Thursday, January 18, 2001

I have little to say. I am certainly a person who requires a fair amount of coffee.

Wednesday, January 17, 2001

We went to see Traffic last night. It's a hell of a good movie in many ways. Very suble attacks on The War On Drugs. Good story, good acting.

Speaking of The War On Drugs, I was wondering at what point we incorporate such thought-shaping taglines into the lexicon. I used to listen to the anti-Sandinistas referred to as Freedom Fighters. These taglines influence the way we perceive things. The War On Drugs is not a war and it's not drugs per se. Maybe they should call it the war on blacks and hispanics. The prison population has skyrocketed and the building and mantaining of the prisons themselves is quite a growth industry of late.

I certainly am skepical... if not downright cynical... about America today. Truthfully, I see a bunch of fucking idiots. The stolen election, the identically pro-corporate candidates (notice how quickly Nader was discredited, and with him his anti-corporate message), the blatant manipulations, the apathy... it's sad. There is a MO I see, too. Somebody raises a point, such as the fact that pharmaceutical companies benefit from disease far more than their alleged interest in health would seemingly allow. A champion rises and says, "THIS IS WRONG."
Something is done to make the person or organization look ridiculous and the public begins to repeat the slander.

Over and over this happens and nobody says a word.

Look at the public perception of the WTO protests: a few agitators smashed up some property and thus discredited the entire point. Or Perot's warnings on NAFTA, which lost credibility after he started talking about his daughter's wedding getting disrupted by black helicopters. Soon the entire playground is laughing and everybody heads to the mall.
But I also ask this: were it a different, more involved populace, would our lives change?

Personally, I wouldn't mind a good Amsterdam-style coffee house in my neighborhood. Double espresso and a half gram of Indonesian, please.

I always thought that the biggest problem people had with marijuana is that encourages questioning reality, a very unsettling thing for the power-brokers.

blah blah blah. where's Noam when we need him?

Tuesday, January 16, 2001

Whoo hoo. Shaking off a hangover. I left blood in the bars of P-town last night. Got home and screamed at the dogs. They deserved it, mind you. Pulled all the rugs into the living room and crapped on them. Ingenious. And so we went from happy singing la la la couple to shrieking maniacs. Haley and Oscar just do not like each other.

Monday, January 15, 2001

Sometimes this log is like a diary which I leave open on the table at a public library. My user logs show that 275 or so people are accessing this page every week. Yet, I am hesitant to publish any but the most banal details of my life. I have always kept six or seven journals about, writing in each as I have felt the need. Nobody has ever read them but myself... they function mostly as a letter to a future version of josh.

Usually, happy times necessitate no logging; the days pass blissfully and there is no stress which needs to be worked out. And then day upon day will suddenly get very difficult and the need for expression begins to build up like a hematoma. I should take heed and try to work these things out before they get to the point that my mind churns around them in such ways. Dogs lick their wounds so they cannot heal. My mind swirls and twirls and still I am unhappy and tormented.

I am being deliberately vague, because although nobody has ever emailed me on anything I have said here I have evidence that it is at least being looked at.

Now that I think of it, I seldom comment to anyone about their blogs. Maybe this weblog thing is all about lurking. I know there are some asp wizards who have encoded little "post comment" message boards into their blogs, but that seems almost a desperate grasping for feedback. A striving and ingratiating attempt to initiate converation ion a static medium. I mean, "HELLO! IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE?" is well and good on a desert island, but in this age of silent clicking and isolated workstations, what's the point of even asking?

don't even worry about that da-glo orange life preserver
it won't save you
it won't save you
just swim for the shore just as fast as you're able
swim like a motherfucker

-mark sandman


Sunday, January 14, 2001

Today is my brother's birthday. He is 33. Goddamn, but that seems old.
We're heading to a party now.
Oh, I bought a new watch. It's an accutron, a watch of which I have grown very fond. It uses a tuning fork instead of a crystal and is very accurate. Also, instead of ticking it hums (in the key of C). The second hand is absolutely smooth, too. A very cool timepiece.