The Tin Wizard

A grassy part of Brooklyn

A grassy part of Brooklyn

Y’all I need more real life friends, specifically a nihilist friend who won’t judge me for things or try to improve my life with advice after I tell them some fucked up shit.

Also, I need more alone time. My wife is gone for the morning, and the morning consists of about 30 minutes before I go to work, and I am accomplishing all kinds of shit that would take me pretty much an entire day off with her here. Also I get to listen to music. She hates listening to music in the morning. In fact she refuses to do it, so I never get to wake up like Will Smith in I Am Legend, which is what I want to wake up like every day.

Today she left the building and I immediately played The Wizard by Black Sabbath. It was awesome. But then right before the climax it cut out because she was playing Spotify on her phone. Then I realized that my sister-in-law was still in her room. And I was really rocking out to that song.

How can I say I need more alone time to my wife? I don’t think I will. Doesn’t sound like a good idea.

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Exit Strategy

My little brother and I just crip-walked through the Marcy Projects. He’s on crutches after totaling my parents’ 2002 Chevy Malibu in a no-headlight night race on a back road in my hometown. We got accosted by a guy telling us how he was laid up for a week with two broken ribs. He got a settlement of $9000 and his building had to install a new stairway. He used the money to put two comfort girls up in a hotel room for a week. He called the experience his “fantasy island.”

I was glad Little Brother got the chance to interact with an old lecherous drunk with a penchant for repetitive storytelling here in Brooklyn. One skill that everyone who aspires to end up not hating humanity when they die should learn is the art of exiting a conversation. Specifically the art of exiting a boring conversation between yourself and a closet megalomaniac who possesses the eye of the ancient mariner.

Little Brother did well in this regard once the old bastard told him for the third time that he didn’t care to know our opinions on his decision to cheat on his wife. Little Brother pretended to see some friends in the distance. An ancient, overused and crude tactic, but effective once in a while. I myself have an arsenal of escape plans ranging from the subtle (successive 3-inch backward step) to the extreme (faking sarcoidosis).

However, neither of us were a match for Brother-in-Law, who uses a time honored three pronged offense: guilt, intimidation, and insincere self-deprecation. Luckily my sister came through in the clutch and harangued her husband from afar with incessant texts concerning his whereabouts, complete with pictures of his sad-faced spawn.

Apparently, Wife and Sister had some troubles of their own while I was away at work last night. My good friend is a deep thinker and a slow talker and allegedly using these tools to hold them hostage over dinner. He asked a litany of questions that had to do with Wife’s recent foray into the world of food policy vis-a-vis grad school, forcing them to consider the ugly implications of the food they were planning on enjoying.

Nothing goes to plan in a world filled with boorish yahoos, and we’re all boorish yahoos. Especially you.

Absent Minded Somnambulist

I am sitting next to my front door (on the inside of my apartment) on a gray rug that I stole from an absent minded somnambulist. I am sitting here drinking a beer that I don’t particularly like and I am thinking about what I did today. Only I’m not thinking of events because I can’t remember them well enough to make sense of them. Instead, I am thinking about this moment and what does it mean to be a man in Nautilus brand sweat pants two sizes too big with frayed bottoms drinking a beer in the dark at one in the morning while my wife sleeps and my good friend reposes on the love seat with his feet over the side and his breathing slow and shallow and that’s what makes me think he is asleep, too.

The reason I can’t think of the things I did today is that I am not the person who did those things. Maybe half my cells have died and been replaced since then. My mind certainly can’t process the past in a satisfactory way. It skews even the present, but not as viciously as it does the past. The memories I have now are only a representation of the person I’ve become since those memories allegedly occurred.

Anyway, it’s kind of nice here, now that I think about it. The beer is not tasty but it is alcoholic and oftentimes that’s what matters.

(Just now, by the way, I think someone built an entire jungle gym right outside of my door and then dropped it down the stairs. Either that or Charles Bronson is escaping this building’s stairwell using only a tin sledgehammer and a baby’s rattle.)

It’s nice here and besides I have had a nice day. I didn’t expect it to end this way, but that’s okay.

