A bit of a rant

Due to the number of political ads on my blog, I have decided to block them, as well as a number of other categories that I feel do not represent me and my points of view.  I don't want the ads on my site to misrepresent me, and I don't want people to believe I support a certain candidate that I in fact don't.  If you don't know me well enough to know my political affiliations...  Then you should read my posts a little more carefully.

I will say that I have been a registered Democrat my entire adult life, more due to my philosophical beliefs than to loyalty to any individual candidate or, for that matter, the party itself.  For that reason, in particular, I will not openly support either of the major candidates, because I don't feel that either one really represents me, nor do I believe that my representatives or senators represent me, or the vast majority of people, either.  These people are nothing but frauds, taking money from wealthy private donors and forsaking all the rest of us.  If they truly wanted to do what was right, then people would have equal access to healthcare, but, if you're poor, then you're probably going to die of cancer or heart disease -- that is if the global financial market doesn't collapse and we don't all die in some kind of nuclear holocaust.  Artisans and small-business entrepreneurs are drowning.  More and more people have to rely on large, humorless corporate big brothers for work.

Quite frankly, if I didn't feel it was my civic duty, I wouldn't vote at all.  Again I will be voting for the lesser of two evils, even though I am certain neither candidate, even the one I am voting for, even give a damn about me and whether I succeed or fail.  Other than my small circle of family and friends, my wife, I am alone.  We are all alone in that way, unless you happen to be related to someone or know someone.  And I am not just talking about anyone.  That's why I am more focused on getting an education than making money.  One will always have value, the other, on the other hand, doesn't have sustainable value.

Anyway, that's why I try to not write directly about this sort of stuff, because it's damn depressing.  I would rather think about and focus on the things that truly matter in life, spending time with those you love, doing those things you love, and letting the world go to Hell, like it inevitably will because most people are too ignorant or weak or distracted (like me) or some combination of the three, to stand up and force the people who are in power to do what is right and actually represent the people and not just the people who have most of the money.

I might have contradicted myself at some point there, but I don't care.  Can anyone blame me for feeling angry and powerless at the same time?  Can anyone blame me for not feeling like I have any kind of public voice that any politician that has any authority will even recognize as legitimate, because I can't afford to donate to any campaign?

No.  I will focus on my wife, on my friends and family, on my school, my writing, my music...Because these are the people and the activities that make my life worth living, and I won't take them for granted.  The "leaders" of this country, on the other hand, took most of us for granted a long time ago.  That's why I will not advertise for them, I won't even mention them by name, and I definitely will not campaign for them.

Facing the Facts

As it came time to register for classes, and I was unable to get into any of the core classes for the composition track (due to the fact that, even though I registered the exact first minute I was able, the only core class being offered was already full), it caused me to seriously question the direction I was heading.  Where in composition I would be focusing on composition theory and linguistics and how to teach composition -- which would culminate in me applying this knowledge in studying the language of propaganda or perhaps language on the Internet, which were my two areas of interest and my reasoning for going into composition -- in literature I could apply my knowledge of language and my love of reading to studying the work of one of my favorite authors, Kurt Vonnegut, which could ultimately lead to me teaching a subversive lit class someday, which would be a dream come true.

 If not Vonnegut, I am a huge Orwell fan, I can't get enough of Fitzgerald, I have an obsession with the book The Man Who Loved Children by Christina Stead, I can't understand why John Updike isn't discussed more, and I have a growing interest in Melville. Not to mention the fact that I am obsessed with writing fiction, I am trying to finish editing my first novel, and I have at least four or five other legitimate novel ideas, one of which is slowly in progress through the process of brainstorming and story development.  Taking all of these factors with the fact that, as I was not able to get into any of the core Composition courses, probably setting my graduation date back -- which is the last thing that I want to do as a 30-year-old college student -- with the fact that I was able to take two of the four core courses for Literature (Chaucer and Shakespeare, respectively), and I am taking one this semester (Modern Linguistics), and I was also able to sign up to meet one of the American Lit requirements (Melville...Kickass!), making it possible for me to write a thesis and still graduate by Spring 2014, it only makes sense for me to change.

If I am going to change, it has to be now, in my first semester, where it will not impact me.  I am glad that I have taken the classes that I have taken this semester, for it has helped me considered the language more than I ever would have on my own.  This will only help me.  I just feel like -- and this is the hippy in me, sure -- the universe is pointing me in the direction I should be going.  Choosing a career path is the same as finding true love and making the relationship work, it should not go against logic, it is not an uphill path through the bleak and unrelenting wilderness, but more-so akin to traveling through a desert your entire life and suddenly coming upon paradise.

