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| "Edwards is a cutie." How disappointing. |
| 07.29.04 (9:58 pm) [edit] |
Being sick sucks.
Aside from the physical discomfort that you get from being infected, there's the emotional worry that you're going to lose your job. Especially when you leave early. It's one thing to call in sick. You feel almost invincible, like there's no POSSIBLE way anything can happen to you, because you're calling in sick. But going home early? Damn. You feel all worried that they're going to say "No". Or worse, they give you option and mutter unmentionables under their breaths, like "Well, if you're can't stay, you can't stay. It's your choice ***whether or not you get fired***"
But there are upsides. You get to sleep more. I've got this rediculously sized chair that I slept all day in. It's too big to be a chair, and too small to be a loveseat, and it's the most comfortable thing in the world. God made sloth a sin because he was worried people would find chairs like these and do nothing but sleep in them. So I slept in it.
I don't know if anyone knows this, but I do my best thinking when I'm asleep. It's true. Why do you think I sleep so much, Night? Oh, sure, say I'm depressed.
Anyway, during my day-long nap, I thought about how amazingly little that I know about the politics surrounding the 2004 elections, but I also thought more about how much less it seems that everyone else (and I mean friends and random members of my internet hate club, Leezard included) knows. I've lived my Oregonian return as little more than a recluse. I haven't watched tv, or read the news, except for a few bits and pieces here and there, yet I can argue to a stand-still with an average college-level liberal.
This is bad.
Why is this so? Why can my conservative views blow the promises that you believe that Presidental Nominee John Kerry (and his "buddy", Johnny Edwards) are saying out of the water?
Because the average person does not understand politics. I can sum it up into two quotes I picked up today while I was shopping here or there.
Girl 1: I don't know who to vote for, but Kerry's cool, and Edwards is a cutie.
Girl 2: Oh yeah, he has presidential hair.
Sigh. The ME generation has gotten old. It should be the Television generation. We should all wear signs that say "There's no reason to fight, we only know what we're told." Let's vote for a man who openly admits to planning on crippling our defenses while leading the nation to socialism. That sounds like a great idea.
Let me explain what socialism is, exactly. Let's start with "We the people," and turn it into "We the government". Socialism is where the government decides where goods and money go to, instead of the people. For example, we live in a capitolist society... the concept is this: you work hard, you be creative, you be inventive, you be something more than a waste, then you make money and gain place in society. Carl Marx once said that Socialism is the stepping stone between Capitolism and Communism.
What starts now will be finished.
The amazing thing about all this to me is that humans have some innate desire to go against what they want. Capitolism is the PERFECT society for humans, as we are greedy in nature, especially Americans. We all want more.
Bottom line is this: I don't care who you all vote for. Just make sure you research it and vote for the one that's what you want. Don't listen to radio, or the idiot box, or AOL, CNN, young confused college kids, me or anyone else. You should think. You should decide.
And so I end with a song about communism.
--Avarice
[i]-- A Simple Plan --
The plants and the factories
Are perfectly run
The workers and bosses
Are Living as one
People are equal
People are good
People are working
As hard as they should be
It's food for my family
It's clothes for my kids
The class war is over
And everyone wins
It's such a simple plan
To take it like a man
But I'm not sure I can
We fought for a decade
Corruption and greed
It gave me a purpose
A reason to breathe
But now that it's over
Now that we've won
I still sit in my bedroom
Alone with my shotgun
To think of my family
No longer compels me
With all things in common
They'll manage without me
It's such a simple plan
To take it like a man
But I'm not sure I can
I have a simpler plan
--[/i]
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| My lack of sympathy |
| 07.28.04 (5:14 pm) [edit] |
I'm curious as to the reason that I should feel sorry for them. I never ask for anyone's sympathy, be it Billiam's "Dude, you've had a tough life," or Devo's "I'm so sorry, that's awful." I don't want the sympathy. I never did. It just turned that I started writing more and more about what was going on in my life than for what I had originally intended this blog to be (but that's another post altogether).
