YeY

Universal Music Group, the world’s largest music company, for acknowledging in their own way that CDs are way the hell overpriced.

The 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, for (at least temporarily) putting the brakes on the sinister plans of Colin Powell’s son and giant media conglomerates to control all that we see and hear.

Retired Gen. Wesley Clark, for showing us that there are upper-level military people who don’t support the neocons‘ harmful worldview.

BOO

Ticketmaster, because they figured out a way to be even greedier assholes.

McDonald’s, for taking PR manipulation to ridiculous new levels.

BARF

The Bush administration, for making the U.N. an offer “to get in the game” in Iraq using a resolution that might make the U.S. look cooperative from a PR standpoint but actually offers the U.N. no additional power.

What’s the name of that religion again?

You know, the one where some fundamentalists think that if they kill “bad” people, then die a martyr, they will get a special reward in heaven. It’s on the tip of my tongue …

I think I figured it out: I am a great, prolific writer. I was meant to set the world on fire. Words naturally flow from me like light from the sun, spilling onto countless pages as my hand races to keep up with my soul. I’m a Celtic-Buddhist shaman, a wide-open view of the world that’s a mix of the Romantics and the Beats, with a dash of H.L. Mencken thrown in for journalistic charm.

Unfortunately, they^* found out about my abilities before I fully realized them. They understood the Madness & Joy I was going to unleash on the world, and promptly took action to prevent it. They inserted an entire, separate consciousness into my head – it might be a creature, it might be a machine – that was preloaded with the latest in overly critical thoughts, anxiety and insecurity.

It’s brilliant, really. The “invader” is powered by brain electricity and triggered into action by any hopeful, creative or aspiring thoughts on my part. I think of a story idea, he shoots it down. I decide it’s time to start freelancing, he convinces me I’ve spent too much time not writing articles. I ponder graduate school or a writing workshop in the desert, he tells me I’m light years behind anyone else who will be there and probably will be sent packing with a tuition refund. I look at job openings, he explains why I don’t qualify for any of them. I decide it’s high time to take some risks, he declares all risks will lead to failure.

I don’t know how to destroy him. I know that if I let go and get out of my head I feel better, but I can’t figure out how to banish him from my head. Their technology is just too strong.

* I don’t actually know who “they” are, but think they could be some obscure government agency sworn to diminish Sids or perhaps some weird alien race who hates inspiration.