I never get tired of this story.

I enjoy humans.

I like it here. Thanks man

Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .

History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.

My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.

I just treat everybody like a human being with real dreams and hardships. I keep a garden. I try to leave people and things better than I found them.

I have several monkeys on my back. They bring me great joy and terrible sorrow. With the power comes the responsibility.

Unchecked addictions will destroy you. The fine line is the path I've chosen. I'm okay with that.

Went to go wash my car today at one of those DIY places. They've got a regular robot wash too and this ancient churchlady was struggling with the chargebox. Turns out the whole thing was down so I told her about another washeria across town. After she went on her way I freaked out worrying she'd get lost so I hopped in my car and caught up with her (not easy, she was tearing ass in this big old Caddy) and had her follow me to the next place. This fucking town, that place's robowash was busted too. I gave up and washed her damn Caddy myself. Didn't take her money. I love having adventures with random people.

Good on you Pabs. Shine on.

I love this piece. That said, as hard as I get for any kind of political or economical revolution in my country I'm extremely pessimistic. Things degrade ever so slowly here. The elite are like the two bulls up on the hill. They're fucking us gently. You don't break a guy's kneecaps, you cut off his pinky. You make him fear for his life but you don't take it. The Great Recession was a highwater mark for greed and while we guillotined a few Kings and Queens the rest just waited for the dust to settle and got back to Bizness. Things aren't getting better. We're a child who got their broken toy taken away and given back later when we appreciated it more, except they're breaking it a little more every day. People are fucking terrified of poverty. I know I am. So we stop asking for a raise. We stop asking for a better job. We try to save every penny because we know retirement isn't guaranteed. We accept this broken promise of an American Dream that's dying an excruciating death. We feel blessed just to get that. And why not? We have our phones and our internet and our television and our music and our bars and our food and our imaginary sense that we're all going to make it in a big way any day now. Meanwhile the bulls are closing the distance a little bit at a time.

The Occupy Movement? They laughed at us from their highrises. We can't touch them. I suppose we could have an Arab Spring if we really wanted one. It would mean a very bold line being crossed. Something that even the weakest coward could not stand. I worry they're much too patient for that. And who's going to fight them? You? Me? We've got rent to pay. Cars we're paying off. That's the key I think. Give them just enough to lose to not bother playing.

Sorry if this came off conspiritard. My days off are wonderfully soulful and before I know it I'm back in the abyss. I'm angry. I wish more people were.

Drove myself to the hospital with a 5 inch gash in my arm, courtesy of a crazy roommate. Butcher knife. Slashed my arm open to the bone. Guy was a loser and popped Adderall like Tic Tacs. I don't miss him.

Your basic mid-20's crisis I guess. Looking for a better job. Just gave up cigarettes. Paying off my credit card debt. Things I need to do if I ever dream of starting a family. I'm pushing hard to be a better me.