I Get Why They Hate Their Own

The world is not filled with bright people, on average.  Although there are some who are astonishingly intelligent and creative, and they account for the reason we don't suffer more than we do.  They managed to create ways to overcome the hazards of nature in spite of the hostile lack of comprehension on the part of their fellow humans.

I think it is because they like humans, even though they are often ingrates and dolts.  I doubt much worthwhile progress is truly made by the legions of misanthropes who are everywhere and of every description, type and subgroup.

I heard that 60% of people would save their dog from a speeding bus over another human-a stranger.  I like dogs but find this an odd choice.  But it is way cool to be down on the human race and pretend animals are all about utopia and bliss.  They are either running around trying not to be eaten, or they are stalking other animals in hopes of eating them.  Some even kill for reasons to do with territory or maybe even sport, and not food.

Nature and its lovely creatures are dangerous and homicidal.   Or they are constantly running from the killers.   But it is unnatural for members of one species to hate their kind.  It seems odd for people.

If you hate people, and you are a person, then do yourself in.  If you do others in your life will be even worse than it is.  Even the misanthropic chic hate serial killers and mass murderers.

We have had radical chic, limousine liberal syndrome, and now misanthrope chic.  It is cool to pretend you hate humans, and to discuss it as if you are somehow above the fray and exempt. So righteous.  Barf.

Once again I commented on FB and people were too defensive and flat out stupid to get it.

Some crazy girl was twerking and ended up on fire.  Long story, se the film.  Anyway it was shared.  It was obviously not originate where I saw it.  The original caption is "white girls twerk? #not"  or something about like that the part after # is questionable, but intent the same.  Generalizing about white girls based on this flaming chick.

All I said is why did it have to be presented as racial.  Oh geez.  The guy denied it was at all racial.  If you bring up race, and generalize and the event is in no way specific to that race, it is racial. Jayseus H Cristo!  Now he's all pissed and saying "Oh I'm just a racist asshole, etc."  ??? Too dumb to see that it was racial when they brought up white girls this and that.  And too dumb to know I did not call him racist.  Also too dumb to realize the original caption being addressed wasn't his, although he did parrot it.

You bring up race and I find it irrelevant or offensive or tired or stupid, I will ask why.  Every once in awhile I have to blow off steam of this sort.  You can sandbag and play dumb for only so long.  Eventually the dimwitted will get to you, especially if they are unaware of the dimwittery, and they have a bit of a chip on their shoulder about how smart people are lacking in common sense or some such garbage.  I play along with dimwits and then I once in awhile actually say some of what I see or think and they get offended.  And I do not regret it.

Even Mutants Get The Blues

We played the House of Blues and it finally dawned on me that this was actually a half baked goal, like in Memphis I wanted to play Beale Street, and at least one time, BB King's club.  And I did.  BB's club is kind of less fun than expected.  But I can say I did it.

Early in my San Diego experience a woman named Lynn had nephew who was playing HOB and I thought that was impressive.  Now I've done it a couple of times.  It is a good place.  I certainly like it better than BB's.  Far more real.

It is just one of the threads to prevent me from giving in to fear, depression, and worse.  So much needs doing but apparently due to the mutation in my cell manufacturing control system, I am good for about ten minutes unless the temperature is well under sixty deg. F.  Even then muscle fatigue is quick.  With finesse, I can plod through once I get rolling.

Lately, in this heat, getting rolling is tough. Two minutes and overheated.  And my car is acting up too. Dammit.  You have no idea how tedious it is trying to maintain rather than go off into the wilderness in some misguided tour born of delirium and angst.

But, I am a bona fide badass, so I will show them.  And they'll be sorry they ever tried to ruin my life.  Well, they did ruin my life.  If I'd have had better sense, I would not have allowed it.  And it is not quite over.  I often wonder how this stupid medical bs will play out. I do not think it a good idea to totally walk away from it.  But geez, it dominates all. I must change that.

Bunch of women had nice things to say to me after our last House of Blues appearance.  I love it when that happens.  The kind attention of women cannot be replaced with anything else to equal effect.  And you can take that to the bank. In my book!

