Sun Tan Shitty (Always about the brown and green)

I rolled into the Sun Tan City for one purpose and one purpose only. And no, It wasn't for the heat lamps. I'm naturally dark skinned. It was to finish what I started. 

The warm weather on Saturday had me enjoying a little cruising in the Honda. We made eye contact in the parking lot and your smirk said enough to fill a Grisham novel. So I turned around and pulled in behind you at the tanning salon. As you locked your door and juggled your phone and purse you shot me another look. The smirk was gone. Replaced now with a smile. Genuine and hypnotic. I was under your spell. You added further temptation by shaking your cute ass in the tight leggings that leave little to imagine. And of course the boots. 

I'm not a stalker so I wrote down your license just in case we lost each other before following you into what can only be described as the mecca for white girls who want to be mexican without the machismó. Next census will have a orange category for race.

Your backward glance had my UV bulb protruding and you asked for your normal booth which quite accurately was called the 'melanoma'. A stand up unit. I had no idea they made such things. I quickly came up your rear.

Turning, you yanked down my pants and asked how much I wanted to spend. Spend? I asked if you were a hooker and you quickly corrected me with, "No, an escort. So whats it gonna be?" You popped one of my balls out of your mouth like a gobstopper. 

"I have $20."

"$20? Shit." She dropped my erect fluorescent ballast and stood. "You can play with my ass for $20. Just don't touch my asshole."

Which I immediately understood as exactly what I should do. So after several seconds of caressing her lumps I plunged my long middle finger as far as I could into her pristine bunghole. Even gave a twist.

In retrospect, I should have considered that it was well past lunchtime. Yea, hindsight is 20/20. Because what followed her shriek was a 160 watt explosion of shit. I jumped back crashing bulbs and glass as a shit storm of tornadic brown covered everything. 
I crawled backwards into the lobby as you cursed and broke even more glass. Bulbs were popping like fireworks and bronze women were running in every direction and covering their mouths. A solarium nightmare. 

It was then that I realized I still had my $20. Fuckin A! I casually walked to the honda. Not a drop on me. It's good to be me.

But I feel bad. Really, I'm tore up over the fact that you didn't get my name or number. I was gonna write it on the $20 but, well, never mind that. How about when your lacerations heal you hit me up? Same place? Lets meet BEFORE eating, yes?

N.

Black Maria (Someones at the door)

We met in the paddy wagon. You were complaining about your zip cuffs being to tight. I told you how to sit to ease the pressure and you thanked me. The goosebumps on your smooth long legs called to me. The house we were partying in was raided just as things were getting good. By good I mean, no one was assaulting me or asking me to leave, yet. Then the front door went down and so did my boner. Anyway, you smelled delicious. Probably a Neutrogena moisturizer. Simply splendid. You were not in the booking cell long, most likely due to no priors and your wealthy white parents. But I'll pretend not to notice though. I'm just now smelling fresh air. People have no idea just how rank jails smell. 

I can hear you onlookers say, 'so don't go there'. Right. Because you are so holy and righteous. Truth is, you just haven't been caught yet and the system, looking a lot like you, hasn't noticed you. Yet. So lecture me when you have the sack to step out from the herd and live a little. As for my zipped tied goddess, I roam now incomplete and dazed, awaiting the strike of lightning once more.

N.

North versus South (Passing lane)

I know this is a long shot but hey, its worth a try.

You were traveling southbound I-65.

I was traveling Northbound.

And even though we passed each other at 60+ miles per hour, I'm pretty sure I felt a connection. I realize that on top of driving, it appeared that you were also texting with the left and adjusting your hair with the right. 
Ambidextrous. I like that. 

It's a small miracle you haven't killed anyone yet or you just truly have no recollection of numerous hit and runs.
Either way I'm drawn to you. Like a moth to flame. Like heartburn to pizza roll. Like a redneck to cheese wiz. 

I couldn't make out your car model or license in the rear view because, well, that fell off years ago and they are a real bugger getting to stay back on. 
Plus the whole, opposite direction on a major thruway thing.

