Sanity is overrated!


February 2016

Seeking Bukowski in a Nicholas Sparks World

We live in a world that borders on idealism, false realism, and denial.  There is a growing market for bullshit polishers and I am sick of the plethora of political correctness pushers that are predominant in our current culture.  Hence the metaphors of Bukowski and Sparks.*  One speaks what we are truly thinking, what we wish we had the guts to say, the other speaks what we wish we were thinking because that does not conflict with the status quo.  The differences between the two are in-your-face: one can be compared to tenderly dressing a wound and applying antiseptic, along with the properly sized bandage, taking care the entire time to be considerate of the patient’s level of comfort and the alleviation of any fears that may be present; the other method, the Bukowski method, is like washing out a wound with peroxide, using Mercurochrome as the antiseptic, and to hell with the dressing!—both methods seem to achieve their intended purpose but the latter is faster,  more direct and more cost effective, and in addition, it is impossible to hide any infection.  When comparing both of these approaches to some of Life’s tougher situations, would you rather be told that if you try harder, do more, make yourself prettier, richer, etc., the world will eventually offer its rewards for you to claim? Or, would you rather have the awareness that the person lying next to you might someday leave you for someone younger, richer, and/or more better looking?  Or, even if you work your butt off, success may never arrive…?  Some willingly choose to bury their heads in the proverbial sands of oblivion, all the while convincing themselves that they will be the exception to the rule and besides, we have been spoon-fed the images of these types of fantasies all of our lives.

The land of Sparks is sagging flesh sustained by plastic surgery and slow death on life support.  On this terrain, belief in all kinds of nonsense is possible: happily ever after, the Golden Age of retirement, formulas for staying fit, young, and healthy, turn-key investments, blah, blah, blah.  The truth of the  matter is that these situations do exist, however, they are the exception rather than the rule and  when they don’t live up to the hype, all hell breaks loose because Life is unpredictable and we cannot foresee anything with a reasonable certainty.  There is nothing more miserable than to be going on about the business of life believing in bullshit, only to discover that it is far from ok and if only you had paid attention, trusted your gut, not been so trusting, etc., you wouldn’t have been blind-sighted by this betrayal and its inherent misery.

I say give me Bukowski, with his raw edginess and “rip-the-band-aid” realism, or give me a razor blade!  The land of Buk is like walking into blinding daylight after time spent in pitch darkness: it hurts, you can’t focus at first but eventually clarity is bestowed, and although the landscape is not perfectly groomed, the variety is refreshing and you at least know you are not in for any nasty surprises.  On this terrain, a four-wheeler might be needed but at least you are aware that one will be required.  And in the off-chance you might believe that Life is capable of throwing out more ugliness than you can handle, comfort will eventually arrive in the form of knowing that you have been equipped with the necessary supplies and the desire to survive.  Becoming willing to view Life in its riskiness and sometimes harsh reality is not for sissies, but to the extent that you are capable of comprehending the truths of the power of substance over form, you will succeed.  Perhaps your victory will not be what the culture considers achievement, but you will consider it so, and that is what makes Bukowskism so appealing.

So, what’s it going to be: the red pill…? or the blue pill…?  You decide.


* This is not intended to be a slam against the commercially successful Sparks, it is merely an instrument of comparison.

Ode to Bukowski

Lustful longing

painted flesh

Drunken kisses

sloppy lips

Fumbling hands

groping fingers

Panties down

pants unzipped

On the floor

head hitting door



Drunken bliss



Valentine’s Day Makes Me Want to Puke

I love men and everything about them: their smell, their hair (in the right places!), their sweat, their muscular hardness, their penises, their bottoms, etc.  I especially love having sex with them and I enjoy a passionate interlude with all of its incumbent frills, however, I despise Valentine’s Day and I do not see its significance in regard to romance.  I know that ‘despise’ is a very strong term but I mean it to the nth degree and this is why:

  • Valentine’s Day is another way for single people to feel like shit about being single, when in fact, I am the envy of all of my married friends.
  • Cards for this day are everywhere and even if you don’t care for the cheesy sentiments and the plethora of candy and flower crap, you cannot help but have to be unconscious not to be bombarded by its over-marketed, in-your-face advertising.
  • Children cry when Valentine’s cards are passed out at school and they are mistakenly forgotten by someone (let’s give the benefit of the doubt) and why are children being influenced to think about romance anyway?  Shouldn’t they be thinking about kid stuff?
  • The expectations of your significant other (if you have one) are seriously jacked-up and the ante is raised higher and higher; if he/she doesn’t particularly buy into the mindless hype, does this mean they have stopped caring, loving, thinking, wanting you?  Mental masturbation ensues and the next thing you know, the only thing in front of you is the disappointment of non-communicated desires (which you probably didn’t even know you had until they were not met).
  • The “holiday” is a corporate-sponsored cash cow for the fat cats who are trying their hardest to run the world by relieving consumers of their hard-earned cash while they encourage mindless obedience to social/media/marketing worship.  Seriously, think about how much money you are willing to drop on a trinket, candy, flowers, cards, restaurant meals, etc. to avoid being in the doghouse?  It is absolutely ridiculous.

Ok, I have said my peace and I am feeling much better; it was not my intention to offend anyone with my soap-box sermon, I desire only to create some constructive dissension.  I, further, want to congratulate all of the members of the free-spirited minority that do not buy (literally) into this crap and instead DO things on a regular basis to let you your loved ones’ know you care.  Piss-off you greedy corporate bastards!


Cunnilinguine: The Art of Al Dente

Al dente.  The perfect state of completion.  The trick to its attainment is to view the process as an art: subjective, emotional, profound, and above all else, an experience of pure pleasure.  If performed skillfully, there is absolutely nothing else like it in this human existence.  Unlike the mastery of other forms of pleasure, the one who pursues this option will be rewarded with demands for more and a solid place in the halls of skillful lovers.

Nothing is worse than attempting to consume a repast that is not properly prepared, or has been served prematurely. The foreplay of successful appetite preparation is extremely important and should not be rushed.  Oftentimes, before I make ready to enjoy this epicurean delight, I have played scenarios over in my mind and eagerly looked forward to its pleasures long before I have been given the opportunity to experience its delights. Therefore, the time-consuming act of adequate preparation cannot be over-stated.  When the object of desire has reached its boiling point, the addition of a lubricant (very important) will guarantee that each individual portion of the repast will not cling together but will instead separate and yield quite easily to allow insertion of the culinary instrument.  Once each section has been properly examined, circulated, and agitated, the boil will resume and an appropriate cooking time will need to be set, say…10-11 minutes..?  Once each section is accorded the appropriate attention and is ascertained to be cooked to perfection, you may then proceed to serve up the main course by the folding-in and rolling over and over of the coup d’etat  which will result in immediate capitulation and blissful surrender of the cunnilinguine and the ecstasies of the ultimate dining experience.

Anyone for seconds?!

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