Along For The Ride

If it isn't too many, it is too few.  That is how the world of stuff in my blood goes.  So from way too many platelets, we now have dangerously low number .  And there is the anemia talk still.

I'll have to again be more proactive.  I forgot to make them give me lab reports last time.  They agreed to mail them and get me hooked into a web portal for records and more.  We'll see.  They screw up a lot.  They seem unclear about what you have done.  Or even who you are.

It is crazy.  Dracula will have my folder in his hand and ask a question that should be very evident from the records.  Scary.  Never assume that the big medical outfits have it right.  Even if you feel so bad you can't read without great effort, you are the only quality control for your care.  Just a fact.

I have caught them screwing up more than once, and I am not one who is usually a complainer in most places like that.  You have to be vigilant or they will mistakenly remove things you want to keep; various genital parts, spleen, kidney, you name it.

Anyway, it is quite obvious we have some blood issues due to the odd bruises which appear and linger.  Other stuff like reaction to heat etc. could be just mental so I can't go too far on that.
I will get the info then see what Drac has to say about maybe a lower dose of hydrea, and then figure out on my own how to make things work better.  I certainly won't discount Dracula's take on things, but I won't leave it not investigated, either.

So, for the second time, I played House of Blues.  I believe I made a small impression.  Who knows.  Not sure what I think about the group.  I still believe we are not doing ourselves justice.  We need to take this material and weave really memorable music around it.  Good as the lyrics are, many of the tunes tend to bore people a bit, judging from my observations and feedback from anonymous sources.  Of course the anonymous sources think I should be highlighted more, etc.  I am not so sure of that.  Do not want redundancy or too much of highlighting anyone.

A little flattery is nice, but I know what's what.  To go further I do know what we need.  It would require yet another personnel change I think.

Right now I best mind my own business.  I had to try to rest all day just to be up for the one hour show.  And I was.  I still prefer two hour shows which demand a lot from me. If I am not physically drained like I've run a marathon, I feel a little disappointed, even when the one hour is the best ever.

It gets hot in SoCal as soon as you go to far east to see the ocean.

I Wish I Wasn't a Med Skeptic

The medicine racket became more of a racket whenever it became so close with government.  I guess insurance companies count there too. They got in with government and that allowed for the small print and inhibiting the natural direction a doctor might want to take in a particular case.

So now, I go for a blood test and am given giant bottles for 24 hour urine collection?  What?
Then I look at paperwork.  This was ordered in march with an early lab test but they never did it. So now they want to. What a waste of time.   I already know that nothing of use will be found.  The stuff they are testing for is highly unlikely and not indicated.  Maybe there is some remote thing. How do we know.,

So, now after the blood test Dr Dracula leaves an unintelligible message on the answering machine.  I caught the end where he said stop the poison pill until I see him on monday.  He actually said until I see him. No way he knows even when that is.  It would be like lowering his station to be involved in something so pedestrian as that.

I also heard enough to know that something is alarmingly low.  What do you expect?  Give a pill that kills cell production, cell count may be low.  Something will be.  Sop who knows. I am losing my patience with this stuff.  I think the truth is that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me except I am a problem child.  It is all mental.  Or because I'm an alien being trapped on earth.

Pretty Sure Doctors are Secretly Government Workers

One of the coolest things about the poison pill I take, and probably will be urged to continue taking, hopefully in reduced dosage, is the zany list of possible side effects.

We have the usual; possible hair loss, confusion, depression, unplanned travel between dimensions, fatigue, insomnia, priapism, impotence, blurry vision, did I mention confusion?  I made up the ones about priapism and impotence, just to confuse the jihadis who may be stalking me.

The real kicker, and I did not make this up, is that one of the possible side effects is cancer.  That's right.  The drug for cancer lite may result in cancer not so lite, and of varying types.  That is pretty cool.  I smoked for a zillion years so that probably was higher risk behavior.  It has been over a year and seven months.  Never since I started smoking did I ever quit for so long.

