1/18/98: So it's January. I'll be 35 this month. Kinda young but kinda old. More old than young. Something is just around the corner, I can't shake that feeling. Maybe it's milleniumism. I'm looking forward to that stroke of midnight on December 31, 1999. And it ain't for no party. I hope the millenium glitch is more deeply rooted in computers than anyone realized. And I hope the "fixers" aren't as thorough as they should be. I want the world to crumble, or at least the financial world. I want to see all these Wall Street types wait till the last minute, then get serious jitters watching the clock tick away, then do the panic thing like you've never seen before! CRASH! Major financial destruction. Toss that money into the air and let it get caught in the jet stream. Blow!
Bitter? You betcha. Dunno why exactly. Yes I do, partly. Despicable greed. I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of seeing pathetic profit mongers lying and cheating, undermining the fragility of the working class. Where was it, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream--they set a policy saying that no single employee will be paid more than 7 times the wages of the lowest-paid employee in the company. Now that's admirable in theory. And it demonstrates an appreciation on the bottom line for the broken backs it takes to get to the highest rung they reach. That was cogent, right?
Pink is a kick-ass song, Aerosmith's newest. I don't have a clue why Steven Tyler is sexy. He probably wouldn't be if he was right in my face, but in those videos, he's da'shit! Ponderous sanctimony. Someone is thoroughly disgusted by my way of thinking, and had a few balls to show it. I got blasted in email for expressing my disgust with "progress and the future". "When you find the strengths to live by your words, please let us know. Until then please spare us your ponderous sanctimony." This guy didn't like my criticisms of this civilization and basically told me to go fuck myself. He doesn't have a CLUE about me. Little does he know I DO live by my philosophies, sharing every penny I have with my neighbors, sacrificing comforts and convenience for the good of the planet--by that I mean I don't own a leaf blower, it's an unnecessary toy. I don't own a riding lawn mower, it's too lazy. I don't have an electric can opener because it's not necessary. I save all plastic to be recycled, and I re-use plastic forks and knives and spoons and cups until they're cracked to the point of leakage. I don't use the air conditioner in the car, specifically because of pollution, and it's healthy to sweat. Society's forgotten how to sweat, and how to appreciate it. To them it's a major inconvenience or downright abhorrant act. Fuck you. Course, the person who blasted me could very well have been a female. Nobody knows who is who at that site, and don't you know they had to create discussions with false participants so that others would come. I just wonder who hides behind what mask, and whether this opinion is sincere or an extreme opposite of the true speaker's opinion. Feels like a game and I don't really give a flip. If I got something to say I'll say it. They don't like it, they can KISS MY ASS, cuz I'm gonna say it anyway. Ain't nothing new we could think that ain't been thunk before. And they know it.
Tape went off, time to turn it over. All this political shit makes me ill too. We [used as the collective politics of society] try so hard to promote tolerance among minorities, then turn around and organize massive boycotts in the most hateful vein. We align with parties (dems and reps) and scathingly libel each other, claiming distinctive purity under our own personal patents. Father Bob leads the congregation to march against "immoral people" and brings his son and daughter to support his hate. Congressman Bill is devoutly Republican and on his "party picnics" he openly loathes the very principles of men comprising his opposition, all the while tossing a frisbee with his neice. These kids see it, live with it, and grow up to believe it. Perpetuate the hate. In the homes. From these homes are born radical oppositions to the parents' views or intense support and dedication to keep the lessons alive, in thy father's name. There is no moderation. And it's grounded in hate. STOP THE HATE, ALREADY!
Those hippy chicks.. groovy song. I'm going to chill in front of the tube now. Check ya later.