Guilt Is Magical

In most cases it is not, but in this case it was.

It occurred to me after the sudden and overdue departure of Pretty Alice,

my few, oh so precious few readers don't know how Pretty came to be

so angry, twisted and broken.

A long, long time ago as all fables begin, in a H. Ellison story

before Pretty's decay and renewal,

she was married!

Yes! She! and Yes, she was Married!

Married to a rebel of the the state. A wanted criminal named

Everette C. Marm. AKA The Harlequin.

He rebelled not for the sake of rebellion but out of conscious choice.

Pretty on the other hand was a conformist. Not that there is anything wrong

with conforming as long as it is done out of purpose.

However, Pretty conformed out of fear

It was her fear that killed E. C. Marm. She was a loyalist to the state,

but a traitor to her husband. She turned him in for his acts of rebellion.

And that guilt eventually destroyed her. It turned her

to the Pretty Alice you know today.

Guilt can be magical, it can be a weapon, it is a poison.

Though occasionally, given enough time and the right circumstances

it can transform a person.

For every action there is an equal or opposing action.

For every action there is a reaction.

Everything we touch, the words we speak, even the thoughts we think

effect the universe and its contents within.

Some consequences are magical, some are insignificant

and some are irreversible.

Scary Halloween

A name by any other name would still be a name.
Of course the name Scary Halloween is really a name within a name,
but still just another name I call myself and I have a Fa Fa way to run.

So, why am I here? Alas, I have some bad news. Pretty Alice is gone.
Don’t get your hopes up, Pretty is not dead. Just on a journey.

Turns out not so tragic for us or Pretty for this matter.

This is what happened according to Pretty Alice. Apparently Pretty was embraced and kissed by a goddess of the universe. Whatever that means. And in that instant, that fleeting moment Pretty’s heart opened and filled with love, joy, kindness and faith.

Pretty went on to explain, we are static while time runs like a river around and over us. Some look back to see where the water is going, some look forward trying to predict where the water is coming from. But few experience the water as it soaks us. Our lives are like a city, parts in ruin and decay while other parts experience urban renewal and new development. All parts ARE the city as it was, is and will be.

Pretty was only in decay.

I'l never forget that look on my face when Pretty stated,

"Strange how something so angry, twisted and broken can heal something so angry, twisted and broken. Probably some universal law of quantum physics."

Typically after this goddess filled Pretty’s heart with joy, hope, faith and kindness
he killed her. Naturally so, some creatures just have their way about themselves.
I like to think it was Pretty’s way of retuning the gift.

“Some things have to be destroyed to be rebuilt. I just sped up the process.”

Well at least that is what Pretty told me while leaving one life to another. I think the mind set was while we are creating our life we are really destroying it.

I know that goddess just doesn’t realize she is in rebirth. Most likely rebirth at first is slow like waking from an intense dream. I guess that is what a poet meant when she wrote only fact could be so dream like.

So off on their journeys while I sit here and try to make sense of it all.

Nope, I just don’t get it and I am sure you don’t either. We don’t have to nor do we need to.
We have our own lives to live.

In My Life I Love Me More

A lot of people.., OK a few people..., Oh well just two people with the occasional passerby reads my Blog. Unfortunately, for some of the one time readers, they think I am insane, demented, and/or deranged.

Well don't cry for me.... you or Argentina.

I am happy, normal and full of spirituality.

Each night after a long, fulfilling day I lie down in my hand crafted bed made of beautifully polished bones that I have painstakingly collected over the many years and fall right to sleep dreaming of what possibilities tomorrow will bring.

The joy and excitement that I experience each day brings me closer to revelation.

I spend my time on Al’s planet meticulously sharpening knives, cleaning guns, sorting poisons and checking them for expiration dates. There are certain medicines I need to gather, reconnaissance that has to be done, list that have to be made, shopping to be completed….Listen I could go on but I have probably said too much if you know what I mean.

And I think you do.

My point is simply this, I am happy in my little corner of my little world.
If you are so concerned with me you probably don’t have a life of your own.
Although I pity you, I have to say mind your own fucking business!

Arbitrary Injustice

There is exact justice and then there is what I refer to as arbitrary injustice. It is an angry, evil misguided act of retribution aimed at a totally unknown and presumably innocent person.

Example, in high school a friend of ours had is distributor cap stolen. So he was convinced that he had exacted his revenge on the thief by stealing someone else’s distributor cap. Talk about the skewed pay it forward concept. We were unsuccessful at getting him to see he had done to someone what had been done to him and he had not made his thief pay.

