Sleeping Lady Mountain

This is a very special pic for me. I took it with a mobilephone. I’ve never been much for photography, but when I started using a mobilephone camera my attitude changed. I won’t go as far as to say it’s a hobby or anything like that or that I would venture to buy a “real” camera. The simple and somewhat backward way these dumb-down devices make pictures is kinda cool. To me that’s ironic - you know, since there has been so much human effort, investment and activity revolving around mobilephones. This may sound way-out-there but I think of CrackerJack and the prize within each time I take a picture. Anywho. Sometimes the pictures I take are granny, sometimes they are out of focus, usually they are always lacking light, or they’re just plain bad. Then I think of all those Nokia engineers and computer programmers, they too must know the CrackerJack prize - or the fact that, suddenly, without notice, they would not only be the largest producers of mobile phones but also over take the likes of Kodak and Polaroid and Cannon, etc., as the world’s single largest producer of “cameras”. Wow-wee!

This picture here came out pretty good, I think. It’s of a mountain range in Thailand. We were driving from Kao Lak to Phang-Nga Bay, you know, James Bond Island. (Yes, sometimes I’m a tourist and like it.) The driver stopped the car right in the middle of the road half way through the hour or so ride. He asked us to step out. He then pointed to the mountain and in fairly good English asked what we saw. I exploded with excitment and yelled: I see her! I see her. He looked at me and said. “Very good. Not many get it that fast.”

I guess I’m kind of a feminine driven visual guy.

I’m posting this picture today because this day, May 7, is a special day. It’s not really special in an optimistic way but it’s also not special the other way ’round. With this picture I celebrate the feminine and my failure with her. Yes. May 7. Never my lucky number.

-tgs-

Cynicism, Character, Continuity

Warning A: this post contains some stark language, it also has some suggestive and/or sexist stuff in it and it reveals the plot of one of 2008’s highest earning movies.

Warning B: this is a poor attempt at reviewing a movie. You have been warned.

Although I am a failed writer, I do not wish to join the ranks of other failed writers and thereby become a film critic. It’s just that, well, I’m having a hard time being (worst)writer right now and I have to have some form of outlet. The whole compulsive typing thing doesn’t do it for me all the time. At the least, this is better than running amok. Right?

When I was young I read comics. Not a lot, mind you, but every once-a-once I stole a comic here or there and enjoyed them while all the other boys stole playboy, jugs or hustler, etc. Of course, all those other boys got caught and faced some serious consequences. Their crime was usually in full view as it hung out of their zipper. On top of that, there is the value to society of what they stole. They say that crime doesn’t pay – but paying for crime does. And all is not lost with these lost boys that became found men.

Moving on to the lolly point I will fail to make.

One of my favorite comics is Iron Man. I don’t like all of Stan Lee’s/Marvel Comics creations, but Iron Man and Spider Man are two of my favorites. I also admire Lee for authoring so many characters. (My all time favorite is Batman, but he’s from DC Comics.) Anywho. Yesterday I took my son to see Iron Man, the movie. Just like when I saw Spider Man 1 (yeah, 2 & 3 sucked!), the joyous feeling that is/was the freedom of youth came back to me while sitting in a cinema seat. I once again found thoughts of self-built tree houses or day-time bonfires. While all the other blokes were gagging themselves with perfectly manicured pussies from high-gloss magazine paper, I was grasping at the hope that there were, somehow, real heroes in a world where men can so easily make children and then leave them fatherless.

A great substitute for not having a biological father is going to the friggin’ movies where magic and mystic stand above dogma. Most of the time, anyway. I can’t make clear enough how important and thought provoking ideas like immaculate conception were to my youth. Make-believe in movies saved me from religious righteousness and doom.

Wow, doggy. You way off topic now.

Obsession, Novel Writing, Short Film(3)

The battle of ending my newest novel is near or far away. I think. At times I can almost feel it - this process - ending. Other times it’s as though it’s taken on a life of its own. I’m not (worst)writing “light at the end of (any) tunnel” ending or anything like that. It’s more like the Walrus getting off of me and air slowly seeping back into my lungs. Both mean doom. Either way, the agony continues.

Mostly preoccupied with editing, I’ve sinned and worked sporadically over the last few months. I do miss freely typing 2000 to 3000 words a day. Editing or no editing, at the least, I’m confident of being way over my publisher-submission comfort-zone of 300 pages. That’s kind of reassuring. Word count? Not sure - since most of it is manually typed. But I’ve got easily 120k or more. Remember, we’re still dealing with only a first manuscript here. Having no confidence and being a middle-aged loser hasn’t helped the (my) situation. Of course, I realize that (all the) rejection is nearing. Yet I push on. Why? Well, because that’s what I do. I (Worst)Write. Thank goodness, eh!

While battling with countless ideas in this creative process known to some as novel writing, I have happened across many a disturbing idea. Luckily I have managed to find a way to deal with all this creativity. Of course, some might call this procrastination. And I won’t argue with you. But while you are reassuring yourself of what you know, I grab for the nearest typewriter and dump as many of these disturbing thoughts as I can - onto paper. It’s kind of like purging. The real joke is, since working for more than a year on this new novel, I’ve managed to coincidentally write at least one other book. At first, I was thinking of calling it “Obsession”. But then I decided to call it “Talking To Myself.” Right now Talking To Myself is bundled together in a folder. It’s more than 100 pages - most of which have writing on both sides - and it’s basically an amalgamation of thoughts and ideas that sprang from writing something else.

Neat, eh?

I employ one or two sub-stories in my newest novel. These sub-stories play-out in the minds of two characters. One of those sub-stories has to do with consciousness confronting Time & Space, which you can read here. Another has to do with two mystical legends. One of the legends is about who is the biological father of Jesus. Ever heard of Tiberius Pantera?

Please. No emails from “believers”. I mean, come on, if you have a rational mind, can you then honestly say that “immaculate conception” is possible? If you can claim it’s possible, then it’s no wonder we live in a world of so many lies and liars.

Another sub-story has to do with the legendary first wife of Adam. That’s right. “Adam” of Adam & Eve. Since both of these are religious legends, then they kind of work together in the novel. They are reflective and parallel to the characters. But I won’t tell you more. And I’m not not telling you more because I’m afraid of giving anything away. I’m not not telling you more because, well, it’s embarrassing how bad I actually write novels. Remember, all of my previous novels have been rejected. You can read about that throughout this blog. Anywho. There’s more about Lilith in my previous post. I think these two legends compliment each other and fit well in the developing relationship between my protagonist and Gloria.

Oh, btw. I’ve decided on the title. I’m going to call this failed novel “Gloria’s Device”.

Anywho. While editing, fiddling, procrastinating and dreaming, I was able to dabble in the non-sense that appears in this third short and truly obnoxious film. For more excruciating coverage of me filming my habits, you can go here and here. It usually takes me just under fifteen minutes to fill these DIN A5 sheets with any disturbing thoughts. That’s kind of the deal I make with myself. I say: OK. You have another disturbing thought. Go to a new machine, get your paper, dump it. You have fifteen (sometimes twenty) minutes. If you can’t get it out of you by then, you must give it up. Then go back to editing your poorly written novel. Of course, I edit these films down to meet YouTube requirements. I suppose that makes them a tad bit less excruciating - for the viewer, anyway. Transcript is below.

BTW, the machine used is an early 1960’s Olivetti Lettera 32. This machine is the modernization of the Lettera 22, which I’ve posted a little bit about here. The Lettera 32 is one of the best manual, travel typewriters ever made. It’s manufactured using mostly aluminum. The cost of using that material alone - in today’s terms - is almost mind boggling. It’s beautifully machined and has all the typing functionality you could want - except spell check, of course. The color is ugly but that doesn’t matter - I’m willingly colored blind. Although I prefer the Lettera 22, the one I own is simply too old. This Lettera 32 might actually have quite a few years left in it - I got it in great condition. But… Ironically, while typing these disturbing thoughts, I had a bad day. Usually the Lettera 32 works flawlessly. Obviously it cannot work flawlessly when dumping some thoughts about a demoness. (But don’t ask me if I “believe” in that sort of thing.)

