Mental Naseau - Texas Style

Houston - sometime in September of '08:

General vagrancy and destruction. Vandals, king-pins pimps and all sorts of evil-doers were up to their usual nonsensical no good. All it takes is one notably strong hurricane to bring enough wind pressure to blow them out of their respective rat-holes, gutters, and toppled tree houses. Surprisingly, to me at least, most of the general eveil-doers in Houston (80%) live in or very near tree houses; the worst place to be holed up when a hurricane hits. Lesson learned?

Houston is a sprawling wasteland anyway, with 36" pipes for petroleum transport creating a phenomonally intricate and vast web and huge flames 100 feet in the air that disrupt the night sky but prevent cancer they say. Birds were often seen vaporizing as they tempted fate by passing through the torches. Neil Diamond's "Love on the Rocks," can be heard almost constantly as background music.

Houstong took some damage from Ike, mostly cosmetic, but Houston's soul (if there ever existed one) was severely fucked by the Enron scandal. Two giant building lie dormant (windows now lost in hurricane) and remind commuters each morning of how badly they were duped.

The city is a good place for schemer's of that type - the carnival workers of the high-stakes business world. Summertime carnival workers wouldn't have handled the situation any worse by my own calculations. Some say better if you discount the cases of sexually transmitted diseases among the crowd. Houston's a big and lawless place where you feel like if you're slick enough (with your clothes and hair at the very least) you could steal the stroller from under a baby, or perhaps, if you're a bit more ambitious, scheme an entire city into buying your product that doesn't exist. Hail Minute Maid, which I've indulged and know to exist. It is sweet and delicious just like you no doubt. It comes from Mexico, but its resemblance to American quality is uncanny. At least at the carnival I have a little sympathy for the brave soul that lives on the road, mostly addicted to speed, but sometimes to weird sexual perversion, as alluded to previously. But, I at least know that the carnival is losing proposition or at least a low-risk joke. Houston got caught up in real time carnival economics driven by stupid Texas politicians and highly offensive jokes. The kind that only an uncle by marriage could, and would, tell. I couldn't get it out of my head throughout the duration of my stay.

So, one begins to wonder what their chances are wandering the streets of the 3rd largest metro area in the US: nobody's sure, or at least is willing to tell you or even give you and information that they might have. I did have one encounter personally where information was obtained but by a source that swore certain epidermal consequences if the information was leaked. I'll take that risk, for your own good. According to Mills, three foot hardened machetes, the typical Houston party favor, aren't nearly enought to fend off assassin hoards that were granted military immunity with access to missile launchers, armored bulldozers, and media outlets. They were unforgiving when they got you, and made many women and children wish they had drowned in the sewage pools that were only now receding. Even the big shots locked themselves inside their compounds - with or without electricity.

It goes without saying that I won't be making South Texas home anytime soon. There's simply too much uncertainty and humidity. The chaffing resulting from constant dampness can easily demoralize a man to the point that life's ambitions become mere specters to the mind. Uncertainty is what's made the area prosperous, and dangerous. Some seek the thrill, others simply (and incorrectly) believe it's all a sound and logical life investment. The principal that result's in this thinking is, of course, an inherited trait. And since procreation is a strong Southern principal (in the name of Jesus), the system is perpetual and increases in strength exponentially. I will go back in 20 years or so and be twice as nervous, and twice as selective about which futuristic physical and mental weapons I'll equip myself with (for defensive purposes only). Prais Jesus.

