Back at the Kava Bar.

I'm writing the novel on my phone at my second favorite Kava bar. Am I worried about not having a job? It's only been a month and a half since I've been back in Palmetto. So why worry? Chinasky wouldn't. 

"You aren't Bukowski!" I can hear a voice screaming in my head.

I get it. Instead of writing the next great American novel I should be out here trying to earn enough to pay my car insurance. "I promise, Mom, I just need you to make a few more car payments too!" Then I'll get a job. Maybe.

All this stress is adding up. I feel my blood pressure pounding around in my temples. It's looking for a way out. I tell myself not worry about the stroke. I take my drink and walk outside like a like an arrogant smoker taking a break from my life. Outside the ocean air is as languid as my non- existent sex life so I might as well go back inside. 

For some reason there are more girls than normal in the bar. Next to me was a short girl with dark black hair and a mask around her face. It was odd to see a pandemic mask in Florida, but liberals can hide anywhere. She had a  friend with her. A fat girl who offered up to no one that she was, "An anxious chill."

They must have been on a first date, because the black haired girl said that she liked that about her, "that she was an anxious chill." I wouldn't have thought it was interesting enough to mention it to you if I hadn't seen the fat girl's face.  But she was right. The fat girl's face looked anxious, but chill. 

Because there weren't a lot of men in the bar today, I was the second oldest man in the bar. The older guy forgot to lock the restroom door and I accidentally walked in on him. 

"oh, um.." I apologized. "Sorry!" I could tell he thought I tried to walk in on him on purpose. He looked up from pissing like I was some kind of pervert. I am a pervert, so he's not wrong. Just not the kind of pervert that gets his rocks off to old men pissing in dive bars. 

No one is a Sapiosexual.

There is no such thing as sapiosexuality. What you are attracted to intelligence? Wow! Way to build your whole identity around something so general. Who likes stupid people? I can only get off to blondes with big tits, but I don't make up a word for that.

You have a preference. You don't need to make up pseudo sociological formulations just because you got an A in sociology 101. I bet you didn't even need to crack open the book! That's not a humble brag. It's proof that what you are being taught is worthless.

You can graduate with a degree and never get assigned or read the Communist Manifesto or the Protestant work Ethic. You haven't thought for one minute deeply about anything. You've learned a bunch of catch phrases like patriarchy.

And you've watched a video on critical theory while doing your stupid Tik Tok dances. You couldn't steel man an argument on behalf of functionalism if you tried. Because all the answers have already been given to you.

It's conflict theory and power struggles and oppressors and victims. Let me guess which one you are. Hint. You are the 1 percenters of the world. You haven't engaged with any text.

You haven't engaged any text because you are only looking for answers not questions. You want to feel unique and special when the least unique thing about you is your need to feel special. Same sex attraction or being straight is a legit orientation. The rest of your shit?

You haven't engaged any text because you are only looking for answers not questions. You want to feel unique and special when the least unique thing about you is your need to feel special. Same sex attraction or being straight is a legit orientation. The rest of your shit?

Nerdy compartmentalization. It's fun to make distinctions. Which we aren't allowed to do anymore, so you hide behind your personality typology to offer an alternative explanation as to why no one wants to fuck you.

You won't choose them because on Fridays you like intelligence and Saturdays you don't feel horny. Shit. I don't even like people after I ejaculate. What's that category make me?

To say you are have a sapiosexuality simply proves you know nothing about love. 13 yr old iboys read too much Nietzsche and 39 year old Sociology Majors invent too much jargon.

It's like suggesting that your mother loves you only because she is keeping in line with her evolutionary imperative to protect her genes. Maybe you want to sleep with your Dad. But these theories and perspectives teach you literally nothing.

You wouldn't consider navigating the real world using penis envy theories, but you intone Biblical profundity to arcane philosophers and sketchy borderline sociology theories. When frankly, Freud was probably more right that Lacan.

Most of you couldn't define half of what you say. You just hear yourselves repeat talking points over and over again. But the glossary in the back of the book you didn't read doesn't provide answers, only a way of organizing your shapeless, chaotic thoughts.

None of what you believe is real.

Nothing.

