I've officially entered my Earth's blogosphere. Hoorah.

I will fill these pages with nonsense, genuine thoughts, reflections, laments, jokes, non sequiturs, rants, words of wisdom from your mom, words of wisdom from my mom, a few bad poems, some angsty teenage-esque prose, links to other people's stuff, stuff from my stories, a couple of equations, notes from my dog, religious dogma from other planets, updates on my personal finances, articles about salmon, carbon emission analysis, updates on my team's efforts to continuously save the multiverse, documented proof of my genius, music that must be heard, art in all forms that seems important and cool, recipes for loafed meats, my obsession with chemical changes, and last but certainly not least, my conversations with Jesus.

Wait, you don't mean that Jesus, do you Truant?

I don't know brain, do I?

If you’re one of the twenty-or-so humans that pays attention to my nonsense, you likely already understand. I speak regularly with friends and acquaintances about just how bad things have become. I don’t want any part in this shit show, but here we are.

I’m hopeful, one day, to wake from this fever dream, alive and well on my home planet. My eyes will flash open and the history of my life will come flooding back to me. Family, friends. A peaceful world full of loving creatures. We’ve moved beyond petty tribal squabbles, having advanced into a culture dominated by empathy, artistic endeavors, and holistic living. Not humanity…I’ve deemed this an impossible future for the humans. No, this is me waking from my assignment.

I will remember my unfortunate choice, a volunteer life cycle among humanity, for scientific study of course. We thought it would be a good idea to remind ourselves of what insanity looks like. To remind ourselves why our species evolved past monetary based economic philosophy and deity based spiritual philosophy. To remind ourselves why we keep our planet hidden from the rest of existence.

I no longer weep for the humans. To continue emoting over a species determined to facefuck themselves into oblivion feels disingenuous. It feels like an act of narcissistic emotional self-martyrdom, to crawl over that Jesus-guy’s body up onto his cross and stare down in self-righteous self-satisfaction at the bloody entrails of a culture that has lost its Bob-damn mind.

I choose to identify as alien out of hope, a sense much closer to faith than belief, with “belief” the chosen expression of masses who don’t know shit. I choose to hope one day that I will wake up. This will all have been an experiment. I will be home where I belong. I will no longer be a strange alien stranded among a violent, insane race of creatures.

And to the peaceful humans, those I’ve witnessed live in shock of the world around them, unable to make this all go away, unable to make this world bend its knee to your calls for peace and love, you have my deepest sympathies. If this life is by design, you are better than what you’ve been given. If this life is the mere chaos of sentient existence sprung forth, you are better than what you’ve been given. Your nature is not to take, but to care. Thus, you were doomed by the more pervasive natures of your species from the beginning, ill-equipped to win the fight against man’s inherent evils. You were never going to be able to stop all of this violence without violence. It’s an extremely dirty trick.

Anyway, to all you peaceniks, please know you’re aliens too. Maybe someday we’ll wake up from this nightmare together.

Up Next: A message of hope from our sponsors...

Everyday I ask myself, "How do we all just keep going about our business in a world this fucked up?" It is, of course, a rhetorical question. I know how. We've got lives to live. For some the simple act of survival. For others the dedicated carving out of their footprint on the history of humanity, whether large or small.

I'm on my own personal mission, just like everyone else. I've got things I want to accomplish in this life, for no other reason than self-gratification, a sense of self-worth, as I march towards death. Yet, I feel a pull towards greater activism, to do all that I can to try and better this world while I'm alive. This daily call to arms, especially heightened during the era of 45 - whose name shall not be spoke here - this daily call is balanced by an equally strong sense of futility.

Am I doing all I can?

Does it matter?

I suppose I'll just stay busy while I'm trying figure all this shit out.

Here we go again. Not that I couldn’t turn this into a daily series by simply apocalypse scrolling social media every morning (apocalypse scrolling is the next level up from doom scrolling, fyi…), but the recent deranged tomfuckery surrounding the 2024 Super Bowl is too much for me to ignore.

First of all, to be clear, those of us “in the know” have known for a long-ass time (almost as long as Taylor’s mom jean wearing white girl long ass) that Taylor Swift has had the NFL in her sites for a while. There are dozens of clues in her music, starting with the song “Fifteen” off her second album Fearless where repetition of the lyrics “night ends” “night ends” clearly rhymes with tight ends, an obvious play on words to foreshadow her desire to someday conquer the heart of a famous American pass catching football player. Not to mention you have to be fearless to play football or date a football player. Her plan was further made obvious by her lyrics “He's so tall and handsome as hell. He's so bad, but he does it so well.” from her “Wildest Dreams” track on the 1989 album. Lyrics clearly describing Travis Kelce. Anyway, you can piece this together with tracks from every other album she’s released (with a few single words that string together into a long poetic clue from the albums in between those every other albums) until her release of Midnights, clearly a concept album dedicated to TKel. Just look at those song titles! “Maroon.” “Anti-Hero.” “Vigilante Shit.” “Labyrinth.”

Are you kidding me right now? It’s farking obvious. TMK never had a chance. She was coming for him and there was nothing stopping the prophecy. By the way, it’s no accident Travis’ middle name is Michael, the archangel Old Testament advocate for Jewish folk, who we all know run the entire music industry that Taylor Swift actually controls. Just look at the highway signs people. The end is nigh. The only thing everyone was missing about Taylor Swift fixing the Super Bowl outcome was that it had to happen. Just wait until you find out why. I can’t tell you now. You have to wait until April 8th, exactly nine  minutes (nine is the sum of three, three times) after the solar eclipse reaches totality. But then you’ll see how this all lines up with the Atlantean calendar’s doomsday clock.

