A sleeping bull mastiff. My dad had a bull mastiff (named Borky) back in New Jersey in the 1970s when I was a little boy and we lived with my grandparents in Long Branch.
I really need to get out of this apartment. This place has sort of become a prison, in particular during the day when all I want to do is sleep. My sleep schedule is so far off kilter -- literally from 6AM to 3PM.
A tree-filled side street in College Park, Md., May 8, 2009.
Assuming I do not find any gainful employment in the next two to three months (and that's a good bet since only successful people find jobs and earn big money), then I WILL be giving up this apartment both for financial reasons but also (in a perverse positive way) for mental health reasons. I want to move back to a room in a house in suburban Maryland.
And if I do have to move down to Florida in the next six months, well, at least it will be sunny and warm and by the beach and I won't have this soul-crushing D.C. gayborhood and prison apartment with my prison pallor.
The Daytona Beach pier and beach, south view, on a winter's day, Jan. 10, 2009. I took this picture a little over a year ago while down there. It is (for better or worse) more lively down there outside the Dec. - Jan. - Feb. period.
Everything has gone wrong. Existence is nonsensical and yet I managed to get myself onto what some science fiction writers would term a "world line" that has thrown me into an alternate future that is a very negative one indeed ... a personal dystopia. Yeah, I know, "is what it is" and "you make your own reality" and "deal with it" and "enrich yourself" and, oh, shut up.
I'm so thrilled that so many of my current and (ESPECIALLY) former friends are earning huge amounts of money in the capitalist - freedom playground that is the demi-paradise of frickin' America. In micro-economic terms, it some bullshit about "rents" and "top talent" and "added value."
A lady greets the start of the annual eclipse, Fuzhou, China, Jan. 15, 2010. I'm surprised you can even see the Sun and sky through all the frickin' carcinogenic air pollution there.
What urban sophisticates everyone is here in D.C. with just the right mixture of throw-away social liberalism, brilliant and insightful thinking on everything at all times, an updated Protestant work ethic that lets them work hard and play hard, an endless and fucking endlessly annoying know-it-all atheism ...
... and most importantly of all, a fucking Dow that goes up every trading day so that life is perfect as 401-k's and asset holdings appreciate steadily in value and we can all enjoy the fucking consumer economy and think that this is the essence of a nonsensical existence.
Gee, I love elite America's ways.
On that notes, let's turn briefly political ...
How very funny that if that right wing ex-model clown Scott Brown wins in the Massachusetts special election on Tuesday to fill the seat of the late Senator Ted Kennedy it will "doom" health care. How cosmically ironic and wonderful is that. Ha ha.
Here is a pic of that clown Scott Brown when he posed nude in Cosmo back in 1982. What a jackass -- and not very pretty, in my view.
To quote Peg Bundy, "Oh, Cosmo, you really know your man!"
But the worthless Dems and pro-corporatist Obama so sold out that even with their 60-vote super-majority they were going to force millions of working class Americans under penalty of law to buy the shit product of the criminal insurance cartel, and now their plan is coming unraveled because of this special election and the complete dysfunctionality of the U.S. Senate, GOP cult-like religio-insanity, and American society as a whole these days.
And progressives are supposed to get all fired up and motivated in a frenzy of political passion and open checkbooks. To hell with that and them. It takes a special kind of sold-out uselessness to destroy the biggest progressive surge thsi country has had in two generations in less than a year ... in really just six months.
Welcome to the Democratic Party.
"Oh, Democratic Party, you really know your base!"
Lest I end on a bad note, it is a rainy, gray, chilly January day ... the rain is washing away all the scuzzy grime and ground-up rock salt thrown on the ground as a result of the uncharacteristically snowy period we had last month here in D.C. but that is now over.
Please no one ask me about global warming and if it is real. I'm sick of that goddamn question and the agendas behind it.
But what I especially enjoy and find so mournful and evocative and melancholy is on these kinds of days as dusk turns into night and then into the wee hours of the morning when suddenly a train whistle fills the air.
The train tracks are 2-1/2 to 3 miles east of here, way over by Union Station and Rhode Island Avenue Metro in a ghetto-y part of D.C. The sound can really travel.
My first time ever in D.C. involves a train sound. It was in Dec. 1977 when my dad and I came down from New Jersey. I had just turned 8 years old. It was during a bitterly cold outbreak and I remember hearing train sounds from the hotel room (the old Ramada on New York Avenue), although I think I was actually hearing the sound of the then-infant Metro as it was more of a rapid train sound. Thank you, Mr. Sirius.
That's about all for now. I will update this blog later in the week.