Sunday, January 29, 2012

Be angry at the sun

Sometimes I think the people who live around here are sick in the head. I go down to the supermarket and watch them shop out of the corner of my eye. You should see the crap they buy. No wonder they're so fat. Some of them are so big they can't even walk -- they have to go up and down the aisles in electric go-carts. They're effin dangerous and they don't seem to care when their fat kids are bawling or tearing apart packages in the cookie aisle.

You should see how they dress. Furry pink sweat pants and baby blue hoodies. Slippers and flip-flops. Shiny boxer shorts and football jerseys. Black tee shirts with four-letter words on them. Jeans with the word "pink" appliqu├ęd on the arse. Windbreakers, ski jackets, knitted wool hats pulled low over their foreheads. Cheap shite you buy at Walmart and Target. They've got no sense of style, no dignity. The girls look like whores, their mothers look like the Michelin man. I think they've all been watching too much television.

Like drooling farm animals, they wander around the parking lot with their overfull carts looking for their cars, talking on their cells, oblivious to the world around them. Once they get in their big vehicles -- they have to be big to hold all that bulk -- they don't seem to care when people try to cross in the pedestrian lane. Maybe they're on medication and that's why they drive so erratically.

They hate Obama because he's black and articulate. He made it and they didn't. His success underscores their failure. Makes them angry. That's why they like this loud-mouth fraud Gingrich. He vents their rage for them. Like the big barking dogs they keep to protect the little shite they possess. They wanna go back in time to a less complicated world, nostalgic for the salad days when they were getting juiced in junior high. That's why they'll go for some retrograde nut like Ron Paul. Bucks backed by gold. Hah.

They scare me, these aimless white people with their guns, their slogans, their food stamps, their generic cigarettes and beer. I don't like the way they read the bible and I can't believe their superstitions. But I'm not proud of feeling this way toward them. My mother taught me to be charitable towards those less fortunate and not to make fun of them. Emulate Christ, she would say. That's the way she lived even though it cost her a lot. Dr. K claimed that keeping too many negative emotions in check caused her cancer. Who knows? Medicine is a mystery.

All I know is that I don't want to be like Robinson Jeffers, sitting in his tower facing the ocean, descrying humankind, exalting rocks and eagles over people. It's not becoming. Look at that bitter old bitch Vidal. On a morning like this, the sun streaming through the woods, the lake ice breaking up, I want to breathe deep and glory in very fact of being. At one with all of my fellow creatures, including the humans around me. But these people make it so damn hard.

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