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First off, I wasn't going to write shit for December because of all the family shit that drags down the GOOD FEELING we get when we are so loved at the onset of this special holiday season. But now, with heavy sigh and a stiff drink, I bring you the challenge of the year, dear reader. I will be positive for the rest of this month, and with sincerity mind you, no sarcasm, no ranting, nothing but super saccharin sweetened joys from the rejuvenated brainpan of one KENFUCK. So it is with great pleasure I bring you, DECEMBER 2003, (applause.)
What a great day! First I got to meet some very destitute people. Allow me to digress. First I met the young and ‘ass packing' Juanita, who's fine booty I gots to talk to and she was so special, she called the landlord to gets the key to open the door to the utility room for me. What a fine gentleman he was too. He looked like some cab driver from a big city, about five foot two inches and a lazy eye to boot. The other eye more than made up for it in sheer rage. But there's more.
Once the kind gentleman met me, he led me back to the utility room outside behind the apartments. It consisted of four separate units, and a closet for utility purposes. The door was closed and there was no lock on the door. All of a sudden the little gentleman began kicking the door and yelling "Marvin!" "Wake UP!" I saw a man open the door a little and the stench wafted toward me like a noxious gas, but Marvin was inviting us in. He lived simply, and did odd jobs for the lazy-eyed landlord. He was strange, talkative and very filthy.
I was rejected today from another woman and although that may sound like something negative, it was actually positive for many reasons. First of which, I don't have to figure out where to take this person for a date, and if it was such a chore to do that then it was probably not going to be a good relationship anyway. Secondly, there was an air of condescension, as she pointed out the subtle differences in reasons for dating the people we date. I am not bound by any conditions other than sobriety, sanity, and health. She needed a prince.
Today was a day where happiness and joy were very microscopic. You had to look past the shuffling morons and obese people buying yet more food they didn't need. I don't think I saw anyone who resembled a happy person. I saw a crazy black man wearing rags and some black girls laughing at him. I met a pissed off old man with a cowboy hat and cane, saying ‘fucking this' and ‘fucking that'. And finally, I met a man who was from the old gay school and looked to be in his fifties, and sporting a handle bar moustache.
Since I am writing this seven full days after it occurred, I suppose a fair amount of it will be embellishment, so if you now have reason to judge me for not following the rules, ask yourself if you have always followed the rules. I would wager not. Nobody does anymore, because nobody can. There can be no order without some sort of law enforcement. But that is a dream also. Happiness is a right we all have, but it is also a right that is unattainable by some of us because of who we are. So, are you happy?
I don't know what happened today, December 7th that would require me to write in the daily journal. In fact nothing requires me to write in the daily journal because there is nothing everywhere. I've commented on nothing before so I won't drag you through all that. I suppose there were people living their lives, in whichever way they want, whether that means anything or not. Most likely, if I were somebody like Bob Dylan, today I would thank whatever higher being for bringing me to this point in the world. But I'm not Dylan, so I'll just thank you.
I am from the Class of ‘81. There were classmates I remember then that remind me of those somewhat innocent times. Upon my graduation, I was in love with my girlfriend at the time, a skinny black girl I had met in an art class. Without her, I most likely would have been a virgin or some geek. But, with her not-so innocent seventeen year old mind and body, she brought me to some ecstacy many times. So, with her in mind, I would like to dedicate my lost virginity, innocence as well, to her. Wishing you well, my dear.
Staying with the subject of growing up, in my teen years, when I was introduced to the fascination of girls, drugs, sex, and the pre-adult world of innocent dating, I always had a knack for meeting a girl and causing her disconcertion about me. I know on a number of occasions that I had a nice good looking fifteen year old girl on my lap, chatting and something changed in her expression and she got up and walked away. Leaving me to deal with the confusion of the moment. This was to continue, but I did eventually grow from it.
I met the most wonderful girl back in my days of innocent dating, just before my jump into the adult world of sex and drugs. She was a fine dark haired beauty with blue eyes, pretty smile, nice demeanor, well, of course, she was only fifteen and a virgin. Her father had died and left her and her two brothers to be raised my a mother who had no money. They lived in small apartments, full of cockroaches, until there was a way out of that squalor. She was so nice, and I had wanted to marry her for love.
