Friday Love/Hate

I hate how nobody answers for shit for the BP oil bullshit (although I also hate internet activists aka internectivists getting all up in arms in corny and predictable ways), which has been a ridiculously mishandled mistake from the beginning. Seems like they've been more concerned with still squeezing some profit out the damn hole in the ocean floor than actually stopping the leak, and I'm sure in the end, it'll be a slap on the wrist. Personally, I think a good plan of activism would be for people to pour full gallons of black oil paint on BP executives. Oil paint is impossible to clean off without chemicals, and usually you'll lose your hair if it's on your head. Plus, it's oil paint, and black, which symbolically makes sense as well. Problem is if I was to scope these dudes out and bust them up with a can of Rustoleum industrial oil paint, I'd end up getting more time in jail for assault than any of these guys will get for mucking up a huge little corner of the earth.
What's worse is how this whole debacle, along with many other things, has shown what a fucking puppet Barack Obama is. It sucks that if I get all like, "Obama sucks," people will assume I'm some retarded Tea Party dumbass. (Side note: earlier this week we had congressional primaries for the Republican party in my local district, which is a hotly contested one because the rookie Representative that got elected during the 2008 ticket rode in with Barack and barely won, so he's kind of seen as stained by Barackness. So the Tea Party dumbasses put up a big Tom Perriello sign - that's the Democratic Rep. they're trying to beat out this fall - and blacked out his last name so it spelled out Per i l , as if that was some great statement. Seriously, you could get a pack of massively mentally handicapped kindergarteners and they could've come up with something more creative than that.) That's the problem with the two-party system... if you hate somebody and how full of shit and what a lying sack of assfuckery they are, you are automatically associated with the other side, even if you think they're a bunch of lying fuckheads too. Which they are. Obama has increased predator drone attacks in the Middle East, continues to support Israel as it pretty much does whatever the fuck it wants, has Monsanto lawyers going into the Supreme Court, all types of sketchy and unchangey things. Just another piece of shit politician with a forked tongue and some good speechwriters and a tax return with 8-digit earnings last year. But you could never get close enough to the President to pour black oil paint on him. You'd get shot, or committed, or something dreadful.
Hell, normal people like you and me could never even get close to BP executives. Which forces crap like protests at local BP gas stations, who have as much to do with the whole Gulf oil spill as I do. These people are well-protected by a thick and cushioned social barrier, not to mention the long arm of the legal system keeping us all far enough away that those dudes will forever be out of our reach. Is it illegal to make giant effigies of these people and pour black oil paint over that? If it's not, I'm sure it will be once one of us does it with enough cameras watching.

I love listening to books on CD. I spend a good hour-and-a-half to two hours in my truck every day, commuting around, and often times I will stop playing music because there's nothing left that makes my dick hard for the first time ever, and I'll drift into bad habits of AM sports radio or NPR or just something that is actually sucking away my thought processes, clogging my neurons up with nonsense. I also rarely get a chance to just lay back and read books, so I decided to start utilizing my windshield time by listening to books on CD from the library. And the thing I've found is I actually get more out of listening to them than I did reading them. For example, I am going through One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest right now, and just the simple fact every copy of that I've ever owned has had the pictures inside from the movie and Jack Nicholson's face on the cover has tinged the way I read that book. Listening to it, I get it this time. He is the book version of a guy I actually know. Like for real. It's uncanny. And plus, I never noticed how much the book has nothing to do with McMurphy so much as it has to do with the Chief. And there's so much in there that make it hard to believe it was written in the early '60s, because it's some straight electro-magnetic frequency dirty electricty 2010 bullshit going on.
Right before this, I had listened to Cormac McCarthy's The Road. (Well, actually I tried two other books in between these two, but they were both terribly boring, so I aborted those missions early. I can tell you this though - William Heat Least Moon could use an editor, because The Road to Quoz is about 30,000 words too long.) The Road was an amazing book to listen to, and fired me up for writing in ways I hadn't been fired up in a long time. Shit, that's the whole reason I'm enjoying the books on CD so much. There is nobody in my immediate world feeding my creative energy right now. Nothing but social and creative drains circling around me lately, like vultures, waiting for me to finally drop and be yet another of these walking zombies that inhabit most of my surroundings, picking the last little bits of my hopes and desires. Fuckers. So the CD books have fired me up for words again, and given me some better focus upon the strange underseams you can weave throughout longer works. It's like a quilt, and there's all the pieces that go together you obviously see. But there's also the stitchwork that you don't really notice that tie all the pieces together. I need to be working upon that shit.
Oh well. I go to Las Vegas next week, and will have no family duties or Little House on the Prairie chores when I get home, or commute, or nothing, so I'm hoping to use all that unusual free time to crank out thirty to forty thousand words.