Anyway, do you see? Probably not, because sheeple are blind. They don’t see the writing on the clocks or the missing puzzle pieces. They don’t see how deep the state really gets, even though it was all quite clear in the conceptually funny but genuinely prophetic sketches of The State comedy series circa 1994, not so coincidentally the year NAFTA was established.

So just keep plugging along all day like your life isn’t being perpetually manipulated by the nano-tech in the bottled water you keep drinking, fools. Ignorance ain’t bliss. Just look at how you sheeple bleat.

And to those of you who know you are in the know, you clearly deciphered my headline cypher. Everything is a conspiracy (watch the libtard heads explode when they find out). Conspiracy theories are only stupid when they aren’t true, which means they can’t be stupid, because they’re clearly true when you know the truth is out there, in here, to be told, up for grabs, written by the winners, and followed by the signs. Stay sharp. Stay frosty. But most importantly, stay tuned. More to come…

What I’m about write is intuitive for many people. In fact, let’s just make intuitive our word for the day. Here’s the thing, it’s a damn shame the discussion of climate change became political (not that everything doesn’t at some point…), because the mere concept that humanity’s ever-growing existence on this planet would affect our natural world, IE, potentially raise global temperatures and cause climate change, well, it’s simply intuitive. It’s logic my friends. I don’t need a scientist or a leftwing politician to explain it to me. All I have to do is think. Use my old reptilian brain goo. Let’s have a look.

First, humans are batteries. We’ve known this about us for years. I’m not certain which sci-fi book or film holds the honors of being the first to label us such, (hint, it was probably a book), but we’re batteries. We run at 98 degrees. That’s warm. It’s not particularly hot, no, but it ain’t cold! Our bodies put off heat, and in my lifetime, we’ve gone from 3 billion of those bodies to 8 billion. 8 billion! In less than 50 years, that’s 5 more billion bodies running around on this planet at 98 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s a very short span for a huge population jump. I mean the planet is billions of years old, and in 50 years we more than doubled an astronomical amount of species population. That’s extra heat, and we haven’t even discussed our lifestyles, technology, or the amount of other animal populations we’ve dramatically increased (though to be fair, we’ve balanced that out some by decimating other animal populations).

Twice as many people in my lifetime. Twice as many people using twice as many phones and cars and lawn mowers and hot water heaters and air conditioners and leaf blowers (goddam leaf blowers) and televisions, and on and on and on.  Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m sure the planet was like, “Oh sure, this is completely normal.”

Everything about human existence adds heat to this planet. (Okay, maybe not everything, but just shut up and play along, you get my point.) It’s intuitive. It’s logic. It doesn’t take a scientist or leftwing whackamole to explain this to me. I’m honestly not sure where else to go with this writing. Though I will say this: When I was a kid my home had four distinct seasons. We don’t anymore. That’s observation, holmes. I didn’t need to go on social media for some dipshit to explain this to me. Our climate is changing. We should take better care of the planet or it is going to fuck us right in the face. I mean, what would you do if something appeared to be trying to destroy you? Or even just make you sick? You kill that shit! You take medicine or chemotherapy or whatever you have to do and you kill that shit! What do you think the planet  is gonna do? You think the planet saw this coming? Huh? You think ol’ mother nature was just sitting around for billions of years shifting tectonic plates and having volcanoes and shit and was like, someday these assholes are gonna spread like a virus across my skin and I’ll be fine. Everything will just stay exactly the same.

See what I’m saying? It’s logic. Yes, the planet was fuckin shit up on its own. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t react to catalysts (ahem…cough…big ass meteor.) Ladies and gentlemen, we are a catalyst. We mine the land and throw our trash in the oceans and destroy forests. We build unnecessary shit. If we aren’t a catalyst, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, I think I’ve made my point. If you were sketchy before about whether or not we were causing this current change in our climate, please, just accept reality. I know it’s scary and trying to solve a problem this big is scary and a huge portion of you want to just give this up to the lord your gawd to fix, and I’m okay with that, I guess. Just stop lying to yourself about whether or not it’s real. And for fuck’s sake quit arguing about it on the internet.

End transmission.

The same people running around screaming about how the U.S. is the greatest country on Earth also think the country has been ruined and needs to return to its former glory. You can come from a place of logic to support both stances at the same time, but I still find the dichotomy humorous. We are one of the most free peoples, with more opportunity to shape our path forward than any other citizenry in the world. That alone makes the U.S. one of, if not the greatest nation(s) on Earth. Meanwhile, we’re in debt, class inequality is at its peak, and our government has devolved into a body full of nitwits and grifters. I place most of those nitwits and grifters on the right, but not all, and we would not have reached this place without at least some level of complicity from the left.

Anyway, back to the chuckleheads screaming about returning the U.S. to its former glory. My favorite part of their drooling caterwauling is the reality of this nation’s former “glory.” Most of us who live in reality recognize the painful history of this nation for anyone who isn’t Caucasian. But, let’s pretend for a moment that the “return to glory” folks aren’t really just screaming for total white supremacy. Let’s pretend they’re simply talking about plenty of jobs with fair wages, good schools, a healthy middle class, and a country that wasn’t trillions of dollars in debt. Let’s pretend they want all of these things for all people, not just the whites. Let’s pretend racism and bigotry are removed from the “Great Again” equation. Agreed? Good.

So here’s the punchline: These dipshits keep voting for politicians that have zero intention of returning this country to its former glory. We need to tax the rich, but these dipshits hate taxes. We need universal healthcare but these dipshits vote for capitalist grifters who want to privatize everything. We need better public schools, but instead, again, these knuckleheads vote for people trying to privatize education as well. Every time they scream about returning the U.S. to its former glory, they are screaming for a bygone era that can only be recreated with policies that only the Democrats would try to enact (in this current era of politics), while going to the polls and voting for Republicans. They are screaming for an era where anti-trust laws prevented companies like Amazon from undercutting manufacturers, the wealthiest in the nation were aggressively taxed so we could afford healthy public services like schools, and CEOs weren’t making 500 times the amount of money that workers were. I digress.