And I am not contemplating starting up again.   I can't afford it and it carries to many attendant issues, like burning clothes, smelling, have to go to places of ridicule and derision in order to smoke,  No thanks,

But I still get the thrill of living on the edge by taking the pill to end all wars, or pills, or etc.

Of all the things I've heard that would get me worked up, it isn't anything I can even attribute to a name, although it is very much in the progressive camp.  What I find most disturbing is when people claim you do not have a right to state your opinions if they consider them offensive, not constructive or whatever.  I've heard people say, "They shouldn't be allowed to say that!"

Once again I attribute it to their greed for power.  Small minded people cannot resist the thrill of seeing others forced to do things, not do things, or otherwise have their behavior controlled by the state.  I'm talking things that do not infringe on the rights of people who push such things.  Rationales are always offered in a weak attempt to hide the power lust and lack of reasonable justification for such state sanctioned bullying.  

If you think like me you get a pass on everything; lying stealing, attributing a coordinated attack to an unknown video, etc.  That is how things are at this time.  But, what difference does it make?

Speaking of which, the reps better watch it with cheap shots at Hilary. Warren is right there to snatch the nomination.  The press would give her at least the pass they gave Obama.  Probably cut her even more slack.  And if she runs against someone like Bush, it is doomsday.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

All these people who use the word "corporation" to push for government control of use of resources, including money.  It screws everyone but angry dimwits are just sure that forcing people is somehow better than the perceived abuse of the Corporation.  That is just cronyism which thrives becauee people allow their government far too much power.  Like that Texas cop.

Which one?  I know.  The one who pulled the woman who switched lanes without a blinker.  I have rarely seen cops signal when changing lanes, and I keep track of such things.  Her behavior is irrelevant.  She is dead because people are clueless and hate freedom.  How sick is that?

I'll take the side effects of the poison pill over the side effects of wars on poverty and drugs and choice any day.

Some Crazy Times

I remember when Karen Carpenter bit the dust.  I believe she was my age, or within months of my age.  People told me on my birthday, "Thirty two, they're dropping like flies.  Just like Karen Carpenter."  I don't know how she spelled Karen.

Now I see that Robin Williams would have been sixty four today.  It seems every thirty two years I find myself in a state which is highlighted by celebrity misfortune, and sadness.

Sixty four.  They are dropping like flies.   I feel like I should at least get one thing done, organized and done properly before it is too late.  I often think I will never do it.  And then that annoys me so I either forget it, or resolve to eventually get it at least a little bit right.

And I really want to will myself into such a condition that I can feel vindicated for various rejections and untold levels of self imposed loneliness. It is not a game or experiment any more.  It is taking forever to replace the absurd view of my life I was taught and force fed from birth, mostly by family, but exacerbated by neighbors and peers.  You had to be there, I think.

I think I can not say it is too late, no matter if it is or not.  Lack of gratitude for what one has to work with is the culprit. Make use of what you have and you will probably be happy.  I have experienced that for short periods of time, like minutes.  It may be cause and effect.  Or it may be a fluke, coincidence.

Getting divorced way back when was dumb.  But without far more insight, sense, and awareness than I had back then, that alliance was absolutely doomed.

Then again, it will probably work out fine.

I am too stunned by the complete nonsense, the lies, the false history being passed around to even comment.  I'm really sick of racial exaggerations lies and just pulling in race when the issue is violent behavior, not ethnicity.  All the "of color" bullshit is the new legitimized bigotry and racial discrimination.  You cannot view everything in terms of condition of birth without becoming a shallow, shortsighted bigot.  It is really absurd.

Look at crime stats, and quit trying to convince people they are targets of those who are in fact many more times likely to be violently treated by the group painted as modern day victims.  Just tell me you do not care what part of the city I drop you off in at midnight.  Unarmed.  And then I will believe your version of how racism works today.

Oh, and I just wanted to add that I am most definitely islamaphobic.  I'd even go so far as to say it was typical bullshit victim posturing on the part of their alleged holy men that gave rise to that term. I'd say many are mind-your-own-business-aphobic.  And the imams I've read or heard or crossed paths with tend to be truth-aphobic.  And most definitely they hold the infidel (non muslim) in the utmost disregard.

