When you eat enough fiber, you can never tell how much you're shitting. It could be an 8 inch log, but it comes out so smooth it feels like nothing. When you're constipated you know every ounce that comes out, but now when you're downing 6 caplets of the most powerful brand the Vitamin Shoppe carries each day.
Wrong turn is a horrible movie, and even more anti-southern than I am. Mountain Men from West Virginia hunting the Easterners who go into their territory, with the local authorities not giving a fuck as they slaughter dozens and eat them. The governor of West Virginia didn't appreciate this film, and as a cinephile I don't either.
As a Side note, why is it that the monsters or evil dudes in these films are always surprised or angry when their victims fight back or kill some of them? Let's face it, if you're going to be stalking and killing random strangers who happen to come by your hideout or home, you have to expect that they're going to make an effort to fight back, and understand that it's deserved when they manage to take out one of your own. It's not like the peacekeeping soldiers in Iraq who are there to provide order and maybe some candy for the children. They have a right to get pissed and hurt when they get shot at or killed. But if you're trying to butcher someone for meat, you got no right to expect that they're going to treat you with the respect and dignity you might feel you deserve. Them's the rules of psycho cannibalism. If you can't handle them, maybe you shouldn't be in the psycho cannibal game. There's a lot of other less competitive fields that won't get you chopped up in revenge. Consider the exciting growth field of air conditioner repair. I hear DeVry will take just about anyone.
Reading books about tax evasion and corporate scandal is as painful and stressful as it is necessary. It's so frustrating to see the way that the rich manipulate and abuse the system and the workers that it awakens deep pockets of violent resentment within me. I don't believe in killing for any reason besides self-defense (or defense of others), but I can't help but imagine the most vivid bloody tortures visited upon the greedy pigs who are ruining this country. I imagine every literary examination of hell that I've ever read, from intestines spooled out from torsos and played like lutes to Kafka's machine that carves the name of your sin into your flesh for hours until finally you pass away. I imagine things that I've never heard of, fat cats lifted by bonehooks in their eyesockets to steam over cauldrons of boiling oil, fueled by the burning bodies of their children. Spines slowly twisted and torn out of writhing bodies, while carnivorous insects carve away at the face and genitals, where a sweet ointment has been spread. Ears and extremities ripped off by machine presses and fed to their owners, then the dung from that recycled back to them until finally they die from the bacteria of their own intestines. All around the sounds of splintering bones and tearing sinew, a din of screams and hisses from punctured lungs and throats. Jawbones being crowbared off, nipples torn from pectorals before the owner is dumped into a tank of lampreys where rows and rows of teeth gravitate towards the smell of fresh blood in the water. Things I can't even describe because the human body has a certain threshhold for damage which my imagine exceeds. Molten steel dripped slowly into every available orifice, entire families of the evil-doers stripped of all property and sent to beg in the streets, benificiaries of nepotism buried alive in heaps of superheated pigshit, their cries muffled as they are lowered into the abyss until nothing but a few bubbles breaking on the surface shows that they ever existed.
I imagine all this because no real penalty can possibly compensate for the damage done by these traitorous wretches. Because their soulless pursuit of the bottom line has cost so many innocents their lives and livelihoods that it's impossible to exact appropriate revenge upon a single person or family. When you break the lives of a thousand men, and you are but one, what can be done to punish appropriately? You only have one life and lifetime to give back. That's what the plutocrats don't understand, that there is a law of diminishing returns. If you take all the food from a hundred men to give it to one, the one does not recieve as much sustenance or health from it as the hundred would have. The greedy don't care. They will deny a million health insurance so that they can have marble fixtures on their yachts, and think it an improvement for mankind. They will look at rising infant mortality rates and not blanche from moving research to the more profitable realm of erectile dysfunction. Let the babies die. Let their little corpses fill the ground and provide sustenance to our rosebushes, they say. Profit is something that should only be talked about once everyone has enough to eat, a place to sleep, medicine and opportunity. Our country has enough to provide the necessities to everyone, and still have enough fat left over for the rich to ski in Aspen and eat $400 steaks. I do not begrudge them that so long as they do not begrudge a poor mentally ill man a crust of bread and bowl of soup, a warm clean cot on a winter's day, and a coat to wrap his frail and shaking form with, to keep the fingers of cold off his bones and fight back the demons that have consumed his mind.
