Sunset At The Beach (A Brief Confession)

I just cracked open a beer. Saint Archer IPA. I wonder if the people around me think I am derelict for drinking beer from a can at the beach? I am casually dressed, wearing a flannel and hair is a mess so maybe. Or maybe the MacBook Air that I am typing on makes me look like an eccentric, bohemian, intellectual. Who knows what other people think. I have given up on trying to guess. It’s how I think that concerns me most. And most of the time I tend to be an obsessive thinker and this is what concerns me most.

Anyways, the sun is setting over the ocean horizon. It is a blinding ball of orange dropping from endless sky. I can hear the laughter of kids. The crashing of the waves. Some kid screams “no” in defiance against his mother. I can relate. I take sips from my beer even though a large part of me just wants to down it. I love beer induced release. It’s better than all forms of meditation. I think it has something to do with the hops.

Did I mention that I am sitting on a bench? Hunched over on my MacBook. But occasionally I look up at the sun. It’s receding more and more, not unlike my hairline. I notice that as the sun falls behind the earth, it feels chilly and the sea is growing louder. This sea could devour us all in a second. I find it sobering to be sitting at the foot of this force. Makes me feel like a homunculus.

There are a few islands off the coast but I doubt anyone lives on them. At least anyone who cares to be known. I seem to be obsessed with being known. Being known on my own terms, for who I really am. I presume this comes from having a narcissistic father who needed it all to be about him. Or maybe it comes from living in a society where we are not allowed to be known for who we are. I envy those who could care less about being known. Who are comfortable with living and dying without being known. Who are comfortable with anonymity. My sister is this way- she could spend day after day sitting in front of a television without any aspirations to be known.

Two attractive girls are walking towards me. I smile at them and they pretend not to see me. The sun is turning orange. Its fading fire seems to be deflating like a tire. Where does the sun go anyways? It’s literally falling into the sea and we are all acting as if this is perfectly normal. Two guys play basketball. Kids play on the swings. A couple sits on a bench watching the sun go down. There are people scattered all over the beach. It’s a big beach. A beautiful beach in Oxnard, California. A place someone referred to as “nothing but fields and beaches.”

I’ve recently moved here. On a boat after my wife divorced me because she found another guy. I always knew my wife would do this because it’s a habitual pattern that can be seen in people. They skip from one relationship to the next never able to hold interest in one person for long stretches of time. Their relationship ideal is not yet real. But this is good. I’m writing more. I’m less stressed out. The hurt is starting to fade. After years of emotional pain, the blood is drying.

There are boats far out in the sea. An oil rig. I am going to sit here until I see their lights turn on. Nothing as beautiful as a boat lit up in the night, far off in the sea. Should I make dinner at home or eat out tonight? I bought a lot of produce at the farmer’s market yesterday so I should go back to my boat and eat there. It is not easy to cook and do dishes on an old boat but it works for now. The boat I am living on is like an old wood cabin on the water.

The sun is dropping. The light is fading. Everything is growing dimmer. There is the presence of serenity. This is why it is good for humans to be around water. Water is serenity. It is where our brains find peace.

I spent the day working on my boat with a handyman. He was trying to fix the toilet, which overflowed. We did other work as well. He is an old seaman. Muscular and still getting down on hand and knees and stretching himself inside of tight spaces. I hope I can do that when old. He told me I was a sneak aboard. Since I was living on my boat without the proper licensing, I was not an official live aboard. I was a sneak aboard. When he told me this for a moment I was frightened that he would report me. But then I told myself, “Who cares.”. If he does I will deal with it then. I am just grateful for this time on the boat and am not going to spend it worrying. Most of what I have worried about in my life hasn’t happened. Getting testicular cancer and having my wife tell me that she does not want to be with me anymore are two things I never worried about.

There goes the sun. Behind the edge of one of the vacant islands. Now just reflection of orange. The tides pick up. The sky grows beautiful. A natural Rothko painting. As the sun falls into the sea, the orange hue gradually bleeds its way into the blue sky. This is what could be called an ethereal moment. I am glad there are a few people sitting on benches appreciating it. After going through a painful divorce, I haven’t appreciated anything in a long time. This feels good. I can smell the sea. Seaweed mixed with salt and sewage. An airplane moves across the sky. I wonder where my wife is now. Probably with her man since I know she is unable to spend much time alone.