Text me with your free hand when you can gorgeous. I was the car with several LMPD vehicles chasing it. 
Kinda hard to miss, unless that is you were texting, changing ipod songs, fixing hair, downloading apps and telling the world about it on FB at 60mph.

N. 

You were in line behind me (when this went down)

What do you mean this receipt isn’t correct? YOUR store gave me this receipt. This is the piece of paper your Hal 9000 machine spit out along with the coupon, gift receipt and several miles of advertising connected to this here proof of sale...

Well how is that my fault? I mean I was being herded like cattle and I assumed your highly paid for and programmed attack drones gave me the correct receipt. For gods sake I saw the thing print out. How could it have been the wrong one? I don’t know, do I look like Bill Nye the science fucking guy?

Thanks but I don’t want to go to the back room and discuss this. How about I cordially and sincerely invite you to go fuck yourself. Is that clear enough?

Oh, I beg to differ. You WILL honor this receipt and you WILL refund my unhappy ass you overly polite sphincter wagon.

Call them! I’m not leaving this here spot. Tell me I have the wrong receipt. Talking all crazy about can’t help me. Sign says customer service. Mission statement plaque talking all about quality is important. I will straight up go white person beserker on your chinese sweat shop!

What was that? You can prove my receipt is wrong? I’d like to see that. I’d like for someone in this god forsaken commie store to attempt a useful and worthwhile task. I’m all ears. 

Yes, I see the big, store logo at the top of the receipt... Whats your point? What do you mean the sign hanging from the front of the building doesn’t match the logo on my receipt? How can that be?? Seriously, who is running this popsicle stand?

Hello officer, arrest this man here for assaulting me with idiocy and also... I’m in the wrong store? How about your in the wrong store. You need to be where the donuts are.

I don’t think I’m funny Barney, I know I’m funny. Oh snap. Get your cell phone cameras out people. Taser deployed. Taser deployed.

I can’t wait to sue both of your incompetent.. gfhjlafl4vbNV9t[g13nv

N.

Give evil a try (Go on...)

Your career is at a really tough crossroads here. You know the employment numbers as well as I do. They're bad, and they're not getting better. If you're going to survive you have to start thinking broadly. Stop missing connections. Explore all the options out there. Make some changes. I think you should consider giving Evil a try.

Now, Evil is a lot like Accounting. It's not always everyone's first career choice. But as an industry it's solid. The growth potential is huge. I mean, it's Evil. It's got tie-ins with practically every type of business you can name. Because Evil is all about synergy. And synergy is all about Evil.

You don't need special training. You don't need an advanced degree. The entry-level possibilities are right there, and you can pick up plenty of training on the job. That's the beauty of Evil. No one at your job is going to try to stop you from doing as much Evil as you can. They want you to do more of it, and that leads to better prospects. Which lead to more Evil. And so on.

I know, I know. You want to stick with Good. Hey, Good's great. But every craigs-lister out here wants to do Good. Or they say they do. But how many stick it out and actually make a living at it? Look at this way, you'll always be able to do Good in your spare time. You'll have Good to fall back on, sure. But Evil is where the money is.

Maybe you want to try Moral Ambivalence. Fine. But you know you're just going to end up trying Evil eventually, only you won't be as skilled at it. Why not just dive in and commit yourself to Evil right now? You're not getting younger. You only have so many years left for a real career. That career is in Evil. You know this. It's time. I think Evil could be a really great move for you.

N.

I boned your plastic Santa (Front lawn)

Holy shit. I'm still drunk as I write. What a night. Lets see, from what I can piece together... 
I wrecked, stumbled a few blocks, stripped down and had sex with your lawn ornament Santa around 3am. I know you saw me because you were yelling at me to get off your lawn. 
I was really laying the high hard one to him under the mistletoe.