Human glory and the limiting outer boundaries

Just today, due to an incident that involved both Germans and the jokes they are a part of, I was reminded of several key elements of "professional" American workplace etiquette. These rules, which I do not readily identify with but automatically succumb to, are arbitrary and destroy the souls of over a quarter million people daily (as reported by the DOL). Now, as a disclaimer to the opinions stated here, at work it doesn't take much to damage my soul or to harm me personally. My view is pessimistic and my optimism is always on the edge of a deep, dirty landfill; a personal fault of my own that I am debating whether or not to work to change. I am fragile. But, I think the rules I am referring to justify my general feeling of resentment and lack of business motivation. Have you ever read a corporate etiquette manual? Here's a sample from mannersandprotocol.com:

Benefits of Etiquette and Protocol Intelligence
-Projects confidence and authority
-Gives you the edge to cultivate long lasting relationships with clients and associates
-Projects a positive and respected image in the business community
-Builds teamwork among professionals

Here's another example that will surely work wonders:

Gina DeLapa, founder of Real-World Etiquette and graduate of The Protocol School of Washington®, brings years of experience as a business editor and university career counselor, and more importantly, a fun, interactive style that gets results. Transform your employees—regardless of their age or background—into a winning team.

...get transformed. And believe me, that will eventually happen. My soul may be weak at times, but my resistance level to manipulation is fairly high, and well tuned to this lewd commotion. Then again, who can argue against better authoritative projection and overall confidence used to persuade enemies? Not me.

What the manuals tell you is to do things right. Do things to please your father, son. Allow the feeling to enter your frontal lobe. Gina Delapa says this is fun, interactive, and gets results. I disagree.

What you can't do at work is bound to hurt you. You can't put up pictures of the band you used to be in, wear improper clothing, make misplaced jokes (but not clearly offensive), resort to occasional violent language (or activity), or do a fist pump with the top clients. This, we are told, is poor etiquette.

The boundaries cease to allow us to live naturally and suffocate our principals. The boundaries keep us caged and under arrest in a pseudo-free world. I am an advocate for crushing through the boundaries and sailing without resistance into the real world. I sincerely recommend any behavior beyond the convention, and support your right to proceed with it. I am today's 100,000th casualty of corporate etiquette. Today, a piece of me was mortally crippled and will wilt in the October sun to a mere raisin. Be aware. Protect yourself.

Etiquette:
The practices and forms prescribed by social convention or by authority (read arbitrary and unessary rules of a dangerous game)

Another cracked soul in the bread bowl

Prior to sunrise human encounters are rare and should be avoided, if at all possible. In the event that accidental contact is made, and absolutely no escape is possible, things may turn confusing and weird very quickly. Just this morning, for example, as I stood outside a cockroach infested motel (Extended Stay, complete with curry-scented room) prior to sun-up of course, I was approached by an Asian man, hands outstretched (not looking for a match). He was marching, brooding. He had intent. As time slowed for a brief instant, and I watched, information was not processed (one of, but not the only, dangers of pre-sunrise run-ins). This is the gray area of these encounters as you might learn. Anything can happen, and just may. The entire palette of things resulting from human behavioral dynamics is available and possible: simple inquiries resulting from maniacal kidnapping/assaults, incidental eye contact turned into the ultimate pain of Russian roulette, a misplaced pair of eyeglasses resulting in 16 consecutive hours of lost time that you will never get back from the Vietnamese prostitutes, holistic healers and speed freak millionaires who have more time to waste than anyone on these sorts missions. These millionaire are in fact the most dangerous of all, with unlimited resources to use on you with the strategy of keeping themselves entertained. I myself have often times awoken in the luggage compartment of a luxury personal jet smelling of gold bullion, crab legs, various lubricants, and other scents of decadence. Depending on the millionaire, said lubricants can range from common 5W-30 to high grade KY products. You'll never know for sure where you'd been, you'd just know that you'd been there.

But I digress, as for my encounter, I was lucky this time. I remained cool and collected, and kept my poise (although Asians do have a tendency to come off as less threatening to me). He approached very close to me and had something to give me. Before I even had a chance to inspect the item for its usefulness or danger as a poison (caution would be used), he realized his error and changed his path, apologizing frantically. I'm sure he thought that was very amusing. Good morning, I hope you enjoy your breakfast. Then he left. These are the times we live in. Rejoice. Good luck.

The Wicker Man

Your time will come...

Sacrificed to some lewd, unknown gods. A terrible way to succumb. Buried beneath a tree that is the sole remainder of your existence. The Wicker Man. Burn in 1973.