Tag: acceptance

charles “rowdy reggie” jackson

Charles Jackson was an author that kinda got lost in the shuffle of 20th century alcoholic writers.

His life was tragic. Naturally.

Jackson appeared to have lived a mostly closeted life. He suffered from tuberculosis, losing a lung, which led to alcohol and substance abuse. He died of apparent suicide in 1968.

Blake Bailey wrote a biography of Jackson titles Farther and Wilder: The Lost Weekends and Literary Dreams of Charles Jackson. Unlike every other book I talk about here, I might actually read that one.

The Lost Weekend is Jackson’s most famous work. Billy Wilder adapted it into a film in 1945. While the book was successful upon its release, it is now largely forgotten in the American canon.

The second chapter of the The Lost Weekend is probably the most harrowing description of being an alcoholic ever written. And while I thought the book was fantastic as a whole, I actually found Jackson’s second novel The Fall of Valor to be much more engrossing.

And unfortunately it’s been totally forgotten.

The Fall of Valor is about a man vacationing with his wife in Nantucket who suddenly becomes obsessed with a recently married Marine captain on leave from World War II. The blatant homosexual overtones were ahead of their time upon its release in 1946, but the novel is powerful in its exploration on the dissolution of relationships and masculinity.

Jackson’s style can get a little long winded at times, which bogged down The Lost Weekend at certain points. But it pays off in second novel. Jackson was an astute observer of human nature. He’s seen the dark side and knows what people are thinking even when they aren’t aware of it themselves. All of this comes together in a heartbreaking conclusion for The Fall of Valor.

Anywho, no jokes. That’s all I got.

Bye ✋

sleep is underrated

Of course, I’ve never slept before.

But YOU should sleep more.

It’s really the only thing worth living for.

(I seriously wasn’t trying to rhyme there)

Think about it: you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there.

Why it’s so hard for people to do, I’ll never understand. There’s probably something wrong with you tbh.

It’s like we’re so conditioned to do something all the time. Fuck that noise. When you get an opportunity to do nothing, take it you freak!

“😭 But I can’t sleep! I always got something on my mind 😭”

That’s called having a brain dumbass. Everybody’s got one. And your brain don’t work because you don’t sleep.

So let me help you.

Ever tried having a pill addiction?

Problem solved!

midlife crisis

I ain’t gonna lie.

I did exactly what I wanted to do for nine straight years: drink in excess.

So it’s hard for me to say that I regret nearly a decade of my life. There were some great fucking times.

But were there regrets? Situations I could’ve handled better? People I could’ve been nicer to?

Oh yeah! You bet!

The truth is, where I came from, I overstayed my welcome. A good friend told me, for my own well-being, that he better not see my face in these bars ever again.

He meant it.

I never returned. Never spoke with him again.

Some things are meant to be forgotten.

But I can’t help but think: do all my old friends hate me? Do they think about me as much as I think about them?

I suppose that we all separated for the better. It just nags me that there are those I spent years with, whose lives instantly got better once when I left.

Of course my life got better too when I left them.

Maybe I’m just overstating my self importance.

Maybe it’s hard for me to accept that time is gaining on me.

shane

Shane by Jack Schaefer is good.

Not great. But good enough.

The film is clearly more influential (I’ve probably seen it, but I’ve drank a lot since then). Clint Eastwood was inspired by it. That’s obvious in Pale Rider, but Unforgiven has some echoes of it. Logan was also heavily under its influence but I don’t watch that kind of shit.

I’m intrigued by the subject of reality meeting myth. Which is why it’s high time for the book or film be updated into a “neo-western”, or whatever buzzword the kids are using, albeit with a more pessimistic ending.

The story is told from the perspective of a kid. And when we think of our childhood, we recall the magical times we had. But when we think objectively about it, we miss all the fucked up shit around us.

Remember that cool neighbor that would let you shoot his Glock? He was a registered sex offender.

Of course none of that occurs to you because you assume everyone is nice and pure.

Now I’d never write an updated version of Shane, I’d instantly lose interest. But maybe someone with more discipline would be willing to put pen to paper.

I imagine a story set during the Great Depression or some shit, where banks are harassing farmers and threatening to take their land. Then a mysterious stranger with a dark past comes into town and befriends a family.

The boy is instantly taken by the stranger. The father is handicapped in some form or fashion, unable to tend to his land properly, so the stranger steps up. The boy eventually begins to look up to the stranger more so than his father.

Then, of course, the banks and henchmen come in, threaten the townsfolk, blah blah blah…we all know the story: Shane essentially sacrifices himself, his death is ambiguous, and he achieves mythical status in the town.