So, I don't understand why I should feel any bit sympathetic to the two women who've made my life in the last few months insanely difficult to live through. While the two situations I'm about to talk about are at amazingly opposite ends of the "That Sucks" spectrum, both of these people feel that I should be in some way sympathetic to this... downfall, if you will.
We'll start with the worst of the two, the one whom I feel a slight tinge of guilt and sorrow for, because I have been feeling the need to end on lighter notes recently.
Scenario 1: Okay, this girl, who will henseforth be called Moth, was supposed to come live with me when I moved into my new apartment. She and I both agreed on the date to move in, and she was set on it and told me that she could get the initial money when I needed to get it to the landlord. Unfortunately, she fell horribly short on that note, I suppose from not understanding the amazing amount of money that moving requires. I drove down four hours to her current place of living to get money from her, and she disappeared. When our landlord heard of this, he removed her name from the renter's agreement. I called and left her messages telling her that she needed to call me, but she never did. This was fine for the two weeks that I didn't hear from her. Today, she logged on and told me that she would be moving up the begining of next month. She'd already quit her job and packed.
That sucks. I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should have called and let me or your landlord what was going on. Hopefully, you can get your job back. If not, welcome to life.
The other one is nearly rediculous. Understand that our town houses (i don't know why i keep calling them apartments) are not very large. There's a pantry-sized kitchen, a bigger-than-marine-corps- (but-that's-not-saying-mu ch) living/dining room, 1.5 bathrooms, two pretty nicely sized bedrooms, a bathroom-sized shed, and a staircase. Now, girl 2 was living in one of the bedrooms, so when I purchased her this $100 chair (good Lord, that's a lot of money to sit down) for her birthday, I was severly limited to the places I could hide it. She'd randomly burst into my room (I believe to see if I was doing drugs or worshipping the devil), so that wasn't a good place. She was in the shed more that I was, and putting it in the staircase? Now that's just dumb. So, I left it for Pier 1 to hold on to. Her birthday came and went a long time ago. As any of my long-standing readers know, I moved out, have been severely depressed, and have been working 12-13 hour days since. The time I have to drive a half hour to pick up a chair is over-ridden with the time that I have to make dinner, eat, and rest for the next day. Still, she's recently been coming over BOTHERING me for this chair. She knows I'm depressed. She knows I work long hours. Appearentally, what she doesn't know is that this chair was a gift. I'll get it when I have the fucking energy to do more than move my fingers over some keys, okay? I swear to God, let me hear about the chair before I get the time to go get it myself. I will flip.
And on top of that, she does this "kicked little kid" look that makes me feel about 5% guilty. Keep it up, Girl 2. I'll keep the motherfucking chair and tell myself that I'm rich.
But, hey, that's been my week. How's your guys'. This isn't really my blog anymore, as I never really intended for you all to read it. So say something dammit.
--Avarice
[i] -- Page Avenue --
I still recall
Every summer night
Like it was yesterday
The time could never end
And my friends were family
Nothing mattered more
Than the loyalty we had
Now I'm a world away from everything we shared
I had something better
Waiting ahead
I try to take control of my heart
I had something better
But I'll tear it down
And I'll tape it up by my own design
I fall
Bring back the days
Three-story parking lots
The air is never dry
As the city falls asleep
Days bleed into the night
The table set the stage
For a life of memories
But I'm a world away from everything we shared
I had something better
Waiting ahead
I try to take control of my heart
I had something better
But I'll tear it down
And I'll tape it up by my own design
I fall
Apart
As time passes by
I fall
Apart
But the memories never die
I still recall
Every summer night
It seems like yesterday
But I'm still a world away
I had something better
Waiting ahead
I try to take control of my heart
I had something better
But I'll tear it down
And I'll tape it up by my own design
I fall
I had something better
I had something better
I fall
Apart
As time passes
--[/i]
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| Bird bats and grassbugs |
| 07.17.04 (9:35 pm) [edit] |
So I said, "No. It works like this. I'll go out and buy a $60 wireless NIC and then the neighbors will shut off their wireless router and I'll be out $60 and the interweb," and he said "Noooo... I don't know how they do things in Hawaii, but here, everyone loves to share their internets."