Now of course our friend was not the most intelligent or by far rational. But there are cases that have been told to me of victims of arbitrary injustice. Maybe conducted by people like my friend or maybe just mean assholes that enjoy this behavior. Personally it is not my style. I prefer an eye for an eye to my enemy not to a stranger in the name of my enemy.

If you are going through the trouble, why not relish in your enemies misery that you have brought down upon them?

One of the worst cases I have heard of was of a rock and a note wrapped in a pair of panties and thrown through a window of an innocent married man’s home.
The note read,

“Fuck you, you cheating bastard!”

Now whether it was a wrong address or a cruel joke, it was an unexplainable situation to his wife. There was no way even in the most trusting of relationships that she would ever truly believe him. Always she would have a slither of doubt and a strong undertow of suspicion. Funny if it didn’t happen to you, but it is just cruelly unfair to him.

Now I don’t care about this guy. Everyday, worse shit victimizes the innocent in situations where nothing can be done about the suffering. I don’t want to get started on Devine arbitrary injustice.

That is a whole other posting and I can't go down that path here.

What I do care about is that there are plenty of people that do deserve such a thing. I can think of much worse to do to the assholes that I have had the misfortune to deal with in my life. I am sure they skate through life untouched by any type of justice.

So.

I plead to you.

If you get your kicks off of torturing total strangers with misplaced revenge, contact me.

I have a long list of people you don’t know.

Misery Needs Company

There are those married people that want single people to give up on answering to no one. Some people with kids always want others to create spawn in their own image. This need to justify their choices by badgering you into joining the Misery Luck Club is evil.

Why would you wish such on your “friend”?

They just want to pop your fun bubble
so they don’t have to stare at you in constant memory of how life used to be.

Now you are probably thinking I am only focusing on the dark side of marriage and children. Sure there are people happily married and people thrilled to have children.
By the way, notice I wrote “have children” instead of “to be parents”? Big difference.

I personally love having children.

“Thank God I don’t know where or who they are.”

So, who loves being married or having kids so much that they are compelled to aggressively sell you like some plaid suited hand waving insurance salesman?

No one.

Absolutely no one does enough to breach your personal life with a never ending constant offending assault that leaves you feeling emotionally violated and physically ill..

So, who hates being married or having kids so much that they are compelled to aggressively sell you like some pin striped suited bible clutching gun toting evangelist?

The severely sick and twisted.

They have an unaware need to justify the existence they have created for themselves rather than change it. This need allows them the gall to badger you incessantly. Using phrases that suggest you are lonely and unfulfilled. Like you are wandering Al's planet in limbo until you do what they did.

There is no help for this person and no way of stopping them. Just hold onto the simple fact that they are miserable and they need you to be too.

I’LL HAVE THE CAKE THAT NO ONE ELSE IS HAVING

I don’t mean that lonely dried up fruit cake in the pantry that has been passed from family to family like a bad foster child that is only years away from inmate love.

I mean the sweet moist beautifully delicious cake.

So, after everyone has chosen their slice, corner, rose, middle, small slither or heaping glutton; I have what everyone else is not having, the rest.

Why not?

Everyone had their choice and they should know that coming back for seconds is just a shameful act of over indulgence. So once it is my turn to choose I choose what everyone did not. Usually the prime pieces are gone and I see it as doing a service. Like a vulture picking carrion clean, I dispose of what no one wanted or was not willing to shame themselves for larger.

The sad truth is they know not what they lose. Listen! I am talking about cake.

The let them eat it cake cake.

Have your cake and eat it too cake!

Cake is the ultimate prize! It is not fame and fortune. It is cake. And not the cake you make or buy. I am talking about someone else’s cake. That is the prize. The one they made or bought.

I am that, that takes the cake. For good or bad, life is about being the one or instigating the situation that takes the cake. It is the spoils that go to the victor!

This is no metaphor, allegory or analogy. I am talking about actual cake. And if you don’t understand the importance of what I am saying about cake, then you probably

just take what you are given.

30 Dollar Fish Sandwich

It is the pentacle of harmless alcoholism. His brain has focused on one constant solitary image he can’t erase. A beautiful, perfect, greasy, salty, crunchy fish sandwich.

But alas, while craving he is too drunk to drive.

Now obsessed, every 30 seconds the thought of sex has been replaced. And the rest of the night all conversations are interjected with,

“I could really go for a fish sandwich.”