But I’d like to see a more pessimistic conclusion. And as I think about it, my ending sort of resembles that of Blood Meridian: decades later, like the 1960s, the boy runs into Shane, very much alive, but the truth about him is revealed. Shane was nothing more than a drunken murderous hitman who actually cuckholded the father.

Naturally all of this went unnoticed by the boy, now a man, but he chooses instead to remember that summer as a magical time when a stranger came into town.

I’m sure that story has been told a million times. But good stories are worth retelling.

Of course I ain’t retelling it. I’ve got fart and cum jokes to write.

u know what I hate? Your face

“I have a gambling problem,” I told my therapist. “I can’t control myself. I’ve been acting manically: I’ll have advantageous, uncharacteristic sex with my wife. I sometimes load a bullet into a revolver and stare down the barrel. I’ll go 90 in a school zone. I’ll straight up snort Adderall. What’s wrong with me doc?”

“It’s okay, I made the same mistake,” he said.

“You’re a gambleholic too?”

“No, I had sex with your wife.”

THE END

the joker sucks iii: still smokin

As we fall further down the technological abyss, bombarded by competing information and ideas, we struggle to make sense of anything.

With an endless stream of movies, television, videos, and literature, we perceive the world through a dramatic prism, unable to grasp that the universe is impartial to our reasoning.

When confronted with this cognitive dissonance, we double down. And the opportunists in the media are all too happy to entertain our delusions.

In a sense, we are living in the “matrix.”

But perhaps this has always been true, even prior to the Internet. Maybe to live in a cultivated society means to live in a “matrix”, and no one wants to admit this.

Because of this, there rises either futile sentiments of cultural superiority, or need to “break free” from the restraints of society. But they’re both fantasies…fantasies that fuel our collective imagination.

Philosophers and theorists have failed to understand this: “the dramatic progression” that underpins our understanding. This is how nationalists can assert dominance, or how Christians and Marxists share an almost identical eschatological worldview despite being seemingly opposed. We view the world through a dramatic lens, and there are bad actors out there that try to entertain it.

All of this lies in our subconscious, and we may not be able to escape it. Being a part of this human collective is what makes us…human. So maybe the real political objective is not more theory, but to take from Sigmund Freud: we need to “sublimate well”.

Some might argue that’s Machiavellian, or utopian, or Orwellian, or naive, or overly optimistic, over pessimistic, liberal, conservative, or whatever.

With the Kantian blockage…or the inability to perceive the universe in its total, final form…it becomes difficult to understand that multiple truths can simultaneously exist.

Or maybe none of it is true.

It doesn’t matter. Stay pissed off if you choose. The universe goes on.

the joker sucks

I wasn’t cut out for politics.

I’m easily persuaded because I know that my own understanding is limited and people should be open to new information as it becomes available.

That’s what sensible people SHOULD do.

But that’s heresy in the world of politics. And purity of ideals is currency.

I remember, what felt like a million years ago but was actually last year, when Joe Rogan said he’d vote for Bernie Sanders because he’s been “consistent”, or whatever. In many circles on Twitter, “consistency” became a buzz word and some took it up as a badge of virtue.

I always thought that was odd.

Maybe I’m crazy, but what if you’re consistently WRONG? How is consistency a virtue then?

I dunno. I’ve spent the last month not paying attention to the news and honestly…it paid off. I don’t miss it.

Or I didn’t miss it.

Unfortunately, like a bad habit, I got sucked back in. And after not looking at the news, or Twitter, or any of that bullshit for a month, the world just looks stupid.

Post 9/11, when the 24/7 news became the hottest show in town, politics slowly began to take the stage as the #1 form of entertainment. That’s pathetic.

This is why your conspiracy theories are absolute trash: because politics is our entertainment, we see the world as an ongoing…totally coherent, totally plotted…drama. There are heroes, and there are villains. The left hand always knows what the right hand is doing….and they’re both plotting against you and people like you. You’re the hero, fighting the good fight on social media. And it’s all a wet fantasy.

Politics is business and business is a boomin.

And when business is boomin, out comes the con artists and cult leaders. Any dickhead with a camera, microphone, and smartphone wants in. And when their lies are exposed, they have to double down.

Is the mass media lying to you? Yes. That’s just business my friend.

Is your paranoid uncle or anarchist roommate on Twitter and Facebook lying to you? You bet. And they’re in it for the love of the game.

If you’re a person with any, and I mean ANY sort of political convictions, you are broadcasting to the world that you are someone that can’t be trusted.

How do I know that?

Your mind is objectively finite and the world doesn’t conform to your narrow parameters. But you will deliberately bend or distort the truth to claim it does.

You’re a terrible person.

