Schblah blargh grah!

Durnk.

On a Tussday.

Glorppp.

GOING GOING GOING to FAU you fucking felons! Gonna be there, gonna do a thing.

Bring your hands to Draw or Die on Saturday! Don't be a square! Check out what the cretins do!

My hand is completely healed!

And then I caught a sliver of steel in my left eye.

I think I got it out!

If not, it'll rust. Then I'll have to have it drilled out.

But! At least I haven't been drawing! Which means that my account is dead. But I'm not!

I'll revive it soon, though.

My hand is completely healed!

And then I caught a sliver of steel in my left eye.

I think I got it out!

If not, it'll rust. Then I'll have to have it drilled out.

But! At least I haven't been drawing! Which means that my account is dead. But I'm not!

I'll revive it soon, though.

Out of work for a few days! I lacerated my right hand to the bone with a 7" right angle grinder. Would've taken off my index finger if it didn't gouge my gigantic knuckle as it did. Boy does it smart.

Finally catching up on sleep, though.

There's a paradox I was recently made aware of. First half, a common argument; it goes something like this: "The government, via Obama and inevitably through executive order, is methodically dismantling our constitution. Our rights are not only being infringed upon but are being revoked. Our 'nanny state' dictates our eating habits (http://reason.com/archives/2010/12/.....as-obesity-war), portion sizes (http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-.....groups-1-.html) and will soon institute a ban on assault-style semi-automatic rifles, or at least magazines of 'useful' quantity. These actions, as well as others (http://www.foxnews.com/politics/201.....e-for-layoffs/), are indicative of totalitarianism, and we shall not abide. These actions are tantamount to Mussolini's fascism or Hitler's national socialism; we are a people ensured certain freedoms by our Bill of Rights (let's disregard the Later Amendments, such as the abolition of slavery, or women's suffrage, or civil rights), and I am a Man, free to do and say whatever He pleases. I will not abide this tyranny."

A diatribe similar to this recently cropped up in an all-encompassing conversation between myself, a group of friends and a particular good friend of mine, who is remarkably intelligent, though we seldom agree. What we discussed transcended the typical hot topics of today's political dischord, and some of his points I agree with. However, the crux of the dialogue, for me, concerned worker's rights, a subject near and dear to my heart (I'm unabashedly biased in favor of). With regard to wages and bargaining, which we had previously discussed, I segued from totalitarian governance into a conversation on labor rights, in the context of totalitariansim a la corporate management. This is the part that I had a difficult time swallowing, and won't bother with paraphrasing for the sake of thoroughness. I'll begin with my position, continued despite hindsight:

With regard to the typical idea that our government has become obliquely tyrannical, I have a hard time accepting ad hoc subjugation at the hands of an ill-defined, poorly regulated and unapproachable corporation. The ideal employee spends nearly half of their life working; even worse for most, they have no method of ensuring their payscale, pension, health benefits, or the ilk. Hours for wage employees are usually flex; full-time jobs are getting harder to come by. Some of these trends cannot reasonably be changed. Retail work will always demand bizarre hours, provide inadequate pay below store management level, and leave little room for advancement; I presume the fast-food industry operates in the same abusive way, albeit unavoidably. These are also usually stepping stone jobs, and have a high turnaround rate. So I won't concern myself further with these lines of work. I'm more concerned about careers in this instance.

I'm in the somewhat unique position of having a constitution of my very own, in the form of my union contract. The Company and the Union negotiate the details of this contract every year, and our right to collective bargaining provides us with the power to protect our established rights, as well as the ability to bargain for new provisions (scale increase, job-specific premiums). This power directly counteracts the typical corporation's ability to impose policy without consent, and abolishes their ability to change policy without approval. Obviously, there are occasions when a company may end up floundering in a compromised economy, and negotiations may accomodate that (usually pay scale freeze, sometimes layoffs); these dialogues are privy to the whims of our market, and that force transcends perceived tyranny. My fellow brothers and sisters, as well as myself, have the ability to vote our union out, and that in and of itself is somewhat telling. How often is it that an employee can vote on anything in a totalitarian enterprise?