This country is insane. Humanity is insane.

Tax the rich. Repeal Citizens United. Institute Universal Healthcare.

Never mind. None of those things will help climate change.

Mother Nature is coming for us, and she is one righteous bitch.

I hate you all. I sit back and laugh at the crimson rivers. My favorites are the children. Mangled bloody children. What a gas.

My disdain for our species knows no bounds, including astronomical levels of self-loathing. And if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: if I hate myself this much, how do you think I feel about you? All of you.

Still, despite my self-contempt and lusty, oh so gratifying outward contempt for all the rest of you, I’m not interested in dying. The rest of you can fuck all, but I want to watch. I want to see it. You can’t be a top notch sociopath if you ain’t alive to bear witness.

Bear witness!

Thus, I shall make my point. I’m not interested in getting shot and killed by some raging nitwit who lacks the creativity to separate themselves from the other mass-murdering sheep. Picking up a gun and doing what dozens of other uncreative shitsticks are doing every day? So basic. Is that how you want to go out, America? At a mall or school or church or concert or festival or…you see? I could go on but the list has basically been covered. There’s nothing special about it anymore.

You see, even a self-loathing sociopath like me still understands the value of his own life. I don’t want to be killed by some angry nobody with a gun.
So, what’s the solution? I’m not certain, but there does appear to be statistics about this shit. There’s readily available data that suggests…and hear me out…there’s data that suggests that the proliferation and ease of which one can obtain a firearm makes it easier to use a firearm. Call me crazy, I know.

Prove me crazy, and I can likely still buy a gun.

Here’s the thing I am not going to gun-wash the entire problem in this country. We do have societal wide issues that are contributing to all of these murders. It would be naïve to ignore this, but I don’t think any of us are. Everyone just wants a solution. Except me. Again, I’m a sociopath. I’m enjoying this.

Whatever your stance on gun control is, can we all just agree upon one thing? Your children are getting murdered so a handful of people (relatively speaking) can make a shitload of money. It’s always the money with humanity. Every time. It’s the money.

So, just hear me out. Even a sociopath like me can see that if for some reason, somehow in some weird alternate version of our reality, ending the right to own firearms was more profitable for these glorious fellow sociopaths who are killing your children, you wouldn’t be able to buy guns anymore.

Again, if these people who are making shit tons of money off your children being murdered discovered it was somehow more profitable to stop selling you guns, you wouldn’t be able to buy guns anymore.

So, lefties and righties, you don’t have to agree on everything. But, I would suggest agreeing on the fact that your children, friends, parents, and siblings are getting murdered so that a handful of jerks can make a whole lot of money. That’s it. That’s the deal. That’s something even a sociopath like me can see.

I sat down, full-hearted, with interest in illumination. It’s been a while, I thought. We should share, or rant, or educate. Embrace your ego and rain knowledge down upon thy neighbor, you every-other-day creature of conceit. You’re in the moment. Briefly genius. Say something for Bob’s sake!

Don’t steal the taco truck. That’s all I got. Don’t steal the taco truck, you selfish hungry fucks.

A week of life. Work, sleep, work, eat, work, eat, sleep, work. TV! Work, sleep, work. Social media. News. Conversation. Don’t forget the emotions. All the bobdamned emotions. Don’t forget the emotions. Laughter! Don’t forget to make ‘em laugh, Jack. Talk some shit and send them away laughing.

“Don’t steal the taco truck?”

Shut the fuck up about the taco truck and talk about this ridiculous world. Make it make sense. Shout truth into the void. Say. Something. Relevant. Don’t say it…

Don’t steal the taco truck.

What does it mean? Where’s the metaphor? Or is it an analogy? You tell me! I’m just a dude, in love with a dog, trying to hit content on a Saturday morn. Maybe if I just keep typing, something will come along. Maybe if I just keep at it…something worthy will come along. Maybe. Maybe? Just keep typing and you’ll get there, like taking a walk. You eventually get there. Because there certainly isn’t anything else on your to-do list that’s been making you feel overwhelmed by your own ambitions (er…methods of avoidance), nothing else you could be doing to make you feel like you’re using your time wisely and effectively. Nothing. At. All.

Don’t steal the taco truck.

That’s all I got?

That’s all I got.

Dammit.

Compulsion, the catalyst. Compelled, the effect. Humanity in crisis and I am nothing. Neither savant nor hero nor contemptible villain. Rather, a faded expression of excellence in mediocrity. Born into just enough comfort to lack the desperation required to change my station, luck be damned. At least half my life cast behind me in complaint, the persistent lament of wide open eyes. Was it all worthwhile, ye bold witness to inequity? Casting your lot as the insufferable empath? Railing into the wind with intoxicated brains and hearts, the romantic doomsmith with a preference for rhetoric over action, victim to your own hide and seek ego and a seemingly desperate need for escape from all things. When at the end of the day the month and the year, all you’ve escaped is a better version of yourself that you may have been capable of as first written in the stars, a character sketch who lost its way in the narrative, now left with only the hope for an infinite run of these worlds, these realities, where once upon a time, one of you gets this right.

Today, in an instant, I was reminded why I love humans, despite my frustrations with humanity.

This post wasn't planned. It's reactionary. Hooray, here we go.

Woke up late, at about nine-thirty, just felt that I had to be disheartened soon. So I got on the computer. Yikes. Checked the Twitter news feed for the day's dumb-fuckery. Oh, humanity, you "never-ceasing to disappoint" gaggle of brutal nonsense. My main takeaway? Thank Bob for the "off" switch, in all facets, forms, and uses.