The islands out in the sea look like a purple wax sculpture. The more I drink my 19.2 FL OZ beer the drunker I begin to feel. I guess I am a lightweight. Doesn’t take much. There are few things that I love. I love dogs. I love women. I love the sea. I love books. I love God Speed You Black Emperor. But I really love beer. This is why I try not to drink it much.

The sun is almost completely gone but it’s still light out. Today I wrote the first draft of a pitch that I want to make to several publishing companies. I want to write a biography of David Berman, the countercultural singer, songwriter, poet and artist (he liked to draw things). Maybe I am completely delusional to do such a thing. I mean who am I? Just an unknown and unpublished 48 year old writer. But the FBI showed up at my home concerned about some things I was writing on my blog. I couldn’t believe it. For me, having the FBI show up at my front door for something that I wrote is my highest accomplishment as a writer. I feel like there is no one better to be given money to write a biography of David Berman than I. Maybe it is arrogant to say, but I would like to think that David Berman would want me to write his biography.

Things are growing gradually dark. The sea smells good. The waves are loud. No one is sitting on benches now that the sun has set. But why not stay for the best part of the show? Watching day turn into night. People have such short attention spans. They bore so easily. Not I. I am here until it turns dark.

I want to text my wife but she is not my wife anymore. I want to take pictures of what I am seeing and share it with her. But I can’t do that anymore. Not much at least. I need to draw a line between her and I. A thick black line. I need to realize she is not the person I married anymore. Her tattoos prove it. She is a friend now but not someone I need to text all the time. Not someone I need to trust. It is too bad. I liked it while it lasted. But now I should get used to being on my own. I need to discover other women whom I can love. The things I do and see and think have to be enough for just me now. I can’t share them with her. This is the hardest part of getting divorced. Makes me want to cry just thinking about it. But her loss. She will never find someone who loved her as much as I did. And I am afraid still do, all though I am trying to get rid of that. Sometimes in life I guess we just have to accept letting go of the ones we love. I have tried to hate her guts. Hate hasn’t worked much. I have too much guilt for that approach.

I’ve been alone on the boat for several weeks now. It’s been hard. But I am gradually getting the hang of it. Beer helps. I moved onto an old boat in Oxnard and know no one here. Not a soul. I am completely alone but trust I will gradually meet people. That is if my boat doesn’t sink. The handyman told me I should get an alarm to notify me if the bilge is filling with water. The boat is that old. I don’t care. We all must die. I am just grateful to be having this experience. I love the boat. If it sinks and I have to go down with it, I can think of worse ways to die.

The lights on the street have turned on. There is sand everywhere. I am getting cold. There are a few more sips left in my beer. I feel buzzed. What is the difference between buzzed and drunk? Is drunk when you lose all control and rationality? If so, I am always buzzed when I drink. I never lose control anymore.

Did you know that darkness descends from the top down? It starts in space and gradually descends upon us. Darkness covers us like a plastic bag. As gradually as the sun sets, darkness gradually covers us. I can see the first ship lit up far out at sea. Or is that an oil rig? There are cars driving by with headlights on. Two guys are putting on wetsuits and preparing to go surfing. Now that is commitment, surfing at night.

There are less people on the beach now. The two guys are still playing basketball. The darkness is gradually blending in with the orange. Soon the darkness (which is now a shade of purplish black) will win out and all will grow dark. I guess that is the fate of all human life. No matter how hard we try we can’t out run the darkness. The darkness becomes us. And all we can do is trust that the light will return. That is what I am doing now. Trusting that gradually the light will return. That I will stop shedding tears and move on from the woman whom I once called wife.

Two young surfers run out into the sea. They are excited to be jumping into the furious power of the sea. The joys of youth. Youth is gone from me now but I appreciate theirs. I try to hang onto mine in spirit. I am going to finish my beer and stop writing now. I want to watch the darkness descend. I’m no different than the gradually diminishing orange hue. It fights against the darkness, just like I do.

How To Rape A Woman After (Or During) A Shower

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. I do not endorse any kind of rape done to anyone. If you rape a woman against her will you are an idiot.

Now I know that rape has very strong connotations these days. It instantly polarizes people. Some people are pro-rape. Other people will suddenly and impulsively censor and behead the person who even hints at rape. I would say that most fall on the censoring and beheading side of things.

