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Social Services Worker Confession   
08:23am 07/05/2008
  I can feel myself growing calloused. The people that I am paid to feed, bathe, clothe, and tuck in at night frequently decide that they would like to spit at me, kick me, punch me in my face, try to break my glasses, and repeatedly beat the shit out of themselves. This always forces my intervention, and more bruises for me which I have to deal with, or, heaven forbid, bruises on them, which makes me look like fucking dick.

I start off saying, "B____, it's not okay to hit yourself. Be calm."
A few minutes later, I'm saying, mostly to myself: "Doug, be calm. It's not okay to hit back."

At this point it all becomes strictly professional. I "care" for the people as part of my job description, but sometimes I sure don't give a flying fuck about them. We're not friends. I'm a professional, and they are a client receiving my services. And yet, who's the dependent one? How strange it is, and fortunate for us both, I suppose, to live in a part of the world where their medical condition allows for both of us (and my other co-workers) to be financially supported, instead of it being a lethal liability.		  
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08:00pm 01/05/2008
  crossposted to [info]anarchists 

Maxing out at the Red & Black Café.

I am currently contemplating an interesting conflation of paradigms again--

The Red & Black is hosting a benefit for VOZ (en inglés, "Voice", pinché gringos!), a Worker's Rights Education Project. This is specifically to help fund a day labor hire site, instead of a street corner to be harassed by the weather, the police, and antipathic Portlanders.

Also in attendance tonight is a moribund surplus of shoeless hippies. Ah, Portland. The Day Labor Hire Site raises some interesting questions for me. Many of the white kids that I have met around here that can claim radical politics of various shade and viligree have an almost unnatural abhorrence for physical labor. I find this to be very interesting, because I have always wondered when "The Collapse"/"The Revolution" comes, who the hell is going to harvest potatoes if nobody can tell the difference between a garden rake and a field hoe. Or take out the trash, or run the sewers, or work construction jobs, or......

In the interim, VOZ perhaps has an answer for the contemporary movement that may put the deliberately jobless to shame. The day laborers want to work because they need to. The paradigm is this: what is the pertinence of the politics to remain deliberately unemployed at all costs as a form of political protest in the face of the same argument rehashed and served again in the form of the desire to OBTAIN work at all costs, in any condition, duration, or realm of comfort or safety? The debate boils down to this: is the anarchist that does not want to work to avoid paying war tax, or to simply avoid selling one's hours of life over to the capitalist cabal more justified or less so in this decision than the worker that will break several laws before most people get up in the morning, facing deportation, political exile, homelessness, exploitation, et al., simply to obtain the means of survival?

It may be crude to put this to a matter of preference, but to put the issue more succinctly, who do you favor in an argument-- The anarchist that works, or the anarchist that refuses to? And why? What, if any, are the ethical differences you see?		  
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Livin' la vida   
10:37pm 24/04/2008
  Comin' at ya live from BYU Hawaii. What an absurd life. My brother is getting married, and I am staying at my sister's house along with a lot of my which on the dorms. She is a manager, along with her husband. It's finals out here, and all the kids are going back home to their various continents or islands. My brother had no time to plan for the wedding, since it was finals week. I'm spending the night drinking awful energy drinks, cooking, making decorations, etc.

Spent some hours at the (Mormon sponsored? or owned?) Polynesian Cultural Center, which felt like stepping into one of Owen's exotica records. I saved a brochure for him, because of this sentence, (and others): "In the shadow of the Fijan temple, mingle and dance with the natives." It would be more ironic if they weren't actually transfer students from the respective islands they were representing. White folks walking around with Maori tribal facials (temporary tattoo) and learning how to crack open coconuts.

Portland winter skin, graveyard shift, sunburned scalp. Carhartts at the beach. Hoodies are useless in this weather.

No coffee in this small Mormon town of Laie, on the northern tip of Oahu. I have searched high and low. I wouldn't buy anything from McDonald's, but they had a waterfall inside instead of a plastic playground. The gas station has a coffee maker, but they never use it and they cannot find the carafe. I found caffeine anyways, but it's not quite the same thing as the real deal.

My newphew can almost stand up on his own. A different brother is officially popping the question tomorrow, although it is only a formality at this point. They decided a Vegas-style wedding, minus the booze, plus the Elvis impersonator.

Walking around BYUH campus and digging on the weird, draconian rules ($50 fine for opening a door after ten or eleven at night! Fiercely gender segregated dorms, signs saying "No men allowed beyond this point" Cameras! Religion!).... It all makes me quite happy to have done away with religion. What a strange, unnecessary burden. Tomorrow I am going to the temple and wait outside. Since I am not Mormon, I don't get to witness the actual event itself, a union shrouded in secrecy and decorum. No matter. I am not here for religious nonsense. I am here for my brother and his soon-to-be-wife.