-tgs-

Faust, Walpurgisnacht, Translation

Listening to Beethoven and reading Faust… I know what you’re saying. You’re saying: how can you do two masochistic things at once! Well, trust me (when I (worst)write:)… It’s not easy. Usually what happens is that I turn off the sound system and continue reading. Call it a tick of mine. The music gets me riled and then I indulge in the substance and then…

I should know Faust much better, to say the least. And when/if it’s being staged, I put no effort into seeing it. Such a wordy piece to put in front of an audience and then to close it into the walls of a Theater… Thank goodness this piece was written in a day when only words mattered. And because of that, I enjoy walking around with bare feet and a paperback version and perhaps a Sonata or two surrounding me. Yes. Transcribe the words into my brain and then wait for the moment of euphoria to reach out. It starts to blossom and there is no “Theater” comparable. Where Shakespeare fascinates with story and text, Goethe splices and dices the thing I call humanity.

Every once-a-once as I read this work, a leap of discovery is in the lurks. Beyond curiosity the chasm waves. I linger upon such sullen days. The sounds of frequented times arrive. As preposterous as this, there is only my demise. It must have been the third or fourth read of Faust. When I discovered the scene that saved my faith. Short and sweet and discrete, this writer of humanity revealed the sweet. Lilith is her name and she wears long, red hair. She attracts men like honey and snare. She dances with charm and wits her way ’round, to a place in my heart that has only sight and sound.

Unfortunately Lilith has been edited out of all the dogma. But if you look closely, you will easily find her throughout all things (Abraham) religious. For example. Check out any of the famous paintings of The Fall of Man (pic). Usually there is a half-snake or beast and half woman wrapped around the tree of knowledge. I mean, come on, Satan or no Satan: were Adam & Eve really alone in “paradise”? I mean, were they really the ONLY ones? Since I know a little about the deep desires of manhood - you know, polygamy and whatnot - could Adam, with the strength of his pectorals, biceps and quads, have been satisfied with just one wife during a time when banging them on the head and dragging them off to your cave was part of (any) gettin’ some? Obviously, Lilith didn’t think that was cool. But you won’t see that in the paintings. All you get is what THEY want you to know for THEIR sake.

OK. For you “believers” out there. I digress.

One of my favorite scenes from Goethe’s Faust is Walpurgisnacht. In this scene Faust, pushed on by Mephistopheles, meets a Witch. Depending on the version you are reading, the person Faust meets could also be called Beauty, The Pretty Witch or The Young One. Of course, this scene has to do with Man’s (Faust’s) desires (or?). Luckily, and very briefly, Goethe gives us the name of the person Faust meets. She is called: Lilith. Quite a fascinating and practically forgotten character in the history of all things religious and confused. Thank goodness Goethe managed to re-edit Her back into the world of literature.

Here the scene/moment that so dazzles me, perhaps just like Her hair would. First I offer the original German, then follow up with my own translation.

Faust: Wer ist denn das?
Mephistopheles: Betrachte sie genau! Lilith ist das.
Faust: Wer?
Mephistopheles: Adams erste Frau. Nimm dich in acht vor ihren schönen Haaren, Vor diesem Schmuck, mit dem sie einzig prangt. Wenn sie damit den jungen Mann erlangt, So läßt sie ihn so bald nicht wieder farhen.
Faust: Da sitzen zwei, die Alte mit der Jungen; Die haben schon was Rechts gesprungen!
Mephistopheles: Das hat nun heute Keine Ruh. Es geht zum neuen Tanz; nun komm! wir greifen zu.
Faust (mit der Jungen tanzend): Einst hatt’ ich einen schönen Traum: Da sah ich einen Apfelbaum, Zwei schöne Äpfel glänzten dran, Sie reizten mich, ich stieg hinan.
Die Schönen: Der Äpfelchen begehrt ihr sehr, Und schon vom Paradiese her. Von Freuden fühl’ ich mich bewegt, Daß auch mein Garten solche trägt.

And now, the Tommi version:

Faust: Who the fuck is that, Man!
Mephistopheles: Check it out, Dude! That’s Lilith.
Faust: Who?
Mephistopheles: Adam’s first bang. Watch out for that red hair, Dude. It’ll do to you more than just dazzle. If she catches a young guy like you in it, good friggin’ luck gettin’ out.
Faust: There’s two of ‘em, Man. One’s young, the other’s not. They both look like they’ve been dancing a lot.
Mephistopheles: Then let’s keep ‘em goin’. Grab one and get some. Come ‘on.
Faust (dancing with the young one): I recently had this awesome dream: I saw an apple tree and on it were these two apples. They got me all riled and ready, so I climbed into their tree.
The Young One: So you like apples, do ya. Like the ones from paradise. They get me ready, as well. Cause my garden is full of them.

Wow. No rant today. Sorry about that.

-tgs-

PS next post contains further input regarding my obsession with Lilith.

Wine + Globalization = Globalization Wine

Summary to yet another whacked-out post: Tommi’s thoughts on the current Brunello tragedy and how that will effect his ability to drink more of it. Plus, a bit about guns and the Mafia. Here’s a news article about the scandal that motivated this post.

Yes. I’ve been complaining more than usual these past few months. No. Wait. That’s not true. I reckon I’ve been complaining like this for-almost-ever. Not making it in life has its quirks, indeed. But I will never complain about the parts of this life that I’m privileged to experience. (Although you might not want to check out my last two posts.) Having experienced live philharmonic Beethoven, for example, is something I recommend to anyone who thinks they can think - and listen. Then there are the operas, theater and numerous works of literature, etc., that passed through my life. And what about the fine food that I’ve learned to cook so well - my favorite menu spans Thailand to Italy. Oh yes, life indeed is a bouquet of fun, games and hacking around till you die…

Of course, I didn’t grow up in a world of cultivation. In order to be where I am today I had to first pick the path in life that was not meant for me. The fact is, if it weren’t for the wrong things I’ve done in life, I’d still be in redneckville fiddling with all my guns and drinking beer out of cans. That’s right. I just said “guns”. Luckily those guns are still back home - hopefully locked up safe, just like the cans of beer. The thing is, I’ve been able to replace those guns (yes, and the beer) with some seriously fine wine. I’ve even acquired such a taste for it that I’m not afraid to admit how drinking red wine makes me passive - just like Jesus. (There! I’m not afeared anymore.)

A glass of fine red wine on a regular basis helps me deal with a whole bunch of this fucked-up world. If it weren’t for red wine - and all that religious comparison reading I did so that I could figure out some of this mess - who knows how many I’d have taken out by now. Of course, drinking a fine wine effects people in different ways. Just listen to some of the dips out there trying to figure out bouquets. (Have you seen that idiotic film: Sideways?) Which brings me slowly but surely to the topic at hand.

Good wine is gettin’ too expensive. I think that sucks. Even now, so many years after leaving those redneck ways, the smell of a fine wine brings back some memories. Some very confusing bouquets, if you will. A psychologist told me once that these are memories attached to my smells.

Seriously. She said that to me.

Now here’s the thing that might throw you for a loop. The smell that grabs me the most after I’ve drank too much fine red wine is the smell of guns. Here I’ll cease in the use of French vernacular. Yeah, the smell of a gun, fired or not, is quite the opposite of a fine wine. And don’t opposites sometimes attract? In a way, what I’m trying to get at here is the luscious Kilgore smell that motivates and accelerates the forgetting of every little murder one ever committed.

Kilgore: I love the smell of napalm in the morning. (You know, to motivate them to surf.)

(Worst)Writer: I love the smell of Tuscan red wine in the early or late afternoon. (To stop thinking altogether.)

Naturally I yearn for the smell of guns and what they do - those guns are part of what made me who I am today. And when the urge grasps me, when it tugs at my pant leg and causes my scrotum to itch, instead of reaching for the gun cleaning oil (my European substitute), I reach for a cork screw and a bottle with a DOCG label. (Btw, gun cleaning oil is a good substitute for getting that smell; you can buy the oil almost anywhere in Europe; all you have to do is sniff it; thank goodness you can’t buy the guns as easily.)

