I (HEART) Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela

I recently received a dispatch from "Hands Off Venezuela,"
an international group that is adamant about the right of
Venezuela to rule herself, which is rather distressing.
Personally, I see Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez as an
eloquent and forceful representative of the power of democratic
socialism. He has done more to end poverty in Venezuela since
taking office in 1998 than any other president in the history of
the republic. Absurdly, a man who won his office with 56.1% of
the vote in 1998, and who won an opposition-led recall
vote in 2004, is called a "dictator" by American conservative
leaders. This is from Widipedia.com:

"The recall vote was held on August 15, 2004. Record
numbers of voters turned out, and polling hours were
extended by at least eight hours. 59.25% of the vote was
against the recall, for Chávez remaining in office. Election
observers Jimmy Carter of the Carter Center and OAS
Secretary General César Gaviria endorsed the results of
Venezuelas' recall referendum."

While embracing democracy and a campaign against corruption,
Chavez has re-organized Petróleos de Venezuela (PDVSA) to
pay huge dividends to the people via elaborate socialist programs.
He calls himself a "21st Century Socialist." This year, almost
half a billion dollars has flowed in from Citgo alone (the PDVSA
owns half of Citgo) to fund socialist programs like the "Inside
the Barrio" program. That program provides free health and
dental care to people who live in heinous poverty. And through
an oil deal with Cuba, over 20,000 Cuban doctors have been flown
into the barrios of Venezuela to fight disease and promote
health programs.

Venezuela also has seven privately-owned and openly-critical
television stations and newspapers.

If embracing republican government, the existance of a vibrant,
free press, and fighting to end poverty are the acts of a tyrant,
what do the actions of our own president represent?

I understand why Chavez and the Movement for the Fifth
Republic (his party)are annoying American imperialists. He
openly states that he fears assassination by the US, and that he
thinks Condi Rice has a crush on him. He is also reducing the
amount of oil sold to the US by Venezuela and instead selling
to China, Cuba, and "PetroCaribe," a group of Caribbean islands
that will buy oil at almost $25 less a barrel than the market
dictates. His first deal beyond China and Cuba was made
earlier this week, with Jamaica, for 20,000 barrels a day at $40
a barrel. This while oil prices are at $66 a barrel.

That's bound to piss off the Estados Unidos.

The unification of Latin American socialists (the Bolivarian
Revolution, named for the revolutionary anti-imperialist
Simon de Bolivar), the end of poverty, and a desire to see
the world evolve beyond capitalist degradation are all
nice changes from US puppet-governments, corruption,
and unspeakable greed.

That is how I feel about the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela.
Unfortunately, my feelings and thoughts and everything I
mentioned probably won't save my beloved comrade. The
aforementioned letter from "Hands Off Venezuela" contains
a piece from NewsMax about how many in the CIA and US
Military agree with Pat Robertson's assessment that Chavez
should be "taken out." This comes from the article,

"'Chavez is a dangerous guy,'" retired Col. David Hunt told Bill
Bennett's "Morning in America" fill-in host Steve Malzberg on
Wednesday. "We helped to elect the son of a gun [and] after 9/11
you don't get to threaten us."

It gets better.

"The issue of assassination 'should be on the table,' Hunt said.
'I'm suggesting that we use it as a tool . . . to get those guys
nervous.'

Former CIA Operative Wayne Simmons agreed. 'He should have
been killed a long time ago,' Simmons said."

The Bush Administration doesn't speak out against these
comments, instead he simply says that they are legal coming
from citizens and not government representatives. As a US citizen,
I'm going to have to politely insist that our government speak
with greater force against those who threaten acts of terrorism. For
isn't an assassination the ultimate act of terrorism?

Atheism And The Wheel

As an atheist, I respect life more than any theist. This has been discussed among friends and comrades lately. It's true that I personally see life as pointless, at least my life, but that doesn't by definition devalue life in general. And atheism has no apparent impact on how much the numerous atheists in my life appreciate how exotic is life in the universe; atheism can make life quite precious. I don't value my own life, but that has nothing to do with my atheism; I despise myself and would eradicate my existence (meaning never have been born) in a minute. I ache inside and wistfully imagine a wonderful world that didn't have to endure my having helped poison it. Suicide is awful, as it hurts the living, and there is enough pain in the world; I know that now. I have tricked people into loving me, and they would feel betrayed by another suicide attempt, nevermind a successful suicide. Therefore, as an atheist, I can say that I appreciate the spectacle of life, in all of its splendor and horror. But the whole wheel could have turned without me, and I wish it had.

Call me a "whiner" and I will nod, and go on wishing it.

But it's a mistake to blame my lack of spirituality on my self-loathing. If I were a devout anything, I would find myself hating god; it's better this way. For one, I get to pity myself and every little thing. And being pissed-off at the Almighty for all the pain and cruelty hidden in the garbage is pointless. What do I know about being a deity? Besides, I can't help but know that there isn't a god...there isn't. It's been the Issue of Greatest Concern in my noggin' since I was age 9. If you know of a god out there, have the fucker drop me a line.

So in short, atheism sees life in contrast with the void. Look around the universe and see how rare is life. They should put "Life" on the Periodic Table of the Elements and rate how infrequently we uncover it here and there. Perhaps not.

Again, the rules change for everyone when we look at ourselves alone within the world. Then I can understand the desire to want to let things move without you. I hope that makes sense to those who love me.

But above everything there is compassion, that I know. I never knew of anything that didn't benefit by it, or suffer from its opposite, cruelty.

So there's that.