There's also corruption in this system, unfortunately, and that sad fact has undermined the concept of organized labor; it reeks of bossism and distantly resembles oligarchical tyranny. However, we have constitutionally protected rights, which we fight for yearly. And our primary demand is a livable wage. The owner of the company I work for sincerely believes that we're paid too much; labor statistics state that we're paid below industry average. If it weren't for our solidarity, we'd be earning far less.

Now for the paradox:

Company direction and policy are privy to the whims of primary shareholders/owner(s), the president, executives, and descendant management. The invisible hand of the free market dictates commodity prices as well as employee wages/salaries. It's self-regulating, stupid. What makes you think that you should have any say in the choices a company makes? It's not YOUR company. And don't mention executive-applicable pay cuts. If I were an executive, and I saw that profits were diminishing or that the company was in dire straits, I'd institute employee-level pay cuts as well. I'd look at my family and our way of living and pass on the loss. I'd even allocate myself a little bonus. After all, I worked so hard to get to where I am, and these peons are expendable. Talent like mine deserves appropriately disproportionate compensation. This philosophy conveniently omits the greatest plague upon humanity: Greed.

To summarize this scatterbrained clusterfuck: I don't understand how a person can come to terms with the undeniable paradox that a fantasized, fetishized and fictitious form of tyranny is completely unacceptable and deserving of violent, bloody revolution, yet the other absolutely real form of totalitarian governance is not only acceptable but glorified. That that form of tyranny can even be said to be the American dream.

I will never accept that.

There is no such THING as a soul. It doesn't exist. There is NOTHING after this; to suggest that there is, and to earnestly believe so, will only provide you an excuse to treat ACTUAL human beings as if their lives didn't matter. This is the only chance we have to enjoy the brief period of consciousness we will ever know; honest respect is derived from understanding this.

Like I said in the subject; things on the mind. To negate what I just wrote; it's not my intention to ostrasize friends, or believers who fall into that catagory. This "journal," as it should be interpreted by whomever reads it, is only a method of written thinking. Now that I've appropriately dismissed whatever it is I end up writing about, I'll proceed.

With regard to work (again); the de facto owner of the company I work for (through investment scheming) is a real piece of shit. Morally, I mean. I don't give one fuck about anyone's religious traditions; they aren't mine, and typically, they don't effect me. But I fucking know that time spent worshipping is time wasted. Sometimes, time spent worshipping or celebrating a superstition directly effects the livelihood of those you process, in the payroll sense. When an orthodox lunatic bestows the responsibility of production management, as well as purchasing, shipping and receiving, human resources, and payroll upon ONE inexperienced, coincidentally orthodox schmuck, and permits him to travel to Israel on some heritage-hunting schlep, he's committing a moral crime. And THAT'S what's pissing me off right now.

An aside: No one needs "god" to be an ethical individual. We know the human condition is experienced by others when we look in their eyes. We know it when we have an honest conversation. Pious individuals don't understand this; there are distinctions that cannot be ignored.

I've been free of religion and any sort of deity for a long time, and there's a Goethe quote I enjoy that coincides with my atheism: "There are none more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free."

This applies to more people than just the religious among us.

Let me tell you about beer for a moment. I was recently introduced to Carton Brewing, in Atlantic Highlands, NJ. Holy shit-taint fuck. They brew the best IPAs I've ever tasted (their 077XX leading in flavor), and produce a brain-fucking ABV 12% gem called Decoy. It's Wednesday and I just finished partial growlers of both. Believe me; well worth it. If you find yourself in my general area (you'll know immediately; you can smell the tumors growing in your skin-suit), stop by the brewery. Totally worth it.

I might move to California. We'll see. Gotta resume pending with SpaceX over in Hawthorne.

Pray for me!