Oh, the smell. The smells that remind me… Like some stranded spider that bathes in chocolate and raspberry; the spider has been too often caught in a storm after being plucked from fresh olive oil soil; the spider is now waving through the hellish atmosphere and threatened by the carbon dioxide that seems to be the only thing humans can produce at the beginning of this/a new century - other than guns.

Yes. Wine. Perhaps the most severe addiction I’ve had to deal with ever. And now I have been given reason to give it up. But this reason is so unlike the reason I gave up the guns. What is the reason, you ask. It is not voluntary. And why is that? Well. It’s finally come full circle. Last year was probably the last year - most likely - that I will be able to visit the Tuscany region of Northern Italy to buy my habit. It used to be relatively easy - a matter of filling up the trunk of whoever’s car I stole - or informally borrowed. I then would drive back to Germany and proceed to hide the wine from those who would steal it from me. So much is this nice, fancy, comfortable but greedy life we live, eh. But the reality of years, just like the reality of the Karl Marx’s globalization complot, have caught up to me. (Am I alone?) That’s right. It’s no longer worth making the 1000+ kilometer drive to buy wine. The reality of move-over-rover economies has reached the regular folk of the once rich working west.

So… why did Jesus turn water to wine? Could it be because wine was/is too expensive? Hey! I might have just solved the mystery of why He did that.

The thing is, as a failed artist, I can see through most human trickery as though it were both sides of my crystalline, mystic, immaculately conceived hand. I know that most of you (puppets) can’t see much - and I forgive you for that. But the time has finally arrived to remind you of your responsibilities as shitters and eaters. If failed artists like me can’t get to the wine or our other procrastinating habits - and we have to resort back to the gun oil - and the things it oils - then history is bound to repeat itself. Do you need to be reminded of the last failed artist that couldn’t afford (regularly) a drink?

What is Globalization anyway?

Ultimately the whole Globalization thing is about Marxism redistribution. The difference to the redistribution proposed by Marx, though, is that what we’re experiencing is pretty much the exact way Stalin would have done it. Why is it that the Russians and the satellites of the former Soviet Union referred to their Globalization as “Stalinism” and not Marxism? Seriously. If you had to, which one of them would you consider comparable to the newest form of the Globalized Soviet Union? That’s right - it still exists. I’m referring here to the Americanized totalitarian corporation nation-state? It’s hard to see things that you can or should - with much less effort - avoid, eh?

Globalization - Wine = prolific literary violence (which I’ve prolifically written about in this failed manuscript.)

Moving beyond the fact that a bottle of Brunello purchased at the vineyard, or a bottle of Chianti Classico Reserve purchased at a local store in Northern Italy, rose ca. five Euros each year that I drove to Tuscany after 2003, is not what I want to address here. Seriously. Inflation is something that can be countered. The real problem is this: Stalin-Soviet style redistribution under the mantle of economic changes that, according to Bill Clinton, cannot be reversed. I mean, come on, where and what is whatever being redistributed?

Btw, the Spanish make a great alternative wine in their Rioja Reserve but after going their twice I can already tell that it’s gonna be two expensive real soon.

The joke about wine is that those who actually go to expensive restaurants and pay outrageous amounts for a bottle of wine deserve what they get. Which basically amounts to a show. The problem with great wine is that the good stuff is kept for the inner circles or the privileged buyers. Would you, if you had a standardized kind of demand for your product, turn out the best of what you can make to everyone? Of course not. We’re talking human free-will here. We’re talking Stalin Mafia here.

Enter the nouveau riche creating markets.

How can Tuscany wine makers meet the crazed demand springing out of all this Globalized redistribution? In the article that I link to above, they say that the largest taker of Brunello wines are the Americans. That may be so - I’ve ran into quite a few during my stays in Montalcino. But I think the Italians see another wave of purchasers on the horizon and they (Italians) have to get their shit together to prepare for it. The great thing about “producers” (of whatever) is, in this new redistributed world, the consumer is no longer a participant in the scheme - as it used to be when Supply & Demand ruled the/a Keynesian world. Now it’s all about purchasing power alone - which is interdependent of your geographic position. In other words, there is more to Globalization than Naomi Klein can shake a stick at and my guess is it has something to do with the chronic masturbation suffered by lonely careerists that have to travel too much.

Right. So what can inheritance rich wineries do to get richer and not be so embarrassed by the ones they leave behind?

Think tricks anew…

If you think that the recent scandal in Tuscany is about wineries cheating on their bottles of wine then you might want to reconsider. Get this: the wine scandal currently in northern Italy is NOT about wine makers manipulating regulated wine in order to make a buck; nor is it about a supply or quality problem; then there’s the idea that some of the wineries had/have to cheat because, well, they had a bad year. (DOCG Brunello can’t be sold unless it’s been aged at least four years. There ain’t no such thing as just-in-time here.) This is an expensive wine to make. But that’s not the problem. The fact is, Tuscany is as great an example as any of Globalization finally catching up to the old money of the west. Yeah, you Euro baby-boomers, Globalizers are starting to eat their own.

The economic ticks & tricks over the past thirty or so years have been basically about ridding the market from the burdens of concepts such as Supply & Demand. A great example of this is the dotcom fiasco. Or did “demand” for technology just decide to go away? Another is the current energy problem. Or does someone out there have definitive, empiracal evidence that this earth does not have the capacity to meet human energy demands?

At the least, we have a lot of things to both worry about and tap ourselves on the shoulder over. But should that cause a crisis in one of the best and productive wine regions there is? Would things be like they are these days if there was no demise of the Soviet Empire? Coincidentally, how ’bout our new & improved notion of fear?

Watch out for the … T E R R O R I S T S ! ! !

If you ask me - and I don’t recommend you do. The question here about the recent Brunello scandal is easy: How do those who were rich before Globalization maintain their riches now that the shit is starting to hit the fan?

For the winery business in Europe - the answer is easy. Obviously you can’t readily burn down your vineyards (to wipe out debts and collect insurance) and you can’t just buy up all that “nationalized” grape soil and move it to Indochina. Trust me when I say: a good glass of red wine is far from a Nike shoe. Remember, there’s no such thing as a free market anymore - there’s just people who are freer than others. The key to winning in the new Globalized market for players that can’t move out of their cost-problems is to raise prices. But raising prices is VERY bad for business. (Unfortunately that is one of the things Globalization has’t been able to get rid of.)

Nouveau Riche vs. Old Euro Money

How do you manage business when you have to drastically raise prices to take advantage of the nouveau riche? As the/your western (old) buyers start gettin’ rude regarding your un-justifiable prices and you shove the fact that their money ain’t as good as other money into their faces- you take in the moment. You breath deeply. You quickly realize that you have become a microcosm of Globalization. A good feeling, indeed. If it works for entire economies, and geo-political regions, why can’t it work for Guido, the killer wine maker in northern Italy?

Well, the Tuscan wineries have figured out a way to get around the PR aspect of raising prices. First, you create a scandal that exposes cheating. In turn you create sympathy because it makes consumers think their suppliers really do have supply problems. Such a scandal will also expose players and there will plenty of reason to cry foul. The market then starts to correct itself - in the form of government agency/agencies getting rid of the cheaters (players). (Yeah, right, in Italy.) And then there’s the subtext of the drama: It’s time for the wine industry to take care of its own - and anyone don’t like it… then let them eat cake!

Yes. I am obsessed withe Maria Antoinette and dream of her becoming Vito Corleone.

At the least, the scandal in Tuscany is not about juicing up bottles of fancy wine and breaking the rules regarding what goes into a bottle of Chianti. It’s about finding a way to drastically raise prises over or during the shortest economic cycles in history.

Winny Wine Maker That Inherits: I no make good money anymore!
Person He Is Trying To Impress To Fuck: But I want diamond first.
Winny Wine Maker That Inherits: We had too much rain (this/that) year.
Person He Is Trying To Impress To Fuck: To much rain? Change the weather - my Italian Stallion!