But that is ok. This should not stop those of us who are interested in rape, from discussing rape. From using the word rape when talking about sexual preferences. Please, engage the topic. In the same way blacks have reclaimed the word nigger, why can’t white, voraciously horny males reclaim the word rape?

I realize that there are many sick and twisted men out there. I am not one of them. At least not by my standards. By your standards I may be an aging, sicko, perverted, degenerate- but I would not agree with you. My sexual tastes are moderate and most of my sexual fantasies remain in hibernation. I am yet to discover the confidence within myself while with a woman to do the things I would like to do. Maybe some things are better off left in mind.

But this is beside the point. I have pulled off materializing one of my more degenerate sexual fantasies by raping a woman after a shower. It was not easy and required much bravado but it was so rewarding afterwards that it is worth discussing here.

By rape I am not talking about that kind of violent-violation-of-a-woman-against-her will-and-without-her-wanting-it-at-all. I imagine that that could be fun but I am not interested simply because it could traumatize a person in a way that would just equal bad luck for me. I’ve hurt women enough in my life and have created enough hurt-other-people-debt to create all the negative karma I really need in my life. I will leave this kind of cold-hearted rape for those psychopaths of the world.

What I am interested in is the kind of rape which involves a woman’s interest. She has granted you permission by her presence. She has allowed you the opportunity by the fact that she is naked in your shower. Now what do you do?

Few women don’t like to be subjugated, dominated and consumed in this kind of sexual and forceful way. Those who say they don’t are simply afraid. Don’t worry about the one’s who say no. They are just trying to make the rape more fun. We all know that the entire #METOO movement is really just a subconscious attempt to get more men to rape them. It is a projection of the kinkier sides of their female nature.

Now I recommend pulling the woman out of the shower against her will. Those of you who want to be polite enough to wait until she is done, that is fine as well. The thing about pulling a woman out of the shower before she is done is that it not only adds an element of surprise but it is enjoyable to rape a woman while she is still slathered in soap and water. It can assist with an easier glide.

If you chose to do this, I recommend using a pair of flip-flops. I have done this once before without flip-flops and slipped on the bathroom tile and sprained my ankle. Few things are more humiliating than slipping on the bathroom tile and spraining your ankle while trying to dominate a woman.

I also recommend that when you go in for the initial snatch, that you are already naked. Most women tend to be very strong and if you have to make time to unzip and pull down your pants you may lose them. Being naked at the beginning is the best way to ensure that you can maintain full control.

Now this is the most important part: For all of you men or women who suffer from a guilty conscience or an overwhelming need to be nice to a woman in order to win her affections- listen up. Get over yourself. No man who has needed to be the nice guy has ever been victorious in the end. If you hesitate or think twice or try to go easy while snatching a woman from the bathroom (so that she will not think poorly of you later) you will lose the fight. Any hesitation will be perceived as a sign of weakness by both of you and you will lose your mojo. Please, once you make the decision to rape a woman after or during her shower no hesitation should be allowed. Worry about the consequences later.

Where you chose to commence with the raping is your choice. Toilets, counter tops, floors, beds, chairs, tables and walls are all equally good places. Have the place in mind where you would like to engage in the rape prior to beginning.

Also, keep in mind that no matter how much she protests or struggles she will thank you in the end. She may tell you that it was incredibly intense and brutal but she will feel a sense of relief unlike anything she has felt in a long, long time. Being completely dominated by a man releases certain feel-good-chemicals in a woman, because it is evolutions design.

Now whether or not you chose to orgasm in her or on her is your choice. I always recommend orgasming inside of a woman without protection just because the sure high of the orgasmic blast off. But I also realize that orgasming inside a woman without protection can be a kind of short-term-thrill-for-long-term-imprisonment. It is up to each individual to decide if they care more about instant gratification or delayed gratification. One may ensure a healthier and easier long life than the other but the other is obviously more fun. I don’t judge either one. We all die in the end so make your own choices. Putting on a condom will take time and give the woman an opportunity to defeat you, so if you do want to go in with a raincoat on please jack-off and place the condom on before abducting the woman.

You can always pull out and orgasm anywhere on the woman’s body but this is obviously not as fun as all the risk that is involved in blowing your load in the raw.

The last time I raped a woman after her shower she held on to my dick and refused to let go. This made insertion almost impossible. But I pulled on her ears and hair and eventually she surrendered to my male intrusion. Afterwards she told me that it was the best sex she had ever had.