See my friend came to visit me and I had to work. So I was away for eight and a half hours and they were thinking of coming out after I got off. But then I texted them at midnight to say what’s up and got no reply. Then I walk into a dark apartment and so it goes.

I am so angry that I am going to say Fuck so many times

These fucking assholes. God damn I try to be a fucking tranquil person and like mother fuckers but the truth is I fucking hate almost everyone. I can’t stop hating them because they’re fucking stupid fucks. Fuck them. God fucking damn it how I hate them almost all of them.

I was just now riding my bike home from a bar, and there were a bunch of people there who don’t give a fuck about anyone and they are mean to people, and they are also stupid and they suck. I hate almost all of them. But I was sitting next to someone that I really like a lot who I like even more the more I get to know them and we had a great time even though all these people who were not only self-absorbed the way that I am, they were self-absorbed without even realizing it. It’s like fucking George Patton said about General what’s his face in that movie, “I know I’m a prima donna! I admit it. I just wish he would!” Motherfuckers so damn stuck up their own ass they don’t even realize someone else is talking. They don’t even realize other people can talk. Fucking hell mother fuckers please shut up for a second.

And so we were having a great time, and then we left. And here my ass is riding the fuck home on a bike and I’m almost the fuck home, like three seconds away, and I catch a light, son of a bitch, and I stop and this mother fucker honks at me from behind.

Now I hate mother fucking bikers like they’re the god damn plague because they are. I thought when I got a bike everyone on a bike was on my team now. It’s us against the cars! We’re saving the earth and shit. Hell no, shit ain’t like that at all. Almost everyone on a bike is an asshole and act like you aren’t on a bike right the fuck next to them and can’t fucking bite their ear lobe off and cut you off actually cut you the fuck off while you’re on a fucking bike! And all kinds of malicious dumb shit that no one ever needs to do and they just fucking do it and why? Fuck knows why those fucks just do it. Because they’re fucking people, I guess, and I don’t know but people lately seem to be really fucking up my day.

And it almost feels like some middle school shit like listening to Nirvana, like oh my god no one else is cool no one understands me but fuck I understand that shit, I know I am the same as everyone else, I am a person. But why is it that no one else gives a fuck about me, or even tries to pretend. I try to pretend I give a fuck about people. I do a damn good job of pretending I give a fuck about someone, but everyone else, almost, is willing to fucking just run into mother fuckers on the street as if they are the only people on earth walking on a god damn street. They don’t even try to pretend.

But anyway, so I hate bikes and I know cars don’t like being behind bikes and shit, I mean fuck it sucks trying to drive around bikers, even nice ones, you wouldn’t know because you’re in a car and they’re not going to cut you off unless they’re super assholes and some of them are. So I understand, being behind a bike is a real bitch.

But fuck Jesus Christ it’s 1 o’clock in the god damn morning and I’m riding home in the right lane and the left lane is completely open and a mother fucker rolls up behind me and honks. Well guess the fuck what. We are both rolling up to a red fucking light. We can’t neither of us fucking go, you fucking bitch ass mother fucker behind me, so fuck you. And you’re fucking honking at me? Fuck you, I fucking hate you you piece of shit.

And they’re honking and you know what, I don’t even fucking hate them, I’m like, ah, they’re honking because when the light turns green they don’t want to be behind me. Fucking hell, I’d probably feel the same way, even though I wouldn’t fucking honk because I’d pretend to understand that this mother fucker on a bike was another human being with a family and desires and a penis or a vagina and some fucking hair on his head and we all got to get through this dumb shit together so why would I ever be like “Hey bitch I’m in a car so honk honk mother fucker.”

But nah, I understand, I don’t give a fuck, mother fuckers are honking.

Well what do you know but I hear, “Excuse me.”

I’m like, thinking oh this mother fucker just wants to know how to get to Dunkin Donuts or some shit.

Well it’s this old drunk bitch in the seat saying “Excuse me.”

And I’m like yeah I just served a bunch of you looking motherfuckers at the bar, and you all were assholes to me but it’s all good, I’ll tell you how to get to Dunkin Donuts, why would I withhold that information just because you happen to resemble a bunch of fucking people that I hate?

