LII. Random BeeEss

The American Dream is something you'll never achieve

paucity
imperious
kakistocracy
trollop
facetious
catharsis
chattelry
defenestration
indefatigable

Out before the shit hits the fan...
shades of truth
...a little crazy

LI. ARRGH!

I'm bleeding sick of Michael Jackson and Ted Kennedy talk!
Fikking enough already!

L. The Beginning of the End of the Beginning...

Oh, my. It's been months since I've posted anything here. I wish I had an excuse to sell myself--but alas, the best I can come up with is that I've simply lost interest. Or maybe I even forgot about it until now.

Just as well, I guess. Since I've returned to New York, the "Gotham in Exile" moniker no longer bears relevance. So this seems like a good point to actually begin phasing out this site. There may be a few more posts on this site, but probably nothing of much importance.

Instead, I'll spend my time planning and writing content for my new site (unnamed as of yet). Upcoming are mind-grabbing essays on race, religion, and being an American (I began writing the latter one years ago!) Anyone who might see this entry, feel free to remind me the next time I completely forget.

I'll also bring over from this one those posts that are, so to speak, the
cremè de la cremè. The 95% of the utter crap content here will deservedly fade into oblivion.

So, that's that. Into the underworld travels Gotham in Exile, and from its ashes like a phoenix shall the next chapter arise.

XLVIII. Scaling the Wall

Writer's block sucks.

Not in the little, nagging way you'd feel if, say, you realized you were suddenly out of a delicious snack you'd just been munching on. No--this is a despair much like the feeling one gets when he knows he has disappointed someone important. In this case, the important someone is indeed the writer himself.

You see, the act of writing serves as an outlet--transferring one's ideas to external media. The writer's pen is a spigot. When the ideas aren't flowing an unbearable pressure builds up, frustrating and tormenting him.

It seems the only way to get over this is to force oneself to get started. My own approach will be to regard any blank sheets of paper I see as a dire emergency--an imminent threat requiring my immediate attention to quash. Just fill 'em up, and let god sort 'em out.

I'll see how that goes.

XLVII. The New Caveman

Am I becoming a Luddite?

I don't own a Blackberry, I don't spill my every inane thought on Twitter, and I don't relish the idea of telling everybody on the planet know what I'm doing every five seconds.

Oh, well. I'm not jumping on the bandwagon. I'll stick with my e-mail and my halfhearted social networking and blogging.

(For now, anyway.)

XLVI. Duck and Cover!

If you get all your information from the mainstream American media, you are probably aware that we are now gripped by a pestilence not seen since the days of oh, say the dreaded bird flu.

Seriously, to anyone who might be thinking that this is the beginning of the Apocalypse, might I point you to the words of the late, great George Carlin
(check out the beginning of part 2 as well):


Just be sure to stay away from the Chinese chicken...

XLIV. Five Yards for Encroaching Censorship

I am growing increasingly disturbed by the encroachment of police power into our daily lives. With each passing day another liberty seems to disappear.

Take, for example, this plan by the UK government. Presumably aimed at banning certain "controversial" types of manga drawings, it would give the government incredible control over the ideas people are allowed to express.

Not to defend any given type of idea, mind you. But, theoretically, if a government presumes the sole authority to label ideas as "obscene" then there is nothing stopping it from attaching this tag to any idea it wishes, given situational efficacy.

The real danger in this type of reactionary thinking is that it feeds into the agendas of those who would like to gain control over others.

For instance, why are images of nudity or sex considered obscene, but images of wanton violence so commonplace?

Is it, perhaps, that some people would like to take from you control of your own body, while simultaneously desensitizing you to the suffering of others?
Sounds kind of like an efficient, obedient war-making machine, doesn't it?

XLIII. They Just Don't Get It...

Mr. Jindal's Neighborhood


To think, the clones are actually going crazy over this guy--he's probably already a frontrunner for 2012.

This illustrates perfectly how clueless the Republicans are. They throw a pile of poop in a brown bag and call it diversity.

XLII. Diverging Priorities

Isn't it curious that on a day that thousands of people are losing their jobs, the Dow Jones was actually up for a while?