So, these are the fundamental aspects of raping a woman after (or during) a shower. What is most needed is a strong desire to consume the woman. To shred her like vegetables in a juicer. Now, every man has this strong impulse in him. This biological imperative is what is behind everything that men do. But only the few and the brave are willing to let these strong evolutionary impulses run free. It is up to you, but I always recommend raping a woman who you know wants you. Once you get these ravaging impulses out of you, you will feel a kind of satiation that makes you feel like you are the most dominate and accomplished creature in all of the wild. It is the answer for all the defeat you feel in your life.

Toilet Rumination #132

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing in this based on an actual person. I do not endorse any kind of harm or violence done to anyone. I am discussing subversive ideas through fiction.

I ignore bills. I pay the things I need to pay but I ignore the bills that do not directly effect me. Medical bills, financial aide bills, credit card bills. These things I ignore. They will give me bad credit. They may call me more than I would like. But what do I care? I DO NOT LET THESE BILL COLLECTORS BRING ME DOWN. I KNOW THAT THERE IS NOTHING THEY CAN DO TO ME NOW. I WILL OUT RUN THEM FOR AS LONG AS I CAN. SOME WOULD CALL THIS DUMB BUT I CALL IT SUBVERSIVE. BILLS OR DEBTS ONLY HAVE AS MUCH POWER OVER YOU AS YOU GIVE THEM IN YOUR MIND. IF YOU GIVE THEM NO POWER THEY HAVE NO POWER. BILLS AND DEBTS AND CREDIT ARE ALL PSYCHOLOGICAL. PAY THEM NO MIND AND THEY DON’T MATTER. But there is this continually nagging feeling of guilt and shame in the back of my mind. I feel like I am letting something I need to take care of go. I worry that these bills will come around and kick me in the proverbial ass. What if they take money from my bank? What if they show up at my front door and arrest me? Am I a bad person because I am neglecting these bills? I have bad credit now and as a result am screwed. Thoughts like this fill my mind as I sit here on the toilet thinking about bills. See what I mean about it all being psychological? Debt and bills are a human construct. A social tool of repression and enslavement. Debt and bills have nothing to do with the natural universe. Debt and bills are an artificial construct. I try and keep this in mind. I needed to do what I needed to do to survive and get an education. I paid them some money but I will pay no more. Education and medical bills should not be so expensive. It is morally wrong the prices these institutions charge. Capitalism at its worst. Completely taking advantage of people’s misfortune. Unethical thievery. Thats what these organizations are engaged in. They are horrible entities. Monstrosities and I will try and out run these beasts for as long as I can. Take the money and run, so to speak. I see it as being an ethical outlaw. The ethical outlaw takes what they can from malevolent and greedy institutions and people. An eye for an eye is the ethical outlaw’s driving belief. What is fair is fair. I’ve put in my time now you put in yours. The ethical outlaw must be courageous and continue to do what he or she feels is right in the face of complete exploitation. What am I talking about? You just don’t have the money to pay back these bills. You don’t want to work more as a psychologist to make the money you would need to pay these bills. You want to keep what money you do have for yourself and not have to work more. You are just as greedy and unethical as they are. You both are coming from a similar place. But they have a lot more money than I do. It is true I would rather have more free time. Time is my most important asset. I get indignant when I have to give my time up to someone else in order to make money. This is why I resent all of my clients. I want to cut off their heads. I want to stomp all over them. I disdain them because they are taking away my time. But I need their money. I need to pay for my sex addictions. I need to pay for my book buying addiction. I need to pay for my drugs. I need to pay my mortgage and my office rent. I need to pay for records and food. I need to pay for things that I like in order to feel like all the time I waste making money is somehow worth the sacrifice of my free time. If I was not able to buy things that I like I would see no purpose in doing the work that I do. I need to see some cool object or experience that results from my giving away my time in order to make the money I need off other people. So no, I am not giving up this money to pay the bills that do not directly effect my present moment life. No way. They can go screw themselves. I am keeping that money for me. I would rather buy a record and a whore than pay my bills.

My Instagram Addiction

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing in this based on an actual person. I do not endorse any kind of harm or violence done to anyone. I am discussing subversive ideas through fiction.


There is no question I suffer from an Instagram addiction. Put that much opportunity to feel fun and pleasure in the palm of my hand and I’m screwed.