Either way I am sticking with grad school and trying to do my best so that I can get into a good PhD program.  It's ironic then, that one of my undergrad professors at Kent, one of my favorites in fact, Dr. Berardinelli, had assumed without even asking, from the papers I had been writing, that I was planning on going into a PhD program for Lit.  At the time I was seriously considering going into an MFA program for creative writing.  By my last semester of undergrad I had decided to take a more "practical route", which, in hindsight, wasn't very practical after all.

Now, if only I could focus and finish this proposal that's due later today, I would be in good shape.  I was hoping to have it done by now.  I have a good idea, but I am still trying to figure out how to go about it.  I am not worried, I have a few tricks left up my sleeve, to use a cliche.

While Kurt Vonnegut, and other postmodernists, didn't believe in an essential truth, I feel compelled to believe since in making this decision, like all other decisions in my life that I have based on such, what seem at the time, impulses, I feel at home and at peace with my decision.

I also sent in my application to be a peer tutor next semester.  It seems like a natural progression, a way for me to use my knowledge to help others, a step forward into teaching, which will hopefully also help me get a TA position for next year.

Time to kick my brain into high gear and get the ball rolling on this assignment.  May the force be with you.

Letting Go

I didn't even want to go.  It's not that I don't having a good time or hanging out with my friends, but lately I barely have time to myself.

Sometimes when you get so caught in the repetition of life, do this, do that, make ends meet, work toward the future...Life.  Not that I am complaining.  I really like my life.  I am in such a great place right now.  I love my wife, I am excited about school and enjoy the work that I do---I only wish I had more time to do it.

Time is the most valuable commodity on Earth.  Fuck money and precious metals and all that shit.  It's time that keeps this world spinning.  It's not the almighty dollar.  Working day in and day out in low-wage slave labor.  That's not the point of life.  I am not a pawn in someone else's scheme to make money.

So last night I just... Let go.

We were the first ones to the bars -- The Incredible Hulk, a football player from Chelsea, T-Rex, Buzz Lightyear, Wayne, and me, Garth.  Woody and Jessie came later.

Wayne just passed the bar, so he and I started with a Jameson shot.  Every place we went we had a shot, in addition to the shots with the rest of the group, and beer---God bless it!

As the night progressed, more and more people came out.  We hopped bars, met Kermit the Frog, who is mentally deranged, and Scooby Doo, who publicly raped Kermit, and a flasher, who kept trying to expose himself to T-Rex.

Drinks, drinks, drinks, cigarettes, new bar, more drinks, drinks, drinks...

A blur of motion and bodies pressed together, the loud thumping of bass, lasers and the flash flash flash flash flash of a strobe light.  I found myself dancing with Buzz Lightyear.

That's when it happened.  When it all disappeared, when nothing mattered but the moment.  I found myself floating along the current.

The current carried us through the night.

Our van cab never arrived and instead of being dragged under and forced by gravity to the depths, we ended up taking a limo for the same price that the cab would have cost.

I arrived on the other side of the shore, at home, where the current carried us, and the transition to solid ground was more than my system could bear.  All of the stress came purging out.

Blackness.

I woke up this afternoon, enlightened.  Whatever stresses were gone, were profoundly gone, and I could see the path ahead of me with clarity.  Everything happens for a reason.  I have been reset; I can see what's important: my wife, my friends, my school, my stories...

Whatever else I have to do to make ends meet on top of my loans, well...You'll get what you pay for and nothing more.

It's Official [the domain name event of the century (for me)]

Well, you might have already noticed, but, in case you haven't, I have finally shelled out the $10 to Google and bought my own domain name.  That's right folks, www.gabegott.com now exists.  I'll pause a moment so you can reflect on that fine tidbit of information...

Needless to say I think I handle the cost of $10 a year.  I think it will help increase traffic, but we'll see if that's really true or not.  Either way, I like the sound of it.  I am really looking to the future, forging down the path I have created for myself, leaving no stone un-turned along the way.

www.gabegott.com.

I really like the sound of it.  It's very...official.  It's nice to feel official, even if it is only an illusion.  Maybe it's not.  I don't know.  I don't expect actual legitimacy to just happen, it's something that will take continued effort and building upon what ideas work, coming up with new ideas, and keeping forging ahead.