Things that fell from the flopping, saggy vagina of Hurricane/Superstorm/Clusterfuck Sandy:

1. A strong gust that completely vaporized boardwalks all over the globe.
2. Water or some shit.
3. Sticks.

Things that fell over during Hypercyclone/Murderdiscus/Ultracloud Sandy:

1. Electric logs.
2. Living logs.

Things that were destroyed during the vomity fart ladle floods of Ubercock Sandy:

1. Several Winding Wood rugs.
2. Every boardwalk that wasn't annihilated by "shitty wind."
3. A Corvair.

Benefits of Sloptaint Sandy:

1. I've been out of work all week. Sort of a double-edged sword, really.
2. I got to live out-of-state with a creature I normally live with in-a-state.
3. I got to watch something called a Scurrow dance on a bridge-under-a-bridge (a real thing, oddly enough).
4. I learned to never trust what furries say about road and bridge closures.
5. We all got a taste of what it's gonna be like when our ancient, embarrassing infrastructure completely collapses.
6. If you're reading this, you're a survivor! You did it! You managed to outwit the Frankenstorm of the century!

If the company you work for is still out of power or receiving crappy China-grade power, enjoy your Monday off. Unless you work for a utility company, like PSE&G. In which case, hook up Procedyne Corp. with some right-proper 3 phase so I can get my butt cheeks back to work.

Happy Cringle day, fuckers! Enjoy yourself an eggnog!

I'm not a Christmas guy. I'm not a "it's the season" kind of guy. I think this is known, in my close circle. I damn well know this is known within my family. It's an odd season. I love booze. I'm VERY particular about the beer that I drink. Once again, this is known. It doesn't matter; I'm drunk, and I'm stating it. And that's that.

Cooper mentioned some things about "the season" earlier. It's strange how much these things change.

Okay, maybe I'm a prick. I don't buy things for people during "the season." Actually, I never have. I don't think I have, anyway. I talked to my girlfriend at some length about this; it's not a terrible trait, I suppose. My family is... Well, odd. We're a strange bunch. My father is 40 years older than I, but we're peas in a pod. He's losing his grip on reality, but he's also seen a lot of what he's worked for disappear. That doesn't matter, really. I graduated high school and fell off the face of the earth. My parents divorced while I was in high school, my cousin killed himself a year prior, a long distance relationship I made the world of disintegrated, and I tried the suicide route, ending up in a psychiatric hospital. I recovered. Ever since I hit the bottom of my reality, I've been rebuilding my mind. I've explored and mastered a number of different professional avenues, and left most of them behind. But that doesn't matter.

I don't want anything for Christmas. I feel awkward when I receive gifts, even from people I know and love. Fortunately, my family isn't into the gift thing. My father and I argue incessantly, regardless of season. I know I'll miss him when he's gone; he's the only person, other than my dead cousin, whom I've ever known that was anything like me. But thank whatever for the gift thing. Nothing in five years.

My mother wants to give, but she has no idea what to give. And I tell her not to. That usually works.

My brothers, they don't care. Neither do I, so it works. Scott and I do psychodelic drugs a couple of times a year; those instances bring us closer together than any gift possibly could.

I guess that's the reason for the season. My family is nearly gone, and I'm obsessed with the few who are still alive. I haven't lived with them for years, but I can't get over them. I never will. I know this will be another contentious Christmas, but that's half the fun. That's the greatest gift I'll ever receive; being considered an intellectual equal, in my father's and mother's eyes, despite the fact that I'm a baseless, vicious bastard. Christopher Hitchens is dead; against my better desires, I can't help but be the piece of shit that spits on our Christmas supper.

I don't want anything, from anyone. Ever. I cannot tell you why. But I reject those things like mismatched limbs. The only thing that I desire from other people is their company and camaraderie on this too-brief journey we enjoy through the void; and that I've had, and cannot replace. I'm extremely confused by this life. And I hope that I'll never understand it.

Merry Christmas. We'll all be okay.

I'm living in a stranger's basement. This is not a joke. I slept in his fallout shelter the first night, and have since moved into the rest of the basement. We drink, we laugh... We start big fucking fires in his backyard. I'm in the basement right now. Right this very second. I have work in the morning, but the Yale job is almost done. What a fucking run-around that was. (Insert vendor) paid tens of thousands for a finish that was subsequently sand-blasted; thusly, it cannot be seen. Because it no longer exists. Hundreds of man-hours were spent expertly applying FUCK IT. Fuck work. Fuck welding, fuck ironworking.

I'll draw some shit soon. I've been busy. 2 jobs, working 7 days a week, not eating for days... Turns your mind to shit. Gotta keep busy. Gotta run from the past. Gotta make the best of it.

