Stage Four Zero Fucks Given Syndrome

I love becoming Sixty-Three.

I have reached that stage of life whereby I can say what-ever-the-fuck I want to say.

No Consequenes.

No Reprecussions.

No Nada.

(You got some ‘Nada?’—bring it!)

What the hell anyone gonna do to me that has not already been attempted?

I give zero fucks what anyone thinks of me.

This is so….

So…

So…

So Freeing.

I want for nothing.

I desire for nothing.

I need for nothing.

I am happy.

Content.

Saited.

I love who I am.

The rest of you be damned.

And take a one-way ticket to Hell.

And Board The Express Lane.

Put your foot on the gas.

A train possessing  brakes is just not exciting for me.

***********

Added value from a stupid post I posted on Facebook:

Fairly certain, fairly certain, Y’all are wondering what I am ‘into’ today.

“Take your good arm.”

(Or what is left-over of your mind.)

“And just wang it down.”

“Wanging” is good for the Soul. And good for the mind. It is Freedom.

Texas is Hell on Women and Horses (And Alcoholics)

I am struggling.

Failing.

Flailing.

Just another dead fish.

Going with the flow.

Looking for distraction.

Abstract things to fill my mind.

And take me to some happier places.

Mostly Movies

But also music.

But the booze trumps all distractions.

And makes cowards of us all.

Such an evil mistress.

She gives and She takes.

(Mostly takes.)

Tries to take my life.

I will not go quietly into that good night.

No!

Not this Cowboy!

No!

I will fight the good fight.

I will WIN!

By The Grace of God!

(Funny that. Spoken by an Atheist)

(But Looks Good in Print.)

I will expand upon these Madness Thoughts  at some future date.

Please Stand by.

As an aside… and just to pass some time

In the interim:

“There’s a “Hallelujah!” on the lips of every dying man.”

There’s a Gnat In My Beer

There is not a way I am gonna try to explain everything that is ‘going on’ in this photograph.

Suffice to say, it is just my attempt to ‘photo-document’ the gnats what are trying to steal my wine.

Yes, I realize they won’t drink much, but damnit!

They can buy their own wine.

And I could possible stab them, or ‘Raid’ Them.

But I won’t.

Because I do not wish to poison me over some Booze-Stealing gnats.

Certainly not interested in stabbing me.

I guess we will all just get drunk together.

The more the merrier. (I suppose.)

No! I do not suppose!

I tried to point out to / remind the gnats:

“I drink alone. Find some other place to steal wine.”

(Of course they ignored me and continued stealing droplets of my booze.)

Relentless.

Can’t fight ’em.

Can’t fuck ’em.

 Impossible to kill them all.

 

“The Letter Said He Was Reported Dead.”

“Near the front lines he’d been found

A mine blew his jeep into a twisted heap

And I still hear the sound

Of the wheel that kept spinnin’ ’round.”

*****

For some bizarre reason, this song reminds me of my first wife, Janet.

I suppose it is because she was in the U.S. Army Reserve and used to drive Jeeps for a living.

Or something.

I Loved Her Dearly.

And I respected her (Even though, she was ‘Certifiable Nuts.’)

Did not matter:

I loved her.

Still do.

This post will make no sense whatsoever.

Don’t Care.

It is just for me.

And Jerry Jeff.

And Janet Sisco

The more I explore old songs… songs that make me FEEL, the more I  come to understand the depth of my depravity.

This is not necessarily a bad thing.

My life has become a ‘rolling wheel.”

Spinning out of control.

Almost a whirling dervish.

But not quite there yet…

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Some smart guy once said that.

So here is Me:

Examining.

Stay Tuned….

Random Memories from The Middle East: The Road to Sharm el Sheikh

Since I am an arrogant snob and a pompous ass,  I add this ‘added value’ for those who never get me.

(You’re welcome.)

Drive Through.

dervish is a Muslim of particular religious order. … To call something a whirling dervish is to say that object or person resembles a spinning top or is wild in its movement. An object can also just be a dervish. The term twirling dervish is technically correct, as a dervish could be described as twirling.

More “Added Value:”

In Keeping With TTales & Hieroglyphs Virtual Ink Green Earth Policy…

“His whole life was short, quick and straight.”

Who does this remind me of??

Oh my Gawd! How I do miss him!

The Flat-Bed Truck and The Pastel Sun-Dress

 

 

“Ludicrous” is Just a Scare Word. (I’m Over My Head, But It Sure Feels Nice.)

But, I am having THAT TIME OF MY LIFE!

My life has taken a turn toward the bizarre.

Recent memory (of which I have not so much)

Recent memory teaches me my life may be falling apart.

But then…

I look at my prolific writing of late.

And I smile a ‘knowing‘ smile while regarding my folly.

I love my LIFE.

Will never give it up without kicking and screaming.

I love my life.

I am having FUN!

I want for NOTHING.

I am living the DREAM!