What kind of message is that supposed to send about what's important in our economy?

XLI. Happy 2009!

Or should I say, "good riddance to 2008?"

For the most part this year could best be described as garbage.

As much as it did suck, there were some bright spots--I managed to complete my undergraduate degree, and a black man (as dubious as some of his moves may be) was elected President of the United States.

Perhaps we ended 2008 at rock bottom, and we have hit an uptick that will lead to better days shortly. I certainly hope so.

As always, enjoy the day.

XXXVIII. Sanity on ICE

I was just watching a feature story on ABC World News about the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement's Flight Operations Unit, which is charged with the removal of illegal aliens to their countries of origin. According to the story, deportees are flown home aboard commercial-style jetliners, where they get complimentary food and are under the watchful eye of armed guards doubling as flight attendants. And this is done at a cost of approximately $680 each.

So, let me get this straight. The government is frittering away public money on jet flights--half of which are empty--carrying away people who will probably be back within the year? And, this is going on while this same government promotes conservation and wise spending?

XXXVII. A New Beginning

Tomorrow signifies the start of a new era in my life, as I will no longer be in exile.

Tomorrow, I return to my hometown--to all that has been familiar to me my whole life, and away from the place I've been temporarily anchored for the past three years.

Feelings of excitement--as well as uncertainty--ensconce me. But the most important feeling by far is the determination to create a better future.

And so, as one chapter closes, another begins.

See you soon--back from exile!

XXXI. Heya!

Before the month ends without a post, I think I ought to say a few words.

October and autumn are upon us, and the cold weather is not far behind. I suspect that I will be job-hunting very soon, as the window for biking weather closes and I will have to find employment that is more transit-friendly.

I've been slowly getting settled in my place, moving more items in from storage.

The grind of day-to-day living is beginning to get to me, though. I'm thinking about taking a weekend trip to New York City at the end of the month--I definitely need the break.

Don't want to get into the clusterfuck that is American politics right now. The people who will win can't help us, and the people who could help us can't win.

XXIX. So, What's the Real Story?

Quite often you hear of people who express doubts about, or dissent from some conventional point of view. Such people are labeled "conspiracy theorists" by rabid defenders of the status quo. This epithet is often uttered quite nastily, as though the person being labeled had just introduced into the room their personal effluvia. It is as if the mere utterance of such a deviation constitutes a transgression against all society.

The thing is, why does the term "conspiracy theorist" have a negative connotation? It merely means one who thinks about conspiracies and where they might exist. The term is completely neutral. Hell, I qualify as a conspiracy theorist--the Kennedy assassination, the drug war, and 9/11 are just a few of the things I regard with suspicion.

It seems people who question conventional notions often find themselves ridiculed and vilified by those who would rather be told what to think and believe.

XXVIII. It's Not Just about the Money...

Something just popped up in my mind, and I have to get it out.

This something is about money. Money--that thing we (in the West, at least) seem to spend our entire lives chasing, and which the vast majority of us will never have enough of.

When someone gets a job that pays more money than their current one, people expect them to be happy.

Everyone hopes to win the lottery jackpot--the prospect of getting lots of free money plus never having to work again will attract many.

But it's all fake.

Money is fake, that is.

In modern American society, instead of exchanging a good for a good, we use money to complete the deal. A long time ago, money was a representation of our country's actual wealth--specifically, of precious metals like gold and silver held by the Treasury. However, in the age of fiat currency, the "value" of money is an arbitrary determination made unilaterally by an institution with dubious links to private business, that the federal government has no real control over. This institution, the Federal Reserve, tinkers with interest rates whenever it feels that doing so would help big business--not to keep the currency in parity with some objective scale.

Money is now a completely imaginary thing, yet it has been elevated to a paramount position over our lives.

All the money chasing going on in our culture has collectively robbed us of the capacity to objectively consider what it actually is we're pursuing.