Gotta get the fuck out of this area. North Dakota. Alaska.

Crazyness.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

So. I work roughly 100 miles north of the city I live in. And there was this storm, this one time. In October. Snow fell from the heavens and all that shit. Covered some leaves; knocked down some trees. Dropped a shitload of grids in this constitution state.

That was a little over a week ago. Our shop service is STILL down. And there's no clear indication of when it may be restored.

A few years ago, I would've been thrilled to hear that I was off of work indefinitely. Back when I worked for no other reason than to pay for that sea of liquor I fell into.

So I drive the usual route to grab my cash advance. On the way back, my VW dies. Most of the money I drove that stupid fucking distance to retrieve will be going toward the 100 mile tow that's now in progress, let alone the cost of repairing whatever ails my troubled gentleman. That money was going toward the deposit I was looking to put down on a place in Enfield in order to eliminate this harrowing voyage to and from work. Every morning, up at 4. Every evening, back by 7. Every week it's something new.

And the road, fuck. Maybe you know. It's something that happens when you travel the same path repeatedly. Where the path's really long. After a while you begin to see things in those familiar sights. They're never really the same, the things you see; maybe they change when there are certain differences in what you're processing. I'm not sure what influences those changes, I'm only aware of them after they've occured. You see enormous things; impossible things. Horrible things. I fall asleep at the wheel all the time. A change comes and it's like being slapped in the face. There's a moment, and that raw terror cuts through to your bones. It lingers like it will never leave. You can take your glasses off, but it remains crystal clear. It looks right through your eyes and buries itself deep inside of you.

And then it's gone. You're more awake than you've ever been before and you're passing out 20 minutes later.

Night night.

New job = yay.

Oh, its technology is archaic. But we can smoke indoors. ISN'T THAT THE BEE'S FUCKING KNEES?!

To Zero, whenever (if) he reads this: The Corvair is doing well. I've been using this new oil that provides the zinc that's necessary for cars of its vintage. I discovered it at the right time; I've got this 1 1/2 hour commute to contend with until I move north. That's each way. But it's running beautifully!

To everyone else: Fuck off. You know I don't mean that.

Gotta get back on that drawing thing. The thing that I used to do. It's a thing. This... this is not a thing.

Looking forward to FF. Like, hardcore. Not like that one time at AC. You know the time. That one time I had to fight an army of vagrants and navigate the labyrinthine causeways of Pittsburgh after having been shipped away to the hospital for (purportedly) being too drunk to breath. We all remember THAT time. Who could forget?

...You know what else isn't a thing? GOD.

Night-night.

So there’s this thing. We all know about the thing. It comes and it goes. We categorize it by its shade; we measure it by its weight. We know it by its tone and by its look. We’ve heard about it. We talk about it. We’re aware of it when it glosses the eyes of another.

When it’s heavy and dark; when it’s vicious and ugly.

Infrequently we notice it boiling forth from our own abyssal depths, obliterating its constraints and overwhelming our temperament. It burns so brightly, at times. Sometimes it consumes us.

However deep it dwells, there’s also depth to it. I assume it’s multifaceted; I suppose it must be. It may be the thing that defines who we are. How we behave. What we feel. At its best, I imagine it may contribute to our morals and ethics. It’s something primordial, I guess. I don’t really know what it is. I don’t think anyone truly does.

It’s nuanced, when convenient. Consequently, it’s usually overlooked or unnoticed in those instances. Typically, it’s just another rambling, incoherent thing which we contend with; one of Those Things. In those instances when it makes itself apparent.

Whatever it is, I certainly don’t think it’s a bad thing. It can be, but it isn’t inherently. Though at times it may be heavy, dark, vicious, or ugly, those aren’t its only identifiable attributes. Those are only the most noticeable.

This thing is something genuine. When it breaches our conscious, having overflowed its container, we are carried by its current. One of the joys of the journey is that we have no idea where that current may take us. One of the horrors is that we might expose the worst of our nature. Regardless of what we may discover or what might surface, consideration could be all that’s important.

As usual, I’m drunk. So it’s equally possible that that’s all that’s important. We'll make our decision in the morning.

