Chemistry Mystery Achievement

By the Pretenders.  After almost being arrested yesterday, today I took the hint.  Neither Elizabeth nor Nicholas wanted me there, and with Elizabeth’s admonishments directed at me instead of Nicholas, I left angry.  Why do I put up with it?  Well, it’s a little late.  It has already killed me.  Why indeed, but which why?  Is it an empirical why, or a logical why?

I think it is lack of companionship.  After prison, once I got settled I spent all of my time alone.  The first change in that came by hooking up with Elizabeth, and it was at best only a change coming from none.  It wasn’t a change up to and including an ideal situation.  I was getting ready for fifty, and to me that meant a compromise.  Workers aged fifty don’t actually have enough of what it takes to work, it does not get better, they cost more, and this is a worry for the person.  I envisioned an employer considering letting me go, and wished to have some factors on my side to sway him, the way things like ‘he’s married’ or, ‘he has a kid’ would be likely to do.  As for my end, I figured staying sober would actually push me higher, though ‘he’s sober’ is not likely to cross anyone’s mind.  They don’t know why people don’t show up on Mondays.  They aren’t allowed to.  It’s a private matter.  They only know that they needn’t worry that you are having fun, not on what they pay you.

I told Elizabeth I was leaving, and, to my mild surprise, she said okay, not, “Please don’t go.”  She would rather I paid for everything, cleaned her house, fetched Nicholas from the bus, and departed quietly.  She said, “You know you are picking Nicholas up today.”  That wasn’t true.  That kind of assertion isn’t the true kind, it’s the dilemma.  A yes or no answer does not suffice.  A no results in the statement, “Well, you are.”  The court order makes it her responsibility, but the wording takes control of the debate.  The correct wording is, “Would you pick Nick up?”  I have thus ended up helping her out against my will the last fifteen days, since I started counting.  I usually say that if she is going to kick me out, I won’t do it next time, but, after what Nicholas is learning from her, such that I had it coming from all sides yesterday, it seemed better to leave today, and work on having other plans than to fetch and carry for her tomorrow, or from now on.

I love things, and, as a chemist, they don’t have to be pristine for me to love them.  People aren’t things, and their lives differ a great deal from one another.  A person isn’t comfortable out of his element, but aging introduces limitations which require adaptation, rather than a response to a perceived instance of disrespect.  I can disrespect myself, thinking “you idiot”, for forgetting to pick up a beer, but I don’t need to be drinkng beer and I am better off without it.  In the breakdown of the mind, the so-called mind, what is going on is the “I” speaking to the “me”.  We can go right along and take that dialog outside, where it is still the “I” talking.  But, the “you” and what’s “my” are still subtle.  “Them” is an m at the end, an m at the start is “my”.  An m is also “him”, but you aren’t him.  You are he, right?  John Lennon was doing this and wrote a song.  Words don’t actually have spaces in speech or thinking.  Natural thoughts are strings of synthetic sound without spaces.  After a space of some kind, the next string is another thought.  The hippocampus bounces the meaning back to the front to continue being logical.  Reaching for an exact memory uses the temporal lobe.  Hippocampal memory is extremely short term.  Let’s see if I am on track to reach my goal. one two three four

It seemed okay, but by four it changed to the prefrontal lobe, so that’s where it is.  Just behind the forehead is where you carry stuff you don’t want to forget.

What is my image of the reader?  Well, screw that.  With fifty million books out there, I’m the reader other and paid motherfuckers better please.  I open books and say, “thrill me”, and that’s when they dicker over what the reader this, the reader that, will notice.  I hardly listen any more when I read.  I just like to have a book open in front of me while I think.

My wife is so incompetent that I try to stay on top of the disaster, not acheive perfection.  Left alone she’d soon be irretrievable.  Partly, I don’t get to see how competent she is, but, in my case my statements make sense.  Well, not all, there are millions, but for some time they have made adequate sense.  To say hers do not is an understatement.  The two combined make for a dysfunctional relationship.  I’m always trying to hold my temper.  If it wasn’t basically parasitism it would change for the worse.

