February 2005 - Posts

One last shot before the Doctor retires: Hunter S. Thompson leaves America to wander blind and savage in the wilderness.

 It's another dog-yawn dawn in the Valley of The Dead where the Haunted and the Damned clash like owls and crows across the brackish gutters and rotting architecture. The crows may have the numbers but the owls run the night. The local weeds seem to be the only flourishing life as they rise to hip height and grow lush on the ruin of all else.
The bars and bodegas in this liqueur-sewered necropolis are the only public places that host traces of life...
If you aren't running from the living dead here, you're avoiding the ire of the Mad-Living; Those wild-eyed human primates that will bring you spasming to the floor for their amusement the moment they figure the best way to cut you.

The only way to stay alive, awake and sane here is to appear crazier the rest and make love to death without letting her spend the night in your bed.
The trick is not letting the act become the truth... To wear that armor without inhabiting it.

Everyone who can harm you must fear and respect the beast you may become, but when you stumble through the door of your home it's time to take the fangs out and plop 'em into the glass on the bedside table and curl up with a book.

If you want to believe that humanity has any kind of chance at being worth the risk, I don't recommend Hunter S. Thompson unless you scrutinize those pages "with the right kind of eyes".
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - H.S.T.


"The American Dream... Is fucked."- Thompson

Self Ownership (A repeat)

The Government has gotten too big.

Most of my cohorts know this and lament it every time we have to sneak our preban weaponry out to one of the local Reservations for a morning of plinking.

But I'm not talking about Arnie and his recent move to make his post of Civil Servant seem more palatable to the Federal crowd; You know... Banning a rifle so obscenely overpriced that I would have to rent my body out to numerous strangers before even being able to put one on layaway.

I'm talking about the fact that I cannot legally rent out my body, or perform a number of actions with the one single asset I have that cannot be taken hold of by any fiscal institution.

I could lie down for a million strangers in some roadside motel-room and allow my fleshy chassis to become the affection-sponge of a sweaty multitude as long I didn't charge them a dime.
I could record it and sell the DVD over the Internet until it was pirated and made available on some peer-to-peer network... But that is just degrading.

If someone who rents out their time and services for a living gets caught, they are incarcerated in a place where others will be given the opportunity to force it out of them. American Justice at work.

I'm of the opinion that if someone does ANYTHING well, they should be paid for it.
Some will agree that marriage is simply a contract for money and sex to exchange over the course of a life-time.
Should the contract become dissolved, the woman still gets the money and the man still gets fucked... Unless a previous arrangement is made.

It's not just about sex. (This may come as a shock to all of you who have read this far without drifting to their favorite porn-site.)  

You are not even allowed complete control over the care or management of your own flesh. Long gone may be the days where strict dress-codes applied to the sexes and classes, but what about your health?
Anyone with an HMO knows damned good and well the frustration of having someone who is not living in their body tell them what they can or can't do with it. 
What about self-medication? A Doctor who never grew up in your town or lived nearly the same life as you can easily prescribe any number of toxic medications they choose while you cannot grow, harvest, or ingest your own plant or fungus without risking prosecution.

I wonder what they would do if they knew about the several barbarous surgeries I've performed upon myself over the last few years. I've found that there are very few surface ailments I can't treat by either burning, piercing, scraping, or salting them in the privacy of my own bathroom.
No need for gloves or anesthesia; A sewing-needle, disposable lighter, somewhat new razor-blade and few fingers of whiskey a year keep the Dermatologist away.

Mind you... It would be harder to acquire (let alone AFFORD) insurance if anyone could prove half the things I know I've done to myself.

Choosing how you live isn't afforded you and neither is choosing how you die. I cannot think of a more private act than death. Unlike birth or conception, death is the ONLY action you can perform of these three without needing another's input or presence. So why can I not chose the time-place and means on my own? My life was the only gift my parents could give to me that I can be sure to keep until death.
True it can be taken from me but I can also take my own life.
(Wait a minute... If I take my own life from myself, who is left with it at the end Me?)
My Father and Uncle made a little pact about being kept alive by machinery. The moment one finds them-self in that spot, the other makes sure the plug is pulled.
Sounds like a reasonable contract between consenting adults to me.

Maybe one day I'll get tired of living and try to kill myself. If I should fail, I'll be punished and examined. My answer will be “Fuck, Doc... I already know what my condition is and I prescribed “death” as the cure. Who the fuck needs you?”

But the death of a human being is only legally allowed by the state... That bureaucratic entity which self-manages and self-investigates and self-abuses...
(Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehhehehehehehhehehehehehehehhe...)
If I decide for myself that a person should die and then carry out the act, the State will then remind me that murder is morally wrong by killing me. Who avenges innocent deaths at the hands of a corrupt and malfunctioning system?

Not allowed to decide my life.
Not allowed to decide my death.

And what about the body?
It is illegal to sell your body to anyone, even medical research groups. Mind you, they can rip your gooey husk into shreds and sell them at fair market value. They get all the green while you get several jars of cloudy yellow fluid to float in.
What the fuck is all that about?
 I have been responsible for the care and maintenance of my own rotting meat and bone for nearly as long as I can remember, but I can't ensure a return on the investment once my need for the goods expires? Shit...
What about a trade-in?
I'll gladly trade this slightly muscular and healthy frame of labor for that of a sixteen-year old girl so I can masturbate with a fervor that hasn't been beheld sine the crucifix scene in “The Exorcist”.
K... So sometimes it as just about the sex.

My gripe isn't with rules; Those are there to protect the ignorant and the weak.
(Since I am neither, I'll continue to function without them.)
My gripe is with rules that concern what I do with my own body.

I haven't even hovered over the topic of homosexuality in this rant because it involves other people and their invested interest.
As far as homosexuality goes... When you look at the previous comments on self-ownership, you can easily tell that I have come to the conclusion that the State has NO BUSINESS in deciding what happens in an intimate relationship between two or more people.


“It's mine and I'll wash it as fast as I want.”

Hammering out the site, blog, and life...

I gave my two weeks notice today.
It was mutual although the owner wants to be able to have me consult and help him out of tight spots here and there.

He also wants me to show up for parties.

This thing should be pretty whipped into shape soon... Since I may end up having plenty f time for it. Nearly finnished with my book too.

Friggin tired though...

The first feeble steps...

I'm just setting this thing up now. I'd really like to see it grow into an online community.

That was the goal of the first Deleted Logic... But it's failure was predictable.

Anyway...

Back to whipping this motherfucker into shape.

Later, Folks.