“My insanity is an idiosyncrasy of my genius” -me
He is labeled a sys white man over 50 and a relic of the patriarchal era; when most of the army was made up of men, and most of the politicians -all of the presidents- were men, and all of the presidents men, ditto.
But, Youtube‘s algorithm steers me towards his online lectures. If I just let it auto-play, it will always wind up on Gutfeld! through one path or other. It will never go to Rachael Maddow or CNN without me intervening.
This is part of some plan, cooked up by some global oligarch(s) with the aim of separating the population into 2 distinct belief systems that will be, hopefully to them, at odds with each other.
I find that Tucker Carlson makes a lot of sense, but deals with issues that will ultimately not matter much; extremes that will never come to fruition. He points out things that are signs of a dysfunctional society; but things that almost everyone will be outraged over, talk about for a while, and then become distracted from, due to the next “current thing.”
I’m thinking of following the lead of my friend Jacob Scardino; and just blocking out most of the political stuff -unsubscribing if that is effective, from Fox and NewsMax and Rachael Maddow (who looks like a lesbian, and so I discount her opinion); and might go so far as discontinuing Ben Shapiro. They point out problems, they suggest solutions, they superimpose what turns out to be a “right” or “left” slant on things, depending upon who they are; but ultimately they denigrate each other; and do it with heavy doses of sarcasm, or outright derision. Maddow comes across kind of like the Saturday Night Live character (played by Pauly Short?) called “the church lady.” Rachael even uses a similar: Oh, isn’t that special?! tone of voice as the church lady did; when she smears, mostly Donald Trump. The upshot is that it is done using a middle school type dynamic; trying to well emotions.
Russel Brand, Jordan Peterson, “Awaken With JP,” and Joe Rogan, along with John Anderson, that Australian guy -from them I will get most of my information; they are my connections to common sense.
I will save all the time I might otherwise have wasted on listening to political stuff (with the exception of catching Bob Caravajal on 800 AM radio, here in New Orleans. AM radio is beyond censorship, and it is amusing to hear overt anti-vaxxers and such opine over airwaves that are beyond the tentacles of the social media censors).
I might keep Jimmy Dore on my list.
There are others that I should probably unsubscribe from, if only because I can’t think of their complete names right now; how important to me can they be if I can’t recall their names?
There are a lot of messed up narratives out there; but I don’t need people like that Jesse Waters guy in my living room every morning, getting me all riled up when my focus should be upon becoming the best busker possible. There is where my fortune lies. If Alex in California can make any money at all busing; given that Wendell the flutist has described him as: “A really nice guy, but just awful sounding on that horn” then I suppose that is an indication that busking pays, period, and is where I should pour out my efforts.
The “Tastes Like Music” site, I find to be very stimulating. They do things like rank the albums by different bands. I first discovered them after they had just done so for the band Yes. There are 4 guys who each submit lists based upon their opinions. All 4 of them ranked “The Ladder,” towards the bottom of their lists; and that kind of burned me up, because I think that is my very favorite Yes album, and “Talk,” is in my personal top 5, but all of their bottom 5’s. And, so I became hooked on their website; good for them!
Vladimir, My Role Model
…he had appreciated all of her from tip to toe: the liveliness of her russet curls (recently trimmed); the radiance of her large slightly vacuous eyes, somehow suggesting translucent gooseberries; her merry, warm complexion; here pink mouth, slightly open so that two large front teeth barely rested on the protuberance of the lower lip; the summery tint of her bare arms with the sleek little foxlike hairs running along the forearms; the indistinct tenderness of her still narrow but already not quite flat chest; the way the folds of her skirt moved; their succinctness and soft concavities; the slenderness and glow of her uncaring legs; the course straps of the skates.
Excuse the above paragraph; I just wanted to type some Vladimir Nabokov; for the same reason I like to play little JS Bach pieces on my guitar; because they sound good.
I went and sold my plasma today, so I’m sitting on a pile of about 17 bucks in cash; after having gotten Harold a 3.15 pound bag that will last him about 10 days; a bag of kratom that will last me about half as long, and one hit of crack, that lasted about 45 minutes. I have the ability to get as high as you do when you do something akin to injecting Novocaine directly into the brain (instead of into the nerves of the teeth) and then to shake off the “coming down” aspect of the drug, by maybe doing a tablespoon of kratom and perhaps a few rounds of Wim Hof’s breathing exercises.
There is always an almost unconscious drive to go out and get more, at that point; a drive that some succumb to, like my old friend Bobby, who would just keep going; all the way to the point of selling his property, to purchase more crack which will not get him nearly as high as he was, but rather will only stave off the downward spiral of mood; that is like the opposite of the high. I am able to alleviate this, and will stop after having spent 5 bucks; and be back to my normal life a few hours later.