Anyways, it's late here for the people that sleep at night. I guess I am going to go walk along the beach or something. Clear skies, overnight low 71 degrees. Suck on that, Provo and Portland. both of you below 40.		  
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America broke my fucking heart.   
07:09am 22/04/2008
  
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Hughes has said it better that most ever can. This reflects my feelings today. I am not the only Generation X(late)/Y(early) kid that has had a hard time taking politics seriously. However, I find it ever harder to make the typical snide comments I am used to making. I desperately do want change, but I am uncertain that Barack Obama will deliver. "Change you can believe in" et al., from the television. "Not fucking likely...." I chortle. "But... thanks for trying." I continue.

Good luck in Pennsylvania just the same, Senator. The world watches in delight.
  
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On anger   
05:02pm 16/04/2008
  I have been thinking a lot about the double-edged blade of anger and rage. Anger seems to be the sharp edge of a blade, and rage is the heft that will drive the blade deep. Punk definitely gets the aggressive charge that makes it what it is from anger. The urgency of anger is brought to the surface. When done right, it seems like a pot about to boil over. It's not a bowl of ice cream. It's not nice. It's nasty.

For some of us, anger will always be there. It can be a caustic emotion, causing you to burn out, wither and fade. It can cause you to go over the edge if you do not have an outlet, and I cite Columbine and Virginia Tech as prime examples. However, anger seems to have a productive quality to it. I see it like fire, capable of overtaking it's environment and burning down your house, and I see it as necessary to get through the day. Try living without fire, without heat, frosting over in the shallow tundra of apathy. Anger is the fire that I fuel to keep me going, channeling it's power into socially productive means.

No surprise that I'm a big Henry Rollins fan. I do not necessarily approve of all of his career choices (*cough*), but I find that on the whole, I find that he has very interesting and worthwhile things to say.

Love or hate him, I think this is the core of character of Henry Rollins, and I couldn't possibly agree more:
  
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Stupid stupid stupid   
10:44am 12/04/2008
  In a real mean mood....

School today was fucking lame. I can't understand why people enroll in a class when they obviously don't give a fat flying fuck. How demoralizing to have become a professor to only be the process of weeding out, the babysitter for kids that got lost on their way to perpetual self-induced wage slavery. They come with no books, no pencils, no paper, no ability or desire to add negative numbers, for it is fundamentally offensive to some elementary logical principles that they somehow managed to ingest. Now any new challenge is too much, they need their hand held for linear addition. They want to offer excuses and expect special privilege. The fundamental rules cannot possibly apply to them. (even though math is basically nothing but rules, haha.) They talk on cell phones all the time in class, about the party the night before and the one going on tonight. Why the fuck are they here?

I suggest preparation, my fellow students. Hard times, coming your way. Organize your life and figure it out. It's one thing to come to a machine gun fight with only a knife, but it's quite another to only bring a blank, stoned stare. The only reason you are allowed to be so stupid is because somehow tuition got paid. Well, it's your dime, but you will not be allowed to waste my time, and I will not let you borrow my book., copy my answers, or even borrow a pencil. Don't ask me for a goddamn thing, privileged slacker scum, I'm not your bankroll or your middle class parents. Put the bong down and pick up a book. You're part of the problem. Please stop sucking at life so bad.		  
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Bicycle   
05:08pm 10/04/2008
  I got my bike "Jack" back, and well under estimated budget. Sweet! $111, lucky number eleven in there about three or four times, I guess. It looks funny to me, because they worked on the drive train and the sprocket rings on the cassette look silly, mismatched. But it climbs the hills like Spiderman, so I don't give a fuck. Well done.

I saw Alex and Paul on the way to North Portland Bikeworks, they were going, I was coming. Paul got hit by a car! He is okay, he was wearing a helmet, but his poor bike is in a bad way. No suspected damage to the frame. Double reminder to get a helmet, probably should before I get some sporty new Vittoria or Continental tires. Shaved headed visions of skull splitting like an eggshell, spilling knowledge into the street where it will dissolve in blood, brains, and grit. Blinking out under a light rain, oil and mud smeared on my face.
gotta get a helmet.		  
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05:36pm 07/04/2008
 
mood: ambivalent


Helluv.

I had to bring my bike to the shop today, and the estimated cost to fix it is more than what I originally paid for it. Well, that's a dead drive train, destroyed bottom bracket, flat brake pads, and a general tuneup for you. That's not even counting the new tires I expect to have to buy next month, possibly new wheels as well.