Still, I turned here first. Scream into the void, knucklehead. Scream into the void. Then go get something done. Fart about and watch the clock turn. The world is a ying to the yang, fifty-fifty bloodsport of evil, goodness, love, hate, joy, sadness, and empathy versus sociopathy where no one wins...except all the people who get rich and live amazing lives, 'cause no one goes anywhere when we die.

Money. Money. Money. Always follow the money, straight to heaven or hell on Earth, the only heaven or hell that exist.

Never will you meet another who does not believe but so desperately wishes he could. At least not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

While I was traversing the Deconstruction, I stumbled across Narcissia. I suppose I should have seen it coming, considering the Deconstruction’s purpose. Oh, if you aren’t familiar, the Deconstruction is a level of existence created by Bob for the scientific exploration of specific personality traits, quirks, behaviors, and so on. I, in my assignment as scribe, was given access to the Deconstruction, for clerical purposes of course.

Anyway…in effect, the Deconstruction consists of species of sentient emotional creatures who were given one specific personality trait, in effort to explore interpersonal relationships and how culture would evolve if everyone shared the same dominant trait. On Narcissia, guess which trait was in focus? Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Nar…ci…(did you guess yet?)…ssism. Did you guess correctly?

Now, without going into great detail, I can tell you what I found was a culture filled with some of the most giving, loving people I have ever encountered. Some might find that odd, given the general perception of narcissists on our Earth. However, Narcissian culture was mostly populated with self-fulfilled people who were at peace with their lives and station. Indeed, their personal happiness then overflowed to those around them.

Granted, not all Narcissians were as cool as the next. Some could be prickly, lacked empathy, and preferred cats to dogs (ew, gross). Some were selfish, wanting more than they needed. Some were lazy, not trying hard enough to fulfill their wants and desires and therefore living dissatisfied. Sound familiar? I could go on, but I’m certain you smell the cake burning.

Despite the varying levels of personal happiness, Narcissians shared one other dominant characteristic, an offshoot of their genetic narcissism. Kindness. They were all kind. Swear to Bob. Even the miserable ones were kind, and even the selfish ones would share. It was crazy. I couldn’t understand why, until one day I heard an ancient Narcissian dirge and understood. The title of the song translates, "All Live and Die.”

The Narcissians had accepted their commonality. They understood their entire, planet-wide species was of one race, with more in common than not. This sense of commonality and each individual’s acceptance of their dominant character, what we might call a fault, had fostered a peaceful, loving culture. There were no tribes save one, everyone, and therefore no tribalism. Thus, even a culture dominated by what we consider a selfish, wildly egotistical desire to please oneself took better care of one another than we do. I suppose, at the end of the day, this begs the question: What fucked us up?

Oppression only exists if accepted. One of the many tricks of oppression is to convince the free mind it is oppressed. Oppression wields many tools of trade, both obvious and counter-intuitive. One of these tricks is convincing the free mind that the only true escape from mass oppression is violence, something most good souls don’t want to participate in, even if group uprising actually seems obtainable and not so much work. Thus, we accept the group oppression as our own.

Understanding this, ask yourself how many people you know who you truly believe would take up arms for freedom unless there were no other option, with the other options being legion. En exemple: Play the game. Buy the stuff. Choose depression. Intoxicate. Choose burden. Accept… accept…accept the messaging. Create progeny and turn your existence over to them. Create hope, an idealist necessity, yet substantially disposable when hope turns into action, when you only leave hope (1st cousin of chance) to the things you cannot control.

Another trick of oppression is to convince the oppressed mind it is not oppressed. The tools oppression may use to convince one of such are legion. En exemple: Playing the game. Buying the stuff. Choosing depression. Intoxicating. Choosing burden. Accepting… accepting…accepting the message. Creating progeny and turning your existence over to them. Creating hope, an idealist necessity, yet substantially disposable when hope turns into action, when you only leave hope (1st cousin of chance) to the things you cannot control.

Do you see?

I used to ride the subway like an open wound, chest peeled back from a bleeding heart. Such a small space, fit to burst with life, every inch of air spoken for, disparate masses huddled in shared present experience, yet so often completely, sorrowfully, alone. Weary face after weary face. I've never seen more people in such a lonely place.

I sat. I wrote. Page on page on page. Brain and fingers bellow. Striving for purpose to emotion. Striving for value, this interchangeable life. Striving. For what, again, pauper raconteur? Sing purpose all you like. Purpose requires no recognition. Purpose begs only for action, in return, and action wants for naught. Action screams I am my own reward.

Value, then? Whose?

I’ve spent so much time pondering this madness, frequently choosing solitude for the purposes of self-indulgent, brooding thought. I’m not alone, I know. Many others, millions of others, have had similar thoughts and feelings. Similar wonderings. My words aren’t revelations, I know. This is simply my version of the nonsense. My chatter, as I fart about through life (Thanks, Kurt).

I feel the constant of time slipping away. First a trot, when you’re young and don’t know any better. Then a dead sprint as you age, become more aware of your mortality, and do everything in your power to deal with this situation you’ve been thrust into. Life. Your precious, fleeting life you did not ask for but are doomed to recon with. Will my teeth hold out? I know it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but will they?

I’ve started and deleted the next sentence, this sentence, at least 7 times (sneaky word, time, with its variant usages). I don’t know where I’m going in this document any more than any one of us knows where we’re going in life, whether we think we know or not. The next thirty seconds could be heart attack and death with so much left unfinished, unsaid, and the brutal acceptance that everything I think I strive for walks a tightrope of meaninglessness. What legacy have you, dead man?

I’ve chased and chased, too often at a snail’s pace, and am now left wondering if I’ve gotten it all wrong. Have I fought the good fight? Have I? Or did I let what might have been slip away?