But since you did this in your night gown I am now your stalker. Forever. Really. I'm not kidding. 
I can't remember the address but I know the street so I just need to find the blown out ass of what was once a life size Saint Nick. Did I mention I love you?

I also would like my jeans back. They were 45 bucks at PacSun. 

I'm not sure how the reindeer caught on fire. Nor why the sleigh was in the middle of the street. Seems like there would be a reason. Not that it matters now since the fire trucks hit it. 
How did they miss an 8 foot sleigh in the middle of the street? 
Jiminy fucking Christmas!

Oh, right. It's slowly coming back to me now. I used it to pry the fire hydrant open to put out the burning Reindeer. Makes perfect sense now. 
So not a total black out. Just a brown out. Maybe I will remember where I wrecked my car and which bar has my debit card. Gonna be a good day.

Still it doesn't clarify why I catapulted a flaming reindeer through your bay window. Maybe blitzen. Or Donner. Yea, Donner I think. Well... hopefully no hard feelings. I blame the Tequila. Kids will be kids right?

Not me of course, I mean your kids. Screaming and crying and carrying on like that! I mean, come on. Geesh, if I had a dime for every time a jolly fat man got ass pounded in MY front lawn as a kid I'd be owner of a small string of adult bookstores by now. And besides, I turned out ok. Sure, I don't recall fiery Reindeer crashing directly into my living room at zero dark thirty after seeing Santa's bung hole being raped but... I didn't have a bay window. 

So lets call it even and start afresh.
Happy Holidays,

N.

We travel as equals or not at all (redemption city)

 "The only way we can survive...

is to travel as equals or not at all.”

I.

Though narcissism demands the right to self-identify, narcissists are often unable to do so because they don't know what it is they want to be.  Who am I?  What are the rules of my identity? So people look for shortcuts, like modeling oneself after another existing character or someone from TV which ISN’T real of course but just try and tell them that. 

“I don’t cry at funerals because I’m the kind of guy who has seen some hairy shit in my day.” Which translates that our speaker was raised on 80’s action movies.

But the considerably more regressive maneuver is to define yourself in opposition to things.  "I can't tell you what I want for dinner," says the toddler, "but I am certain I don't want that. Or that. Or that.” You the narcissist can always tell another what you are not. 

Now you can go through life floating, letting hate, the darkside of the force, or the easy path, guide your reactions. It seems certain that you have a fully formed identity because of the magnitude of your passions, emotions, and responses, but you can only operate in response, never first, never with commitment or vision. I know the young lady with the “Obama is a muslim” poster thinks she is driven by love, but that doesn't really come through her, does it? Her hate defines her. "I'm anti-leftist"  We get it.

What does she want? Can she articulate it meaningfully, not in platitudes or "Keep Christ in Christmas" or "Amurrica means freedom" soundbites? They can't tell you because they don't know. They can, however, yell at you what they don't like, and the louder they yell it the more they hear it themselves.

II.

Nothing is expected to be accomplished, it is all for branding. The enemy of the day is "terrorists" but that's not an actual thing now is it? Kind of like “Wall Street” and the cops that #OWS were so earnestly hoping would assault them weren't their enemies either, they are proxies for Wall Street which is a proxy for something else that I am going to politely refrain from suggesting is the big other.

The right wing sign holder and the left wing protestors didn't realize they were themselves bit players in someone else's movie, the media's movie, which offers this clip and others like it so that you, the viewer, can easily define yourself by who you hate.  "That's what the ratings said you wanted," studio execs say, perplexed.  "Were we wrong?"  No, no, you were right. Carry on.  

If I hate the protestors, I'm on Wall Street's side, and vise versa, no further branding, let alone thought, is necessary.  If I hate the “god hates fags” sign holders then mission accomplished. But none of this is thinking. We have lost the ability to do that because we are so busy hating what we are told to hate. But it defines us so we at least have that.

III.

So you are saying N. that it’s the media’s fault?

Look at you. So cute with your contrived attempt to not see yourself as involved. 