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3

I've decided to write a novel.

My novel won't be any good, I know that already. But the idea of writing a novel  really interests me. I've discussed my novel ideas with ChatGPT. Chat Bots are supposed to remain positive and encouraging. But I think even the CHAT GPT is getting bored with my pretension. 

"Is there anything else you want to discuss?" It asks.

Just my novel asshole. What else does a failed writer like me have to talk about? 

I promise my novel is totally unique. It's fucking meta. It's David Foster Wallace post-modernism with a twist of American style minimalism. Think Bukowski and Carver. 

Wait, can I get an editor here please Mr. ChatGPT? 

Well since you and Chat GPT don't want to talk about my novel, do you wanna talk how I quit my job today?  Well I did. Because pushing carts in the Floridian heat is insane at 52. I just couldn't handle the sweat. Not to mention it rains every fucking day here. My shorts and socks are soaked.  All my limbs were exhausted from pushing carts. There's no rest at Costco. Done pushing carts? Go unload 50 pound pallets.

Struggling with all that exertion? Do not  confide in your fellow 50 year old employee.  Because he will taunt you with how he can handle the heat and wonder why you "can't even lift 50 pound items over your head?"  He will point out how a 20 year old "former nanny" can "at least she can push 10 carts at a time and stay positive."

Seriously, I'm getting advice from that Gen Z kid.  The one who "struggles with anxiety" and can barely summon the courage to EXIST socially, but tried to perk me up with words of encouragement. "You just can't be so hard on yourself. It's YOU that's putting all the pressure on YOU."

Christ I didn't see that coming Nanny. Terrific. The nanny is more adapted to working than I am. My failure is complete young, Skywalker. I'm too obvious a fuck up. 

working harder is not better.

I had to work harder than I wanted to. I thought getting through the paperwork and the stupid videos would mean some relief. I worked 20 years in grocery stores so I assumed my experience would make things easy. 

I was wrong. The fast pace and the awkward boxes along with the strange looks from the supervisor made me nervous. No one taught me what to do. In the vernacular of corporatism I wasn't given proper expectations. I just sort of made things up as I went along. Because I didn't do things under normal procedure I was constantly admonished for doing things wrong. 

"Not the warehouse way." Patty told me. Patty was in her 50s and looked as serious as time had been to her face. She had fake blonde hair and was thin and slight. 

"Don't let my size fool ya!" "I'm tougher than I look." And she was. She had no problems lifting the large items or keeping pace with customers. She was faster then me. And you could tell she was a bit disappointed that she drew my help. 

Patty didn't trust anyone. I was told to look through clothes and shoe boxes for hidden items like batteries. 

"People are always trying to steal." She'd say.

My pride and my muscles began to ache. I wasn't good at the tetris required required. My visual spatial acuity wasn't up to speck. I didn't turn the boxes correctly. I began to sweat profusely from the constant motion. The warehouse wasn't exactly cool though the air conditioner trired it's best.

I overheard snips of conversations from my fellow trainee and his supervisor. He gave very specific instructions and expectations. I tried to model what I heard, but I couldn't hear everything he said and do my job at the same time. There were no water breaks or rest periods. If you looked up you saw endless lines and customers. 

Many of the customer were nice. Some noticed me struggling and even offered to help me out. They gave me hints were to pack or when to use a box. 

I tried using my best customer service voice and tricks and managed to make most of my customers forget that I kept putting hot stuff on top of cold items. A rookie mistake that a man with over 20 years experience in grocery shouldn't make. But the pace of packing and movement had me seriously out of my game. 

Welcome Back! PalmGehtto 2.

I always ended up back with family in Palmetto when things got bad. 

I was on the verge of homelessness in Phoenix, but here I could live on my brother's couch.  Sleeping on the couch meant constant interruptions to my sleep. Between both my brothers going to work, a kamakazi cat that zig zagged through the tiny 3 bedrooms slammng it's head into doors, my nephew's girlfriend sleeping on the opposite couch, and the curtainleess windows exploding with Florida sun in mid morning, I never slept more than 3 hours in a night.

