song of twitches

here it is;

I haven't shivered like this in months. it would feel good, save the gnawing thought: I AM AN ACCOMPLICE. fuck it. not like anyone else would do it any different. family is family. although I don't buy for a minister's minute that blood is automatically thicker that water. circumstantial evidence can be such an inconvenience. 

still, the cold makes its point. the song ends, and the TV in the bedroom reminds you that there are more players in the game than you'd taken into account on this particular expedition into the depths of your own personal quagmire. 

the aching muscles at the corner of your mouth - the ones that signify that you've been scowling for at least 15 minutes straight - further illustrate the point.

it's hard to imagine the cost of such follies which accompany this time of year. unless, of course, you happen to be a rat living in the tunnel connecting the basement to the consensus. yeah, be mindful of the gap. 

sorry , the union that handles that particular lapse in sarcastic cohesion has met with insolvency.

The Umbilical Cord of the Poor

I remember when automatic communication by means of a cellular phone was still some what of an oddity. service was expensive, and the phones themselves were clunky relics with retractable antennae. forget about ringtones and 'apps'. 

flash-forward several years and, suddenly, we had flip-phones and blackberries. (remember when the Razor was the neatest thing since sliced internet?) now, the vocabulary of communication had become slightly more bloated; including terms such as 'texting' and 'voicemail'. (anyone remember having to change the little cassettes in their answering machines?) yeah, suddenly, it seemed as if everyone had a little device stuck to the side of their head through which they were tethered to the rest of the world. at that point, having a land-line (yet another new phrase added to the lexicon) was the oddity. cordless phones and answering machines went the way of the personal pager.

flash-forward again to now, when the means of communication between sentient beings is regulated by wireless companies. and, whether it be antitrust laws or the massive hairy arm of free enterprise, there are a myriad such entities to choose from. however, they tend to break down into 2 categories:

1: heartless corporations who rangle a select few into 2-year contracts by dangling exceptional deals on the latest technological toys, ie: iPhones, DROID, tablets, etc. and then holding their payments, whether loyal or delinquent, over their heads like a fucking guillotine.

and, 2: heartless corporations who, in order to lure in the lowest common denominator, offer contract-free plans, at a "flat" monthly fee, by means of sub-par devices.

I myself am a victim of the latter.

I have no choice.

my credit is less than stellar & therefore I must rely upon, say, Virgin Mobile for my wireless communication needs. don't get me wrong, I was actually able to procure a fairly decent touch-screen phone for relatively cheap, with an also relatively cheap plan that included all the options that conformed with my meager needs. 

however, just like option #1, they have hidden ways in which to fuck you out of money, albeit smaller sums than a 2-year contract provider. 

in the end, it matters little to someone like me how much I am spending, or am flummoxed into spending. $10 might as well be $1,000. any amount hurts because I am a member of that certain statistic that is currently being name-dropped in the mainstream media so fucking much of late... 

I am unemployed, uninsured and, of course, undeserving.

yet, the fucking punchline is that I need a phone. I need that umbilical cord which connects my starving, destitute self to the all-encompassing teet of current communication. I have children whom I love dearly and whose well-being for which I am responsible. not to mention that I need a phone in which prospective employers can contact me. 

I'm not entirely sure just what message it is that I'm trying to solidify here, I just know that being poor and trying to stay connected to this futuristic world in a way that remains current is just as fucking tiresome as arguing with the only utility provider in town, in lieu of silly things like monopoly laws.

I AM NOT A HIPSTER DOUCHBAG...

I recently bought this DVD at the Southgate BORDERS for $9. I thought I had scored. unfortunately, when I watched it, I realized that it was just another exercise in hipster douchebaggery, albeit including acts like Iggy Pop and Portishead and Grinderman. turns out it wasn't worth it, even at such a discounted price. therefore, I urge you not to purchase this, unless you enjoy disconnected clips of rich hipster assholes twirling around an over-priced UK music festival. especially when the clips of the actual bands that would make such a thing worth the money are relegated to twitchy too-quick edits. 

my regime

I am developing a no-tolerance policy for intolerance. 