I will cherish the remaining bottles of Brunello I have in my cellar. And I will enjoy them when/if I have to drink them in a drastic moment when Europe once again falls into the rut of self-annhilation - from a Styrofoam cup.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Schadenfreude, German Speeding Ticket (1), Big Brother

I don’t watch much TV. But when I do watch it I do so in order to stay (somehow) in-touch. You know, in-touch with what’s happening inside contemporary western society’s third-grade brain. In the late nineties when the TV phenomenon “Big Brother” hit the airwaves a thought struck me immediately. Does anyone care to hear what my first thought was when this TV show started? No…?

(Here’s the advantage of having your own blog…)

I thought: Gee. Now a whole new generation of idiocrats will grow up ignorant to what the term “big brother” really is about. Potentially - and in the syndicated future (?) - millions of humans will associate these two important words with some dip-shit TV show instead of one of the most significant literary achievements of the 2oth century. I think that is very wrong. And I am most likely on a lost crusade bringing this to light. But then again, I experience joyous Schadenfreude knowing that so many fellow humans watch so much krapp. This personal swimming pool of luscious Schadenfreude isn’t the same as the Schadenfreude TV viewers experience - while watching so-called “reality” TV - which, naturally, I cannot stomach. My Schadenfreude is 180 degrees different. Seriously. To me Schadenfreude does one thing and one thing only: it enhances the intellectual eliteness upon which I walk and in no way provides any sort of entertainment. What a sad state of existence, you say!

Wow. Where’s Gerry Springer when you need him?

The past few months have been mentally and emotional very unstable for me. The reason is because I have the feeling that all my eliteness lust is finally catching up to me. Certainly that has something to do with divorce-time. Then there’s also the issue that, because of divorce, I have returned without traveling through time & space to the/a position where/when life was supposed to be about being poor and without means. And that is all due to the land that basically founded SCHADENFREUDE.

Speaking of… Schadenfreude?

If you ever want or have to live among the Germans, there are a few things you must comprehend. Comprehending these things in your own language is perfectly OK. The advantage of modern Germany is that you don’t have to speak German to understand what it is to be German. You just have to learn how to bark. Oh there was a day when the bark was a purr - but that is simply to long ago. Only if you want or need to eat and maybe have a roof over your head will eventually learning German be of any use. That is, if you actually take it upon yourself to live in such a forsaken country.

I will only address three of the many things that you need to understand in order to know everything about Germans. But, like TV, I don’t want to challenge anyone too much.

• Schadenfreude (damage, harm + joy)
  
• Neid (envy, grudge, jealousy)
• The position of speed traps

Sadly, one of the most significant things I’ve learned since moving to Germany is how collectively easy it is to take the high moral ground when it comes to right or wrong. An example of this is in my previous post, which you can read in full by clicking here. In that previous post, I was snitched on by some German who wanted to get something for nothing. The reality is, I don’t have a problem with trying to get something for nothing - as long as you do it to the corporate monsters. But when the masses start fucking each other up the ass…

Don’t worry. I’m not a communist. I just live in a pseudo-communist country. It is inevitable that some of the paint rubs off…

Schadenfreude and Neid are two things that easily lead to the peaks of German moral (high) ground(s). This ground is so high that I refuse to trek its walls. Therefore, I must remain unemployed and poor. You know, in the language of you corporates out there, I’m just way-out of the club. You see, if I decided to trek the walls of this high moral ground - or enter the/your club - then I would have to go on welfare and eventually some dip-shit work-release program. A sad state of opportunity, indeed, is this land.

And. Yes. I am stuck-up and refuse to work a McJob - which is all this country can offer. Seriously. If it wasn’t for the language and the Euro arrogance only comparable to France/Paris, this place, with its ompa swingers and pot-bellied-freedom… would be just like the United Mistakes of America - with a bit less posh…

Unfortunately, I am one of the many foreigners in this country that has been caught up in the lie that is German “social market economics”. The reality is: Germany is a subservient welfare state devoid of opportunity. All it has to offer is Schadenfreude and Neid. Which probably isn’t the worst stuff in life. I mean, come on. Wouldn’t you want to be around a bunch of people that inherit Porsche’s and get three weeks paid vacation a year? Or is it just me? No…? Retract…

One of the experiences I’ll never forget after moving “abroad”…

At one of my last “career” jobs I heard colleagues talking about me behind my back. (That’s right, someone snitched on them.) So I decided to deceive them ALL and listen to what they had to say. When it was my turn to leave the corporate meeting I slowly walked around a corner and hid. I left the door perfectly ajar. I heard them talk about how they didn’t understand why I was there taking their jobs away and - and don’t ask me how they got onto this - why z’ Americans still have their military stationed on German land.

Needless to say, I voluntarily left that company after about one year of employment. It was the sixth or seventh or eighth company I had worked for in over ten years. The downward spin of being competent and capable, efficient and entrepreneurial, the ambitious busy-body more than willing to “work”, had come to an end. I was unable to fit in to the compulsive monotony of corporate careerism. On top of that… I couldn’t take all the Neid and Schadenfreude anymore. Where corporate America is bad - corporate nation-state-hood is worse. The German bosses liked me because of my Americanisms and how I pushed projects through to fruition. But the so-called colleagues that surrounded me didn’t think the same way. Oh, how far away they all were/are from the “social” part of their nation-state-lie. There was no getting into this/that club, I tell you. (And so… (Worst)Writer was born.)

Of course my native country has Schadenfreude and Neid, as well. But the main difference is that the U.S. or those who live and work there, do not forfeit opportunity in the name of some whacked-out collective system hell-bent on doing nothing more than raising taxes, increasing bottle deposits in the name of the environment, and relegating education & work based on social status.

The years now pass me. So I wait. Endearingly. But I have stopped hiding around corners. Instead, I wait for the crumbs that have been distributed by the vast cloning fields of German Maria Antoinette’s. There are moments where I will almost take anything. Except, still, a McJob. In the mean-time, I’ve convinced myself that there might be room in the world of book publishing for little ol’ me.

Maybe not.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying ALL Germans are fucking nasty, arrogant and emotional zombies. My girlfriend is very cool and if it wasn’t for all the lovin’ she gives me then maybe she could be a Saint just like Ratzinger eventually will be. (Or?) Then there’s our neighbor. She’s a really cool German. There’s also Mirko, a guy that tried to help me out - but now he’s too busy dealing with “social market economics” as well. I also really like Roger… Wait. Roger is actually Turkish. Anywho.

The thing is, as a foreigner who came to this country not to exploit it or take advantage of it, but to acquire a bit of experience and learning and get to know my roots, I’m sick & fucking tired of all the Sour-Puss faces that have turned modern Germany into a country of collective squabblers - just like my home country. I have bailed out of their system yet they still fuck with me. Where my native country is culturally and socially falling apart - since 9/11 and the whole debacle that is “the” war - you would think that a people like the Germans could somehow, with their abilities and efficiencies, make an example of how to… Gee. I don’t know… Somehow fight this lie that is globalization. But they do nothing more than following along - like a good little puppy…

Ah. A moment to digress. A moment to collect myself and take it like a man…

Yes. The truth is, I do have to take it. Take it right up the proverbial bum. For the first time in many, many years… That is, the first time since leaving America where county and state cops try to be John Wayne while writing you up for some dip-shit traffic violation, I finally got my first German speeding tickets. That’s right. Plural. I got two speeding tickets in one year. Seriously. I haven’t received a speeding ticket since the early 1980’s. At the time I was doing 70mph in a 55 zone somewhere near my beloved Chesapeake Bay and the only reason I didn’t see the trooper and his fancy radar gun on the side of the road was because the girl’s head was moving up and down in my lap. You can see through 80’s hair enough so as not to run over small children or domesticated mutts. But big, fuzzy 80’s hair moving up and down in your lap is somehow distracting when it comes to identifying the details of tip-hungry troopers protecting the American highway - among other things.

