White Fear Weaponized Runs The Machine. 

Idea

So... 

I’ve been thinking about reflecting on The Purge films that I’ve seen and basically writing about them as they relate to the world that produced them. 

How qualified am I to do that? Not very. 

I believe this could be an interesting exercise for me. I would like to do something other than navel-gazing and quick angry political rants. 

Obviously, there has been a lot of commentary on these movies by people that likely possess more insight than me.

I’ve seen The Purge: Anarchy and The Purge: Election Year so far. At first, these movies kinda repulsed me. However, the near-future world of these movies started to intrigue me. I believe there is kind of a clumsy sort of wokeness in these films that is worth exploring.  

As far as cinematic universes go, this is one of the more intriguing ones to me. 

Maybe I should have more swagger, more attitude. 

Boy, you just high. 

There is this .gif of Margot Robbie looping over and over mashed up with Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. I keep stealing glances at it. It’s cool. Kinda hot too. In that Hollywood Kinda Way. In that bullshit kinda way. That way that don’t actually exist. Sugar for the soul. Too much sugar puts holes in your soul. 

I should fake confidence more. Sell that shit. Just for fun. Only reason. 

Boy, you are so high. 

Maybe I am. 

I ain’t so bad at this. Fuck. I sound cool, right? 

I’m not cool. I got no fucking clue what I’m doing. I might be going to hell. I don’t think I ever grew the fuck up. I don’t got people. I ain’t ever had that moment where I thought,”These are my people.” I say I love the world and the people I’m on this trip with but god damn it, who do I really love? Who do I choose to love? Like really? Sincerely? 

I’m sorry about all the bullshit I’ve written in this space. I’m sorry for every time that I did not honestly bear witness. 

Yeah. I’m a bit on the high side. That isn’t an excuse though. I stand by every word. 

On a summer night in mid-July

the asphalt cools from the day’s baking 

and a man recovers from a day that ends in y. 

Legs crossed on the floor like when he was a kid

Window is ajar and the breeze is sweet mercy. 

Mercy hard to come by 

even in mid-July 

if you live long enough. 

I don’t like hearing Trump. 

I don’t like looking at the fat orange fucker either. 

Monday, Fuckin’ Monday

If my chest ever caves in and I find myself standing before the wrong God, it’s probably gonna be on a Monday. 

Monday is for bad shit. It shouldn’t really be that way, should it? Nah, it shouldn’t but it is. It should be for staying in bed, if you want to. It shouldn’t be for dread. It shouldn’t be about living to suffer. It should be about watching dogs be all happy with their heads sticking out the window in the passenger seat of a car. It should be about petting strange cats. It should be about taking some time to cry if you need to.

See, that’s why I think we need to quit this capitalism shit. It’s way overrated and it’s profoundly evil. I suspect most everybody who has ever worked knows in their heart how fucked up it is. They know it ain’t right. They know the game is rigged but they keep playin’ the game because they don’t know anything else. They can’t imagine anything else. I don’t even know if I can imagine anything else. The word faith just popped into my head. Faith. What the fuck is faith for me? Belief that something better is possible. I’m not talking about the idea that some day I’ll be brave, sexy and rich. No. A better world. 

I woke up this morning mildly stoned. I always tell myself that I will not get so fucking stoned on a Sunday night but I never listen to myself. I could be wrong but I think it’s quite possibly a bad idea to be even a little high at work. Who wants to be stoned in an office building? Let me tell you, it’s not fun to come into the office at 7 AM and get told that everything is on fire and you are the one that’s going to put it out. I’ve had that happen and lived to tell about it. Oh god damn it. Not this. I don’t need this. Beads of sweat on the back of my neck. Fuck. Why did I come to work today? Cuz I’m tryin’ to be an adult. I haven’t missed a day. People think I’m reliable. People think I’m personable. People think I know my shit and I kinda need all that because on paper I’ve been a bum for like 5 years and I’m trying to quit that. Okay. Let’s do this. You got this, brotha. You got this. 

Yeah. Nothing happened today. Nothing that made me sweat. I spent a lot of time looking busy and some time actually working and I just ran out the clock and now I’m here typing this. 

Guess most everybody who is everybody hates Mondays. That might be true but I don’t find a lot of solace being a member of that club. Typically, I just want to get the fuck home and sleep it off. It was alright though. Maybe tomorrow the devil will decide to fuck me up. God, I hope not. 

