My fucking nuts are on fire and I'm about to explode, I managed to churn this piece out faster than anything I've written in the past several years and it has me yearning to do quite a lot more, I left the piece basically half finished but
fuck you, you're dying for content anyway.
http://www.humanasemeritus.org/2014/10/journalism-is-dead-long-live-journalism-or-dreams-on-the-american-death/Here's part of it. You'll have to click through my blog to read it all (oh I'm SO FUCKING SNEAKY FOR CLICKS BITCHES)
The past few weeks, I have been in a rising frenzy of rage and fire, the kind of fire which usually burns itself out in impotence – usually induced by an orgy of drug use to clear my head, or at least muddy reality. It is no great secret that Hunter S. Thompson is a huge inspiration for me(you only need to look at my PMA Lobbying Scandal article on the sidebar to see the influence of Gonzo), and not just in a literary sense but in the daily courage it takes to tell the rest of the world to Fuck Off – I’m going to drink and smoke and cuss and tell the world the Truth as I see it, not how I expect people would like it to be seen. This is fucking huge, especially in this day and age, more so than ever and since my fire is rising and rising with no signs of burning itself out, no need for petty physical things like oxygen or fuel or anything else – this is a recursive action that feeds on itself and spits itself back out as food for the next iteration – I am going to get deep into the heart of this. There is no use with foreplay at this point, no teasing of words or beating around the bush – aha – we must open our mouth wide, bare our fangs, and pierce our teeth deep into the Jugular of Truth. Perhaps “truth” is too noble of a goal, too idealistic for the age of cynicism and apathy, perhaps we can at least settle of inspiration – the sort of inspiration that pours gasoline on your genitals, lights you on fire, and throws you out of a fast moving car onto some deserted highway in the midst of the American Death.
O-ho-ho. Do you see what I am doing now? Yes, it should be clear from my wordplay that I intend to pick up where Thompson left off – though not in some ill-advised attempt to copy his style (which I constantly try to avoid although his words ring constantly in my ears) or plagiarize his very spirit (even the Gods sue for libel these days – divine swine), but in a naive attempt to salvage what he meant to do with his “Death of the American Dream” book which never properly came to fruition. Even though he was a man of his time, he was a man ahead of and even behind his time, in many ways and so he could not properly write the “Death of the American Dream” because it had not properly happened. Indeed, even today America is still dreaming and it will continue to do so, even as it dies. That’s why my clever wordsmithing proposes (to who? to whom? marry me, reader) that we are not seeing, nor will we ever see the death of the American Dream. Dreams don’t die. Dreams are eternal – as an avid lucid dreamer I know better than most that the world of dreams is far more real than what we call reality.
We are, however, seeing the Death of America even while we sleep gently and snore and dream of better things – and I think this might be the dark reality that Hunter just could not cope with, could not fundamentally bring himself to write about because it is just too god damn depressing to think about. Indeed, it takes a far more psychologically damaged generation to properly cope with the current Situation, and seeing as how I am one of the most psychologically perverse and deranged of any of our generation (the generation the grew up with the internet and witnessed 9/11 as children or teenagers) and I am only now starting to be able to cope with this terrible, surreal, reality-bending prism of horror that we call modern geopolitics – well, dark times are ahead. Brights time ahead, as well. Bright like phosphorus bombs.
any copy editing would be half-welcome, I'm sure I made grammatical and spelling mistakes the computer didn't pick up - but do I honestly fucking care? No, not really. leave a comment anyway. make a post here. do fucking something. or ignore me entirely. I honestly don't fucking care. my brain, my heart, my spleen, my nuts, everything is on fucking fire.