- Jason

Ohhhhhh these fake fucking babies are givin' me the heebuhjeebus. Taboo's got the great big giant man-babies AND the synthetic baby mother's on that there National Geographic.

Gonna sleep like-uh...

Uh...

Ahhh...

Get it?

You fucking savage.

I'm sick. I'm sick of this shit.

I'm sick of your shit. I'm sick of my shit.

There's a lot of shit floating around. Lots of folks are sick. We're all sick of swimming in shit.

The more I consider quitting, the more I find myself smoking. Every morning I wake up cursing myself for drinking too much the night before; every evening I get home from work, I need a drink.

This isn't a unique symptom. Fuck, I don't know what I'm getting at. There was a moment there when everything made sense; I don't know when, exactly, nor for how long that lucidity or clarity or whatever the fuck you wanna call it lasted, but I know it did. I think it did. Months ago, years ago. Doesn't matter.

The liquor takes the edge off.

Vegas was incredible. The show went wonderfully well, the Bellagio was gorgeous and I left with nearly $600.00 more than I came with.

If there was more industry in the area, I never would've left. Beautiful part of the country.

This trip has me obsessed with travel again. Every couple of months, fuck it. I can already see the trend that's developing. At 22, there's no fucking way I'm settling down in the region I was born.

Another year. I've been saying it for a while; it wasn't until recently that I could fund it. I've gotta see more of this ridiculous fucking world.

Goin' to mothafuckin' ASHRAE, MOTHAFUCKA!

The boiler I've been slaving away at for the past two months is to be an innovation feature at the show. Pretty sweet. For a boiler, the 6 is gorgeous. All the fabrication, welding, assembly, and care I've given to detail on this unit has established it as the most aesthetically pleasing product my employer has yet introduced.

Best part: 5 days in Vegas.

2011 is gonna be a FINE year.

Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head.

Gettin' up in Cromwell's guts tuh-NIGHT, motherfucker.

Fur Fright's gonna be awesome. I can't fucking wait.

I love engineering.

Like, way too much.

Thank fucking whatever my hands can do what my brain wants.

LOOK AT THAT BIG FUCKING FLESH.

Let's bury our hearts in the dirty ol' earth.

I got this itch; it's been gettin' worse over the last couple of months. I've been scratchin' it with every sharp-edged piece-a-shit I've been able to get my paws on, but fuck, man. Ain't nothin' cuttin' this mustard.

I can't put my fucking finger on it. It's one of those things, ya know? You just can't explain it. I assumed trading off all that time spent drifting around drunk, for what's now turning into a career, as an effort that would somehow get my life in order. It's the persistence of this deep-down urge that's made me realize changing the curtains doesn't alleviate blight.

I've gotta get my mind in order, first. Simple enough to acknowledge; a little more difficult to actually address.

I need a change of scenery. This place is rotting. I can smell it in my coffee; I can taste it in my cigarettes. I've started drinking again. This place is fucking bad for me. And while I've had this thought before, actually acting on it seemed so far away; it was a nice little fantasy to fall back on when things felt shitty. At the most, it was a comfortable plan-b.

I'll give it until April. After I graduate, Ohio's the first stop. I'll attend Lincoln Electric for a number of welding certifications, work for a year or so, and move on to a different state. I figure I'll keep on like that for a few years; acquiring as many certifications and licenses as possible in as many different settings as possible, before returning to school for engineering. Then I'll set up shop in Detroit and live out my days restoring Victorians and Second Empires.

Maybe it's a pipe dream. But it's the only thing that makes any fucking sense.

So! I lost a buncha artwork at that sweet, sweet Jersey fur meet. Well, fuck.

At least I still have all my brains and all my toes.

I count them to forget my woes.

HOLY SHIT TOO BUSY WAY TOO FUCKING BUSY GONNA HAVE AN OLDMAN STROKE FUCKING PORKUS PORKUS.

Between school, CMM training, the Aerco contract, the fucking factory, electrical side-jobs and the current project Gourd and I are working on, my brain feels like a real piece of shit.

Got to use a plasma cutter for the first time, though! AND I FUCKING LOVED EVERY SECOND. Gonna skip lunch every day to practice MIG and TIG welding on scrap material.

Busy, but things are starting to look up. I can feel my blood doing funny little things.