The Obscure

Fuck!
Gotta' write somewhere.
The bloody red sun of fantastic L.A. Scores of whores all cheap and frisky, give me a few more shots of whisky.
Why do I write these things? Why do I not just type out the stories that constantly run through my brain? Because I have drunk a lot of wine and I'm feelin' fine, gotta brand new zabzeebaba.
Young Dudes, I wanna hear you.

I suppose that was all just so much hot gas, sometimes I have to write a lot of violent nonsense to regain control of my mind. Tonight though, what a night! Here I am with a glass of wine, about 500 cigarettes, and devilish good looks.
When I take stock of the world (you know, like I do), when I really stop and look at all the horrible things that build up the fabric of this place we live in, I realize that I am--with all things said--no better than they. I want to give up, dig myself a bed of earth, sleep for a few centuries and see if I can stand living any more the next time I open my eyes.
No better than they. They. How strange that such a word can cause such a violent upheaval of emotions in the human heart. We automatically take a simple word, such as "they," used in a certain context, and every decent human being across the planet will be able to understand to whom you refer. Those faceless ones, those monsters of sin and decadence. Those vile and disgusting users and perverters of the human condition.
It is a sad few who realize that we are all, in one way or another, a part of "them."
For isn't it said, as the Late Great Jesus Christ with Sweetness and Spice was once quoted, "He who is without sin, cast the first stone." I do not think that that is as much a statement for the quality of forgiveness as it is an astute aspersion on the human character. I myself could criticize a good eighty-five percent of the people I know for sins of a most deadly mortal nature, and yet I myself got my drinks, I got my kinks, and I got my thinks, which are by far the worse of the trio; my thoughts, dripping with dirty sweat, unnecessary blood, the stink of my vile nature.
Every human being in the world has those three things as the great obstacles in their lives. I know I made it sound silly, but being silly and a little drunk I can't think of any other way to say it. We got our drinks, our kinks, and our thinks. We have our substances, every substance great and small can and will become a problem for someone, we have our sexual dysfunctions--for there is no living person on this rock who doesn't think in the least about sex and isn't a little strange in the sack--and we have our thoughts, our thoughts which elevate these first two vices we all share into areas that common discussion between fifth-grade losers with their stolen momma's rum have left unplumbed (that really is saying something). Without our disgusting minds the addictions and perversions that we all have would be as so little chaff, or whatever.
Yessir, there is no man or woman on this Earth without sin. Perhaps it is only personal character, but instead of making me think that we are all equal in our need for forgiveness, it makes me think that I am a run-down, drugged out, freaked out, oversexed piece of shit, and I deserve hell.
Of course, being a christian, I have to also observe that we all deserve hell, and consequently all are equal in our need for forgiveness.
But we are all horrible shit-heads, that is some food for thought.

On another note... I don't have any other notes.
Fucking A, man, what have we come to? Our legacy for our children will be stories of infidelity, substance abuse, our kids will lose faith in life before their chance for living can ever come, because we are a generation of failure. We have no great wars, we have no revolution, we have no eras of new thought, no renaissance, no devout persons of religion.
We have money. We have sex. Not the lovely act of sex between a man and a woman, not intimacy, we've got some nameless chick's ass jiggling in our face every fifteen seconds on television, we have more porn coming our in a day than books in a year, we got some dude who will refuse to put a shirt on for anybody regardless of the temperature so that he can stand there with his thuggy looks and steroid pectorals. And his goddamn hat.
What do I got? I got a million billion words about how I hate my life, how I love my life, and how the whole world should go to hell. I have a blood alcohol level of .25
I have a twisted body and a shattered mind.
Isn't that an archetype for humanity, ladies and gents? We bitch, we get soppy, we hate, we get high, and we all fucking lose.
No moral, I'm just bitching and getting high. Bye ladies!