You’ve let what might have been slip away, dummy. That’s how this works. For good or ill, what might have been is exactly what it is, what might have been. The last breath you took, typing these words in your easy chair in your easy life, that’s what is. However you fart about tomorrow (Thanks, Kurt), that’s what is.

I’ve pondered a lot about more dynamic lives. People who appear to have done much more bad and much more good in this world than me. People who’ve traveled the world and seen so much more. Accomplished so much more. People with a Wikipedia page. I thought I wanted one of those lives. Especially one of those lives that inspires humanity to improve. Did I really want all that stuff? I still do, but it seems like it would have been a lot of work. I still do, but time is in a dead sprint and I’m not necessary. None of us are, but one way or another, we all suffer the same shit.

Did I waste all this time protecting a soul that isn’t there? Did I waste all this time protecting a soul that is there but was prepared to take on more dirt? Are we allowed to do a shitload of bad and still protect our soul by doing a shitload of good? Could I have ever been as good as I had hoped to be as a child? Did I let it slip away (tee hee)? Did you? Could you have been that other thing that seems like a better version of you that most likely isn’t but feels like a genuine possibility because there’s so goddamn many of us and we’ve seen every possible fucking version of what this life might be for any particular individual and our emotions drive us crazy with regret and lust and joy and yearning and disappointment and self-love and self-hate and boredom and guilt and love and peace and confusion and dreams of cake and the desire for revenge and…and…wants, wants wants wants wants, and hopes and dreams and fears, and so many fears, and and and…the constant hiding from or placating or outright indulging of our unrequested emotions and the whole goddamn deal is exhausting whether your life is super dynamic or mediocre or shit? We all suffer the same shit. It’s different but it’s the fucking same, and I’ve got a love/hate relationship with the whole Bobdammed deal. Maybe you do too. Maybe you don’t.

Maybe, there’ll be heaven for those who deserve it, hell for those who earned it, and a closet full of loving souls who had no time for either.

I checked the internet this morning. In less than five minutes I was angry again. Humanity suckling at the teat of its own absurdity, reveling in meaningless nonsense while we torture one another and destroy the planet. Grifters preying on the weak-minded with their bullshit. Goddamn, if only the snake oil salesmen of yesteryear knew the generation they missed out on. Of course, many of these modern hucksters are powered by the same souls, recycled to give it another go because why the fuck not? Clearly your god has either abandoned us, is simply a voyeur douchebag, or has instituted some grand plan that requires human existence be an interminable fuckshow for his/her/its shits, giggles, and/or to fulfill their absurdist promise of eternal damnation or pleasure.

Full disclosure, I was once a child of faith. I was once a foolish rebel, a lover of the Confederate battle flag who was convinced I could display it with my own meaning, my own reasons of value, without any interest in supporting the reality of what it symbolized. The only racist bone in my body was dedicated to the French. I didn’t ask for this bone, but there it is, so I live it with it. Fuck the French.

I kid. I kid the French. They deserve it. We all do. Anyway, before I lose track…

Back to the religion and rebel flag garbage. All I can say is, thank the good lord Bob for LSD. If nothing else, LSD made me acutely aware of the unbridled scope of humankind’s hypocrisies, including my own (and the assumption I have more I can’t see). From the ingenious double-speak of the Bible, from which much of my early programming was designed, to the glaringly one-sided presentation of U.S. history.

Fuck, where am I going with this.

Oh…I logged on today. Within minutes, I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the bullshit today. The lies, the stupidity, the hatefulness, but most of all, the grift. I swear, I can almost live with humans being stupid and hateful. Uncultured, misguided beasts who need reprogramming. I can forgive the idiot masses. I can’t forgive the grift.

The grift makes me sick. Every lie spewing day watching these money grabbing, soulless pieces of yak anus bleat into the ears of desperate, scared, gullible, hateful, sad, and in any other way you can think of, vulnerable people…I genuinely cannot adequately describe the hatred and anger it inspires within me. My whole life. My whole failed life and my whole moderately successful life are all driven by my contempt for this situation. I watch people have babies and I think, “How? How the fuck can you be dooming another child to this horror show?” I don’t mean to condemn all child birth, though I do think people should take a hard look at the current need for more children on this planet, the amount of kids they’re birthing, and the amount of kids already out there who need a home…but no, I don’t mean to condemn. I love kids. They really are our only hope. That each generation is somehow better than the one before. More evolved. More kind. I’m not condemning the want for family, I’m merely describing my gut, emotional reaction to seeing new children born. I’m not saying I’m right, I’m just saying…that’s how this world has affected my psyche.

Rambling again. Emotions spiked early due to coffee and these goddamn humans. What did my soul do to deserve this? What did any of us do to deserve this? And if you read this thinking, “Geez, what a bleak point of view,” well, I envy you.

I have a suspicion this is going to become a never-ending series for me, as I continually think of all the ways being obsessed with global conspiracy is stupid. I wrote on this subject previously here: why-conspiracy-theories-are-stupid-the-deep-state-of-ignorance.html

Today, I would like to discuss the end result, ‘cause here’s the thing. What fucking difference does it make? What if the Covid-19 vaccines do have a microchip in them? How do you think it’s going to change our commonfolk, pissant lives?

Notice I said “our.” If you aren’t a billionaire or some form of social/political royalty, what difference does it make if you’ve got some form of Bob-knows-what microchip in you now? Or nano-byte? Or micro-nano? Or chip-byte? What, fucking, difference? We aren’t a part of the Illuminati and we never will be. You aren’t in the World Order club. The odds of being a normie who suddenly becomes a billionaire are radically small. Yes, it happens every day, but there are damn near 8 billion people on this planet. There are less than 3,000 billionaires.