But how does he get it. He fidgets with the keys in his pocket. Goes to the door and stares at his car. He knows if he makes a run for it his friends will be all over him. So this becomes a ritual for the next hour or so, fidgeting and starring, up and down, back and forth.

“I could really go for a fish sandwich.”

If it wasn't two in the morning he would just call his wife. But he is drunk, out too late and that is just not an option since she is home in bed asleep and thinks he is as well.

Eventually I get sick of his,

“I could really go for a fish sandwich.”

So I suggest that if he could really go for a fish sandwich, where there is no will power there is a way. In other words, have money will eat fish sandwich.

Fortunately for him, over the years I have developed a close relationship with one particular cab service. Well it is not an actual cab service. It is a husband and wife that drive people from place to place and take donations for the trip. So, it is wise to tip well if you want to see them again and quickly. Anyway, they know me well. So much so that on one particular occasion, I called them to bring a bag of ice to my house. We were in dire need and of course too intoxicated to drive.

So problem solved. That is if he is willing to pay 10 bucks to come get his money, 10 bucks to McDonald's and 10 bucks back to the house. He was. He had two for good measure and according to him they were the best things he had ever eaten.

Only in America could this kind of tragedy be averted. America truly is the land of opportunity and immediate gratification. I feel sorry for those late night drinkers all over the world.

I bet they are hungry.

Well Now You're Just Being Paranoid

Sometimes my words misunderstand me.

Honesty is not always appreciated even when requested. People take truth as an insult rather than introspection to analyze and look deep inside and decide if there is some merit.

That is because they have been lied to all their life.

Truth as I see it might be at their expense but it is a price I am more than willing to pay. They can get angry and think that I am hard, cold and calloused. Why ask if they don’t want to know what I think. It is taken too personally and I only do it as a favor.

To be honest, I don’t really care, but they asked so why mince words? Life is too short for courtesy of lying. If someone thinks they want to know then I figure they need to know.

What they don’t realize is that I am not judgmental. Most are and I guess they assume I am as well. People can do whatever they want. I don’t care. It is my mere indifference that allows me to say what I think. It is also why my perception is so clear. It is not clouded with baggage of religion or social expectation. More power to the individual without any ghosts.

So I tell them what I think. Then they freak out. And I think why did I open my mouth? I do it every time. It is like a birth defect with me. I can’t stop myself. I suppose that is what they mean when they say honest to a fault. I’ve got time to waste and this is not how I want to waste it. Why did I think they could just listen and take it in? Now all the questions come.
All the self doubt, frustration and second guessing flood them.
Their mouths open up and spew.

“What does that mean?”
“Are you saying that I am…?”
“I can’t believe you think that!”
“Do I really…..?”

Calm yourself. I was only kidding. Now where is that remote?

My Ghost Likes to Travel p. gabriel

I am Pretty Alice.
Sometimes my friends call me Stan.
That is their name for my alter ego as they see it. Only when I am being evil, deranged and out of control.

The way I see it is maybe I am Stan
and Pretty Alice is the facade.

Who knows really?

I don’t.

I think it is the ghost inside, trying to break free.

The life created or allowed to happen to me/us is confining sometimes. We walk down the narrow laid hall before us. All the while thinking if we stay the course, keep our heads down watching our feet move one in front of the other at the end we will be free.

“Ah, the nature of a net.” Sophocles

But I feel that the known self that some of us keep hidden or for some the unknown self is the ghost inside us. Either way it is compelled to break free, escape out of the cage and travel to its desired experiences. It is the need to shed the thick walled layers of engrained civility and social expectation.

Listen to the ghost.

Follow it to destruction or rebirth.
Regardless it has to be better than living as a rat in a maze
or a fish trapped by the narrow pockets of mesh.

Out Through the IN Door

NI is backward for IN you idiot! Don’t look at me like I’m crazy you human cattle lumbering along, cluttering up Al’s planet. What could be so fucking important in your daily existence that you have to cut a second off your schedule to exit through the closest door in your hoofed path? Try the door marked OUT. That would be the customary door on your right! People here in ACIREMA have been using the right side to walk down sidewalks and hallways, to drive and to enter and exit buildings for centuries. How did you miss this in your development? Maybe that is what is meant by

“Growing up on the wrong side of town, tracks and whatever else is observed.”

