

Science is an answer.

One that you can use to make airtight and unquestionable forecasts about the future.

If you disagree you are a heretic.

You hate science. I might not be a scientist. But I love science. And the scientists who agree with me.

The ones that disagree are paid by the patriarchy, Big Oil, and the Green Lobby and hence are not real scientists.

I am qualified to agree or disagree with scientists because of my humility. A humility demonstrated by my admission that “I am not a scientist.”

Nevermind that I don’t understand what I’m agreeing with and can’t explain it. I am humble you see.

Literate people who have gone through twevle plus years of schooling cannot fathom the various mystery schools of Science.

#I Fucking Love Science

  • The Current State of Entrepreneurship

Rejoice! You are no longer a shopkeep or a franchisee. No! You mighty one are an innovator. Your ability to get real worked up about minor accomplishments like printing out a business card or filing a 1099 have landed you a mediocore income selling novelty buttplugs to the emotional support baristas of redudant career women the world over.

What’s that skippy?! You’ve discovered e-marketing? Well, hot dog you friggin rascal! Nevermind that there are streamlined flowcharts developed over the course of more than decade. You’re a tech-savvy genius!

You my friend are on the primrose path to easy street! And you deserve it. I mean who else could marry the easily exploitable labor of third world sweatshops to Amazon and Ebay via a well developed digital pipeline!

Get em tiger!


Please donate. I need wine.

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Getting in the Mood for Mystery

Image result for appalachian stream at night
Image Source – ideas.ted.com – Radim Schreiber

Or Notes for Pedants and Spoilsports

It’s altogether easy to lose your sense of wonder. Especially when questions can be answered instantly.

But it isn’t the answer that kills the magic.

It’s the speed. It’s the lack of space.

Mystery is a living thing and needs room to breath.

One cannot write weird fiction or write at all without the animating force of wonder.

Why describe a twilight Appalachian brook if it’s just rainwater lazing through rock and dirt?

If its suggestions are nothing more than the inevitable electric pulses stirring a chemical stew whose aim is to leave behind a profusion of bones?

Yes, in such a world of concrete half truths. In this world that is the foundation of life there can be no mystery…no art.

How glad I am that I’ve been given the space to wander, to spy the stairs and landing, and to ascend through the door into the house of Magic where true life dwells.

For a house is not merely the foundation.


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Um…

I’ve been dwelling in a hotel for the past month, probably two. There has also been the business of tending to family. Due to repairs I’m still two to three weeks away from having full use of my house.

I think I’m out of the dizzying funk of it all and will be posting regularly soon.

Thanks for sticking with me through two or so months of static.

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That’s about how I feel. No need for poetics.

Under Construction – Up Since Three

Image result for birch tree ice


I sit staring at a hotel curtain. The pattern reminds me of birch trees. Beyond are some Loblolly pines and Carolina starlight.

The room has that new plaster smell that reminds me of the apartment I stayed at while working at a fiberglass plant. My highschool buddies dad was some bigwig there and it was my buddies apartment. I was gonna pay rent but got pissed and decided to try living off of cheap tobacco and tins in my hatchback. It’s just a few towns over.

Showed up on a girls porch to talk shit and get drunk. We kissed at some point and went to the stupid ocean and came back and loved but sort of off and on.

The place had an Irish name and was still under construction. Sort of like everything is, and will be forever, since forever.

The stars are constantly reconfiguring themselves, exploding, and assembling into perpetuity. Like shitty cosmic suburbs. That’s right God I just compared your handiwork to Detroit.

There was a birch tree covered in ice – dripping ice outside my elementary school window in Moscow. That was more than a few towns over.

The chronology isn’t very linear but I’ve never been good at keeping rhythm. But sometimes I imagine I make pretty sounds and that’s enough for me.

Once my dad punched an icicle under a kiosk and got a bloody knuckle.

I was at a paramilitary summer camp and felt my head explode as it hit the hook on the door. The short kid I was boxing was pissed. We both ended up sharing aspirins and laughing at the faces we made as the water stung our bloodied lips.

The ceremonial cannon shots exploded. Exploded like memorial supernovas. Bursting in realization that these grounds, this grass, had drunk a crimson dinner.

Gotta lose a few when everything’s under construction. Ever see a worksite without sawdust? Forget  about it.

What I can’t forget about is the madness of that shitty feeling that comes from pairing Lagers with waffles. How strange for it to mix with symphonies and the crisp cold magic of space dotted with shreiking angels of flame.

Angels that build while molasses drips.