I'm fairly confident that a study of comparing 22 idiots to 21 other idiots done by, apparently, idiots, most likely explicitly done for the mass consumption of more idiots is not a study worth repeating, but you can be sure it will be repeated many, many more times and eventually form the foundation for future research not to mention conventional wisdom for the next 25 years. Yet, you read the study and if it suits you, you will quote it.

No, strike that. You *might* read an article that was written by someone who cites the study but who, like you, hasn’t actually read it. 

The media has chosen the easy path because that's what you want, we want to be told that liberals are psychopaths and cops are Wall Street heavies and white men are entitled jerks and this guy's a hoax/for real, all so that the rest of us can decide which side of that invented controversy we are on so that we remember who we think we are. 

 "I hate something!" says the person who is out of ideas. 

IV.

The societal question is what has happened to many people that they are unable to define themselves, or affirm their value, except through another person? The rise in murder-suicide may be best explained as it relates to the rise in narcissism. We are defined by others, and when those others see thru our bullshit and act, the jig is up. And we get nasty. Walking away won’t do because a narcissist’s identity (thru you) is all they have. Bullets will fly.

Look, I’m in this shit just as deep as you. You want me to give you the answer. Quit the long winded connections missed and just tell you the new and proper identity so you can assume it. Become it without the hard work. 

But that is the problem. There is no short cut. You won’t learn the new way with a 45 second montage clip. The way out isn’t a path we have all just happened to miss up till now. I know, it FEELS like just one more Facebook status update will REALLY change things, one more lover, one more election, one more law, one more beer, one more X this time will create Y but alas, it won’t. It never will. Your ipod theme tracks won’t save you today.

The key to beginning to think correctly is not to ask, what should I believe, or what beliefs would a person like me have now that I am X? 

They key is to be defined by your actions. Especially when no one is looking and... no one is. 

How do I act if I’m unsure of what to believe first?

Finally, some progress is made. If this next bit sounds counter intuitive thats because it was meant for you. 

Your action fills in the belief. That's it.

If I’m correct, just the thought of no one seeing your actions has depressed and perplexed you. How can the movie that is you be seen without an audience? 

“In your way, you find a way free.

... Give it up, give it up, give it up to your destiny.”

V.

There is no act 5. Not here anyway. It is what you do next. Not what you think, feel or believe but what you do next that will be act 5. Go get em Tiger.

N.

The stupid tax (lottery as class war)

The transfer of wealth never looked so diabolical.

I.

They once asked JP Rockefeller just how much fucking money did he need anyway? His answer: Just a little bit more.

II.

When I ran around with OWS I learned that I myself was a part of the top wealthy 4%. I make under $40,000 a year and I still fell in the top 4%! That is of course compared to the entire world. Which, apparently, is one ramen noodle soup away from dropping over dead.

 You can throw your annual salary into this website to see where you land. globalrichlistDOTcom. Like Rockefeller, I always think I need just a little bit more.

III.

People who have never been rich assume that rich means infinite money, when it really just means more money and a higher level of consumption. But if you are buying things to fill that empty pit in your heart, no amount will suffice. Not even a  lottery pile.

More money, spent with the same attitude, the one that’s seeking an identity and a holy inner stressless peace by buying things, isn’t going to kill that poverty feeling. When you live so precisely at your means that $50 a month makes a difference, no amount of money is going to help you; you’re just going to buy more and bigger houses to starve in.

IV.

I blame King James I personally. Apparently he started a lottery to help the fledgling Jamestown Colonists. The idea took root in the new country and by the time the colonists told the king to go fuck himself there were 164 “known” colonial lotteries funding just about every government task you could think of. Put that in your tea and drink it. Sure, it helped the more puritanical sleep soundly knowing they were not actually gambling but rather participating in a voluntary tax. My ancestor tried a variation of this defense. He was the guy chained in the stocks who said he wasn’t butt fucking sheep per say but merely participating in some harmless “voluntary” cross breeding. Sadly, they weren’t persuaded- but- enough about my family tree.

V.