So, again, I rhetorically ask, what difference does it make? You have an entire life to live that will likely require working to earn money. There’s a world of opportunity for exploring, learning, loving, creating, doing anything that involves living a full life that, if effected by some sort of secretive, global battle between the forces of good and evil, you will never, ever, comprehend. Your life will not change, and if it does, you’ll never know.

And here’s one for all the faith-based life livers out there: if you believe in fate or some glod’s plan, well, guess what. Whatever conspiracy you think might be going on behind the shadows of governments, most likely being perpetrated by diddling child-molesters, well, all this shit must be your Glod’s will. In his, her, or its plan and whatnot. (I’m not going to get into my one true glod, Bob’s will. It’s an ever-unfolding, progressive philosophy.)

Thus, one more time, again, if there is some grand conspiracy, if you’re a normal person, I promise, you’ll never know. Never. Ever. Won’t happen. You, will, never, know. So, I offer this advice with sincere love for other people and genuine empathy for the struggle we all must endure to survive this hellscape of an existence. Go live. Do stuff. Live. Get off your ass and find a better way to waste what time you have. And believe what’s right in front of you. What we bear witness to is the only truth we know. Hey, did you see that? Yes I did, and that’s how I know it’s real. (Unless of course you have a condition causing hallucinations and shit, like schizophrenia. But that’s really an individual versus collective reality discussion and I’m not dealing with nuance here.)

Forget the conspiracies and go fucking live. Do stuff. Be kind.

Love,
Truant

Believe it or not, there are versions of Earth where we get things right. Not everything, that's just not how existence works. But, and it's a big ol' but, there are dimensions where humanity is doing a better job. FOR INSTANCE...

Right now on Earth 53, the second impeachment trial of Donald Frump is going very differently. Oh...his real name is the same on Earth 53...I just like calling him Frump. Anyway, on Earth 53, Republican politicians realized they had been given a unique opportunity to be rid of Frump forever.

Yes, they've been under his thumb and are scared of his political power, BUT (and it's a big ol' but), they realized that if they impeached him and removed his ability to run for political office again, they could effectively neuter his political power.  Yes, they would have to go home and explain to their constituency that they had been "Ride or Die" with Frump, but an armed insurrection of the Capital in effort to overturn an election was a bridge too far. YES, they had agreed the President had every right to investigate the election to insure its security. The President had done so, and there was no evidence to support his claims of widespread election fraud. YES, the President had lied to them all, and it sucked, but Republicans were going to keep working for their voters.

I know this seems farfetched, but on Earth 53, that's how this shit is going down right now. The Republicans on Earth 53 understand with a little extra effort, they can rid themselves of this blight named Frump. Sure...it will take a while for him to become wholly irrelevant, but it will happen. The masses don't like being failed, and their nimrod god has failed them. Eventually they will lose interest in him, but they will still have to vote for someone, and their Republican politicians will always be there for them blah blah fuckety blah.

Of course, circumstances that led to this very similar situation on Earth 53 occurred. Earth 53 wasn't doing much better than us, but this is where our paths diverge. You see, every version of humanity has different moments where things get better. Earth 27 has been a Utopia since World War II. Earth 328 never even had a World War II! They figured their shit out after the first one.

Unfortunately, we're stuck on this version of Earth, where Republican politicians have either chosen political expediency, are genuinely Qinsane, or are downright just too chickenshit to do the correct thing. Good luck in your future endeavors evolving into a peaceful species that managers to save your planet, Earth 53. I envy you.

The story is my lifeboat, my compass and my rudder. Without it, I am directionless. Adrift in a sea of melodramatic melancholy nonsense. Unnecessary human emotional gobbledy-goo-boo-hoo, an unrequested gift born of the consequences of my own choice-ridden existence. Everything led to this. Survival through beautiful delusion, blessed escapist homeopathy.

When the story arrives, when it reveals its ending, I have new purpose. New direction. New hope. A dream resurrected. The story points the way, and I look forward to another day. Maybe this will be the one. Maybe not, but the work must be done. The dream is a dream, the hope a hope. The work is survival.

Many months have passed since I added content to my personal internet time capsule. I’ve had plenty to say. Lots of conversation and ranting in the real world, but putting anything worthy down for record seemed fruitless. What was I going to say about a global pandemic and American civil unrest that wasn’t already being said? That I was scared for the future of our country and our world, like so many others? That living in a city where there were some actual riots (though 99% of the “so-called” riots were peaceful protests) over a young woman COMPLETELY UNDESERVEDLY having been killed by police in her own home, and hearing police helicopters over my house at night, was surreal? That dealing with any of the rest of humanity’s problems seems pointless when Mother Nature is gonna wipe us out anyway? That my general malaise was cranked up to eleven?

I wanted to put some thoughts down before the election, but couldn’t. I wanted to say something about race in this country, but anything sayable feels like shouting into an echo chamber. The people who understand hear and the people who refuse to believe refuse to believe. I wanted to tell everybody I finished writing a novel and was super excited about my effort during these desolate times. Talk about feeling inappropriate…

Then, last Saturday, it came together. After four years and four days, the path to victory for President-Elect Biden was clear. Please note, former VP Biden was not the progressive candidate I would have preferred, although I believe him to be a decent-hearted, well-meaning human being. I was not watching my candidate of choice nor my particularly preferred VP candidate speak, though I certainly have nothing against Kamala Harris. And I only mention this ticket not being my personal favorites for a specific reason, but I’m going to sidetrack this point and will circle back.

I’m a cis-gendered straight white male of a generation whose progressives spent our youth telling everyone NOT to label us. That’s a hint there, folks, that I’m at least middle-aged. The reason I admit to my age and Caucasian male devilry, is because I understand that at the end of the day, in this country, I am the least effected by all the tumult. I lost my job and have been fine. I also have no children, so I have no fear of their future. I’m also phenomenal at judicious self-medication, so I can flip the switch to “numb” on a daily basis and take my white ass to bed.

