Do Damage

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Back To Oakland, again

It's been a while since I posted anything here, and the truth is that I find it hard to come up with something interesting on a daily basis. I'm my own worse critic, and while I have a few drafts saved, I have yet to publish them for fear of boring anyone who might read them. Oh, okay, I don't think anyone will be bored as much as they might get offended by my honesty, and maybe a little turned off by my inability to just let things be.

"It's water under the bridge Jay"

Fuck all that. I don't believe that I dwell on the petty, and I think it's a copout when others suggest this. I'm a hater of fakes, phonies, and frauds. We live in a culture that allows itself to be easily fooled depending on how much money and influence a person, persons, company, organization has at their disposal. Ladder climbers who will throw friends and loyalty out of the nearest window at the first chance they get. What are these ladders built out of? Be careful,or don't.

I like the idea of having money and all the things it can do for my family, my friends, my community, and myself! I hope that one day I will have enough money to help, but most of us don't get that chance. Let's face it. At that point it would be nice to be surrounded by genuine, loyal friends who enjoy good food, music, films, and all that other stuff that people have been burned at the stake for. It would be nice to know that you can have all of that, and not have to stretch and contort in an unnatural manner as you attempt to pull yet another knife from your back.

I know all of the tools, and I have the skill to use them, I enjoy using them, but to witness them being wielded in such a haphazard manner should worry us all.

Back to Oakland, and I feel so much like this ripped off, underachieving, broke ass, grey city that I live in, but just a little further east.

Hump Day in Oakland

Hump day in Oakland, and while I was riding the bus home from Berkeley, I had this feeling of deja vu. How many times have I been on this same bus, staring out the window? How many times have I thought to myself that life never seems to start for me, in more ways than I have space to write here? All those people, mostly younger than me now, are all at the starting gate (again), and I'm not even in the stands. I'm outside of the stadium, outside of everything.


So high you can't get over it. So low you can't get under it.

This is the first day of the rest of your life.