Nothing in particular to say tonight, just a desire to turn a mediocre day into something worthwhile. Writing does that for me.
Admittedly very late to the game, I began reading Machiavelli's The Prince today. I'm dealing with some rather dubious swine at my place of wage slavery, so I figured that a course in political maneuvering would be in my best interests. That, and to take a page out of Henry Rollins, any book on the shelf that I've not read mocks me. So far, it's fascinating. Hopefully I'll learn a trick or two about turning motherfuckers against one another. Thus far in my life, I've refrained, out of a sense of self-respect, from much snitching, lying, and general dishonesty with regard to coworkers, but after watching an episode of Dexter recently, I realized how this kind of bullshit could be used to stop some people who are trying to get me fired. (As much as I hate that job, I wonder why I care.)
Methinks a refresher course in Von Clausewitz, Sun Tzu and Miyamoto Musashi is in order as well. One of the offending swine noticed my copy of The Prince, and asked if it was by the same cat referenced by the late Tupac Shakur. I mean no disrespect to Tupac when I surmise that after a comment as such, I can't imagine that this person should be very difficult to handle.
I've been blasting the great southern California punk band, T.S.O.L. today in honor of singer Jack Grisham's 50th birthday. I also ordered a copy of his memoirs, An American Demon. From the excerpts I've seen, should be a hellride of a read; rampant destruction, violence, drugs, sex with an old woman in a crypt, anarchy, chaos, and punk rock. I'm amazed that he's still alive, but glad, just the same.
In 1995, after seeing another band of his, The Joykiller, in El Paso TX, I spent the night at the bar conversing with the bass player who had done time in both the Gun Club and the Weirdos. It meant the world to me that that this OG punk rock vet would take the time to chat music with me. Still does. Meanwhile, my comrades were talking with Jack, who liked them enough to give them each a shirt from the merch booth. As we drove away, I begged them to turn around so that I could ask Jack for a shirt. Gratis, of course. He was nice, and gave it to me. It kills me to this day that I was that guy at a punk rock show, begging for a hook up. Later, when I was away at college in dullsville USA (Lubbock, TX), I wrote Jack a few times, and he was cool enough to write back. He suggested that I piss off my neighbors in the dorm as he pissed off his neighbors, by blasting the great Isaac Hayes singing The Look Of Love. I love Jack Grisham.
I'd like to write more, but I'm about to fulfill a desire that's been burning in me for over a quarter of a century. When I was a young lad, I saw, on television, a short part of a science fiction film entitled Robinson Crusoe On Mars. That mere hour or so has stuck with me since then, much as the one episode I saw of the 1960's WWII drama, Combat has stuck with me. Today, I found it, and bought it. I've got a pizza in the oven, and I'm ten years old again. For now, life is good.
Dig that Adam West!
Best to be both. Not feared so much as to be deemed cruel or hated. Not loved so much as to be seen weak and merely at the favor of good will. But if a person had to choose only one, feared is safer. Heh heh.
Been a while since I read it, but it's a fun one and full of sensible insights for any 16th - 21st century ruler or ruler in waiting.
And thank you so much for your lovely comment on my set! xoxox