It takes no effort for me to get addicted to things that are pleasurable. It happens just like that. If it feels good I am addicted. If it doesn’t feel that good, I will not be addicted.


Sometimes Instagram does not feel good and I put my account on temporary hold. I started using it too much. It didn’t feel good so I suspended my account.


But then I get back on and it feels good. There is so much pleasure to be had if I pull my device out from my pocket.


I don’t follow many people on Instagram. I don’t scroll. I mostly use Instagram as a cheating method. Meaning I will write something, post it and then immediately see if people appreciate it. Like it. I don’t have to deal with the difficulties of publishing. I can write a few sentences, post on Instagram and WHAM! There is the recognition I have always been wanting as a writer.


This recognition feels good. Even if only ten people like something I wrote. But then I feel like I should be getting more recognition. I feel like I am not getting any appreciation or recognition for the things I write and post. I will post more. I grow indignant and despondent. I lose control because I am so mad that I am posting more to get more of the recognition that I am wanting. I am enraged that I am out of control.


And then I will put my account on temporary hold. It’s like an addictive sexual relationship. I want her so bad. I consume her. We get it on all the time but gradually I feel like I am losing control. Like I am not getting back from this person what I need. And I grow indignant and upset all the time.


SO I need to learn to be more judicious I tell myself. Just post and then don’t care about the recognition. Only post a few times a day even though you may not get many new followers. Don’t worry about the followers. You are doing it to collect a database of your writings. Just amass as many posts as you can so that your posts are in the thousands. Then your writing will be appreciated. Then you can select and gather the posts and make a book called Toilet Ruminations. This is what I tell myself.


It is fantastic (I used that word) that I have this digital device in my hand that I can use as a creative tool. In the eighties, only my male sexual organ served this purpose. Now I can use this digital device to write things and post them on Instagram and create this following, along with a body of work. All as I go through the motions of my day. It is a pretty remarkable creative tool even though it may be giving all of us cancer.


But I need to get better about this becoming addicted to anything that feels good. I just love things that feel good. Food. Coffee. Ice cream. Marijuana. Blow jobs. Breasts. Meditation. Female skin. Orgasm. My penis. Kombucha. Music. Good smells. Beer. Vodka. Muffins. Pornography. Doing nothing. Strippers. Books. Records. Clothes. Protest. Instagram. I am addicted to all these things and more.


After all, I am a deeply unhappy man. Isolated and alienated. I live in a cultural abyss. A vacuum of crap. My hair is thinning. I am surrounded by no one I like. I am in exile from everything. I have an infected tooth and only one testicle left. I need all the pleasure I can get.



Toilet Rumination #131

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing in this based on an actual person. I do not endorse any kind of harm or violence done to anyone. I am discussing subversive ideas through fiction.