Money is treated as though it is the sole--or even the most important--economic currency. This is not remotely the case. Economics simply pertain to how we would rather spend our limited resources. Non-monetary considerations, such as pleasure, time, freedom, and stress seem to be largely ignored in the press and by our "representatives" when evaluating the economic state of our country. And I can tell you, nowadays there are plenty of livid, stressed-out, burnt-out Americans of all income levels.

But you probably won't read about it in the Wall Street Journal.

XXVII. ...what "in Exile"?

To explain the origin of the "Gotham in Exile" title, I will first mention that it is not something I just extracted from my rear end.

Gotham is, of course, New York City--the city of my birth and where I grew up (and probably won't return anytime soon due to cost of living).

Exile refers to my state of living outside of the city. I still think of myself as a New Yorker, but am currently located in Western New York. Life is cheaper here, but much less convenient for a non-driver.

Hence, "Gotham in Exile" is a good, brief summary of my outlook, and a good indicator of the tone of the material in this journal.

XXIV. Round Two...

Yesterday I inaugurated a little writing exercise to help the creative juices flow. It looks like another round of this drill is in order.

Tonight's words: 'grape', 'paper', and 'chain'.

'Grape' brings me back to the fourth and fifth grades. There was this one kid, Christopher S., who would bring grapes for lunch every single day. He also seemed to be snacking on them every other chance he got.

'Paper' is what I often find myself buried under. One of my unfortunate habits involves grabbing every newspaper, magazine, flyer, newsletter, or other printed item, bringing it home, and then putting it down and forgetting about it entirely. I need to stop being such a pack rat, lest one day someone need excavate my living quarters to exhume my festering carcass.

'Chain' reminds me of both the the eagle medallion given to me by my grandfather so many years ago (and which I still have), and the loss of my bicycle several years ago, to theft at the central library in Jamaica, Queens. I had locked it to a traffic signpost right outside the main entrance, and gone inside to do some research. I emerged about two hours later to find it missing. That incident puts me in the ignominious group of folks who have had more than one bike stolen.

XXIII. "These words remind me of..."

The following is a quick exercise, intended to spur on my creative impulses and to get me to write more.

In it, I quickly pick the first three words that come to mind, and just as quickly writing down what these words make me think of.
So, this time the words are 'spell', 'heat', and 'wrinkle'.
---
Ok, so 'spell' bears a noted significance for me...I participated in many spelling bees in my school years, winning my first at age eight. I actually represented my middle school in the annual city-wide tournament for all three years, but was never able to win the whole thing.
The word also invokes a slight ironic twinge within me at the moment, since just mere moments ago while typing this entry I misspelled the word 'exercise' at least three times. My, how things change...

As for 'heat'...1999 in New York City. The hottest goddamn summer I can remember. I don't have any charts or anything of the like, but I wouldn't be surprised if the temperature reached at least 90F each day that summer, and the humidity exceeded 95 percent.

Finally, 'wrinkle'...I hardly (if ever) iron my clothes before leaving the house. However, It is a rare occasion that I find an pernicious crease in my outfit while I am out. Perhaps they are wrinkled when I put them on, but ease out by the time I examine my clothes outside.
Or, maybe it's just that my eyes simply can't pick up wrinkles, and the people I pass in public are secretly having a laugh at my expense.

XXII. Down

Lately I'm finding my motivation low, and my anxiety and depression high. Often the know-it-alls say that you just have to get out there and make do, but sometimes it sounds like "start climbing out of that five-mile trench."

XX. In Before July...

Teleology is the philosophical discipline that pertains to purpose. When I created this journal last December, it was supposedly to give me a place to record my many musings.

Well, it's over six months into the project (including the past seven weeks with nothing whatsoever) and my page sits here, nearly bereft of content.

I posit that as of now, Gotham in Exile is not fulfilling its intended purpose. I think I will have to take a radically different approach to this journal, or it will disappear into a vacuum of disuse and indifference.

On another note, the world lost one of its foremost contemporary social commentators and philosophers last week:

the great George Carlin.

So, in honor of his trip to the Big Electron, I propose a seven-gun salute:

SHIT!!
PISS!!
FUCK!!
CUNT!!
COCKSUCKER!!
MOTHERFUCKER!!
TITS!!