Hostility for Fun and Profit

...I hate dreaming. My dreams are altogether too obvious in their meaning. Insight I don’t need.

...Recently, I walked past a group of four plastic whores on the pavement near a dirty city warehouse. They were posing for a photograph, right in the middle of the path. I had to walk through. One said "Wait, don't get that ugly guy in the picture." The others laughed. I spat very carefully and deliberately in the gutter next to them as I passed, something I often do in these situations, kept walking. Their attendant male-friend started doing the "Guido Falcon" behind me, the flapping-arms come-on procedure that is the prelude to any fight of no consequence. He hit me in the back of the head. I arm-lock him, snap kick him in the guts, and start twisting his fingers back the wrong way as he falls forward. Suddenly, I notice there is a questionnaire on his head, running down his back. It has questions like:

"How often do you engage in physical confrontation? a) Often b) Regularly c) Infrequently d) Never"

"Does the presence of women in or near physical confrontation... a) inspire your macho silliness? b) make you wish they were absent? c) become nervous for their safety? d) not concern you at all?”

I fill out the survey on his head with a Sharpie. He thanks me and walks away, unhurt...

Jung would have booted me out for being too obvious.

There is a fist-shaped indentation in the top of my alarm clock. I made it. That hole prevents the strident, urgent klaxon tone I hated... the one which used to bring the first fist of the day down on it... now the device sounds more like an air raid siren through thick fog, I can turn it off without inflicting violence.

Very strong coffee - clear unbreakable Pyrex mug. Porcelain doesn't last long when flung. Computer, morning reading - journal feeds, science blogs, pop sci sites, emails and music goof. I gave up reading newspapers closely a while ago. They are drab and pointless. Breakfast - protein + milk, oatmeal, fruit, solid food if hungry, supplements if necessary. If drastically hung over, beer. The tyranny of 5pm does not hold at Casa Satanica.

What follows this is the trip into my research office, complete with empty beer bottles, kettlebells and bent pieces of steel. As a counterpoint, I put up a picture of a duckling. Somehow this seems to make things worse, not better.

I detest commuting and avoid it at all times unless strictly necessary. If teaching, I will have to commute surrounded by soul-drones. In these cases, I read research or something noticably violent. It's surprising how few financial analysts will sit next to you when you are bald, 95kgs, wearing a Malevolent Creation shirt and reading a book called "On Killing". Teaching I enjoy very much, and I am good at it. I entertain the somewhat vapid fantasy that some of the undergraduates in my classes will actually learn things about science in general and psychology in particular. At the very least, I can stare at undergraduate flesh and get paid nigh-$100 an hour for it.

If not required to teach, I will structure my day around avoiding the close company of commuters. I leave the house when I can see the trains out the window becoming progressively more empty as the day wears on.

Research is an unremarkable activity, which needs no description. Much of my day is this - reading, writing and avoiding the company of the women I work with. For 'intelligent' people, they grate my nerves. I am not sure if the best solution of dealing with them, still. If I growl at them, they forgive me. If I ignore them, they invade my space. They do not appreciate distance.

The next activity of importance is the gym. Lifting weights is good. Lifting heavy weights is better. Lifting heavy weights a lot in a manner which causes blackouts, nosebleeds and ringworm is best.

My gym has some good equipment, some bad equipment, and the worst people in the world. They are usually athletes - big, puffy, self-absorbed meat sculptures with overhanging cranial globes like a garbage-bags full of hairy abortions. I resent the way they train, which is with indifference. Their lack of interest/testes sets the tone for the gym, and it is full of utter faggots. While this makes me angry (and that is conducive to training), it would be infinitely better to be surrounded by the angry.

Eventually, I go home. I have no set time to come in, or to leave, unless I have appointments. I can leave at 3, or at 9. No-one asks any questions, points any fingers or fingers any crevices. I remain entirely unmolested. At home, I drink. It helps me sleep. If I do not sleep, I think of how to reconcile my programs for humanity (the idea) with the reality of humanity (the failed flesh-experiment) . No answers are forthcoming.

It summarises quite well - my life revolves around the production and consumption of meat and text.