And I know you are the same stupid piece of moronic shit that rushes on the elevator before people can exit. This is'nt quantum physics. Hey! Cow! There will be more room for your fat ass if you will let people exit before you rush into the magic box that teleports you to the welfare office. Try the stairs once in a while. Walk up and down on the right please. The right would be hopefully the same side that you drive your vehicle.
You are the same person that blocks escalators, conveyor belts even when the polite voice on the intercom constantly repeats the behavior to stand to the right so that PEOPLE can pass you on the left.
You are the same person that does not know that it is a law to always drive in the right lane of the interstate unless passing. While in the left lane, driving slower than the speed limit without a care in your world unaware that someone else exists, isn't it possible we might like to PASS you and your Pacer. This one of the many reasons why road rage exists. That shiny reflective piece of glass mounted to the top center of your windshield is called a REAR VIEW mirror. Use it.
You are the same person that brakes, begins the turn and then uses the turn signal.

You are the same person that buys scratch off tickets, scratches them off and then buys more without leaving and returning to the line. Like I have nothing better to do than wait for you to supplement your babies' daddies' incomes.

You are and what I consider the worst person that arrives at the movie late, talks and sounds like a 700 pound rat going through their jumbo popcorn and slopping up their tub of diet coke. Like diet is going to help you. And what is with the candy wrapper? It is not a napkin put it down. Are you so isolated, so removed from the rest of us you think we are in your den, watching soaps on the largest wide screen made? Unless your name appears in the cast of characters, I don't want to see you and especially hear you. This truly makes me think of initiating my Terminal Illness List and adding to it and eliminating from it as I discover each and every one of you.

(A title of a posting coming soon to my Blog near you)

You are either an uneducated social retard or a rude, self absorbed, narcissistic, holier than thou asshole that thinks this planet and all existence was created for you. Al would beg to differ. I would as well.

Here is the sad truth of the matter. You don’t know you are doing it. That is worse than knowing. To be so oblivious to the people around you and to not have the common courtesy to follow some simple concepts of decency to your fellow person is pathetic. I would respect you more if it was an intentional act of defiance to the conformity of social norms.

"I know that it is why I do it."

Deal Breakers

Dogs, Kids and Baby Talk.

And everyone knows these are deal breakers except for the pet owner, the single parent and of course the social retard, the baby talker.

Let’s look at the Pet Owner. She has three dogs. They do whatever they want wherever they want. No guy is going to put up with that. Men are disciplinarians. Dogs and chaos is a deal breaker. The worst part for the guy is that the woman is totally oblivious to the fact that animals are telling her what to do and she thinks it is cute. He is on the couch trying to make his move and Fido is doing the laser beam stare with this high pitched whine meaning,

“I want a cookie, hurry up bitch.”

Spot is wedge up between them stretching out with the stiff leg maneuver because it is his couch and he needs more room. Last but not least Igor some large mange diseased heap of wet dog smell is at the guy's feet farting.

Ok kids. Don’t like them myself. Dirty, rude, smelly little fuckers. I know I was one too. But now I am not. Kids. Much like the dogs but more premeditated in the chaos. They can do a real mind fuck on all parties involved. And don’t think it is for any other reason than to get what they want whatever that is, candy, money, toys or for the pleasure that only pure spite can bring.

The baby talker. Really there is no excuse for this type of emotionally and socially retarded person. They usually like G rated movies, know all the lyrics to the Sound Of Music and either are a quartet singer or own albums. This person loves square dancing and collects comic books or figurines. The problem with a baby talker is that the baby talk doesn’t begin until you have fucked them. And then it starts immediately after the orgasm. Bone shattering and the guy will need Levitra for a long time after.

Breaking the deal. Everyone is flawed. Admitting your flaws first softens the impact. Second, throw in something positive about them, make it up if you have to. Lastly, don’t do the standard,

“It’s me, not you.”

bullshit. Tell them the exact reason.

“Your house is a fucking zoo and I can’t take it anymore.”

This works for both dogs and kids.

As far as the baby talker is concerned, just get up and leave. Run away without a word. They don’t deserve an explanation and they wouldn’t understand.

Old Soul or Repeat Offender?

Ever heard someone refer to themselves or someone else as an
Old Soul?
I don’t think that is a good thing. I know what "Old Soul" implies, but I don’t see it that way. Aren’t you supposed to move on? Why can’t they get it right?

Of course if you don’t believe in reincarnation this means nothing.

I think about it sometimes when I’m fucking up.

“Pretty Alice!”

I think to myself,

“Why did you leave traces of DNA behind?

I’ve got to stop biting my nails.
Stupid, stupid, stupid just plain and simple stupidity!”

I know I am either in my first life or I am just a repeat offender. That’s ok; I just wish I could remember something from my past lives. Probably I just pick up where I left off. That is why I keep rolling my contempt and rage over into my next lives.