Once the news began to play the price of gold, I was going to find it tough since she caused me to ditch ten ounces of gold in 2003.  I lost $10,000 to date on that transaction, where the typical Colombian necktie is transferred to the car method: a passenger in a car may assault the driver on the freeway.  You don’t need that.  She didn’t believe gold could be changed in in Riverside, so, we couldn’t leave Santa Monica.  She had given me money, but it was then, “still hers”.  All I can prove is that I bought gold and redeemed it for cash, all in one week, and then it went up 300%.  I could get recording equipment and try to get my father’s attitude about buying gold on film, then it might be plausible that if he hadn’t attacked a good idea, then you would not have the insane triggered off by meddlers.

That’s the problem with the insane.  They still have rights.  If you let one have a place to stay out of the nuthouse, the inevitable blow-ups will not take the insanity into account, that maybe the domestic violence is just the ravings of a lunatic.  It all centers around, “Is this over drugs and alcohol?”  If somebody takes money and spends it on dope, you can find that out.  They ask you for cash and go get fucked up, then since they did that yesterday, they want to do that today, over a lifetime.  In fact, giving them that means that you gave it your tacit approval.  But, to the Constitution, it stops at the buck.  They have a right to keep money.

The story is what you put forward to the cops to explain how you are not at fault.  Everyone has a story.  If they stick to the facts, they are easily understood.  But, all stories do not incorporate jails, prisons, crimes, and mental institutions like mine does.  In order to continue to the discretionary facts with that much baggage, I have to take long detours explaining how just going to prison does not mean I committed a crime.  Also, it is dying.  Yet, I committed a disease and am going to the graveyard, so to speak.  That’s not the issue.  Also, it is going to the university.  You wouldn’t need a degree unless you planned on working many more hours than you got paid for.  College is thus not for everyone.  That’s in contrast to what you have heard, that even blacks have a right to education.  See, the whole Constitution is about your rights.  When you get arrested, just tell them you want to do this Constitution style, not their way, which is for you to put it in story form.  “I assume I will be taken to jail and charged with a crime next.”  But, not in my case always.  It could be I will be involuntarily held in a mental facility without a trial.  I haven’t been arrested with cancer.

That you sleep a third of your life is not quite accurate.  That still leaves two thirds.  It’s not that way.  You do what you want for such an infinitessimal portion of your life that time slips away with nothing happening.  The world doesn’t owe you a living.  It’s no miracle that I am out, free, rich &etc.  I don’t keep guns.  How can I be outside and not get a gun?  People in jail just have to get out and they will get one, and other reasons they can’t stay out.  It is not good to have 2.5 million prisoners.  That’s a disgrace.  I don’t study war no more.  Religious people love history, and what is history without wars?  Someone has to die millions of times over, a million thefts of life so vicariously entertained do-gooders won’t be bored.  We played war, and we had The Big One to work with.  Now the planet is the world.  We aren’t going into space.  What else could we jettison to stay alive?

I don’t know why my personal death is so important.  Words like forever and eternity seem directed at me personally.  I could start exercising.  I’d feel better.  I don’t need all the room from here to the moon.  Just because we aren’t going to colonize the solar system doesn’t mean I have to stay in a ten-by-ten room all day.  I don’t want to do anything on impulse, and it is night time.  The national mood is insane if it concentrates on things like a rocket to the moon.  First it has a Depression for years, then a war, then a rocket to the moon, all to occupy the pea-brains of idiots, apparently without anyone sitting down to figure out what’s really important.  Now another depression, and a welfare state, just how disabled you can get to qualify to receive a livelihood.  And useless old people everywhere, who should all be executed.  The graveyards should al be dug up and converted to parks.  Wait, it won’t be long.  Things will get weirder than that.  We came to the end of science we could use to make life a continuous dream state, and we can no longer use even that, because it doesn’t just change to new and better forms of energy.  You check it out and say, “No, I think I’ll stick to petroleum.”  No, you won’t.

It smells ancient, and it is.  Things will be new, and there will be new ideas.  They won’t be anything you can enjoy.  People of that time won’t be able to figure it out unless they understand one thing: The Twentieth Century people fucked us.


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