David Wojnarowicz was an important artist. I am not so sure why. What I have seen of his work is good and subversive in a way but not great. I mean the Rimbaud head photographs are good. Some of the paintings are good. His films seem to be ok but maybe I need to watch more of them. The one that I saw was not very good. His band, the music he made from what I have heard did not appeal to me but maybe I need to listen to more of it. Normally, the first time I hear a band if I don’t like the first song of theirs that I hear I will not listen to any more of them. I did not like the song I heard from the band that he was in. So his work as far as I am concerned was ok. Nothing that really inspires anything creative or purposeful in me. His writing is good. His articulations are good. He was a very smart human being. His tape recordings of him speaking about himself are very good and insightful, subversive and creative. A lot of his writing is too much about gay sex for me to be able to maintain interest but he is a good writer. A highly creative and imaginative thinker. This is what inspires me about David Wojnarowicz- his mind. His quality of thought. He is so subversive and imaginative and philosophical in his thought. He goes far beyond most humans. He is a high intelligence human being in a non-conformist and highly imaginative way. He sees far beyond the boundaries conditioned into all of us by society (other people) and routine. His thought process breaks free from all convention. His thought process is very non-conformist, radical and truly original. There is a high degree of clarity and non-banality in his thinking. This is where David Wojnarowicz has made the greatest impact on me- in his thinking. Not his art, not his music, not his films, not even his writings- but his thought was truly what was extraordinary about the man. His thoughts about pre-invented existence, his thoughts about death and dying, his thoughts about sex and disease, his thoughts about politics and social conditioning, his thoughts about work and culture and socializing and solitude and systems of power and ALIENATION and career and money and vice and transgression and drugs and addiction and all the real life kind of stuff. He had such interesting insight in these matters and this is what has impacted me the most in my encounters with Wojnarowicz. He was the kind of person that I would like to have as a friend. He is the kind of person I wish that I could meet and get to know. Hang out with. I am not thrilled about his art but I really like him. His greatest art is his thought and there is no one that I personally know whom I can say this about and yet I think that is what a “real artist” is. Someone whose thought is their greatest art. When we are conformed our thought becomes banal and ordinary. We think the same general things as everyone else. A real artist has not given into this banality of thought. Any great artist who has distinguished themselves it is because their way of thinking is an art. Artists whose way of thinking is ordinary and just like everyone else- are not distinguished artists. They may sell in galleries and teach at universities but their impact is small, materialistic and will be forgotten by history. Most artists today have thought processes that are not exceptional and unique at all. They are artists by profession and not by soul. The goal of every artist should be first and foremost be to make their thoughts their main art. To refine and de-conditionalize their thought process and become so unique and insightful in thought that their work will not be able to compete with how extraordinary their thought-life is. But maybe this can not be created. Maybe people are either born with this distinction or not. I think it comes from being intelligent and as a result really seeing into the true nature of things. Most artists are still highly conformed and limited in their thought. Their vision is shallow. The masses can relate to these kinds of artists and that is why these kinds of artists are the most successful. The masses can not relate to someone with an intellectual depth of insight. But the one thing that I find unrelatable about David Wojnarowicz is that his thought on certain themes does lack a kind of maturity. He has still not done enough work on himself to find acceptance in death. He is still non-accepting of the reality of death and as a result his rage is strong. I understand that David was still young when he died and a large part of being young is this rage (I wish he could have lived longer because I would be curious to see how he would be if still alive today). I suppose this rage is an important aspect of the fear and non-acceptance of things that was within him. This rage can be incredibly fertile territory for creativity and motivated much of his later work (once AIDS kicked in). I just have a hard time relating to it. There is something adolescent about his rage and fear of death. But it is this adolescent, almost innocent quality of Wojnarowicz’s thought that makes his expression so powerful and radical. I suppose I am being a jerk in having judgement with regards to his rage and fear because who knows, if I got AIDS or some kind of socially-created terminal disease that I would not find myself filled with the same kind of rage and fear. Maybe I would be completely accepting and at peace or maybe I would be terrified and in a rage. It is hard to say unless you find yourself there. It is his fear and rage that makes his work interesting. Someone who is at peace and completely accepting does not have very interesting ideas about things. Their art is dull. Resigned. Maybe this is why I struggle most with David Wojnarowicz- he reminds me of what I have let myself become. As an artist, he reminds me of what I have let go of as I have grown older, more comfortable, more suburban, more smartphone addicted and of how I have allowed a lot of my thought processes to grow numb, ordinary, resigned and bitter. Maybe this is why I am struggling to continue reading the man.

Toilet Rumination #130 (Author’s Note)

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing in this based on an actual person. I do not endorse any kind of harm or violence done to anyone. I am discussing subversive ideas through fiction.

Hello. This is your author speaking. This is not a toilet rumination but more of an effort or attempt to explain. I have been absent from these ruminations for some time. That is fine. I often don’t see the point in writing these ruminations. I mean, isn’t there better things I can be doing with my time? I don’t often see the point in blogging in the way that I do. Maybe I am revealing too much information about myself and this often causes me to retract or not participate in writing on the internet. It is true that my ruminations are one aspect of my personality. Not my entire personality. Much of it is embellished. I have a tendency towards the hyperbolic and may say things that I do not feel an hour later. So why bother? I will tell myself. Why post these transmissions or ruminations online to begin with? I have a great tendency to talk myself out of everything that I do. To not see the point in anything. I am one of the greatest and most under appreciated living existentialists. That is what I like to tell myself at least. The truth is that no one appreciates me for the man that I am. People appreciate me for other aspects of my being but not for who I truly am. So mostly I have to keep myself hidden. That is why I write these ruminations. It is me in my purest and most existential form. My goal with these ruminations is to create a character. A personality. A person born out from an aspect of my personality. When these ruminations are finished, if they are ever finished, my hope that a distinctive personality will grow out from them. A personality which is unique, subversive and entirely different from who I am. Of course there are aspects of myself in this but my hope is to create a monster not unlike Frankenstein. Sure, I am involved in this creation but I want to have my creation turn into something completely independent of me. So my goal is to write 500 ruminations. It seems like an impossible goal- but that is what I would like. Once I have completed the 500 ruminations I will go back and pick the most important ones and then create a book. From this book I hope my monster will arise. This is the intention at least. I just need fate or destiny on my side. I need to live long enough. I need to stay alive to complete my goal and life is never a certainty. One can only hope they have more time. No one knows for certain. I am sure that I will go away from these ruminations again and again. My hope is that I continue to return. I don’t care if people read them. This blog is a database. A rough draft. A space for me to amass 500 ruminations. If I have a few people reading them along the way- great. If not, that is ok also. The point is to create a monster that is born out of me but becomes completely distinctive from me. Maybe this monster will be the man I was never able or brave enough to become. Isn’t that what monster’s do? They are a reflection of what we are too afraid to be. Anyways, I just wanted to drop this line for whatever it is worth. Now back to the ruminating.

