I Moved

...to East Brunswick. Yay. It's right next to a little place called Milltown. The mill has since closed and been converted into condominiums. Maybe they should call it Condotown?

To sit around a bar with a bunch of workin' men who've been laid off is depressing. To sit around a bar with a bunch of workin' men while a Chinaman sucks the marrow from our "backbone" is downright fucking bizarre.

These men sit around like husks of their former selves, pouring vile whiskey into their ulcerated stomachs. Meanwhile vultures like me circle from above, collecting souvenirs for my grand plan. Which is never going to happen. Of course, all of this happened before...

But at least then they had a place in society that made sense. Now nothing makes sense. You stave off misery for a few hours with intravenous trips to Target where you gag on the abundancy of useless shit. You die at red lights. You traverse god-forsaken highways and state routes that connect your television set to the places where you can impulsively buy things you don't need.

You think about when you can get some more pellets for the pellet gun you found in the basement. So you can shoot any small furry varmints that dare trespass on this here land. You tell yourself it's OK because you're going to eat the thing, whatever it is.

You tell yourself that your being self sufficient, living off the land, getting in touch with nature. But really you just want to kill something.

That's my rap. Dig it.