Somehow, even though, in truth, nothing has really changed beyond the surface, I feel like it opens up many more opportunities.  I don't plan on doing anything different except that which I can do better differently.  I am going to continue building my audience.

Maybe one thing I can do is add more substance to my writing, but sometimes it's fun to go on little escapes into weirdness.  Maybe this is more of an escape into weirdness with little tidbits of substance here and there.  I would be happy with it either way.  Of course that is all subjective, so it's not something I can really decide except for myself.  What is weird to some is normal to others.  Like having a third testicle.  Or less than ten toes.  Or more than ten fingers.  Or words like glilp.  I personally feel like glilp should be a word.  Perhaps it is a word in some obscure language.

Anyways, here's to progress!

Okay, I am going to apologize for this one in advance. (part VI)

What should I write tonight?  Why not, the homework's done.  The TV is off.  Everything is quiet except for my music.  The Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Brendan's Death Song".  I want to see them live again.  Every time is different in an awesome way, yet similar in the way of quality.  Plus they have different guitarist now, a different sound.  New songs.  They always play all their new songs.  I like that.  Renewal.

There is a natural rhythm to everything, calibrated by my senses to just exactly the way I like.  It all comes out in these words.  When I play guitar.  Other rhythm activities.

*wink wink, nudge nudge*

I like a very organic, orgasmic sound.  R&B, but the good kind of shit, like Motown or Stax.  The funk brothers or The Mar-keys and Booker T. and the MG's.  Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels.  Yeah.  Even the Kingsmen.  They are one of the greatest bands of all time, after all they did record the best version of the greatest song ever conceived of besides anything by Jimi Hendrix or Dido.

[Fuck, did I just say Dido?  Dude, that has to be a typo.  Sorry.]

Yes, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have that kind of magic.  For me.  Not everybody might agree, but I don't really give a fuck.  Yes, I am that self-centered.  Deal with it.  I like music my way and I am not going to apologize for that.

[Dude, that sounded awfully harsh, maybe you should tone it down some.]

Alright.

[Good.  Thank you.]

Who are you anyway?

[The voice inside your head.]

That's fucking trippy, man.

[I know, my head is totally spinning too.]

I can't believe I am actually have a conversation with myself right now.

[I am not yourself.  I am your meta-self.]

Oh.  Is there a difference?

[Not particularly.]

Oh.

[Yeah, sorry.]

So, what does that make this?

[A form of masturbation?]

Precisely.

A story that I just wrote in about a hour and half just for the Hell of It

Any Other Monday Night
By Gabe Gott


...Click clack, clickity clack, clack, clack...

"What doya' wanna do?"

"I dunno."  He continued staring ahead at the screen, fingers moving ceaselessly in a careful rhythm.

My hands followed the beat of his clicking as I scribbled furiously away in my notebook, which lay on the floor in front of me, as I hunched over my acoustic guitar, its cheaply laminated wood substitute of a body digging into my chest.

I lean back against the foot of the couch behind me, laying my head on the seat.  The coffee table separated us; the glow of the TV, flash, flash, flashing along to his gameplay, the music to our motion.

I played a riff out on my guitar, fingers digging into the frets on one hand, gripping the pick and hitting the strings like a mallet with the other, the notes thudding out, the clicking of his fingers on the controller keeping my note-timing consistent.

"Let's at least go buy some beers or something."

"'Kay...Let me get through this level, first."

"Cool."



His eyes glassed over as he drove along, headlights flashing on the highway as we drove along, seemingly cutting our own path through the forest, which clung just at the edge of our trail, which had become so entrenched nothing would ever grow there again.

Around, around, around a curve, the road appearing in front of us, the horizon suddenly becoming visible like navy blue on black as a car came at us from a distance.

It seemed hundreds of miles away but came upon us almost instantly, blinding me and causing him to swerve a little.  Blink, the light flashed from Heavenly to tolerable, and he was able to correct the wheel so we didn't drift over and collide with the oncoming blazing chariot.

He flipped his own brights off just as the oncoming vehicle passed us, flipping its brights back on almost as quickly as ours flashed off.

It faded in the rearview mirror.

He flipped his brights back on as we puttered along, the oceans once again calm.  He pushed down on the car's cigarette lighter and rolled down his window, and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pockets, lifting it up to his face and pulling a cigarette out with his lips, tossing me the pack, and I grabbed one.

