Words

Been buying things to define who I am. This is very postmodern of me. This is very American. Or is it human? Don't judge a man until you have walked in his cowboy boots, even if they fit him just perfectly and only rub you the wrong way as you cross the desert. Even if they jangle on your feet like a child trying on mommy's high-heels.
Been buying things to prove to myself who I think I am. Let me explain: I am getting farther away from finding who I am by buying things, of course. What one needs to do is find an ashram in Bali under the direction of Ketut Liyer and undergo an indefinite amount of time thinking about nothing. This is a joke.
Spiritual tourism is very postmodern. Or very American. Or bullshit.
Been watching hours of the X-Files on Netflix because I've been needing to check out of the ego for awhile. Life is too fucking long.
People used to say, as they always say, when I was a teenager, when I was in High School that these were the best years of my life and were going to go by so fast. Who the hell were these people? In High School I made myself aware for the rest of my life that High School did not go by fast. Painfully slow.
As a child I reminded myself that when I had money of my own I would buy candy, because as a child I did not have money of my own and needed to ask permission to have candy. Now I buy candy.
Tired of finding out who I am. It seems like it should be obvious.
The Dalai Lama does not understad self-loathing. He went to a conference where the subject of self-hatred came up and it just didn't compute for him, if compute is something the Dalai Lama does at all. Doubtfully.
The Dalai Lama also did not understand the joke of a young and fucking stupid reporter who was interviewing him:
Dalai Lama walks into a pizza shop and says, "can you make me one with everything."
The Dalai Lama is not a postmodernist. He probably doesn't understand why people in this culture don't know themselves. He probably doesn't think Dumb and Dumber is funny.
Temet Nosce.
Written above the Oracles door in the Matrix. Know thyself.
A psychic told me how I was going to die, just not when.
Said I was going to be at work putting reduced fat cream cheese on a microwaved soft bleach white bagel with a butter knife, put the butter knife in my mouth to clean it off, walk towards the dishwasher with the knife clenched between my teeth, hands free, trip and have my brain impaled. My last few moments I think no thoughts and can speak no words as my hypothamlamus has been ripped in half and as I feel a rush of DMT I am vaguely aware this is the best moment of my life, albeit, understanding this without the context of words. Psychic says no music will be playing when this happens. So, I have been wearing my headphones lately.
But we all know, there is no avoiding the inevitable. Though the most troublesome bit is the reduced fat cream cheese.
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I'm miserable now.
Seattle (pronounced See-Tull) sucks. Wrote it a letter and shoved it in The Stranger sidewalk dispenser. Dear Seattle, fuck yourself.
Wrote it on the napkin of the Cupcake Royale where we spent 10 dollars and pissshit coffee and cupcakes made primarily of white flour and bullshit. Drove the hell out of there.
Last week stayed the night in Seattle on our way to Orcas Island and Patrick told us about the "Seattle Freeze" where nobody makes any friends because no one is a local and everyone hates non-locals. People will tell you their life story at a bartop, he tells us, but never invite you back to their house. Perpetual loneliness ensues.
I asked Patrick, why:
"No one knows, some people think it's the asian and scandinavian cultures mixing. Some say weather. There are many odd articles."
The only good things about Seattle are
1. Patrick
2. Dan Savage
3. The animal masks at Archie McPhee's.

Then there's the Horned Hand with its foamy ass beers and good tours.

Kombucha

Baby Mix Tape

Caught some geo-keshers in the lawn today.
They were here and gone. Left their little treasure and kept a new one. I was able to share in their discovery. Maybe I was a part of their discovery. A couple and their adolescent boys.
There are secret places all around us, waiting to be found.

Why does the robot man on the phone call himself John when we know he is not really a man? There are obvious lies abound. Told me I would get a ticket for two on a cruise if I answer some political questions. Sounded to good to be true.

Someone told me loneliness is the most constant human condition, we all share in it, but I disagree. I believe there are some people who live their whole lives without feeling lonely. Most of us experience it anyway, because our thoughts are mostly invisible.
It's for this reason I never understood why people so readily dismissed the Borg and having a computer chip in one's brain.
Disclosed this the other day leaning against a wall at a busy venue during an intermission talking to Kelly and "Matty." I told them I wouldn't mind having a computer chip in my brain because it would be easier to access information and if I were ever to be kidnapped it would be easier to find me.
What I don't tell them is how I am terrified of loneliness. What people fear about Big Brother I crave. Constant companionship. Constant monitoring. The idea that at all times someone cares enough to watch over me.
Sure, my anarchist friends would draw away from me as would the Christian ones who have read the Left Behind series.

Want to hear something fucked up? When I first discovered what rape was I wanted to be raped. Because I wanted someone to want me. A sick small sliver of love. I was just a little kid at the time too.

What the hell is wrong with me?

More on the subject of loneliness: sometimes I want it SO BAD. In the company of boring people mostly. I would rather be alone. One interesting person is worth a thousand boring people doing interesting things.

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!
- Kerouac

Thee Silver Mt. Zion's Efrim Menuck does not hesitate from using too many words. Use as many as it takes. Just keep the tone interesting.

Haven't been learning. Just assimilating information. Being a newly acquainted mac owner has made me more postmodern, more American, could you say, less human? Unsure. What I have discovered about all this is how inorganic my thinking has become, albeit, less complicated. Considering going to Thailand all I simply look it up on google maps, locate key cultural paradigms and subtleties, key phrases, research choice blogs of American travel in the region including the list of what is in their backpacks, become acclimated with the wikipedia description of the place and local politics, perhaps thumb a National Geographic, research current events through NPR, listen to a few podcasts and radio archives of historic and current upheavals and I feel fully secure and in the know with my future destination.

My language skills have become mush. But I am exposed. I am temporary. I am a wealth of knowledge.

I feel nervous for my teeth all the time.

On the subject of identity there was a time in my teens when I applied to work at Fred Meyer's. They have this whole series of hoops to jump through, one of them being a multi-page personality questionnaire with one of the questions being: do you trust your friends? *Always *Frequently *Sometimes *Rarely *Never.
We also walked through video scenarios depicting morally sticky situations. There was one where two men are hanging in a warehouse unloading some fruit when one man admits he is hungry.  He grabs some fruit and begins to maw down on it. Freeze frame. What do you do as the other coworker?
Walking away from the experience I felt shaken by the depth I was asked to go into myself. Shaken by what they wanted to know of me. Of course I lied. Said I always trusted my friends (imply overly naive?) and would report the fruit thief to my supervisor (heartless?). Fucking bureaucracy.

Cops at my work. Panicked recalling the negative comments I made about Palestinian human rights and Monsanto via a text to my Craigslist boyfriend. I feel weird because I am wearing fuzzy boots and no deodorant. Plus, I reek of garlic from the pesto I just had from lunch. No time to be arrested.