The Passion of the Al

The worst state to be in for a human being is indifference. Being one of the walking wounded and exuding catatonia is why those without hope or ambition should simply be sent to a senior citizen center or dumped into a coffin and buried, even if they are still breathing. Most of these cadavers you have run into have been some of the women you have had sex with. They would be like Pinocchio and metamorphosize into a real sexy woman when having sex with someone else, like the super while you are at work.

What we love about our political zombies of both parties is that they are an athlete on speed. They are driven by ambition and a desire to be a titan or superhuman. The difference is that their kishkas (guts) are dried-out, diseased and dead.

What we love about Paris Hilton and the other bratty teenagers is that their very self-indulgence and hedonism at least makes them alive and we feel we are watching them being fed to the lions, like the Christians were in ancient Rome.

My passions have included every fantasy imaginable and both sides of life: success and failure. Both are exciting. Failure excites me because it makes me feel alive.

When I was rich with $11 million in the bank living at a townhouse on the Upper East Side and sitting in the back seat of my chauffeured driven stretch limo I used to think about my successful businesses and multiple homes. I sat on my soft leather seats like a great white shark amidst millions of herring thinking I could finally eat and devour anything I wanted. Only working at Ben and Jerry’s or Hagen Daaz would have been a greater achievement. I remember thinking to myself “If I am so rich, why am I so sad?” The reason was because there was no passion my marriage. My wife was a castrating Jewish princess who would only tell me about my failures and point out all my flaws. I could have lived through these imperfections but the deadness of the marriage and her ability to turn her negativity to my son at that time all contributed to the emptiness of my life.

The popularity of the cannibal movie night of the living dead is based on zombie’s lack of passion except when they are eating live people. The reason that the death of passion is the equivalent of the death of a real life is best illustrated by our sexual encounters with prostitutes. I am nauseated by women feigning love and orgasm when all they really get turned on by is the money in your wallet and the hope that you will cum quick and leave them alone.

Since my bankruptcy and the rape of my business and assets, the one kernel of life for me is reading my blogs on the booble website. It recaptures how smart I am. It reminds me of what a good writer I am. For me it’s like having a soap box in London’s Hyde Square where I can be bombastic, grandiose and exhibitionistic, like I used to be.