i am sick: no pleasure here.

quick update. i'm just crawling out of an epic struggle with the kid formerly known as influenza.
doctor tol' me: 'shoulda got your flu shot.' and: 'come back if the shit you cough up turns green.' and: 'stay away from pregnant women.'
cripes. in the immortal words of limp bizkit... i feel dangerous.
oh god... now i'm having horrible late nineties flashbacks.

anyway, after the flu came food poisoning. i've almost certainly nailed it down to 'no name' brand imitation crab cakes... although nobody else at the house was retching fine silt all of sunday night. i guess my whole immune system is still weakened from the virus.

the last two posts here have in some way been related to my bowels. i am truly sorry for this.
oh, what else? let's see...
one of three cats is in heat around here... pretty funny situation where the cat was crouching on top of the bathroom door... have no idea how she got up there, lacking a climbing harness and rope. She then pounced on Mi-sun when she went to use the bathroom at 7:30 in the morning. There was a blood-curdling scream which i remembered, vaguely... i woke up and assumed it had to have been a dream, so went back to sleep. Apart from that, the cat has been causing a urine disaster... peed on blair's bed, on rachael's bed, on mine...
Hey, speaking of Bowel Movements...!

And there was also an election in Iraq... with electoral officials apparently telling people they wouldn't be receiving food rations if they didn't vote. I dunno, that situation is giving me deep misgivings. Quoth the shitheads: "What, you little snotnosed commie lib-ruhl... you got something against voting?" You bet your fucking ass-sputum i do. Voting is about the cheapest consolation prize you can give that special someone on your list of the oppressed. If freedom is to mean anything, after all the insults and abominations that have been attributed to it these past decades, it must mean more than the choice between two preselected options... it's gotta reside on the border between society and the undiscovered... it has to be a blank piece of paper rather than a ballot. Our generation, it has no frontiers, man... no condition left undone. Edward Abbey had a great quote, which i've only begun to play around with in head... human freedom needs wilderness. The implied social contract requires some alternative, a negation... otherwise it is laid bare as the sham that it is. And the last refuge of the priviledged is to claim 'there is no alternative'... bullshit fatalism. Let the migrant workers plot and scheme in the broom closet... there is no fatalism there. They can think of a thousand ways to enrich their lives... you're not going to like any of 'em.
After six days of being sick from the bike courier job, my boss called me up to inform me that i should return the cellphone in my coat pocket because i was being charged for every day i kept it... i asked him why he had waited six fucking days to inform me of this. Especially since I had asked about the commission/charge scheme on the first day, and he had 'been too busy' to go over it...
Him: "Hey, c'mon... that's business..."
If nothing else, capitalism exists as a parallel moral system... businessmen swoon with heady relief, see, that's just business. You didn't say Simon says. Businessmen take capitalism the least seriously of all. It's just a game, see. Nothing is for keeps! Ken Saro-Wiwa digs himself out of a shallow grave at halftime, knocks on the door at Shell Headquarters... they all share a good laugh. "Man! You sure got me there!"
Morals dictated by intent rather than their consequences. You ruin another man's life because he trusted your handshake and word. Oops! That's business, pal. It's like yelling 'Gotcha!' and running away giggling. It's business. It's an apology. Businessmen released from the weight of behaving like adults.
Don't ever apologize to me and tell me it's 'business.' Stand on your hind legs for once in your wasted life. Own your deceptions. Own your petty lies. Just once I'd like someone to say to me: "yes, i cheated on you and was dishonest. i saw an opportunity to make a little more money and so i took it. i understand that you have no recourse, either legal or otherwise. my word is to me worth less than thirty dollars." Just lay it bare. Business does not work through your fingers, god does not speak from your mouth. Stop pointing to the sky when i call you on your shit.
When we drain the swamp of gods, we kill your scapegoats. Leave you on the far bank to grieve over your rusty treasures. Leave you to dream of the days of being young... collecting deathbed conversions from serial killers. Gleefully considering it a job well done: "that's two more souls for gawd!!! I'll be district champion this year!!!" People are so careless with their toys.

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okay. enough with the dark poetry, man. My eyeballs hurt. here's entertainment.
(edit)
Tall glasses (of ginger tea, sadly) Raised to the Peasant Insurgency. Wish I coulda been there.