LOVE LIZARDS

I took photos of these two lizards — the pics merged together using PhotoFiltre — after getting home from work. I noticed them holding tight to a stair railing after getting out of my car and walking around the corner from my place to pick up my mail. Since they didn’t run off as soon as they saw me I went back to my car and grabbed my Nikon D50, which I carry to and from work everyday, and walked back to where the lizards were. I think the lizard on the left is a male and the one on the right is a female, as it seemed to me that they were getting to know each other before I showed up. Usually, these fast as hell fuckers run like crazy when they see me — hence, no pics have ever been taken of them by me and posted on Flickr. But those other lizards, and there’s all kinds living in and around my apartment complex, I’ve seen have been by themselves. So I’m thinking for these two love birds the thoughts of sex and fucking in their lizard minds kept them where they were, despite my presence. They patiently allowed my intrusion, somehow realizing I wasn’t a threat and merely an annoyance (especially with my flash going off) and stayed where they were to wait me out before they went on with their Love Potion No. 9 business.Let me tell you. That male lizard was one lucky bastard. He got laid and all I got was to show you a picture of the hot babe, with the long, lean tail that goes all the way up, he was about to get down with. Meanwhile, I go back up to my one bedroom apartment, process the photos of the horny lizards in Nikon’s Capture NX digital darkroom software, write this shit up, post some of it to my Flickr page, along with the above photo, and then spend the next 2 hours answering all the god damn e-mails I get, feed my cat, Bukey, clean out her cat box, and, while doing all of this, in the background I half-watch the Texas Rangers lose to the Seattle Mariners, 5-2, on opening day. Then, unlike the lucky lizards above, I go to bed alone (as always). I’m a negative creep malcontent who hates his life, drives a 17-year-old Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera with a non-working AC (trust me, not a good thing if you live in Texas like me), a guy no woman on the planet wants to be around (I’m quite fucking ugly in attitude and appearance), a 48-year old nice guy loser with a suicidal personality who despises his job and who hates being alive and wished he’d be killed by something, anything, as long as it happens soon so I won’t have to keep suffering with all this fucking shit.

God damn it, I thought, this is the usual negative shit I always write but what the hell else is there?

George Carlin was correct when he said, “Life is worth losing.”And it’s also correct when my buddy over at Meatlights39 writes, “Being a loner is a great gift except when it’s not.”

LIFE IS A FUCKING JOB

“The real nightmares always begin with sunlight.”

— Meatlights 39

I hate waking up to the fucking alarm clock’s searing whine of endless beep-beep-beeping, knowing the irritating noise means another day of my existence will be wasted away, like the bug you step on, by driving my Shitmobile to a worthless, stupid office clerk job. And not only is the job annoying, with America’s lamest freaks and failures calling me for some sort of housing salvation that isn’t available because there’s a two-year waiting list, it’s populated with co-workers who’re just as bad as the callers are. One person said, “You work with a lot of crackheads (meaning they’re stupid).” I sure do. An example of that is this black guy who is always asking me to help him with the date stamp, his laptop or our office’s Xerox copiers/printers. I feel the great urge to tell him that “even after all this equal opportunity and affirmative action shit you still need a white man, who is paid half of what you make, to figure it out for ya, eh?” But, since I need my job and it’s Black History Month, I don’t dare say those words out loud. Of course, if I did, I would be terminated instantly for mocking/shaming/outing a useless negro. Some of my co-crackheads are still working even though they’ve put in 35 to 45 years on the job and could retire any time. Now if that’s not outright insane I don’t know what is. So not only do I work with crackheads I work with insane people too. “God,” I think, “what fucking losers.” I am amongst the losers, and I am a loser, and I hate being a loser (nice guys DO finish last) but, what the hell, this is my place in the world and nothing is ever gonna change it. This is what life is, its meaning: trying to get through a day unscathed (which is very unlikely, of course) and then waking up to the alarm and the next day to carry on with it all once again is the meaning of life. As the days of your life pile up and you learn more and more about living and how unfair and nasty and disrespectful and what a spectacle of zero it is you do finally ‘get it’ and begin to slowly but surely figure shit out. But, by the time you do finally ‘get it’, you’re too God damned old and too fucked up to make a move, since all your previous moves ended in utter failure. So you find out what gets you fucked up the best and just stick to that for relief from the job and life. You also swallow your pride, what there is left of it, and stick to, out of basic survival, a demeaning job, always knowing unemployment is one split second away for your ass and then you’d be standing there amongst the monkeys at unemployment, begging for crumbs from a flat face that doesn’t give a shit.