Now wait just a minute N., a tax is a mandatory or compulsory payment, and playing the lottery is voluntary, so lottery revenue cannot be a tax you jack-hole.

You’re confusing the purchase of a product with the payment of the tax on the product. True, the purchase of a lottery ticket is voluntary, but the tax portion of the ticket price is not, just as a sales or excise tax is compulsory on a voluntary purchase of alcohol, clothing or books. The voluntary nature of the purchase does not make the tax any less of a tax. Using your rationale, we’d have to say that because the purchase of a dildo is voluntary, the sales tax on the dildo is not really a tax. Just try to buy a $20 dildo and hand the cashier a $20 bill, but refuse to pay the $1.40 (.07%) sales tax and leave the store waving dildo in hand. “I’m not funding anymore government abortions with my $1.40! Its going to chic-fil-a instead!!”

The only difference between the lottery tax and sales or excise taxes is that the lottery tax is built into the price of the ticket, rather than reported separately.

Fuck off N. Here is YOUR missed connection. It’s a recreational activity. If you can’t afford it, don’t play. Otherwise quit the bitching.

This argument seems to suggest that the lottery is akin to a sort of user fee, or a charge paid to the government for a specific service, by the people who use that service. Lotteries are a government enterprise and a source of tax revenue, and must be evaluated as such.

If the governing body’s intent was simply to meet the needs of a person who paid for a service or product, the payment is probably a fee rather than a tax (a toll on a bridge for example). However, if the intent was to raise revenues to benefit the community at large, then the payment is a tax. The lottery clearly falls into the latter category since legislators create lotteries to raise money for projects that (supposedly) benefit the community at large.

And the tax burden is shifting from the wealthy and property owners to lottery players. That is to say, the poor. And you line up at the counters to do it. 

Where do you think that mega millions jackpot came from? Answer: Out of the pockets of poor people. State lotteries posted more than $53 billion in ticket sales in 2006 (the last year for which I found data). And 99.999% of those ticket buyers, which includes you, are losers. Don’t take that personally. It just means you didn’t win. So quit waving your dildo at me.

Rich people usually don’t play the lottery, the poor do, working class, the disabled and welfare recipients. Hence, the lottery can be viewed as a tax on the poor, which is redistributed to people who already have jobs. Who, by the way, will give half of that money back in the form of taxes. Thats a huge transfer of wealth from the bottom to the top.

That’s also called a racket where I come from. The media’s the barker, and we’re the rubes.

I’m just playing a fantasy. I know I won’t win, I just like being a part of something plus the revenue goes toward education and...

Yep. Its a tax on the stupid.

N.

Zombie as missed connection (mourning dew)

Black Friday as the denial of death

I.

The first Zombie movie was in 1968. And no, they were not called zombies in that movie either. Fun fact: Romero’s Night of the Living Dead considered them ghouls. It was the viewing public/media that began to call them zombies. The idea was something reanimated dead people. A small reference in the movie to a reason for the dead reanimating is a radio broadcast of a satellite reentering the atmosphere and exploding. Radiation was the fear then. You know, Godzilla and all. 

Our fears have evolved. Load up on your anti-bacterial soap kids, an I am legend plague is coming. No actually the fear is growing up but that doesn’t stimulate your narcissistic tastes so I’m taking the long route.

Prior to that a zombie was from Haiti (think Serpent and the Rainbow). A part of the witchdoctor-slavery system. A precursor to modern capitalism really but that post will have to wait. Vampires could also make zombie-like ghouls. Vampires are clearly the upper class collecting capital (blood) from the lower class. The undead were a byproduct of that hidden massacre. Van Helsing and his updated version Blade are marxist revolutionaries.

 In Zombieland, when a dead human scurries down the street towards you, they say a zombie is coming because in the movie itself there is an awareness, a history implied, that the characters know what a fucking zombie is. The Walking dead is not an alternate universe. Everything about it screams 2010 US of A. So what do you call it when no one in it mentions something that everyone should be aware of? Repression.