Buss pass? No way. I'm livin' la vida.

I am doing well with work and school and my other obligations, but now things are starting to stack up, and I'm seeing how important it is going to be to always be busy. Less time for things like this, I'm afraid. Gotta get some coffee and get to class. Check you later, sucka.		  
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Basic conflict of Interest   
04:30pm 04/04/2008
  I have recently discovered for my listening pleasure a band called "Off With Their Heads". I really like them, I like the vocals, and I like the swaggering melodies. I think it's about everything that a punk band should be. Unfortunately, every single song is about being a worthless drug addict, scum fuck, bridge burning washedup junkie.

"I'd rather be in NY shooting heroin again."

Oh, dear!

I assume the lyrical content is all autobiographical, but somehow it feels almost disrespectful in some way. I have a sneaking suspicion that if all of these songs were true stories, the musicians would not be coherent enough to record such good music. Basic conflict of interest.

*edit*

I think the thing that makes me upset is thinking of all those that have had their life shortened in this way, or those that have died in accidents that would love to do anything to have another day of life, and I hate the thought of wasting something that you never get to have again.		  
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What, no chess club?   
05:16pm 02/04/2008
  I'm wondering right now if I have any free time between PZS, 40+ hours at work (plus an hour cycling either way), 8 credits, and a boyfriend if I have any time for school clubs. I'm eyeing the so-called "Q Club" for lgbtq kids, and the Paralegal Club for the kids that are paralegally minded, and the Phi Theta Kappa for the scholarships and the prestige of being a nerdy wanker. Hmm.

What for? Something to put on my dossier? Ennui? It certainly isn't because I have free time.		  
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I am well into...   
06:01pm 01/04/2008
  ... the Tri-Met bus driver that usually drives routes in NoPo and Downtown, the one that is about 50 some odd years old, always wears sunglasses, and has a shit ton of pins all over his beret, hella rad wingnut style. He has a little quartz radio (probably contraband for drivers to have during shift) that he has sitting next to him, and it is tuned to NPR or some other morning news program.The voice of George Bush comes on, and he says, "Oh, shut the hell up."

That guy is one of my heroes.		  
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First Day of school   
07:10pm 31/03/2008
  All done! The class is as old as me, less a year, on the average. One snappy looking feller said that he hadn't been to school in 7 years. A neo hippie (read= pothead) beardo was only about 20. The college professor looks younger than my boyfriend, and he almost certainly has an extensive grunge CD collection, and was probably stoked to see Dinosaur Jr. this year.

English 121, dope-bizzle. I'm just here maxing out on these hella computers. Damn, talk about spending some dime! I'm going to go check out their law library in a second. For better or worse, this campus is going to be home for about two years, I'd reckon. Gotta hold it down this time.

Yo peace, suckas.		  
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Your face is about to be melted off   
05:53pm 27/03/2008
  Perhaps my all-time favorite band, duly sparring for the position with the Ramones, the mighty Rudimentary Peni will have an album out in two months. It's been four years since they released anything. Check out their newest song on the DieSpace, ....er MySpace, otherwise known as Best News so far this year

The song is called "No More Pain", the title track from the album,due to be released in May. It sounds much like the Archaic EP from 2004, and I am beyond stoked.

Rudimentary Peni has a special place of my heart and will always be my champion, the survivor of perseverance of art through mental illness. The Underclass, the underdog. Lead singer Nick Blinko is the Edgar Allen Poe punk rock. He has creative energy that seems like it is loose from hell, and banished to the earth. The album art is always intense beyond comprehension, small deliberate lines meant to exorcise and perhaps contain the ghastly images depicted. The music itself stands out in my opinion from much else that I listen to. I am thrilled by the sparse electric grief as heard on Death Church ("Three quarters of the world are starving/The rest are dead"), the psychiatric meltdown on Pope Adrian("I'm a dream, and I'm nightmare"), the frenetic charge of EPs of RP and the maelstrom of mental illness as heard on Cacophony. For outsider art, you can't go wrong. Buy the vinyl for the larger reproduction value of the album art, or download the songs off Soulseek for instant listening (dis)pleasure, and fuck yourselves up (in a straight edge sense, of course, or otherwise) with Rudimentary Peni.

Yes!		  
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Punk!!!   
05:44pm 24/03/2008
  Sojourner and Marrow last night, folks I know from Tacoma. Great kids, good music.

Lyrics from the Marrow Demo:

"Nourished by movement, yet manifesting stillness
Though sometimes I wish to just remain still
and try to piece back together what I've moved on from
(and what's moved on from me)"

and....

