Minutiae and Whimsy of a Day


“My schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression.”

― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?


It looks as though our last day in Tucson (for the time being) will be March 31st. As of April 1st, we will be hitting the road to live out that gypsy wanderlust dream life! Also, Imma go to my sister’s place for a bit and write a book while she cooks me mac ‘n cheese and forces me to do my own laundry.


Ever been combing through old possessions and become angered at the person you used to be? Like, “Motherfucker, how DARE you own three Limp Bizkit CDs!”

I’m, uh, asking for a friend….


“I did it all for the nookie…totally justifiable.” – Fred Fucking Durst


Apparently, during ’95 – ’96, I was designing my own magazine covers. I have no memory of this, nor any notion of what made these obviously masterful rags fold. Interesting…


Now that Sons of Anarchy has wrapped, and Molly no longer has Chibs to idolize, she has been looking for another show to watch. I thought she would be into The Wire, but I didn’t realize how into it she would get!


She said she wanted to be like Omar, cuz nobody fucks with Omar, and anyways it’s all in the game, right?

Because a dog has to have a code…


As I have empirically discovered this languid and glorious eve, there seems to be only one negative aspect to sitting in the dark for hours spinning Sleep and OM records and meditating on the oft tragi-comic eccentricities of this mortal ebb and flow…


…when one eventually goes to fire up that sweet and succulent stogie, the flame from one’s lighter may be fucking BLINDING, man! I have no eyes… O.O

Earlier in the day, jets and carriers from the base were out performing thunderously loud drills. Then there are, of course, the chem-trails. Over the past two hours we have had four separate power surges that reset everything in the house and fucked up my viewing of Better Call Saul. Then, just now, while staring out the window in a daze, the neighbor’s backyard flood light began rhythmically pulsing on and off, most likely beaming top-secret codified information into my face holes.

Coincidences?! I think NOT!!! I’m onto your clever, pygmy-conspiring, brain-wave manipulating ruse, you bastards! You’ll never decode my mind, NEVER! I’ve unsystematically randomized everything!



After I go live like Thoreau in the North American wilderness for a bit and write my book, I’m tossing around the idea of renouncing all worldly possessions and desires and living as a pious reclusive monk in some remote Buddhist monastery in the Himalayas, pondering upon the nature of scorn and loathing and tending to the tiniest, most fragile and sickly of bamboo stalks as I observe vows of contemplative silence followed by therapeutic bouts of soul-screaming…

Step 1.))) Find out if “renouncing wordly possessions” precludes me from bringing my record collection along. I wonder if any of the Himalayan monasteries are presided over by a Master who appreciates some good DOOM?


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


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