Weird religious garb often creeps me out.  Those black things with the slit for eyes, the whole infidel vs holy creep thing, I can't pretend I like it.  Even Catholic garb and holy men have, on occasion, creeped me out.  But they do not behead people and promote violence and war.  Why it became progressive chic to protect islam from the intolerant infidels who want to mind their own business and have all equal under the law is a mystery.  But I find many of the self hating, elitist twists of mind expressed by self-labeled progressives to be insane or inexplicable.

In any case, I do not buy the "moderate islam" bs.  I do not feel comfortable with any religious state.  Part of the problem is that military forces under any control are dangerous, but under religious zealots and total lunatics they are very problematic.

SomeThings Need Saying, Even If the Listener is Departed

For example,

Dear Milton Berle, it just wasn't funny when you dressed up like a woman.  You did that a lot, and you always acted like you thought it was really funny.  Not even close.  RIP.

Dear Vaudeville,
A pie in the face is not funny. It has never been funny.  Perhaps there is one obscure exception to the rule.  I doubt it. Comedians tell people it is funny so people laugh. They do what they are told in crowds like that. Also, some of them may be embarrassed for you so they laugh; or they don't want to be odd man out so they pretend to see the Emporer's new clothes.

But seriously, the pie is not funny.  You may be funny, but the pie is not the key to your humor or anyone else's.  Broken knee caps aren't funny either.  Look, just trust me, Vaudeville, the pie-in-the-face school of comedy was wrong.  Not funny.  I think their certification has been revoked.  They no longer count.

RIP


For some reason I was thinking about these things as I plodded through work and travel.  Lot of driving to and from the workplace.  I am able to do much much more than I could at this time last year.  I guess the poison pill is doing the trick.

I am doing my part mentally, too.  Once I get started, I keep putting off breaks until I finished.  Then I take the break.  I am afraid that I won't be able to get moving again if I stop for a break.

On the way home, I am often ultra sore, but it seems to come in waves and leave in waves.

Really, though.  It is as if everyone went along with Milty, pretending his cross dressing was comic genius, when everyone knew he just liked the excuse to let out his inner whatever.  It wasn't funny.  It is just one of those things where someone carries a tacit sort of power and no one knows why for sure. But they still fear breaking the silence on the truth of the issue.

So, everyone patronized Milton Berle because he was often funny and witty.  And he was rich and connected.  But they were afraid to even admit to their friends the lack of funny when Milt cross dressed.  So, you can see that even a posthumous lecture on humor to Milt carries risk and danger.

While we are at it, nothing about food fights is funny.  Someone took a lot of time to grow or raise or synthetically create that food.  Besides, it is not funny. Messy. The kind of stuff that might be like a halfway house for fecal throwers.

Sorry I had to go there. The truth is so damned harsh when you are full of koolaid.  People do weird things.  Often the only trace of motive stems from sex or other bodily functions.  And often the act may relate to such things, but any shred of satisfaction or remotely rational motive is absent.

I caught a regular news channel the other day.  Obama was all over the place on there.  I watched many allegedly important people testify to the news people regarding their status as righteous, holy and better than you.  And I wondered, "Do people really believe this nonsense?".

Yes, I think they do.

Heart Breaking Laments

Here's the deal.  There are those who may have broken my heart, but have absolutely no clue that such a thing was done. Some of them would not even remember my name.

Something in the above smacks of insanity.
.

Sound Advice

Why Not Me?

I Really Want You

about a week before 4th of july 015. that belly comes and goes.  It is not as it seems, I'm sure

Mr. Relaxation, the dog

So, with the exit of Max, the beloved gigantic dog who was very kind, and large, they decided to go look at the great pyrenees place in Ramona.  They just didn't want to deal with the void.

Out plops a 3 year old rescue named Frank.  He comes out and lays down, sort of turning on his back.  They brought him home.