In closing and for those interested, here’s what a German speeding ticket looks like. To all you Germans… who hate all the shit I write about you (which ultimately is in good spirit). You can rejoice in Schadenfreude! As far as your Neid is concerned: in the radar pic below I’m driving a very sexy and clean 1993 Alfa Spider 2.0. (In America we call it The Graduate.)

Rant on.

-tgs-

Shill Bidding, Naïveté, Auction Fun

Warning 1: Long post. Also, there’s some strong mis-construed anger-language in this post. For those who are offended, I don’t have the time to translate the German language part of this post. Sorry. I know how it hurts to read/hear German. At least, as a consolation, this blog doesn’t bark IT at you like THEY do.

Warning 2: There might be some superficial and offensive ranting regarding race, creed and Germans in this post. But if anyone has read any of this blog then that’s probably OK. Actually… Scratch that last remark. There will be some ranting on Germans only here. I apologize in advance - especially to my host country - for the fact that I’m so fucking rude.

Wow. Another altercation with that make-money-on-pennies or cover-your-margins-anyway-you-can Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). Although I have certain idealogical problems with this site, I use it regularly as a buyer - especially when I need to curb my need(s) for a typewriter. But I am inexperienced as a seller - hence, naiveté.

The technical auto-mechanization of a sucker born everyday has come full circle.

Fuckin’ eh, Bubba! Here’s to twenty first century lookin’ out for number one - one click at a time.

Before I continue, here’s a post about a previous altercation with that silly Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). I suppose it’s high-time that the altercation perspective switch - you know, previously I was the/a buyer and now I am the/a seller. Unlike the previous altercation, this particular situation is very much my own doing. As of today (or the past few auction days) I am a shill bidder.

And I’m fuckin’ proud of it.

As of April X (it’s bad luck to mention this date), I have sold exactly four things on this… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). While I’m at it… Since I’m in this soul searching mood… I have shill bid on two of those four items. The reason for shill bidding? I never bothered to read the… Internet Auction Website rules & regulations. The reality is, I don’t give a shit about their fuckin’ rules. I just want(ed) to dump some shit - for a fair price.

WAIT.

Fair? Did I just use the word “fair”?

Since I’m an ex-pat in fucking Germany… does this mean that I too have become a pseudo-communist?

Fair? Yeah. Right. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

If anything, this… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”) is nothing more than a transgression in the new & upcoming world of diminishing returns. Technologically, the whole thing is quite a feet - I guess. But who the fuck cares if the only thing it produces is, well, pennies per transaction - and people who think they can fuck you because, well, they are ahead in the learning curve of… technological diminishing returns and understanding the complexity of pricing schemes the world over.

Seriously. Am I on the only one out there to perceive the whole dotcom thing as a sick joke? I never thought the re-distribution of wealth proposed by Karl Marx had any intellectual value - until I worked in the dotcom joke and experienced first hand the spiteful holding back of the “old economy” so it could choke the life out of anything that could potentially bring providence to new generations.

And here we are today…

I never thought it would be all that serious, this “auctioning” of stuff. I guess it only gets serious when you realize… ooops! I should have put a “BuyItNow” function on that fuckin’ auction. And. I shouldn’t auction off relatively expensive krapp to bureaucratic-lawyer obsessed Germans. The drunkenness of (eventually) realizing that you have something to sell overwhelms your ability to spend any time reading Internet Auction Website rules & regulations. (Especially if the thing you’re trying to sell, well, you actually stole…) I guess.

Enter the goody-two-shoes German…

Don’t worry. There is no such thing as a goody-two-shoes German. There are only monotone Germans that can fix your bridge or your fucking nuclear power plant. Wait. Sometimes there’s one that can actually fix your car - but only if it’s a Mercedes or Porsche and you’re an Arab Sheik. Other than that… wait in line for your fucking sauerkraut. Du Vixxer.

Anywho. After reading the… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”) rules & regulations and knowing that I’m both a hypocrite and a loser (or worstwriter), I thought: My fuckin’ goodness! I fucked up… But I don’t care that I fucked up… I WILL get a fair - if not real - price for whatever I’m selling, irreverent of the arrogant mistake I made in posting the auction under the assumption that eBay might bring the right kind of buyers.

Ooops! Did I just mention that… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”)?

If the auction-powers-that-be don’t agree - fuck them! I will go against the pre-established rules & regs, retract my offer, leave the buyer standing - and look for someone to give that shit to. We’re talking selfish principle here. At the least, I’m not giving shit away to a snitch-buyer even if he says he won’t make me choke on it. I may be naive in this world of technological penny-margins, but I blow those who I am in agreement to blow. Basta!

Beyond that… I can live w/out all this superficial penny-earning technology. Right?

Do I care if my convictions don’t blend well with Germans and their Klugscheißer mentalities? It was a private auction, for goodness sake. But then again, if you must know, the one fear I have as a loser ex-pat is this: German bureaucracy and German blood sucking lawyers.

It’s un-fucking-believable how serious these fucking Germans take/make this Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). Seriously. Does it work like this in the States? What’s wrong with a bit of shill bidding? Doesn’t it add to the eBay advertising mystique? Oh, wait a sec…

Shill Bid or not, there comes a time when the… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”) should recognize the advantage of rummaging. Come on Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). I was/am willing to pay your auction charges even if I fuck-up an auction. The price that the last bidder gave was OK. Seriously. I checked the retail price of what I was selling - it was more than double of what the final bid offered. But then, somehow, magically, I suppose, the bidder threatened me because he saw my shill bid - and he added that he made a mistake bidding anyway. Yeah. Make the world go ’round…

OK. I’ve been caught red-handed. I deserved to be caught.

Hats off to the German buyer that not only caught me but also, maybe, might have saved the world from a future of manipulative sub-100,- Euro Internet auctions. But before they trek me off and deport me… The thing I hate most about having to live among the Germans is their lust for Schadenfreude.

Below the German and American-English transcript of a failed Internet Auction (dot “de”) where the buyer caught me at Shill bidding and subsequently threatened to tell on me. That’s right. He literally threatened me after he tried to weazel out of his final bid. How unprepared could a seller be?

Anywho. I stand by my “shill bid” and look forward to every German that challenges it/me. I also have learned my lesson and won’t shill bid with my girlfriends user name anymore. Instead I will ask friends to shill bid for me that aren’t so identifiable to me. You know, like everyone else does…

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Vorhergehende Nachrichten

eBay 01.04.08 um 16:51:33 MESZ

Die Unstimmigkeiten wegen eines nicht bezahlten Artikels wurden aus folgendem Grund beigelegt: der Verkäufer hat die Kommunikation mit dem Käufer beendet und eine Gutschrift der Verkaufsprovision beantragt.

Seller (moi) 01.04.08 um 16:51:32 MESZ (Had to post this in English because the German ran out of me.)

To eBay: I am sorry for this situation. The shill-bid I made was not to manipulate the buyer but instead to get a fair price for this article. The buyers immediate response that he purchased out of haste should have caused a different response on my part. But I make no concession to him because he either cannot read (German) or he was trying to manipulate us with our error. The price of around 80,- Euros for this article is/was more than fair. But I digress.
Sincerely, Thomas Stough (shitty and manipulative auction website seller. Obviously.)

Seller (moi) 01.04.08 um 10:52:18 MESZ (From here on it’s German. I’m really sorry for you sincere (worst)readers! Goethe is sorry, as well - he wished he could write like Shakespeare!)

Alles Klar. Ich habe mich bei ebay gemeldet als “Shill Bidder”. Ich war/bin nicht bereit diese Artikel zu verkaufen für weniger als die Hälfte seines Wertes. Ich habe es vermasselt beim einstellen eine Mindestpreis zu setzen.

Really Sincere Buyer 31.03.08 um 19:29:54 MESZ

Wenn Sie “Shill” so gut kennen, fragen Sie sie bitte, ob sie den Artikel für Ihr Gebot von 78,95 EUR aben möchte. Ich ersetze Ihnen dann die Differenz zu meinem Gebot in Höhe von 7,57 EUR. Dann wäre doch alles geregelt!