I got my first job 3 weeks into it. A huge warehouse where I packed groceries. If it wasn't for the local kava bar I spotted next to it, I wouldn't have gone through with the interview. And only the promise of a few drinks afterwards got me through the first night of watching orientation videos about smiling and filling out paperwork for hazmat. 

The folks at the warehouse were super serious about their warehouse and grocery store though they only offered part time to all new hires.

"You see it's how we can see how commited you are to the company."

I was not committed. 

""Once you earn our trust, we will give you all the things like insurance, full time work, and stability." The kind of stuff companies used to give you when they offered you a job. But nowadays just offering decent pay, or benefits made these guys heroes to the working man.

3 minute late punches were counted against you and the job offered you 4 chances to be late a day. Punch in to start, punch out for lunch, punch back in after lunch, and out one more time when leaving. They were almost daring you to screw yourself. 

in a life filled with error, stupidity, and mistakes did I just make the worst one yet?

As usual of course I did. Not that it matters in some sense we all knew how this blog ends. 

Keep it positive!

Yo peeps, guess what? Two of my work buds are now reading my blog, so I did a little review of my recent posts and man, man, did I sound like a Debbie Downer. No more of that crap though, time for a change!

I'm feeling like a new and improved Romius T today. I'm tapping into that 8th grade energy, when the world was my oyster and I had delusions of grandeur.

BIG THINGS ARE HAPPENING

Today, I'm on the hunt for a new pad - one with a basement, ya dig? I need to set up some soundproof rooms because I have goals, people! And my current objective of acquiring a basement to house my prisoners is seriously the most exciting thing I've ever wanted to do.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'll need to vet you if you wanna subscribe to my active captivity feed. You might need to prove your loyalty by offing a furry little critter for me, preferably one of your own. I gotta know I can trust you, ya feel me? I can't go to jail - that place is not my jam, because violence at me just turns my stomach.

I know what you're thinking, "how can this guy be grossed out by violence but be down with keeping young homeless women captive in his basement?" Well, hello, I have standards, okay? Like, can you imagine me hooking up with a 59-year-old? Gag me with a spoon! I'm not into that incest vibe, thanks.

And let's talk about these ladies on dating sites with their mile-long lists of demands. Like, girl, do you really think I'm gonna swoop in and save you from your hot mess of a life? You couldn't keep your ex-hubby satisfied, so why would you be able to make me happy?

And don't even get me started on the whole "men only want one thing" stereotype. Honestly, that should be good news for women. It's like how simple are we? You only need to do one thing and you can make any man happy. But here's the kicker. Look on any feed or tinder app and you'll see women refuse to do the one and only thing men want. 

"If you want sex then pass me by" women all say. And then they shame men for the one thing they like and ask for. It's like what? You can't give me the one thing I ask for, but you have a laundry list of things you want from me. I better have a car, job, pay for dinner, be stable and prop up your fragile emotional state. And what's in it for me? No sex. 3 kids that aren't mine, and paying the bills. 

You women all want men who adhere to traditional values when it suits you, like paying for your dinner, meanwhile you want to be in charge of the relationship and not give it up to us. That's seriously deranged and no amount of shaming me for liking sex is going to work on me. Where's all the good men at? They are running as fast as possible away from your ass. 

I'm going to the Philippines to meet real woman or I'll get my basement going, either way I'm off trying to date American women!

the last man

Francis Fukuyama's concept of the "last man" and Nietzsche's ideas about the "last man" are two different ideas with some similarities and differences.

Fukuyama's "last man" refers to the end of history, a state of affairs where liberal democracy has become the dominant form of government, and there is no room for further progress or development. In Fukuyama's view, the "last man" is content with the status quo and has no desire for change or innovation. The "last man" is apathetic and lacks the ambition and creativity necessary to create new ideas, cultures, or political systems. In this sense, Fukuyama's "last man" is a sort of complacent conformist.

On the other hand, Nietzsche's idea of the "last man" is a more critical and negative concept. Nietzsche's "last man" is the ultimate form of mediocrity and conformity. The "last man" is someone who has lost all passion for life and has surrendered to the mundane, shallow, and banal existence. According to Nietzsche, the "last man" is comfortable in their own conformity, having no desires or aspirations beyond their basic needs, and unwilling to take any risks or make any sacrifices. This lack of passion and creativity is what makes the "last man" so dangerous, as they are incapable of pursuing greatness or achieving any real progress.