Of Kids and Their Penguin Stares

I'm sure you understand that I agree that there are too many children, and by extension too many people. I get really, really pissed when I see people with large families, and frankly I don't see many. But when I was down at Roger Williams Park in RI three weeks ago and they had an event for kids that night (some dinosaur thing), there were HUGE families everywhere, and I don't like it. And what I don't like needs to go away from me.

I don't know why, but I hate people who stupidly decide to have nine kids, or even one. Sure, they're kicking my evolutionary ass. But is there anything more fucking annoying than a kid who isn't yours? I almost kicked about 50 of them. Their fat little fingers up their fat, little noses, their blank penguin stares, the screaming and yelling, the demands for this and that. Shut the fuck up and exit my life.

My balls never worked, and to avoid a life threatening cancer they removed one. By "they" I mean the ice cream man and the UPS girl. Actually, it was a urologist. Sadly, I'll never be the father to a testicular cancer, either. But even before that, my thunder had no lightning. I wish they took both of my testicles, though, as then I could get kicked in the crotch without the painful aftermath. I was kicked in the nuts exactly once, by a guy, and I literally almost passed out. I'm not sure, but I think it was Admiral James Stockdale, Ross Perot's running mate in 1992. Anyway, I could do without the dangling "off" button betwixt my legs.

Over the years, several therapists have considered, as have I, that my infertility and numerous other health problems have made me feel abnormal. That could be, yes. But there is a big difference between wanting to be free of suicidal thoughts, self-destructive adventures and mind-crushing depression and anxiety, and wanting to be "normal."

I've seen "normal," and I don't like it. I mean I REALLY don't like it. Smart people giving up risky ambition to feed a child? Sure, that's normal. But I don't like it. I hate it, actually. A friend of mine sent out invitations to his daughter's birthday, her FIRST birthday. The kid is sitting in her own shit and I'm supposed to thoughtfully consider a present? Buy a fucking Carvel cake and cut it with a hot knife. Jesus.

So maybe it would have been interesting to me to have once been fertile. However, I don't think it would have ever been more than "interesting." And as we've been discussing, it may have been just awful. I'm a self-centered, neurotic, nihilistic prick who seriously looks forward to non-existence. You don't call an abomination like that, "Daddy!"

It would be nice to have the feeling back where they made the incision on the right side of my crotch, but that's only because it's a strange numbness that compels me to fondle it as I recline in bed at night.

Would you like to feel my numb crotch scar? What? I'm insulted! Now somebody cut the fucking cake.

Anal Sex Test Used By Real Anal Sex Gurus

Find out if you enjoy anal sex in 4 simple steps!
For continuity reasons, this has to be done with the same partner:

1. Have sex ten times and rate each time on a scale of 1-10.
2. Eliminate your best sexual experience and your worst, develop a mean number rating.
3. Shove something up your ass.
4. Repeat the first two steps.
If your mean rating is higher after shoving a lamp or something up your ass, you like anal sex!

Here are my results...

Initial mean rating of 49
(marble ashtray then shoved up my ass)
Secondary mean rating of 3
Therefore, I don't like anal sex...at least not when using a dirty ashtray with a cigarette still burning in it.

More later!

Fear and Distrust and a Mind Full of Memories Alone

I'm "on disability" and to some people this sounds like Heaven. I guess I can understand this, as work is usually hell. I've worked long enough to know that, but it doesn't provide a person like me with much comfort.

I miss the world. I miss the accidental friendships and stupid stories that come with being somewhat within the mainstream. I used to work the overnight shift at a Boston Hotel, and that job provided me with dozens of stories. One night, the groom at a Jewish wedding dropped dead 2 minutes after getting married. The night crew coming into the hotel at 11pm were all told to "look solemn" and not to laugh at anything.

Another night, I stood on a floor-buffing machine and turned it on when my friend Napoleon dared me to. I was thrown 30 feet away, and the security people came downstairs and said they would never erase that security tape; it was the funniest thing they ever saw. "John," a Gulf War I veteran was there.

I think I have a lot of funny stories from school and work. I was approved for Social Security Disability shortly after my heart fluttered and nearly stopped due to an overdose in Boston's Copley Square. John from the hotel was there, too, looking into my eyes and clearing the crowd around me. I remember that just before I passed out. After I was diagnosed with "severe anxiety and panic disorder, bipolar disorder, PTSD, and borderline personality disorder, dysthymic disorder, and severe depression," I was pretty much on disability. I didn't care. Now I do, and perhaps that's a good thing. Maybe one day I will work again. Maybe I won't.

But all that schooling went to waste. A shame they didn't know that the brain getting the education was rotted-out. They could've saved money and provided it to someone else. A bag of rats would've been better.

Since 1998, my first suicide attempt, I have become a person of no consequence, by design. Being a person of consequence is too taxing on me, apparently. I'm a shadow, and am totally irrelevent.

It may sound good to some of us, but it's not very much fun, to miss the living while fearing them. To want to travel but suffer from agoraphobia. It's a big, fucking joke. Dr. Gibbons used to take me out to lunch every week to talk about everything from politics to planes (he was a pilot). He was the chair of the Anthropology Dept. We especially like to talk forensic osteology. Gone now, though. A friend of mine at university told me I would make a great teacher. Can you imagine? I can't...Darren W. Lyle as anything but the living dead.

I do miss hope and potential. UMass Boston isn't my school anymore, and I have no workplace...I'm not emotionally capable of tolerating random human contact for long periods of time. So I have no place at all. I'm such an asshole.

Isn't it pathetic? To seek such comfort in memories? To be unable to cut new experiences out of fear and distrust of oneself.

The Mantra: Life will end one day, I'm not a bad person for being sick.