I’m one neurotic son of a bitch. It’s not good. I should probably be talking to someone. 

I guess I could be more well adjusted. I never want to be too adjusted though.

It’s a queer thing. What’s a queer thing? Glad you asked. I live in mortal terror of some stressed out motherfucker who can afford to play golf coming to my desk to yell at me but see, there is all this crazy shit going on in the background. 

The President is talking crazy and sinister. You know it ain’t normal. You know you can sense evil. You know the substance of that shit. You tell people you got a bad feeling. People tell you not to worry. 

People are being put in cages but it’s people without power. It’s people who don’t speak English. Bad shit happens in these cages but see, it’s people that society is comfortable un-personing. It’s them today but who the fuck is it gonna be tomorrow?.

You know you’ve seen this guy before. He’s some kinda archetype. He’s a manifestation of the worst parts of all of us. Sometimes you find yourself yelling till you’re hoarse but you get told to calm the fuck down. 

Truth be told, I got no clue what to do. I know there is so much going on outside of myself. I’ve podcasted my rage and my concern. I’m a dues paying member of the local chapter of Democratic Socialists of America and hell, I may even have to start turning up at meetings. I have an ACLU membership card in my wallet. I’ve donated money to striking teachers. I know all of that is so very, very little. 

As I type this, the song Holding out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler is playing on a loop. The words seem sinister to me in the place where my head is at. The idea of a hero riding upon a fiery steed seems fashy as fuck. 

There were some twists and turns here, right? 

I’m really tempted right now to just write the words “Monday fuckin’ Monday” and be done with this. Yes, that would be really lazy. 

Monday, fuckin’ Monday. 

Yeah. So.

I don't think I got myself too many human followers. I guess I'm going to be dusting off this blog a little. I don't know that anybody is going to be paying the least bit of attention but if you are, hey. Don't be a stranger.

My name is Paul. I'm 40 years old. It stands to reason that I'm probably too old for all this but eh. It is what it is.

I've spent a lot of time in the Twitter roleplay scene writing various original characters. If anybody from that scene stumbles across this then hello. What's up? Obviously Twitter is quite fucked up these days due to the machinations of the muskrat.

It occurs to me that people I may actually know in real life might stumble across this. I think that is unlikely but I guess I find myself in a bit of a "not giving a fuck" era.

I play guitar. I started playing right at the end of 2020. I'm not that good but I play every single day. I primarily play acoustic.

I run a decent amount for physical and mental health reasons. I'm at almost 300 miles this year.

I'm a stoner at times.

I'm an ex-evangelical that was raised Catholic. At the current time, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I don't believe. It's only very recently that I've been honest with myself about that. It sounds clichè as fuck to say it's been quite a journey but it has.

Yeah. Aight. Later.

Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now 

I’m stuck at the precise moment 

where I realize 

she ain’t comin’ back 

when it hits me that it’s gonna be one of those days 

where somebody gonna tell you Job had it harder 

and that does as much for you 

as thoughts and prayers do 

when they’re pickin’ up the shell casings 

after somebody got done with one of those lives. 

Stuck at the exact moment 

I realize that maybe what I did 

is re-write a shitty U2 song. 

Please leave a detailed message after the tone 

and maybe I’ll call you back. 

So a friend of mine told me how yesterday his coworker died on the way to work due to speeding and crossed a red light (she was late for the third time, so I’m guessing she was trying to avoid a write up). As soon as she crossed the light she was hit on the drivers side by a semi. The messed up part is that in less than an hour her table was cleared for a new worker. In less than 4 hours they had sent out the news that they are hiring. By the end of the day the hiring manager had contacted 4 people for an interview. Moral of the story is, these jobs don’t care about your ass. They will replace you in a snap. Don’t risk or waste your life trying to go above and beyond for a job that could care less about your wellbeing.

The blank space and the blinky-blinky. 

Fan blowing and gettin’ down to the slow beat only they can hear. Move its head to the right. Move its head to the left. Do oscillating fans get together and have raves? 

I’m a straight man. Sometimes I don’t even know what turns me on anymore. I mean, I do but not really. 

I have an appointment with a therapist on Tuesday. This time I’ll go to the right address. I don’t really know what to say to him. 

So, what brings you in? 

Scream my lungs out. 

Or punch the wall. 

Or throw something. 

I'm turning 41 this weekend...