Seller (moi) 31.03.08 um 18:58:41 MESZ

Wow. OK. Bitte sagen sie eBay bescheid mit ihren verdacht. Und hier ist etwas mehr Info was sie ielleicht gebrauchen können: “Shill” ist eine bekannte von mir. Oder, vielleicht sogar eine “Kunde”. “Shill” und ich sind Freunde geworden über eBay seit ihre erste Kauf von mir. Ich fick Sie regelmassig auch noch. Bei diese Auktion geht es nicht um “bid-padding” - oder? Sie brauchen nur in den bids zu schauen. Aber danke für den Hinweis.

Really Sincere Buyer 31.03.08 um 18:08:14 MESZ

Sturheit führt hier leider nicht weiter!

Im übrigen werde ich Ebay noch bitten, die Gebote von “Shill” auf Ihre Artikel zu überprüfen, da es ganz danach aussieht, dass diese gegen die Ebay-Grundsätze
verstossen.

Ich biete Ihnen 10 EUR als Aufwandsentschädigung an, wenn damit der Fall geklärt ist.

Von Dienstag, 01.04. bis Donnerstag, 03.04. bin ich nicht erreichbar.

Seller (Moi) 31.03.08 um 15:47:08 MESZ

Bitte bezahlen Sie wie vereinbart. Nur dann bleibt alles “unkompliziert und ohne unnötige Kosten.”

Really Sincere Buyer 31.03.08 um 14:15:14 MESZ

Es ist doch Unsinn, den Artikel umsonst einmal durch Deutschland zu schicken. Die Unstimmigkeit sollte doch zu lösen sein, wenn Sie den Artikel direkt weiter verkaufen und ich Ihnen wie angeboten eine kleine Differenz bezahle. Es sollte Ihrerseits zumindest auch eine Bereitschaft da sein, die Sache schnell, unkompliziert und ohne unnötige Kosten zu lösen.

Seller (Moi) 31.03.08 um 14:07:34 MESZ

Bitte erst bezahlen Sie wie vereinbart. Sie können dann “anderweitig” verkaufen.

Really Sincere Buyer 31.03.08 um 12:03:48 MESZ

Bitte versuchen Sie, den Artikel anderweitig zu verkaufen. Sollte eine kleine Differenz bleiben, werde ich diese ausgleichen, damit alles in Ordnung ist.

Seller (Moi) 31.03.08 um 11:11:00 MESZ

Zanderstruck darf weiter verkaufen wenn er erst seine Verantwortung für diese Auktion übernimmt.

Really Sincere Buyer 31.03.08 um 10:01:27 MESZ

Ich bat darum, dass seitens des Verkäufers über die Ebay-Funktion Kontakt zu unterlegenen Bietern aufgenommen wird.

eBay 31.03.08 um 09:50:22 MESZ

Unstimmigkeiten wegen eines nicht bezahlten Artikels: Nokia KFZ-Einbausatz - Advanced Car Kit - CK-7W (Artikelnummer xxx xxxx xxx xxxx) Begründung: Der Käufer hat den Artikel nicht bezahlt. Vom Verkäufer gemeldetes Verhalten des Käufers: Der Käufer fordert eine Zahlungsmethode, die ich nicht akzeptiere.

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Rant bilingually,

-tgs-

Lust For “Moonlight”, The Crucible

There won’t be a lot of this here. Music is something I prefer to enjoy alone. The music I listen to creates a kind of cocoon for me. Not unlike the place I dream of when reading a play. Speaking of which…

The theater of mind, the darkened place where long, black curtains turn into silly prankster friends… I re-read The Crucible the other night and got to thinking about American girls. I miss them dearly and wish them all well. But I will never return to the antics because I was never worthy… I guess.

Oh yeah. Music.

It’s hard when one has become set in her/his ways. It’s not that I despise the iPod-slash-corporate cultists out there, although you might catch me enjoying a cup of coffee or two on their tab. It’s just that, those stupid little memory sticks re-produce music so poorly. I mean, do you, dear (worst)reader, even know how MP3 works? No? Imagine this:

The reproduction of sound is about highs and lows of vibrating signals. MP3 music avoids all the lows and a few of the things in between. In a way the stuff that is important to re-producing music is turned into something virtual. How convenient, eh? A computer algorithm interprets only the highs and the lows of what the human ear can actually “hear”. I don’t trust that type of technology when it comes to my cocoons. It’s unfortunate that listening to music has taken this “digital” turn. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not against progress.

But then again there’s my itching toward Luddite.

A better - or less (worst)written explanation about MP3 is here. Anywho.

While reading about American girls in The Crucible I started thinking about one of my favorite Beethoven pieces. Don’t ask me why. But if you know this piece then maybe you understand. Or if you know The Crucible… Anywho. I adore Beethoven’s Piano Sonata 14. It’s better known as the Moonlight Sonata.

While chasing yet another magnificent cocoon I quickly realized that my classic collection of CDs no longer included Moonlight. Aghast! Must have lost it in all the moving around; in all this consumerism. Certainly I’ll be out next week - when all the stores in Germany open again after the holidays - getting a new copy and acting like a copy. Until then, I have to rely on MP3 and other superficial but highly stock-market profitable technologies. I guess.

Calming the beast,

-tgs-

Embalming, Weird Stuff, Short Film(2)

Short film scroll down; short film 1 available here.

The current (failed) novel I’m working on deals with the undeath of a beautiful woman. What does that have to do with…? You ask. Well, part of my (unsuccess) compulsion is to just take the time and sit at a machine and do what I do. Sometimes that entails page upon page of relevant material. Other times there is complete nonsense. Then there are the moments where the reality of life begins to confront the obsession… In this case it’s in the form of undying chicks.

I mean, come on… what is there to (worst)write about?

Her undeath has lead to a lot of thoughts about man’s silly way(s) of life. For example: Embalming. Wiki has a cool entry on the subject. Then there are the various other web sources which you can google on your own. (I’ll have no part of your perversions.)

To me, one of the weirdest things man does is to embalm the dead. I mean, come on, in life and death mankind really does some weird stuff.

Weird Humanity Stuff:

Lobotomy
Electroshock Therapy
Corporate Subjugation
Marriage
Credit Cards
Public Schooling
Taxation
Religion, etc., etc.

Maybe it’s because of the top of that list that all this weird stuff happens. I mean, does it really matter if we’ve gotten away from throwing virgins in volcanoes? Or what about skinning someone while alive in order to make them believe in JC before you kill them? How long has it been since we last burnt people on stakes? (Digress.)

My latest short film was motivated by thoughts and anecdotal surveys in typing…

Usually these short films take anywhere from 12 to 15 minutes to actually film. But I have to cut them and chop them and use codecs and whatever for the hosting platform. And, trust me, if I didn’t cut/edit them according to the user agreement -slash- pre-established authority, they would be even more boring. Talk about subjugation.

This film features a Princess 300, which you can read more about here. In its day this was a great typewriter. Making this machine could not have been cheap. It has some of the best machined parts that I’ve seen on any typewriter. The platen is shot, though, and it does have a bit of stickiness. Here is a write-up on this machine from a real collector. Here another source of typewriter collecting. A transcript from this film is below.

Rant on,

-tgs-

Tomato Sauce & Noodles

Someone motivated me to write this down today. I probably shouldn’t write such things down on account it represent a depth that goes beyond the personal. On the other hand, I should post something here for the month, eh?

Tommi’s Italian Tomato Sauce & Noodles.

The most important part of anything is… Some refer to it as soup. You know, the soup/sauce out of which life sprang…? Anywho. What biblical, non-biblical or scientific thinkers don’t understand is that there is something prior. It will be referred to here as the base. (Leave it at that, you thinkers!) Usually I start this in the morning so that it can cook all day. Cooking is something like “thinking” and “dreaming” about love - I think. Anywho. In a hot pan: olive oil… chopped fresh garlic… chopped onion (which ones?), dried oregano (but you can also put this in later) … Yeah, the base is about the quality of those things.

