June ends

I have packed all my shit yet again. I have moved my shit, yet again, in frantic maneuvers of the car I drive, running it hard, braking hard, and stopping for kids trying to not to run into traffic. I should have been a taxi driver.

I haven't showered since Friday afternoon. It's too humid, and the place i will leave forever tomorrow is just too disgusting in the mugginess. I'll have to shower at the new place before work. Fortunately, my towels are waiting in the new room. The new room also has illegal plants in it, left over from a Shayne "aiken" to leave town. they are thirsty and drooping as a result. it brings a smile to my face, even though the room as that trademark dank smell to it as a result. They should be out soon, though, or else eviction would be imminent.

I have been awake for about a half hour. it's now 0223. I knew trips down to Maryland would fuckup my sleeping habits. I slept at a rest stop for thirty minutes yesterday. The result was a stiff neck and an aching head/ear combo. I'd say worth it, altogether worth it.

I haven't been writing enough for my thesis during the past 2 weeks. At least I am getting field work done in Maryland. at least I've been enjoying the sweetness the fruits of life have to offer in Maryland. At least I will be out of the geek-sloth shithole tomorrow. (read: no more maggots in the trash pale)

The fly in the ointment

I usually see flies about me, in this medium sized room (15x15) buzzing erratically around the room in attempts to extricate themselves from this shithole of human negligence. They are always met with the same problem, that of the glass window or the perforated screen. The fly or flies trying to escape (return?) to the outside world usually seem to be in desperation. There are those, however, such as the one sitting motionless on the screen at the moment, that feel the need to become the proverbial fly on the wall. It may crawl about, slowly, but it just sits for the most part and because background. If it's so inclined, it'll fly around, but in a more calm and smooth pattern, especially if the ceiling fan is on. I create wind, and the fly feels more at ease. I could easily kill it, but the day is burning away and I need to depart soon.

The demarcation problem the fly faces (perched on the screen, living at the fringe of freedom) reflects the problem my soon-to-be former roommates face; to sit idly inside and occasionally buzz around, versus being free to act as a fly should on the outside of your insular world. The fly has not created this world for itself, though the later (roommates) certainly have with their sloth-like lack of ambition and unhealthy obsession with things like anime and gaming, traits most have abandoned once the age of sixteen rolled by. Unlike the roommates (geek-sloths) the calm fly seems to be the impartial observer, actively intent on being passive. I can almost admire this, if i can admire anything about a fly. It has been coaxed into this situation via an open window, sans screen, and inviting opening for a fly. To exit, to defenestrate through that same window is a feat most flies seems to have a hard time grasping. However, the fly has flown into a shithole, and it must feel somewhat at home.

day-off dogma

being selfless pays off in the end (read: good karma)

some people don't deserve selfless acts, though (read: geek-sloths living in filth)

some people still maintain their sanity through selfless acts. it pays in the end...or so we hope.


about to switch to 'safe-mode' to get the mind back on track

Small steps (progress)

My adventures on Lincoln Ave. in JC will be ceasing shortly. Sublet on Clinton Ave. and a return to the westside after a little-over-a-month's absence. god, I cannot wait. Now we only need to await the moment when i walk out of the Salamida factory for the last time.

projected diligence

It's the middle of my fourth week at the spiedie factory. I already feel myself growing more and more discontented with life in general. To think people actually work in places like this their entire lives. My ancestors did, and it's remarkable the generation gaps witnesses within the facilities. People still live like it's the 1950s. I think it's another example of how time is repetitive, how everything that has happened, will happen, or is happening now. It makes me wonder when will i work at a factory again. I guess I am already working there again....and again....and a fourth time.

grumbling (harsh light)

you return home from an amazing, uplifting trip, were you experienced a fresh new breath on life, completed some work: "life is good."

...and you return to fucking crusty cheese and taco parts in the sink....in a dirty pan on the center-room table (it SHOULD be a dinner table) and all over the living room....we don't even venture there unless equipped with a mask. and of course, the ever present scent of rotten celery, body oder and....FUCKING OLD TACOS.

yea, this can't last for too long.