“Walkers, biters, lamebrains, the dead” are all names that the characters try to apply to what they should obviously be calling zombies. They don’t because this show isn’t about zombies. 

II.

So enlighten us genius...What’s The Walking Dead really about?

Easy there governor I’m getting there. Every season so far we are presented with people who cannot move on from a loved one dying/turning. They died and part of them moved on. But another part of them remains, comes after us- albeit slowly. 

In episode one Morgan who cannot shoot his turned wife. Shane, haunted by the family he must let go of though he thought he had earned. The sister who must watch her sister turn. A brother who must move on with a group that effectively killed his brother. A christian man who must face the world is not sick but dead. That his wife and children cannot be healed. A lost daughter who must be put down. A valued member who must be put out of his misery. A son who must kill (again) his mother so she doesn’t turn. Turns out everyone is infected. However you die, turn you will. 

Now we have the governor whose little girl is kept in a state of undead waiting, one presumes like Hershel’s barn was. Waiting for the big other to come and fix it but now mourning that alas, he isn’t coming.  Unlike Hershel though, the governor is taking matters into his own hands. By sheer will he will fix things and return them to normal. Like the quaint town he has fortified.

III.

But why repress the name zombie? Because when you fail to mourn the death of a loved one you get anxiety. Anxiety leads to projection. And projecting all my terror into an external enemy is what a zombie is. They are the hate, confusion, rage and death that I feel. And I can dispense with that by putting a bullet thru their brain.

But that’s not mourning. And so when I turn around there are 6 more. 12 more. A world full of things that are coming after me. Rick’s rage in the prison is an apt description as any. He will kill until he tires of doing so. There will never be a shortage of zombies.

Until I run the ritual right, I can’t mourn properly and I can’t move on. The (preposterous) phone call to Rick is an attempt to run the ritual right. To do what is right and grieve. To experience the loss in all its terror and own it. Sometimes this must be done regularly, hence the name ritual. A Father would then be there for his grieving son. Lead him thru the ritual of mourning the death of his mother (or whoever). That is the right thing to do.

Does anyone still remember what is the right thing to do? Of course not thats why we have zombies.

IV.

Incomplete mourning has left us trapped in our own heads, and so day in and day out we try to (not) shoot our loved ones who are (not) completely dead, repeating it over and over, working through it until we master the material.  

We can spend the rest of our life in repetition compulsion if we want, but time marches forward and like everything else in life it comes down to a binary choice: we'll either get over them or become them.  It is inevitable.

That's why there's no sense in putting it off, and you certainly can't avoid it-- it follows you around. There are never enough bullets or arrows. No hideout that can withstand the slow methodical onslaught.

V.

The unspoken part of mourning is that sometimes we wished that the dead person was, well, dead. Children under 10 think the world is magical and if you hate someone then you can an affect their demise. The guilt of secretly at times wishing your parents, your boss, your spouse even your kids dead is repressed. Like a child we fear we somehow caused this. Made it happen by our ghoulish daydreams of a life without them in it. Ah the freedom. The things we would do with that other life instead of the one I'm living now. And then when they die, we know we thought those thoughts. We killed them.

Sure we didn’t kill them but the unconscious doesn’t seem to know that does it?

 It lingers. Rises up and begins to slowly stalk us. It is the zombie we want to put down for good but can’t. If we could just tell our loved one, explain it. Have one more shot to make it right, that I didn’t really want you dead. I was just being selfish and moody. I really need you and still do.

Thankfully, generations much wiser than our own figured out that these rituals help us do just that. God can and does forgive us. And you learn by doing. But we value beliefs more than actions so we create ever more elaborate beliefs and mock the old ways all the while doing nothing. 

In that sense The Walking Dead is THE american show of our day. It is unable to name itself because we walk around endlessly avoiding the dead. The walking dead. Or - What do you get when you get so good at denial, that you extend it to the inevitable?  You get American zombies. Denial of death. And what better way to deny death than shop. That is, to consume endlessly. 