What I do find interesting though are the psychological effects of unprecedented technological advancement. That’s the real question no one wants to ask because the answer might mean we’d have to log off for a few days.

I’m just always astounded when people can claim with absolute certainty that they know the truth of the universe. God exists, God doesn’t exist. Capitalism good, capitalism bad. That sort of shit. How can people still hold certainty of correctness during the era of the Internet?

Obviously, not everything on the Internet is true. You have to be adult enough to use your fucking head when you see bullshit. But claiming ignorance of opposing views and facts is getting tiresome.

You have the most important tool ever created by man at your fingertips. So use it wisely, jackass.

Delete all your social media accounts.

Be happy and embrace the fact that you live in a non-homogeneous world. Be open to the challenge and don’t claim CONSPIRACY! when confronted with something you don’t understand or contradicts your narrow view.

I’m right. You’re wrong. I’m better than you.

And my dick is small

dr. sí

“I’m Amish now,” I said to Admiral Majors and Izzy. “I don’t believe in violence anymore.”

“You mean to tell me we drove all the way to Pennsylvania from Los Angeles just for you to say you’ve taken a vow to never kill again,” the Admiral asked.

“Yes. I killed a man in cold blood. Not out of justice,” I replied. “I felt pure hatred. And I hope to never feel that again. That’s not God’s way.”

“The man you killed was a bent cop AND a serial killer. Fuck that guy!”

“No,” I said. “You see this,” I pointed over to the wide green pastures. Off in the distance, Amish brethren were erecting a barn. “This is God’s way. Hard work and community. That’s what will get us to heaven.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this bullshit,” the Admiral replied. “So you wanna play hardball eh? Fine. $2 million. I am offering you $2 million of tax payer money to join my force. One of our top nuclear scientists have gone missing, and we have reason to suspect that the Ionian Liberation Front is behind it. You’ve dealt with those guys before. If you change your mind, you know where to reach me.”

The Admiral stormed off. Izzy bashfully stood around.

“What’s her name,” she asked.

“Miriam,” I replied. “She’s a good woman. She’ll make an excellent mother.”

“I’m happy for you,” she said. “I’m seeing someone too. I gave Admiral Majors a hand job on drive over here. He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”

“I wish you two the best of luck.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Goodbye James.”

“Goodbye Izzy.”

After I finished tending to the cattle, I washed off the bull semen then went to the homestead for supper. Miriam served me up a plate of beans and cornbread.

Miriam was a plain and simple Amish woman. We married during the fall harvest. Her father was Ezekiel, one of the community leaders. He was generous enough to take me in.

“Didist thou havest a good day,” she asked.

“I did Miriam. This is a well-earned supper after an honest day’s work.”

“The Lord hath blessed us. I am pregnant with child.”

“This is swell news indeed. The community with rejoice at the announcement.”

We smiled and held hands while we sat around the fireplace. I was loading tobacco into my pipe when Ezekiel stopped by.

“The Lord has brought forth good news,” I told him. “Miriam is pregnant with child.”

“Praise the Lord indeed,” he replied. “I am going to be a grandfather.”

The two of us went to the porch to watch the sunset. I took a match to the pipe. “So what brings you by Ezekiel,” I asked.

“I’m afraid Brother Peter is not doing well,” he said. “He won’t likely survive through the night.”

“That’s a shame. Miriam and I shall pray on it.”

“Unfortunately, I bring more bad news. Bandits have returned and stole four more chickens. We don’t have the funds to replace them. I’m afraid that we are having trouble feeding the children and the harvest isn’t bringing what we need. Times are hard indeed.”

“The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away,” I said.

“I wish someone would do something about these bandits. They have drained all of our resources for the winter,” Ezekiel said.

I puffed on the pipe and rocked in the chair. “I’m sure the Lord will provide.”

That night I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. I sat up and kissed Miriam on the forehead while she peacefully slept.

I grabbed a shovel and hid behind the chicken coup while I waited for the bandits. I heard twigs snapping and bushes rustling. They were close.

“Stop right there or I’ll bash your head in,” I told the two bandits.

They laughed. “You’re Amish,” they said. “You can’t hurt us.”

“Grab my cock and find out,” I replied, referring to the rooster.

We had a stare down. I waited for one of them to make a move. One went for his pistol and I smashed the shovel right on his dick.

“My dick,” he yelled.

The other one leapt at me and I knocked his clean off his shoulders. Blood sprayed all over the coup. I went over to the other man laying on the ground.

“Don’t kill me,” he yelled. But I smashed the shovel right into his guts.

I buried the bodies deep in the woods.

I took the shovel and began digging behind the barn. Out of the dirt I pulled out an old oak box.

Inside the box: the Korth 357 magnum.

TO BE CONTINUED