The madness has officially hit. I just discovered a plate of pizza crusts on my keyboard tray, which must have been sitting there for a week. Mind you, I have a laptop, so the keyboard tray is more a decoration than what it claims to be. However, this is disgusting.
I am not a neat, tidy person by nature, but old food is not, & has never been, something I tolerate.
I'm surrounded by something resembling the aftermath of a tornado; but I'm the tornado, and I'm not spent.
ComiCon is approaching, and I'm working furiously (or just being furious, in general... I'm such a fucking charmer when deadlines approach). I'm also kicking into some bizarre regressions. It's almost like revisiting old love affairs; listening to Alice Cooper's mid-'70s records, and Zappa's Apostrophe/Overnite Sensation non-stop (an interesting side-note on the Zappa thing: The female backing vocals on those records are Tina Turner & the Ikettes). My dreams are becoming more and more complex & sexual. I took a hit off a joint the other night, for the first time in years, and I remembered why I used to like that shit.
Then I learn that Jerry Falwell died today (Tuesday, May 15th, 2007. Mark it on your calendars). He must have finally realized that his mission on this earth was over. His arrogant insanity was no longer an even remote competition for the blasphemies being spoken in the name of Jesus by the heads of Church & State. Once upon a time Falwell's psychotic ramblings were like a massage-head on the shower to the teenage girl which is the Body-Politic. In the current climate that screwy son-of-a-bitch was barely amounting to a Hello Kitty vibrator running on old batteries, stolen from the TV remote. He probably wasn't even getting himself off anymore.
Or maybe that's the trick... maybe he went out like Michael Hutchence. He was found unconscious in his office. Maybe there's a bit of the story being omitted: He was found unconscious in his office, with his necktie suspending him from the wall-mounted coat-rack, and his pants at his feet.
We'll never know for certain, but I'll tell you this for free; some unhinged acolyte from Liberty University is going to use this as a foothold to ressurect the Moral Majority... and it might just work. The time is ripe. Political & religious discord are at a fever-pitch, as the War on Terror rages and the presidential campaigns enter full swing, like a machete in a cane field.
Funny thing. I just remembered that two weeks ago, during the Diaryland Server Debacle, I received a letter in the mail which prompted a posting over at MySpace & Flickr, but which I could not post here. I didn't bother once things were rolling again, because the time was past, but I figure it worth digging up now. Here it is, as originally presented:
A letter we received in the mail today. The address read, "RESIDENT - TO A FRIEND"
My reply (just to the envelope... I haven't even gotten around to opening it yet):
Dear Jesus,
Please get the greedy cocksuckers in your fan-club to stop sending out this obnoxious crap, which both insults the intelligence of the recipient & defames you. I know we haven't been close for a long while, but I think you deserve better than this.
Also, who the fuck taught them to spell? "Who's" is a contraction; the possessive is "whose."
Hope all is well. Say "hi" to Mary & the kids for me.
-Sinq
____________________________
After posting this originally, I opened the envelope... it didn't improve the situation. The best I can do to explain that, without revisiting the whole, terrible thing, is a comment left on the Flickr post from one Trixiebedlam:
"Dear Jesus,
Please make stupidity painful.
Yours,
Trix"
Thanks Trixie.