Well, this bitch says to me, “Excuse me. Excuse me,” and I nod and she says, “Please pay attention. Just pay attention, please.” As if to say that she really cares about me, and that I’m fucking up right now.

Oh fuck that really pissed me off. What a bitch! I was just riding home, the whole time I was thinking about this person that I was hanging out with and how we were having such a damn fun ass time and shit, and now she’s the only fucking thing that I can think of. “Please pay attention. Thank you.” Are you fucking kidding me you bitch! I fucking hate you! Who are you to say some shit like that, like I’m not fucking Genghis Khan out this bitch, like I won’t slice up your ventricles and saute them bitches to garnish my mushroom soup. Fuck you bitch I fucking hate you. I’m fucking riding home you bitch in a fucking minivan driven by your drunk cohort. You’re drunk bitch, get off the road, go sleep in a fucking lake. God I fucking hate you. God fucking damn it why can’t motherfuckers let another mother fucker live once in a while. Why go fucking other people’s whole fucking nights up. And yes I hate myself for letting one dumb bitch fuck up my whole night, but I can’t seem to change. I fucking hate the whole fucking world, except for some people who at least pretend to be nice.

Just fucking pretend, even if you hate everyone, just fucking pretend that you don’t. The worst thing is that these fucking fucks think that they are nice people. They walk around and say well I’m a nice person! The fuck you are. You are a fucking asshole who destroys days, and you know why you are, because you don’t realize that other fucking people exist. You never once think about other people. You fucks. I hate fucking hate you. God fucking damn it, and you know what I do to people I hate? I say nice things to them. I try to include them, to make their lives less fucked up because obviously no one likes them and they have no friends so their lives are a fucking tragedy and I try not to add to that. Do they do anything in return? Why yes, they do. They act a fucking fool and stick their dicks in my ass. Ah fuck I hate them so much that I want to stick my own dick in my ass and eat a cheeseburger and never see anyone ever again.

Sitting on the Stoop

I was reading through some of my old posts last night, before I went to bed, and then in bed I had this idea of a blog as a kind of front porch, or a stoop as some would say. It’s a place where I can sit down and just kick some old bullshit with whoever walks by.

And what more does a person need in life than a boiled potato, a sprinkle of salt, and somebody to kick some bullshit with? Maybe some music.

I started to think about what a person really needs in life to be happy and I think it’s really just some good food on an empty stomach with some music. You can be happy for at least five minutes with that, and if you’re happy five minutes a day, well you’re pretty lucky.

Thoreau, that old bastard, he got me thinking of this. Check this out:

I learned from my two years’ experience that it would cost incredibly little trouble to obtain one’s necessary food, even in this latitude; that a man may use as simple a diet as the animals, and yet retain health and strength. I have made a satisfactory dinner, satisfactory on several accounts, simply off a dish of purslane…which I gathered in my cornfield, boiled and salted… And pray what more can a reasonable man desire, in peaceful times, in ordinary noons, than a sufficient number of ears of green sweet corn boiled, with the addition of salt.

Yes, but even that old bastard wanted a bit of salt.

But seriously, that is real. I used to think, back when I had two or three jobs and was constantly working, that if I only had time for a shower at the end of the night, then I was living the high life. And God knows that’s true. Jesus Christ, that a mother fucker could stand under a spray of hot water, how fucked up is that? Mother fuckers can’t evenĀ drink water in this world and here I am just standing there. I’d work a whole week to take a hot shower. Ha, that’s funny to say, too, because poor bastards without hot water work their whole lives and never have a hot shower.

But anyway, back to the analogy of the stoop. I was getting pretty down as I always do about what the fuck am I doing with my life and so on, and on top of that having zero-view days, I don’t know. Shit was fucking me up. But then I thought last night, well, if it’s like a stoop, what does it matter if one good friend comes by or a thousand strangers walk by? One doesn’t go out on the front porch with an appointment. You don’t call a bunch of your friends up to go sit on the porch. If you call people up you go sit in the backyard. So you sit your ass on the porch to watch the world go by, and if someone happens to have the time, they might sit down, too. And maybe somebody will make some sun tea.