Losing My Way

The era in which I dwell is crude. Everyone is obsessed with numbers, and beauty has been relegated to the garbage bin. All that matters is the coarse and barren drive of commerce, and all that we once aspired to is now suspect and truth no longer is noble, just a mind nummbing jumble of facts and figures. We are all focused on mere statistics. We are forced to live a lie. Even the idea of beauty is frowned upon by many people in position to make our lives uglier. Children are discouraged from learning about culture, because for some reason excellence is seen as part of an oppressive system, when in reality it is an escape from the dreary reality that most of our minutes are consumed by. When I grew up, Leonard Bernstein has a TV show exploring classical music; children nowadays are forcefed drivel. It's considered elitist to enjoy the great works of the past, and people go out of their way to mar the beauty God gave them with piercings and tattoos. This is one subject where

I wanted to kill myself this morning. No big deal: I usually want to kill myself at least once or twice a day, either as a brief thought or a long, deadening cloud that hangs over me which eventually passes. That's one of my secrets, which I never express verbally, but when I write I get brutally honest, and soon the secrets that have adorned me will be stripped away, and I'll stand naked before the world, to await the judgement of all who think they know so much more than me. Strangely though, if someone would tell me their secrets, I would never tell, because I like to be trusted. That's why I would make a great consigliere, because you could tell me anything and the word would never leak out from my end. Of course, not many people are in need of a consigliere these days, but I think everybody should have one. Where could I offer my services? I think a consigliere should be part of everybody's life, not just members of the criminal underworld, because it's impor

Writing this blog is like throwing a bottle with a note inside into the ocean, never knowing where it will go, or if it will ever be found. Despite the hopeless endeavor, one must persevere, and keep up the futile quest for communication if salvation is to ever come. According to my records, some of my entries have been read, but my reader chooses not to comment, which I respect a great deal, since the right to remain silent is our most precious right of all. I'm not trying to be funny either; I truly believe that. To force someone to speak is the most horrible thing I can imagine. I continue to try to grow my audience, but I wonder how to categorize my blog, or if it can be in any category, or even should be in a category. Perhaps it's in a category of its own, and it's pointless to try to pin it down, much like music. I am a philosopher, so it should be in that category, but it has many diversions so far, and philosophy, in my philosophy, is something that the less on

Speaking for myself, I am shocked by the lack of good judgment on the part of Thomas. I can guarantee you that today there will be no perverted sexual conduct, or any whining. It is too bad this permissive society has encouraged such behavior on his part, but I am here to make sure nothing will happen, and if it does, he will hate himself even more than he does now. No one wants a transvestite to tell them how to live; I know I am sick of it. Especially a poor, rundown old queen who never joined the lagibatique community, and I made sure of that. I find all that talk disingenuous, a fiction, and if it's true at all, he will never get to know. I'll see to it that he dies in the street like a dog before his lips touch another man's cock, and that he wears coarse, unfashionable clothes instead of anything nice. When myself talked to I a few weeks ago, there was so much talk about love, but there will be no love here, no joy, not even sorrow. Just a blank, unfeeling backgroun

I have recently contacted the office of Senator Amy Klobuchar about the matter of fraudulent game apps that don't pay out the money you are owed, while the creators of these apps keep taking in the money from advertisements you are forced to see. I didn't talk to the Senator herself, but I did talk to a nice man about the matter. I explained that I sent an email about the fraudulent gaming industry, and received a form letter 2 minutes later, to which I sent back another email saying how I saw through that ruse and that no one had even read my email, certainly not the Senator, to which I received no reply. I told him that even though I wasn't charged to play these stupid games, I was promised compensation, and that they profited off of my playing their game. He understood, and said he would get Amy right on it...not exactly quoted verbatim, but that was the gist of our conversation. He sounded very nice, but this is serious business so I will restrain myself from any sexu

I had my psyche totally devastated today because I spent $1.16 on 4 cups of ice. People around me were not sympathetic, even though I am down to my last 5 dollars and won't have money for 3 more days, if at all. I don't want to ask for help, though I need all the help I can get, because White people never want to help unless they can make you feel bad about being in a dire situation, and the Black people who care have already helped me. This situation calls for an extreme level of sublimation! It's really my favorite thing: rather than mindlessly destroy something, or hurt myself, or just scream vulgarities at whoever I pass by, I can use the power of sublimation to create some new wonder out of all my misery. It is an amazing thing that more highly developed Killer Apes use to retain sanity when all around them seems to be collapsing, and is responsible for many great works of art. As long as I don't dwell on how worthless art is, this level of agony should produce a

I've always liked just walking around, with nowhere to go but going there anyway. It's part of being a loner, like being an icon seeking a connection, and if failing at that, just enjoying the scenery. What is the scenery like in the microscopic realm? Is that what Whitman meant when he said that he contained multitudes? Probably not, but it never ceases to amaze me how the large and magnificent objects are built up of small, insignificant particles.