Like the tears from her eyes after I’d given her a good fucking and she was afraid that I’d leave.

No it wasn’t the poems, the wit, or the dinners. Just a good shag. That’s what made her pine. I don’t grudge her for it. I’m a lousy lay most times. But then so was she. So I guess we’ll call it even.

Cause we’re both under construction. We just built in different directions. Maybe some day the buildin wind will blow bits of our ashes into the same lighthouse. And our ghosts can teach the birches to bear the ice just as beautifully as they always have.

Cause freezing over is the same as thawing out.

It’s just under construction.

I’ve been up since three. There’s everything right here. In waves that undulate like the corporately clean curtain.

Under construction since three in the AM.

Till sleeping adds some temporary walls so I can’t see inside the house again.


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Milk-Bar Clausewitzes

Image result for soy boy
The preferred beverage of those silent servants in the civilian officer corps who’ve been sending waves and waves of our men at somebody, for some reason, for generations. Godspeed gentlemen…Godspeed!

It’s been 15 years since ‘Team America World Police’ taught us the meaning of patriotism.  It’s heartening to see that the seeds of freedom it planted continue to blossom in the hearts of keyboard warriors across this brave land of ours.

Image result for team america world police fuck yeah
McNamara’s Domino Theory of War

I decided to comment on a YouTube video and received a swift bald eagle to the nuts for my communism.

Here is my shameful faux-pas: Not digging the slippery slope argument. Our involvement in the middle east often precipitates further destabilization. Saddam and Gaddafi weren’t saints but they did bring stability. I’m surprised that someone as reasonable as yourself on the Assad kerfuffle is spouting neocon foreign policy just to stick it to a wanker.

This Marxist screed must be due to my Russian origins. Forgive me I’ve had a bit too much vodka. Sure supporting military adventures all around the world while the economy stagnates might seem unwise but that’s because as a godless Bolshevik I don’t have enough faith.

Thank sweet baby Jesus, and the applepie bakin’ mammy that birthed him behind the Nashville bar, where Elvis made his first pelvic thrust into our hearts that a true patriot was around to set me on the straight and narrow: blah, blah, blah, everything is always America’s fault. Got it. How did America deserve the ’93 WTC bombing? Was that just “blowback” too? Is America always at fault for everything?

Ah…but alas surviving on canned goods for the benefit of the Politburo has stupefied me, and I can’t help but spread red propaganda from Frankfurt school luminaries like George Washington and Dwight D. Eisenhower.

nobody said america is to blame. the military industrial complex that eisenhower warned us about gets us into foreign entanglements that george washington warned us about. your idea of patriotism is unamerican, gets americans killed, and impoverishes the nation.

Dear readers…is there any hope for me. Please help….this problem seems to have even spread to Vietnam veterans….: Milk-Bar Clausewitzes, Bean Curd Napoleons

They’ve been letting Communists into the Marines since 1955…for shame….for shame…

Will no thin, dainty, pallid, soy-fed wrists twitch spasmodically into action and banish this pinko plague with banshee wails for more American blood?

Even as I type this I feel my mouse pointer hovering towards the buy button below the leather-bound copy of John Locke’s treatise on government.

It may be too late for me so…

For God’s sake save yourselves and flip on the tele!


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Catch Phrases (Poem)

Image result for free domain images visitors

 

All the well wishers came by again

All the tales

Came by to sigh again

When all else fails

If there’s a dreary rain

They’ll fill your sails

With hot air again

Transported past all ails

All along the main

Yea, the well wishers came in hurricanes and hails

To explain again

That everything’s as rightas rain

Cause ya know what I’m sayin’

Of course you do

It’s all so true

These catch phrases for me and you

They’re me and you!

So don’t be blue!

O please don’t come again…

Why, o why Andrew

I’d rather have the pain again…


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Plumbing Woes

BaronVonDouchebag Esquire III
Believe it or not I was born in 1989.  But in Moscow where time and fashion goes to die.

My funky psychedelic 1977 open concept house has even funkier plumbing. A flange leak and several pinholes on the coppers went undetected long enough to rot the floor in the hallway bathroom. I’m currently staying at a hotel while insurance sends out the mitigation squad and the whole bloody floor comes out. Fortunately (thanks to Opa’s military insurance) I think we’ll be out only a couple o grand.

There’s quite a story surrounding this which I may or may not share in the near future.

This besides the ever present procrastination and the mighty UPS whip (Fedex no longer has a contract with Amazon for ground…so we now have their volume, joy) are why my posts have yet again slowed to a trickle.


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