So long ago are these days of mine where I was discovering the true meaning to life through interaction with those my own age. My mother accused me of raping, using drugs, getting into trouble because I was wanting to date and hang out with my friends after school. This was to continue for my entire highschool and teenage years causing me to nearly run away or leave the house and live with friends until I could return. The reasons I never understood for her controlling and dominating my early social experiences. Revenge is a possibility, or just plane ignorance.
I did meet a girl, who was older than me by about a year. She was kind of chubby but I didn't care. I was introduced to her through a friend who was my passkey to the world of intercourse. She was friendly and had a sexual leer in her eye that made me both nervous and very interested. We tried to get together a few times and have intercourse. Once was in a basement of a friend, where the only item of furniture was a workout bench. It didn't work out due to my ineptness but I didn't quit.
Now I am dating again, sort of. In my window of opportunity I have to try. My window consists of about three months of the year where I try to convince my self that I need to socially interact with women and try to understand them, but that road leads to ruin. So far I have dated all divorced women, with kids and problems. That is about all there is left out there to date for someone my age. Let's face it, it is a cold world and it comes down to looks, money, and personality. Can we get along?
It was some gray day in my teenage years where I got drunk after my second class in highschool. I remember I was struggling in typing and American History and decided to rebel a little. I got in this old Pontiac with the crazy driver Rob and two of his cohorts, surely to amount to nothing. We had to drive to another state to buy beer. How fun this was, seeing my future patterned after so many degenerates. It all ended when I decided I needed to leave and go back to school, stumbling into American History class stinking drunk.
I never got the yearbook for my last year of highschool. I had tried to get out of having my picture taken all together. This was because I didn't want to be one of the so called filler people in the senior section. I wanted the popularity and recognition that the other students who achieved greatness on that level had. Instead, I made my presence known, or unknown as it were. I could see the others looking at me in my photo, where I am trying to look like Scott Baio, and asking. "Who's that?". Reason enough, so I thought.
One of my first jobs was working in a restaurant where the age group exceeded my own for the most part. My job was washing dishes and picking up the dirty ones. The people who came in were pretty seedy and disgusting especially the late nighters. A group of fags would sit at the counter and jack-off while I worked in the dining area. They all thought I was hot, but me being naive and unaware, I knew nothing of it. I eventually got away from that position and became a cook, which landed me more dates with the waitresses.
Well, so far the dating scene for me has been slow. Of course I am not ringing up these women and asking them out every night. I have tried to impress them with my wit and humor, and it seems to be working a little. The one lady with the ass beads has told me that she has met some man with his own airplane and isn't interested in meeting me unless we just have dinner, no sexplay. I said that would be fine, but I am not driving 200 miles to have dinner with a rather dull, overweight woman.
I have been working in the ghetto of my city for a few weeks now. People live in filth, trash strewn everywhere and no one cares..."Fuck That" they say. Kids inside apartment buildings, yelling and crying, and someone screaming back at them. A beginning of a hard life consisting of substandard housing, education, nutrition and eventually a career in drug sales, violence and murder. Not all will become destitute and raise several more of their children to be like themselves. Meanwhile, the reefer and rap music continue. The culture of being anti-white, is don't speak the language, my niggah.
There are more days here this month than I care to write about. I have had some really lonely days lately. I look forward to work just so I can joke with the guys and ladies. Working alone has its benefits, but I am glad to speak with a friendly voice, listening to them, not making sense. I don't know if I can be alone for the rest of my life, outside of my work. Then again, I don't know if I can live with someone for the rest of my life. I consider those possibilities, and live in between.
The sweetness of her smile and so innocent was the touch of her hand. She never hurt a soul, not even an insignificant insect. A brief encounter was ours, hers was a touch that lasted for the length of my life. So I have my memories of her, that is all. I used to have a juvenile letter she wrote, she couldn't spell or write well. But I got the message, her words however misguided or unstructured remained both in my mind, and on the lost paper. She is gone now, older and wiser, having bore some man his children.
Well, no more crying in my beer. Now I need to take action and get someone into my life. I need to make sacrifices and allocations for someone in need of a sweet good hearted man. I'm not some brute, and not that handsome. Just a ‘what you see is what you get' kind of man. Analysis of the situation revealed several quirks and tweeks that I should overcome. I suppose the mental aspects are more apparent than the physical. So I will try to improve both. One way is to continually date women until I finally get it right.