N.

Marco! (Polo!)

That is one ugly f'in unicorn

A critique in 6 movements.

An open response to a craigslist reply. Original in bold.

 “Have you ever been stopped dead in your tracks?”

This is just your identity seeing a co-star that would further improve your identity. Your brain is like a talent agent looking for a supporting cast for you, the star. Appears you found one.

“I can't sleep, I can't focus on work, I can't ride down the street without you in my head. Baby you have me so twisted inside I feel like I'm just going in circles.”

Your twisted all right, like a psychopath pretzel. It’s not the other person of course that twists you but your DESIRE to possess the other person. You want to to have them in your sitcom, or Rom-com. I suspect its more a horror flick but horrors the ending for sure. But I hate when I jump ahead like that.

“This must end soon, I must to have you in my life!!!!” 

Yes, because other people serve no other purpose than to be in or out of your life. It’s not like they have jobs or commitments, beliefs, dreams that in no way, shape or form include you. Nope. What matters, what only matters is that you have a need. We haven’t heard anything about WHY this person has you feeling this way. What it is about them that is unique and endearing. 

A gi-normous penis maybe? Shares the SSI check generously? Can wear his pants down low like nobodies business? He’s good with kids not his own? 

All we get is your feelings because, well, thats all there is to this story.

“I always turn the radio when those mushy love songs come on, but since I've met you I find myself listening to them, singing them in my head when I think of you” 

And when this dreamy guy is no longer needed in your movie, he will join the countless others whose memory simply has you turn the station. We are not singing THAT tune/guy anymore, are we? What is easily entered into is also easily cast aside. Turned like a knob on a old car’s radio to something new. And who listens to radio anymore?

“(which is every second of every day)! When I'm with you, everything goes away.” 

The compulsion, the drive is what makes people think they must be in love. But let us contemplate for a moment that we always feel like this when we meet someone new who we are sexually aroused by. Have we not felt this before only to then learn, oh, they are an average, everyday asshole, just like the last one. Just like us.

Another person cannot be the object of this intense desire for long without a.) failing and b.) failing.

“All is right in the world, just by the simple touch of your hand. I miss you baby!”

A fetish is something, not always perverse, that takes the place of another object that is too painful to have close. A man may seem fine after the death of his wife but he cares for his deceased wife’s cat with extreme finesse. Weird right? But not alarming. However, when the cat finally dies he loses it. Really loses it because the cat became a fetish disavowal. A stand in to keep the real and excruciating pain of his wife’s death from impacting him. The fetish helped him maintain. You might think thats a good thing. Hey, he made it to work, ensured the kids were ok, even seemed pleasant at a party. 

But like the above ad we are dissecting, it (the fetish with new man lover) isn’t real. The compulsion is to avoid not just loneliness but the despair of who we are/who we are not.

All in all I counted 16x you used the words ‘Me’, ‘I’ or ‘my’. So this post is really about you. Not your beloved. 

Notice when the words relating to others is used, like the word “you” its not about them but STILL about yourself. Gotta love narcissisms resilience as we never learn a thing about the ‘you’ person that this post claims to be all about!

“You...in my head”
“You...have me twisted”
“You...in my life”
And “You...I find myself”

 So Marco Polo goes to Java, and sees a one horned horse, and figures, hey, it's a unicorn. Fucking A! But it was a rhinoceros. Marco Polo wasn't a dummy, because he had to make a choice: either he modified his understanding of unicorn to fit the animal in front of him, or else he would have to believe he discovered an entirely unknown animal.

We make a similar choice every day, about everything. We are trained to care only about identity. What is my motivation in todays scenario we wonder internally, constantly. Who am I today? What do I want to be? Who would help my identity by being next to me?

It never occurs to us to say, what can I do for them? How might I act to make their lives better up to and including sacrificing what I might want?

Choosing to be just one thing, with all our will, despite resistance internal and external remains the rhinoceros that we cannot name.

N.