Guess what happened. Laughing Off Line.
So, my depressing little tidbits will be fewer and more far between until Fish and I can figure out how to con Comcast into giving us free web. At least we'll always have the coffee shops (over dramatic nestalgia ensues).
Speaking of Fish. Everyone, meet Fish. He's my other cool guitarist guy. We write music and talk about religion and stuff. Between him, Sindey and myself, we're starting to develop a sound that I would have never imagined me being in, except that stint when I was all teen-angst-aggro. Rar, baby, rar.
Anyways, I need to cut this short, because it's 10:27pm in an amazing fantical christian community, and Fish and I are sitting outside a closed coffee shop leaching the web, getting bad looks, commenting on the passer-bys, and checking out bird bats.
Gotta go, I'll write tomorrow.
--Avarice
(P.S. I'm happier.)
[i]--Letting Go--
Feel
The moment, let it
Go
And touch it
My love
Was broken, she
Don't
See what she
Had
But that's just like it
Is
Sometime soon
I am
Letting you go
Letting you go
Letting you go
Letting you go
I would sever my hands
Just to stay silent
To never play another song about you
I've learned living without you
Is like inaudiable violence
Living without you is living without me
I'm letting you go
I'm letting you
Go
Your own way is
Like
Another voice in-
Side
Wouldn't you please
Make a noice and snap the boom if
I
Could make you feel like
This
Would you give into it
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I am
Letting you go
Letting you go
Letting you go
Letting you go
I would sever my hands
Just to stay silent
To never play another song about you
I've learned living without you
Is like inaudiable violence
Living without you is living without me
I'm letting you go
I'm letting you go
Living without you is like
Living without my hands
There's something wrong in here
I would sever my hands
Just to stay silent
To never play another song about you
I've learned living without you
Is like inaudiable violence
Living without you is living without me
I... would... sever... I... would... sever...
I'm letting you go
I'm letting you go
I'm letting you go
--[/i]
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| Getting my mind off other things... |
| 07.08.04 (7:04 pm) [edit] |
Well, who DOESN'T know that I've been depressed. I got a call from the Leezard telling me that I'm a depressing individual. I forgot that people read this thing.
Okay, let me explain. I use this blog as a way for me to vent what I cannot do otherwise. Anger, guilt, and rage can be exercised so much through song writing before every piece begins to look like the last. Enter avarice. Here I can express myself in ways that my poems and songs cannot fully push out. It's plain. It's simple. It's my life without the clever metaphores and similies that buffer the truth from the audience. It's fact instead of vague. It's me.
Yes, I do get happy, and yes, I've been pretty happy in the last three days. Not amazingly crazy happy, but that bittersweet happiness that hints that something might happen if you wait through the credits. It's that thought that leaves me here, bored and tired of the scrolling names of the nameless, but hoping for something great. As it is, though, I can only comment on the end title, not the easter egg.
In an attempt to get my mind off things, I've put in to work more, increasing my hours from 10 to 13 a day, five days a week, and six hours on Saturday, which is fortunate as I've moved out of my home into the apartment next door, where the rent is more, the environment is less, but i don't have to live with two people who are fucking. Not that I have a problem with either of them separately.
New topic: Leezard needs money. I wish I had the full $500 I owe him. Hell, I wish I had pots and pans. My new apartment needs furnishing, but people demand dollars. Avarice, meet Capitolism, Capitolism, rape Avarice.
Oh well. I should look at the bright side. At least the neighbor wants to jump my bones. Too bad her husband doesn't agree.
--Avarice
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