Venti

Hey, yo.  

So God is love.  And love is a man of war.  And this man of war is a serial killer.  And only this serial killer is good.   And I don’t believe in God.   I believe in me.   I’m better.   If you want to worship me, that’s fine.   But I’m not God, necessarily.  I’m not an avatar of Zurvan.  I’m just Jesse Teshara.   Jesse Lawrence Teshara.   Not the other guy.  I’m a buddhist.  Which means I believe I don’t exist.   I mean, I don’t have a self.  I have a body.   Which changes, daily.   Food in, excretion out.   Another day closer to death.  So I’m human, and I’m a deity, like Jesus, but I have no intention or desire to go out like that.  I’m better according to the criteria of the Bible, itself.   Thou shalt not kill.   Well, I accidentally crashed my car and killed my sister.   But it wasn’t intentional.   I’ve been kind of undead ever since.  And my mom is schizophrenic.  So I’ve got those genes.  I’m a telepath, too.  Yawn.   Yada, yada, yada, always about me.  What about you?   God made you too.  Your parents made love.  What a boring fucking blog.  The premise is I’m a deity, and so can you?  Like self-help empowerment or something?  But everybody just thinks I’m crazy.   Which I am.  But only God is good.  And God doesn’t exist unless you play the role.  And there’s a zillion Gods, not just one.  Unless everybody’s me.  I’m nobody.  My mind is a blank unless I’m talking, writing, reading.  Dreaming or thinking.  Like you care.  I’m just meat, like everybody else.  We’re almost all carnivores.  I had a steak today, with sauce. And gummy bears.   And some LU cookies.  I did 420 pushups.  I went to the library.  I read some Dave Eggers.  My blog got 767 views today.  It’s the last day of the month.  I averaged 351 views a day this month.  Best month ever.   I like traffic.  My birthday is in 3 days.   I turn 52.  Christ Jesus.   Halfway, if I’m lucky.  I’ve got plenty to do.    Miles to go before I sleep.  

What do I really want to say.   Need to say.   It’s all bullshit.  People suck.  Everyone is ugly.  I’m 20-30 pounds overweight.  The gym is no fun.  Fucking crazy people everywhere.   Swimming can be painful.  The money for the beef for the hate.  Pre-diabetic and still gaining weight.  I don’t want to be fat, like fricking Donald.   I want to set an example.  Be in love.  Love each other;  love all, serve all.   Impossible...  Not a chance.  Roommates drinking alcohol, and coughing, and being annoying.  Rat droppings.  Silent treatment.  Christian delusion.  Just keep to myself.   Patricia and Karen, and Marlen and Austin, and Julie and Sam, and Teresa and Johnny, and Greg and Liz, and Sara and Pierre.   And me, myself, and I.   And David.   Ugh.  Mom and Rose and Vicki and Erin and Dan and Ben, Declan, Esme, Summer, Augie, Hugo, Miette, Electra, and the occasional text to Caitlin or Kate, and the memory of dead cats.  Whatever.  Edgar y Isabel y Victor.   Elias and Giorgio and Jackie and Irineo and Aaron ("the ghost") and Miguel and Michael.   Y moi.  The 11 of us.  

I want to visit Japan and Europe.   I want to publish.  I want to read the NYT and Economist, and all the books in my room, and on my lists.   I want to hear all the recommended music.  I don’t think it matters much.    Will I ever finish?  All my trivia, and the J! archive, too.  And the World Book encyclopedia.  I need discipline, and intensity, and engagement with the material, not just mental masturbation.  Okay, get to work, dude.  Just do it.   Live and let die.   Be good,  Only God is good.   So be God, then.   Or be bad.  Be the devil.  Be a monster.  Be a demon.  Eat meat every day, and hate everyone you want to, in this rotten, fuct up world, in a world of human wreckage.  Get up, stand up, don’t give up the fight.  Or whatever.  Who cares.   Sometimes I don’t.  We all just live and die, and none of it matters one bit, on this stupid planet.   I’m feeling absurd.   I’ve never believed in heaven.  Destination, death.  So it goes.

9/1

Good morning, folks!   Another lovely day, here in the Bay Area.  I’m off to Benicia again for 3 and a half days, to sit a house, and look after Junie.  Another lovely home.  I’ll turn 52 on Sunday.  Happy Birthday to me! Another trip around the sun.  Gonna have dinner at some point with Mom, after.  I have gifts for Ben and Declan.   I’m ready for Xmas.  I’ll go to the gym.   It’s almost 10a.  I slept in.  Boring!!  I’ll go get a bacon cheeseburger from the cafe by the park (Broom bush cafe).  A good meal.  Or maybe French toast.  (No, I got the burger).