Don’t ask me about amounts. Get a life. At the least, read a friggin cook book or something. Experiment. It’s like fuckin’ - except you should start with a bit of romance. It’s always good that way. Yeah, read a book.

A little trick I use with my sauce-base is to add fresh red chili pepper. I suppose you can use green chilies. If you’re like many a good, romantic cook, chilies prevail in your life - or at least in your kitchen. If that’s the case there’s the issue of how dry the chilies are and if you should use the seeds. Remember: dried chilies can still be fresh. If I’m serving someone else my sauce - who I don’t know - I keep the chili seeds out. That’s a nice thing to do. Back to the sauté. Once the base of onions and garlic is glazed and transparent I add some red wine and continue the sauté - hanging my head over the thunderous steam. Is all absorbed? No? Well then…

I think absorption is a really cool thing. It not only reminds me of how I’d like to be with a woman but also… It reminds me of the pretext that oil (or hydrocarbons) is not a by-product of the re-working of biology by geology - as the traditional barrel pricing schemes seem to dictate. Instead, oil - that elixir that rules so much of our lives - is geology re-worked by biology.

What? That doesn’t make any sense? More here.

Once the base is prepared and the “soup” is steaming in the pan, wait for the right moment and then dump in a bunch of your favorite canned tomatoes. That’s right. I said canned tomatoes. This is not an issue about freshness. Canned tomatoes are the best because, well, fresh tomatoes take more than a whole day to get all that sweet, citric, earthly flavor out them. It’s already been done in the can. In my opinion, canned tomatoes are one the best things to come out of our lives being ruled by industrialization and corporatism.

Anywho.

In the evening I cook the noodles and then chop lots of fresh parmasean. (Making noodles and buying parmasean is another post; again, read a friggin book.) I usually buy enough fresh basil that you can bathe in it. I then take the cooked noodles and put them in a hot pan. I stir in the tomato sauce that has been cooking all day. Once the noodles show they are soaked in “sauce” I sprinkle in the fresh basil leaves and then comes my secret - the right touch of melted sugar. (Nothing more will be revealed…)

I had girlfriend once and her name was Carmel…

Once it’s all cooking together - you can see it on the noodles - I turn off the heat and then put in the parmasean. It’s neat to watch the the cheese and the sugar become one with the noodles. I do the flip and roll with the pan. The noodles and sauce twirl around in the air. I fill a large, deep plate with rolled up Tommi noodles & sauce and sprinke some fresh chopped large parsley leaves and, of course, more basil on top. Then, where applicable, fresh ground pepper.

Remember. Eat nothing else all day - let the hunger build till “dinner”. It should be like how you make love to your woman/partner.

This is not a rant. Good luck.

-tgs-

Daily Routine, Sobriety, Weakless

The daily routine of (worst)writing is fairly easy to explain. And I know so many (worst)readers are just dying to read/hear this. First, I usually try to get up before 8am every morning. The only issues I have to deal with at that hour are my girlfriend who supports me by usually getting up earlier so she can prepare for her compulsive-career day. Sometimes I try to help her by making her laugh but she’s not a morning person - so more than not she’s just trying to avoid me.

Then there’s the issue of whether or not I have a beer or a wine hangover from the late night before where I compulsively fail (or is it actually succeed in this astute double negative case?) at (worst)writing.

Luckily I: I stopped drinking the hard booz about ten years ago - in my mid-thirties - along with smoking and other coincidental promiscuous behavior in the various red-light areas of west German towns.

I fill myself with coffee in the morning and then begin to (worst)write. Sometimes this goes on till about 2pm. Other times it goes to 8:30am. Either way, after it’s over I spend the rest of the day waiting for a green light to shine in my head that says: yeah, you’re a great loser in a world of so many winners and now it’s late enough to open that bottle of wine.

Luckily II: the morning hangovers aren’t that bad as I’m trying to cut back. But when you’re unemployable in a pseudo-socialist, job-institutionalized country like Germany and all you do is (worst)write unpublishable stuff… - jobs in Germany are distributed and are not earned; if USA is a country of some opportunity, Germany is a country of zero opportunity. All I can do at my age is continue on this path - which has been obviously chosen for me…

Of course, most (real)writers worth a hoot usually figure out that in order to produce what their heart desires they have to maintain a certain level of sobriety. I fashionably disagree. It is the lack of sobriety that gets me through all the hypocrisy - both of the situation of this life that I perceive and the reality that I avoid. If anything can be said of the things I’ve written in this silly blog one of them is not that my “complaints” are fiction.

Oh, how reality wishes to be my Desdemona and perception my Bukowski.

Like most things, I’ve recognized all my errors in life waaaay to late. This coincides with one other dramatic problem I have to face. Even though I’m well aware of my own mediocrity, I cannot give up the impulse to (worst)write. In order to maintain some sanity and not drink my liver to a stupor within the next few years, the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I cannot (worst)write. So I sit down every morn and try not to (worst)write. I sit and stare out at the trees. I feel the wind hit the side of the building that houses the place I live. I smell the potential of fermentation in the trash can of my kitchen that serves as yet another example of my procrastination to not do what shouldn’t be doing in the first place.

My newest work/novel, which I started almost a year ago has the working title of Gloria’s Device. (I plan to title the German version Gloria’s Gerät). I have been desperately struggling with this work every morn for way too long. The sad part is, if I could only focus, if I could find again the magical combination of peace AND time, if I could only regain the confidence I had as a young man - a confidence that has obviously and deservedly been stolen from me via the crude entrails of matrimony - then maybe I could finish it.

But then again, I keep thinking of the moments in space & time that I spend in bookstores looking through the thousands upon thousands of badly written books and know that I can’t even meet that criteria.

Below an example of some of the stuff that has been re-written and written again for Gloria. I think I’ve re-typed this page a dozen times over the past three morns. This is the second or third re-typed page - I’m up to about six as I write this. I think.

No matter. In a world of waste, nothing matters, right?

If at all possible, young people and have-nots of the world heed this advice. The grass is not greener anywhere - except, maybe, at the far reaches of the universe. If you have any feelings for the people that brought you into this mess then never leave them, no matter what they try to say or convince you to do. Remain their burden just to remind them of their error(s) and live with what you were born to know and do: cut the grass and take out the trash and know love through the skin of your body only; don’t have children because you will continue the misery; be overly joyous and submissive to the fact that you can so easily mail-order things like iPods to yourself.

Rant and Loss.

-tgs-

Nova, Idears, First Short Film

Another short film is available here.

The thing is… the idears. How many idears can a person actually have in a lifetime? If I’ve failed at anything in this (worst)writer life, having idears ain’t one of them.

As mentioned here and here, I’m a prolific note taker. There were times - yeah, when I was young - where I would spend days just writing stuff down on and with anything I could find. Ultimately that stuff would be nothing but notes. Heck, there’s so much of it that I can’t go through it all. It’s not that I can’t go through it all on account it’s so poorly written… that’s a given. I can’t go through it all because it seems that all I can really produce - as (worst)writer - are a bunch of friggin notes and that just seems counter productive to what I think I should actually be… or do… or… Whatever.

One day I got to thinking that maybe what I’m doing is or has something to with… I don’t know… anecdotes. Or parables… Naw. They’re definitely not parables!

Here’s my first attempt at a short film which is basically taking my note-taking and/or idear makin’ to the next level. Keep in mind, this is nothing but the sound of a fellow human trying - and failing - to be what he/she was not mean to be.

Yeah, life is a bullet-hole ridden sheet of paper full of typos. Yeah, the sound of making typos… If only the sound of those typos fit the sequence of the film. So much for video decoding.

The mess produced in this short film is available as a scan/pic below. Good luck.

