Category Archives: Lucubrations

Got some decent things written today.  I was writing this scathing thing that I was going to post here, but it’s going to need another day or two to scathe before it’s ready.

Also, did you know a group of squirrels is called a scurry?  How perfect is that, dear reader?  I looked it up because there is presently a scurry of squirrels that gets together for some kind of squirrel meeting and late lunch in the back yard area of Hotel California, and I was describing it as a herd of squirrels, which I knew was wrong, but it was accurately describing what was going on, so I let it go until I had a chance to look it up.  A scurry.  Heh.

N.P.: “DEUTSCHLAND” – Rammstein

For fuck’s sake, dear reader.  I am about ready to give up reading the news for a year or two.  It’s too depressing.  To wit: a bunch of rich assholes (George Soros, Abigail Disney, and Chris Hughes, amongst others) (I call them assholes not because they’re rich but because of what they’re doing) wrote this dumb ass letter calling on all 2020 presidential candidates to punitively raise their taxes to arguably confiscatory rates.  Get this…one signer of the letter, 35-year-old Liesel Pritzker Simmons, who comes from a family worth somewhere around $33 billion actually said, “We are part of the problem, so tax us.”  The article went on, but that was all I could take.

This is so transparent, it’s pathetic, yet most people don’t seem to see it.  I’m sure you do, astute and incisive reader, but we both know your brother-in-law Kevin will fail to see the point.  So this is for Kevin.  The people who signed this nonsense are the top 10% of the top 1% richest Americans which means that since 2008, they are the most universally hated demographic in the country (which I do not agree with at all, but that’s the way it is), and they thus have been trying to deal with a serious public relations problem.  This wanting to be taxed bullshit is the strategy they’ve chosen.  But it is totally disingenuous and insincere.  The signers of this letter know perfectly well that if they were so inclined, if they sincerely felt as if they were not “paying their fair share,” they could just choose to pay more taxes.  The amount of tax assessed on you by the IRS is the minimum you must pay.  And if you overpay, you do not have to accept a refund.  You and I and these shiesty-ass multi-billionaires are free and welcome to pay all the tax you want, so long as it’s at least the amount that the IRS has assessed you owe.  So if insipid Miss Simmons wants to pay $32 billion for her 2019 taxes, she absolutely can.  Any of them could.  But they have absolutely no interest in doing so.  They don’t actually want to lose/pay their money.  Not necessary.  They just need to appear as if they asked for the government to please take their money, and when the government does not, well, there is simply nothing they can do.  Their hands are tied.  They’d really love to write an exponentially larger check to the IRS but goddammit, the IRS simply refuses to raise their tax rates.

Shit, dear reader…I could go on.  And I might, at a later date, in another forum.  But right now, I must get back to the Real Work.  Honest to God, I have no idea how you tolerate living in the same world with these people.  Most days it’s just more than I can deal with.

N.P.: “Departure From Within (Origin 2009)” – Solar Fields

Frustrated and overwhelmed.  Frustrated with myself and overwhelmed by everything else.  But that’s probably my baseline, so it’s cool.

Haven’t written nearly enough today, yet.  I say that about pretty much every day, regardless of how much I may have written.  But really, I have not written nearly enough yet today.

I need another vacation.

N.P.: “Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major for Piano and Orchestra, Op.73 “Emperor”: II. Adagio un poco moto” – Ludwig Van Beethoven, Bernard Haitink, Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra

Hotel California was struck by lightning Friday night, and said strike has really reeked havoc with the status quo.  To wit: all digital clocks insist on blinking permanent midnight, the garage door opens and the microwave dings anytime you flick a light switch anywhere in the building, and the goddamn internet router goes out every 10 minutes.  Just kinda shuts down and takes a one-minute break.  Infuriating.

N.P.: “Run Through The Jungle” – Creedence Clearwater Revival

There are a couple of sort of temporal road signs I see each year which affect my general disposition one way or another.  One is when I see football on TV.  I don’t give a rat’s about football, but I know that when I see them playing that goofy game on TV, Fall is imminent.  Conversely, when I see fireworks stands go up in church and grocery store parking lots, I know we are In The Shit as far as summer and its hellishly miasmic temperatures are concerned.  So these goddamn stands are up everywhere all of a sudden, and it pisses me off.

There are other things that piss me off, but I’m too tired to get into all that.

N.P.: “Supermodel” – Eisbrecher

Well, shit, dear reader.  Today is the summer solstice.  The first official day of summer.  Which is great for those sun-loving outdoorsy shiny happy extroverted perverts that are into those sorts of goings-on.  But for those of us on the Dark Side, today eats shit.  The longest day/shortest night of the year.  Balls!
The upside is that starting tomorrow, the days start getting shorter by roughly a minute each day until the winter solstice on December 21, exactly 183 days hence.  Let the countdown begin.