When I hear people who have never tried the stuff denigrating the people who are addicted to it at the Bobby level by calling them “crackheads,” I always see, behind their words, a sort of inferiority complex in them. The fear that they are no better, and perhaps worse than these “crackheads.” For example Alex Carter, on his blog, talks about going through a certain alley with an assault rifle, perhaps, and executing all the drug addicts. I think this is driven by a void at the core of his being that he fears would be filled by the rush that would come if he ever were to try a hit of the stuff. He suspects that he would like it so much; exponentially more than he enjoyed his vodka buzz, back when he drank; and it might fill him with false bravado and give him the sense that he had conquered his “daddy issues,” or whatever it is in him that seems to drive him from one religion to the next; one musical instrument to the next; one job to the next, etc. It would make him like that mascot who discovers that when he is in the costume he becomes a totally different person. Maybe he would dance around in a way that felt liberating; talk to pretty women; maybe horse around with them, etc. imbued with confidence and, well, liberated in some way.
If someone like Alex had ever snorted a line of cocaine in his whole life, and then had concluded that he was above using it to feel brave and confident; and had decided to just rely upon his own ability to be the boss of his own life, type of thing. But, people who have never tried something and then denigrate a whole group of people, calling them names rather than trying to find the humanity in them; treat them as individuals, find common ground with them; it’s easier to “other” them, and objectify them; along with “Trumpers,” “anti-vaxxers,” “white’s” and just “zombies,” in general.
I suppose I’ve been just as guilty; back when I was half obsessed with my undefined rage against panhandlers, whom I dubbed “skeezers.” At least I realize that I demonized all beggars for the same reason; As a manifestation of a fear that, through something beyond my control, I will some day have to beg someone, somewhere, for something. I hated skeezers because they were like the ghosts of days future; there as harbingers of where I may have been heading. Circumstances would make it so I had to skieze; and I would feel so ashamed that so, to perish the thought; I just “hated” skeezers.
Someone told me, when I was in my 20’s to never try heroin, because in his estimation of me: “You would like it too much.” as he saw me as an introverted, day-dreamer type, and I would fall in love with the drug and, I guess, become a hopeless addict in short order.
That was good, well meaning advice from a friend and an addict, who said that he still got “heeby geebies” from just driving through the neighborhood where he used to score his dope. He said that when we were riding through that very neighborhood in Holyoke, Massachusetts. I was bringing him to the clinic where he got his methadone “treatments” every week, or whatever. The clinic was located right in the heart of where all the heroin was sold. Of course it was.
He had asked me if I would sit in his car, which he had to keep running because of a battery issue, and make sure nobody stole it while he was in getting his dose.
Well, I had to see what all the fuss was about; why a lot of my musical idols -Miles Davis, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Jim Carroll; had all been addicted to heroin. So I let my friend Bobby shoot me up one night, just like my heroes. I didn’t like the stuff; I realized that I had been blessed with a state of mind that was not far from being high on heroin in my normal waking state. In fact the heroin was a distraction from my normal daydreaming state of mind. And so, that was the last time I ever “did” heroin, about 3 years ago now…
And I am less prone to crap on the heroin addicts and consider them less than human now; There are just people who have never experienced true joy in their lives and for whom the artificial chemical high that takes place in the brain off these drugs is there first encounter with being happy, at the chemical level, and so they become hooked.
That is what I think of when I read on Alex Carter’s blog about how he wants to go through an alley with a machine gun and kill all the “crackheads.” He wouldn’t fare as well as myself, I surmise, should he ever do just one hit of crack out of curiosity -to see what the buzz was all about -he would wind up selling off stuff on e-bay, behind “Ken “s back, and his nightly crack smoking sessions would become his raison d’etre and it would bring to light how he has all along been just as, if not more, spiritually bankrupt than all those “zombies” that he can’t escape feeling superior towards. I’ve seen it a million times…
But, enough about Alex in California....
I just ate a meal of nothing but meat and greens, with some garlic and avocado oil factored in; and I am feeling the universal specificity (meaning that he was just showing us what we all are) of Jesus Christ; after that last supper.
I had some really good red wine; but not as good as I might have tomorrow. For now I have the bar code from the bottle that I paid 8 bucks for, and I can soak the bottle in warm water to remove it, then have it on my tongue as I go in the store tomorrow; then glue it over the one on one of the 50 dollar bottles that are so appealing. I will then probably go through the self check out, just in case one of those cashiers of color might have the wherewithal to notice that a bar code is stuck on top of another one.
Why should I not take advantage of the low IQ’s of the staff of color in that store and start drinking expensive wine every night? I am thinking. That way I could turn their open hostility that they display towards me, based upon the color of my skin, into an open mockery of them. I have ascended to Jordan Peterson’s level of intelligence, and it has all come to me while I slept with his videos playing…
I look forward to a $100 dollar bottle of wine tomorrow night; that after having sold my plasma -something that is not so taxing to someone like me who attends to his health, and then who goes out to busk to probably make another 50 bucks; because “to those who have, more will be given…”