Below please discover some of the silliness I have recently posted on Face Book.

(If I cannot laugh at me…. Well, what’s the point?)

I laugh at me constantly.

Incessantly.

*****

Still Moving IN.  

Should have taken half a day.

Taken almost three months now and still counting.

I am savoring it.

To be fair: There were some ‘detours’ along my way.

Denton, UBH comes immediately to mind…

Happy Saturday Y’all

***

As well-documented:

My life is an open book.

I hold back nothing. Not sure why. I guess I am just past the point of giving a shit.

***

This is ‘Social Media’ I really do not know most of y’all, nor would care to. I ‘write’ stuff that is in my head—a scary place–for certain.

However, I love to write. Writing allows me to get deep down–explore what is going on in my head–what I am FEELING. It is usually lame, but….

I do try to add added value to my posts. Generally in the form of some esoteric video or song. (And, more often than not, an oldie)

Just to make your trip not worthless.

***

In my ‘Inbox’ This Afternoon:

From: Indeed

To: Marcom

Job Alert!

‘Seeking Tinker, Tailor, Sailor, Spy’

Job Description: Sit in Shit-Hole Hotel Room. Write Stupid Shit All Day (and Night)

Spend way too much time on Social Media.

Watch U.S. of A. going to hell in a hand-basket (Preferably On CNN, but FOX News will do as well)

Requirements:

Applicant will be Sixty-Plus White Male.

Juicer

No self-esteem required.

Must type 40 WPM

(Grammar is important. Spelling not so much)

Must drink 45 Ounces per hour.

Pay: ‘It won’t cost you a dime. Just send One Dollar, Postal Money Order along with your application.’

“Shit! Put me in Coach!”

Applied for Job.

Fingers Crossed.

***

I am struggling with this whole sobriety thing.

Not sure if it is going to work for me.

I do not want to go back to THAT PLACE

But, I may be Over My Head on this one.

I try to eat.

I try to sleep.

I try to keep up

With current events.

I try to watch old movies.

Nothing works.

In short:

“I am properly fucked.”

***

So… I wake up and it’s sixty-one degrees in my ‘house’ right now.

(How do I know this? Because I have a fucking thermometer—that’s how!)

I turn my HVAC to heat and guess what?

The fucking smoke detector alarm (conveniently placed right over my HVAC unit) goes the fuck off, thus awakening both my neighbors and my ire!

What kind of idiot did this? Who engineered this?

I pulled the battery out of the damn smoke detector.

Yeah, I like to live on the edge.

***

This Shit Just Keeps Writing Itself:

Dear

Finney Foods

I know you are just trying to scare up customers.

However, I am a writer and I am just trying to scare up readers.

I seriously doubt y’all are interested in my writing.

I only have some few, special friends.

Friends who read my shit.

I am fairly certain I cannot include you in this group.

Therefore, If you are not interested in my HG Stories, I will de-friend you. Comments are your ticket to paradise.

You have thirty minutes.

Clock ticking.

Post Haste.

***************

 

There is a very narrow window in my world.

Let us call it the “Sobriety Window.”

For lack of a term.

Sometimes, I thrust me out of that window.

Sometimes I just ignore it

Sometimes, I actually make it outside.

Into the Real World.

Then I panic!

Try to get back in.

The Window has already shut tight behind me.

I cannot get back in.

But eventually, I do.

Get back in.

And the whole shit – show begins anew.

(There is a serious post here, fixing to happen.

But not tonight— this one Will require some sobriety to write.)

And that narrow window opportunity….

******************

This is RAW!

Un-Thoughtful.

Un-Examined.

Un-Polite.

Un-EDITED

I may come back and edit later 

(but probably not)

I am using my ‘Shotgun’ approach to writing these daze:

“Just Shoot! See if you can HIT anything.”

“Look at me! I can… BE…. Center Field!”

Cabin Fever–UBH–On Quietus.

I think I gots ‘Cabin Fever.’

“This mornin,’  I shot six holes in my freezer; I think I got cabin fever. Somebody sound the alarm!”

Visualize me trying to explain all the nuance of this to Commerce’s Finest…. 

“Well, you see, Officer… there was this woman… And ReHab, and… That Fridge… was Antifa…”

“Assume the position Sir.”

“Okay.”

This is my problem.

I need a road trip…

Somewhere other than the Beer Store,

Or Wal-Mart.

I need to get out of this self-imposed prison.

It is driving me insane. (And trust me on this: I am capable of driving myself)

But this is a different animal.

Not that I need human interaction.

Just some fresh air.

That is all.

Too much reminisce.

Losing my fucking mind!

I need a ‘Walk-About.’

Road – Trip.

Perhaps to Honey Grove.

Or  Somewhere.

Anywhere but here!

Several miles from here.

Just to breathe.

I need to ‘get over myself.’

“Lance! Take a break Son! Get outta town for a spell! Even if just for an afternoon!”

“I will. Soon as I make bail.”