N.P.: “Jungle Love” – Prince

Before I knew what to call the matrix of traits that make up my personality, i was taking some stabs in the dark (as it were) and had sort of settled on Militant Introvert as a pretty decent descriptor of my personality.  What that meant was that I am and always have been very much introverted, but unlike other introverts I’ve observed in the wild, is that I will confront and stop extroverts when they come storming into the room with their inane babble and vapid small talk and just shit on the rights of any introverts unfortunate enough to happen to be in the room.  Here’s an example.  I’ll be in a room in the evening, before dusk, when the lighting is low and things are nice and dim.  I might just be sitting quietly in a break room at some job, or I could be in the kitchen slicing potatoes for dinner in the pleasantly low natural evening light, when in walks some presumptuous extroverted bunghole who sees that I (and maybe some other “quiet types”) are in there, doing whatever we’re doing with the lighting as is, and the first thing they do, apparently without giving the slightest consideration to how unbelievably rude, inconsiderate, and self-centered it is to walk into a room already occupied by other humans and just start changing things, not only without asking the people present if they approve of the change or not, but not even acknowledging the possibility that other people in the world are different from them and likely have extremely different priorities and preferences than they do.

I used to just live with it…these aggressively rude intrusions into my world, my comfort, my peace of mind and well-being.  “They can’t help it…they’re just unaware, like children,” I’d think to myself, having no one else to think to.  But as I got older, and stronger, and better, I became less inclined to suffer for the ignorance or inconsideration of others.  These days, if I’m doing my thing in a low-lit room and some jackass waddles in and casually flips the lights on, causing actual pain to my eyes as my pupils desperately try to slam shut fast enough to ameliorate the discomfort, I will stop what I’m doing, stride over with malice aforethought, turn the fucking lights back off, and stand there and glare at the person to see if they want the lights on more than I want them off.  Thus far, the offending parties have seen the wisdom in not pushing the issue.

Sometimes they will whine.  “How can you see in here?  I need the light to see.”  Then you’re gonna need to come back later, you blind motherfucker, because your inability to function in conditions that are necessary for me to function is not my problem if I was here first. Which is key.  I would never walk into a room full of extroverts babbling vapidly at each other and start turning lights off.  Which is another thing: if these same people walked into the same dimly lit room and excused themselves and asked if they could turn on the light because their eyesight just isn’t what it used to be, my response would always be, “Of course…no problem…please.”  Because I’m not trying to be confrontational at all.  If I stand up and slam the light off after someone just walked in and unceremoniously slammed it on, what I’m doing is not “being mean,” and only feels “aggressive” or “confrontational” because extroverts are not at all used to introverts standing their ground because it basically never happens, and when all of a sudden it does, they don’t recognize the feeling and don’t really know how else to process it.

Okay…I need to pinch this off.  I got go on for pages about this stuff.  But I only mentioned it because this headline just popped up in my news feed: 15 Best Jobs for Introverts – Top Jobs for Shy People.  I just wanted to say that introversion is totally different than shyness.  Goddammit.

Okay…back to the book.

P.S.: Oh yeah…there’s a new Prince album out tomorrow.  It’s so cool to be saying that in 2019.

N.P.: “Novocaine for the Soul” – Eels

Gonna just have to do a quick check-in tonight, tolerant reader.  Today was okay enough…just dealing with a lot of non-writing stuff.  I could write so much more if I had people.  But I don’t.  Because, in the words of Kobayashi, “One cannot be betrayed if one has no people.”

Fucking right.

N.P.: “Danza Kuduro” – Don Omar, Lucenzo

Managed to finish a couple of things today.  Ta-da!

I hate the heat.  I need to keep my phone turned off more.  I have no appetite.  The book is coagulating nicely.  I want to read more.  Summers disgust me.  And hell remains other people.

N.P.: “Black” – Pearl Jam

There is presently a moth the size of a fruit bat flapping and swooping around the fucking foyer like it owns the place.

It doesn’t own the place.  And neither do I, for that matter, but you don’t see me flapping around the foyer like some kind of asshole.  Hold on…someone’s knocking on the door.  It might be the moth.


Okay, I’m back.  It wasn’t the moth.  It was the Charwoman.  She wanted to know if my friend would be staying for dinner.  “What are you talking about, woman?  You know I don’t have any goddamn friends.”

“Who’s this then?” she asked patronizingly, gesturing to the moth, who was standing behind her, leaned up against the wall, giving me the finger.  I told them that I was busy writing and that I would deal with both of them as soon as but in the meantime please fuck off and slammed the door.  I think they’re both still out there, just standing, waiting.  Jesus.  Okay…I need to go eliminate that arrogant moth.  I know as soon as I open this door and step out, he’s going to start that flappy bullshit, but I’ll dispatch him before he can take to the air.  I fucking hate moths so much.

N.P.: “Lies Irae” – Dope Stars Inc.