were I not to find
that which I most desperately seek
what would this life be worth?
not nil, I pray
even in this half-existence
can I not steal a few drops of
reflected sunlight
from ghosts and phantoms
of things that could never be?
like a half-starved cur
begging at his master's feet.

I can't remember the first time I ran into Hunter S. Thompson's work, but it was relatively recent, and it all started with "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." I think it might have been in the awful aftermath of the 2000 election which destroyed the American Republic. On first glance, the movie is incomprehensible, almost literally so. The lines are half-muttered, the characters addled on drugs, and insanity is the only logic to the course of events. Which, if you think about it, is really what the world is like. And in time I realized what "Fear and Loathing" was: a requiem for the American Dream. Not just the end of the freedom of the '60's, but a generalized regression. The loss of potentiality. The Republic finally failing against the forces of history and entropy, and decaying into Empire.

I knew it was only a matter of time. Bluetooth-enabled iPods. (It's only a rumor.)

and here I thought that I've actually stopped being pessimistic.

Who wants to be an artist? I do.

Bleh. I dreamnt of [redacted] last night… as I am wont to disclaim, it was nothing perverted. If I were a little more emotional, or if I wasn't so tapped out and bled dry, I might have wept upon waking, but everything is just too little, too late, and what the fuck am I doing here surrounded by people I do not trust, people who would probably sell me if it would turn them a profit.