Free Morning

What does it mean when you have a free morning? Well for me it means that I don’t go to work until night time. Around two PM or so. I think I don’t write before then because I feel like I should do something productive, and that doesn’t feel productive, and so then I usually give up on doing something productive and don’t write either…I usually clean something and then watch porn jerk off and watch a movie. So in the end I didn’t do anything productive anyway. Nothing to distinguish this day from the myriad days before it. Usually these kinds of days I only feel good when I’m eating. I don’t feel good then either.

“The universal demand for happiness and the widespread unhappiness in our society (and they are but two sides of the same coin) are among the most persuasive signs that we have begun to live in a labor society which lacks enough laboring to keep it contented. For only the animal labors, and neither the craftsman nor the man of action, has ever demanded to be ‘happy’ or thought that mortal man could be happy.”

Hannah Arendt said that. She was apparently a German philosopher or politician or both. I don’t know, shit I just saw the quote somewhere and it made sense to me at the time.

DH Lawrence said, “Work is the best, and a certain numbness, a merciful numbness.” I think that’s quoted right. Some other French guy said something about work being the only way to distract yourself from the fact that you are going to die, or you are dying, or something like that.

Yeah shit I feel that shit like a motherfucker. God damn. If I’m not at work I’m wondering what the fuck I am doing. And I don’t sit around wanting to go to work either. I feel like Milo in The Phantom Tollbooth. When I’m at school I want to be at home and when I’m at home I want to be at school.

Hoo shit. I think I’ll change this theme. I think it’s a wedding theme right now.

The funny thing about life is that last week I slept until twelve every day so to be up right now well shit I’m already at it. Fuck it. I think I just need some chemicals, and nothing crazy either, just a lot of caffeine or a lot of alcohol and I’m all good, wait for death in a peaceable way.

Damn but it’s cold up in this mother fucker and yesterday well…it’s not so much cold but my fingers are cold and I don’t know how to cure that and it’s the most annoying thing.

But I was thinking we are so removed from inconvenience in our modern world. Cold outside? Fuck it, come inside. We all got houses. Hungry? Fuck it, eat. Cut yourself shaving? Son of a bitch. If you were shivering in the cold trying to hunt a wallaby and that shit came after you in a horde of em like they were going to wash over you like a flood when the levee broke well you wouldn’t be shaving anyway.

Fuck it.

Rum and the Philippines

This picture shows some graffiti in Brooklyn, New York

I like this wall


Shit. Maybe this has nothing to do with rum or the Philippines. But anyway fuck it. I’m going all out on this one and calling up Rumpelstiltskin and the gang. That’s what I told myself an hour ago, but I’m still here, just me, drinking this beer and scratching my eye lids.

About four hours ago I had a redeye, or a shot-in-the-dark, or a brewski, a coffee with espresso in it however you’d like to say it. Won’t be able to sleep for a while and that’s how I like it. I’ve listened to the song Anyone’s Ghost by The National 9 times in a row since I sat down a minute ago. Or an hour ago. No an hour ago I danced around the kitchen and did the dishes. Fuck it.

Yeah so I was reading about rum and the Philippines. This one rum called Don Papa named after a hero of the Philippines. Someone who apparently helped liberate the island of Negros from Spanish rule. Now is it Negros the island…or is there an island called Negros Occidental…or is that a town? I don’t know. Shit I could find out but I’ll save it for later. Something I don’t know.

God damn I am in shape. How did I get this way? I don’t know. For dinner I ate a pound and a half of elbow macaroni. Did I say dinner because I meant I ate that around dinner time. Then later I ate leftover Chinese food, enough that it could be considered dinner, too. Fuck it.

Shit, Rumpelstiltskin is not spelled Rumplestiltskin. Rumple is a word, though. My brain feels rumply right now. Hoo shit it looks like Rumply is a word, too.

Fuck it.

Anyway I’m thinking about going to the Philippines. And they drink a lot of rum there. Apparently, Tom Brown and I have read the same book. He’s sticking loggerheads into rum and sugar concoctions and calling it flip, and well he should since I have just read a book that talked about doing just that and calling it flip back in the days when the states were just colonies. That book was …And a Bottle of Rum. Which apparently was one of the lines of the old school version of a Katy Perry song.

But shit, what’s the point? To any of it or all of it. Fuck it, I don’t know. I really don’t. The whole thing smells funny in a metaphorical way. I wish I knew what a metaphor really was, but it’s hard to pin those fuckers down.

I think I’ll go around and comment on some people’s blog posts.

Fuck it.