Yet, last Saturday night, watching two people who weren’t my preferred choices, I found myself on the verge of tears on multiple occasions. The first lump in my throat came during Kamala’s speech. It wasn’t her words, simply watching her speak and imagining not only being a person of color, but any woman in this country. Any young girl that can look up and realize that could be her someday, and that by the time said young girl has grown into an adult, she will be the head of the ticket.

Then Joe Biden spoke, and the lump in my throat returned several times throughout his speech. I wondered to myself, how can anyone listen to this man plead with everyone to stop being so goddamn mean to one another, and not appreciate this message? The answers are legion, of course, and I don’t need to list examples here. This writing is not about all the problems we face.

This writing is about four years and four days of wide-awake and sub-conscious disquiet. Anxiety. Sadness. Disillusion. Confusion. All these emotions, wildly intensified by empathy during a four year stretch like nothing I’ve experienced in my life. I believe myself to be an introspective person who remains in the present effectively, and therefore, connected to my present emotional state. I can honestly say, I could never have quantified the level of emotional exhaustion the last four years had cultivated in me, until last Saturday, when I saw a message of peace and a glimmer of renewed hope.

And remember, I’m a white dude. I wish it didn’t matter, but it does. I didn’t come from money or anything like that, but I still understand my privilege, and if I felt the way I did the other night, I can only imagine what it felt like to be someone from a marginalized community. To have suffered the true levels of disenfranchisement this country offers. I can only imagine, but I do. Empathy. Something this country needs right now more than ever, and something I believe the two humans I saw on stage last Saturday night both possess.

Of course, the fight isn’t over. It never is. But after four years and four days, at least for a moment, there was a deeply needed sigh of relief and renewed since of optimism.

Onward. Head down, feet forward.

Hulu’s Newest Original Superhero Drama: Truth to Power Mom and the Empty Axiom Five

In this current age of soundbites, social media virality, and pop-culture slang du jour, we need a new brand of hero. Yes, yes, thank God for the peacemakers and the post-makers, a new brand of modern warriors with blazing thumbs and a mastery of colloquial internet speak. Digital Marshals, fighting lawlessness in a dotcom Wild West. That’s why, this Fall, Hulu is slated to premiere a show about your new favorite superhero family: Truth to Power Mom and the Empty Axiom Five. Let's meet the team...

Truth to Power Mom – When Mom speaks her personal truth, sniveling trolls wilt from the power of her brutal honesty. Cross her and be turned to ash, gently floating to the scorched earth below. Know this, social media evil doers: Actions may speak louder than words, but not in a digital universe. Go ahead, bring that bullshit on-line. Truth to Power Mom gonna drink a glass of wine and side-eye your ass into oblivion. Oh, you don’t like that sarcastic gif of someone scoffing at you? Better stay away from the comments section then. You’ve been owned. On the internet.

Big D Energy Dad – Does the D stand for the confidence people assume a man with a large penis possesses, or does it simply stand for Dad? Big Dad Energy Dad. As in the Alpha Dad, proudly sporting skinnier jeans, a cool untucked 90’s band t-shirt and kitschy, designer brand sneakers. No one knows what fuels Big D Energy Dad’s super powers. Is it genuine, irrationally confident swag, a lack of intelligence capacity for self-doubt, or simply the ability to effectively mask crippling insecurities in public? We’ll never know! All that matters is we’ve chosen to perceive his BDE.

The It Is What It Is Twins – Hally and Haley Comet, the It Is What It Is Twins, fighting bullshit with more bullshit! When confronted by a conversational topic without a more eloquent point to make, don’t call a spade a spade, call a spade a self-evident pronoun! Be warned, you may think you’re winning, but when Hally says, “It is,” and Haley shouts, “What it is,” their combined powers of circular logic refute any and all valid and nuanced arguments. You may think you’re winning, but you aren’t. Because why? Because it is what it is.

Best Life Boy – Best Life Boy is every smiling two year old you’ve ever seen. Whatever the hell he’s doing, he’s living his best life and starring in videos that make you smile, laugh, and sometimes cry. Thank God for a child’s joy, and the social media posts Best Life Boy will always be able to look back on, seeing how happy he once was, because most of Best Life Boy’s best life is going to be living through the climate catastrophe induced Seventh Extinction. You’re welcome, you little fucker you. Smile on that.

And their faithful dog, Stan – Stan's the photogenic family doggie. For all you Stan stans, check out the Stan Stans Fan Page and post your favorite “the world is on fire and we’re all going to die” Tik Tok dance vids! The video with the most likes will receive a free I’m A Stan Stan tshirt. All Stan Stans Fan Page advertising proceeds go directly to a 501C3 public housing bunker project being built under the unlivable earth of the former Amazon rainforest.

I know, the headline sounds like a fantastic fake band name. And while you think DSDFFJ might be a jam band, it’s actually the euphoric light and drug show that is EDM. Yes, only electronic dance music, whether in a European warehouse club space or rural American pop-up rave, can be this wonderfully disorienting.

I remember as a child having fantastic conversations with my father at night about the state of the world and why people behaved the way they did. While other kids wanted a bedtime story, I wanted a dose of pseudo-psychology from my father, admittedly a very intelligent and patient man, though lacking in any behavioral science or sociology degrees. Still, I remember all the talks we had about mankind’s inherent, species wide lunacy. That’s right. I said species wide. Before you pucker up your defensive posture, please remember, almost every single one of us has purchased their ticket for the roller coaster, in some form or fashion. You may be rational in many, many ways, but most likely proudly flaunt your own special brand of crazy. Perfectly packaged, wrapped in a neat little bow and ever present in your daily life. It’s your Special.

