Original article posted by ravenpaine:

Entry 79 – November 11

There was a time, let us call it 120 years ago(ish) when a person could have a problem and leave his home thinking terrible thoughts and feeling terrible things and disliking the universe in general. At this time the person would go walking down a street or along the path through the village and suddenly this person would be faced with mortality and they would emerge changed.

Which is all a complicated way of me saying that I want more problems that I can stab my way through.

When is it that death stopped being the solution to every problem? When is it that the wisdom of my man Yugosh Ville became so difficult to carry out. After all if Stalin did it then anyone should be able to do it. What did he have that I didn’t, aside from opportunity, no consciounce, and the fortune of being armed with an ice pick at just the right moment. I’ve been carrying around an ice pick for nearly two decades now. I want my fucking opportunity.

Or maybe I’m just a little off at the moment. I’m low on vitamins again. I’m also low on the essential nutrients of hope and success. Times like these I would like to be threatened by a problem that came for me right at my face, maybe even at my eyes. All these problems that wander around picking my pocket and doing the rabbit ears behind my back are just plain annoying. I could swat them but there seems to be no adventure in it.

I say things like that but then I’ve been in a slump for going on 8 years now. Obviously I need to change tactics. I think the thing that I have stopped fighting with in the past while that use to serve me well as a heavy metal object of braining and whacking and harming and survival is my sense of deranged manic humor.

There were times in the long ago, in the Before Times, in which I would beat the stuffing out of any problem by spouting nonsense phrases and sheer grit at it until it not only went away but went away weeping at the pee stains in its pants. There is a card in my wallet, purchased for $1.50 at a shop in a mall in Colorado nearly 11 years ago that says, “Sometimes the only sense you can make out of life is a sense of Humor.”

And dammit, that card was right. That was why I purchased it while eating my Pop-Tarts that served as my only source of nutrition at the time. And it felt good, both the purchasing and the Pop-Tart nutrition.

I’ve heard that there are these far off places, like in Europe, where people do not hate themselves. Places where no one is familiar with the term “self-loathing.” I would like to visit these places and Grok of their Mouth Music. I would sign up for their newsletter and I would actively kidnap citizens of other countries and force them into leaky oar-rowed ships and bring them to this marvelous land. And I would feel good while doing it.

If all things are supposed to be in moderation then where the hell have all the moderators gone. I haven’t seen anyone moderate things for as long as I’ve practiced self-hate as the only true religion.

Come on people, I”m fucked up around here and I’m not ethically allowed to whack people around for how bad I”m feeling.

Somebody has got to fix at least one of these problems because I have got entirely too many late night television shows to stare at bleary eyed and full of hate.

Let the revolution of torment begin! Pain for all people who deserve it and rejoicing and cash rewards for those of us that just want to create something beautiful and profound in the world.

I may not be in the best shape of my life, quite the opposite in fact, but that will not stop me from running headlong at the opposing forces cursing their names as they try to take me down.

Can I get an Amen?

Rodney TGAP
Bonne nuit, bonne nuit to you all.

Orginal comments:


Nickname: ravenpaine
Re: Vengeance…
Amen my brother, amen.

Read this again late night April 1, 2005.

I really like me somedays…

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