Toilet Rumination #129

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing in this based on an actual person. I do not endorse any kind of harm or violence done to anyone. I am discussing subversive ideas through fiction.


Everywhere I look, there is crap. There is crap in my toilet. Crap fills my backyard. There is dog crap and human crap. When I lift my garbage can lid there is nothing but crap inside. When I lift the toilet lid- crap. Continual crap. Every cabinet in my house is filled with crap. Crap fills bags that hang from doors. Crap fills closets. There is so much crap in closets that the closet doors can barely contain the crap. There is crap under the desks. Crap under dressers. Crap under chairs and couches. Every drawer and every corner is filled with crap. There is heaps of crap behind the washer and dryers. There is crap that fills the crevices in my backyard. I am dominated by crap. Crap is everywhere. I try so hard to push back the crap. To organize the crap. To keep the crap from over taking my life. I try to push the crap behind closed doors. Stuff the crap into bags. But there is crap all around. Crap fills the trunk of my car. Crap fills every closet and drawer at my office. The crap is disorganized and piled in mountains of crap. How can a person live a calm life with all of this crap all around? This crap makes me want to escape. This crap makes me so mad. Piles and piles of crap everywhere I look. Is this what humans do- amass mountains of crap? Fill their lives with crap? I think that those of us who do not succeed in life do not succeed because we have been taken over by mass amounts of crap. We are exhausted by crap. We are perplexed by crap. We are overwhelmed by all the crap. We feel trapped and stuck because of the crap. We continually want to escape from all the crap. But we keep amassing crap. We are crap machines. We can’t get a handle on all the crap so we add to the crap. There is always more crap being added to the crap. There will come a time where the crap cannot be hidden from view anymore. We will be suffocated by our inability to get any control over our crap. For now the crap bleeds out from the corners like blood from a scabbing wound. We have just enough space to keep the crap hidden from view. But without space we are condemned to suffer. We need space around us just like a fish needs water. We need space in our cabinets and drawers. We need space in our purses and bags. We need space under our couches and behind our washers and dryers. We need this space to live productive and calm lives. Without this space we feel trapped and are continually seeking escape from all the crap. Why don’t we see this? It is not the job and the people that we really want escape from. It is all the crap that we have amassed in our lives that we want to get away from. But we don’t bother to deal with our crap. Instead we keep our crap disorganized. We allow our crap t exist everywhere and try to keep it out of view. We spend so much of our time and energy trying to get control over this crap. Trying to organize the crap that we can see so that we have the illusion of having some control over the crap. But there is still crap everywhere. Crap behind closet doors. Crap in pantries. Crap piling up on shelves. Crap in purses and bags. Crap fills closets. Craps piles up in the trunks of our cars. There is crap that fills all of our trash cans that everyone refuses to take out. We have become the crap. We live within the crap. We are the crap. Our brains have turned into crap. We look like crap. We smell like crap. We talk like crap. We act like crap. We have been possessed by crap. We have not been able to defeat the crap or organize the crap so we have turned into the crap. We have had to become crap in order to adapt to all the crap that fills our lives. We create crap. Material crap. Psychological crap. Our love is crap. Our friendship is crap. Our ideas are crap. Our complexions are crap. Everything about us has turned to crap. This is what happens when we are no longer able to make space. We turn into the crap that we create.