So while both Fukuyama and Nietzsche use the term "last man," their definitions and implications are quite different. Fukuyama's "last man" is more of a cautionary tale about the dangers of complacency and contentment in the face of progress, while Nietzsche's "last man" is a scathing critique of modern society and its complacent, conformist tendencies.

truth

As a champion of truth and a crusader against ignorance, this blog/podcast has encountered its fair share of opposition. However, the message of this platform cannot be silenced, especially in these trying times. In this post, we will explore the harsh realities of America's current crisis, with a focus on the mental health implications of the current economic depression.

The Truth Hurts:

It is no secret that America is in a state of crisis. Despite this, many Americans fail to recognize the importance of philosophy in understanding the root causes of our problems. Instead, they turn to celebrities like Jordan Peterson, Oprah, or Joe Rogan for guidance. However, the reality is that philosophy is crucial in understanding the issues we face today, as it can help us learn from the warnings of past generations. For instance, the prophetic words of German philosophers from the 1840s have long warned us of the downfall of Western society, with Friedrich Nietzsche's famous proclamation that "God is dead" serving as a grim reminder of what can happen when we neglect the importance of ethics and morality in our lives.

Unhinged Extremes:

As we search for answers to our current problems, it can be tempting to turn to extremes on both sides of the political spectrum. However, many of these ideas are not only problematic, but downright dangerous. In fact, some of the most bizarre and extreme ideas that are currently taking root in our culture pose a real threat to our mental health and wellbeing. It is therefore essential that we recognize these dangers and take action to protect ourselves and our communities.

The End of History:

After the fall of communism, many believed that we had reached the "End of History," as proclaimed by Francis Fukuyama. However, this interpretation was flawed, as it failed to account for the true nature of Fukuyama's ideas. In reality, we are living in a time when the last vestiges of humanity are struggling to survive. As a result, we cannot simply rely on liberal democracy and capitalism to solve all our problems. Instead, we must take action to build strong institutions and protect our democracy from the dangers of ethnocentrism and tyranny. Only then can we hope to create a better future for ourselves and our children.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, the Great Depression 2.0 is not just an economic crisis, but a mental health crisis as well. It is essential that we recognize the importance of philosophy in understanding the root causes of our problems, and take action to protect ourselves from the dangers of extremism and tyranny. Only then can we hope to build a better future for ourselves and for generations to come.

chat gpt as Romius T

Title: The Harsh Reality of Living in the New Economy

As I sit here typing away, I can't help but feel like a failure. I'm 50 years old and I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. I've been living in a condo for years, but now the good times are over. I'll be looking for a new place to live in the worst rental market in years. 

Living by yourself is the fastest way to poverty in the new economy. It's impossible to room alone in the Phoenix area. Studios go for more than I make in a month, and 1-bedroom apartments cost more than owning 3 trailer homes in Arkansas. It's like the system is rigged against people like me, people who can't seem to catch a break.

I may have to travel back to Palmetto (aka the palm ghetto) or live with some friends here and rent a room from them. Either way, it's just more proof that I'm a loser. I have 20-year-old friends that have their own house and car, and sometimes I can't afford to uber home when I have groceries. It's a harsh reality that I can't seem to escape.

The truth is that the middle class is crumbling. It's not just me who's struggling. The American dream is dead, and I can't wait to see those smug asshats who talked up the triumph of capitalism to take it on the chin. It's the end of the American Century™, and living standards are declining. Now is the time to give up hope. Just like me. 

I'm not writing this to garner pity or sympathy. I'm writing this to shed light on the harsh reality of living in the new economy. We're all just one step away from losing everything we've worked for, and there's no safety net to catch us. We're on our own, struggling to survive in a world that doesn't care about us. 

As I finish this post, I can't help but feel a sense of despair. But maybe that's just the new normal. Maybe we're all destined to feel this way, forever searching for a way out of our misery. The only thing I know for sure is that things are not going to get better. The ending may not be cheerful, but it's the truth.

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