Winter solstice is today. Autumn is over. Now is the time to revamp the mental condition with study and reading. A time for personal inspection and evaluation. This is the time to be alive and not brood as the days are ever so slowly getting longer. Once I have got my ideas for the new year in order, I shall act on the promises I have made to myself. Because being true to myself is the only way to achieve the life I hope to sustain. No going backward. I have successfully recycled some bad habits. Now to apply it.
This is the happy time for people everywhere. If your some poor unknown African tribesman who lives from day to day and your ignorance is bliss, then you may be the happiest. If you are some dullard busboy whose sole existence is to eat fried ‘grip' and listen to gangsta' rap and make babies with all your bitches, then you are the happiest. If you are some corrupt CEO who has made millions crushing the hardworking people who made you rich through your relentless avarice, then you too are the happiest. Only those who know nothing, have nothing, are happy.
So here comes the old fat bastard, a commercial icon, created to sell more toys, useless things to displace all the unsavory things in our lives. My life is not geared or motivated by how much or how little I receive. I think substance is that of when you have people together in love or respect and fellowship. Not this Santa fantasy that prepares children for a life of consumerism. Sure it's nice to get gifts, and that is in regard to a savior being born. Not because you think you deserve it or were good. Wake up you fuckers.
Finally, we have a day where all is forgiven of man and his evil ways. We look upon the good graces of God and thank him or her for what we have, not what we are about to get. So if we think about it, which we won't, then we have much more than our suffering brothers and sisters of the world. Those less fortunate, outside of the country, who know nothing except this hell of being poor. I could've wrote some little Christmas story here about experiencing something magical, but there isn't anything like that in poor man's hell.
My theme for this month's entries was HAPPINESS and what it means to me. I seem to have gotten off track, which is normal for me. I tried to achieve some level of happiness each day so I don't lapse back into the suicidal fantasy, which is not very often but also not very good. My thoughts creep back to the gun in my closet, that being the easiest way out, a coward's way out. I then assess the worth of my life and it's current role. I must have some purpose to be here, so be happy I will.
I chose to shop today which is totally against my beliefs, but none the less, I needed some items. I felt as though I landed on some sort of alien planet, were everyone is younger, and they all had a look of disdain for the world, trudging along with baggy trousers or the girls with ass pouring out of their hip-huggers. I searched for something I needed but could find only overpriced designer crap. I started to get a nauseous feeling, with the stupid techno beat and blank faces of people wandering aimlessly. I managed to escape before I snapped.
I think one of the worst things one could be is mediocre, having a lackluster personality, being self-absorbed. These qualities describe my personality. I don't think I am so bad that I need to take a look in the mirror and break down the quirks and so forth. I don't feel I am ineffectual but I do think I have a thick shell that coats me like some sort of laquer. Being raised in the real world, not the fantasy world where I made believe I could live, it finally has dawned on me that this is who I am.
I don't think I am a wordsmith as much as I am a ranter and a rather angry person who happens to vent in writing. My inspirations for what I write are as embedded as the finite personality traits within. I notice I write a lot about myself. That tells me a couple of things. One I am very interested in a subject that I know well. Another is I am so self absorbed at times. From all the failures and successes I have had, I feel the failures were just a lack of planning. The successes were just luck.
My friend P gave me a couple of CDs to listen to. I'm listening to one now. I gave him some music too. He seems to dig anything that is out there as long as it isn't mainstream cock rock. I like his music taste, but it is more musical than I am trained to hear. The music is so in-depth and complex it makes you weary to try to keep up with the melodies and codas, changes in notes, variations everywhere. Where as my tastes include standard Beatles stuff, and any surf-garage-punk group existing on the fringes of insanity.
The resolution entry: I will try and understand my families' point of view no matter how ridiculous or impetuous. I will respect the personal beliefs of others, no matter how inane or racist. I will try to understand the women I know, and meet this upcoming year. This includes the ball breaking cunts, self absorbed bitches, mentally screwed up princesses looking for the non-existent prince. I will read more, be less bitter and angry, be more gracious and giving, and just try to live my life with as much good happiness a man of my ilk can muster. Yeah, right.
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