Waiting, late evening, April 1995

Societal and historical revisionism through the influence of the new media is reality. Forgotten history is doomed to repeat itself. The media forgets for us. Tabloid media in all its forms reminds us not of the important events of the last decade(s) and those lessons learned, rather sensational non-events that divert the public’s attention from valid issues and concerns.

Talk shows pander to the lowest common denominator of behavior with desensitizing topics designed to simultaneously titillate, provoke and jade the Proletariat. Jerry Springer, have no fear. Your name is etched in history. You’re infamous. One of many accelerators of our decline. Forever known as poison.

"So, what do you think?"
"About what?"
"What I just read you, dumb ass."
"It’s pretty serious…" he was smiling, almost ready to giggle.
"And…"
"Well, what are you gonna do with this?"
"I don’t know. It’s just a thought I wrote down. Do you like it?"
"Yeah. It’s good…I don’t know why you wrote it, though."

I was at the office of my friend, into the late hours, stoned, waiting for him to finish up. I haven’t been home even two weeks now and I’m back into the same routines, feeling as hopeless as ever, bingeing more, and growing more distant from my family. I’m mad at myself, my circumstance, and the world around me, acutely aware that it’s spinning out of control and there’s not a damn thing to be done about it. But that’s not what he’s wanting to hear.

"I don’t know. Springer pisses me off, I guess."

"C’mon, let’s smoke a fatty and get the fuck out of here."

Finally, a plan. We ended up driving to the lake, gettin' more stoned, talkin’ about Jesus and how the world was goin’ to Hell in a handbag.