The lighter clicked and he lit his and then I lit my and put it back in its port.  I rolled my own window down and smoke from my stack started to suck out.



"ID puleeze."

I stared across the counter at her, 30-pack of High Life, a carton of Marlboro Menthols, standing in the part of the Red Sea between us.

I rolled my eyes.

"I have to make it look good."  She points up to the camera, cocked and pointing down at us from a perch over her shoulder so Big Brother had the vantage to see right down her shirt as she stood there, hunching over, looking up at me from slits, eyelids like blinds so I couldn't see the nakedness inside her.

I smile, pull my wallet out, handing me my ID with my debit card.

She takes my ID, carefully inspecting it like a legally blind pervert trying to see a naked Polaroid.

"Okay." She hands it back and takes my card, swiping it three or four times, waiting a second, and handing it back to me.

"Wanna hang out later."

She looks at me and our eyes meet, she flutters her eyelids and looks down at the screen.  The receipt printer starts screeching and spewing out paper, and I continue staring at her.

She tears the receipt off and hands it to me, pulling to hand out to me a chewed on Bic from a cup that also contained a golf pencil and a black permanent market and sat on the far side of the register.

I sign the receipt and hand it back to her wrapped up in the pen.  She hesitates and takes it from me, putting the pen back in the cup and the receipt in a fold that she had pulled from somewhere below her, underneath the counter.

"Can I bring some friends?"

"Who?"

"Tina and Lisa."

"Oh yea, of course."

"Okay, cool.  I get off in a half hour."

"Cool."



He was talking on his phone as I walked over, sat the beer and the cigs on the roof and opened my door, picking up the beer and the cigs and sitting down.  I pulled the door closed and he turned on the ignition, pulled himself around to look out the back window as he back, and then we pulled out of the gas station.

His lighter clicked and we both lit our cigarettes and rolled down our windows.

"Okay, see you in a bit." He folded his phone and threw it in the backseat.  "Jimmy'll be there pro'lly by the time we get back."

"Cool."  I lit another cigarette from the butt of the last one.



We pulled into the driveway and some rusty dump sat parked blocking his garage door.  The owner of the car sat Indian-style on the roof of the jalopy, smoking on a peace pipe.

"HEEEEYYYYY."  I rolled down my window and stuck my head out.  "Wait for us!"

We pulled up behind him and got out of the car as he climbed down from his.  The three of us stood in a circle.  He re-packed his pipe and sent it around.

"Girls'r comin' over t'night."

"Cool." He blew a smoke ring which slowly dissipated into the night sky.



Ra-RRINNGGGGG!!!!!

I run down the hall and throw open the door.

"HEEYyyy!" They all roll in, each carrying some kind of drinkable tasty treat.

"How was work?" She kisses me and wraps her arms around me and I pull her into my grip.

"Fuck you..." She says as she pushes me away.  "Come on, Let's get our drink on GIRLLZ!"

They dash past me and I continue to walk out to the front porch, closing the door behind me and lighting a cigarette.



I smoked my cigarette and came inside, threw my empty pack on the floor, just as Jimmy switched the music.  The Black Keys blasted out of the speakers on the TV, which glowed and pulsated with Winamps Visulization, his computer screen rolling around with the same patterns in miniture from where his HP sat on the counter next to the Plasma.

"Fuck yeah, better'n that last shi' you played." I walked back down the hall past where Jimmy stood talking to one of the other girls down to the kitchen where the other three made company.

Each holds a drink as I come in.  He seems happy.  They are all smiling, she beams as I enter.  I down the last of my beer and sit the empty on the counter among the dozens of other empties and two gutted pizza boxes.

"Miss me much?"

"I miss your cock."

"That makes you." Her other friend walks past her and around behind him and jerks on his arm and pulls him out the room.

She and I stand on opposite sides of the island, she is nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade and I turn around a grab a High Life from the fridge behind me.

The music is blasting behind us and we seem to be floating in the air, positive and negative ions floating about, crashing into each other and us, making my arm hair stand on end.

"Wanna do it on the counter?"

I heard a faint moan coming from somewhere beyond the music.

Next thing I know beer cans and pizza boxes are raining to the ground all around us and she is sitting on the counter.  She tips her beer back and throws her bottle behind her head and it crashes and shatters against the sink.

Last time I left body fluids on this counter, I realize, it was vomit.

She smiles and wraps her legs around me.

Definitely an improvement over last week.