Michael Kindt's Blog, page 513
June 16, 2011
A bit harsh?
Eh, maybe. I formally apologize. Seriously, though. It ain't that bad. First of all, you have the internet. That's something. You can always run or leave. I've noticed the most depressed people are convinced that the life they have right now is all they will ever have. No fucking wonder they're depressed. You are not trapped in your life and you can change it at will—if you really want to.
But, yeah. No one listens to me so whatever.
Why when somebody is "supposedly" going to kill themselves do they have to announce it on Tumblr?
Look, I'm pro-suicide, don't get me wrong. The world's overcrowded as it is without these whiny teenagers. You're sad and you hate life, fine. GTFO.
Can't you, like, kill yourself in private or something? I'm trying to surf the internet here.
So earlier I was trying to go to a rocknroll show and this is...
So earlier I was trying to go to a rocknroll show and this is what I came across. It was a LONG-ASS train and was CREEPING along. Very slow. Fuck, I could sleep faster than that. So I sat there, playing with myself and taking pictures. Bored.
The show was alright. An enormous ok. It was all metal, hardcore type stuff. Not really my thing. Punk rock makes the world go round, but I sat there and listened to the mechanical, comically speedy riffs and didn't say a word to the management (who, I learned last time, are on parole for pot).
The crowd was different, too, from last time. These folks were chunkier, well-fed, not the type to shy away from cake, cookies, donuts, or ice cream. The punkers at the last show all looked like they were starving. Not these metal heads.
Could be a local phenomenon.
Anyway. I had a six-pack in my car and kept going out there and nursing like an eager, newborn baby. Frankly, I was a bit bored.
And so concludes Wednesday.
June 15, 2011
Story time.
WE'LL CALL HIM FRED THE HEAD
I met him when we were 16. Another friend of mine knew him. He was just some kid then. We were all just some kids then. The first time I ever laid eyes on him was in a joint circle.
My other friend, Bill, introduced pot to our group of friends and, at the time, that made him the coolest fucking guy ever. He was kind of like a celebrity in our eyes and we were kind of like his disciples. I haven't seen Bill in years. The last time I came across him he was fixing a broken urinal in a casino john. No shit. And he was blazed to the sky while doing it.
"So this is Fred," Bill told us that day so many years ago. "He's cool."
Back then, we were all enthusiastic, if intermittent, pot smokers. Bill was our only source and we orbited around him like space junk, just waiting for him to smoke us up. By the time we all hit 19, we had become daily pot smokers with sources of our own.
I was Fred's best buddy by then and we smoked and smoked that wacky tobacky. We watched cartoons and found the subtext, and worse, the Ultimate Meaning. We ate like shit. Fast food. Munchies. Shit from gas stations. We were invincible, so didn't care. We were unconcerned with our mid-20s, which is when we'd start getting pudgy and sick a lot–pudgy from the fat content, sick from the lack of real nutrition, sick from all the chemicals.
I started getting tired of pot around 23, 24 years old. To this day, I much prefer alcohol. Pot makes my brain work feverishly, which annoys me since it's always working pretty feverishly anyway. Alcohol blots out the mind and this is something I can really get down with. Sometimes, I just need to sit there with a stupid look on my face and a single thought in my head: PUSSY!
Fred continued on…and on. He smoked pot daily, several times a day, for years on end. I blossomed into a health nut with a mild drinking problem. He turned into a couch potato with love handles who knew a lot about different tv shows and how 'trippy' they were.
"Dude, you gotta check out Adult Swim. It's sooooo fuckin trippy!"
The weird thing is, we remained friends right up until here recently. He still liked drinking occasionally and I still smoked pot occasionally. Hell, I just got baked, like, two weeks ago. But it was clear that we had each found our drug of choice.