Your Special is what tells you three sheets of toilet paper is just right, four is okay, but five is a misuse of commodities. Your Special is what tells you it’s okay to rail against all of the injustice in this world on a site like Facebook, which you refuse to log off of, despite your favorite platform being an active party to the world’s massive injustices. It’s your Special that thumbs it’s nose at all those Deep State Qanon weirdos but makes you think your personal belief in an invisible deity or abject certainty there’s no such thing as said deity is totally rational.

But Truant, what does my Special have to do with the Attorney General dropping the criminal case against a traitor who has admitted to the charges brought against him? To be frank, I’m not certain, and I’ve never been good at impersonating a guy named Frank for the sake of horrible punmenship. But, if I were to venture a guess as to what I’m getting at here, I believe it is the imminent dissolution of our collective reality, which is barely hanging on by a thread as a type, while said dissolution is somehow unfortunately perpetuated by each and every one of our Specials. Our inherent ability to believe there is something Special about me opens a giant can of psychological worms that encourages us to believe what we want to believe, science and reality be damned. One can only wonder what will happen to our species, to our planet, and to the very fabric of time once the tapestry of all that we agree upon as real is unraveled.

Personally, I like to think we’re living in a continuum where the human race has already destroyed itself on a dozen or so occasions, we’re bound to do it again, and every time we do we get to start all over until one day we finally get it right. Maybe each time we have an opportunity to level up our species' capacities for wisdom and love. Maybe last time was way worse than this time, and next time will be a little bit better. Why not? Is that harder to believe than our souls being immortal and living in a state of sublime peace and happiness or horrific pain filled misery for all eternity?

Anyway, whatever you believe in, an afterlife, soul recycling, becoming worm food, I think these times we’re living in should certainly prepare you for finding out that nothing you’ve ever believed in was ever true to begin with, despite the fact that some of it was still true, even though none of it was, because the truth is still out there but you’ll never find it when whomever is behind all of this has so cleverly hidden the truth, the doubt, and the proof in the same place. There all in a secret cave located on the underbelly of our flat Earth that no one knows about except those who know.

Until then, we must simply enjoy the show. Pull out your hair if you will, but you’re better off taking a pill and dancing to the good time grooves. It’s the Human Race’s Big Time Hullabaganza, starring you my friend, and me, and all the rest of us 8 billion crazy mofos, shaking our thighs and twerking our minds to the infectious sociological rhythms of the age of insanity. Collective reality was so 1988.

Warning: This one's a little explicit.

First of all, y’all don’t even have that many holes. Or genital appendages, for that matter. There are so many species throughout existence that have waaaaaaaaaaay better sex, and yet they are nowhere near as hung up about it as you are. “It’s a sin!” “I’m addicted!” “Somebody’s about to get raped up in here!”

I know, that last one is touchy, but while this article is intended to be humorous, it’s also intended to have a point, so please know the conceptual insertion of rape in the opening paragraph wasn’t simply buffoonery. Yet, I would argue the extent to which we often pine for, obsess over, and ultimately are willing to inflict pain (both emotional and physical) to see our carnal desires fulfilled is abject buffoonery and or cruelty.

To be frank, I’ve had plenty of sex while trapped in this human body. Both lusty, superhot sex and lame ass sex. At the end of the day, as numerous comedians and psychotherapists have explained, the end result is almost always the same, at least for a man. Pleasing chemical dump, sploot, pleasing chemical dump. Rinse. Repeat. Ladies, I understand the sploot and post-sploot pleasing chemical dump is a much more tenuous opportunity for you, based on your lovers’ abilities and your own. Yes, your own. I’ve known one woman in my life that openly took responsibility for a lack of ability to sploot. And she knew damn well if she couldn’t figure it out, she couldn’t expect a man to suddenly discover Valhalla for her.

Anyway, let’s not belabor the point any longer. I’m here to tell you that sex ain’t that big of a deal. It’s not one that churches should be condemning folks over, or that these poor incel people should be freaking out about, or that you should cheat on your spouse to obtain, or that anyone should get raped over. It’s just…not…that…big…of…a…deal. It feels nice and offers you weird sensations of validation and confidence but so does alcohol. So does MDMA. I’m not personally sure about heroin but I hear it’s the bee’s knees.

I don’t mean to negate the positive side of healthy, mutual, explorative, evolving, sexual coupling. It’s nice. Partnering up with someone you dig and juicing each other is fun, but again, at the end of the day, it’s just not that big of a fucking deal. You aren’t saving the world, or even raising money for a charity (okay, okay, maybe every once in a while you’re raising money for a charity). It’s not some blessed union of souls, I promise. No matter what those pleasing chemicals tell you.

What you’re dealing with is a base desire. Animal instinct. Period. Once you’ve had it and felt the sploot, that pull is more powerful, but in the end, it’s still just base desire. Animal instinct. And we’re better than that. I’m not advocating not having sex. That’s not my point. I’m advocating that the next time you’re considering doing something shitty to obtain sexual gratification, even something so small as dipping your toe in the cold waters of infidelity, think twice. It’s just sex. It’s fleeting, and those positive chemicals it dumps on you? They’re fleeting too, and they won’t solve your problems. Just smack your own dick or clit around for a while and be done with. It’s simpler, and doesn’t require another person’s emotions to be effected.

So there you have it, a resident alien’s guide to realizing sex isn’t that big of a fucking deal to help you stop being hung up about it. I close with one of my favorite new one-liners that I’m taking credit for until someone tells me that somebody else said it first. A buddy asked me the other day how I go without sex. I said, “Man, I know how good cocaine feels too, and I don’t do that anymore either.”