(Worst)Write on…

-tgs-

Happiness, Doped Up, The Gifted

Looking back on life I can make (only) a few claims to knowing happiness. The birth of my son is at the top of the list. Crabbing in and around the Chesapeake Bay is in the top five. The first two years after moving to Germany where I slept with at least x-number of different women…

Seriously. I tried not to. But… Quickly after moving to Europe/Germany did I learn one of the major differences between American women and European women. Promiscuity was without recourse in Europe. No one was called a slut or a whore or whatever and people didn’t talk trash about you. (How civil, eh.) People were just looking for love and being with someone and I sloppily put myself in the middle of it all and took advantage of whatever I could. Now that I’m middle aged and can’t perform like that anymore… I’m almost ashamed of myself… ;-)

The last claim to happiness that I’ll (worst)write about today is when I played (American)football in high school. American high school was the culmination of life experience and the spring board to/of who I am today – with only one slight twist. The reality is, I hated American high school. The only thing that got me through it was sports. Throughout I played football starting at the end of summer and through the fall/early-winter and then played tennis through the spring. For summer vacation I worked at a gas station or cut grass for upper middle class snobs. To pass any free time during the summer I dabbled in Golf and Lacrosse. The only regret I have is not having played baseball.

I don’t know what I’d be today if it weren’t for sports back then. At the least, I’d probably be happier and living life without so much regret.

There truly is happiness in life when you’re commanding a team of ten other boys. You’re calling the plays and singing cadences and your handing off the ball or you’re throwing it twenty yards down field through a swinging old non-radial tire (the defense) into the awaiting hands of a guy named Bruce or Todd who is your team-mate but you barely know.

American Football Cadence: a particular series of vocal calls, intended to keep an offense in rhythm and coordinated to when the quarterback will hike the ball.

Yes, I was the quarterback. I was the brains of the team. I was … an absolute jock imbecile blind to the realities of life before and after the game. Except for the chicks. You know, the key to dumbing-down a society must lie in the reality of gettin’ laid. But the cheerleaders and pompom girls bored the hell out of me. Although all other standards in my life were pretty low, I tried to keep it high with the chicks. Being regularly featured in the local newspaper seemed to do the trick. I was known for being with non-jock chicks. That culminated in dating a girl who starred in a high school production of The Glass Menagerie. Yeah, how ironic that I would fall for a theater-chick and then end up being a failed playwright.

Oh what a memory. “Amanda Wingfield” and I were something like the odd-couple. I was or wanted to be the jock that transcended. She wanted to get more of an audience. To this day the beautiful girl who played her on stage is still in my dreams. How long, then, will the sanity remain?

When I wasn’t playing football or some other dumb-downing sport I spent the rest of my time observing and trying not to think. The future? College? Job? I was actually dumb enough to believe that I could go to college and continue playing football. The athletic chasm, though, between high school and college is simply too big. The chasm between college and professional football is either the same size or a tick bigger. That is what I learned after it was too late. In the mean time, at the beginning of my junior year of high school, our team was ranked number one in our division. We were on our way that season to the state championship. One day during a school lunch break, in the parking lot behind the school, one of my team-mates came up to me.

Dude: Dude, you wanna improve your performance for the season?
Me: Uh…?
Dude: Your forty (yard dash) time goes up immediately. You’ll bench press fifty more pounds by next Tuesday.
Me: Gee…
Dude: Come on, dude. Everybody’s doing it. Here. Bend over!

I bent over and felt a slight prick. Later that day, probably while sitting in history class or make-believe civics, I felt a strange moisture in my seat. I looked down and saw a small speck of blood. In the bathroom I washed the needle wound on my ass and the cold water finally helped to clot it. How correct Dude was. Within days I could run faster and could bench press more and there were even moments where I thought, if I really put some effort into it, I could squeeze that regulation pig skin wrongly shaped ball till it popped like a balloon. Oh, the only other side-effect of taking what was called Deca-Durabolin (aka Nandrolone) was the shockingly large amount of seaman that I released into or all over that sweet girl who played Amanda Wingfield in our high school’s biggest theater hit.

Yes. Drugs were (are) everywhere. Drugs to get you high and drugs to make you run fast. (It’s no wonder to me that now, so many years later, those same drugs mixed with guns are randomly killing so many people.) Thanks to sports I was able to stay away from getting high. I quickly realized, though, that taking drugs (of any kind) was the wrong thing to do. (At least while you’re still so young.) Perhaps I owe a tidbit of wisdom to a conversation that went something like this:

Coach/Teacher: Dude, you need to focus on your future after high school.
Me: Uh. But. I. Want. Play…
Coach/Teacher: Dude, listen, you’re talented but you’re not gifted. Now don’t misunderstand. The world is a big place and you can TRY to do almost anything you want. But I recommend that you consider improving your grades and then maybe going to the community college.

Yeah, I could throw a pig-skin through a swinging old tire from twenty-five to thirty yards out. But I couldn’t see the reality of what a future outside the confines of Momma-like American High School held for me. Being the product of the broken American dream, I accepted no advice from wannabe mentors.

At least, somehow, I learned/realized that winning a championship high school game didn’t matter. Add to that the fact that I knew that I was stuck in a world of mediocrity and mendacity… There was no getting out. I just wasn’t one of them “gifted” athletes and there weren’t enough drugs to take to change that.

“You are talented but you are not gifted.” (Hint: I am (worst)writer and I did NOT attend Poke High!)

 

Almost thirty years later… Listening to “gifted” athletes that could make it without drugs sit in front of the US Congress and deny taking these substances continues the breaking of my heart. There is no meaning in a life filled and ruled by all these gimme-more pigs. And it doesn’t stop at sports. Famous actors now publicly claim that taking these substances is OK. How ironic, I guess, that famous technology does the same thing. I can’t write in words how ashamed I am of where I grew up and what I learned from the American way of life. (With that said, I also don’t know of any worthwhile alternative - at least not in this life-time and/or geo-political arena.) With that (nonsense) in mind, here a few recent substance abuse instances to ponder:

Technology and substance provocation via ad-links. Here we have a screen shot from an article I found at the Huffington Post about Sylvester Stalone admitting to the use of human growth hormone. I also believe he actually went on US TV and admitted to using this stuff. What shocked me about the Huff Post article were the dynamically generated adverts by Google. As you can see HGH and other “muscle” content/links are provided by Google. Talk about fanning the fire…

Good old fashion sports and a little extra help. I guess. This is the substance humdinger of the year (2007). There should be a picture here of Roger Clemens - a very “gifted” athlete - who is now being scrutinized for the alleged use of “performance enhancing” substance(s). I thought it best to include this pic of his wife. Roger Clemens is, of course, denying use of HGH or other substances. (Instead he is claiming to inject vitamin B12 in his ass). I don’t want to get into judging people. But the problem is that when “gifted” people try to take even more advantage and then basically become the apples that rot the barrel… well… ain’t it obvious why life really sucks for the rest of us. Oh, btw, Mrs. Clemens, has actually admitted to using HGH as part of her preparation for this photo shoot - which I think appeared in the infamous college-boy jerk-me-off February issue.

For those who want to know more, here a few links to “substance”.

Wiki on HGH

Hypocrisy in sports (a blog)

CNN on HGH

With that in mind, let’s all take a moment of silence to praise all the gifted ones out there. They deserve so much more…

Rant on.

-tgs-

 

What Came First: Electron Or Proton?

Today something other than just failure and/or complaining. Well, maybe not.

As a failed writer destined to give up, procrastination becomes a form of time-escaping entertainment. The question then becomes: do I go the way of mindless entertainment or …? At times I feel as though I am stuck in a galaxy-size seat-less theater swimming freely in white transparent curtains. The light in my theater comes from the various “objects” that I call my procrastination.

Oh, if I would have done better in school then maybe I could actually achieve something in this life - other than procreation.

Yet this daily routine of nothingness, reaching deeper into my nowhere stars, going where no loser has gone before… The only substance I know that holds IT all together is buried in the creative prowess of the likes of Pavarotti or a Bacon screaming, poetic portrait, among others. Sometimes I happen across stuff like the video embedded in this post. Which really tickles the whole of my fancy. Source for video is here. This creative person has learned well, has fit into this world well, and will continue on, I’m sure, quite well. Hats off to her. Here two thoughts motivated by this short film: calling the enabler of it all “Empty” is a wonderful idear; I’m not sure that the electron came before the proton, though.