We broke up over conspiracy theories. That's right, conspiracy theories. Specifically, his belief and need to talk about how THE GOVERNMENT is behind everything, even as far back as the Lincoln assassination. Of course, THE GOVERNMENT killed Kennedy and did 9/11 and put crack in the ghettos and caused the banking crisis. THE GOVERNMENT faked the moon landing. THE GOVERNMENT installs computer chips in us when we give blood or have surgery. Everything.
Everything you can think of was planned and executed by THE GOVERNMENT. Pot has warped his mind and given him structure. He sees puppet strings everywhere. Plans everywhere. Secret plans that are always executed perfectly.
I would ask him how THE GOVERNMENT could successfully do all this if it couldn't even keep him, Fred the Head, from smoking a simple joint, but that too was part of the plan. You see, when a plan fails, why, that's planned.
Invariably, he had to talk about this shit when we got together and we began hanging out less and less. Sometimes 4 months would go by between hangout sessions. But then I would get bored or lonely and call him up.
The final blow came a few months ago when he revealed that THE GOVERNMENT was really controlled by space aliens. He started rambling on and on about UFOs and Area 51 and Infiltrations of upper echelons and coverups and I just lost it. I just snapped.
I was standing in the kitchen, having just gotten another beer, when his "revelation" came spewing down the mountain of his 15 year long high like a big yellow avalanche of piss.
I paused for a minute, trying to be open-minded, and then began hurling full cans of beer at him as hard as I could.
"Ow! Ow! Hey! Hey!" he was now saying instead of this insane shit about THE GOVERNMENT and space aliens. He was saying something different each time a beer hit him, something new, and this was most welcome to my ears.
Most welcome.
He jumped up off the couch and ran to the door, cussing at me and saying how he'd kick my ass if it wasn't for me holding the big kitchen knife I hadn't realized I grabbed.
I guess alcohol has warped my mind and given me chaos. I see no puppet strings anywhere. No plans within plans. No structure, no hidden meaning, no secret agenda. Only this here, this one moment of me expressing myself, of me calling out into the dark.
I'll take this any day of week.
3 o'clock in the morning and I'm reading my cat book I got...
3 o'clock in the morning and I'm reading my cat book I got at a yard sale for 10 cents. It's pretty good. I especially enjoyed the part about their tails and how they use them as communication devices.
Anyway, I got to the part about diet and the book says you shouldn't change their food too often as this might cause digestive problems. I change up my kitty's food all the time and have seen no problems. She has a variety of flavors of wet catfood in the morning and two flavors of dry which I alternate in the evening. The book says "Don't worry about feeding your cat the same thing all the time. Variety doesn't matter to cats."
My question: how the hell does this guy know?
3 o'clock in the morning and I'm reading my cat...
3 o'clock in the morning and I'm reading my cat book I got at a yard sale for 10 cents. It's pretty good. I especially enjoyed the part about their tails and how they use them as communication devices.
Anyway, I got to the part about diet and the book says you shouldn't change their food too often as this might cause digestive problems. I change up my kitty's food all the time and have seen no problems. She has a variety of flavors of wet catfood in the morning and two flavors of dry which I alternate in the evening. The book says "Don't worry about feeding your cat the same thing all the time. Variety doesn't matter to cats."
My question: how the hell does this guy know?
June 14, 2011
Currently? Oh, just reading Wikipedia.
"Satire is primarily a literary genre or form, although in practice it can also be found in the graphic and performing arts. In satire, vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, and society itself, into improvement.[1] Although satire is usually meant to be funny, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit as a weapon.
A common feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm—"in satire, irony is militant"[2]—but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. This "militant" irony or sarcasm often professes to approve (or at least accept as natural) the very things the satirist wishes to attack.
Satire is nowadays found in many artistic forms of expression, including literature, plays, commentary, and media such as lyrics."
I might add: THE INTERNET HATES SATIRE
I might also add: BLOW ME
This website says that that website is NOT TRUE.
And since I don't believe that website, I will believe this website. In fact, I will even post a link to this website as SCIENTIFIC PROOF that that website is NOT TRUE.
Man, I love the internet :)
