I should be armchair travelin’

but i’m surfin instead.

The other day my man Charlie got the China Blues, you know, when it dawns on you that all of the things that you heard about China as a kid actually don’t exist anymore and have been replaced by “ignorant drones on autopilot” … happens to all of us here. I remember during my first year in China i went to a Peace Corps ho-down and it devolved from a drinking and winking party into a hate session. every single one of those kids basically spent an hour each hating on China. the venality and the greed. people from heilongjiang (way NE) and xinshuangbanna (way SW) all saying basically the same thing, seeking the same thing, spitting out the same lies. The cowing acquiescence. the hateful new rich.

i remember another friend pausing in the middle of sniffing up some dirty ketamine. looking around the club we were in and saying, “look at who is considered ‘cool’ here and recognize that we are in hell” …

stupid shit on a daily basis.

SO my buddy Charles is all despondent cuz he works in a “creative company” filled with copycats and thieves.

I’ve noticed that a lot of expats tone down their China rants over time. they stop screaming about how absurd and ridiculous and basically evilly insane all of this is. same happened with me. I tore up many a bar/street/club in my day, yelling and screaming. I broke stuff got in fights and spent nights in jail here because my sensitive mind rebelled against the worst our collective society has to offer the future generations. Now i just do like Candide did at the end of that sordid tale: cultivate my lil garden and store ammo.

its easy to forget that the US has just as many crackers. I watched the Inside Job. Shouldn’t have. For real, I just want a little place away from it all, but I try and project the current shit tsunami called progress into the future and determine where its all headed and whether it can be derailed or made “good” again (was it ever?) and you know, I don’t think it can without some apocalypse. And if 2012 turns out to be Y2K then all of us have to absorb that kick to the balls called reality. We’ll have to look around and be like, hey, this is pretty much as good as it gets.

So luckily i found this DrunkenLooseCannon out in Boone, NC where i always thought King Cracker ruled with a manure-laden poop kicker. He reminded me of how I used to write on here and his idea of a perfect day is pretty fucking perfect. Check it out.