03 November, 2005
fossil fuel and apparitions

there's stacks of old 45s that i intended to compile and pass off to the rockabilly DJ. pictures that have inexplicably shaken off their frames and need replacement. CDs bound by rubber bands in the sequence that they were last played, needing alphabetizing...

...and stuff i need to sell.

that leads us to obsession number one: the procurement, vilifying, and financing of petroleum products. since the realities of wishing to live in a small central Virginia town requires me to be a migrant worker, a horrifying amount of gasoline gets sucked into the BlackHole of Sweden, just to get there and back. that was "obsession", enough. now,it's getting cold, outside.
as much politically-bent reading as i've been doing, it's galling how the powers-that-be, when they try to tell us how prosperous we are, somehow think it's OK to omit what we spend on gasoline and oil... like our paychecks don't pay for it... or all of the stuff we buy that's transported by it.

they should live here.

yesterday, the home heating oil people called me at work. after asking for a delivery of precious dinosaur-squeezin's last week, they were finally ready to grace me with their presence: "will anybody be there with a check? we can't deliver without payment in full." which means six hundred bucks. and a personal apearance. never mind that i'd set up a monthly account, five months ago. how much more profit do they actually need, anyway, at the expense of my occasional stout?

the message i glean from all of this: the world wants me to apparate into a granola-eatin', smellin'-armpit, fire-breathin' MotherJones.

...and the radio station wants me to become a full-time, non-paid cheerleader.

...and my occupation dictates that i should aspire to join the Barbie-and-Ken droids, assuming the bend-over-and-spread-'em position of submission.

...or just get off of my ass and start selling stuff.

goddamn, i'm no fun, anymore.

it's those apparitions that are haunting this house... and the biggest ectoplasmic entity is This Empty House. as comfortable as it has been in the past as a shelter from the storm, even its present silence is stormy... calling my own substance into question. i look at my own feet, planted on the floor, and pray there's a shadow.

i lament, with a Significant One, my lack of dreams... or the few twisted ones there are.
then, i realize how eventhat connection is etheral.

i need to STOMP.

RAVE.

..and sell stuff. shake the chains off.

...and either exorcise this place, or leave it behind for the apparitions to fight over.

.