you will accept everyone, under pain of irrelevance. left or right, right or left. you will not enforce your ideology upon anyone, in any legislative sense. free speech will still be in effect, however, the extremist, or fundamental rhetoric you present will only be taken in the utmost figurative context. religion is right out. there will be NO religious legislation, whether direct or implied, allowed in any public forum. that is not to say freedom of faith-based beliefs will be prohibited. on the contrary, you will be free to believe in whatever religious faith you wish, provided it does not interfere with the basic infrastructure of society. id est: you may say whatever you want, pray to whom ever you want or complain openly about any one person or organization's practices. however, you may NOT enact laws to hinder, stymie or subvert any person's life based on any religious or philosophical doctrine. 

any violators will hereby be banished to Alaska.  

goodbye, sodium lights

I am a family man with a dark past. not 'dark' as in 'seedy', but 'dark' as in the fact that I used to live in the wee hours before I found a reason to live in the sun. late nights, wandering around streets lit by stuttered cars & sodium lights. I would see the strangest, most beautiful things. like a fox drinking in the gutter, not 6 feet from me. or, skies that looked as if they were hazy shrouds intent on smothering the chaos below them like a vast unseen mother covering a shivering and confused child with a blanket of downy consolation.

but, like I said, the sun did rise. and I woke to a world, albeit bright, but more consoled than I could have imagined. in that world was a family. a wife. a son. and, finally, a daughter. 

this world was, and is, a paradigm-shattering transition for a fool like me. however, it is a worthy one. yes, the worthiest. I know this by the faces I know best. the faces I wake up to, squinting into the brightness of the sun. the faces I love beyond definition. 

oh goody! Mexican Radio again!!!

I honestly did want my first official blog to be something pithy and insightful. maybe about some social issue like the economy or class warfare or something equally as important. or something that everybody (read: me and my facebook friends) can agree to be pissed off about, like Republicans. 

oh well.

so, I woke up this morning, feeling like a mastodon's favorite chew toy, which is normal for me because morning & I mix about as well as kimchi and IBS. anyway, once the pain and realization of being alive had subsided, I decided to engage in one of my favorite torturous activities: watching my DVR recordings of VH1 Classic's 120 MINUTES, which airs ever Sunday, Monday and Thursday mornings at 2AM - 4AM. being an admitted professional appreciator and habitue of club nostalgia, one would think that this would be like ambrosia to me. however, I am also an admitted cynic and snark addict. that being said, you can always count on me, like Andy Rooney at Burning Man, ind something to hose down with my vitriol.

first of all, I want to know if their video blocks are automated, or if there is some burnout hipster, half-dead from bonghits, hummus and sleep-dep, hunched over a keyboard like some over-weight gargoyle wearing an antediluvian Husker Du t-shirt that looks like it was made of cheese cloth that a mummy wiped its ass with. and in between manly pulls from whatever liquid demise he happens to be further eroding his motor skills with, he decides, in his infinite wisdom, that what the 12 people who happen to be watching at this ungodly hour need is to see the video for "I Melt With You" for the 3 fafillionth fucking time!

(drat! I realize I might have just described myself during one of my late-night inebriated posting sprees on facebook. except I try hard not repeat myself, and none of my cool band shirts fit me anymore.....sniff.)

but I digress, since digressing is what i do best when all I can think about is a nice shower because sitting here turns my underpants into Seminole country.

another thing that really glenn's my beck is that Classic Current bullshit where they'll play an older, actually classic, video from a particular band or artist and then play their crappy new shit directly post. you know, just in case you were getting maudlin at all. I mean, if you're going to play  "Alive" by Pearl Jam, can you play the actual video and not some half-assed live version you pulled off of one of their recent concert DVD's, not only depressing the blue fuck out of me, but also making me feel as old as the hills and twice as dusty. for fuck's sake, they look like the Rolling Stones!
in closing, VH1 Classics, I just don't think the odd Sister's Of Mercy video every leap year equals eclectic. if you can dig up some random horror like Classix Nouveaux, then I'm sure you've got enough crap laying about to to sufficiently diversify your 120 MINUTES block. and I'm the burnout hipster to do it! no really. I need the work.