I dislike people now significantly more than I did before the pandemic.  I’m confident the feeling is mutual.
Managed to do some decent writing late last night…hoping for a repeat tonight.

N.P.: “What A Life” – Son of Dave

Got a bit more sleep last night, which is good…today’s psychosis is much more manageable than that of previous, sleep-deprived days.
In other  news, where the hell is Jose?  Jose is the leader of The Army of Gardeners, which, like the gypsies at Dracula’s castle, are fiercely loyal and employed to maintain the grounds around here during daylight hours.  But Jose’s been missing for a minute.  It’s typical of him to go back to the Hyper-Catholic homeland at Christmas, but it’s February and the lawn is looking a little egregious.  I don’t have a picture of Jose to post here…maybe I’ll try to put something together in Paint.  Anyway, in the meantime, if found, please return Jose.

N.P.: “Diggin’ a Hole” – Big Sugar

Another sleepless night.  No NyQuil.  By the time it became clear that I would be needing chemical assistance to sleep, it was far too late/early to deploy NyQuil.  Took a Benadryl at 4:30 and slept for an hour.   Which is not nearly enough.
How long, dear reader…how long?!  How the fuck long must this insidious insomnia go on?  Too many more nights of this nonsense and I might finally crack.  I’ve felt on the verge of either a breakthrough or a breakdown for a while now…either way, something’s ready to break.  Perhaps this causeless yet ruthless sleep deprivation will be the straw the stroked the camel’s sack.
I think I still have half a bottle of super-shitty absinthe somewhere around here.  I might take a snort off that bottle at bedtime.  If I can’t get sleep, I might as well get weird.
Of course, none of this would be an issue had I been able to travel down to Tijuana in August to purchase enough farmacia to tranquilize the entire Mexican Army, enjoy a bit of blood-sport at the bullfights, and perhaps go say hola to the girls in the red dresses down at ¡Adelita’s – Cuatro Pisos de Putas!  Gosh darn this wretched pandemic.
I just want to sleep.

N.P.: “Rock This Town” – The Brian Setzer Orchestra

Through the greenish haze of the Ny-Quil, I found myself watching a marathon of Storage Wars.  I know I’ve bitched about it to you before, but the most bullshitty part of the show is the way that they post the price these fools paid for the locker, and then, without actually selling a single thing.  These doofuses just go tearing through boxes and spit out amounts: “Oh yeah, can get $40 easy for that…20 bucks for this.  This here’s easily $100….” And then on the screen, graphics tally all this nonsense up, and once the “projected” amount of profit exceeds the cost of the locker, the graphics ding and flash in celebration of the financial success we have just witnessed.  But they haven’t made a dime off of any of it…they’re just standing in a parking lot with a pile of someone else’s crap.
But last night I noticed that all these storage lockers are in places like Van Nuys and Chatsworth.  For those of you lucky dear readers who may not reside in California, those are the places outside Hollywood where they make all the porn.  It’s actually referred to as “Porn Valley.”  So I’m looking at these creepy, quasi-antisocial dudes lurking around storage lockers waiting for a chance to buy what’s in them sight-unseen, and I’m confident that they are all failed porn producers.  Or at least porn producers on a hiatus of some kind.  Hell, I dunno…maybe the whole home/amateur porn thing has done so much damage to the legacy “traditional” porn community that these dudes are having to slum it with the only gig they can get now on Storage Wars.

N.P.: “You Can’t Teach An Old Dog New Tricks” – Seasick Steve

Started feeling kinda funky a while ago, and as a guy that simply Cannot Get Sick, it is my responsibility to now ingest a significant amount of Ny-Quil.  So until tomorrow, dear reader….

N.P.: “Anubis” – Tad Morose

Kept awake for much of the night by cries of batrachian lust emanating from some kind of amphibian orgy happening in the back field.  It happens after every rain, but last night they were really Going For It.  It sounded like the last days of Rome, had ancient Rome been populated by frogs instead of Italians.
For a while, I thought it might be retribution…you know, revenge for all the noisy orgies that happen on this side of the walls and kept the frogs awake.  Then I remembered that there hasn’t been one single orgy, noisy or otherwise, on this side of the walls since I arrived…at least nothing I was invited to.  Which was a very depressing thought to have as I laid there, waiting for sunrise, listening to the sound of a thousand frogs fucking.

N.P.: “Immersed” – VNV Nation

The Super Bowl was allegedly today.  Nobody watched it.  Those Anti-American racist virtue-signaling fucks at the NFL along with the other corporate sponsors of BLM™ somehow managed to take the fun out of football, I guess.  No matter…football was never actually relevant to anything anyway.  And we’ve certainly never needed an excuse to have whiskey and wings around here.  (That shit was delicious, by the way.)

N.P.: “New Day Rising” – Van Hertzen Brothers

I opened the blinds this morning and was disgusted by the inordinate amount of sunlight.  “Gah!  That’s disgusting!” I actually yelled out loud before slamming the blinds closed again and getting back in bed.  I got up again a minute later because I’ve learned recently that the amount and/or quality of sleep I get is completely irrelevant to how exhausted I constantly feel.  The rest of the day went more or less like that.

N.P.: “How Did I Find Myself Here” – The Dream Syndicate

I’ve said it myriad times here before, dear reader, but “May you live in interesting times” is one of the oldest Chinese curses, and we indeed live in interesting times.  I’m kinda tired of it.  I’m meant to be an interesting guy in boring times…it doesn’t work when reversed.

N.P.: “Machine Guns and Peacock Feathers – Carpenter Brut Remix” – Ulver

Another day, yet somehow even less time.  Wrote my ass off.  Literally.  No idea how I’m going to sit anymore…wrote my ass completely off.

N.P.: “Light Up The Fire” – Cheap Trick