"Restless for a new timeless arc
     To thaw the core    To nourish the root
     To succor the past    To give home to hurt"

That's damn near as good as anything that Greyskull had, and Marrow is just getting started. I remember well the song Rainbow Glitter Unicorn vs. Rambo Nuclear Uniform:

"Awake, alive, clear-eyed but cold, your death seeps in and I am not carved of stone."

All of these lyrics are accompanied by some amazing Tony Wolfe riffs, and few things have ever been dynamic enough to cut through the fluidity of the moment and pierce directly through time, space, and my exterior, tying it all together. It is hard to say what music can be like when it truly works. It has made such an impact on my life.

I think I am coming to terms with the fact that what I miss the most during melancholy is not a place on a map, and it is not even the way things used to be, but it is a time itself, which after all, is mostly a place in the mind. It was good to see Adam singing again, and Brian singing for the first time (for me). Punk is really great. It's hard to call it a youth culture when you start feeling old. Better still to enjoy it and just enjoy each other's presence. We don't want each other as entertainment, for we have a little bit of money, and we have American life and all those plastic solutions. We seem to need something more from each other, substance, soul, and anchor. We seek each other out as illuminating presences. I am one in favor of keeping pushing punk rock dreams, inhaling sweat and bleeding tears. Bridges burned, or lessons learned, and everything earned.		  
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A note on baldness   
02:58pm 21/03/2008
  I secretly believe that shaved heads tend to represent police and jocks much more so than zen monks, convicts, and punks. Nevertheless, I'm going to shave my head again tonight anyways.  
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Anniversary   
04:01pm 18/03/2008
  Five years. Five years that you won't get back from me.
Yesterday marked five years of my God Free sobriety.
Patty's Day, I know. Lucky edge.

tangential meaning from David Bowie:

"We've got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
We've got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes"

http://amporganic.com/musique/davidbowie_fiveyears.mp3		  
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Spartan Punk   
07:05pm 12/03/2008
   
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Got it   
06:24pm 07/03/2008
  I've finally got a working ending complete. What a long one this has been! 149 pages currently, 10-15 more or less after a few more weeks of editing.

It's hard to judge the quality of your own work... I hope it doesn't suck too terribly, and I hope that I will be able to afford to actually print as many as I would like (probably not).

It's not too early to complete the outline for the next one, and I think I'll work more on that tonight.

Fuck. I remember when zines were like 28 pages, and had drawings in them. I long for that again, actually. Blissful ramblings like DHC, an ancient little rag, which was more love than labor, but brought up in just the same manner. But quickly, urgently, and with improvised stylistic finesse! This, instead is a switch to the slow and painful, with errors buried blissfully within the text, until they awaken some time after publication.

Indeed, for almost a year and a half I have dealt with every manner of distraction and complication to constipate this latest work, and I am so glad that this shit is essentially 1/3 finished. (write, edit, publish)

ow

hurts so good		  
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I don't sleep anymore   
07:15pm 05/03/2008
   
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Helluv hella points   
08:34pm 04/03/2008
  Top Ten:

1. Paid some fines (only $560 to go, Portland Circuit Court)
2. Registered for school. Can't fuck with this.
3. Spent a couple hundred on roundtrip tickets to Oakland. Sent mom some money for airline tickets from OAK to HON.
4. Made good on my word with old roommates (I had to bail when I was broke and unemployed, despite my best efforts).
5. Owen is on the road, probably in SLC by now. I wish I was going, too.
6. I just found out my brother is moving to Washington D.C. after his wedding. What the fuck? I had been wanting to go to the east coast this whole time, until I got bit by the school bug instead. Now my brother, posterchild straight society (love 'em to death, though) is totally going to beat his hobo older brother.
7. Dreams about Blake. We were talking about poetry. Fuck yeah.
8. Falloutkid
9. Got a packet of straight edge zines from Approaching Apocalypse Zine Distro, from Amherst,Maryland/Richmond, Virginia. Cuddle Puddles and Hot Pants #1 &2. Haha, it's all about straight edge kids with mohawks.
10. Coffee at the Red & Black.

Reading List for March:



Anyways, I'll be busy with that for at least a little while. I still have to buy textbooks. I can't believe that I only got into Math 60, which is pretty remedial shit, but I fucking aced Writing and Reading, totally destroying the test. I guess I have an intuitive sense for the rules of college English, and I like to break them a lot.

I gotta get some zine shit done soon, like tonight. I'm considering hiding out in the basement and making it happen. Free time won't exist anymore in three more weeks once school begins. Fuuuuck. Gotta get it done. I almost threw it all away the other day, I was so fed up with it. I've got to push it through.

Over and out.


  
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falloutkid
 
 
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