He's a lot smaller than Max.  Max weighed somewhere around 160, so Frank must be about 120 lbs is my guess.  Still big.  He's got a different look altogether.  I think he has the blues.

The story is, he lived in northern California and ran away 16 times.  Small town or out in the country I think.  I guess they had to pay the shelter every time to bust him out of dog jail.  The last time they told the shelter to just put him down.  After 16 visits the people there knew Frank.  First name basis and all that.  No way did they want to put him down.

So, they contact a guy who contacts the lady in Ramona, and next thing you know, there he is.  I have no idea how they induced this creature of leisure to run away.  He is happiest laying down while wagging his tail.   One indication of something not quite right is the fact that his hair is so long and matted.  A little grooming is in order.  Also under all that fur was a choker collar, on so tight that they had to cut it off with bolt cutters.

He seems pretty happy to be where he is but I think he is waiting for the other shoe to drop.   He knows his name and does what is asked, most of the time.  So easy to get attached.  I try to avoid that.  Dogs and cats don't live that long.  It is easier getting attached to other people's pets though, because I like the freedom of being able to split on a moment's notice without wondering how the animal will be accommodated.

It may be that after all the recent change, and his previous people encouraging his execution, he is out of energy and just wants to lay down for a month.  His check up revealed no reason for the exaggerated sense of leisure and relaxation.

And so it goes.  Now I have to train another creature.  Pet owners never seem to know what they are doing. It is up to me to explain cats and skunks and humming birds.  And to teach the animal all it needs to know.  I try to avoid it but what can you do.  Most people are awful when it comes to training pets or raising their children.  They need third parties, who don't feed the creatures, to manage that.

Harbinger of Doom? Maybe not even a harbinger

The dramatist, the thespian in me tends to see signs and symbols in things that may just be happenstance.  Like Max, the very kind, gigantic dog, suddenly coming down with a type of aggressive bone cancer which is an adios sort of condition.

He must have covered symptoms for some time because he's just been diagnosed and now he is going fast.  He is going to be put down in a day.

The nature of this is that by this time it also spreads all over and amputating the immediately defective leg would do no good, and any buying time options would be pure misery.  Soon the bone itself falls apart.  This is not a good thing,

So, after playing for Crest and their parade I went in to Pt Loma to see Max, and see the fireworks from their impressive viewpoint.  This is tough on the people.  Veterinarians like my friend spent a lifetime in that field because of deeply caring about animals.  He takes it hard when they go. Especially the one's he likes the best. He's no fool.  He knows some dogs and cats and other critters are jerks, and some are A OK.

So, as I left I told Max I'd see him on the other side.  If other side there be.   I hope so.

If I'm not careful I could end up like Max.  But maybe not, if I am lucky.  If I do.  I'm not overly eager about any of the options.  Chemo-lite is not so bad.  I get some side effects but I can cover them fairly well.  I do not like that the itching issues seem to be thinking of returning.  Not quite full blown but annoying.  At the same time, I can still tolerate much more heat, and I can do more than I could at this time last year,

Today, I feel like I don't care if I ever play any music ever again. I just don't care right now.  People depend on me for the moment, and I may be helpful so I keep at it.  Also I would be way too isolated if I quit without some other source of contact with humans.

You never saw a 160 lb dog be so spoiled. Eggs and bacon for breakfast today.  Hamburger and toasted buns for lunch.  Little bit of bagel for a snack, and the best pain pills a dog can get.  He was crashed out mostly.  It hurts him to get up, but he does his best.

I do not think things are going to get much easier than they are now.  I have to re-assess my view of hardship so I won't feel overwhelmed and such.

Something has got to give.  I won't rush it though.  But inevitable is inevitable.

Max, Me, and I don't know

It turns out that Max, my gigantic canine pal, has an aggressive form of cancer which affects bones, then all else.  He'll be with us for only a short time now.  Probably a matter of a few months at most.  A few weeks is also a possibility.  He is a very gentle kind creature.  When I was house sitting, he knew when I was having a tough time.  He knew when I came down with weird disease over a year ago.  I swear, he treated me differently and was quite nice and supportive.