But they do begrudge the indigent that. They begrudge the workers who build their empires a comfortable retirement and a college education for their children. They begrudge the government that built their roads, paid for THEIR education, and guards their shores, its fair due of what they can squeeze from their employees. They begrudge everyone else anything they have. Most are not rich because they did something grand or important. They are rich because they are ruthless. Because they would stab you in the back without a second thought if they could gain from it. Because they are willing to enforce the rules for others while they flout them. They are rich because they are evil, and proof that there is no God, it's just a fairytale meant to help cow their lessers. God is just part of the social machine that concentrates power and wealth in the hands of those that least deserve it. If you believe in Him then you are but a cog in their plan, you have had your table scrap of opiate and now you will sit beneath the table waiting for another while they feast upon the labor and toil of those around you.
Reading about the mechanics of this has a tendency to raise my blood pressure and arouse my ire. You may have noticed. I can't explain the full breadth of the rage and violence I feel in reaction to these motherfuckers, but it is a still water that runs very deep. When I was in 7th grade and my father killed himself, I wrote that I now knew the true meaning of the numeral 0 and the concept of emptyness because it was sitting in my chest where once my heart had been. That may have been melodramatic, I was 12, but there was definitely a wound there, and like wounds tend to do it scarred over and healed, but not without leaving a permanent mark. There's a darkness that's grown there ever since, and I've fed it with everything from self-loathing to bag after bag of double stuff oreos. But I've cultivated it too, it's like a black bleak garden in the depths of my soul. A seed of that amorphous darkness we call rage, agony, frustration, whatever. There are dark things lurking between and beneath the thorns of that metaphorical garden, things I don't even fully understand.
One of the reasons I want to write is to channel that darkness into something productive. Much great art and almost all comedy comes from a dark dark place. Like anything that has the possibility of being productive, it also has the possibility of being destructive. I've talked about how I sometimes think about throwing myself under a bus, and that's true. I also have brief flashes of idle wonder about what would happen if I did that to someone else. I'll see someone on the subway platform and idly consider what would happen if I shoved someone underneath the oncoming train. Or be sitting in a restaurant and fantasize about picking up my steak knife and plunging it through the eye of a stranger sitting nearby. I fully believe myself to be capable of killing another person. I think that if I was confident it was something I had to do that I could do it without any hesitation. That's one of the reasons that I'm so against the death penalty, because I can see how easy it is to let your emotions convince you that someone else should lose their life.
My idea of peace is a black island of volcanic rock, an ebony throne rising from the ash, black spitting iguanas swimming in the surf, thunderheads rolling in over the water, and a nice boiling pot of black coffee at my side (not that I love coffee, but scalding hot bitterwater is something of a comfort at times.) It sounds silly, I know, but could you imagine anything more calming?
I've thought of a bunch of ideas for creative works. A little more of the structure for a feature length script I plan to write about 10 years from now but might have to sooner if it keeps zipping along like this inside my head. I have about 5 scripts in me right now. I also have an idea for a short story or novella, which I think I'm actually going to write soon. I'll start it today, it'll suck, I'll post it, it'll be a thing. Work starts on Wednesday, until then I'm alone. My mom's gone off to Africa. I have 6 weeks of freedom to create. We'll see how it goes, hopefully well.
My weight loss has stalled. I'm still walking and still dieting but I've been trying to work more restaurant food in without going over my limits, and I don't think it's agreed with my metabolism. Of course I lost SO fast for the first four weeks that a stall might just be my body catching up with itself. That happens. I'm not going to get concerned unless this continues for a few weeks, at which point I'll adjust. I'm not frustrated, which is a new experience for me in this kind of situation. Cool.