I find reincarnation comforting. It is like a cosmic do over. Maybe that is why I am a repeat offender. I don’t take it seriously. I know I will just keep getting second chances. Hell, might as well have fun and do what I want to do. I mean the Supreme Being needs to at least count to three or I’m never going to take him or her seriously. I’m a rule breaker. It’s my way.

The Christians’ God has got it right from a disciplinary point of view.

One shot, Heaven or Hell and that is it.
None of this fucking around with souls returning over and over again. It’s like being cosmic sperm. Ovum or no ovum too bad all that effort wasted.

You missed.

Game over.

Its not like you weren’t told.

You knew the rule but you just couldn’t help yourself. All those fantasies of making your own personal zombie slave so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. You finally had to try it seven or nine times just so you didn’t have to pick up your own soiled underwear. And it didn’t work did it?
You stupid, lazy bastard.

Well I hope you are happy frying in a lake of fire and eternal damnation!

That’s why I am a Buddhist.

I might not remember my past life but I get a present one again and again.

Con temp toe through the rage with me

It seems my “friend” MANDY thinks my blog is, and I quote

“D…A...R…K.”

What did she think it was going to be, bunnies, gumdrops and pixie dust?

Well let me just quote back to her.

"To the last, I grapple with thee; From Hell's heart,

I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee."
H. Melville’s Captain Ahab

Another person said I write a lot about revenge, murder and hate. So what? Doesn’t everyone contemplate on this subject matter?......Whoops……ok maybe its just me and few other deranged individuals.

But really they are classic themes. These are intertwined acts of contempt and rage. It is not like I am all over the place. Today it is raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens and tomorrow it is death and futility.

My thought process and view of the world is consistent, consistently dark.
Haley Joel Osmond saw dead people, I see assholes. Fucking up to my eye balls with assholes and I am not only a member I am the President.

Maybe I use dark humor to curb the rage inside of me. Maybe my rage and humor are intertwined and I grapple with the demon me. Maybe I just think life is D A R K and that is funny to me. Better to embrace the demon than run away like the French.

I know, all the neighbors will say one day about me,
“Pretty Alice was a quiet person, kept to them self mostly, but nice. We are shocked, Pretty seemed like the perfect neighbor.”

Well it is true that fences and security alarms make good neighbors.

Stopping Quitting Smoking

So there I was smoking and drinking with my friends in my usual fashion holding a beer in my left hand and a cigarette in my right, hunched over, elbows on the bar protecting them like I’ve done time in prison or I’m in the fast lane to self destruction,

“Move over Grim Reaper, I got this one”,

Understand, this is where I am at home at peace, all is right in the world, my heart is in it. On this not so particular night someone made mention that a friend was back to her regular drinking. She stated,

“I felt like drying out, now I’m done with that.”

Exactly I thought.

“Good for you”

I said.

“You know I am sick of society cramming exercising, proper diet and not smoking down my throat!”

And for what I ask you? Fine if they have the time, money and motivation to “take better care” of themselves. More power to them. So they will be those healthy RVing seniors galloping the entire world in their retirement. Burdening health care and sucking social security dry.

Well not me. I will gladly give my life to lesson our country’s social security debacle. I refuse to take care of myself so I can take money from an antiquated system that shouldn't exist. I would much rather have that money to do with as I please. Save it, invest it or drink it and smoke it away!

Avoiding things that you love for whatever the reason, is torture and a waist of time on Al’s planet. I like to subscribe to the philosophy of,

“What if a bus hits and kills me tomorrow or I’m carried off by a twister. What then I ask you?

Why should I spend the rest of my life running on a treadmill?

All the while, still tortured by the itching, nawing of severed nicotine and beer that societal pressure made me cut off when there is high probability I might die tomorrow.

I know life is full of other activities that don’t involve drinking and smoking. Is it not cruel to ask me after years of Pavlovian conditioning to try to change what is so certainly ingrained into my personality? I am positive there is a family smoking, drinking genetic code in my DNA. Unless one of you out there sends me off to some reconditioning camp while paying all my bills for a year, I will be what I am to the day I die. Maybe a little sooner than it has to be, but who can say what fate as in store for us. So, I choose immediate gratification as I always do!

Today! I’m stopping quitting smoking. I’ve tried many times and failed. I don’t have the will power and I obviously don’t want to quit. Also, I’m stopping feeling guilty about being a smoker. Fuck off! You health Nazis, pushing your opinionated agenda in my dry, pale wrinkled smokey face!