His people are quite sad and spoiling him like crazy.  We all are.

I've never been an over the top dog or cat person.  I absolutely disagree with those who claim there are no bad dogs, only bad people who own them, etc.  And I do not agree that all breeds are wonderful.  If one or two breeds supply the majority of the aberrant individuals who eat babies and maim pedestrians, I tend to think that maybe something is up.  If you have one of those hell dogs and it is just marvy, good for you.  

If you are one who owns a hell dog and tells unsuspecting guests, as the rude animal is baring teeth and growling, "Oh, he just needs to get used to you--just don't make any quick movements", then I would posit that we will all benefit by putting down your pooch, and you.

That said, Max is not even in that league.  He's one of those creatures who almost cries if you seem displeased with him.  And he can take No for an answer, though he may test you a few times just to be sure you really mean no, and not yes or maybe.

He's limping because the disease is first working on his lower left leg.  But he still gets excited at the thought of a walk.  He just can't go all that far.  If it was a slowly progressing condition, I'd build him some sort of rig with wheels so he could keep trucking.

Not sure how I am doing.  OK, I guess.  We played House of Blues on Tues night.  A few groups played--an hour each.  We were on at 8.  I'd say we made a favorable impression.  It looked to me like we were the highlight of the evening. 

I can't whine about my mistakes or the sound or any of the usual frustrations.  I played how I play--maybe better than some times, and the sound guy gave me excellent sound, and the mic was plenty hot, meaning I could work it by backing away and such, which is what I like.

The cute girl bass player from the group Daddy Issues, gave me a fist bump afterwards, and complimented my playing.  She's about 23, and one of the best players around.  She also teaches violin and such to kids.  Love the name of her band, but even though their front person is a looker, I think the bass girl outclasses that group.  That's neither here nor there.  I just get a kick out of the girl.  Her guitar strap broke the last time I saw her group. So she finished the song lying on her back.  She's like the daughter or girlfriend anyone would want--depending upon your age, and/or grip upon reality.

So I was sitting here resting, reading, planning the next week's work and music schedule, and the sadness swept over like dense cloud enveloping me.  Overwhelming sadness with no focus.  I'm a mess I guess.  No idea where I'm going or why.  Playing the music keeps me healthier than I would otherwise be, I think.  The hydrea must be doing something to various blood cell levels because itch attacks are only mild now, and not debilitating.  My lungs are great but I still seem to lack O2.  Probably the faulty cells not holding enough.  But I can still feel the much expanded lung capacity compared to when I used to smoke. 

Sometimes I go up to this place when I am lost, alone and want to hide for a few hours away from everyone and everything.   I may be the miracle boy, but I do not always think I am really going to pull this off for that much longer.  It doesn't matter.  I just wish no sadness was involved in being me. Free floating, f'ing sadness.  I hate it.  Loneliest stuff there is. It is some nasty junk. 

It is weird, the whole playing music deal.  I am now playing with two classically trained people.  The new bass player is allegedly a woman, but I suspect that has not always been so.  OK. Fine,  I don't think she cares for me at all. Weird scene.  However, she is good and pretty much makes her living that way or has.  She's a nice guy, overall, though, just not so much toward me.  I live a weird life.

Anyway, the playing is the main thread that prevents total isolation and waiting to die.  

I think I can do better than this.  At least I am not one who succumbs to dumbass peer pressure of the sort that pushes self styled intellectuals to jump on the "I hate my people and my country" bandwagon.  Listening to white apologists constantly dream up new modes of self flaggelation, while somehow trying to distance themselves from their own genetic make-up, is nauseating. 

They appear to be seeking to endear themselves to ethnic groups who they assume are in great need of their protection and benevolence.  "Hi, I am your great white leader who will not only dream up grievances for you, but I will also wreak havoc upon the white devils who owe you so much!".

So, I guess I would rather be sad, lonely, and a mutant rather than be that.  

Come to Crest, right there on the ridge above Harbison Canyon, just east of El Cajon, on Saturday for a fine time. Fun for the whole family.  

where we will go, no one knows